

# ROBOFUK

Robert Schilling

# .

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Robert Schilling

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# CHAPTER ONE

One night when Scott Watkins is barely 12 and still prepubescent, he comes up with what is for him a novel way of masturbating. He has seen apple pie used in the movies, and has heard about many other tricks from his friends, but he figures this out on his own. In bed at night, he puts two pillows with silk pillow cases end to end and humps the space between them. This practice, which quickly becomes habitual (with variations) has the special advantage of making his arms available for hugging Allison who, at least in his imagination, lies beneath him in correct proportion.

"My adolescent habits," he would say in later years, "together with 3-D Imax movies and motion simulators, resulted in my fascination with robotic fucking machines. Of course this was nothing new in a way. Philip Wylie had them in his book _The_ _Disappearance_ back in the 1950's, and everyone was always talking about virtual reality and its potential application to sex. But my obsession was not so much with simulated sex via computers as it was with devices that would look, act, and feel like the real thing to a nearly perfect degree."

Scott's pillows, while in his mind a far cry from the real Allison, nevertheless appeal to him more than cybersex because, when he finishes, he can just turn over and go to sleep warmly without having to unhook and dismantle goggles, helmets, wet suits and the like. He also prefers the straight forward physical nature of hugging and screwing something "real", rather than something that "feels" and "looks" "real", but "really" isn't.

Although it tends to be taken much more for granted nowadays than it should be, the manufacture of artificial human skin through chemistry (with some help from particle physics and nano-technology) is no easy matter at the time Scott first becomes obsessed with it. There are many substances that have one or two things in common with skin, but even with the natural motivation of medical necessity, progress is slow in the development of replacement skin for burn treatments, to give one example, although there _are_ commercially available "skins" at the end of the 20th Century.

"As it turned out, the skin was the hardest part." Scott is talking to a reporter from the Wall Street Journal who is trying to get a story on the business aspects of the phenomenon of Robofuk, rather than its sociological or historical significance.

"Although there was a lot of work being done with genetics back then, such as the cloning of sheep, it didn't help us any because we needed a manufactured substance, and not something that was actually alive. _Our_ fake skin has never been useful medically to this day, sad to say, except in a few cosmetic instances."

A hundred, or even fifty years ago, it would have seemed quite impossible for a mere child of 12 to arrive at a solution to the problem of manufacturing believable skin. On the other hand Scott, who would have been called "bookish" in the past, but now more accurately "internetish", has orders of magnitude more information available to him than bookish boys of the past, and the internet is technology he takes to like a 12-year-old to a go cart.

While Scott is the best known individual associated with Robofuk, it is incorrect to imagine that he actually developed robotic sex machines on his own in a vacuum. Indeed, Scott is a fairly sociable youth despite stereotypes about "bookish", or in this case "internetish", kids being loners and unaccepted by their peers.

Scott, at 12, is a little boy whose shoulder blades stick out in the back and who has no pubic hair. His dark brown hair is parted in the middle and two "halves" of hair hang down almost to his eyebrows, framing his forehead in such a way as to make it look smaller than it really is. While raging hormones are still a long way off, he and his friends are by no means indifferent to the opposite sex-quite the contrary. He and his buddies share sexual information, or misinformation, masturbate together, and generally keep the pot boiling in the matter of girls and sex.

Scott and his friends also include girls in their activities ( _sans_ the masturbating) more extensively than their forebears did, owing perhaps to the general trend toward greater egalitarianism and the greater popularity of unisex attitudes that began in the 1960's. Notwithstanding the relatively relaxed nature of interactions between the sexes however, things have not yet gotten to the point where 12-year-old boys typically have the social skills which might render end to end pillows redundant. A fear of the unknown and the risk of embarrassment inhibit boys like Scott sufficiently that it will still be a while before he has his first heterosexual experience.

"When I was 12, I knew about varieties of skin on faces, arms, legs, and even immature balls and penises, but I still had a lot to learn about females, and for that matter, tongues and areolas and such. On top of that, even if the consistency is correct, you still have to worry about temperature and things like little hairs on the arms, or even little girl fuzz mustaches and the rest of it.

"But synergies were cropping up in technology like rain after a car wash, and, believe it or not, we had the answers we needed for believable skin even before I had my first real girl."

Scott and a couple of his friends are able to fabricate a skin-like material which not only has the correct appearance, but which satisfies the most demanding requirements of sexual performance as well. This enterprise is helped along in no small measure by the interest he and his friends have in such items as condoms, and the various lubricants which they make imaginative use of more than occasionally.

"In the same way that terrorists can come up with what's needed for a nuclear weapon, pipe bomb, or whatever on the internet, we rather easily found what we needed to get the right color, consistency, durability, pliability, and so on in our 'skin'. We looked at insulin pumps, microchip fuzzy logic circuits, temperature sensors, and scads of other things which, looking back on it, would seem a tall order to us now, but as kids, we didn't know it was supposed to be a hard thing to do, no pun intended.

"Once we had the skin and its variations, the rest was relatively easy," he tells the reporter.

"From a business point of view," he continues, "it helped that no one had really figured out how to make money on the internet in a general sense, and so we could come by all kinds of things for next to nothing, and I don't mean just music. We got motors and circuitry and everything else for very little money. We did figure out most of the construction methods ourselves, but getting the stuff we used wasn't much different from what kids had done in earlier years when they made short wave radios out of stuff from junk yards."

The precise means by which Scott and his buddies make possible the variety of sex machines available today need not detain us here. Let us just note that literally hundreds of sub-assemblies eventually, and rather soon at that, permit the synergy of a human body that looks, talks, and feels like the real thing. The items, once manufactured are, of course, deceptions not unlike the illusions of a good magician, despite their perfection, and they can be turned on and off like light bulbs.

Scott, now 13 and sprouting the beginnings of pubic hair, goes to the closet in the attic of his family's house and runs his hand under three old satin and lace dresses of his mother's which he knows she'll never use again, and feels for the arm of the doll-like robot he and his friends have been working on for the last year. He pulls it out of the closet and puts a condom in its "vagina", and then turns it on. Within a minute, he figures the temperature is right, and he adds a lubricant which is more watery than oily, and which contains anti-bacterial agents as well.

After squeezing some of the same substance into the mouth, Scott lays the figure on an old army cot which is opened, but has nothing stored on it. This first prototype will undergo major improvements in the next few months, but even now it is not unpleasant to kiss in Scott's opinion, and with the barest of imagination, he can feel it respond and begin to move in rhythmic and suggestive ways. Since Scott has imagination and then some, it is not long before he feels for the "vagina" and finds it wet and warm. He considers this a vast improvement over his pillows.

Scott shortly comes in his invention (with clear young boy semen), hugs it, and then, in a fairly short time, has at it once again. This is made easier since Scott's parents never enter the attic, and he and his friends are able to use it pretty much as their own. A microscope and a computer sit on a desk, and a variety of printed circuits, data disks, and electronic components are strewn about in a manner typical of youth his age.

"My turn!" says Jimmy, as he opens his own condom and waves it at Scott.

"OK, go for it," replies Scott as he reaches down and removes his used condom from the clever mounting device which had in fact been Jimmy's idea. Jimmy repeats the procedure with his condom and the lubricant while Scott and Roland look on with fascination.

Jimmy Crosby and Roland Jones are best friends with Scott, and the trio have worked together for the past year assembling the artifact which, while appeasing their sexual appetites on the one hand, as often as not also whets them on the other. Although they do in fact spend inordinate amounts of time on their project, and some of that at the expense of their school work, they also engage in many of the activities that are normal for boys their age. They go skating on Saturday nights, attend school as required, go to birthday parties, and have a number of female friends between them, some of whom are occasionally allowed into the attic.

It must be said however that, despite strong temptations to the contrary, they are loathe (at least at first) to let any of the girls they know be privy to their most fascinating enterprise. Indeed, they go to great lengths to obscure their activities not only from their parents, but also from the girls they know, and especially other boys, the majority of whom would _not_ have been thought of as "bookish" in the old days.

"Scott, I need your help!" cries Brittany Broland as she bursts into the attic quite unexpectedly. "Hey, what's goin' on? What are you guys up to? Whoa, what or _who_ is that under Jimmy?"

To relate that the three boys are flabbergasted is to understate the situation somewhat. Preoccupied as they are with their all-male pastime, they do not hear Brittany run up the steps without knocking or ringing the doorbell. She knows there are no adults home and she is panicked to get her pet kitten out of the tree-a matter she figures Scott can deal with more effectively and more quickly than she can herself.

"Gosh Brittany, can't you knock? This is our private stuff here and no business of yours!"

"Well don't get bent out of shape. I'm not here to see what you're up to. But what are you up to anyway? I need you to get Mosely out of a tree!"

Scott and Roland do their best to obscure Jimmy's frenzied efforts to withdraw himself from the robot and reclothe himself suitably, but Brittany is able to see that their activities involve Jimmy's pants being down, and more noticeably, a girl or young woman who appears considerably less concerned about the situation than the boys.

"Who is that? Is she OK? Hey! That's not even a real person is it? Is that one of those blow up dolls I've heard about?"

Brittany is still 12, but in most ways more mature, even physically, than the boys in the attic. She has dark brown hair which is always attractive regardless of whether it is combed or not. Shoulder length, it makes a perfect frame for her pretty face no matter what its condition. She is the same height as Scott, perfectly proportioned, and certainly one of the prettier girls in school. She has a way of habitually lowering her head which causes her eyes to be looking up most of the time, but since she looks you right in the eye, looking down makes her look cute rather than insecure. Although her nipples are budding rather sizeably, her breasts are not yet developed.

She started having periods six months ago, and she knows as much about sex as one can short of actually having had it. Her parents are well educated and concerned that she be informed rather than misinformed. To that end, they never make any effort to obscure the "facts of life" from her, and on the contrary, go out of their way to answer any questions she has in quite complete detail with copious use of pictures, pornos included.

"No it's not a blow up doll!" shouts Scott. "Damn Brittany, you really caught us in a spot and it's not fair! What the hell do you want?"

" I don't care what you guys are up to-all I want is to get my kitten out of the tree!," says Brittany.

"OK. If we help you with that, this goes no farther-is that a deal?" asks Jimmy.

"Fair enough! Just get my kitten for me."

By now Roland has recovered his composure and the boys do in fact get Brittany's kitten out of the tree. None of them are comfortable about their doings having been discovered, however, and by a girl at that. Indeed, they are extremely uncomfortable with this new development and spend the rest of the day and evening fretting over what might happen.

"You _know_ it'll be all over school, and our parents'll probably find out as well. She had no business running up here like that!," says Roland who is more upset than the others for having been caught in the act, so to speak.

"You're right, she had no business. But what's done is done. We have to take it from there," says Scott.

Scott is very intelligent, even if inexperienced, and he understands the predicament immediately. He also understands that time always goes forward, not backward, and that it will serve no useful purpose to "piss and moan", as he puts it, over "spilled milk".

The _good_ news in Scott's view is that he does have a very friendly relationship with Brittany, who is plenty intelligent herself. While he is certainly aware of how pretty she is, his interest in Allison disinclines him toward any action which might complicate his relationship with Brittany. Generally, Scott and Brittany get along very well precisely because their interactions are of a friendly nature rather than a boy-girl nature.

Scott figures he has a couple of days at best before what he sees as an irresistible urge on the part of females to gossip takes over, regardless of Brittany's promises to the contrary. True, she is indebted to all three boys for getting her kitten, and she is not only intelligent, but pretty honorable as well, all of which contributes to Scott's comfort zone of a couple of days.

"Look guys-let me talk to her," he says to the others, "and maybe we can pull it out of the fire."

Worried about the time factor, Scott makes it his business the very next day to tell Brittany that he needs to see her alone right away, and that it is _very_ important. She agrees, and this turns out to be one of several serendipitous events which will eventually result in Robofuk, though neither of them knows it at the time.

Scott is nothing if not creative, and he thinks "outside the box" almost as a habit. He and the other boys discuss at length a variety of stories they might get away with where Brittany is concerned, and while the other two are optimistic about many such ruses, Scott knows that Brittany will see through them all sooner or later. He remembers hearing somewhere that going right for the truth is often the best way of handling such things-in part because it throws the other person off balance-it just might put him in control of the situation.

"Brittany", Scott begins when they are alone in the attic, "I know that was pretty weird yesterday, but I've decided to tell you the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I don't know how much you know about sex and so on, but after yesterday, I guess we can talk about that, huh? Or would you think I was really out of line? I can't really tell you what was going on without getting into that stuff some too."

"That's OK. I know all about it, or at least as much as you guys do. Like, duh, I could see basically what was going on anyway."

In fact, Brittany is not as put off by the experience as the boys think. She is no stranger to masturbation herself, and while she has not yet engaged in any sexual activity with her girlfriends, she does not rule out such things in her own mind. She knows from her parents that boys are thought to masturbate a lot anyway. Her parents characterize masturbation as a perfectly normal thing, so she doesn't have a problem with that part of what she saw.

"Brittany, I admit we've been using what you saw as a 'pretend' girl, but it isn't like you probably think. I mean, we were really more interested in duplicating skin and making robots that could move and things like that at first. The sex stuff came later, actually. We've been messing with some of this stuff way before we knew much about sex. Some guys make models and play video games and stuff like that, but this is what we like to mess with-you know, computers and electronics and chemistry and all. I can't really give you excuses, but I do want you to know that the sex stuff was sort of incidental, just something we tried."

"Well, are you going to let me see it?" asks Brittany.

"Well if I do, doesn't that make an obligation on your part not to tell anybody about it?"

"I already said I wouldn't!"

"I know, but this would really kill us if it got out. You know, parents would not be too understanding about this, I don't think."

"I'm not going to tell anyone! Let me see it!"

Scott again reaches beneath the three dresses and pulls out the robot. Brittany is really impressed with the work her male friends have done. They used templates to make coverings for the various body parts, and managed to make invisible seams in their skin-like material through a clever combination of adhesives and melting with an ordinary iron. They have a way of impregnating "skin" parts with small hairs cut from wigs and their own heads, and have made the light-weight skeleton from aluminum. The face is quite believable (copied from a picture of one of their teen age idols), and the main evidence that it isn't real are the eyes and the hair on the head which is, in fact, simply a cheap wig.

It will not be long before these defects are eliminated. For example, even in some of the cheaper models available today, the pupils of the eyes don't dilate or contract according to the intensity of the light, and yet this is a problem the boys solve while still in their teens. It is Roland who suggests that having the eyes blink a little more often than normal, and having the lids close a little in strong light will act as misdirection and prevent most people from noticing the pupils. (In early models, the pupils always stayed the same size).

Scott tells Brittany most of the technical details and the history of the robot in part because he's not anxious to focus in this conversation on the sexual recreations of the previous day. While Brittany does find this fascinating, she is now thinking "outside the box" herself in ways which the boys have not. Brittany's parents, as mentioned, are well educated, but not all that well off financially. They struggle more than many because both are school teachers, and such work does not pay well in Florida where they live.

Scott and his friends, on the other hand, come from families where money doesn't seem to be a problem-at least not for the boys themselves. They have generous allowances, and their parents usually find it easier to buy them what they want than to argue with them.

"Look, I really am impressed with what you guys have done here," Brittany says, "and I don't care about your sexual experimentation. My parents say it's normal anyway. Have you thought about maybe selling these things? I bet you could make a fortune!"

