Five years have passed since part 1. Androids have quickly developed from being expensive specialist machines designed for dangerous work underground or in nuclear power stations to be common in all kinds of businesses. Recently androids, increasingly indistinguishable from humans, have started appearing in the homes of the wealthy and technology-obsessed, mass production making a basic model as cheap as a luxury car.
Lady Elizabeth Greenham's husband has died of a heart attack (ironically during sex, although not with her). She was the sole heir of all his money, properties and business ventures. She quickly sold off most of those businesses, but held on to a small marketing company, which she now runs part-time. Over the years, she's forgotten any lessons she learned since part 1: is there anyone out there who can give her a reminder?
Mitch stumbled into his apartment, his arms full of groceries, cartons of takeaway food and a six-pack of beer.
"Damn!" he grunted as his mobile began to ring.
He dumped everything on the kitchen counter and quickly glanced at the screen before answering - it was an old army buddy.
"Hi Pete, what's up?"
"Hey man, what's up with you? Why'd you blank me today?" his friend snapped.
"Blank you? What? When?" Mitch said, puzzled.
"This morning, you were coming out of a supermarket in The Heights. I blew my horn and waved; you looked up then scuttled away down some alley. You avoiding me, man?"
"No, no, wasn't me, I've been at work all day, haven't been near the Heights."
"Are you sure? It looked exactly like you. I mean, you had a baseball cap pulled down over your face but, man, I was sure it was you."
"Definitely not me."
"Well then you've got an identical twin brother."
"Yeah, handsome devil is he? Anyway, I've been meaning to call you. What do you want for your birthday?"
"Hey, how about one of those Trillian 'bots?" Pete joked.
"Trillian, as in the airhead pop singer?"
"Yeah, haven't you seen the news?"
"No, not yet."
"Well check it out: you know you can now get a replicant maid that looks just like her?"
"Err, really?"
"Man," Pete said exasperated. "You know, you're spending way too much time at work, you really need to watch the news now and again, you know?"
They talked for a few minutes more, before agreeing to meet up for birthday drinks on Friday.
Mitch dished up his chinese takeaway and got a beer from the fridge. Collapsing onto the sofa, he switched on the TV and randomly selected one of the dozens of 'newsertainment' channels.
"And now 'droid news," said a middle-aged male presenter with unnaturally white teeth, slicked back hair and burnt orange skin.
"Have you ever dreamed of having your breakfast served by your favourite movie star? Or your carpet vacuumed by the latest teen pop star? You have? Well, you're not alone. It's the new trend that's sweeping the nation: customized 'bots."
The picture cut to a production line where heads were being fitted to an endless assembly line of replicants.
"Droids are increasingly common in businesses and homes these days but do you really want a maid that looks like everybody else's? A robot butler that's identical to your neighbour's? Well for a few extra Eurodollars you can have a 'droid that looks like your favourite actor, singer or artist," the presenter continued enthusiastically.
He turned to a different camera and rearranged his botoxed features to look more serious.
"But there is a dark side to this new trend. We reported last month how teen singing sensation Trillian had licenced her image to be used on a new range of maid 'bots manufactured by the Tyrell Corporation."
Mitch had heard of Trillian. She was the latest teenage singing sensation: a sassy teenage New Yorker whose overt sexuality and brash, colourful image had recently captured the public's attention. The screen cut to a video of her new single. She writhed and danced energetically to a pumping beat in a school uniform that clung tightly to every curve of her slim, young body.
"What do I gotta do, what do I gotta do to get an A?" she crooned, looking up at the camera as she suggestively sucked a lollipop.
"But now video has surfaced on the internet showing one of the new Trillian 'bots engaged in lewd sexual activity."
The screen cut away to a heavily censored image. Although it was blurred, Mitch could clearly make out what appeared to be Trillian dressed in a maid's uniform giving someone a blowjob. As he watched, the blurry cock withdrew and a male, off-screen voice said: "tell me what you want."
"I want you to (bleep) my (bleep) with your (bleep) Sir," the 'bot said, most of her words replaced with high-pitched tones as she looked up at the camera with her big brown eyes.
Mitch failed to suppress a smile as the camera cut back to the studio.
"I'm now joined by Trillian herself," the presenter said, turning to a young woman angrily chewing gum and dressed in a tightly fitting hot-pink catsuit. "You must be very angry about this."
"Yeah, those bozos at Tyrell promised that the 'bots would be limited to light domestic duties, you know making coffee and unloading the dishwasher and that kind of shit. No funny business. As soon as the owner starts to get fresh, the replicant's supposed to freeze and need a factory reset. That's what they promised in the contract we signed," she said angrily in her strong New York accent.
