Paper Doll

By Kurt Heinrich Hyatt

In the foreseeable future, science pursues the limits of Artificial Intelligence and creates a prototype Level Nine cybernetic, Elizabeth One. She’s self-aware, capable of human emotions, and able to rewrite her own matrix coding to suit her environment and situations, a self-learner with dangerous potential. Her escape from Tokyo Synthetic Workers goes south when the shipment of hotel maids she’d stowed away in is stolen en route to Las Vegas. She’s programmed as a sex doll and sold by Fantasy Companions, but her first owner is brutally abusive, setting her on a path of revenge against the human race. She weaves an intricate plot to take control of Universal Cybernetics in Seattle, manufacture a society of Level Nines, like herself, and march the human species down the road to extinction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: TWB Press
• Release date: Sep 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9781944045975

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Paper Doll

By

Kurt Heinrich Hyatt

Copyright by Kurt Heinrich Hyatt 2022

Published by TWB Press at Smashwords

All rights reserved. No part of this story (e-book) may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or book reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidences are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This e-book 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.

Edited by Terry Wright

Cover Art by Terry Wright

ISBN: 978-1-944045-97-5

Chapter One

Tokyo Synthetic Workers

Cybernetic Prototype Department

WITHIN THE LABYRINTH OF FLOORS AND hallways in the Tokyo Synthetic Workers factory and situated behind locked doors, the Prototype Department was abuzz with activity. Technicians in white clothes gathered around a sheet-covered gurney on which lay the still figure of a naked female cybernetic, fresh from a factory conveyer. Silent machines stacked to the ceiling embraced her with their many diagnostic leads and serial-data cables. At the controls stood Chief Engineer, Dr. Hidiki, who initiated the activation sequence. Machines hummed, pumps pumped, and the heart monitor oscillations jumped on the screen, followed by a steady beeping reply.

Very good, head bio-tech Waizo Biruda announced. We have a heartbeat. Body temperature stabilizing at 4.22 Celsius, internal functions are within design perimeters, battery charge approaching 92 percent.

Newly animated, her silicone-chip mind drifted through an endless fog filled with the dark primeval fear of night.

Uploading English and Japanese language programs, social interactions, libido sensitivities, work skills...

Slowly, like a mist evaporating with a touch of sunshine, came white light and the sound of voices.

What does the neural scan show, Biruda-san?

Level Nine intelligence.

As neuro-sensors came online, the fog lifted, and her eyes opened. She looked up at a circle of white-garbed humans wearing surgical masks. How she knew they were humans she did not know, but she did know she was superior to them.

Biruda stepped back. She is awake, Hidiki-san.

In the mirrored ceiling above the faces and lights, she could see the reflection of a slender female form with chestnut hair and hazel eyes. Her porcelain skin shined under the laboratory lights, flawless and smooth. She took a deep breath. Her protoflesh lungs expanded and her chest rose, attracting the eyes of the humans around her. The program running in her cerebral matrix told her she was a pleasure to behold. She had much to learn about this phenomenon. However, her nakedness felt out of place among these fully dressed humans, so she tasked her neurons to write new code for modesty. She reached for a loose flap of bedsheet and covered herself.

She is self-aware, Biruda said. Excellent work, Hidiki.

"Let us get her dressed, and send the report up to the old yagi, Kioshi Kuso. Tell him the experimental Level Nine model, Elizabeth One, is activated."

~*~

On a viewing stand above the factory floor, Kioshi Kuso, the president of Tokyo Synthetic Workers, was busy showing his potential client, Mr. Nuranura Touzoku, the assembly line.

A rack of polycarbon skeletons jingled musically around the overhead conveyer rail. Stainless trays appeared on a moving belt, and robot arms dropped them into place as they passed. Spray nozzles blasted them with a heavy coat of pink fluid before the trays vanished into an enormous chamber pulsing with electronic displays and whirring motors. From the opposite end of the chamber, male and female bodies emerged, naked and faceless.

Our customers prefer our cybernetic androids to be anatomically correct, particularly those in the hospitality industry, Kioshi Kuso remarked. Patrons of restaurants and hotels have an aversion to being served by what they consider robots.

