Autonomously Yours: The Life of a Compandroid

By K. N. Parker

Meet Sally: A fully-functioning-female-human-imitation-android, the world's most lifelike automaton. Her physical appearance and her entire personality can be augmented with a simple change in programming. She can be anything and anyone you want her to be.

She's the first of her kind, created as a companion for the lonely men of the world, by Dr. Harold Okamura, a lifelong ambition for him. But, doing so breaks the first law of modern robotics, an offense punishable by imprisonment. Good thing for Harold, then, Mr. Jerrald Axel, the money-hungry CEO that commissioned Sally's creation, is powerful enough to skirt such laws. But that’s not the only problem on the horizon. In fact, it’s the least of Dr. Okamura’s troubles.

Before Sally can be brought to market, she has to go through a trial period. Dr. Okamura and his faithful android servant, Cran, monitor Sally as she is tested by three clients––all men of very questionable motives.

Autonomously Yours is an allegorical Science Fiction story of relationships, emotions and tragedy, as told, literally, through the eyes of the world’s first Compandroid.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K. N. Parker
• Release date: Jan 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310118210

K. N. Parker

K. N. Parker is a simple man in his thirties, and was born and raised in Los Angeles, California. He is currently working on a full-length novel and two more short stories. He shares heritages with two countries: America and Japan, and he spends his time between the two whenever possible. When in his late teens he thought it proper to teach himself Japanese, and so he did, and now can communicate with you in two ways, if applicable. When not writing or creating trouble in various coffee shops throughout the world, he enjoys graphic design, television, and film.

Book preview

AUTONOMOUSLY YOURS

The Life of a Compandroid

By

K. N. PARKER

Cover Illustration

By

K. N. PARKER

Reader Praise for K. N. Parker’s The Death of Death

…The author uses a poetic prose as he pulls you into not only the story, but also the characters… This story touched me in many ways, and I am so glad that I stumbled upon it.

I ended this book with tears in my eyes as I read the last few words in the last chapter… I have given The Death of Death five stars as it so very much deserves.

It is a story about self-discovery, love and compassion. It is incredible.

I stumbled across this by accident and will certainly seek out more by this author… Try this short story, and then read it again. I've fallen in love with it.

Wonderfully done! A tiny story with a large heart and soul, I enjoyed every word and await new works from Mr. Parker.

Death made beautiful. Enough said.

LOOK FOR IT ON SMASHWORDS TODAY!

Copyright © 2015 by K. N. Parker

Cover Art Copyright © 2015 by K. N. Parker

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE: The Unveiling

CHAPTER TWO: Enter, Amber

CHAPTER THREE: Trash

CHAPTER FOUR: Going Forward

CHAPTER FIVE: Enter, Patricia

CHAPTER SIX: Endearment

CHAPTER SEVEN: Dinner with Sharron

CHAPTER EIGHT: Dessert

CHAPTER NINE: It’s Not Her

CHAPTER TEN: A Calm Before A Storm

CHAPTER ELEVEN: Just A Robot

CHAPTER TWELVE: Enter, Clancy

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Unimpressive

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Broken

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Aftermath

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: For Sally

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Special thanks to Summer, Dante, Tiana, Nicole and Omar.

You can do a puzzle alone, but it is far less fun than when doing it with others.

CHAPTER ONE

The Unveiling

On the elevator ride up to Mr. Axell’s office I couldn’t help but to continue to think, did I get her breasts right?

I put the question to Cran, the large shiny piece of metal that shared elevator space with me that morning.

"I don’t have any real world experience with breasts to accurately say with 100 percent certainty, but, from what I’ve been able to visually ascertain from various interactions with women, and from what information I’ve collected until this point they appeared to be more than above average in quality," he answered me reassuringly.

"But, is that not irrelevant, sir? Can they not be augmented to the client’s specific preferences and sensibilities?"

You’re correct, was all I said.

The elevator ride to Mr. Axell’s office was long. His office was on the top floor of a building with 235 floors, the third largest structure in the city. The ride would be quick, regardless, but it did give me just enough time to give the project some last thoughts before the unveiling.

I asked another question.

Did I calibrate her correctly?

"Excuse me, sir?"

She had that problem, remember? Where the grip strength of her left hand was significantly stronger than that of her right. Did I take care of that?

"I believe that problem was handled with three months, five days, eight hours, forty-seven minutes and fifty-seven seconds ago, sir. Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, forty-eight minutes now, sir."

Okay. But, are you really sure?

"I suppose I could be wrong. But I believe that I am not. You programmed me to be accurate about these things."

I have this nagging feeling that I didn’t, though. Squeeze my hand, I suddenly requested, sticking my hand out in front of him.

"Sir?"

Squeeze it as hard as you can.

"I don’t believe that is something I should do, sir. I possess the ability to crush every bone in your hand. That is not an exaggeration."

