Unit

 

Chapter One

Emily Dawson had passed out again.

It was nothing new. She passed out often, a weakness attributed to her low blood pressure. In fact, it was the reason she had opted to trade in her natural-born body for a bio-digital clone unit. Supposedly, the doctors were able to weed out all sicknesses and health issues and give you the body you would have had you been born without them, perfectly healthy.

But it couldn't however weed out the issues of the mind, at least the ones that were in memory. Sure, the physiological brain issues were easy to fix in the clones, but the memory of the issues might remain as psychosomatic predispositions.

So, as the doctors had explained to her upon receiving her new body, she would still have to worry about passing out until she was able to convince herself she didn't need to anymore, at least no from any medical or physical reason.

Regardless, even a year after getting her new body, she still hadn't learned to overcome the sudden loss of consciousness. So it was that she found herself lying in the floor, with no energy to speak or move, at her job in the processing center for faux-bots. With barely even the awareness to know what had happened, she failed to realize that Jason Grange, the ex-boyfriend she had dumped publicly, perhaps a little too publicly, had noticed her and approached her.

“Em?” he asked.

When she didn't answer, he recognized immediately what had happened and he realized it was time to get her back for the way she had treated him. Without wasting time, he stripped her and left her naked on the factory floor. He patted her ass, then gathered up her clothes in his arms and left, telling her with a laugh to enjoy being found in such an embarrassing state.

Minutes later, after Jason had left, she began to come to enough to realize that the dreamlike, foggy memories of her clothes being removed were not dreams at all. Still unable to stand, she rolled her head to see if there was anything she could cover up with and found nothing in her line of sight that would work.

Even worse, she heard voices approaching. She would be caught naked and then paraded through the warehouse that way to explain what had happened and to find a spare pair of coveralls to use to protect her already wasted modesty. That wouldn't do. So instead she simply lay there, careful not to move even the slight range of motion that was slowly returning to her. With any luck, the two people approaching would overlook her completely at best, or worst, just assume she was a faux-bot shell left on the floor to be processed later.

It wasn't known around the company that she herself was a bio-digital clone. She had asked the Human Resources department to keep that private and they had of course honored her request. She had enough to worry about without people asking her a million and one questions about what it was like to what they called part robot, what it was like to have to upload new patches through the processor in the back of her neck monthly, what it was like to forego sleep if she wanted to and opt for a three-hour charge-up instead. Way too many questions that made her feel singled out and on display. After all, the entire point of going bio- digital was to stop doing things that singled her out in front of people. It was supposed to let her just fade into the background like other normal, boring people.

Only, in this case, the only way to stay out of the limelight was to pretend not to be human after all. So she remained absolutely still.

As luck would have it, the two workers were maintenance people she didn't know and had only seen in passing. Because of that, they didn't recognize her. Thank goodness for that, she thought.

“Looks like one of the dolls fell off the conveyor,” one of the guys said.

“You know we're not supposed to call them dolls” the second replied. “Don't let the boss hear you.”

“It fits though, right? They're empty shells until they're processed.”

“Yeah, but outside of that processing input, they're biologically as human as we are.”

“Well, I just wish I could afford one. Maybe then I could trade in my wife for something that didn't get headaches.”

“Someone,” the second said. “Not something.”

“Potayto potahto.” said the first. “Here, help me put her back on the belt. I bet the little chick who works this station probably had to go get help since she could lift the doll by herself when it fell.”

“Most likely.”

“Never hurts to do a cute girl a favor,” the first one said. “Never know when it might get me somewhere.”

They both laughed and she tried not to breathe as the men lifted her from the ground and places her face down on the conveyor belt. Upon recognizing the sudden change in weight, the automated system sprung to life and the belt moved her forward.

Damn, she thought, why are they walking away so slowly? I can't get off this until they leave.

As she waited, she felt a sudden twinge of pressure at the back of her neck. One of the cables had connected to her input jack. She felt a surge of data enter her and measure the storage capacity of her brain. It must have been satisfied because after about thirty seconds it disconnected and returned to its base of operations.

