I spent my time the next few days trying to configure a source of jumbled code that was in the very middle of all the programs, not just mine. It was an assortment coding that hadn’t been in use for decades but here it was, alive and well it seemed, trying to wreck havoc on my life and on the years of other work programmers had put into this. It isn’t clear to me, the source of this repetitive outdated bug, but it is only a matter of time until I have it out coded and simply outdone.


“Missy, you are going to send for some clothes for the gala right?"

“I planned on wearing my red Sarong with a headdress.”

“Or you can send for one of those cute new Gaia-doll gowns, they are to die for.”

“I could just go in my actual clothing too.”

“So blasé honey, you might as well go in your Sunday best then.”

“Am I expected to know what that means?”

“Oh it’s a phrase that even civilians don’t really use anymore.”

“Then why are you?”

“I find it clever, it was before the Station.”

“How does it make it clever?”

“Oh Missy, my dear sweet little friend you- you just don’t understand.”
How am I to understand a phrase that isn’t in use anymore, most especially if it was before the Station? The Station has been around since the War of the Flowers, it has been around since the great plague of Larissa and the horde of revolts that bombarded the field of robotics. The Station came about to end confrontation over morals and selfish beliefs that detained the growth of humanity as a whole. A price was paid, no a price is being paid with every breath took and every eyelash batted, the price is being paid behind the screen- behind the brilliantly red curtains. A choice is offered, and sometimes you don’t even know you're being asked- civilian or citizen?


“You should go with a blue dress; it would look perfect on you.”

“You should wear the red dress; it brings out your vindictiveness.”

“How sweet darling, but the blue would match your robot!”

“I repeat red would help accent your snide quirks of corrupt disdain.”

“Well we need to hurry and order, your pin is the same as always right?”
I lifted my gaze from my visa-screen and directed my glare at the vivid pink wall beside Christie. Today is an off duty job, I am to check the electrical output and input of the houses of the Care-Takers from the Station- in laden terms I check the volts from the big people. It is not a pleasant job, but it is something I have to do if I want to stay in their good graces and keep my nice cushy funding.


“You need to get some work done on your hair, maybe some violet enhancers.”

“Why would I want violet reflecting hair?”

“To go with your blue dress and lavender sparklers.”

“Sparklers, did you just say sparklers?”

“You need some pizzazz in your presence, most importantly if you will be courting that nice strong man of yours around.”

“I swear if you are talking about…”

“Oh come on, I have seen how he looks at you, it just so sweet, Alfie.”
I saw it coming, I really did- but it didn’t stop the frustration I felt when she said that. I brought Model 33Alpha along with me for further human interaction while I worked on the modules and read the meters. It reacted well to the social experiment, and it was a good move on my part- expanding the outside connections and recognition. I put my programs to the test and they did not fail me. The jumbled code is still there amongst the various pieces of work, but it seemed to have no effect in its reactions or interaction. Was it just a flux in the behavior, or did the pieces of old codes have something to do with Alpha’s outburst?


“Serious now, how are you going to do your appearance?”

“I figured I would do what I always do when I want to dress up.”

“Putting your hair in that mechanical fashion flop is not proper for a gala.”

“Oh is it not now, then perhaps I am not proper for a gala.”

“Well that is what I said but they didn’t listen to me, hm.”
I can just feel the artificial love and bond between us at the moment.


“How are you dressing your toy?”

“I am not dressing Model 33Alpha.”

“Then how is Ricky dressing the very pretty Model of tin?”

“Rick is not disturbing Model 33Alpha either.”

“Then who is putting clothes on the poor boy?”

“It is already fixed with a mechanical shell around its internal structure of…”

“So you are just going to let him walk around naked now are you?”

“It is not naked; it’s a machine- nothing more Christie.”

“Show some compassion Missy, why are you being so very rude?”
My shoulders stretched out, pulling the muscles in a tight spring of pressure and tension, every inch of elongating it seemed the buildup of strain and anxiety was tugging it out like taffy; twisting it and ripping pieces off after being warmed up and stretched, again and again.


“Christie I am going to fix Alpha with an outside shell of synthetic skin made from a mixture of silicone and latex and actual skin grafts.”

Her bright amethyst eyes were wide in shock and what almost looked like absolute horror, is the idea really that obscene to think about let alone do?


“You are going to make it a skin suit?”

“In such terms, yes I am.”

“You are only programmer Missy that is strictly forbidden.”

“Well perhaps it was your talk of proper attire that really inspired me.”

“Cease any further actions Mishca, you are becoming derailed.”