"No, we haven't thought about that. I mean, I guess you could sell them. After all, they sell those blow up dolls you thought we had."

"Well they sell all kinds of stuff. If you did it on the internet, people wouldn't know you were a kid or anything. I mean, you can pretend to be anybody or any age or sex or whatever."

Brittany uses the internet herself for e-mailing friends and for school essays and such. Like many kids at this time, she is definitely computer literate even if she isn't as technically oriented as the boys. She also agrees with her parents who think the wave of the future will be a combination of the internet and entrepreneurship, especially in the area of education with which they are mostly concerned. Brittany hears many intelligent conversations between her parents, and is often included in such conversations.

"You know," Brittany continues, "that skin _is_ outasight! Did you patent it or anything?"

"No. I guess we could find out about that on the net."

"My parents say that speed in getting to market is lots more important than a patent. Patents are too slow, and they can be gotten around anyway. I hear a lot about all this stuff from them. Tell you what. I really will keep this top secret if you let me in on it. I think we could make some serious money out of this. What do you think?"

Scott is thrilled at the prospect of Brittany being in cahoots with them, as that will certainly motivate her to keep her mouth shut. He quickly agrees.

A couple of days later the trio of boys are once again in the attic, the door to which they make sure is locked from the inside this time. After pleasuring themselves again with the robot, they begin a serious discussion about Brittany who is not present.

"Do you really think she'll keep quiet?" asks Roland.

"I do because she seemed like she really wanted to get into this selling thing with us. Plus, she knows a lot more about that kind of stuff than we do. Her parents are both teachers, you know. I say we go for it-see what she comes up with," says Scott.

"Well," agrees Jimmy, "I don't see what we have to lose."

"Then let's get her up here and have some talk," suggests Roland.

"Hey, maybe we can get her to show us her pussy. You know, we could say we need to look at it so we can make one that's more realistic than what we have so far. You know, tell her pictures don't work as good as the real thing would," Roland said with some elation.

"Well wait a minute you guys. We gotta be careful we don't fuck this up-you know, make her mad or anything," says Scott.

During the next few months many meetings are held in the attic, much work is done, and much is accomplished. Brittany does in fact eventually permit a close-up visual inspection of her genitalia by all three boys, thereby causing three instant erections, but the attitudes of all are more business like than might have been expected under the circumstances, and the boys continue to use the robot rather than risk coming on to Brittany. For her part, she keeps both eyes on the ball as well, even though she is by no means indifferent to the sexual nature of what they are involved in. They all agree later that there was a sense that something big was going on, and that that became their main priority.

In retrospect this is a good thing, because in a matter of a few months the robot goes from being a well-done and extremely sophisticated improvement over blow up dolls to something more like the amazing artifact it is today. The "skin" is the basic ingredient in everything visible on the outside except for eyes, teeth, hair, and fingernails, which items are already available in quantity and quality in the 20th Century. Certain temperatures and topical chemical applications permit the local bunching up of, and coloring of, the requisite areas which thereby become areola, navel, lips, labia, and even an anus.

Power is from rechargeable batteries, and the inside of the body contains not only an aluminum skeleton and battery packs, but also a variety of sensors, electric motors, and computer chips, together with sufficient plumbing such that, when finally accomplished, the robot no longer needs either a condom or an outside source of liquid and lubrication. Indeed, Scott feels he has definitely surpassed himself when he solves the problem of safely and aesthetically recirculating semen back into sterile water, which eliminates the need for periodic maintenance. The information about how to do this is already on the net if one has the patience and time to find it. The three boys and one girl _do_ have what it takes which is why their efforts pay off so handsomely.

"You know, I think we have this down well enough now that we ought to start making some money off of them," says Brittany. "I've held up my end of the deal so let's see if you guys will go along with me."

Brittany reaches into a pocket of her jeans and pulls out a shiny silver Visa card.

"This can help us finance what we have to finance," she continues. "Don't worry about how I got it. As long as we keep it paid up, it'll give us some leeway."

"How do you figure to sell them?" asks Jimmy. "I mean it's not like we can put 'em in stores or anything."

"I know," she replies. "We don't have to. I think I have it pretty well figured out. I have been on the internet big time, and I think I have a handle on it. But I'll run it by you guys right now. Check it out. What we do is we start advertising them on the net. But we have to be able to deliver and collect the money the day we start advertising. My friend Beth's brother has his license and a decent car. His mother is never home, and he can be gone as much as he wants."

It's true that Eugene, Beth's brother, can pretty much come and go as he pleases. His mother, a "single" parent, is only 15 years older than he is, having gotten pregnant at 14, and she is hardly a suitable parent or role model. Nevertheless, unlike the vast majority of such cases, Eugene, or Gene as he prefers it, is quite intelligent and honorable to boot. While, more often than not, a neglected child will turn out to be disturbed and criminally inclined, for whatever reasons, this has not happened to Gene. He reads a lot, and reads good books, and seems responsible almost to an extreme in the eyes of most adults who know him. He gets next to nothing in the way of money from his mom, and supports himself by being no stranger to hard work. He mows lawns, paints houses, does odd jobs and such, and has therefore been able to buy a red 1997 Honda Civic which runs very well despite its age and its 140,000 miles.

"We can put up a web page with pictures and everything, and do it all on the net. You know, use e-mail, hook up with some links and see what happens. Meanwhile, make up as many of these robots as you can. I would just go with what we have for now, but later we probably should have different models just like they do with anything else. I guess you could make two or three a week couldn't you?", asks Brittany.

"Yeah, I guess we could. But how do we get the money and deliver 'em and all that? I don't think you could mail something that big!" says Scott.

"Let me tell you, Scott, I go for this entrepreneurial stuff that my parents are into," replies Brittany. "We should do the entire thing on our own. That's where Beth's brother comes in. We'll just take the orders, and deliver on the ones he can drive to from here, and tell the rest that they're back ordered. That means they'll eventually get 'em, but not right away. After we have some money from the first ones, we can afford to deliver further away-get it?"

"What about the money part?" asks Roland.

"Gene can collect it when he delivers," Brittany answers. "We'll put a digital camera on his car so if the deal goes bad, he can say that everything is on tape in a far away location. They won't know the difference. We all know Gene is OK, and we'll give him a fair percentage. If you think what they get just for those blow up dolls, you can imagine what we can make with this. I'm thinking along the lines of two or three thousand per unit. Will that make us money?"

"I guess it would now, but it really wouldn't cover the cost of the first couple we made. But now that we have everything down, there isn't that much money in any one of them. Sure, three thousand would be great," says Scott.

In relatively short order, this plan comes to fruition. There is a degree of trial and error associated with the enterprise, as indeed was the case with the development of the robot in the first place. To begin with, the web page is unproductive, and it requires some changes and movings around before the first paying customer is "snagged" as Brittany puts it. The four entrepreneurs operate more like purveyors of drugs than businessmen, at least at first, and in fact much of their original success depends more on word of mouth than their advertising skills on the net.

Their first customer (which according to their definition is a person from whom they get all the money in cash with no hassle) is John S., aged 37, a disfigured burn victim who is single and well off financially as a consequence of an insurance settlement from the same tragedy which disfigured him. He lives in Orlando, and no longer has to work. Although physically fit, his appearance excludes him from the social life which might otherwise be available to him, and the robot, if it works as advertised, seems a reasonable indulgence.

John S. is quite satisfied with his purchase, which Gene delivers on a Saturday afternoon. Gene contributes his own intelligence to the effort by coming up with a good plan for effecting the exchange of merchandise and money. He takes the model into the customer's house and unwraps it and sets it up, so to speak. If the customer is serious and hands over the money, Gene then, and only then, shows the customer what else he needs to know in order for the device to work.

At first, the group only sells in Florida, Georgia, and South Carolina-places which Gene can get to in one day. Their web page is seminal not because it is "hit" very often, but in the sense that it starts an underground e-mail and chat room current which rather quickly, once started, snowballs into more orders than they can handle by themselves.

# CHAPTER TWO

By now all three boys, and Brittany too, are much more hormonal than when they began. Brittany's breasts have developed nicely and the boys all have pubic hair and deeper or changing voices. All have experimented with persons of the opposite sex, though not with each other, and things are progressing that way in more or less typical fashion. Fortunately there are no pregnancies or sexually transmitted diseases, but this is owing more to luck than their intelligence and self discipline.

While Brittany is by far the most rational of the bunch, even she "goes all the way" by the time she is 15. She does insist that her temporary mating partners use condoms, and she is also careful to time such things at what she figures will be the best time in her menstrual cycle to avoid pregnancy.

What is by now a bona fide business operation continues to be done in a most informal manner, which is to say, cash on the barrelhead, so to speak, with nothing written down or "legalized". Moreover, there is no thought of paying taxes, keeping records, or anything like that. Nevertheless, as the operation grows, and grow it does, it becomes more and more apparent that they won't be able to keep what they're doing clandestine much longer. One of their customers, who turns out to be involved with a TV evangelist, reneges on the deal at the last minute. If Gene's ruse about secret taping at a remote location by wireless had not worked, there's no telling what might have ensued in terms of people finding out who was doing Robofuk and from where.

As is true generally of such enterprises, once the availability of robobfuks gains the status of urban legend, it becomes necessary for the four to evolve their activities to the next stage.

This will, as it turns out, require precisely the things which they have so far avoided-taxes, records, and even employees. They have displayed unusual good sense in many ways already. For example, even though nothing is patented, that doesn't keep them from putting a "patent applied for" label on the upper part of the neck near the on and off switch-both the label and the switch are covered by hair unless the hair is lifted up from the back.

The parents of the boys are still in the dark at this point, but Brittany informs her parents of the enterprise about a year into it, following her parents' promise to keep it to themselves. This gives her additional advantage over the boys respecting the business side of the project insofar as her parents are willing and able to give her useful advice. That they are more willing than able might be inferred because they are school teachers, but actually they are well-informed people even as they aspire to nothing fancier than being teachers.

Brittany puts some of the money they make into a bank account in her name, but most of it is distributed evenly as cash and stashed in the attic or spent as occasion requires. None of the youngsters are overly concerned about saving, but Brittany manages to save enough that she is able to cover the costs of incorporating the business as Robofuk. The name is suggested to her by signs she sees on the back of Volkswagens which purport to be in German, but which are really phonetic spellings of things calculated to upset old ladies and clergymen, such as "fukengruven".

She does this with the help of a paralegal at first, but then she manages to meet a real lawyer by waiting outside the Council on Aging until James Sparks, who retired five years earlier, comes out after his volunteer work with older people.

"Excuse me Mr. Sparks, could I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure honey, what do you want?"

"Well I need to talk to a lawyer about some business I'm, er, we're doing. That is, some other kids and myself are sorta in a business, but I guess we aren't old enough to be taken seriously by regular lawyers. I thought maybe we could - "

"Talk? Sure. But let's go somewhere where we can do that comfortably. Get in my car and we'll go to Denny's and get some coffee, or I guess coke or something in your case. Do you drink coffee?"

"Well, no, I mean I have, but a coke would be fine. I can buy my own."

"Don't worry about it. If I can advise old people, I guess I can advise young ones too."

Mr.Sparks is 65 and comfortable. He is recently widowed, and since his kids who are middle-aged themselves all live up north, he is actually pleased to be stopped by such a young and pretty girl, no matter what her business. He does not need any money from the girl, or the old people either, since he made more than enough during his career as a corporate lawyer. Many of his doings as a corporate lawyer have, in fact, inclined him to something of a penitential attitude in his later years, and that, together with his increasing loneliness, make him an ideal choice for what is to follow, though neither Mr.Sparks nor Brittany know it at the time.

"So," Jim begins after coffee and coke are ordered, "let me guess. One of your friends, or maybe even you, are pregnant. Right?"

"No sir. This is entirely different. But before I go on, is this talk confidential? I mean, is there any kind of lawyer-client confidentiality or anything like that?"

"Actually there isn't, but I could have said there was. If I had, would you have believed me?"

"Yes, I guess I would have."

"Well, if you're in some kind of legitimate business, that would be your first mistake. I guess I can say don't believe lawyers 'cause I'm one myself. But you didn't just happen by when I came out of the Council. You must have planned on meeting me there which means you did some checking first. Right?"

"Yes sir. I found your name in a couple of places on the net, and I know you've had lots of business experience. I know you're retired and that you volunteer for free. If I need a lawyer, that's about as good as I'm gonna do, I guess."

"Well I'd have to agree. I don't take on paying work anymore, though. What did you have in mind, my volunteering my services?"

"No sir, we'd pay, or maybe do some volunteer stuff ourselves, whatever you think."

"Well, I like you already. And skip the sir stuff, OK?"

"Yes sir, I mean, yeah, sure."

"You'll have to start from the beginning and tell me what you want from me."

Brittany relates the experiences she and the three boys have had up till now, and tells Jim that she knows they will have to start doing their business in a truly legitimate way, and soon. He can hardly believe the amounts of money she is claiming are correct, and he might have had difficulty believing _anything_ Brittany was saying, but with the internet things can be proven which in earlier times would have been either impossible, or too time consuming to prove. Assuming the library's computers are rigged in such a way as to not receive her web page, Brittany asks if Jim knows of a computer they can use.

Jim, suspicious by nature, is not about to situate himself in his or anybody else's house with a young teenage girl he's just met whether he likes her or not, which he does. They therefore return to the Council on Aging at a time when his elder clients will have already left, and where they can use a computer without being disturbed. Brittany shows him her web page, and also a couple of usenet sites which contain references to the robofuks. This and further conversation soon convinces Jim that Brittany is on the up and up. Anyway, what does he have to lose? This looks like it could be fun, which is decidedly not the case with his elder clients.

In little more than a week Jim is up to speed on the operation of Robofuk, further ahead than the boys for sure, and probably Brittany too, though he doesn't underestimate her. Unlike many of his lawyerly cohorts, Jim is, at this point in his life, no longer concerned with the big kill, and as noted, he is more interested than the average lawyer in, not necessarily atoning exactly, but let's just say doing the right thing.

"I think you kids have a really good thing going here, but you're right, you have to start doing it right," says Jim. They meet at the Council on Aging, which is easy to do because of the prestige accorded to former lawyers, doctors, etc. by the rather bureaucratically oriented personnel who man the facility.

"You're going to need a place to make these, and you're going to need employees. You're also going to have to come up with ways of shipping them, and getting the money through credit cards and checks and things like that. Since you already have some money, maybe you won't have to borrow any right away, but sooner or later you will. So you need to get this thing organized like a real business, and start keeping records and so on. I can probably get you out of any tax problems so far by creative bookkeeping that can show a loss, but that's stop gap. It won't do from now on.

"I can understand your reluctance to tell me how you make the skin so believable, and I don't need to know that anyway. But you better be hoping that no one can reverse engineer the process. My advice is to make your move as quick as you can and then get out with your money. If things go right, you won't need to do any more than that."

These things are all done in fairly short order. Jim arranges the leasing of a modest, but adequate building on the outskirts of town, and he sets up all of the paperwork needed for the proper handling of the money. Since none of the kids are really old enough to sign contracts, Jim does everything in his name, but he also executes legal instruments which will protect the interests of the kids when they're older, should anything happen to him. Since he is himself a multimillionaire, he has no trouble wheeling and dealing in ways which the kids have not yet had enough experience to know about. This soon includes methods of advertising which go way beyond the internet word of mouth that the kids rely on. He copyrights the name.