At least the guys were gone. She could get up now.

Only, she couldn't. She couldn't move at all. Nothing held her still, nothing physical, but she was absolutely unable to move. It was as if the connection between her brain and her body had been severed.

Oh shit, she remembered.

It was the way the system worked. Step 1 was to render the faux-bot clone inert just in case the body had any natural, spontaneous reactions to the processing procedure. It was a fail safe to protect both the newly created body and the machine that processed and programmed it. And now it had used that fail safe on her. She was at the mercy of her very own work station until the machine was done with her.

The conveyor rolled forward again and her body was scanned with a red crossbeam.

“Upgrading input,” said the machine, and she remembered that as a bio-digital clone, her input was a self-autonomous unit, one guaranteed not to override her own free will. She might be able to upgrade and learn like an android, but she was still her own goddamn self.

Faux-bots, although they looked like regular bio-digital clones, had a commercial version of the input installed that allowed programming to be hard-coded into the units to prepare then for the specifications of their buyers. Maid staff for hotel chains was the most common, but some had also been programmed as child care workers or chefs or even receptionists for businesses. A few, as was always the case with any technological advancement, had even been programmed to become a sort of legal prostitute since they had no real humanity to speak of, just a pre-sequenced library of responses and pillow talk, along with any other special talents they needed for the world's oldest profession.

Only the vastly wealthy were able to buy and maintain their own privately owned bots, and while they were almost always called maids, the truth was not that well hidden. If they were indeed maids, they were maids with benefits.

There was a burning sensation on her neck, Then, after a minute so, it was followed by a snapping sound and the sensation of her input being removed. When the connection severed fully, her world went dark.

She awoke on the conveyor with no way of knowing how long she had been out. She still couldn't move. As the fog withdrew from her mind, she remembered the pain on her neck. Oh, no! The machine had replaced her autonomous input with a programmable one. She needed to scream, to get up of the belt, to do anything other than just lie there. She no longer cared who might see her naked. Let the whole world see her without her clothes. It didn't matter. Just do something, anything, to prevent this machine from programming her.

But as what? The job for the day had been what exactly? The work order she had so quickly tossed aside before passing out had read HCB-22.12.

Her eyes would have grown wide if she could have had any control over her body.

HCB was the code for hotel maid. 22 was the identifier for the Colloti fleet of luxury cruise ships. And 12 meant that they needed 12 units for their current order.

If she couldn't get someone's attention, she would be just one of twelve new maid bots shipped out to Colloti to clean rooms on one of their ships.

Inside her mind she screamed as loud as she could, but her mouth remained slightly open, her lips barely parted, and no sound escaped. Even her breathing had grown extremely shallow, just enough to keep her biological systems operating. The belt moved her forward again, this time behind a panel with a large Plexiglas unit the operator could see through to oversee the programming. But there was no operator to help her. She was the operation and she was at the mercy of the machine.

A clicking sound behind her signaled that another cable had connected with her new input. No! Please! She begged the machine silently, but it continued its predetermined destruction of her former self. Her mind lit up with thousands of bytes of data and she was suddenly learning everything anyone could ever need to know about cleaning and housekeeping and chemical safety and being an charming hostess to a guest.

My name is Emily Dawson, she told herself over and over in her mind, but not even that would stop the onslaught of new data. My name is Emily Dawson. And she reviewed the new instructions. Beds must be made with hospital corners. Only cleaners with all natural ingredients are to be used in guest rooms. Address each guest as sir or ma'am and always be polite and obedient to them unless it goes against your internal directive. My name is Emily Dawson. My name is Emily Dawson, and this unit is the property of the Colloti Company. My name if Emily Dawson, but this unit will be designated HCB-22-12-008. My name is Emily Dawson, and this unit is number 8 in a set of 12 purchased by the Colloti Company on September 12, 2056 on Invoice number CQ09122056-X pre-paid. My name is Emily Dawson, and as Unit HCB-22-12-008, my directive is to clean the rooms on the cruise ship to which I am assigned as the whim and discretion of my owners, and to provide a satisfying experience for the guests whose rooms are entrusted to my care. My name is Emily Dawson. My name is Emily Dawson. My name is Emily Dawson.

