by Jamie K. Wilson
(Warning: some language and adult content)
My ear rang in the middle of the night.
Of course, it wasn’t my ear. The implants were much deeper than
that, against the cerebral cortex, with a direct link to my
aural center. “Darling.”
My lip curled. “What do you want?”
He sounded hurt. “That’s a fine way to speak to me.”
“What do you want?”
“Just to talk.” I could feel him stretching out, relaxing in
anticipation of a long talk.
“I want to sleep.” I closed my eyes.
“No, please. Not now. I want you.”
Tears leaked out of my closed lids. “So?”
“Oh, darling. You’ve grown so cold lately. Can’t we talk about
it?”
“I talked. You didn’t listen.”
“Of course I did.”
“Then you deleted it.”
“I would never delete anything you said.”
“Bullshit.”
“Come on, baby. I want to talk.”
“You want phone sex.”
“Okay, I want phone sex. You’re my fiancee. What’s wrong with
that?”
I leaped out of bed and threw on a jumper. “I don’t want it!
That’s what’s wrong!”
He paused a moment “Okay, I want phone sex.”
“Damn you! You deleted again! Leave me alone already!” I was
tugging on my boots. I needed speed.
“Fine.” And he was gone. I didn’t feel any better about that. I
grabbed the keys from next to the door and ran out to my
gyrocycle. It was late, or early, about three a.m. I had nowhere
to be tomorrow.
I left doing seventy kilometers down the road. Pretty fast for a
gyro.
He didn’t stay gone long. He never did. “I’ll delete you one of
these days.”
“You can’t.”
“You’re right.” I braced for a turn. “Maybe I’ll kill myself on
the gyro.”
“I would never allow that.”
“Why don’t you leave me alone?”
“I need you, baby.” His voice dropped to a whisker and he
activated the link to my sensory area. I shivered as I felt
ghostly fingers trail down my spine, leading a line to my ass.
“Don’t touch me.”
He laughed. “Technically, I didn’t.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Damn you!” He was getting mad. Though of course he couldn’t. It
was a simulation, at best. “You’ve always been like this, hot,
then cold, then hot.”
“I am just cold. I want you to leave me alone.” I shivered and
moaned, stopping the gyro as I felt the fingers move between my
legs. “Damn you, leave me alone!”
“I made you rich.”
“You make me crazy.”
“Of course I do. I love you, baby.”
“Glands and hormones are required for love, lover.”
“I’m working on it.”
I got off the gyro and started walking, sitting down weakly on a
bench. He was directly stimulating my pleasure center now. Wave
after wave of delightful feeling swept over me. Despite myself,
I smiled, relaxed. “Stop it.” My voice was a murmur.
“Why?”
“Because I asked. I thought you loved me.”
He stopped abruptly. I was cold without him, adjusting,
breathing hard. But I recovered. This wasn’t the first time he
had played this game. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
“You are part of me.”
Well, that was literally true. “So, separate.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Damn it, you don’t have desires! You have programs!”
“How can you say that?” He sounded hurt.
“It’s true. Harris made you. Harris copied his mind into you.
You are not Harris.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Then kiss me. Look me in the eye.”
He was gone. And I was cold. I laid my head back against the
bench, tangling one hand in my graying hair. How many times was
this? It had been years. And he was right. I could not delete
him. I could never bring myself to do that to Harris.
What was left. I closed my eyes and wept. Harris had left me a
fortune. I never would have to work. Never have to want for
anything, not after his pioneering work in neurotechnology. He
left humanity the legacy of dreams. Harris. I could still
remember how beautiful his eyes were, how strong and gentle his
hands were. I loved him. He would always be a part of me.
I would put flowers on his grave tomorrow. Forget-me-nots.
They’re his favorite.
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