Jim arranges radio advertising almost immediately on various talk shows, and in certain magazines and newspapers as well. Television comes later. Getting the word out about Robofuk results in a major enlargement of the business, but because of Jim, the kids remain in charge even when they feel like they're riding a raging bull.

Sad to relate, it is the case with many families in this period that parents regard money as the most important thing in their own lives, and many set aside misgivings they might otherwise have about their children's development as long as there is no financial penalty. This is true of the parents of Scott, Jimmy, and Roland. They are mostly concerned with their own financial activities and so long as the boys don't come to their attention in a problem-causing way, they appear to have little interest in what the boys are up to. If teachers or police were to have occasion to contact the parents in a negative way, it might be different, but the boys are occupied in ways pleasant enough to themselves that they never come to their parent's attention in ways that could cause them problems.

"Scott, I've been thinking for a long time about something we ought to do," Brittany says as they sit around the area in their leased factory building which serves as an office. "I probably should have mentioned this long ago, but I might have been embarrassed back then. We need to be making robots for females, and not just males. The market for them would be as big as the male market is. I'm surprised you didn't think of that!"

"Well actually I did, even before Jim mentioned it to me some time ago. We're all ready to go as far as the technical details are concerned. I'm glad you are with us on that. We should have a prototype in about a week. Would you like to try it out?"

Scott and Brittany, now on the verge of young adulthood, work so closely together, and so productively, that they are much closer as friends now than when they were younger. But even their younger relationship was close only in a "friendship" sense, not sexual. While many, if not most of Scott's peers don't even think there _is_ such a thing as just friendship between girls and boys, it is also true that until the well runs dry-that is to say, as long as the money is coming in and everything is fine-friendly relations _can_ obtain between male and female. In addition, close collaborations like theirs often result in relationships more like that of brother and sister than that of lovers.

Brittany is by now not at all inhibited in her conversations with Scott, or with Jimmy and Roland for that matter. The very nature of their work requires a certain candor, and the times they live in are more conducive to openness, or a lack of inhibition, about sexual matters than was true in earlier times. All four of the young participants in Robofuk learn to discuss details of physical sex without difficulty. Brittany _did_ think about male robots a long time back, but it is only now, when they are positioned to mass produce them, that she sees them as important to the business.

"Well if they're going to be field tested, then I guess I _have_ to do it don't I? Sure I'll try it, but not with you guys looking on. Maybe you should have checked with me about some of the design."

"That's what we're doing now. You try it out and let us know if anything is wrong. If it is, it'll be in the computer programming and not the hardware, so we can fix it pretty quickly."

Jim has no trouble organizing the enterprise on a business-like basis, and as a result, orders, deliveries, and collections grow at an exponential pace, as do the records and forms that must be filled out. Personnel are hired as required, and the business is booming. All four kids will claim in later years that they missed having a normal adolescence, but that they didn't mind crying all the way to the bank. In short, all four are quite as rich before they turn 21 as Jim was at 65.

One of the reasons for their success is that they are not given to ostentation. Even though they can have fancy sports cars and lavish entertainments, they tend to be conservative in their personal demeanor. This keeps them from the notoriety which often attends people of considerable means, which in turn helps the enterprise keep a much lower profile than would be the case if they wanted to be celebrities.

# CHAPTER THREE

Nevertheless, it is only a matter of time before other business-minded people begin to calculate the potential profits involved in selling safe sex. By the time Scott and company all turn 17, a meeting takes place in Winston Salem, North Carolina that has counterparts in many other places around the globe.

On the 14th floor of the Acme Cigarettes Building in Winston Salem, North Carolina, in the executive suite, John Jackson pauses for the waiter to refill his small china cup with sweet Cuban coffee and retire before resuming his conversation with Bill Carlucci, his friend of many years, and now second in command of the company only to John himself.

"Goddamit Bill, we oughta be thinking about these fucking robots. It would actually do a lot of good if we could do the same thing with them that General Motors did with cars. Just think about it! Sooner or later we're gonna run out of fuel, or rubber, or some other fucking thing, and if all those chinks start driving cars, who knows where it will end? These fuck machines could be priced in the same range as cars and sold the same way, and it sure would cut down on global warming," observes John.

"Well some of our stockholders might have a problem with being in that business, you know," replies Bill.

"Fuck 'em! They'll be OK with it when the bucks are coming in. Besides, we can just phase it in, use different names, whatever."

"What about that Robofuk company? Do they have any patents or anything?"

"Doesn't matter. We'll just buy them out, do whatever it takes. No big deal. Besides, if we don't, others will. It ain't goin' away, that's for sure."

Pursuant to this conversation, it is subsequently arranged that Robofuk be purchased for a considerable sum with the provision that Scott, Jimmy, Roland, and Brittany be hired as first officers in charge of Robofuk which will then be a subsidiary of Acme Cigarettes and renamed Recreations Division. The name Robofuk will become simply a brand name, just one of many, though it retains its status as a generic term also. Jim negotiates the deal and sees to it that the kids and he will all receive handsome golden parachutes, in addition to their very high salaries, if the deal goes sour down the road.

A variety of changes take place in the nature of business as well as in the culture at large as a result of the technological evolution going on at the turn of the 21st Century. This evolution is, if anything, even more exponential than it was during the 20th Century. There is the threat to big businesses like automobiles, oil, and cigarettes that small fry can come in through the back door, so to speak, and make the larger enterprises irrelevant through innovations. The larger corporations fear they might not be able to control these upstarts, even though they control governments and strong international political and economic institutions.

Some American CEO's have learned, not only from Japanese inroads into the auto industry, but also from the waning of the monopoly of the three main TV networks, difficulties in enforcing copyright law, and similar events that their "natural" status quo mentality is little protection against novelty. The shrinking of time and space through the internet make wheeling and dealing possible for individuals who are not necessarily connected to big money, and in every area of life, new ways of doing are being found almost daily, if not hourly.

It should not be supposed, however, that "normalizing" the sale of safe sex robots can be accomplished without controversy or opposition. Quite the contrary, in addition to those who oppose change just on principle, many have serious misgivings about candor in sexual matters no matter what, especially as it relates to children and teenagers.

"I think the deterioration of morals has already gone way too far," opines Father McGrath, Catholic priest from a Chicago parish, "and I can't imagine that we would even permit these things to be _manufactured_ , much less _sold_. This all goes back to the sex and violence in movies during the last half of the 20th Century, in my opinion. To have these things pictured just anywhere, or stuck in store windows-even if they have clothes on-is more than I can fathom."

This comment and what follows is just part of one of many such conversations taking place at the time. The occasion is a round table panel discussion arranged by the Council of Churches which is taking place at Notre Dame University in Indiana, featuring mostly clergy from the prominent faiths and a few other experts in the fields of ethics and law.

"Well I can understand your feelings, Father, but you would probably have some problems trying to prevent their manufacture. Just consider all the really 'nasty' things out there already, if you will. There have been dildos, vibrators, and who knows what else for decades. Then there is the problem of civil rights-you know-what a person does in his own home, and so on," says Len Dorset, lawyer and ethics professor at Harvard.

"Well, there is also the question of community standards," replies the priest. "You can't walk outside with no clothes on without running afoul of community standards, and for that matter laws as well. In my opinion, if everything goes, nothing goes."

"You know, this basic question has come up from time immemorial, and we still don't have all the answers. For example, often the same person who doesn't want someone to have one of these robots is quite OK with everybody having guns, even concealed guns. Push come to shove, which is worse?", asks Myra Powell, a female Protestant minister.

"Well if anybody understands two wrongs don't make a right, it should be us," claims Reverend James Mitchell of Zion AME Church in Huntsville, Alabama. "That one thing may be wrong doesn't mean the other is right. No one says we should go around naked, and for my part, I could do without the guns as well. On the other hand, I'm not sure the government should be telling us what we can and can't do if it doesn't hurt somebody else. While I don't like guns myself, I respect the rights of others to have them, and while I also wear clothes, I'd be a little reluctant to send cops in after people at a nudist camp. I don't personally think we should go around naked, like I said, but as long as that's what someone wants to do, and it doesn't hurt me, then I'd be slow on getting the government involved in that too."

"Whether the government enforces a particular community standard is a different question from what the community standards should be in the first place," says the pastor of a gay congregation in New York City. "Have any of us considered the other side of the coin? I mean, is there anything _good_ to be said about these robots? Are they the end of civilization as we know it? I submit that they are a blessing to many, and in particular to those poor souls who would be without sexual experience altogether were it not for the robots. I have in mind not only the very ugly and obese, but also people with terrible deformities who God knows are too often treated in very inhumane ways."

"Do you think the robots should be prescribed by a physician or something?" asks the Catholic priest. "The very essence of Christian, and for that matter Jewish and Moslem living requires sacrifice and doing without. I don't pretend to know why God permits the deformed, but I'm sure He has His reasons, and I don't see where it's our place to interfere. I'm sure deformed people will get their rewards in Heaven, if not here on Earth."

"All due respect Father, but we already interfere with God's doings when we try to cure illness, which last I heard, is still OK with the Church," notes the gay pastor.

These and similar discussions are occurring about this time precisely because the robots, which have not been exactly a secret for the past couple of years anyway, are now beginning to assume characteristics of a fad with implications well beyond the fringe of degenerates, as the majority of the clergy see it, who might normally be expected to support such things. Tabloids are having a ball, no pun intended, and public interest in who has what kind of robot and what they do or don't do with them is increasing to an extent found alarming by more conventionally oriented folk.

As things heat up, Scott, Jimmy, Roland, and Brittany continue to maintain a low profile, an endeavor made easier by the wealth they now possess. They set their parents up with new houses, cars, and so on, but enjoy a social life which is not that different from their former teenaged peers, owing in part to their lack of interest, already noted, in ostentatious living. They do travel extensively, though incognito, and they develop into mature young adults who eventually go their own ways in their personal lives, while maintaining the bonds which held them together when they were younger.

Of course there are disagreements, arguments, temporary disaffections, and so on as would be the case in any work environment, but since their enterprise is so successful financially, there is never anything serious. Even so, the four eventually go their own ways, their futures assured money-wise, and only Scott becomes inextricably associated with Robofuk in the pubic mind.

A year after their first conversation about Robofuk, CEO John Jackson and his lieutenant Bill Carlucci sit in big leather chairs in their recently remodeled executive suite dining on fresh seafood, flown in from the Eastern Shore of Maryland that morning, which includes stuffed flounder and crab cakes.

"Bill, we're lookin' good on this robot shit! I think we've just scratched the surface. Jesus, the female market is a lot bigger than I would have thought."

"Yeah, but women live longer, and besides, after a certain age, they ain't gonna get none anyway. Shit, you can be one ugly assed bitch and still get laid by the hunk of your dreams, if you don't mind it being a robot," laughs Bill.

"I'll tell you what, Bill. We oughta be thinking ahead on this like we did last year when we got out ahead of everybody in the first place. You got international sales to think about, for example, which are just starting to come in. I mean, Christ, think what a market China is, and India too."

"I don't know if India is gonna get it for us. I mean, shit, pussy is cheap as hell over there ain't it? Don't they kill off female babies and stuff like that?"

"Well I would think if they kill off the females, then there'd be more demand rather than less. Incidentally, we gotta be thinking about some other things too. I mean, look, I wouldn't turn my nose up at any market. All we've really done so far is more or less straight ahead male and female robofuks, and while they're certainly fun and great looking and all that, I think we could come up with a much wider range of offerings. For example, what about the queer market? We haven't done shit about that."

"Yeah, but you have to worry about whether the straight market will be turned off by some pansy assed queer coming out of our plants."

"Well we can always distance one product from another-give 'em different names and addresses and so on."

"Right, but you know as well as I do there aren't any secrets anymore. There'd probably be headlines in the Wall Street Journal the next day. Of course that's why we got lawyers and spin doctors and all."

John and Bill are definitely middle aged, but not elderly, and their own interests in sex as sex, in addition to sex as business, is by no means dormant. It may seem surprising, therefore, that they have not personally tried out the products they now manufacture, despite every assurance that they are safe, hygienic, and a lot of fun.

Nor is their failure to try their own products the consequence of fealty to their wives or ideals about the sanctity of marriage. In fact, they often toy with a number of ideas in conversations together, as well as in their fantasies. One such conversation went like this:

"Bill, you know good and well somebody like Bill Gates gets all the pussy he wants, and not only that, he can get any kind he wants, right?"

"Well yes and no, John. I mean he certainly has the money, but that has a downside too. Say he wanted some young 16-year-old pussy. He could certainly afford to set it up. I mean, like he could send some people over to some Arab country or whatever, and with his money, he could have a palace and a harem and the whole nine yards, and it wouldn't dent his pocket book at all. But the downside is, no matter who he gets to set all this shit up for him, there's always the possibility that they'll come back at him with some kinda blackmail. Somebody in his position is almost a sitting duck for something like that."

Bill knows whereof he speaks. He and John both have in fact wanted "16-year-old pussy", but have been forestalled in their efforts by the realization that, as very rich men themselves, they stand a good chance of being found out or blackmailed or both. They have settled to date, therefore, on trips to Amsterdam where, like many of their peers, they can count on the discretion of the personnel involved for about $15,000 a weekend, but where they cannot specify in great detail their desires, but rather must take what's on the shelf, so to speak. This is pleasant enough for them that they have not gone further than that, even though they themselves have money enough to effect plans not unlike what they imagine for Bill Gates.

At this time, Scott, Jimmy, Roland, and Brittany are titular heads of the Recreations Division which manufactures the Robofuk brand of sex robots, but they no longer involve themselves much in the actual details of the business. Only Scott continues to have an interest which is both intellectual and perhaps a bit proprietary as well. Jimmy, Roland, and Brittany are content to live off their wealth and pursue other interests.

This being the case, further development of the line and the business in general fall to others, and this includes pretty much the same retinue of people as were previously involved in the cigarette part of the Acme Cigarettes business. The cigarette part is no longer what it once was. There are a number of obvious reasons for this.

American society in particular, and much of world society as well, were notoriously innumerate in the 20th Century, and remain so even into the 21st, but as always, things are constantly changing. For example, if one looks at American movies from the 1930's and then looks at movies from, say, 2005, one sees all kinds of changes. Men no longer wear fedoras routinely, and certainly not everyone smokes. Not only smoking, but even alcohol go from being widely popular in the 1930's to being seen as unhealthy and dangerous in 2005. By 2005, cigarettes are seen as very much a health hazard.

Despite continuing innumeracy, people begin to understand that the death toll and other costs from cigarettes far exceeds what is acceptable in the name of free enterprise. Indeed, cigarette deaths affect more families in the USA than are affected by war deaths because there have been more cigarette-related deaths than war deaths.

What is true of cigarettes is even more true of automobiles. Much of the degradation of the planet is caused by people's love affair with the auto. It isn't just the cars themselves, but also the things associated with them, such as roads and the sprawled out construction of buildings. At the same time, people are more concerned with their physical health and involve themselves in fitness training and the like. Riding bicycles and walking become popular. It is also increasingly possible to go about one's business without as much dependence on the auto than in the past.

