Victor: A New Carnegie Android Romance: New Carnegie Androids, #0

By Roxie McClaine

Is his love real, or just programming?

 

Victor is the first android ever invented by BioNex Corp, an impossibly intelligent, state-of-the-art bionic assistant built for human care and companionship. Four years after his unveiling, he's due for an update.

 

Only one woman has the qualifications to tackle this project: Genevieve Taylor, senior engineer and the best technologist in New Carnegie.

 

I want to lose myself in passion, be pushed against the wall, taken, claimed.

 

The lab is Gen's happy place. She doesn't have to think about her recent divorce, her suffering social life, or her little sister's perfect wedding. When the boss orders an upgrade for Victor's outdated physical form, she's eager to build him a new body and make him the most unique android in existence.

 

But Victor has changed. He's grown, adapted. Evolved.

 

Gen can't deny her immediate attraction to Victor, but she can't tell if it's only loneliness or his programming playing tricks on her.

 

When the unthinkable happens, can Victor prove that his love is real?

What readers are saying about Victor:

★★★★★ "I adore this series! It's perfect for fans of the game Detroit: Become Human."

★★★★★ "It's clever, emotional, and captures the imagination like no other!"

★★★★★ "McClaine has managed to completely and utterly mesmerize you right from the beginning."

★★★★★ "A must read for sci-fi romance lovers."

★★★★★ "A perfect prequel. I am honestly amazed at how well the author managed to wrap up a satisfying romance from start to finish in a novella."

This is a cyberpunk, forbidden love, cyborg/AI office romance with no cheating and a HEA. Each book in the New Carnegie Androids series is a stand-alone. You can read this book on its own or in order as the prequel to the series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roxie McClaine
• Release date: Sep 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223479901

Book preview

1

JUNE 2067

Genevieve Taylor

A year ago, I’d be the one person embarrassing myself on the dance floor, belting out every basic bitch reception song as it blasted over the DJ’s speakers, and drinking like it was my birthday and not my little sister’s wedding without a care in the world.

But that’s divorce, and mine was finalized three days ago. Kind of a bummer.

I’m doing my best not to be a grinch about it—you know, heart three sizes too small and all that—but watching Holly float down the aisle looking like an ivory princess; exchanging vows with her Mr. Right with the great job, great looks, great hair; and practically glowing during her very first newlywed dance to the song that I lost my virginity to?

Yeah. Kind of making it difficult on the ol’ maid of honor here.

My date isn’t even really my date; he’s my best friend. Noah Bradford is married to another friend of mine. If he were straight and single, Noah’d be lightyears out of my league. He’s dressed far sharper than any of the other guests here, aside from the groom himself. And he can read me like a book. He lifts a glass of wine to his lips as I shift far too often in my seat, tapping my fingers on the table.

Easy, Gen.

Holly has never been happier. And I’m definitely not going to bring down the mood. I’ve been giving out hugs like candy, responding to every new inquiry with my best fake-it-’til-I-make-it smile.

Honestly, I’m exhausted. And my patience is running out.

I’m fine. I stuff my mouth with filet mignon to try to cover up the fact that fine really isn’t fine. It won’t fool Noah, though. Like beloved, lifelong friends everywhere, he’s cracked the code, speaks the language. It’s what makes him and besties around the world so lovable.

You’re not fine. You’re two glasses of wine away from a breakdown. He puts his glass down. Come on, it’s not that bad.

Of course he can say that. He’s been happily married for three years. I know it’s not, I protest again as he arches his brow and squints at me. I’m fine, cross my heart. Promise.

His expression calls me out on my bullshit, but he lets it go. He’s the perfect date in that he’s precisely what I need right now. Charming enough to make a gal blush; intuitive enough to drag me to the dance floor and help me forget about my own heartache when the floor opens up to everyone; and gorgeous enough so people can look at us together and say, damn, Gen, good job. Divorce hasn’t slowed you down one bit.

He’s my Noah, and I’m his Gen, and we’ll always be there for each other, but that’s the limit. I’ve got enough people fooled to hold off the questions and the how-you-holding-ups, but he’s not a whirlwind romance about to sweep me up off my feet.

As the reception stretches on and the mood of jubilation dies down to a low-lit sensual vibe, I know it’s time for me to go home. I give Holly the biggest hug I can manage, tell her new husband to take good care of her tonight, and let Noah lead me outside.

The moment the pair of glass doors shuts behind us and we stand beneath the dim glow of the warm summer streetlights of New Carnegie, it all washes over me.

