Fragments Fiction

AUTOMATA

May 31, 2006, reposted March 2007
This was revised when I submitted it to an e-zine. The e-zine went out of business, unfortunately.

"Tim Smith," a voice echoed from the PA system.

"They're calling," Andy said. Tim pulled a pair of earbuds from his ears letting a tinny squeal burst forth.

"What? Timmy ain't here, dude. He's like... gone..." Tim said with a drugged out look on his face. Andy glared back.

"You know, you can't hear over that music." This isn't important, Andy thought, gesturing towards the service desk.

"It's better than that gosh-darned, twangy, post-modern country western stuff you like," Tim drawled.

"Paging Timothy Algernon Pigot-Smith," the PA system echoed. Tim jumped at his name. A stern-looking woman in a neatly pressed, khaki Customs outfit stood waiting.

"Yo, lady, just call me Tim Smith," Tim sputtered, shoving his backpack at Andy and standing.

"I'm not Yo Lady!" the customs officer barked, folding her arms.

"Uh, I apologize, Ma'am," Tim said, trying not to laugh.

"You can take your package. We don't know what it is, nor do we care. We don't want to know. This is one case where ignorance is bliss and silence is golden young man," the Customs Officer growled.

"I'm sorry Ma'am. Thank you Ma'am," Tim put on an expression so sincere that the woman melted into his deep blue eyes. When she turned her back, he stuck his tongue out. She led them to a loading dock where a wooden crate with excelsior poking out of the top sat on a bare metal table. Tim and Andy put the lid on the box and carried it out to their car.

"I'm glad she didn't ask too many questions," Tim answered. Andy triggered the trunk release and set the crate inside.

"Just tell her Uncle Puck is from Mars."

"Uncle Puck wants a big turnout for his costume party. He wants the entire team to show up," Tim answered. Andy got into the drivers seat and punched up country music on the radio station.

"I was willing to be Robin Hood at your Uncle's party. I always wanted to be Robin Hood," Andy said.

"Interesting, green tights, feathered hat and archery set for a party with a silver and black robot-themed party. Makes sense to me," Tim said.

"You could have been Maid Marion," Andy said.

"And you could kiss my ass, too," Tim sneered. Both boys laughed.

"Gee, didn't we get our beauty sleep?" Andy joked. Tim stuck his earbuds into his ears and dialed the music to loud. They drove out of the building and onto the street. A few blocks later, he turned down into the basement of their high-rise. They lucked into buying an exclusive penthouse apartment when one of the partners in their law firm went bankrupt in a divorce. The rowing team joked it slept seven and humped fourteen.

"Ah, home sweet penthouse," Tim said, opening the door of the penthouse. Andy followed and set the crate on the floor near the fireplace. Tim took out nine shrink-wrapped packages. Each contained a very metallic, very shiny silvery costume. He set them on the table.

"Wow, these must have cost Uncle Puck a fortune. He remembered, eight rowers and one coxswain," Tim said.

"As long as there's free beer, the team will do anything. Any instructions," Andy asked.

"He said we wouldn't need instructions. Just step into the costume and zip it up the back," Tim said.

"Who reads instructions anyway?" Andy laughed.

"We'll bring the team here after tomorrow's practice to get dressed. They can spend the afternoon dressing and then we'll all drive to the party together," Tim suggested. Andy agreed.

Friday practice ran late and Traffic on the river limited their rowing time. When they reached the penthouse, Tim ordered pizza and calzones. The team ate and drank while loafing in the penthouse. The video screens pulsed with the latest music.

"So where's the party?" Benjamin the Coxswain spoke up.

"The Estate's about an hour's drive away in the valley. He's sending a limousine," Tim said.

"You're going to like these costumes – slick, sexy, twenty-fifth century automatons," Andy said, passing out the bags containing the costumes. He had written names on each with a magic marker - Benjamin, Billy, Jimmy, Bobby, Joey, Nick, Raul and of course Andy and Tim.

"Aw, I had my heart set on wearing Catholic school girl-uniforms with those ugly plaid skirts and silly blazers," Nick answered, opening his bag. Oohs and awes filled the room as they handled the silvery robot costumes.

"These suits are slick like those skinny robots in that ‘I Robot' movie but we have muscles and muscles are going to show," Benjamin remarked. He flexed his arms and shoulders making his tendons snap and bulge. All of the rowers were lean and strong.

"My Uncle says that these suits are made from some kind of metal fibers," Tim explained.

"I think that this thong-like jock strap is not what it seems. Anyone care if I remove my clothing and try it on?" Raul from Barcelona asked politely. Raul always asked permission to undress.

"Only if we can watch..." Jimmy repeated the usual answer. Raul undressed modestly, sliding the jock up his legs, letting the fabric wrap around his equipment and hold it tight. When he pulled the straps around his waist, the fabric made his manhood appear thicker and longer. He looked at his reflection in mirror.

"This is a suit that a man can wear to Mardi Gras and be proud of what nature has given him," Raul said. He flexed his muscles and made them ripple. The other rowers yanked their packages open and pulled their clothing off to get to their costumes. In less than a minute, they all stood in their own silvery jockstraps, admiring their larger and more impressive appearance.