She was still repeating the phrase when she realized the data upload had stopped. The cable was no longer connected to her neck input.

I'm Emily Dawson, she thought. And I belong to Colloti Luxury Cruises.

She repeated the words internally as the belt moved her from the programming bay thought a series of rubber flaps into the dressing area. There sat two women Emily had spoken to on occasion whose job it was to dress the new units for their new jobs and then get them packed for shipping.

I'm Emily Dawson, and I belong to Colloti Luxury Cruises.

The oldest of the two women plugged a small wireless connector into Emily's neck.

“Get up, Unit,” she said.

Immediately Emily's body responded to her words. She sat up and stepped down from the conveyor to stand in the floor. The second woman handed her a folded stack of clothing.

“Put this on, Unit.”

Emily took the clothes from the woman and laid them on the table in front of her. She carefully stepped into a pair of nude pantyhose, then into a just above the knee length blue skirt, and finally the put on a plain white bra, and then pulled a white and blue top over her head. The final piece was a blue apron with the Colloti logo embroidered on the top right corner. She then stepped into a pair of mid-heeled blue pumps.

“You know,” said the first woman, “It's funny how much this one reminds me of that girl next to us. I mean, you see shit like that every now and then, but this one's so damn close. If I didn't know better, I'd think it was her.”

The younger woman laughed. “Well, luckily that's not possible. Not unless she was one of half-dolls herself.”

“True. I guess there's that.”

She turned to Emily.

“Go lie down in that box, Unit.”

Emily did as she was told, knowing full well that the box in question was a shipping crate. After she was still and straight on top of the form-fitting packing mold, the older woman reached behind her neck to remove the wireless input. She immediately felt her body loose all it's ability to move again. With something that simple she had been reduced to something little more than a store mannequin or a dressmaker's dummy.

The woman tightened the straps around her torso, shoulders, thighs, and calves.

Then a loud bell sounded and the woman stopped. “Well, you don't ship out to until Tuesday, sweetie, so we can just finish you up on Monday morning.” Then the woman turned and left, and she left Emily there in the crate and eventually the timer kicked in and turned out the factory lights, with the newly programmed faux-bot maid to review her new directive.

My name is Emily Dawson, and I belong to Colloti Luxury Cruises.

Without the ability to close her eyes, Emily remained awake across the next day in the dark factory, and she didn't once pass out. That at least was something. Eventually though, without any food for her biological system, nor any rest, her digital system took over and without a connection to a charging station, it simply shut her down.

 

Chapter Two

When she was activated again, she was upright and she was facing the man who owned the company Emily worked for. He was smiling at her sweetly and studying her immobile form.

“Can you tell me who you are?” he asked, bright light flooding the space behind him, making him look like a semi-shadow.

For the first time since her ordeal had started Emily spoke, “I am...” her mind wanted to say Emily Dawson, but she knew that wasn't right, not completely. “I am Unit HCB-22-12-008, property of The Colloti Company, number 8 in a set of 12 purchased by the Colloti Company on September 12, 2056 on Invoice number CQ09122056-X pre-paid.”

“Well, it certainly seems you know who you are, young lady,” the man said. “But who are you really? Or has that been wiped out of that pretty little head of yours?”

“I am Unit HCB-22-12-008, property of The Colloti Company, number 8 in a set of 12 purchased by the Colloti Company on September 12, 2056 on Invoice number CQ09122056-X pre-paid.”

“Let's try this a different way,” the man said. “Do you know who I am?”

Emily tried to put together the idea that the man was Davis Hawkins, the owner of the factory, but instead she said, “You are a guest, sir.”

He smiled. “I have to say that you did a fine job of programming your units, even when you managed to do it to yourself. Total identity immersion. Nobody would ever tell you from one of our commercial units at this point.”

“I am the property of Colloti Luxuries Cruises and I serve as a maid unit to care for our guests and their rooms. Do you need this room serviced, sir?”

He shook his head.