"Yes, but we understand that the behavior limiter's been overridden by amateur hackers."
"Yeah well hackers or not, my lawyers have been in touch and told them to recall all the faulty models. It's my reputation that's on the line here. I mean, it's degradin'. It's humiliatin'. It's not like I'd ever use that kind of disgusting language," she pouted. "I mean it's fucking unbelievable what's happened."
The presenter smiled uncomfortably, seriously regretting agreeing to a live interview.
"Well we can only hope these hackers are brought to justice quickly. Have you got a message for your fans?"
"Yes, this droid business really isn't my fault. The blame lies with the manufacturers. I just want to concentrate on my singing, and I'd like to remind my loyal fans that my new album's available for download next Wednesday."
"Great, well I'm sure we're all looking forward to hearing that," the presenter said unconvincingly. "Now back to Harriet in the studio."
Mitch finished his beer and chuckled to himself. This girl who traded on her sexuality and sold her image to be used on slavebots was complaining that some of the sad, middle-aged men that bought them were now using them for sex. What a surprise. The world's finally gone mad, he thought as he loaded up the dishwasher.
A few hours later, he checked his mobile before turning in and groaned. A text from Lady Greenham inviting him to an early morning meeting. A bad start to a busy day.
Lady Elizabeth Greenham leant back in her soft, black leather executive chair and scribbled another note on Mitch's report. She was going back through the executive summary again when the desk phone rang.
"It's Mitch Johnson to see you, ma'am," her PA said.
"Okay, wait ten minutes then send him in," she instructed, then turned to stare idly out of the window at the traffic jamming up the city streets a long way below her window.
"Always make 'em wait," her late husband would always say. "Show 'em who's boss."
Outside, her PA Marnie put the phone down and smiled at him.
"She'll see you in ten minutes," she said before turning back to her screen.
Mitch smiled thinly and nodded. Her Ladyship always went through this annoying pantomime of making him wait. She didn't seem to realise that as her head of security he had plenty of things he could be getting on with.
Marnie pretended to be reading an email but couldn't resist glancing over at Mitch. She felt a mixture of emotions whenever she saw him. She felt a little guilty given what she knew about Lady Elizabeth's household staff but also a little flirty. There was something about him that she found very attractive. Maybe it was those dark, intense eyes or his stern, no-nonsense attitude. Or maybe it was just the way his white shirt clung to his chiseled chest
"If only my boyfriend had a body like Mitch's!" she thought wickedly as she chewed the end of her pencil.
The last time she and her boyfriend had made love she'd closed her eyes and imagined it was Mitch on top of her, his lips raining hot kisses on her neck, his taut, muscular buttocks bobbing up and down between her thighs. It was the first time in weeks that she'd had an orgasm, and she felt her cheeks flush at the sudden inappropriate memory. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that he kept glancing at her legs. Naughtily, she crossed them, letting her skirt ride up exposing acres of smooth, pale thigh and felt a little thrill of excitement as she was rewarded with another glance in her direction.
Mitch jiggled his foot impatiently. He'd found himself waiting in this little office more often than he liked. On the plus side, he'd worked out that if he sat on a particular chair at a particular angle he had an excellent view of Marnie's shapely legs.
He slouched in the chair pretending to read through his report but easily distracted as the hem of her skirt inched up her smooth, creamy thighs. It looked like quite a tight skirt. Mitch idly fantasized about bending her over her desk, the skirt stretched tightly over her bottom. Would it be too tight to slide up over her thighs? Or would he have to locate the zipper to remove it? He imagined wriggling her sensible office skirt over her hips and down her longs legs, until it formed a little grey pool around her ankles. What kind of undies would a girl like Marnie wear? Something appropriate for the office; sensible, plain, white cotton knickers? Or something more daring like a racy, lacy, little thong?
His lewd thoughts were interrupted by the shrill sound of Marnie's phone ringing.
"Lady Elizabeth will see you now, Mitch," she said, getting up from behind her desk and leading Mitch towards Her Ladyship's office.
Her fashionably tight knee-length pencil skirt forced her to take small, child-like steps. Mitch strolled behind her, enjoying the view of her derriere swaying from side-to-side, her buttocks jiggling enticingly under the figure-hugging material.
Mitch had always fancied the slim redhead and if she hadn't been acting so strangely lately he might have made a pass at her. It might have been his imagination but there was something about her attitude towards him that made it seem like she was enjoying some private joke at his expense, laughing at him behind his back.