"This costume's a real trip," Joey said. Benjamin, the coxswain, pulled the body of the suit over his bare feet and up his legs. The suit fit tight against his thick thighs and hips. His arms slid down the sleeves letting his fingers wiggle into the attached gloves. He had to twist his arms up the heavy tendons in his shoulders snap and pop as he yanked the suit up over his shoulders. Tim stood ready to zip Benjamin's suit up the back and over his head. The suit completely covered Benjamin's body. The more Benjamin stretched and tumbled, the tighter the fabric stuck to his skin, molding itself to his body, conforming to every muscle and joint. His face took on an inhuman and otherworldly appearance with its smooth features and blank eyes. As he opened his mouth, the material fit inside and covered his lips, teeth and tongue preventing him from speaking. He grabbed a pen and paper from near Tim's phone.

"I feel like I've been sprayed with metal paint or dipped in chrome," Benjamin wrote.

"You look great... but then I'm biased towards cute, muscle-bound twerps with smooth, tight bodies," Bobby said. Benjamin helped Bobby pull the suit up over his shoulders and zip it closed. Bobby towered a head taller than any of the other men - long-limbed, metallic, non-descript and wiry. He posed in the mirror with Benjamin. They made a great pair of robots. Raul had his suit on next. His barrel-chested build made him look like a torpedo on legs of solid steel. Tim sealed him in his suit.

Andy waited. "I've been waiting for this since we got these costumes," Andy said, letting Tim zip his costume, sealing Andy inside of it. Tim watched the suit clutch and grip Andy's body like a glove. It pulled up under Andy's arms, around his chest, and against the curves of his thighs and butt. When Andy tried to open his mouth to say something, the fabric covered his lips and teeth. Billy, Jimmy and Bobby tugged and pulled their costumes over their bodies and zipped themselves inside of them. They rubbed their suits tight against their naked flesh, driving out air bubbles and imperfections.

"Why don't all of you wait over there," Tim said to the already suited team members. They obeyed silently. Typically last, Nick noticed their obedience. Nick weighed 255 pounds. He was nothing but solid muscle and his costume was small.

"There are times I wish that I didn't have all these muscles." Nick struggled to stretch the sleeves over his massive forearms and biceps. Tim knew that Nick's arms and shoulders wouldn't bend far enough backward to let him pull the costume up over his shoulders, so he yanked hard on the costume to get it over Nick's shoulders. Closing the zipper over Nick's back was another episode of pulling and tugging. Tim finally pulled the zipper up the back of Nick's neck when Nick stopped him from sealing the costume.

"This is too hard, Dude. This suit is too tight for me," Nick rubbed the metallic fabric trying to make it stretch over his arms and shoulders. The fabric stuck to his body, pulling tight against his skin. Tim worried Nick might still back out. He decided that beer might help entrap Nick and got two bottles of beer from the refrigerator.

"Uncle Puck said one size fits all," Tim answered. Nick twisted the top off the beer and drank.

"Not my body, this stuff fits like shrink wrap. I'm going to have to cut if off after the party. I'll never get this to stretch over my body again," Nick said, pausing to drink, watching for Tim's reaction.

"I guess so," Tim said, sliding his hands under the waistband of his jock strap. The pouch stuck to the skin of his equipment.

"Are you going to put your suit on? I'll wait," Nick asked. None of the other teammates moved from where they stood.

"Uh, yeah, sure, I just wanted to see you guys first." Tim didn't want to put the suit on but he didn't know how to refuse. He pulled the metal suit over his feet and up his legs. Sock-like boots formed around his feet and ankles. The legs of the suit tightened against his knees and thighs even as he pulled the suit over his hips and waist. He wiggled his arms into the sleeves and hands into the gloves. The costume caressed his body seductively as Nick pulled the fabric over his shoulders. Tim closed his eyes, enjoying the silky fabric as it enveloped his body. Nick slid the zipper slowly up Tim's spine to the base of his skull. The touch of fabric to Tim's face jolted him out of his daydream.

"Wait, wait, you can't reach the back of your neck, Mister muscle-bound hunk," Tim protested, grabbing Nick's hand barely an inch from sealing the costume. Nick could seal Tim's suit with just the flick of his finger. Then, Tim would join his teammates, sealed inside the metallic fabric, unable to remove the costume.

"You aren't backing out on the team, are you?" Nick asked, keeping one hand on Tim's head while turning him to see his face.

"No, of course not," Tim lied, "let me finish your costume." He reached around the back of Nick's head. His hands trembling as he sealed Nick in the costume.

"Good boy, I almost thought you were wimping out," Nick said before the fabric could fill his mouth and cut off his voice. He flicked the zipper on Tim's suit, sealing it. Panic-stricken, Tim struggled against in vain. This costume is never coming off, he thought. He could feel the fabric shrinking, getting tighter and tighter, compressing his body and becoming his skin. Nick released Tim's body and spun both of them around to face a mirror.

