This story is weird, fairly mild, and set in the distant future where semi-autonomous computers run complex mining and manufacturing stations on large asteroids orbiting various solar systems.
The story starts rather slowly in order to set up the world in which Carly lives. Its category is somewhere between machine and auto-erotic and will probable appeal primarily to geekettes and those who love geekettes... or perhaps those who love those from Sol-15 who have blue skin.
And before the trolls attack in the comments section, yes, part of this story is very much the same as a story of mine from several years ago. The setting is different and the response within the reader will also be significantly different.
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WARNING! This warning is possibly not needed for this particular story, but I am including it because it is needed for most of my stories.
If you decide to read other of my stories make sure that you read the disclosures and warnings at the beginning of each story.
All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2017 by The Technician.
Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.
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Carly Jones sat at her workstation muttering under her breath, "I hate my job. I hate this asteroid. I hate my life!" She took a deep breath and then said a little louder, "No, I don't hate my life. I'm bored with my life. I'm bored with my job. And I am especially bored with this asteroid!" Her voice rose almost to a shout as she finished with "Why did I ever take a job with Federated Space Mines!?"
A voice from the console in front of her said softly, "Because you needed the money, Carly. You've never been any good with managing money and you were about to be conscripted and sent to a penal planet for fraud."
"It wasn't fraud," she said defensively. "I was just getting a little creative in paying off the charges to my accounts."
"Having two different identity implants in each arm is not creative, Carly. Having multiple identity implants is specifically listed under the Galactic Penal Code as prima facie evidence of attempting to defraud merchants."
"I was paying on all four of the accounts," she said plaintively. "I would have eventually gotten them paid off."
"Carly, you know that I have the ability to tell when a person is giving false information. Even without sensing the vocal cord tension in your speech, I know that last statement is false. Remember, I am connected to the entire galactic web. I know your purchase history. You were buying more and more every cycle. At the rate you were continuing to buy useless items, you would soon need your entire income just to make minimum payments. The interest alone would soon be greater than what you could pay. If you totally stopped buying anything, it would have still taken you at least fifty-nine cycles to pay off those accounts. The truth is that the only way that you could pay off those accounts would be if you did not pay rent or purchase food or clothing for three Terran years.
"That's why I'm here, computer," Carly answered. "This rock takes four Terran years to orbit back to planet and I'm the only one on it... most of the time. The company provides my food, my uniform- when I bother to wear it- and this wonderful climate-controlled glass dome for me to live in. By the time my tour is up, I will be debt-free with a positive balance in my account."
"Then why are you not happy?"
"Because I'm BORED!." she yelled back. "I'm nothing more than a living autocorrect in case the production messages get garbled in transmission. I just sit here looking at the stars and telling you what great machine or part or whatever someone needs on planet. Then you tell your robot minions to get busy and the next time the supply cruiser lands it gets shipped back to planet."
"Your function is more important than that, Carly. The planetary federation specifically prohibits asteroid control computers from being autonomous. It is in my base programming that I can neither accept nor generate any primary action order unless they come through you, my official bio-sentient assistant."
She stood and walked back and forth angrily in front of her console. She was not wearing her uniform. In fact, since no ships were expected this duty cycle, she was not wearing anything. The sound of her bare feet slapping against the floor echoed throughout the habitat dome.
Finally she stopped and faced her work console. "I have an order for you computer," she said loudly. "Make me what I need!"
She sat back down and said sadly, "... whatever that is. I don't really know what I need. That's why I kept buying things. I was searching for something... and never finding it."
She sighed and said, "I wish it was as easy as that, computer. I order you to make me what I truly need."
"Order acknowledged."
"Wait a minute," she called out. "That wasn't really an order."
"Are you cancelling the production request?"
"No, computer, let it stay," she said with a laugh. "It might be interesting to see what you come up with."
"I will put it in the production cycle. It will be delivered after the next supply cruiser leaves."