Then squeeze it as hard as you can just short of crushing every bone in it, I pushed. He hesitated just slightly before he complied with my request. He stuck out his hand and took mine, and before I knew it I blacked out for the shortest of moments. I came to a second or two later in the kneeling position looking up at him.

"And what was the point of that, sir?" he asked me, perplexed.

I wanted to test out your strength, I said, as I brought myself back to my feet, rubbing my sore hand. You can’t be sure of something unless you experience it for yourself. I certainly hope you’re right about her. If your grip is any indication some clients might be in trouble.

I started to inspect his metallic body, grasping his arms and shoulders, checking for dents in his skull.

"Sir?"

I’m sorry. I just… I worry about quality. Did I program her correctly? Did I make her durable?

I thumped his chest with my finger.

This alloy, I helped make this, you know?

"I’m aware, sir."

I wonder, can you hold up to large of amounts of physical trauma? If you were in a firefight could you hold up?

"I can’t imagine any scenario in which I’d be in a firefight, but if I were I have a large amount of confidence that the metallic skin you’ve given me would keep me beyond well protected. You’ve built me quite strong, sir," he said, knocking his fist against his head making an amusing clanking sound that made me laugh when I heard it.

I turned around and looked out through the glass window of the elevator at the cityscape passing my view as it was bathed in early morning sun. It looked very optimistic.

Am I doing right by her? Sally, I mean? I asked him.

"I do believe if she were here that she would be very proud of what you’ve accomplished," he answered.

I want to believe you, I really do.

"I detect high levels of concern in your tone of voice, sir. Is something troubling you?"

I’m just a tad nervous, that’s all, I told him.

But I was lying. I was extremely nervous.

The first rule of the set of laws the Bureau of Robot Rules and Regulations put out states: "No artificial humanoid robotic creation shall be made so realistic that it cannot be indistinguishable, verbally or physically, from the human form." These rules were set in place when, a few decades back, millions of elderly citizens worldwide were swindled out of billions of dollars collectively, by a robot telephone scam. Indeed, it’s why my assistant appears aesthetically simple, looking as if a nine-year-old designed him––I did base his design off of drawings I did when I was that age.

It’s also why he speaks the way he does, calling me sir and such. I had much preferred that he wouldn’t as it was such an archaic way of address, but I had to comply with the rules.

Which is why I was so worried about this project––I would willingly be breaking the law. But Mr. Axell’s proposal provided an opportunity for me too enticing to pass up. Plus, with his might, I felt that I needn’t worry too much about repercussions should any problems arise.

As the elevator reached the top floor, we exited pulling out a large metal container with us. There was a woman sitting at a desk in front of a wide door and a very comfortable looking couch. The placard on her desk read Mrs. Smith. She looked very pleasant.

Good morning. You must be Doctor Okamura, she said to me with an attitude so cheery, that it gave a little boost to my mood, which was convenient because it was something I sorely needed.

That would be me. But how did you know?

What kind of half-assed assistant do you think I am? I do my research. I don’t need to be replaced by one of your models just yet, she said with playfulness in her voice.

Oh, I didn’t mean to––

"I’m just kidding. But I have been looking forward to seeing what you have for us for a while. Very intriguing. Maybe you’ll work on a male version if this all goes well."

That would be something worth looking into, I said.

Please, you two have a seat. I’ll let Mr. Axell know you’re here.

She pressed a finger to her desk and said, Mr. Axell, your 8 o’clock is here.

We had not sat down for but a second before a disembodied voice said, Let them in. And tell them to leave it outside for now.

I looked at Mrs. Smith, slightly confused as to what he meant by, ‘it.’

The container, she said, clearing it up for me. You can go in now.

We stood up and walked to the door, but hesitated before we opened it.

You can go in. Your prints are verified if that’s the worry, she said, again, but I still didn’t budge.

Are you okay, Doctor Okamura?

Just a little nervous. First unveiling and all, I said.

I’m sure it’ll be fine. I think it’s a really exciting project, she said. Her words were calming, reassuring.

Thank you, Mrs. Smith, I said, and I put my hand on the security plate, opening the doors to a darkened room.

We stepped in apprehensively. I was able to make out an outline of three men standing in the middle of the room.

Stay there, one of the silhouettes said. Watch this.

Suddenly, a holovideo was being projected in midair. It depicted various women lying across couches seductively talking about the end of the age of lonely men, and similar heavily vague hyperbole. I wasn’t quite sure of what I was being shown so none of it clearly registered in my mind, but one of the actresses in the video looked familiar. It seemed very rough, very… sleazy.

After the video played the dimming feature of the window dissipated and let in some light, unveiling the owners of the silhouettes: two of them were very large and intimidating. They flanked a smaller man I recognized standing in between them. He waved them off and they left the room, not bothering to acknowledge Cran and me.

That was the promotional commercial we plan to run very soon to investors and potential clients. What did you think of it? Mr. Axell asked me. I tried to answer as honestly as possible.

It’s very, um, very–– was all I was able to awkwardly spit out before I realized that his question was rhetorical. He cut me off mid sentence.