Admiring his metallic body, Nick felt his willpower drain away as the metal fabric bonded irreversibly with his body. His new face had no eyes, nose or mouth. It was ovoid head with a horizontal ridge above where his blue eyes once existed. A vertical ridge replaced his nose. Fat drained away from his body letting each muscle fiber bulge from the surface of the costume.

Don't panic. Don't panic. Tim thought. He picked up his Blackberry and typed a message to his Uncle explaining what happened. It took less than ten seconds for the reply – "Do nothing. Stay with your teammates. I'll be there shortly, Uncle Puck" – to appear on the screen. Relieved, he joined his teammates, their bodies becoming androgynous, metallic, artificial, not human. Only Nick's muscularity, Bobby's height and Benjamin's shortness distinguished one from another.

Simple thoughts filled Tim's mind. We all belong together. We're all the same. Wait for Uncle Puck. Wait for instructions. Wait for instruction. Eventually, the setting sun glinted off the silvery figures before it moved below the horizon. Hours passed and none of the costumed men moved.

Uncle Puck and an assistant entered the apartment. Three metallic figures distinguished only by the lighted rings on their heads and LED-studded medallions on their chests followed them.

"Another roomful of automatons, some days this is too easy," the assistant said.

"One of these young men is my nephew. I warned him. He sent a text message that one of his teammates talked him into wearing the costume for the team. I should have been here to stop him," Uncle Puck grumbled.

"Sorry about being so flip. The way we engineered these costumes, it's almost impossible not to lose yourself inside one of them. Even just the touch of the costume is enough to entrap some of these guys. You say that his loyalty to a teammate trapped him. At least he had loyalty. I had to convert my sons after they came home high on drugs after an armed robbery. Now at least, I know they can't harm themselves or anyone else. And I'm not braggin' by saying that they are two hot and sexy robots."

"Still, it's hard."

"You could keep your nephew as your own personal slave. You're allowed one automaton, you know," the assistant said.

"Process the rest of the team. I'll handle my nephew." Uncle Puck pulled Tim aside and let the assistant proceed. The assistant opened a briefcase containing halos and medallion. He stuck the halo on the new automatons heads and pushed the LED-studded medallion on each of their chests. The automatons responded by standing to attention. Uncle Puck took Tim's halo and medallion.

"Well Tim, I warned you. You knew the consequences. It's unfortunate that Nick was too smart for you. You have no one to blame but yourself, you know. I told you how powerful this material was. I've watched men wearing just the jock strap, socks or cap go to bed and wake up completely metalized and subservient. That's why we put a one-way closure on the full suit. It only takes a minute to bind to your body. Your friend must have had five or ten minutes and realize what was happening to him," Uncle Puck said, shrugging his shoulders. Tim wanted to talk to his Uncle but his body wouldn't obey his mind. Thoughts ran through his mind like tears. He couldn't cry now.

"I'd feel like a creep if I kept you as my personal slave." Uncle Puck picked up halo and changed the dipswitches inscribed on its interior.

"I can give you a little relief. Normally, the halo obliterates the individual's personality. I'll let you retain some of your personality and your memories. You won't be Tim and you'll never have free will again but you'll be more than a completely mindless automaton like the rest of your crewmates. You'll actually enjoy taking orders, making people happy," Uncle Puck said, setting the on the metal surface of Tim's head. Tim felt his ego dissolving and the desire to please unconditionally replacing it. He remembered his life as Tim but he wasn't Tim. No, no, no, Blast my mind out of existence. I don't want to remember. I don't want to know what I was, he thought. Unaware of Tim's thoughts, Uncle Puck adjusted the medallion.

"The medallions are radio receivers that will establish communication between your new body and C&C. It's also loaded with nanomachines that will keep your metal body in good repair and functioning at peak efficiency. I'm upping your gratification index." He took a star-shaped medallion and pushed it against Tim's left pectoral. The medallion sank tendrils down into his chest. Tim felt the changes in his body accelerate. Muscle, flesh and blood changed into hydraulic pumps and motors, bones changed into metal, senses grew digital. Streams of numbers replaced his thoughts. His ego slipped away and only the desire to please gave him motivation. I'm a robot, Tim thought. Unit 47385 requires orders, Automata 47385 waiting your order, waiting your order, waiting your order, waiting your order..., a continuous loop waiting for a real-time interrupt to end it.

Uncle Puck sold Automata 47835 as a nanny. Its first new memories were of its new family—John, his partner George and their five adopted sons. They loved their new robot. Automata 47835 never failed to please, no matter what the kids did to it.

2850 words more or less

Note 1: Piddle music is music that is even more bland, unobtrusive and non-confrontational than elevator music. In other words, if it was laying on the ground, you wouldn’t consider it worthy to piddle on. If you line a birdcage with it, the birds won't even shit on it. In terms of rankings, it is considered six feet below whale dung at the bottom of the Marianas Trench but it is still a foot above (name withheld by request). It is the pop equivalent of the fifty-five thousand Vivaldi flute concerti that are all variations on one theme.