“Am I becoming derailed or is it the rules are just too tight?”

“The rules are for our protection, for us to feel safe and live in a world that follows certain procedures for the better of the whole population and not just that of one individual. I play my part well, you should do the same.”

Christie fixed me with her enhanced eyes and I saw the connection in her colorful view as I saw in that of Alpha; they were both enhanced artificially to be better than their predecessors. Alpha is to outdo the previous Models, and Christie is trying to outdo the wives around her. She was right though, much like Rick; both play the part of a light hearted Care-taker, when in reality they are just as wound up and ready to spring as the Elders of them. The Station has certain rules yes, and the rules are there to protect us from the mistakes of the past. I understand why they are there, and I understand why they are so heavily enforced- but I don’t understand how they could be so hypocritical.


“Now darling lets plot out your face for the grand night.”

“Or we could discuss why it’s wrong for me to create a…”

“Hush, I demand it now Mishca, if not as your friend than as your superior.”

“Of course Christie, please continue with your mindless drivel.”

“How about we cut loose those curling locks of alabaster and get some flirt?”

“What is flirt?”

“Its flipsy, you know snazzy and fun- with enough pizzazz to make people think better of your teensy little ideas.”

With her face back on and her similar lilac whirling eyes she returned to her previous actions, as if recoiling from a defensive fire wall and retreating back into her programming of air-neurons and puff thoughts. All the while Alpha stood beside me, as silent as he always was when left with me, it seemed the programming gave it enough freewill to decide to not respond or initiate contact with Christie. If it was human, then I could understand, but even with a bit of freewill given, the programming still specified with some form of contact to be made and for recognition and give a response to some of her comments. Its slot of a mouth remained still and its light violet eyes that so matched Christie’s remained still and unmoving. Its eyes held almost a gleam to them, as if it was reflecting the conversation that was being had and was soaking it in. I put down my reading gear and stepped closer to Alpha, Christie was caught up in her visa-screen and paid us no mind, spinning off tales of giant puffs of skirts with dripping pearls and rushing colors that I felt as if any conversation I held with a non-responsive Model would be unerringly missed.


“Alpha is something wrong with this environment?”
Its eyes flashed once, recognizing my voice so deeply programmed into it.


“I asked you a question Model 33Alpha.”

“Is this model to understand you are awaiting a response?”


“It would seem to be so.”

“This model is afraid it does not have anything to report.”

“Well, how about…how sweet Christie has been to us thus far?”

“This Christie is still continuing to converse with you.”

“She won’t mind me spending some time away.”

“Enough data has been collected on her to know otherwise.”

“Then you know just about the same as everyone else.”

“Are you insisting that this model simply common?”

“Touchy, I was only saying it was common knowledge, her personality that is.”

“Then why did you proceed to initiate a conversation about pleasantries with her.”

“It is an old rustic civilian thing called sarcasm.”

“This personality trait is in many people around us, not civilians.”

“They like to attach it to civilians, to make it seem lowly and them better.”

“You do not refer to yourself amongst them.”

“Do you see any one of them running around reading meters?”

Its eyes shined with the almost commonly seen purple of the higher ups, of the enhancers in the citizens more recent generations. Each generation picks a trait to better upon, to create a better source of genes for the next generation and so on and so forth, etcetera- go forth and prosper why don’t they just? I had Alpha stumped and for that I felt a sense of pride, I had confused a walking computer, which I had programmed and thus I had confused my own work- not something to be so very proud of.


“Christie we must depart now, I have some more programs to test and other lies.”
Christie remained still caught up in her own words that I could practically see them floating around her, but I knew she hadn’t turned on that particular app, she only did so when she wanted to see her own words while trying to edit a speech for trying to buff the Elders of the Care-Takers. I pushed past the electromagnetic door she had programmed to open and close at intervals to create a sense of eerie awe so visitors would believe her ghost stories. The program was simple enough, just a loop or a set timer depending on her mood and her sense of wickedness.

Alpha stood beside me as we passed the white gates and left the field of the Higher houses and entered the realm of the Bees. There is a hierarchy in the living arrangements, a hierarchy in the lab at work, and there is a hierarchy all over the country. It’s as plain to see as the enhancements that seem to be filtering around, spilling the streets with black-market deals and under the table procedures. The world is a scary place when the chance to be better is available but not granted to all, the land of the free or the land of the selfish, take your pick for what you want to call it.
~*********************************************************************~


“When are you going to show up Missy- being fashionably late is one thing but…”

“I am almost there; I just had to send back the delivery screen.”

“Why would you do that, here I am trying to be helpful and you cancel it?”