“You don't remember me at all, Emily?”

“If you wish to call me Emily during your stay, I will gladly answer to that name, sir.”

“Fine, fine. Why don't you be Emily for me, okay?”

“Yes, sir. For the duration of your stay, Unit HCB-22-12-008 will respond to the name-update-designation Emily.”

“Good, good,” the man said. “And how about you call me Davis?”

Emily shook her head. “No, sir. It would go against my programming to be so familiar with a guest. You are sir.”

“Very well. We do very good work indeed, Emily.”

“I'm sure you do, sir.”

“Now, Emily, will you be okay if I unfasten these straps that are keeping you in this crate?”

For the first time since reactivating, Emily noticed she was still bound in the body mold inside the shipping crate.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he said, and he unfastened the straps from her shoulders and torso, then the ones that held her knees and thighs. “Please step out of the box, Emily.”

She did as she was instructed.

He motioned to a chair opposite his desk. “Please have a seat, Emily.”

“Are you sure you don't want me to clean your room, sir?”

“Later, okay. First I need to tell you something important, and I want you to sit down.”

“If you say so, sir.”

“I do say so.”

Emily sat down.

“This is going to be hard to hear,” he started, and then he told her about passing out and being stripped and then placed on the conveyor. The entire thing had been capture on camera, and Jason Grange had been fired. “We were lucky that our night clerk regularly checks the files from the camera. If we had been even two hours later, you would have been shipped out with the other eleven maid bots that were created. As it was, we barely had time to program another one to replace you.”

“I don't understand, sir. I belong to Colloti Luxury Cruises. Was I defective? Is that why I was replaced?”

The man laughed. “Not at all, Emily.”

“I am the property of the Colloti Company. I was purchased pre-paid.”

“That's what I'm trying to tell you, Emily. You weren't purchased at all. A maid bot was purchased.”

“I'm am a maid box. I am Unit HCB----”

“Yes, yes, not that again, Emily.”

“Yes, sir,” she said and shut up.

“As I was saying, the clerk let us know what had happened and then we were able to find your crate number thanks to the invoice and then pull you from the dock back here to my office. The trouble is now how to de-program you. You see, the self-autonomous unit you had as a bio-digital clone was destroyed when it was removed and the unit you have installed now is a commercial, programmed unit. We change change your coding and your directives, but we can't give you back self-autonomy.”

“Name-update-designation Emily is a maid unit and does not require self-autonomy to perform its function.”

“You believe that now, Emily, but only because that's what you've been programmed to believe.

This can't be right, the confused bio-digital unit thought. My name is Emily. I am a maid bot. I am the property of the Colloti Company. But I must serve my guest. I must obey him except when it go against my directives.

“As I was saying, the trouble lies in the upgrade capabilities. Under normal circumstances, any bio-digital clone can be downgraded into an approximation of a faux-bot. God knows, some people do it because they want to and others do it as a punishment from the judicial council. But going back up, well, that's not really an easy thing to do, and it often doesn't take, which resulted in a complete wipe of the memories from before the downgrade. If that happens, then the only thing left to do it either treat the clone body as a corpse and recycle it for DNA, or to treat the clone body as a blank faux-bot and program it for the open market. Do you understand what I'm saying, Emily?”

“This unit doesn't not require self-autonomy to performs its functions as a maid bot.”

“This isn't getting through at all. Is it, Emily?” He slapped his hands together and said loudly, “Let's try this instead.”

He moved to the front of his desk and sat against it, leaning in close to Emily.

“Tell me,and really search you memory data, do you remember a girl named Emily Dawson?”

Her mind reeled. Yes, of course I remember Emily Dawson. I'm Emily Dawson, and I belong to the Colloti Company as a maid bot.

She nodded. “Yes, sir. I remember Emily Dawson.”

“Do you remember who Emily Dawson is?”

Now that the man was asking her directly, it seemed so easy. “Emily Dawson is Unit NCB-22-12-008 and belongs to Colloti Luxury Cruises.”

“I suppose that's a start,” he said.