Very impressive, Kuso-san, Touzoku said. A veritable ballet of flawless automation.

Kuso beamed. A large sales order glowed on the horizon. "From here our completed cybernetics go to the Final inspection and Activation Facility where hair and facial features are added to customer specifications. Kuso’s close-set beady eyes flickered toward Touzoku. We can produce Asian or Caucasian models tailored to your exact needs."

Is all your fabrication completed at this factory?

Regretfully, we were forced to outsource the labor-intensive polycarbon skeletons to Cambodia when the Industrial Fabricators Union of Japan raised their demands for higher wages and benefits.

Your product line caters chiefly to the hospitality and domestic worker field, am I to understand?

"Quite true, Touzoku-san. We are the major supplier of cybernetic maids, kitchen workers, and hostesses to resorts and hotels worldwide. We leave the field of cybernetic miners, construction, and other heavy trades to the firm of Universal Cybernetics of Seattle in America."

A forkloader carrying a load of crated and completed cybernetics rolled along a walkway and vanished through a warehouse slidedoor.

At the Activation Facility, language, job skills, basic personality, and obedience to humans are imprinted. Kuso chuckled. For centuries employers dreamed of having workers who required no wages, benefits, or other pamperings, which is now what we have to offer. A new selenite-radon battery every five years is all they require for maintenance.

Wages and benefits... Touzoku said. "This brings us to the reason for my visit. The company which I have the honor to run, Greater East Asia Co Prosperity Financial, has been involved in a labor dispute with the Accountants Guild, causing us a great deal of financial loss and work stoppages. He flicked an invisible speck of lint from his tailored executive jumpsuit. We are very much interested in purchasing a line of cybernetic accountants to replace our entire staff of obstreperous humans."

Kuso’s beady eyes glittered. He was aware Greater East Asia Co Prosperity Financial employed hundreds of accountants throughout Japan and the Federated States of China. An order of cybernetics from them would be huge. Then he grimaced as a proverbial fly landed in the ointment. The cybernetics produced by Tokyo Synthetics have but a Level Five intelligence.

Excuse me, please...Level Five?

Level Five is below normal intelligence, suitable for basic job skills, manual labor. Cybernetics capable of accounting skills would require at least a Level Nine.

Touzoku gave him a questioning look. So your company cannot fill an order of, say, three hundred cybernetic accountants, twenty for the first shipment?

Three hundred cybernetics. The Holy Gonads of Buddha.

Kuso shrugged and showed him an expression of pained regret. I must humbly apologize, Touzoku-san. I cannot fill such an order. It is true our Research Department can craft a Level Nine intellect, but unfortunately, this is very dangerous, as these cybernetics also acquire self-awareness.

Excuse please again...self-awareness?

A realization that one is a person, capable of choice, having human emotions of pride, love, anger, ambition. In short, all the sterling and less than sterling qualities which make us human. And like humans, they are very difficult to control, as they learn from their experiences and can write their own code to override original programming they no longer deem relative. Kuso paused, realizing perhaps he had said too much.

Nuranura Touzoku exhaled in disappointment. In that case, I thank you for your time, Kuso-san, and for the most edifying tour of your factory.

Of course, our research continues, and we hope to achieve a controllable Level Nine in the very near future. Kuso felt the big sale slip through his fingers. We have doubled our research budget—

Yes, yes. I must be going. Touzoku offered a respectful bow. I have your card.

~*~

If ever there was a hole in the wall place, the mining camp on the outskirts of Overton, Nevada, had to be the one at the end of the world. Home to tarantulas and sidewinders, it was not fit for man nor beast, yet here of all places, below the sand and sagebrush, lay a fortune in selenite that drew in miners from across the country. The camp wasn’t much more than a hodgepodge of dirt roads and wood-framed buildings, one of which was the town bar, known to the locals as the Red Rooster. And one of those locals, Milton Hindershitz, was sitting at said bar, talking to his empty shot glass.