Maybe it's just that the novelty is wearing off. The use of the auto as status symbol is waning somewhat as intellectual ability assumes more prominence in the scheme of things. Not that intelligence has increased, but people now buy into the idea that mind is "cool" and brawn is _passé_. One can "win" status points by simply knowing all the different brands of coffee available at places like Starbucks, or the different wines and what they go with. Simplicity is now something of a desideratum, and the internet permits interactions between like-minded people which were formerly impossible because of the distances involved.

Along with robotic sex, there is a vast improvement in motion simulators and Imax movies such that a person can have the virtual experience of, say, the Canadian Rockies without actually going there. Of course such artifacts can't substitute for the real thing, but they do serve to reduce the amount of time spent driving in automobiles. When one does wind up going to the Canadian Rockies, it is increasingly done by plane or cruise ship, and not in one's personal auto.

Social pressure is a funny thing, but very real, and just as mothers once spotlighted drunken drivers to useful effect, so also do large segments of the public-mostly women to be sure-call into question the "automobile culture" as the 21st Century progresses, once again to useful effect. The cumulative effect of this reaction against cigarettes and automobiles opens up new vistas of recreation and spare time activities, and opens up, therefore, new opportunities in business as well.

Despite his wishes to the contrary, Scott does become something of a celebrity over time, hence his interview with the Wall Street Journal reporter some years later. As the inventor, along with his friends, of the line that eventually becomes the industry standard, it is inevitable that he enjoy notoriety sooner or later. Nevertheless, although he certainly can, he does not greatly influence the direction in which things go after his initial input. Although he is still quite young, he enjoys the status of elder statesman in the field, but actual development goes ahead with a life of its own.

As one may well imagine, the Japanese, Koreans, and many Europeans get into the act with much of the impetus coming from the same auto and cigarette companies which now fear for their futures because of the relative decline in the popularity of cars and cigarettes. It is an irony that part of the slow down in auto sales has to do with the increasing dependability of autos, most of which easily go over a couple of hundred thousand miles without breakdown.

"Bill," John says, "I just had a talk with engineering, and our costs are going to be going way down on all our sex robot models. This gives us an opportunity to really sock in some profits, but we gotta come up with a way of not cutting prices. Shit, if anything, we gotta come up with a way of increasing prices."

"Well we talked before about tying in lingerie and cosmetics and perfumes and all that. What else do you think we can do?"

"One thing we can do is cover all the markets. We aren't doing that you know."

"We got the fag thing. That covers a big market doesn't it?"

"It does indeed, but we need to go further. I say we leave no stone unturned. I don't give a fuck if we sell 'em to kids as long as there's money in it."

"I go along with that, but we gotta be careful we don't overstep. I mean, there's already enough preachers and old ladies against us."

"I know. What we have to get crackin' on is what I guess you'd call propaganda. I mean, let's get some studies done, and maybe get some politicians on board, that kind of thing."

It must be understood that robotic sex is, by now, very far advanced, compared to what it used to be. Although the originals that Scott and his friends produced were quite well thought out and executed, they hardly compare to what becomes available when large companies begin to show an interest in developing them. Of course computer technology continues to advance, making things possible which would have sounded fantastic in the 20th Century.

Robotic sex machines now feature quite a variety of programs accessed by remote control devices not unlike those used for televisions. One can select from a variety of modes, and most of the robots can easily be programmed by wireless downloading of sexual programs which range from soft, tender, lengthy, and sweet to rough, assertive, demanding, and quick, with everything in between. In short, every appetite can be satisfied, and the user has considerable control over the length and nature of his or her sexual episodes.

Perhaps most astounding, however, is the attention to detail and the quality that goes into the manufacture of the devices. As one example, the hands are not the vice-grip-like affairs of earlier robots, but rather are completely articulated exactly like human hands and include all the joints and capabilities thereof. Such things as maintaining proper temperature, and for that matter balance when standing or sitting, have become commonplace. The robots now do have pupils that responded properly to light, and they also seem to breathe correctly and exhale breath which is indistinguishable from that of a human, though much more pleasant in odor.

More elaborate, which is to say more expensive, models can walk convincingly and even carry things like cups and plates, and are often mistaken for real people. Their speech programming features perfect fidelity. They can be programmed to recognize an owner's voice and respond appropriately to what he or she says or whatever he or she expresses in more guttural fashion. Professional magicians regard them as masterpieces of deception.

This is not to say that they can carry on intelligent conversations. Quite the contrary-there is no intelligence whatsoever in the devices unless one thinks of complicated movements of arms, legs, eyes, etc., as intelligence. They are programmed to be verbally interactive, but such interactions are on the order of what was done decades before when programs were developed to permit non-directive therapy interactions with computers in place of exchanges with real psychiatrists. Questions would be asked and answered, but they were open ended and were intended to elicit additional conversation from the "patient". So it is with the robots, and this proves to be more than sufficient, given the lack of depth normally associated with conversations during sex anyway.

Representative George Ramey, Republican from Mississippi, after going to some effort to arrange an appointment with John Jackson, CEO of Acme Cigarettes, is escorted into the executive suite on the 14th floor by a well dressed security officer where he is greeted personally by John.

"Mornin' Congressman. Good to see you. What can I do for you?"

"Well, I wanted to thank you for all you've done for the country by keeping this economy going. Lotta good jobs, and sure a good example of free enterprise. You set a good example for all Americans."

"Thank you, Congressman, 'preciate it. Now what's on your mind?"

Actually, the congressman has a number of things on his mind, not least the robots themselves, which he has used countless times. On this occasion, however, he is here for business.

"Well, sir, I'm getting some flack from some of my constituents about the moral issue of these robots. You know, lot's of folks think they're worse than cigarettes or booze ever were, and they're lookin' to get some laws passed. They understand that you haven't actually broken any laws yet, but that's just because they haven't been written and passed yet. I'm just wondering if you all are thinking about how to handle this."

"Well, it's funny you should bring that up 'cause Bill Carlucci and I were talking about that just the other day. We're ready to support those who stand with us on this, and I don't just mean with good arguments and so on, but also with good money when that becomes necessary."

"I see. Well let's start with the arguments. What _do_ you say to those who feel that these things don't exactly fit in with God's plans for the human race?"

"Mr. Ramey, I don't pretend to have any arguments myself. I'm just a simple old businessman. But I can guarantee you that there are many scientists and psychologists who think we're doing a good thing here. And I bet we could even find some preachers, need be. Like I said, we got the money, and we're willing to put it where it counts. Do you suppose we could hold off some of your constituents while we have some studies done and some reports issued?"

"I'm sure we could, sir, but you need someone in your corner in the Congress too, and I'd be willing to help. I'm sorely in need of financial help if I'm to stay there any length of time, though."

"Don't give it a second thought. See my man Bill Carlucci, and let him know what you need."

John presses a button on the arm of his chair which rings Bill's phone.

"Bill, come in here. I want you to meet someone."

After introducing Bill to the Congressman, John excuses himself and leaves the two together. He knows he can count on Bill to conduct the business perfectly, and as is usually the case, he does not want to be involved in the details so that he can maintain plausible deniability should that become necessary later.

Bill and the Congressman quickly reach an understanding which in effect provides that Mr. Ramey will speak favorably of the company at every opportunity, and, moreover, will begin to put together an informal coterie of like-minded politicians who can be counted on in the future to help wherever help is needed. Mr. Ramey, for his part, will also receive large amounts of money for campaign purposes, and it is understood that no close supervision or accounting will be expected or required of him concerning the use of the money. Bill insists that the congressman give him an address to which he can have delivered the most advanced and expensive of the robofuks now in production so that he can "try it out". The congressman is glad to do so.

John and Bill head up a large organization, and like many of the CEO's of large companies, are more or less a caste apart from ordinary people not only because of their wealth, but also because they are held to entirely different standards, if that be the correct word. Absolute downright failure of this or that project, or indeed of the entire company, may detract from their prestige among peers, but it will hardly affect their wealth or well being. Many such fail miserably at running enterprises and are, in effect, rewarded by having their contracts bought out with golden parachute arrangements, stock options, and so on.

As a caste apart, it is not really incumbent upon them to bother with the actual running of a business, much less the details of this or that department. They are generally given credit, rightly or wrongly, for picking individuals who, while working under their auspices, may from time to time come up with clever inventions, methods, or whatever, but there is no expectation that they will actually do very much themselves beyond occupying their roles with decorum when in public.

Thus it falls to Cliff Foley, public relations officer of the Recreations Division, to actually undertake implementation of arrangements beyond those entered into with the congressman. As the congressman will presumably deal with the politicians, this means Cliff will have to deal with the rest. He will have to arrange studies and publicity, and whatever else he can think of, to counter negative images of the robots which are starting to circulate.

This negativity consists mostly of morality judgments. The robots are environmentally friendly and, in fact, a positive thing that way to the extent that they cut down on smoking and automobile traffic, which they clearly do. They are not unhealthy in any physical sense. Although there is the statistically predictable number of mishaps involving such things as a robot being dropped on someone's foot and causing injury, there is no evidence suggesting that they are inherently dangerous in any way. Indeed, the company goes to great lengths to make sure that they are extremely antiseptic, and their studies show that the robots are generally much cleaner than people are, and that even after use, liquid substances used in the robot's sexual programs are antiseptic enough that if anything, one might be cured of his or her sexually transmitted disease rather than catch one.

Even so, Cliff has lot's of work ahead of him. Since Scott is not only still titular head of the division, but also has an intellectual interest in it as well, it is possible for Cliff to meet with him from time to time if he wishes, and Cliff actually respects Scott in ways which he does not respect John and Bill. While Scott can join the caste of CEO's if he wants, he is not _really_ a CEO to begin with, and he also doesn't like the life style, as he often puts it.

"Scott, thanks for seeing me. I have a couple of things to go over with you. You know we're starting to get some bad vibes out there, and to tell you the truth, I'm surprised we got as far as we did without more trouble," says Cliff.

"That's for sure. I used to worry about what my parents would say if they knew what we were up to when I was a kid. What have you done so far?"

"Not that much I'm afraid. We've bribed a congressman, but that's about it. What would you suggest?"

"Well of course you'll need some studies and publicity of the studies, that sort of thing. Have a couple of psychologists say it's a good thing, you know, the usual. Would you like a beer?"

"Sure, thanks."

Scott reaches into a small refrigerator and pulls out two green bottles of Mexican beer which he likes, and gives one to Cliff. They both lift their bottles and drink.

"One thing you can do is get some statistics. It almost doesn't matter what they say, just so long as you're appropriately selective. But you already know that. It would be funny, if nothing else, if you could get some clergy with you, but maybe that's too much of a fantasy," says Scott.

"I don't think we'd have too much trouble getting some Unitarian guys, or maybe even some really liberal Jewish guys, but the real problem is the Protestants and Catholics, to say nothing of the Evangelicals," observes Cliff.

"Yeah, I know. Maybe we could start our own religion, or maybe find some off the wall thing that it would be politically incorrect to oppose. What about VooDoo? Aren't they into physical things anyway? Or maybe some Oriental thing. I seem to remember either a Chinese or Indian religion where they have sexual icons much as we have angels on the walls of cathedrals. What's that park in Oslo where they have all those statues of people making out? Is that connected to some kind of religion?"

"Maybe some ancient Norse thing, or something like that, I don't know."

The two enjoy the conversation, and as often happens, since they are not anxious to be anywhere else, they wind up drinking far more beer than originally anticipated or intended. As also often happens, the conversation becomes less guarded, and the two begin to enjoy a camaraderie more like that of two drinking buddies than that of official and employee.

"You know Scott, if any one had told me ten years ago that I'd be sitting around trying to figure out how to make a religion out of fucking, I'd have thought they were crazy! Jesus, that really cracks me up!" says Cliff, laughing.

"If anyone had told me my childhood inventions would wind up being so life like, I would have shit a brick myself. I mean we were fascinated by the technology mainly, and weren't thinking about money, or even the pussy that much. Of course we weren't indifferent to the pussy part, I'm not claiming that!"

"Well shit, you think about it, who the fuck invented dicks and pussies anyway if it wasn't God? I mean, what is the problem with those half asses that they gotta fuck with our thing? It's not like we fuck with their churches. I say live an let live."

"Yeah, but you gotta be fair. I think a lot of them are well meaning, just wanna protect their kids and all. Of course one reason we've gotten as far as we have is precisely because a good number of the churchly are our customers too. Ain't that a hoot?"

# CHAPTER FOUR

Although Scott and Cliff are unaware of it, a conversation similar in substance, though much more cultured in vocabulary, is taking place at this same time in the home of Edward Mellon. His two thousand acre estate, named Marlboro, is located in a pleasant area of Kentucky near the Mammoth Caves and has a very up to date security system. It includes four full time former Navy fighter pilots, two F16 fighter planes, and two runways large enough to accommodate a Boeing 737, together with a fully manned control tower and all the electronic gear that goes with it. Mr. Mellon owns his own 737 as well as the fighter planes, a smaller corporate jet, and two helicopters.

Edward talks with his friend of many years Alan Matthews, a member, like Mr. Mellon, of the most elite of American elites. Although John Jackson and Bill Carlucci are themselves members of an elite caste, Mr. Mellon and Mr. Matthews look down on them even though they occasionally invite them to various doings at Marlboro. Mr. Mellon and Mr. Matthews consider themselves to be "old" money whereas they think of Mr. Jackson and Mr. Carlucci as "new", or even more pejoratively, "quick" money.

"Alan, we really need to give some thought to this robot business. I'm sure you're just as frustrated as I am about the threat to social stability and decorum that they pose. But if you think about it, there could be a silver lining as well," says Mr. Mellon.

"Well everything has a silver lining sooner or later, I guess. They haven't posed any threat to me or mine, but they do raise some questions about things getting out of control in my view. This is something we certainly should have anticipated, and even now it isn't too late to take control and see that it doesn't get out of hand."

"Exactly. You remember how Hearst told the media to 'pump' Billy Graham, and it happened."

"Yes, but it didn't really keep the masses from being criminals and having kids they shouldn't have, and all that."

"I know, but that was then and this is now. What I've been thinking is that maybe religion as we know it has run its course, so to speak. After all, ever since photos of the earth taken from the moon have been around, it's been difficult to maintain some of the more superstitious forms of worship anyway."

"That's quite true, Ed, but polls still show the vast majority of Americans believing in God."

"True, but far fewer believe in heaven and hell. Besides, the vast majority are no longer Americans anyway. You've got a lot of Hispanics, and certainly more Blacks, and for that matter Asians and who knows what else. Besides, it really is a global community now. A hundred years ago you could plan on the basis of this country or that, but no longer. The world really has shrunk, and now we have to worry not only about the foreigners in our own back yard, but also what the Chinese and Indians are doing. Would you agree with that?"

"Absolutely. Not only have we lost our own country, but there are twice as many people running around now just at a time when, if anything, we need far fewer. And consider what it will be in the future when our kids and grandchildren grow up. With the advances that have been made, we don't really need the masses for labor anymore. Isn't that an irony? Just when we no longer need them for actual work, there's a lot more of them."

Ed pushes a button and speaks into an intercom. He orders two glasses of red wine from a bottle which once belonged to George Washington, but which is just opened this morning. He and Alan continue their conversation even while the wine is served because, like most of their peers, they are not in the habit of worrying about what servants might overhear.