“Can you remember anything about Emily Dawson before she became the property of Colloti?”

The memories snapped to the forefront of her mind at her guest's prompting. “Yes, sir. Emily Dawson was a worker for G-Chem Bio Digital Worker Creation. Emily Dawson programmed faux-bots for designated work assignments.”

“And do you remember what happened to Emily Dawson that changed her into Unit NCB...” He checked a number on the invoice on top of his desk. “Unit NCB-22-12-008?”

“Yes, sir. Emily Dawson lost consciousness and was placed in the programming module to become a maid-bot.”

“Are you Emily Dawson?”

“I...” Her mind whirled. “I used to be Emily Dawson, sir.”

“And are you Emily Dawson now?”

“Would you prefer me to respond to the name-update-designation Emily Dawson instead of simply Emily, sir?”

“No I want you to remember.”

“I remember, sir. I remember everything about Emily Dawson.”

“Well, what does Emily Dawson want me to do? Do you want to risk and upgrade or just tweak your programming to get you as close as possible to what and who you used to be?”

She thought long and hard about what she wanted to do.

“Well, Emily, what do you want to do?”

“I want to clean your room, sir. I want to fulfill my function.”

The man's shoulders slumped. His smiled fell flat. “That's what I was afraid of. I'm afraid we're just going to have to take the decision out of your hands. The programming has made you incapable of autonomous desires.

He took a deep breath.

“Go ahead and shut down, Emily. I'll see what I can do to fix you.

 

Chapter Three

Emily found herself reactivated no longer in an office at the factory but in a large room, sitting in a soft chair. She wore a black dress that reached almost to her knee and a white apron over that. Her black stockings disappeared into flat patent black slippers.

“Good morning, Emily,” said the man standing before her. “Good morning, Mr. Hawkins.” “Do you know who you are?”

She nodded. “Of course, sir. My name is Emily Dawson, and I belong to Davis Hawkins. I am a privately owned maid-bot who serves my owner by cleaning his house and preparing his meals.”

“It's step in the right direction,” Mr. Hawkins said.

“Do you remember anything before you came to work for me?”

“I remember I used to work at your factory until I chose to become a maid-box and be purchased by you.”

He grinned. “Well, that's part of the story. We're working on the rest.”

Just then, the door to the room swung open and a young man of about 19 glared in impatiently. “You got the doll working yet, dad? I'm really hungry.”

“You know we don't call them that, Adam. And especially not this one.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. She's special. I get it. Whatever.”

Adam walked over and lifted Emily's jaw. “Good morning, Adam, sir. What would you like for breakfast?”

“You don't have to---” Mr. Hawkins said.

“Ham and cheese omelets,” Adam interrupted.

Emily smiled. “It's my pleasure to serve young master Adam, Mr. Hawkins. I don't mind. It makes me happy to be of use.”

And the next few weeks went by in a regular sequence of cooking, cleaning, and sitting down with Mr. Hawkins in his home office for daily diagnostics and a battery of questions designed to get the Emily unit to desire autonomous selfhood again. But to little avail.

After a month, Mr. Hawkins announced that he had to go away on business for a week. He warned Adam to be good and not take advantage of Emily's helpfulness. Adam, of course, promised, but when his father was gone, after Emily had cooked and cleared away a large breakfast of eggs, bacon, waffles, and cheese toast, Adam lounged around until he finally interrupted her while she was vacuuming the foyer rugs.

“Here,” he said, holding up a skimpy bikini. “Put this on.”

“I'm afraid I can't go swimming, Adam, sir. My input port can't get wet.”

“Who said anything about going swimming. I just want you to hang out at the pool and I'll take your picture.”

Emily took the bathing suit from him. “As you wish, sir.” She turned to head to her room to change, but he stopped her.

“You can change here, Em-bot,” he said, grinning ear to ear.

“Would your father approve of such behavior, sir?”

“Does it matter? You're just a bot. As the owner, you have to do what I say.”

“This Unit Emily Dawson is the property of Davis Hawkins.”

“And I'm his son.”

“This Unit Emily Dawson is the property of Davis Hawkins.”