It’s not final, of course. We’re still working out the kinks. As you see, we are missing quite a bit of footage that we had to fill in with crude acting and tepid voice over, provided by our Mrs. Smith out there. Decent secretary, horrible actress.

I didn’t make it a habit of laughing at other people’s expenses, especially someone so sweet, but I had the feeling that if I didn’t react to everything he did or said he would pull all of my funding, and start the project over with someone else, so I smirked.

"For the official product name we’re calling it a ‘Compandroid,’ he said, Wonderful name, isn’t it?" He did not ask for me for my opinion on the title.

Mr. Takamaka––

Um, Okamura.

What?

My name. It’s Okamura, not Takamaka. I corrected him. The name ‘Takamaka’ does not exist in the Japanese name vault, no matter how closely it might resemble one just because it contains the same syllabary. But he didn’t care. Why should he correctly remember my name? We had only met once before, briefly, at a meeting when he explained what he wanted and threw money at me before sending me on my way to realize this for him. I was just a walking dollar sign to him.

He looked at me as if I were crazy for interrupting him before he corrected his expression and apologized.

I’m sorry. Mr.... Okamura.

He paused for a second as if to allow me a moment to confirm the correction. It was less-than-subtle sarcasm. I wanted to correct him on the suffix as well––I didn’t spend twenty-five years studying in the world of robotics, and ultimately achieving my doctorate in advanced robotics and engineering to be referred to as mister by some CEO at some possibly corrupt company, especially when I’m doing work for them related to my field of expertise––but I said nothing. I nodded and he continued.

Mr. Okamura, I don’t think I have to tell you how excited I am by your presentation today. I’ve left you alone for the past couple months, by your request, to perfect her, and I do hope you’ve perfected her. I’m expecting quite a bit from you now.

The words that flowed from his mouth at that moment felt threatening. I was intimidated––no, scared is the more accurate word. I’ve heard stories of people working on projects commissioned by Axell Products Incorporated, making mistakes and never being heard from again. Horrible baseless rumors designed by liberal opponents and protesters to discredit him and his company no doubt, but no less affective in their objective.

You’ve had sexual relations before, correct Mr. Okamura?

I felt insulted that a grown man would ask another grown man that kind of question, but as I still looked like a stereotypical nerd––unkempt hair, slightly dumpy appearance, and glasses, the mark of a true dork, and the fact that I’m Asian––it wasn’t out of the ordinary. It was the year 2116, one hundred and sixty some odd years after the first usage of the word ‘nerd’ and it still carries with it the stigma of a sexless human male.

But more importantly, what was he getting at? I didn’t want to answer but I did anyway.

Yes.

Then I assume you must be familiar with the concept of delayed sexual gratification as well?

I was feeling more than a little uncomfortable at this point. I quickly answered, Yes, hoping that this conversation would reach its conclusion sooner rather than later.

He made the long trek back to his desk at the end of his office. As I understood it, I was the first one to visit since the completion of its renovation. It was unnecessarily large and hugely artificial, just like this man’s personality. It wouldn’t have surprised me if he were compensating for a lack of something larger elsewhere in his life––physically or mentally.

As he made it back to his desk and poured himself a drink. He lifted his glass in an attempt to offer me one, the glint from his glass as the morning sunlight hit it for a moment blinded me as he did. I suspected he had done that on purpose. He must have known it was difficult for me to see him perform this gesture due to the distance between us and the amount of back light provided by the sun shining through the ridiculously large window behind him that drowned out his image. I declined, to his delight no doubt. He wouldn’t have to waste his valuable alcohol on me.

After he took a swig of whatever type of libation filled his glass, he continued.

You must be wondering––if I’m so eager to see your creation––why then am I waiting so long to have you show it to me.

A bit, yes. I answered shortly.

Well, I liken this to delayed sexual gratification.

I really, really wanted him to reach his point.

I so want to see your creation very badly, Mr. Okamura. But, as I see the silhouette of it just behind my door, I don't know how much longer I can wait. If you’ll allow me to continue with the metaphor…––I didn’t see what other choice I had––…all these days, weeks, and months of waiting have been like the physical act of copulation itself, and I see this morning as the culmination of said act. The point of….

He paused for a second. I don’t have the proof, but I felt as if he wanted to say the word ejaculation, but he did not.

…Euphoria, was what he spoke instead.

He might as well have said ejaculation.

So, I’m going to walk to my chair and sit and finish my drink. And when I do I’m going to sit this glass on this table. And when I do it will make the sound of glass hitting wood.

I knew he was speaking in that manner for effect, but it felt like he was describing it to an infant. His tone was unmistakably condescending. I don’t think he had experience speaking to scientists, or, to humans for that matter. That, or he just didn’t give a care how he spoke to adults.

And when you hear that sound, that will be your signal to open that door and bring her in to meet me. Do you understand the sequence of events, Mr. Okamura?

Again, I know he spoke that way for effect, but I still