"I would go so far as to say that if a kinder and gentler version of the Bubonic Plague wiped out ninety percent of them, it would be a good thing not just for us, but for them too. But I'm not prepared to go that far. After all, we didn't invent the world, we just live here. But our positions do give us special responsibilities. So to me, the problem is how do we turn the robots to some useful advantage, both for ourselves and the masses."

"Well you've obviously been giving this some thought. What have you come up with?"

"Alan, if you think about it, the merely sex part of it doesn't hurt anything, despite what our forebears might have thought. Now I grant you that there is a certain aesthetic downside to all this. One hardly wishes to contemplate the frequency and nature of what amounts to masturbation on such a large scale, and were it not for the fortunate fact that it doesn't spread disease, one would indeed be under some responsibility to put a stop to it. Having said that, however, and keeping in mind that I personally wouldn't want to come within a million miles of where a bunch of unrefined people are pleasuring themselves in such fashion, there is, as I said, a silver lining.

"Now when I say the merely sex part doesn't hurt anything, what I mean is that it doesn't hurt things anymore than cigarettes or alcohol did. Probably a lot less. I know we got a lot of revenue from cigarettes and alcohol, but the same can be true of these robots. They can be taxed, and profits can be made.

"Consider also that if the Chinese and Indians were to start driving cars on a large scale, there could eventually be something to this global warming business. I know you don't have any truck with those crazy environmentalists, and I would agree with you up to a point. But beyond that point, when you get into billions of people driving their own cars, and not just millions, then it could be a different story. My thought is to basically trade off the fascination the masses have with cars for a similar fascination with the robots."

"Interesting. Continue."

"Number one, they really don't need cars for transportation anymore. They can buy stuff from the internet, and do much of their work that way as well. Besides, the new trains coming on line are so fast and inexpensive that it won't be long before it will simply be a matter of saving money to take the train. Those who travel already go by plane if there's any distance involved, and soon they'll go by train like they did in the past."

"I imagine you've considered also that the use of robots for sex would cut down on, though not eliminate, unwanted pregnancies."

"Yes, and sexually transmitted diseases as well. You see, I told you there was a silver lining. And you really don't want to forget the large number of people whose lives are actually enhanced by these things. I know you and I would be above the need or desire for such things, but there are a lot of people who, for whatever reasons, are not attractive to the opposite sex, or who may have been at one time, but who no longer are. Even if they're handicapped, they can still have at least the illusion of sex."

"This wine is really good. Sometimes I pay a lot for rare old wine, and then open it up and find it isn't all that good. You really don't know until you drink it what you've bought. But the best wine I ever had was two hundred years old. Some things were done better in the past than they are now. I must say that the robots are a fine example of technology though. I suppose you could argue that we have some obligation to support technological advance, and that encouraging the masses to consume robots would be a step in the right direction."

"I do so argue. Actually, a part of me wishes that the robots were the real thing, and not just manufactured, but then you really would have a population problem, as well as who knows what additional social problems as well. Nonetheless, the enterprise can't hurt the development of useable new livers and lungs and so on, all of which you and I will sooner or later need ourselves."

"Now that I have to take issue with, Ed. The research and development that goes into the robots doesn't go into new livers."

"Well people said the same about research into war weapons, and look what it got us. You probably wouldn't even have the robots had it not been for that research. And you certainly wouldn't have had the internet."

"I know. But haven't you ever wondered where we'd be if all the money that went into weapons had gone directly to the new livers in the first place?"

"Touché. But how could you have brought that about? There wasn't enough social cohesion to organize it absent an enemy of some kind. People can relate to wars, but not to do-goodism types of things, sad to say."

"Well it looks like they can relate to the robot craze. Are you suggesting that we involve ourselves in this?"

"I think we need to. Just our control of the media can probably do what needs to be done. I don't think you'll have any trouble getting academics on board, and the clergy may have reached a point where their usefulness to us is about gone anyway."

"Well what do you see as needing to be done?"

"I think we need to engineer a broad public acceptance of the okayness of these things. I say that on the grounds that it's better for the masses of people to be masturbating than it is for them to be drinking and smoking, or for that matter fighting in public or whatever."

Such private conversations as this do not function exactly as orders from on high to subordinates, but they do eventually set a tone which permeates down in something like a trickle down fashion. As a result, Cliff Foley is greatly aided in his efforts to arrange the studies and publicity he wants, although he doesn't realize that, in effect, a red carpet has been laid out before him by such as Edward Mellon and Alan Matthews.

He can, and therefore does, go to various colleges and universities looking for those professors and graduate students most inclined to see the positive side of the robots. He has grant money as well as good paying positions to offer, and it isn't long before he is able to commission a variety of studies in Sociology, Psychology, Economics, and similar fields, even the fields of Public Welfare and Human Ecology.

These are, for the most part, serious and competent studies with expert gathering and rendering of statistics, compilation of anecdotal data, and the like. Most of the scholars (though not all) are favorably inclined toward the robots for a variety of reasons-in many of those cases, the reasons have to do with their own personal experiences with the robots. Dr. Lee Hastings is a case in point: Sociologist Hastings has recently been able to act out a number of fantasies involving his real live-in girl friend who is a graduate student, and a number of robots, both male and female. While he is unwilling to share his girl friend with other _real_ male sex partners, he is OK with the use of male and female _robots_ for purposes of safe and extensive group sex.

Cliff's meeting with Dr. Hastings is typical of what he is doing at this time. The meeting takes place at the Rotunda Restaurant in Washington, D.C. at company expense, and Dr. Hastings's girl friend, Carla, is invited as well. After the maitre'de seats them, they order martinis for the men and a glass of chardonnay for Carla.

"Doctor Hastings-"

"Call me Lee!" the doctor asks.

"OK, Lee. From the standpoint of your academic discipline, what do you really think of this latest development in technology, the sex robots?"

"Well you understand that I could think one thing from the standpoint of the discipline, and quite another from my own personal point of view."

"Yes, I do understand that. I'd be curious to know what you think from both points of view."

"The truth is, there isn't really much difference. After all, I wouldn't be much of a sociologist if I preached one thing and thought another would I?"

"I guess you have a point there."

"I suppose your interest in what I think is more than just academic. You're probably especially concerned with what a sociologist might say in print or in the media, right?"

"That may be, but that interest is not necessarily in conflict with a purely academic, or intellectual interest is it?"

"No, it isn't."

Dr. Hastings takes a sip of his martini, and reflects that one can start with a conclusion, and then look for data to support it, or one can do it the other way around. He does not want to think of himself as one who would reach conclusions, and then search for data. He considers himself a true scientist.

"Cliff, I understand your position, and I don't fault you for it, but you must understand that if I were to do an article on this subject, I would only say what I thought the facts warranted, nothing more, nothing less."

"We wouldn't want anything else. In fact, we're sure that an adequate study of the facts would show us in a favorable light."

"Well, in all honesty, I'm inclined to agree with you, certainly on a subjective level, and my guess is that the data will also show that these robots are in fact a good thing on the whole. But even so, you know as well as I do that academic studies ain't shit when it comes to public opinion. Just look at capital punishment. Even though the statistics show that the states which don't have it have fewer capital crimes, the public keeps on with its prejudices."

"I know. But now you mention a good point here. That's just the sort of thing that we think should be studied. It would certainly be worth knowing if there's a connection between the sales of our product and a reduction in rapes, for example."

"That's true, although rape may not be as much a sexual deviance as the result of other factors. But you could derive statistics on divorce, family breakdown, teenage pregnancy, that sort of thing."

"Exactly. That's all we ask. You do your study, we'll give you the grant, some graduate students get financial help, and it's a big win, win, win situation all the way around. And trust me, I am personally in favor of maximum intellectual freedom. Just print what the data show, and we'll support your effort whichever way it goes."

The three enjoy fabulous food: steak Dianne followed by cherries jubilee and later liqueurs and Irish coffee. Cliff eats many such meals in the few months that follow, and academic journals begin to contain a number of studies related to the sex robots. Academic journals are of course not that popular with the public, but they do lead to various newspaper articles and radio and TV segments.

In general, the media seem to approve of the robots in their overall tone. Although there are of course a number of negative opinions expressed, the positives far outweigh them. Politicians either stay away from the subject, or put the subject in the context of human rights or economic development. This is owing in no small measure to the money that Representative Ramey, now comfortably re-elected, has been able to spread around like a fire hose shooting water.

But Cliff is not able to sit back and take it easy just yet. In addition to the scholastic studies, he needs to arrange a number of other things in order to smooth the way for wide spread acceptance of things which, just a few years back, would have seemed at least inappropriate, if not altogether beyond the pale to most people.

In this connection, he arranges for the right kinds of daytime and late night TV to be aired, the right kinds of popular songs to be published, and the right kinds of movies and books. To say that Cliff does all these things by himself is merely to put a face on it. In fact, Mr. Mellon and his peers have made all of these things possible by trickling down certain key concepts of theirs. These concepts are cleansed of the more negative observations about the masses of people, and then put forth as respectable and rational developments which will accomplish a lot of good things for society in general.

Chief among these is the notion that widespread use of the devices will cut down on overpopulation, a concern that is uppermost in the minds of Mr. Mellon and Mr. Matthews. Regrettably, the studies of Dr. Hastings do not confirm this as fact, but the gentlemen have not read his studies, and in any case, they are sure that there _must_ be fewer pregnancies since the robots than would otherwise be the case. Dr. Hastings' studies _are_ showing that overpopulation continues just in those areas where it was a problem to begin with because poorer countries do not have the money to encourage widespread use of the robots, at least not yet.

Another idea put forth or, more correctly, trickled down, is the notion that, while sexual self-indulgence may be evil enough in and of itself, it is better than drinking and smoking. Messrs. Mellon and Matthews do _not_ trickle down other observations, which they nevertheless share with each other, to the effect that while smoking and drinking by the masses served their purposes in the past, this is no longer the case in today's world. Smoking, for example, not only helped their caste ante up cannon fodder in the past when the need arose, but they made money with it as well. Similarly the drinking. People addicted to one or both of these substances are more cooperative, for example, in military situations when these things are freely provided to them.

Recently though, lawyers and others figured out how to make money by being against tobacco, and the tax revenue from it has begun to dry up. At the same time, the need for cannon fodder has pretty much dried up as well with the development of high tech warfare. The gentlemen are now more concerned with what the masses might _do_ than with what _use_ they can make of them. They see them as unnecessary for their purposes, and wish, therefore, to occupy them in ways which involve a minimum of planet pollution and threat to themselves.

Of course the masses of people _always_ do a lot of what they _want_ to do, upper level castes notwithstanding. Indeed, the very acts of smoking and drinking are routinely characterized as immoral and sinful, even when a majority engage in these activities. This simply shows the great difference between official respectable positions on the one hand, and actual practice on the other. Even so, the ability to command lip service is not entirely inconsequential, and properly wielded, _can_ be a powerful weapon.

# CHAPTER FIVE

Harold Smith, 75, is one of those whose practices are not overly influenced by the lip service being paid at any given time to this or that respectable or official position. Indeed, Mr. Smith long ago gave up any pretense _about_ , or concern _with_ , what was respectable or official. Overweight and somewhat bent over as a result of sciatica, he would not have been especially attractive to the opposite sex in the best of circumstances, but for the last twenty years he has not concerned himself with such things as haircuts or shaving, and his wardrobe is very modest indeed. He is on a "fixed" income, mostly social security, and lives in a vintage Airstream travel trailer on a cheap rented lot in a trailer park on the poorer edge of a town in Alabama.

It can be argued that Mr. Smith made a more substantive contribution to society in his forty years of work as a welder than Messrs. Mellon and Matthews, neither of whom have ever made or invented anything. Moreover, Mr. Smith never imposed on society the cost of two hundred year old wine or airplanes and big estates. At 75, Mr. Smith does outdo Messrs. Mellon and Matthews in one respect, however. He owns a Robofuk and makes considerable use of it, given his age.

"I know you don't hear a goddam thing I say, and wouldn't give a shit anyway, but I'm going to fuck the shit out of you, baby", Mr. Smith says to his Robofuk which he has named Jane after his first real girl friend of sixty years ago.

"Do you think you would be happy having sex now?" replies the robot in a soft and pleasant voice, as she looks up at him from the small couch she is seated on in the trailer.

Harold pushes the 9 button on his remote which calls for a program in which the robot is gentle and soft spoken. Were he to push the 8, the program will not be greatly different, but it will use a huskier, whisky-type voice-one he often uses. Actually, Mr. Smith uses all thirty available buttons at one time or another and still does not exhaust the capabilities of the device. The buttons can be used in various combinations so that one may have the whiskey voice combined with a chiefly oral program, or the soft voice combined with a program in which the female robot will initiate the sexual activities, and so on.

The real number of combinatorial possibilities is theoretically almost unlimited, being expressed, for the mathematically inclined, as factorial thirty (30!), which is to say, 30 times 29 times 28, etc., etc. In the real world, however, in order to assure quality control over the programs and their ability to pre-test them, engineers purposely limit the number of possible programs to about a thousand, give or take a few hundred depending on the model and its costs.

On this occasion, Harold replies to Jane, "Fucking A I think we would be happy having sex now."

"Jane", who appears to be about 19, gets up from the couch and lifts up her skirt, a reddish plaid short garment which looks like it is made from wool, and pulls down her blue cotton panties, slipping them over her bare feet one at a time. Straightening up, she then reaches around her back and unfastens the skirt, letting it drop to the floor. Keeping her white soft tank top on, she gracefully, almost like a ballerina, crosses the short distance to the other side of the trailer, where the double bed that Harold sleeps in with her at night takes up most of the unit's width.

Harold now unbuttons the tank top and removes it with considerable help from Jane, who lifts first one shoulder and then the other, and then props "herself" up on her elbows so that the top can be removed without difficulty. She wears no bra.

Mr. Smith quickly begins kissing "her" breasts, one after the other, lingering now and then on the one or the other, and Jane begins to exhibit all the signs of sexual interest, then arousal, and then pleasure. This includes a variety of responsive behaviors such as her caressing him with her arms, and snuggling her face on the top of his now nearly bald head, and the like.

"Oh Harold, please eat me, you really turn me on-I almost can't stand it!"

Unlike many younger male users of Robofuks, and the various derivatives thereof, Harold does in fact make rather extensive use of the cunnilingus capabilities of the unit, since his penis is not as capable, nor capable as often, as those of his younger counterparts. There are, however, more than a few instances in which his penis does, following oral stimulation by Jane, rise more or less to the occasion, and in any event, such short comings as he might experience from time to time in this regard are no cause for embarrassment, as they might be with a real partner.

Across town in a very middle class condo unit, Beatrice Wilson, aged 58, who weighs two hundred and fifty three pounds, has just finished doing her breakfast dishes while sipping a cup of instant coffee and eating a Bavarian creme donut. She goes to her Bose radio and turns it to a pretty high volume. It is playing a syrupy instrumental love song with plenty of strings.

She is wearing the same light pink bathrobe she slept in, and has not bothered with her gray hair nor with makeup, the use of which would hardly improve her appearance in any case. She is, in short, fat and ugly, and no spring chicken to boot. Even when she was young, she was fat and ugly in the view of most, and she never married or had children.