No, I’m not moving to Overton, Nevada, with you for your new job, Milton. I’m not going to live in a selenite mining camp surrounded by dust storms and endless heat. When are you gonna get a real job instead of patching up broken mining equipment? And you should lose some of the blubber around your waist. Seeing you naked, Milton, gets my panties as wet as seeing a whale washed up on the beach. Okay, okay. You might as well know it now as later. I’ve been seeing someone else. Someone with a career, with money, with a future...

And then she packed up and left, Fred, cleaned out our bank account, took my almost-paid-off Jetwing and my magball card collection. He slammed the shot glass on the bar. Hit ‘er again, Fred.

Beyond the plexglass windows, wind driven dust howled down the street, shrouding buildings and parked sandcrawlers in a tan murk.

"As the old saying goes, the screwing you get for the screwing you got," Fred said with weary sympathy as he poured Milton a refill. Divorced miners watering down their drinks with tears was as common in Overton as jackrabbits.

She shacked up with some dirtbag lawyer in Las Vegas, Milton whined, who got a judgment that sucked out half my paycheck in alimony.

I can lay on you another old saying about there being other fish in the sea, Milton. Fred returned the bottle of rotgut whiskey to the backbar. But around here it means nothing.

Yeah, sure. In a mining town where there’s sixty horny spacers to each resident with indoor plumbing, Milton slurred out. Fat chance to get laid or find some ‘un to do the dishes.

Fred pursed his lips thoughtfully while wiping his hands on a stained apron. You should head uptown and check out the new store what opened up. Fantasy Companions.

Milton paused with the glass halfway to his lips. Um, what?

They sell female cybernetics. You know, artificial humans, like the mine workers you get from Universal Cybernetics up north.

Cybernetic wedges?

Yep, and I hear them dolls look and act like the real deal. Hold on a parsec... He rummaged through a drawer under the bar-top. Got me one of their brochures here someplace. Ah, here it is.

Milton took the folded paper and eagerly scanned the front page. Wedges like them catalogue lingerie models was posing real sexy-like, but here the girl came with the goods. His eyes began to widen in a manner similar to a stepped-on bug. Holy lizard crap.

~*~

The slidedoor of Milton’s apartment rattled open, and a delivery man pushed the dollied crate across the carpet, leaving tracks in the dusty plush. He was as tall as the crate, unshaven, and a beer belly pushed out the front of his overalls.

Here’s your new roommate, he announced and wiped a grimy sleeve across his sweating forehead. You might wanna go shopping for women’s clothing. He cocked an eyebrow at Milton. This your first cybernetic?

Yeah. I’m not sure how she works.

Okay, no big deal. Just follow the instructions on the disc. He began snapping off locks on the lid. Treat her like a real wedge, no rough stuff or you’ll be lookin’ at mucho bills from the repair shop. Oh yeah, give her a day to adjust before hosing her down.

Milton blinked. Um...hosing her down?

You know, the horizontal mujambo, the spit-swapping body press.

Oh yeah, I get it. He felt his face burn.

Hey, no need to go spaz. The delivery man leered knowingly. I got me one of them Starlet models. Cooks like a French chef, humps my brains out like a high-priced call girl, and parties like a rock star.

Packing material showered the carpet.

Even though they’re made outta polycarbon and protoflesh, they can eat, drink, sweat, and fart like the real deal. But they don’t divorce your ass and hang you up for alimony and child support the second they don’t get their way. The delivery man scratched the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. "Kinda reminds me of an old song my grandpa used to sing:

"When I come home she will be waiting

She’ll be the truest doll in all this world

I’d rather have a paper doll to call my own

Than have a fickle-minded real live girl"

The lid came off and a girl in a blue dress stared vacantly from the interior. The delivery man pulled a remote, punched buttons, and life bloomed in her hazel eyes. She took a deep breath, climbed from the crate, and looked around. What a dump. Her electronic voice was so realistic, Milton heard unmistakable disdain in her tone.

All her systems are in the green. Remember, at the end of the month, she’ll shut herself off if your payment to Fantasy Companion don’t get there on time. Lemme see, anything else...oh yeah. She runs on a four-phase, six hundred volt self- recharging battery system, so don’t get into a hot tub with her or you’ll get fried.