“I am not wearing a flame for a gown.”

“They are only sparklers.”

“They are packed with enough chemicals that it makes the Station’s labs blush.”

“Picking up some civilian I see.”

“It’s a tad hard not to when you keep slandering it around in my environment.”

I turned the com off my glasses and looked myself over in the visa-screen; my spiraled hair was up in twisted knot of platinum locks and mother of pearl ribbons, the dress I had decided on is rustic civilian undoubtedly what with being backless and featureless. I would be the plainest person there, but Alpha would be the star anyways.


“Are you ready to engage in a real function of human interaction?”

“Do I have much of a choice?

“Well then, give you a nice change of clothes and you refer to yourself as I.”

“Is that wrong?”

“No, but it will be improper.”

“Noted and shall be used for further behavior.”
My programs were still working regardless of the mass of jumbled pieces floating around inside it. I would be having a nice word or two with the previous programmers in this matter, one of them has to be the culprit for the sticky code.


“Mishca, this Model has a request for further evaluation.”

“Model 33Alpha the programs you have running are of the best work possible.”

“There is an error in the coding for the amount of visual granted.”

“I didn’t work on your visuals.”

“Already known, that is why this robot would like further evaluation.”

“Your programs are fine Alpha, just because I didn’t create them does not…”

“Your programming is the fewest fault lined coding that this robot has had.”

“That is almost…sweet Alpha, but I will not stall any longer.”
I used my visa-screen com to send for transportation, the screen is slick with electrically sweat and the imprint of nervous rubbing, leaving almost transparent indents on both the com button and the very back of the sheet of pure charged ions. The very buzz of the screen is seductive, calling me to devote my attention to its thrill of clicks and to its hum of love. The hum of love that filled me since I was younger, the very hum that made sense of my life and guided me to this moment now.


The Byke arrived in only a few seconds after I had com-called it, in a flash of swimming pink with shots of unearthly yellow it came to the front of the apartment and opened its very doors to me and Alpha. Another piece of machinery with intricate programs similar to that of If-Then-Else style of coding, the Byke sent me a buzz to my com on my visa-screen to alert me of its presence.


“Are you ready Alpha?”

“Is it not more concerning if you are ready, since this robot is programmed.”

“You could still be downloading your programming.”

“Mishca you install and code this model directly without a second appliance.”

“Just because the program is being put on the drive directly does not mean that it is uploaded and ready to run.”

“It is time to go programmer.”

“Off to be further evaluated.”

“That is why this model asked for earlier.”

The puffs of skirts with wire detailing littered the electrical black running floor, liters of fragrant drink must had been bought for everyone’s breath smelled of perfume and their body also seemed to reek of a similar scent but with individualization of enhancements for some and for others simple sprays or human responses.


“What a charming young man that is.”

“A sight for coloring eyes, a programmer with a higher up!”
The voices spread around like a virus in a closed population, seeping around until it affected everyone with no immunity available in any form of salvation. The painted lips and the crafted ones as well all enunciating similar words and phrases.


“Alfie, refer to yourself in first person.”

“Are you speaking to this model?”

“Follow instruction and proceed with your previous programming.”

“As you wish, I shall engage in your orders.”
The floor swallowed the words around us as the night went on, filled with more and more talk about the new toy to arrive and the abstruse enhancer amongst them that was claimed by all to be a distant connection to the top of the Elders or a member of the Delphic group.

“Am I such a conundrum to them?”

“You are a question but one they are willing to answer themselves.”

“Incorrectly answering the question of what I am.”

“Could be you are only hearing those due to your limited audio receivers.”

“My audio receivers are not limited; it is my visual intake that is reduced.”

“Which is not my job to fix, I am only for behavior.”

“My behavior is dependent upon my intake of my environment.”

“Your point is made and noted but thusly being ignored.”

“Obviously, but may this Model make another inquisition?”

“Only if you use first person Alfie will I answer you.”

“I shall then, why am I not allowed a form of epidermis such as you?”

“You are not human.”

“Being human is what determines one having a protective covering?”

“You have a protective covering aside from the skin and silicone grafts.”
Alpha’s eyes swirled around in what could be described as crisp agitation, I did not feel like being blatant about the situation for the sole reason of not being knowledgeable myself over the question. The question was one that had troubled me since the beginning of my obsession, but one I had pushed aside like a piece of scrap memory and fleeting curiosities like utter trash and at the same time pure euphoria.


“Do you even know Mishca?”

“It’s custom to call me Missy.”

“Should I be taking notes as well then?”