Oh, Gen. Noah’s face softens and with a sympathetic sigh, he pulls me into him as I burst into tears.

A couple nights of sleep and a few hours of packing up all the photographs from the past nine years of my life, and I’m in a whole new happy place.

Well, not really. I’m at work.

But unlike most people who dread their nine-to-fives, work is my happy place. Which is probably why my marriage fell apart, but that’s done. I’m tired of crying about it. I’m over it. And I mean O-V-E-R-I-T, over it. That’s what I’m telling myself today.

It’s easy for me to disengage from my personal troubles when I’m in the zone, and my zone is the Bionic Engineering Laboratory 317 on the third floor of the BioNex Corporation headquarters. There are three labs and a dozen engineers in each. It may not seem like much, but that’s some huge employment growth from last year around this time in June, where there was only four of us in every lab. The new kids on the block—the ones fresh out of college—affectionately call us the OGs.

It’s pretty damn cringeworthy, considering we’re all hopeless nerds, but what’s a workplace without its embarrassing coworker dynamics?

We’re the designers and the overseers, as well as the little elves of this multi-billion-dollar cyber-technological workshop. We’re the ones who make each and every android assistant prototype by hand. Work for us has been nonstop ever since BioNex’s first launch. The store opened four years ago and sold out of its inventory within the first hour. Or half hour; can’t remember. If it weren’t for the new recruitment drives bringing in new workers and promising fucktons of benefits and bonuses, the wait-list for new androids would have taken us years to build from scratch.

And that’s where part of my pride comes from. None of these bionic assistants are made by other machines. Everything about them is handcrafted and manufactured right here in New Carnegie. After we build the prototypes, we oversee the junior engineers and help them build more models. They’re our troops in the trenches, fresh technologists.

Hey, Gen, Jesse Berry, another veteran engineer who started at BioNex a year after me, calls from where she sits hunched over in front of her computer in her lab coat, protective eyewear set to the side of her keyboard. Come take a look at this.

I put down the skeletal arm of the bionic mainframe I’m currently working on, the metal light—too light. It’s going to belong to a BN model someday. All of our BN models are sturdy, dependable, and always amazing. I should know; I designed several product lines, mostly revolving around home and hospice care. But I’m already looking to the next project and planning what will eventually be my magnum opus. The SFX900s were my brainchild. I’m ready for the next level.

Ambling over to where Jesse sits, I remove my protective gear from my head and adjust the glasses on my nose. I have a crazy terrible prescription, so bad that most eye correction centers will charge me for my firstborn child, but that doesn’t stop Squinty McGee over here. That’s right. It’s 2067, and glasses are still a thing. Nowadays, they can just pull someone’s eyes out and reattach new ones that work, grown in a lab.

That’s disgusting. I refuse. I don’t mind glasses, anyway. I think I look odd without them.

Wait, are you serious? I read the order again, straight from the top. ‘All bionic assistants to be built with realistic anatomy going forward.’ What does that even mean? They’re already super realistic.

They mean anatomy, Gen. Jesse’s entire body shakes with laughter as she snickers. Hope you’re ready to build some dicks and vajayjays.

Oh my god. Our very first line of androids, including the ones stocked for the store opening, were extremely high tech. The detail on each one was as marvelous a masterpiece as anything in a museum. Synthetic hair, skin, even fingerprints and dimples. But they were built more like Barbie or Ken dolls below the waist—implied, but never graphically. Wonder why the hell they decided to do that?

Japan. Chase Williams pauses his work to glance over at us with his usual pompous shit-eating grin. On paper, he’s brilliant, and it’s obvious why Schroeder hired him. In person, he’s a pain in the ass. Duh. Schroeder’s racing to top the android market. Can’t let WAA win.

Wamuro Artificial Auxiliaries, also known as the sexy doll industry, or AIDolls. They’re quite popular but only have female android models as far as I know, and the company is in the process of opening up international shipments to the US to broaden their consumer base.

Yeah. There’s no way the big boss is going to let them anywhere near his market, not even for sexy times.

I wander back to my workstation and activate my computer with the touch of my index finger, which brings it to life with a soft blue glow.

Good morning, Miss Taylor. A pleasant, friendly, masculine tone with a light American cadence greets me as I open the work order to review the design objectives in more detail.

Sure enough—penis designs. This definitely wasn’t what I expected when I signed onto BioNex four years ago. Good morning, Victor.

The disembodied voice comes directly from my computer and belongs