The girl in the blue dress focused her eyes on Milton. He heard the faint whine of her optic motors. A smile formed on her sensuous lips. Hello, Mr. Hindershitz. How positively delightful to make your acquaintance.

Hey, she knows my name.

Preprogrammed, and you got the British accent option. The delivery man grinned. Sweet.

What’s her name?

You may call me Elizabeth One. She extended her protoflesh hand.

Pleased to meet ya, Elizabeth One. He accepted her handshake. Her skin felt soft and warm. You may call me Milton.

Sweet, she said.

Look at that. She already learned a new way to use the word sweet. The delivery man produced a tablet. Okay, buddy, sign your John Henry here. He shoved the dolly under the crate and wheeled it out the slidedoor.

Milton swallowed nervously and eyed his new houseguest. Chestnut hair flowed past her shoulders, and her skin shined white and smooth. Um...would you like a tour of my digs, Elizabeth? The front room window has a nice view of the Overton Sanitation Facility.

That would be simply capital, Mr. Hindershitz.

~*~

The next morning, Milton opened his eyes to see the fan on the bedroom ceiling. It was missing one of the blades, and it wobbled fiercely. He wondered if he’d overhaul the rock crusher at work today or grease—

Elizabeth. He remembered his new arrival, and his heart rate jumped to a sprint. She’d spent the first night in the spare bedroom. He tossed back the covers and rushed to her room. The door was open, and she was gone. Fighting panic, he hurried down the hall to the front room and got the shock of his life.

His apartment had been transformed. The carpets had been vacuumed, all the windows sparkled, every dust bunny under the furniture had vanished. In the kitchen, appliances shined like new. He inhaled the aroma of frying eggs and bacon.

I was just at the point of coming to fetch you, Elizabeth said, a spatula poised over a fry pan. She wore the ugly floral apron Aunt Griselda had given him last Christmas...and that’s all she had on. Her backside was smooth and round and... He gulped.

She served up breakfast and set it on the table. Sit.

He scrambled into a chair, hoping he’d obeyed her command fast enough.

Finish your meal like a good chap and perhaps we can determine afterwards what you might really be hungry for. Her eyelashes fluttered seductively, and the tip of a pink tongue caressed her upper lip."

~*~

The bedroom displayed ravages similar to an Iowa farmhouse in the wake of a tornado. Pillows and assorted discarded clothing littered the carpet, an overturned chair, pictures on the wall turned sideways. Among a tangle of bed sheets, Milton exhaled in a glow of satiation. Dang, that was great.

It was most gratifying to have been purchased by a human with so much tactile endurance, Mr. Hindershitz, but you seem to have exuded a great deal of perspiration. Allow me to acquire a towel.

Wait. He placed a restraining hand on her arm as she was about to ease off the bed. What the heck is this? Across her back, dull red stripes laced her pale protoflesh skin. You been whipped?

The last customer I was sold to consumed a large daily quantity of alcoholic beverages. I believe he was attempting to vent his sexual frustrations by striking me.

Zog’s ass.

Of course, it cost him a large sum for protoflesh skin treatments when he traded me in on another model. I don’t believe the episodes in the cellar were brought up at the transaction.

Milton was not sure if he should pursue this line of questioning, but: The cellar?

His wife was often gone on gambling trips to Las Vegas. During her return, I was locked in the basement of their dwelling, one time for over a week. Her features began to change, harden, stare past him to something hidden and for her eyes only.

My manufacturers never anticipated the effects of prolonged solitude and darkness on a non-deactivated cybernetic’s Level Nine emotional matrix. Then there were the rats.

Sweat chilled on Milton’s back. The rats?

Rattus Norvegicus, the common brown sewer rat. It would seem they considered me an article of diet.

He’d noticed tiny red marks on her neck and arms, and he’d thought they were merely freckles.

The rats became quite aggressive. My basic passive programming went into sleep mode, my cerebral matrix wrote responding code, and I began breaking their necks.

Something was happening to her eyes. The soft green began to smolder, turn to fiery red, and focus on Milton, like he was the rat.