“I do not know.”

“Do not know if I should be taking notes or about the protective covering?”

“Dance with me Alfie.”
My vision pivoted with intricate stars of white and prisms of pink and purple- coating my eyes with pseudo crystals and crushed garnets from the sun. The strong mechanism of an arm was wrapped firmly around my silver circled waist, holding me in a grip that rivaled that of the pull of the Earth itself. My eyes slowed to a still and focused on the image of a noble man in front of me, close enough to hear the whirs and taste the tang of metal floating in the air. Alpha stood at a height of two hundred centimeters without the added bit from the dress shoes I had to send out for through my visa-screen, he loomed above me by at least forty centimeters and was wide enough to wrap around me and hide my growing anxiety from any view.


“May I inquire again something my programmer?”

“You already are but if you must, please ask me what it is that’s plaguing you.”

“Why is it I am not the only one without a heart beat in this room?”
I couldn’t spare a breath to the room let alone take one for myself.


“I will answer if you answer me something then Alpha.”

“What would that be then?”

“Why did you insult Christie when it came to me?”

“I do not know. I felt as if it was programmed into me.”

“I did not program you, code you, or anything as such.”

“Someone did.”

“Tell me who.”

“Tell me why I sense no heart beat from many members in here.”

“I can’t talk about it alright!”

“And the sentiment is returned.”
My jaw tensed, straining against the pressure of both the tissue about to tear from me crunching my mouth closed and from the frustration with the robot. It is not programmed by anyone but the best, those approved by the Elders and watched over by the Care-takers. Who could have messed with its codes enough so that I couldn’t even decipher what was being commanded to happen; I could not figure out what Alpha was programmed to do, and that was what frightened me the most.


“Mishca I…”

“Well look here, Missy brought a little friend along.”

“…”

“Ah cat gotcha tongue sweetie? What a catch, he’s silent and handsome.”
The tension in my jaw did not lessen but my projection of it did.


“Hello Christie, how are you this lovely evening?”

“Why I am just fine, but you seem to be busy perhaps we can talk later honey.”

“That is unnecessary but acceptable if you wish.”

“I just have one teensy question, where is the bucket of tin?”

“It is being run under diagnostics before being registered here.”
In this world of High ends, everyone has two faces; one face is for the public, a face to show that they are humorous and nothing like the oppressive Elders without a word truly said regarding it. The other face is the one that shows when the rules have been pushed; the face is the reincarnation of support for the choices made long ago in times of troubled need and hatred harbored deeply. Purple swirling eyes turned to me from all corners of the glittery floor and starry ceiling, all enhanced to be perfect so they could all share the same look of questioning loftiness.


“We already know Mishca. It is truly incredible what you have done.”

The smooth purr of Rick’s voice infiltrated my ears and drove into my brain, pounding on the back of my eyes and spurring my head to lower in apprehension.


“You have created a near perfect personality; it is so very real- isn’t it?”

“What can I say; I have a lot of free time.”

“But you don’t do you, you are required to spend your whole life spent working for us, doing the programming for this Model- well it made your existence worth it did it not? All those hours groveling around at the meters, or picking at the visa-screens and preening your little P.U. pets for show, all for Alpha.”

“I…”

“I told you to not to get attached, and Christiana told you no to the skin grafting.”

“Why.”

“Simply because you were told not to.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You pressed with your little heart to your full capabilities, beat yourself up over a little mishap and still went around us.”

“Why is it so wrong, what is in his programming!”

“It’s he now is it; you really did get attached to a bucket of metal Chica. The only thing that is in there that was not programmed into him by one of you robo-lovers is what is always there.”

“And what is that then?”

The purple filled me; my eyes, my thoughts, even my throat, the purple kept filling me until I was gasping to escape the metallic whirring of them and the obsession it seemed to be clinging to my life.


“Why the very same thing we all share Missy.”

“Christie’s right Chica, we all share what is in the programming in him.”

“I always knew that filling your head with all those numbers would lose you.”

“She’s not lost, just confused Christie, Missy is just confused about it all.”

“Then tell me you air filled neuron High-ends, inform me of my mistake.”
I stood my ground in the pale shimmering gown, trails of silver and liquid diamonds surrounded me in a blanket of protection as that of my very skin.


“Temper, temper Missy.”

“I think it’s time for Chica to be dismissed.”
With those final words a sense of masochistic joy over-filled me, similar that of the purple of every one of the eyes around me. It was over, my work was finished and that was all that really mattered. I finished the perfect model of humanity in a robot. Now it was my turn to be dismantled and reprogrammed.