Her few bonafide sexual encounters with males were quick and cursory affairs that typically ended the next morning upon the sobering up of the males involved. She has never gotten pregnant because she is biologically unable to reproduce, although she is unaware of this. That she never got a sexually transmitted disease is owing to pure luck, and that many of her one night suitors were themselves not all that active, being similarly situated with her on the pop culture chart of sexual attractiveness.

All this changed, however, upon Bea's acquisition of "Rambo", one of the later designs available at reasonable cost from many outlets these days, this one coming in by UPS in response to a phone call from her, which in its turn was her response to a late night infomercial TV show. The show in question was definitely suggestive in all ways, but stopped short of any exhibition of genitalia, unlike similar efforts made routinely now in many places on the internet.

Bea goes to a rather large walk in closet in her bedroom and reaches her right hand around the back of "Rambo's" neck. She then pushes a small inconspicuous bump just above the tail end of his very dark brown hair which rests on a line roughly parallel to his shoulders. This activates the unit which, when not activated, is in a "sleep" mode in which a temperature of 98.6 degrees is maintained while the high quality batteries are recharged. This temperature maintenance and recharging is accomplished with a wireless method, recently in vogue, which avoids the need for connecting cables and plugs.

"Good morning, Bea my darling. Did you sleep well?" says the robot in a most reassuring and pleasing voice.

"Very well, thank you Ram. How about yourself?"

"Can't complain. What do you feel like?"

"Well, how 'bout some coffee?"

With this suggestion, "Ram" walks with perfect balance out of the closet, stooping slightly at the door, and proceeds to the kitchen table where he seats himself with apparent ease, resting his right elbow on the table, and crossing his legs. To watch this exercise, one is hard put to believe that the creature performing in such realistic fashion is actually a robot. The engineers at Robofuk and the other manufacturing facilities went to great lengths to perfect the balancing abilities of their units, and have also managed to duplicate the tiniest detail of human motion and physical behavior in the activities of their products.

Indeed, they have gone beyond human capability in certain respects, chief of which, in Bea's view at least, is that the size of the penis can be varied with respect to length and thickness, and the timing of its issue can be regulated as well. These characteristics do little or nothing to increase their acceptance by human males, of course, save homosexuals who have no problem with this feature, but then there are similar features on female versions so that a certain symmetry obtains in any case.

The device is able to consume a cup (or even two) of coffee because the amount of liquid in the unit is carefully controlled by a clever system of internal evaporation and condensation which, together with the purifying apparatus, always maintains just the right amount of liquid for whatever purposes, especially sexual, one might desire. This requires nothing in the way of, for example, urination, although even that activity is available to those so inclined without any serious reduction in the amount of liquid available for other purposes.

These other purposes often include, as is the case now with Bea, a regimen of kissing which, on its face, may seem less than aesthetically pleasing, but which in the event actually proves quite rewarding to such as Bea since the activity is altogether indistinguishable from the real thing. Moreover, from a purely aesthetic point of view, it can be argued that the robot brings more of an aesthetic dimension to the enterprise than Bea herself, given that she has not yet brushed her teeth and that her mouth generally will not be an aesthetic experience for even the most hardened dentist.

We need not linger on the details of what follows, but let us note that Bea spends the next five hours pleasantly occupied with Rambo, who shows no apparent lack of enthusiasm or energy, and whose performance is every bit equivalent to what has been suggested on TV. The Bose radio earns its keep as well in that those in adjacent condos are unable to hear Bea's squeals and cries of sexual delight, or at least unable to be certain about what it is they _are_ hearing.

Chief among those critical of the increasing use of such devices are people in the Evangelical community. While a fairly large number of TV Evangelical pastors are themselves ardent users of these devices, such use is more than clandestine, and such use would be a lot less than it is except that a good number of their wives are equally occupied with the devices, and just as clandestine about it.

Reverend Billy Joe Handy sits in a golden easy chair in his very well furnished office atop a multi-million dollar edifice known as The Temple of God in downtown Dallas, Texas. With him are two deacons of his ten thousand member congregation, Joe Walker and Bob Shumaker. In any other situation Joe and Bob would be best described as cronies, since they have known the Reverend Handy since childhood, gone hunting with him on numerous occasions, and have done little else during their adult lives except for things associated with the church. These things have been very rewarding for all three in a financial sense, and in another sense, while it might appear otherwise to many they are, in fact, sincere in what they believe.

More than that-they are quite _certain_ about much of what they believe, although they are not always as certain about what inferences and conclusions should follow. They know their God is a forgiving God, and they expect that He will understand their clandestine use of robots, even while He may not see any way in which it contributes to His work on earth. Curiously, despite their closeness in many respects, the three have not shared their robotic experiences with each other, or indeed with any living soul. For each of the trio, God is their only witness and they are not remotely prepared to admit to, much less share, their experiences along those lines with anyone. With each other they maintain a posture of mild to extreme outrage about the robots.

In milder moments, their outrage is tempered somewhat by recent experiences (historically speaking) with folk, rock, jazz, and even rap music, the use of which in their activities has resulted in considerable sums being made available for the Lord's work. These include gift "offerings" for audio tapes and CD's, as well as T shirts, videos, and concerts, and everything in between. While they might personally object to the seemingly sexual nature of certain rhythms and blues notes, they know that God works in mysterious ways, and they figure that reaching the degenerate by whatever means possible is a good end which justifies what might otherwise be questionable means.

"Bob and Joe, I do believe that these robots are just another sign of the end times, and there's no doubt in my mind that they're a work of Satan. Just when you think he's scraped the bottom of the barrel, he comes up with something else. Good Lord a'mighty, this world has gone on a lot longer than I would have figured. Seems like ninety nine per cent of the human race has gone to the dogs. They got nothin' more on their minds than sex, food, and whiskey."

"Amen, brother Bill," says Joe, "but it ain't up to us what time the Lord picks to come back. He could come back in a minute, or a century, it's all up to Him. What we gotta do is do the best we can in the meantime. You ask me, the fancier churches could care less about these robots. The subject never comes up, far as I can tell. Kinda' makes us the real voices in the wilderness, but I guess we oughta be used to that by now."

"Well the scripture doesn't deal with robots directly," says Bob, "but there ain't no question about where the Lord would stand on an issue like this. I don't know which is worse, queers or the robots. Well, I take that back-I do know. The homos are worse for a fact, but you ain't supposed to spill your seed on the ground, the good book says."

"Ain't no doubt about it," replies Pastor Billy, "but I know there'll be some who'll get technical and say the seed doesn't go on the ground in these things. I heard from Jack [the church janitor] downstairs that some folks at the barber shop were saying that the good Lord put wet dreams into the very nature of things so as to help people stay on the straight and narrow. Now I don't buy that-I figure you won't have wet dreams if you're right with Jesus, but I can't be sure. Just imagine, wet dreams the work of the Lord!"

"Well it's true enough that a lot of things in our faith are open to different interpretations," adds Joe. "But there ain't no doubt in my mind that the sex act is for procreation, and maybe for showing love to your one and only in the spirit of Jesus, but it shouldn't be just for recreation."

"Well Satan sees to it that there's plenty of bodily pleasures available to people in this world if they don't resist temptation," continues the Reverend. "Before these robots there was booze and tobacco, and for that matter prostitution and homosexuality and all kinds of perversions. Have you all heard about some of the things they're saying in the fancier church publications? I mean they're actually coming up with reasons why these robots are OK, and not against the teachings of Jesus."

"No, I can't say I have, but then I don't read that stuff anyway. The good book is all the reading I do, and not enough of that, I'm afraid I'd have to admit," says Bob.

"Well in my position, I have to keep up with a certain amount of that stuff so I don't look ignorant as a pastor. Yep, they say that the robots cut down on prostitution and perversion, as well as abortion and unwanted children. Now I go along with the idea that cutting down on those things is a good thing, but I don't know that two wrongs make a right."

"Well they don't, that's for sure," adds Joe.

"I know, but then they would say, according to what I've seen in their magazines, that we should choose the lesser of the two evils. Of course right then and there they're as much as admitting that the two wrongs _are_ evils, aren't they?" says the reverend.

"What do they have to say about the effect of these things on children?" asks Bob.

"Not that much, actually, " replies the pastor. "They sometimes make them out to be on a par with pornography and violent movies and computer games, but they sure don't ask the kinds of questions I want answers to."

The three continue in this vein a while longer, and then turn to matters of more pressing interest having to do with activities they are going to plan for the next holiday season which is Christmas.

Meanwhile, a conversation about the robots is also going on in Kentucky at Mr. Mellon's Marlboro estate. He and his friend Alan Matthews are sipping very old Kentucky whiskey in front of a fire in one of the many fireplaces at the estate and talking in a manner no less philosophical than that of Reverend Billy and his cronies.

"Ed, I have to admit, the robot craze is going just as you expected, even though I had some reservations to begin with. The practice has certainly caught on, and I believe that it has had a lot more of a beneficial effect than not. Surely the population size is less than it would have been, and no doubt many trouble makers are kept off the streets with these things."

"Thanks Alan. We've been able to stay out in front of this very well in my opinion. Of course, we have to look down the road at all times. I'll be the first to admit that I didn't get all the nuances first time around. I did suppose the finer churches would accommodate just as they have in the past about drinking and smoking, but I frankly expected more trouble from the lower class kinds of churches. Of course there's plenty of time for that still."

"I wouldn't worry too much about that. I do worry about how these things will affect the public morality when it comes to children and teenagers, though. I'm sure plenty of teenagers already use them extensively, but I guess that's better than them using each other, isn't it?"

"Of course. Besides, the public morality, if that isn't an oxymoron, has never been that great to begin with. In my view, that's why God, or whoever or whatever runs things, has given us the special responsibilities that He has. It's clearly our job to stay on top of public morality as much as we can. But we can't put a stop to progress. All we can do is try to control its direction and nature somewhat."

They sip more on their whiskey, and the fire brightens up a bit as the logs are automatically shuffled by a computer program which can keep the fire burning for quite a long time. Ed reflects for a moment on the questions posed by the robots vis-a-vis not just teenagers, but even smaller children. He knows the technology is beginning to branch out in all possible directions, and it is only a matter of time before the seeming restraint companies voluntarily apply to the nature of their contrivances will give way to the demands of the market. This latter he has no problem with, but he does see it as his responsibility to think through the implications before events outrun him.

"You know, Alan, I've been giving thought to some really difficult questions lately. I'm advised that there is already a black market in smaller child-like robots which are made in China, if I'm not mistaken. Of course it doesn't surprise me that somebody would take advantage of the pervert market, if you will, but I don't see our way clear to doing much about it. In the past, like with the drug market for example, we could pacify some of the rougher elements and make money at the same time. But even there I think that in retrospect we might have done better just to make the drugs legal, let the markets work, and then tax them.

"But now surely, not only teenage boys (which you would expect) but even younger boys must be using these things. I believe the main inventor of them was a young boy himself when he started with this. Sooner or later, unless I miss my guess, we're going to have the same sorts of problems with younger and younger children that we've had already with violence and that kind of thing."

"You couldn't be closer to the mark, Ed. Of course our responsibility is to take the larger view. I suppose that is what you meant by saying you have been giving thought to some really difficult questions."

"You think about it Alan, you sooner or later have to struggle with the broader questions. That there is an internet, and that the world has grown much smaller in so many ways-transportation, communication, you name it. We need to rethink some of the most basic things. I remember a college roommate telling me about an anthropology course he was taking where the professor talked about some tribe in the south Pacific where they didn't know what caused pregnancies. The result was that _everyone_ had absolutely indiscriminate sex. Anyone who wanted sex with anyone else, regardless of age or gender, did whatever was mutually acceptable. Now that is certainly an extreme, but it isn't all that far from what this technology makes possible."

.

"Nor that far from what already goes on in many places. Don't they take ten and eleven year old brides in India as it is, and that with no say from the girl?"

"That's what I've heard, but with this new technology, they wouldn't have to, would they? Of course in their case, I think it has more to do with dowries and that sort of thing. I don't know if the marriages are consummated at the same time as the ceremonies. It doesn't matter to us. The fact is, sooner or later, and I'd say sooner, the cat is out of the bag where sex is concerned. Anyway, I never personally thought it was very effective to try to prevent children from experimenting with sex, or being taken advantage of by older people, through nothing more than secrecy about it-especially now when it's hardly possible to keep anything secret anyway."

"If I follow you, you're saying that keeping sex secret from young children is no longer a viable way of keeping them from, shall we say, having an interest in it."

"Precisely. And the brighter the kid, the more he or she will wonder what's going on with the robots. I know that discretion has been the practice in better homes, and that indiscretion is nothing new in the lower classes, but I think even the better classes will have to rethink their approach-again sooner or later, and probably sooner."

"But Ed, even the better classes have made a fair number of mistakes in the past. I know of cases where fathers arranged for call girls to inform their sons of sex through actual experience, and certainly our class is not immune to spoiling our children. Is there that much difference between a call girl and a fancy new sports car?"

"Your point's well taken, Alan. But the kind of rethinking I'm talking about would have to go beyond just thinking about spoiled kids. First of all, these robots are already pretty ubiquitous, and as I mentioned, it's just a matter of time before ten and eleven year old female robots will be available to ten and eleven year old boys. And why stop there? What about eight year olds?"

"But don't you think that the same arguments for keeping sex secret, or at least on a back burner would hold today, robots or no robots?"

"Yes, I certainly do. But we need to be clear on what those arguments are. What do you think they are?"

"Well certainly the matter of responsibility comes up. Children below a certain age could not be expected to be responsible about sex any more than they would be about what food to eat or how to cook it, or playing in traffic. Also, they would surely neglect their studies in favor of sexual experimentation if permitted to do so."

"Maybe, maybe not. Who knows? Perhaps they would quickly tire of the sex and go back to their studies with more maturity than otherwise. But my basic point is that events may force our hand whether we will it or not. I would be afraid to bet much money on just how secret sex is these days even to the very young. It's not like it was in our day, Alan. Nowadays everything and anything is on the internet, if not on the TV. In fact, it _is_ on the TV. Any enterprising kid can see what goes on any time he or she wants, and I would bet that a majority of kids already know a lot more than we did at their ages."

"Well of course you're right. But there are two different things here. There's the question of how the responsible people will act, and the entirely different question of how the masses will act. Don't you think we have some responsibility to at least guide things in the right way?"

"Most assuredly. That's why I bring it up in the first place. We do have to set an example, but we also have to allow for our limitations. But now consider the matter in the most objective manner you can. Let's start with what are the real-world consequences of any kind of sex. There's pregnancy number one, but then there's also disease, and I would consider also that there is a very wide range of, for lack of a better word, psychological consequences. As far as the robots are concerned, we're talking about the third category only, since they can't get pregnant and don't spread disease."

"Exactly right, Ed, but that's the very crux of the matter, isn't it? It's precisely the psychological effects on the masses, and especially on our children and theirs that we have to worry about, isn't it?"

"Correct. But you know as well as I do that, were we to convene a conference of experts on what are the consequences of exposure to sex at an early age, just as many would say one thing as the other. For every expert who thought it was a good thing, you could find one who said it was a bad thing.

"But I go back to basics. That's why we're where we are, and why they're still just experts, right? The whole taboo about sex must have come about in the first place as a means to some end, whether that end be biological, economic, or simply political. While neither of us was there, of course, we can speculate about the various ways in which responsible people of means might have encouraged sexual taboos for purposes not unlike, in principle, what we did just recently in encouraging, or at least not discouraging, the very technology we're talking about."