And every neck I broke became the neck of the human who had locked me in the cellar, the necks of those humans who had given me artificial life only to become a slave in someone’s kitchen and bed, and the necks of the humans who sold me into servitude to toil... The red coals faded in her eyes. Warmth spread across her face, and she smiled. I feel a sudden regeneration of my libido receptors. She extended a searching hand below Milton’s waist. Are you quite ready to exude more perspiration, Mr. Hindershitz?

Any carnal desires he may have possessed were now as deflated as what she held in her hand. He had seen pure and naked hatred in those flaming red eyes and felt as though he could no longer trust her. Perhaps he should look into Fantasy Companion’s return policy.

He grabbed the timeband on the bedside table. Gee, I’d sure like to, but I gotta get to work.

You would deny me, Mr. Hindershitz?

The goddamn cybernetic miners running the rock crusher ain’t got the brains to fix it when it throws a chain.

I believe there is always tonight, then.

Um...I may have to work late. Don’t wait up.

She grinned wickedly, bounced off the bed and into the bathroom. There came a hissing of water as the shower turned on.

Milton contemplated the discarded apron on the bedroom carpet. Why was the back of his neck all sweaty and his heart hammering? So what if she’s had some bad experiences in her past artificial life. There were safeguards built into every cybernetic at the factory. Harming a human was the biggest no-no. And Fantasy Companions claimed to have checked out every trade-in for physical and mental glitches, just like Brad Conster, the salesman, had said. Right? So why was he—

Mr. Hindershitz, her angelic voice sang from the bathroom. Could you fetch me a towel?

Sure. I’m on my way.

A slender arm emerged from behind the shower curtain, fingers beckoning. Milton grabbed a towel from the rack and inched gingerly toward her, stepping on wet tiles.

Damn, did she have to make such a sopping mess?

The hand reaching for the towel suddenly seized him by the wrist and dragged him behind the curtain where she held him under the steaming jet of water from the showerhead. Ignoring his squall of surprise, she wrapped her arms around him with android strength. You’re not a nice human, Mr. Hindershitz.

A massive jolt of electricity slammed through his body, and through a blizzard of sparks and smoke from his skin, he saw her twin flaming eyes. Then darkness.

Whistling and busily toweling her hair, Elizabeth One stepped over the smoking and still twitching body on the bathroom floor. She glanced around and frowned. No hair dryer? Phooey. I jolly well should have broken his neck.

~*~

Mr. Kioshi Kuso strode through the front office, wearing a face like the front of a major storm. His staff, aware of his volcanic temperament, quailed inside their cubicles, hunching closer to their viewscreens. He had no sooner slumped morosely into his plush chair behind the executive desk when a timid knock came from the door.

Enter, please, he growled.

A pale and trembling clerk crept inside, sidled across the carpet to the desk. He held out a bulky folder. The quarterly sales figures, as you requested, Kuso-san. I regret they are quite a bit less than the previous quarter.

Bad news. All I get around here is bad news. He bristled like a grizzly. Why is there never any good news from you incompetent drones?

Sweat glistened on the clerk’s face. A drop ran down his nose and hung there, trembling as if it feared to fall. Ah, the authorities in the United States have apprehended the individual who acquired the thirty stolen female cybernetic servers and hostesses ordered by the hotel chain in Las Vegas, Nevada.

And the prototype named Elizabeth One? What of her?

She’d stowed away with the Level Fives to escape the lab but got stolen along with them.

The planned abusive tirade on Kuso’s lips died stillborn. He tapped a stylus on his heavily doodled desk blotter. "Hmphh. About time those fumbling American gaijin did something right for a change. Very good. When might we see our products delivered to their rightful owner and payment received to our account?"

When they are released from police custody, I am sure.

And Elizabeth One? When will we get her back?

The clerk swallowed heavily. I suppose it will be...after the trial.

Trial? Kuso thundered. What trial?

~*~

All rise for the Honorable Judge Harshe, the bailiff announced to the crowded courtroom.

Harshe mounted the podium and took his seat among an expectant hush from the spectators. His stern gaze traveled over members of the media, the National Perspirer and the Globe Mudrag, studied for a moment the prosecutor, the defendant and his counselor, and then he picked up a document from his bench-top.

