Talk to a Real, Live Girl and Other Stories

By Paul Clayton

Alex has fled a broken marriage and a dysfunctional society on Earth. Landing on the mining planet, Kratos, known to its male work force as "Boyz Wurld," he hopes to lose himself in hard work, drinking, and the illusion of female companionship provided by sexbots. Will that be enough? In time, Alex finds himself longing to Talk to a Real, Live Girl. Predictably, there are not many on Kratos. Then he finds Traci, as well as the dream of a new beginning back on Earth—a normal life—if only the forces controlling Kratos will permit it.

 

A genuine love story, Talk to a Real, Live Girl explores consequences of a war of the sexes run amok, and of adaptations brave individuals may be forced to make.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Clayton
• Release date: May 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781386498698

Book preview

TALK TO A REAL, LIVE GIRL

I

Under the glare of the Space Transport Center lights, Alex glided along on the people-mover and thought about the fact that this trip had only aged him a few minutes, but his little girl was now six months older—six more months without knowing her father. That hurt. Groggy from his chemically-induced long-sleep, he stepped off the mover. He picked up his duffel bag, threw it over his shoulder, and started walking. He had arrived on Kratos, commonly known as Boyz Wurld, to begin a six-month work contract with the Diamond Mining Corporation.

A deep rumble vibrated his feet and he turned. Beyond the gleam of one of the sky domes, the ship that had brought him lifted off. He paused to watch, thinking philosophically that this assignment represented more than an escape from his personal problems and the rapidly-changing cultural kaleidoscope and endless political bickering of America-on-Earth. If he played his cards right, it could be a new beginning. The trauma and pain of his divorce had already scabbed over, but the daughter he’d had to leave behind was another matter. But now at least he had a chance to numb himself with a regimen of hard work, sleep, and drink. He’d tried life the other way, the way his grandfather had insisted he experience it—being responsible and real, and fighting the good fight—seemingly to no avail. What had Grandpop always said? — You can’t beat real, Alley! Yeah. Well, maybe back in his day. But today’s real had beaten the hell out of him. Now he would try another way.

The ship went out of view and he turned away. The telecom device embedded in the inside of his left arm beeped. It already knew he wanted to find the Tube station that would take him to the employee housing tower of DMC. The arrow indicated the portal just ahead. The other travelers that had gotten off his ship whisked by on the people mover, watching him with curiosity as he walked along carrying his duffel bag. His device beeped again—Entry to the Tube via gate M.

He walked through a mall-like complex of restaurants, bars and arcades, the words FUN TOWN emblazoned on jumboscreens high above. Riderless mechanical bulls bucked and spun in their padded corrals, a wall of chromed slot machines glittered, their screens flashing blurs of colored light, and a beer garden with tables, chairs, and faux awnings, fronted a vast, black glass wall. There weren’t many customers and Alex assumed the place would be much busier after working hours.

A half dozen sexbots attempted to entice the thinning line of travelers gliding by on the people mover. Although stunningly-beautiful, with perfect bodies, the sexbots were Betas, not super high-intelligence, top-of-the-line Alphas. Mostly female, they were immediately identifiable by their gushing attraction to even the most unappealing males. Several of them winked or posed provocatively for Alex. He smiled his disinterest and kept walking; the trip had exhausted him. Just before he exited the mall, a large splash of color swirled across the black glass wall. A banner took form: TALK TO A REAL, LIVE GIRL! A young Earth woman, stunning in her imperfection, appeared and looked directly at Alex in real time. Entranced by her face, he stopped in his tracks. When his eyes met hers, she looked down and the image faded.

Alex reached the Tube as a car hissed into the station. He stepped inside and the door closed. The car rocked gently through the dark tunnel from one station to another. A female voice said, This is your stop, Alex. He exited and took the elevator to the twelfth floor and walked to his assigned apartment. Touching his ring to the reader, he let himself in to find a small living room with a vid-screen, couch, coffee table, as well as a kitchenette, a tiny bedroom and bathroom. He looked at the bed. He wanted to just lie down and close his eyes before he fell down, but first—

He opened his suitcase and took out a tissue-wrapped bundle. He carefully unwrapped it and set it on the coffee table. Framed in silver with cloisonné pink and white flowers, his daughter, Marina, stood in her crib looking out at him, innocent wonder in her eyes. He stared at the picture for a few moments, then unpacked his gamebox and put it on the table next to the picture. He lay down fully dressed and immediately fell asleep.

––––––––

Alex woke late, skipped breakfast, and quickly got ready to report to Personnel. As he hurried about, he thought about the Fun Town distractions and the real girl, if that’s what she was. A last look in the bathroom mirror informed him that he had a small fray in his collar. He quickly changed his shirt and headed for the elevator.

The bot receptionist directed him to Conference Room Three. He entered and found the other new hires already seated, all of them young males. He took one of the two remaining seats, exchanging nods with a tall, muscled young man on his right. At the front, an effeminate-looking, suited bot leaned nonchalantly on the podium, his posture evidently intended to put the crowd of young men at ease. Most of the attendees talked softly as they waited for the presentation to begin.

You didn’t miss anything, said the man at Alex’s right in a cowboy twang. Randy said there were two more coming. You’re one and the other hasn’t showed.

Alex looked at him. You new here too?

Hell no. This is my fifth contract. But every time you sign on you have to go to orientation.

The door hissed open and a young black man entered and took the other empty seat. The suited bot straightened and tapped the microphone. Good morning, gentlemen, and welcome to your DMC orientation. I am Randy and I’ll give you all the mundane details of what to expect over the next week or so. Then Donald Banks, CEO of DMC, will say a few words to you.

Dandy Randy, said Alex’s neighbor in a whisper. The joyboy toy. Bots sure have come a long way, ain’t they?

Alex offered him a polite smile, then returned his attention to Randy.

Alex’s neighbor leaned over again. My name’s Walker Johnson, but you can call me Tex

Randy the bot looked briefly, but not accusingly, in Alex and Tex’s direction. He twisted the microphone, pulling it up a few inches, then turned to point to a flow chart on the screen behind him.

Alex turned quickly to Tex. My name’s Alex, but you can call me Alex.

Tex chuckled. All right Hoss, whatever you say.

As many of you may know, Randy said, our founder, Sinclair Banks, was quite interested in, and respectful of, what has become known on Earth as ‘heretical science.’ He commissioned several such studies to determine what socio, sexual, racial mix of workers would be best suited for his venture on the planet Kratos... The men in the hall quieted, their interest captured. And all of the studies concluded that for the kind of work required—hard, dirty, dangerous—on an uncomfortable, desert-like planet, the best workforce would be exclusively young and male.

Randy paused, gesturing broadly. Look around you, gentlemen! This is positively a mid-nineteenth century, Wild, Wild West demographic. A work force like this would never be tolerated on America-Earth, where ‘the women rule and the men drool.’

Raucous applause erupted with hoots and fist pumps.

Back there they can have man-free zones, Randy continued, but what we do here would be considered illegal ...

Angry boos and shouts filled the room.

However, Kratos is a long, long way from America-Earth, beyond the reach of its courts and governing bodies.

The men cheered, hooted and hollered.

Alex struggled to continue paying attention, but, like blood from a slashed artery, his consciousness seemed to be pouring out. He thought back to the man that had shot him up with the time-released, deep-sleep drugs for transport. The man had seemed distracted, talking with another man. Could he have maybe given him too much?

Randy droned on about work rules, schedules, and accommodations. Alex struggled to remain focused, but his head drooped lower and lower until he fell asleep. Another burst of