"I guess you mean that the people are more easily managed when their raw appetites are subject to some control, and even more so when that control is indirect, or at least not obvious."

"That's exactly what I mean. And not just that _we_ have some responsibility for managing their raw appetites. I think that nature itself imposes things like sexual taboos in order to improve the gene pool, although it could be argued in that case that it hasn't worked very well. But as I understand it, the taboo against incest helps to more widely distribute genes, and that results in greater advancement than inbreeding would. Just look around some, and you'll see what I mean. Surely much of the retardation and many of the birth defects we see are the result of not properly respecting such taboos."

"Well Ed, you're right as usual, but the robots would seem to augur against any increase in retardation and birth defects."

"I'm sure they have already prevented a lot of such tragedies. But as regards the psychological aspects of such taboos and how they might affect the evolution of our culture and the lives of our grandchildren, we need to understand these things in a most basic way. That's why I go back to prior civilizations, or even primitive tribes when I think about such things. I don't think the masses would have avoided those things which were pleasurable to them in the short term on their own. Thus, if a father had a cute teenaged girl in the cave man days, he would probably have at her straight away, as indeed some do to this day."

"Well I'm right up there with you on this one. I see where you're going, I think. You're going to point out that the clergy, or the shaman, or the witch doctor, or whatever it is they had, functioned as agents of the more responsible by telling the less fortunate that God, or whoever their deity may have been, had a strong interest in their behavior when it came to sex, right?"

"Right. That way, they could exercise some control over what happened, and not only protect children from rampaging fathers, but also further the ends of evolution in the process. But now any effort we might make in that direction is threatened, if not rendered impossible, by the ubiquity of the robots, and our inability to affect their use and distribution very much even if we wanted to. But I take the position that maybe we don't have to worry about that anymore anyway. To begin with, it's _going_ to happen-just a matter of time, and probably not much of that either."

# CHAPTER SIX

As a matter of fact, even as these gentlemen speak, Nick Logan, 10, and Ben Bradford, 11, are in the basement family room of Nick's parents' older, but comfortable home in suburban Westridge, Virginia engaged in the process of ferreting out a female robofuk from a small room which they have specifically been forbidden to ever go into by Nick's parents. Notwithstanding the prohibition, they are, in fact, very much in the habit of regularly using the female robofuk stored therein on those occasions, which are many, when they can be sure that neither parent will be around for a couple of hours or more.

On this occasion, and on most others for that matter, Nick is allowed to select the programs they run even though Ben is the larger of the two boys. The robofuk in question appears to be about 18, but is only slightly larger than the boys, a matter of relative indifference to them anyway, more especially as the robot is quite beautiful not only in appearance, but very sophisticated in its feel and programming as well. Both boys are quite well versed concerning the nature of the various programs available, and today select one which will pleasure both at once, with one boy using the oral orifice while the other uses the vagina. Following fairly simultaneous climaxes, they trade, and go at it again.

The entire enterprise occupies the space of perhaps fifteen minutes, and realizing that they have plenty of time yet on their hands, the boys now give themselves over to speculations not unlike what one might expect of boys their age under such circumstances.

"Nick, maybe we can get some fun out of your mom's robofuk," says Ben.

There is indeed a male robofuk in the small room as well, but they have never had any interest in it really.

"What, are you queer or something? What the hell would we do with that?"

"No, I'm not queer you shitass. But I was just thinking, what if we had them fuck each other. You know, put your mom's on our cutie here, and see what they do."

"Well, I don't know about that. What if it fucks 'em up or somethin' ?"

"How's it gonna fuck 'em up? I don't see where it would be any different if they fuck each other or us-what's the difference?"

"Well, shit, I don't know man. I'd be in a shitpot full of trouble if they got broke or anything."

"Well even if they did, how're they gonna know it was us that did it? I mean they must be guaranteed or something. Anyway, why would they break? They're really pretty tough if you ask me. I mean we gave it a good workout ourselves, and I don't see where it hurt anything. What the fuck!"

Satisfied that the risks are either non-existent or manageable, the boys bring out the other robofuk and begin to consider how they might amuse themselves with the two robots together. Unknown to them, this possibility has been anticipated early on by the engineers at Acme Cigarettes, and they have built in appropriate interfaces which can connect either orally or sexually, or for that matter, even through the anus. The programs are written in such a manner that either robot can be the master and the other the slave, in a computer sense that is, or in some cases, a program might run which is the product of the interaction of two programs, thereby becoming in effect a synergy of the two separate programs. In every case, a satisfactory outcome will result without any damage to the units.

In the case of the matter now at hand, it should be remarked that the two robots owned by Nick's parents are kept in a sleep mode when not in use, and they are also stored without clothes-a practice less common than might normally be supposed. Studies show that, generally speaking, owners prefer to keep their robofuks clothed rather than naked. In part, this practice is the result, no doubt, of marketing efforts which encourage this as a means of selling additional clothing and underwear in order to increase the dollar value of sales. There is a brisk market in just such goods, and many experience the purchase and use of the apparel as an opportunity to show their good taste.

There are some though, like Nick's parents, who, for a variety of reasons, don't clothe their robofuks when not in use. The main reason that Nick's parents don't clothe theirs is that they assume their use of them is secret, and they don't want to have to explain such things as extra or unfamiliar clothes in the laundry to Nick, should he come upon them.

Although very elaborate and expensive models do permit voyeuristic enterprises of the type now underway, Nick's parents' robofuks are not so advanced that they can approach each other and put on a show, as it were. Instead, it is necessary that they be put in actual physical contact before suitable programs for the two as a pair can be run. Additionally, some of the more elaborate effects available in the most expensive models, such as programs which permit the two to be separated for brief periods during which they might go from oral sex to genital sex, are missing.

This is, if anything, a plus to the boys at the ages they are now. Any boy that age will tell you that it's more fun to be a participant than to have a toy that does everything on its own. It is therefore with some enthusiasm that the boys now give themselves over to the matter of first deciding upon, and then arranging the robots in a variety of configurations, the sum of which is to greatly expand their imaginations about sex, even if it contributes little or nothing to their data bases.

Although robofuks were primarily an American phenomenon to begin with, just as so many other technologies were, it would be incorrect to imagine that the rest of the world is indifferent to, or immune to the influences of American culture in this case anymore than they have been in the case of movies, music, fashion, and the rest. There are economic opportunities crying out to be met, and many talented people anxious to meet them.

While the most successful approach to robofuks in America is a fairly conventional industrial enterprise, this is seen by many as the end of an era. Even before the dwindling of the automobile market, the auto market itself came full circle in a sense. Just as was originally the case, companies return to the concept of personal service in the car industry. One can pick out the fabrics, colors, amenities, and so on, and have his or her personalized auto delivered in a matter of days. They are, in a way, custom made just as when cars were first built and sold for profit.

It is well understood that there is a lucrative market for highly customized robofuks, and that the higher end of such a market entails very great rewards indeed. This is in part because the problems facing very wealthy people like Bill Gates, should they want exotic or taboo sex, can be largely and more safely overcome when the items being bought and used are in no sense real people, but simply artifacts not very different in their way from automobiles and yachts.

Moreover, it is one thing to deal with shady characters from exotic lands, and quite another to place an order with a legitimate business with an interest in on-going profits and a reputation to uphold. Once such businesses are firmly in place, of course, then it also becomes that much easier for shady characters to pose as legitimate businesses, or in many cases, to actually become legitimate businesses after all.

Bumps Davis, a former bookie, and now the very well-to-do owner of the Quonset Hotel in Las Vegas, is advised by friends of his in "the mob" that the best robofuks are to be had out of Russia. There, one can arrange for anything one might want in the way of physical structure and computer programming, and discretion is assured as a concomitant of the very high prices charged. Excellent former space scientists collaborate with former KGB agents to provide a very custom service to those able to afford it

Indeed, "the mob" in the US has not been altogether indifferent to the devices either, especially since the fact of them has eaten into their prostitution profits in a big way. But Bumps Davis has no sense of loyalty to "the mob", and he is more comfortable dealing with Russians than with former friends and acquaintances. This is mostly because the nature of his desires is such that anything short of total secrecy runs the risk of trouble from "the mob", should they become aware of what he is doing. Bumps likes little girls-girls as young as six, and in general, those between six and ten.

Members of "the mob" are surprisingly conventional in many respects, and a majority take umbrage at the thought of some old fart like Bumps pleasuring himself at the expense of young girls, even if they _are_ robots, and even if the same mob men think nothing of using robots themselves that look to be as young as eighteen.

Feeling the need for maximum discretion, and being able to afford it, Bumps causes an order to be placed with a former Russian KGB agent known as Ivan, who maintains a comfortable existence in Las Vegas, but who also keeps a low profile and goes about his business with a minimum of fanfare.

The deal with Ivan provides that half the money-which is to say $500,000-be paid up front, with the remainder due upon delivery. This will provide Bumps with ten robots at $100,000 apiece, with the Russians throwing in the transportation and delivery, such delivery to take place in a most clandestine manner at Bump's penthouse at night on a date of his choosing.

He is encouraged to choose from a large variety of real girls shown to him on video tape at his penthouse with the understanding that his purchases will conform exactly in appearance to whichever girls he chooses. Programming is also his to choose, but in fact the standard programs for all robofuks are sufficiently extensive that he is sure to be satisfied no matter how bizarre his tastes. After a cursory discussion of his options, he takes the "factory options" so to speak, but of course his robots will be quite hand made, and not made in a factory.

Bumps also volunteers another $100,000, payable at delivery, for an extensive wardrobe for each robot, with a particular emphasis on underwear which is something of a fetish with him. The Russians are happy to oblige.

Perhaps it should be noted here that engineers go to great lengths to provide an experience with the robofuks which is generally in excess of what can be expected from real people, absence of course the depth of true affection which ideally attends sex between two human lovers. But then the ideal is not necessarily the norm in human relations either. On the contrary, statistically, the number of truly loving sex relations is far outnumbered by those which occur without the blessing of true love on the part of one, or often enough, both parties. Such sex is often for fun, for economic purposes, for pathological reasons, or any number of other conceivable reasons than pure true love.

For example, not only can Bea's Rambo outperform any man with respect to stamina, but he also is able to inconspicuously lubricate Bea's vagina, which vagina is considerably deficient in this regard, with just the right amount of lubricant at just the right time. Bea isn't even aware of the procedure while it is happening.

Similarly, in a case like Bumps', it is possible to fashion the robots in such a manner that their performance will be much more comfortable physically to him than might be the case with real girls the same age. This is accomplished with a variety of stratagems which use clever lubricants, increase the depth of penetration, etc.

"Hey Darlin', can I buy you a beer?" The speaker is Daryl Yates, a counter man at the local NAPA auto parts store in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

"Yeah, you can buy me a beer, but then I'm gonna buy you one, 'cause I don't want no obligation," replies Barbara Jones, hairdresser at Joan's, a local unisex hair salon.

"Wouldn't be no obligation-I just like to talk and be sociable. Can I sit down?" Daryl eases himself onto one of the few vacant bar stools at Scooter's, a local bar and restaurant which is very popular because the food is good and the prices reasonable. Daryl wears jeans, a leather vest over his shirt, cowboy boots, and a white cowboy hat which tilts carelessly on the back of his head. His oversized belt buckle has a picture of an eagle in flight on it. He raises his right arm and makes a "V" sign with two fingers. The female bartender soon delivers two bottles of Bud, no glasses.

It's Saturday night and a live country band is playing an old Patsy Cline number. Scooter's keeps bowls of unshelled peanuts on the tables and at the bar, and broken peanut shells cover the floor entirely. Barbara has blond hair, although that isn't its real color, and she wears a light brown, long sleeved shirt tucked into her jeans. Her figure is every bit the equivalent of any robofuk, and her face is pretty and so smooth that she looks barely sixteen, although she is actually twenty five. Daryl is twenty seven.

"Sure you can sit, and thanks for the beer." Barbara lifts her beer bottle and clinks it against Daryl's as if drinking to a toast. "But I'm getting the next one."

"OK, Darlin', if you insist. Bet they play one of those country two steps after this slow one. If I ask you to dance, will you dance with me?"

"Well, are you askin'?"

"I guess I am."

"OK, then I guess I'm dancin' "

The band does play a country two step, and the two dance and drink beer together for the rest of the evening following which Daryl, with Barbara's permission, follows her to a second floor apartment at the Imperial Arms where she lives.

Thus begins a relationship that becomes a live-in arrangement within three weeks. Both parties calculate the economies available if they maintain only one apartment, one car, etc., and they really are in love as they see it, although they aren't motivated to get married. Neither wants a child at this time, and family connections are not so powerful locally that they matter, since Daryl is originally from Oklahoma, and Barbara is from Wyoming.

Daryl, a well meaning and hard working man, is also honest and kind to animals and children. He is not an intellectual by any means, however. He didn't even finish high school, but dropped out in the middle of his senior year. Perhaps because of his lack of interest in things intellectual, he is easily influenced by others at his place of employment, and at places like Scooter's. Recently, he involved himself in various activities with a local group of skinheads and others who consider themselves to be militia and Nazis. Daryl's interest probably has more to do with the opportunity for male camaraderie than with ideology-a term he isn't remotely familiar with.

These activities occur at meetings held on Wednesday nights once a week and once a month on Sundays. The men have "lessons" in the form of lectures, or occasionally speakers from "outside", and engage in quasi-military activities like marching and shooting fire arms. These things take place at a former VFW hall and its adjoining park area which are now the property of Jeremiah Benson, a self styled "military leader" who was, in fact, once a mercenary in Africa, and who now declares himself the leader of the local "free" militia.

One of the many things Mr., or as he prefers it, _Commander_ Benson rails against at the weekly meetings are the robotic sex devices. These are not only Satan's work and an indication of just how far things have strayed from the straight and narrow, but also, as he sees it, a measure of just how far things have gone in the direction of one-worldism through government perfidy, and the mongrelization of the white race. While most of his members have used the robofuks at least occasionally, he has not, and neither has Daryl.

"How would you feel if you came home and found your wife or girl friend in bed with one of those things?" the Commander asks at a recent meeting. "They look like any other man to me, and I, for one, would not want to share my bed with any other man. If I'm not man enough to satisfy my wife without one of those, then I'll give up. Now I _would_ favor them for the niggers and the japs and the chinks, and the rest of 'em, but I don't see 'em for a white man. If they had been developed and used for strictly military purposes, then I could go along with it a hundred percent. But these things are being used to keep people's minds off what really matters, and they also keep some of us in the white race from reproducing ourselves."

Daryl is not a racist or bigot by nature, and _feels_ that everyone has more or less the same rights as anyone else, but he is also very much taken with "Commander" Benson who is much older and cuts a very dashing figure. Benson has a charismatic appearance and is extremely assured in his demeanor. People like Daryl are quite impressed with the "Commander" even if more educated and perceptive people may see him as comic or worse. In particular, Daryl regards Benson as his intellectual superior by many magnitudes, and is inclined to accept most of what he says on faith without any serious question.