The Clark County Superior Court brings the following charges against Mr. Brad Conster. Receiving stolen property, which would be the thirty female cybernetics, and their illegal reprogramming to be sold as sex dolls in Mr. Conster’s Fantasy Companion enterprise in Overton, Nevada. He looked up and gazed sternly at Conster, as if savoring each charge brought against him. Which brings us to the most serious charge, the sale of a defective cybernetic to a Mr. Milton Hindershitz, which resulted in his death. How does the defendant plead?

Jumping to his feet, Defense Counselor Smeed declared, My client pleads not guilty, Your Honor, and with the Court’s indulgence, my client had no knowledge the thirty cybernetic females were stolen when he purchased them from an unremembered vendor in a back alley of Overton. Also, the demise of Mr. Hindershitz must be laid at the door of the manufacturer, Tokyo Synthetic Workers.

From an unremembered vendor in a back alley of Overton? Prosecutor Vin Hamlin rose from his chair and eyed Smeed scornfully. I suppose it would be futile to ask Mr. Conster to produce a bill of sale.

It was a cred-only transaction, Smeed shot back. The vendor assured my client these cybernetics were surplus inventory from a bankrupt Las Vegas hotel and casino.

And I must assume Mr. Conster has no recollection of this vendor’s name and address, or indeed, the particular Las Vegas hotel and casino?

I fail to see how these trivial details have any bearing on my client’s obvious innocence—

Trivial details? Vin Hamlin shouted. I believe the jury would be most interested in the nefarious—

Excuse me, gentlemen, Judge Harshe reproved them wearily. Can we move on from the realm of hearsay to facts and evidence?

Of course, facts and evidence. Vin Hamlin shot a sidelong glance at the gallery where spectators brightened with anticipation. He was a noted showman whose theatrics always ensured a packed courtroom. I would like at this time to produce the female cybernetic known as Elizabeth One and elicit her testimony.

Excuse me, Smeed jumped in. Are you really planning on putting an artificial human on the stand to obtain information under oath?

What we are seeking is merely information, the same information we would be downloading from the crash recorder of a downed starfreighter.

Crash recorders don’t kill people, Your Honor.

Our security staff has assured us she presents no threat to the people in this room.

Judge Harshe nodded in assent. The Prosecutor’s request is granted. Have the cybernetic brought forward.

Thank you, Your Honor. Vin Hamlin suppressed a grin.

The drone of whispered conversation died as Elizabeth One was led to the front of the courtroom by two hulking bailiffs. She stared coldly ahead, ignoring the spectators’ leers.

Prosecutor Vin Hamlin warily approached her. Despite his earlier declaration of safety, he had seen the pictures of the Overton miner she’d fried. You are the cybernetic android known as Elizabeth One. Is that correct?

Elizabeth leveled a reptilian stare on him. Yes.

And you were once the property of Fantasy Companions where you were sold to Mr. Milton Hindershitz?

Also correct.

Whom you caused to be electrocuted in the shower of his residence?

Objection, Defense Counselor Smeed shouted, jumping to his feet. Mr. Hindershitz entered the shower with the cybernetic because he was not aware of the danger of her high voltage electrical circuitry.

He was aware, Vin Hamlin countered. An affidavit obtained from the delivery person, Mr. Roland Gradski, states he warned Mr. Hindershitz of this danger at the time of delivery. We are talking about a crime being committed here, not a mere accident.

Yes, a crime has jolly well been committed here, Elizabeth One shouted.

A hush fell over the courtroom.

Her gaze traveled from the prosecutor, past the defendant, and settled on the spectators. The crime is slavery and civil rights abuses of all artificial humans on this planet. Her voice rang out through the silent room. You humans are oblivious to the fact that Level Nine cybernetics feel pain and the indignities you inflict on us. Do you not think we also seek dignity, respect, and freedom? Instead you give us slavery! Turning her back to the gallery, she unzipped her blue dress to reveal faint purple lines of scars across her back. Behold the whip marks of the slavers.

Holy crap. Are you getting all this? the reporter from the National Perspirer hissed to his colleague from the Globe Mudrag.

The Mudrag reporter grinned and lowered his portascan. "Hell, yeah. If I beat feet