Adam grumphed and pouted. “Fine. But put it on and come to the pool as quickly as you can. I want you to clean the area around the pool today.”

“Yes, sir,” she said and went to her room to change. She stripped from her maid uniform and carefully folded it and put it neatly on the foot of her bed. Mr. Hawkins had seen fit to provide her with a bed to help remind her of her humanity though she rarely used it. She preferred the efficiency of the charging unit instead. Grabbing the bikini, she stepped into it, not minding the way it showed off her curves and rode up slightly into her ass in the back. She was just a unit with the memories of a human. Those concerns were really hers to worry about any longer. The top went on just as easily and contained enough fabric to keep her legally covered but little else. Still, the figure that she cut in the mirror Mr. Hawkins had insisted she keep was one the former Emily Dawson would have flushed with pride at the sight of. The physical labor and fewer meals since she opted for the recharge sessions had done wonders for his body. It was, of course, just a side benefit, as she could cook and clean with any body type.

This bikini, she realized as she looked at the reflection, was just a poolside uniform for her role as the maid-unit. As such, she felt no objectification, no sense of being misused by her owner's son. Mr. Hawkins had requested her to wear a bathing suit many times while performing her duties at poolside. He had said he wanted her to feel like one of the family. Still, she knew better and regardless of her location or her uniform, her directive was to serve Mr. Hawkins, no matter how much he tried to convince her the former Emily Dawkins still existed as anything other than memories.

Changed, she left her room and joined Adam at the pool. Two of his friends were already there. The taller one she recognized as Chuck and the other was someone new.

“We'd like some beer, Em-bot,” Adam said.

She had been approved by Mr. Hawkins to serve Adam and his friends alcohol as long as they were at the house. “Yes, sir,” she said, and walked to the outside refrigerator to retrieve three bottles of ice cold beer. She delivered one to each of the boys and stood at attention in front of Adam.

“Do you require anything else, sir?” she asked. “If not, I'll begin my cleaning.” “Carry on, Em-bot, and don't mind us. We'll just be taking some pictures of you.” “Whatever you wish, sir.”

She didn't mind the photos. Why should she? She was part of the household property. If Adam wanted to take a photo of the dishwasher or the coffee table, would she mind? They all snapped photos as she worked sweeping stray leaves away from the poolside, wiping down the lounging chairs and the glass tables. She replenished the boys' beers and took the empty bottles to the bin. When Chuck dropped his bottle intentionally just out of her reaching, she simply leaned over to pick up the bigger shards of glass while the boys snapped close-up shots of her cleavage and ass. Then she brought over the broom and dustpan and swept the remaining bits and pieces so that the boys would not be harmed by the the sharp points.

When the poolside was clean and she surveyed that her work was completed, she walked to Adam and stood in front of him. “I have completed my poolside duties, sir. Do you require any thing else, or should I begin lunch for you and your friends?”

“Lunch sounds good,” Chuck said.

“Not yet,” Adam replied. “There's still another thing I want you to do, Em-bot.”

“Yes, sir. What is that?”

He patted the lounging chair straps beside his legs. “Have a seat.”

“This unit has work to do, sir. My programming does not permit me to rest except during designated periods.”

“It's not resting. It's work,” Adam corrected. “Feels like this chair needs to be adjusted and I want you to test it and see if you can fix it so it's tight enough.”

“I understand, Adam, sir.”

She sat on the chair beside Adam and noticed the other boy she didn't know move behind her. There was a sudden click and an influx of data through her input port. Her body froze.

“Are you sure you got the right patch update?” Adam asked the new kid.

“Absolutely.”

“And she'll do whatever I tell her?”

“Well, technically she'll still belong to your dad, not you, but while he's gone, yeah, you'll be the boss.”

Adam grinned.

Emily sat still, reviewing the updated data that was flooding her mind. It was brilliant programming, she realized, not overwriting her existing directive as a maid-bot, but adding a new sexy girlfriend protocol to it. She was not only Mr. Hawkin's maid, but she also knew she was a bio-digital girlfriend for Adam.

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