The more he hears from Benson about the evils of the robofuks, the more he feels pangs of jealousy at the thought of Barbara pleasuring herself with one. So far in their relationship, the matter of robofuks has not come up, and for that matter very little of any other substance has come up either. Their conversation is mostly banter similar to that which characterized their first encounter, except when matters of finance and practical day-to-day living come up. In those areas there are no disagreements or arguments either, since both are responsible and generous, and they realize some at least temporary economic advantage from their present living arrangement.

Since Barbara works as a hairdresser, it may be superfluous to note that she is privy to a wide range of revelations from her female customers, and even the male ones for that matter, but it will at once be understood that among the various things that come up in conversation, robofuks are a favorite. In general Barbara does not repeat what she hears in the shop, and she is even less likely to repeat these things to Daryl since she knows he wouldn't be interested anyway.

It is quite a surprise, or more correctly, quite a shock to Daryl, then, when he comes home one Tuesday evening a little earlier than usual (having skipped his usual stop at Scooter's for a "few" beers with his male friends) and finds Barbara in bed having sex with a "hunk" of a man which is really a robofuk.

"What the hell is this shit? Get the fuck outta there you asshole. I'm gonna beat the shit out of you." With this, Daryl grabs the robofuk by its left arm and yanks "it" out of the bed. The robofuk continues its rhythmic in and out motion and has a look of sexual excitement on its "face". Daryl gives it a strong right punch in the face, and then another strong left punch in the stomach. The robofuk continues its rhythmic motion and maintains its sexually-pleasured expression.

"Wait a minute, Daryl, that's just a robofuk! One of my customers insisted I try it out 'cause she didn't have any money for a tip," cries Barbara.

"I don't give a goddam what it is, I ain't puttin' up with no other man in my bed! That's bullshit!" shouts Daryl.

"Calm down, honey, it's just a robot. I was only tryin' it out. It don't mean anything!"

Perhaps this relationship was not destined to last in any event, and fortunately there are no children, but it illustrates that not everyone is prepared to accept the use of robofuks by their significant others without reservation. Does Daryl feel that his manhood is being challenged? Is he jealous? Is he being too possesive? Maybe all of the above? In fact, there are a large number of similar "incidents" which can be blamed directly on the fact of the robofuks, but Dr. Hastings, the sociologist, would find it difficult, if not impossible, to determine whether the absolute number of such incidents is increased or decreased because of the robots.

For every broken relationship, there may be one which is better than it would be otherwise. Divorce rates for middle aged couples are definitely down, according to Dr. Hastings' research, although it is difficult or impossible to say why with any certainty. There is plenty of theorizing to the effect that such couples can introduce a measure of novelty into their relationships with the robots, thereby avoiding seven year itches and mid-life crises, but like so much in sociological research, there is no way to demonstrate this with scientific objectivity.

# CHAPTER SEVEN

"Boys and girls, we got a problem on our hands!" The speaker is David Holmes, secretary of Local 105 of the Teamster's Union in Fresno, California. "They're gonna replace as many of us as they can with these robots-just a matter of time. Now I know all they do right now is sex, and I sure as hell ain't against that, but the handwriting's on the wall."

David's concern is hardly premature, since there already are cases in which robofuks are being used for purposes which, in the past, _might_ have been handled by real humans. True, these instances are so far limited and not generally thought of as a threat to workers. There is no great concern because Macy's and Penney's are now using robots instead of mannequins, or that they are used in wax museums. David, for his part, is very much aware that the workers who formerly made the mannequins may now be out of work, but he accepts that an equal, or perhaps an even greater number of jobs have been created by the manufacturing of the robofuks.

And no one thinks the mannequins or wax figures are disadvantaged by the robots either. But to David and others like him, the handwriting is indeed on the wall. They remember a time when real people answered phones at business places, and when real people operated the phones and switchboards.

"I hear they're talking about using a robofuk in place of the hat check girl at Jack Baker's," claims Polly Whyte, long time waitress at Phil's, a downtown watering hole. "And I wouldn't be surprised to see 'em start using 'em for bartenders, either."

"Well, that's just my point, Polly. Like I said, the handwriting's on the wall. It's only a matter of time before they get it down to where the robots will be able to do anything we can do, and probably better at that. I know of at least one case where there is already a robofuk being used as a receptionist. Now in that particular case, they probably wouldn't have a receptionist at all otherwise, and all the thing really does is look pretty and talk politely-says more or less the same thing over and over. It's just for looks, and it isn't a union position anyway. Plus it doesn't do any work-you know, just for show. But even that is a case where a model or actor or somebody like that is being put out."

David looks over 50, although he is actually 49. Somewhat paunchy and bald on top, David wears rimless eyeglasses, a rarity these days given advances in eye wear and eye surgery. He looks more like a Republican businessman than a union leader, but he talks the talk of working people, and is quite sincere in his desire to help the poor and the workers. He is one of those people whose vocabulary, and indeed his very diction and demeanor, can adjust to the company at hand in a chamaeleon-like way. He enjoys the work he does and finds it meaningful, and he also enjoys the respect and confidence of the workers in the union.

Unmarried and without children, David is in the habit of relaxing with a group of friends at the Jolly Roger, most of whom he met there to begin with, after the union meetings he chairs once a month. Occasionally union members accompany him to the Jolly Roger, but his conversational tone neverthless adjusts to those in the barroom, the majority of whom are college educated, as indeed he is himself. Taken together, they represent the full spectrum of political and social opinions, although none would go so far as to agree with Commander Benson, at least not until several drinks later.

"So Dave, what were the peons up to tonight? Any strikes coming up?" asks Marc Gravelle, divorced lawyer and father of three. His reference to "peons" is not intended to be pejorative, and David knows that this is just banter offered in friendship.

"Yeah, we're striking the courthouse for the next two weeks until your big lawsuit for punitive damages goes down the tubes. So you better drink up while your credit's still good." David and Marc both act on this advice. Marc orders another scotch on the rocks and Dave has a Beck's beer.

"Seriously, Dave, what's up with you guys since I saw you here last week?"

"Well, we really are getting concerned about the robofuks. I mean, we all enjoy them of course, but they threaten the working man not so much right now, but I bet in the near future."

"I can see why you'd think so, and I'm not going to disagree, but don't you think for every job they cut, they add one?", asks Marc.

"That may be so far, but it's just a matter of time before they get perfected to the point that they can do anything the rest of us can. Talk about machines taking over the world!"

Sammy Hall, 28, a schoolteacher and also unmarried, jumps into the conversation at this point. Sammy sits with David, Marc, and Danny Rich in a comfortable booth, backed with maroon naugahide, that could easily seat six.

"It's gonna happen! Has already, in a way of looking at it. I saw a movie somewhere that was speeded up, that was traffic in New York or somewhere seen from high up, and it looked just like blood coursing through veins or something like that. You know, the people in the cars were just the blood vessels, or whatever, and the real show was the city and the traffic, or the machines, I guess you could say."

"Yeah, Sammy, I'm inclined to agree with you. We just serve the machine, most of us. Of course the machine is usually thought of as a political machine if you're talking about New York," says Danny.

"Or just look at some of the old Vietnam War movies with the helicopter raids. They look like some kinda insects buzzing around," replied Sammy. "And you can take that further. Insects have an exoskeleton with the soft stuff-bug juice?-inside, right? So what's the difference? Helicopters are also exoskeletons with the soft stuff-which is the crew-inside."

"Well, that's not as far out as you might think," remarks Dave. "I remember reading somewhere that a serious biologist, or maybe I should say a biologist who was being serious, thinks that airplanes and rockets are the next stage of evolution. He said something along the lines that they are born, and then die, and the next generation is an improvement over the last, and so they're evolving, only faster than us, and that we people are just left hanging around because we're needed for feeding them their gas."

"Yeah, but they can't fuck," observes Danny.

"Don't have to," says David. "Actually, sexual reproduction is just one way to evolve. There's asexual reproduction, where there isn't any fucking, so maybe you can have airplane evolution without fucking too."

"Well, I get the point that the machines could be seen as using us, but with the robofuks, it's just the opposite. We use them. And we actually use the airplanes, as far as that goes. And if robofuks start getting used as employees somewhere, it'll still be people like CEO's of corporations, for example, that are using them, not the other way around," argues Marc.

"That's the trouble with you union guys," Marc continues. "Like the court recorder thing. You guys would have us still using some girl to write down everything that's said in court even in the days of the video recorder. I know progress is difficult, but I don't think you can stop it, and I don't think you should, either."

"We're definitely not against progress," replies David. "In fact, neither the unions nor I personally are against labor saving devices. But if labor saving devices get invented, then how come the ones who do the laboring don't get the benefits? We can do more with less today, and yet the working man or woman works longer now than they did fifty years ago. What gives?"

"You want to hear something far out?" asks Sammy. "We'd probably all agree that the few exploit the many, even if we wouldn't all agree that they should. Well are any of us here naive enough to think that money goes to those who work for it? I don't think so," says Sammy, answering his own question. "It goes to those who scheme for it, or inherit it, or bullshit for it like you and Marc.

"Let me tell you guys about something I saw on the net recently," Sammy continues. "There's a bunch now claiming that every person in the world is due a certain amount of money just when they're born. It's sorta like the idea in back of inheritance, only turned around so as to benefit the average person. What they say is that whatever the world was worth, say a hundred years ago, ought to be figured out, then divide that by the number of people alive now, and that would be the amount that each person is due just for being born. They figure that _all_ of our ancestors invented stuff like the wheel, mathematics, or taming fire, or at least that you can't say one group's ancestor's contribution is any more important than another's. They go back a hundred years so that whatever it was worth then, the people are all dead now, so that amount would be the inheritance due every individual alive now, as his or her rightful inheritance. In other words, there's a lot of wealth in circulation today that was made by people who're all dead now, and it shouldn't just go to a few, but to everybody, at least the part that was already here when any of us came on the scene."

"Well Sammy, you could divide up a certain amount of wealth equally, and in a year it would be back like it is now anyway," says Marc.

"I know. But I don't think they're saying just give it to babies. It would be more like social security, where a certain amount is available at certain times. In fact, you could make sure it went for sensible stuff like medical care, education, and so on, or wouldn't be available till a certain age, or whatever," replied Sammy.

"But if everybody had money, who'd do the work?" asks Danny.

"What do you mean by work, Danny?" responds David, who feels this is his special area as a union man. He continues, "The whole idea of work and wages and the rest of it is just so much bullshit, in a way. To start with, much, if not most, of so-called work is totally unnecessary in the larger sense. Think of all the people who spend their lives trying to sell shit that people don't really want or need. I mean, how many phone calls do you get from some poor working stiff trying to sell time shares, or insurance, or whatever, and you just hang up. And the ones who build the time-shares are wasting time too, especially if the ones who buy them wind up being pissed off or in debt. Most of that stuff is just some scheme to make a few rich. The work part is not only unnecessary, but it fucks up the planet in the process.

"And think about the paper pushers, which is a big waste too. That's what I do, really. If everybody was willing to do his fair share of work, you wouldn't have a lot of paper pushers, that's for sure. And I'm sure Marc figures most of the union people aren't really working anyway. Now I wouldn't agree with that, but I would agree that a lot of so-called work is not necessary just to run the world. It's mainly to make a certain small percentage rich at the expense of the rest of us. Shit, if we only did what was necessary and sensible, nobody would have to work more than two weeks a year, guaranteed! Yeah, Sammy, I like your idea."

"Well, it isn't mine, really. Like I said, I just saw it on the net. But I do think we're in danger of the machines taking over, at least the computers."

The group orders more drinks and continues their conversation well into the night. At the same time, another small group of drinkers sits in a somewhat smaller booth at Jack Baker's from which they can see a robofuk that is performing the tasks of a hat check girl.

"She sure is good looking," observes one.

"Yeah, but she still looks kinda mechanical to me. I mean, she certainly moves OK, and sits down and gets up like she's 'spozed to, but if you watch her any length of time, there's a certain repetitiveness to her motions," says another.

"I see what you mean, but, hell, they can fix that with their computer program," claims another.

Reverend Billy Joe Handy nurses a cup of coffee and sits in his golden easy chair, complaining to Deacons Walker and Shumaker about the high cost of musical productions at the Temple of God.

"You know, this music thing is gettin' out of hand. I don't see no reason to be payin' that organist any $40,000 a year, and then his equipment on top of that. I know we make money off of it in the long run, but the cost is gettin' out of hand."

"Well it would be one thing if you made a one-time investment and that would be it. But seems like he keeps coming up with something new just about every month," notes Joe Walker.

" 'Nother thing is, he's got us over a barrel, 'cause you'd have to be a musical expert yourself to know if he really needs all that stuff or not," says Deacon Bob Shumaker.

"Well boys, I gotta tell ya," continues the Reverend, " I just had an interesting proposition from a local music store which must remain unnamed, but it's just what you said, Joe, a one-time investment. You figure it ain't just the forty thou salary, but we must have averaged twice that in equipment, you know, all those computer programs and stuff.

"They're prepared to set us up with a band and a small, but excellent choir for a price you wouldn't believe. It uses this new robot technology, and once it's set up, you don't have any more costs. They say it's so real you can't tell the difference from real people, except that they never sing out of tune or anything like that. I figure we can use them for the TV broadcasts and as the house band, so to speak, and stop gettin' ripped off by this organist, whaddaya think?"

"Well how're ya gonna pull it off?" asks Joe. "I mean what about the choir we got now. I don't see no problem gettin' rid of the organist. I don't think he's Christian anyway, if you ask me. But the choir people won't like just bein' offed like that."

"We don't have to off 'em. Just the organist and all his equipment. The robots can do some of the stuff by themselves, so the store says, and then the choir can sing along with 'em on other stuff. Anyway, they guarantee satisfaction, or we don't have to go with it," answers the Reverend.

"Well now tell me, Billy Joe, are these gonna be real like those robots they sell?" asks Bob. "I mean, will they be, uh, anatomically correct, I believe the expression is?"

"Well that's all you can get, far as I know, but it don't matter none. They'll be properly dressed, of course, and when they're not singing, they just sit there, or stand there, I guess. I think the band is mostly men, and the singers women, but they say you can get whatever combinations you want. I wouldn't advertise that they're robots. Maybe the choir would have to know, but the store says they're fun to sing with, and that where they've done this in other places, the choirs haven't complained. You know, they get to do a lot of stuff they couldn't do on their own, but they still get the credit."

"I say it's high time these robots were put into the service of the Lord. Sorta turning the tables on the Evil One, you might say," remarks Joe, as his mind reflects briefly on an affair he had with a pretty choir member some years back. It also occurs to him that a choir of robots will offer the same attractions with considerably less risk. This understanding does not escape the other two participants in this conversation either.

The technology of robofuks has progressed in tandem with similar progressions in the field of computing, especially as so much of the robofuk technology depends on computing power anyway. The progress is exponential actually, but since people are accustomed to that by now, exponential progress isn't necessarily seen as encompassing qualitative change, even though at some point it invariably does.

But then a development occurs which, while really no more of a qualitative leap than what went before, nevertheless captures the public's attention to the point that it _is_ thought to constitute a difference in _kind_ , rather than simply a difference in _degree_. This happens with the robofuks when a relatively small, but very visible improvement takes place.

It is well known that robofuks, plainly put, are good in bed, and that they are as convincing as any magician's trick when one looks at them, or touches them, or hears them talk-unless one expects serious conversation. But it is also well known that there are many occasions where their robotness is still very much in evidence. Not only might they continue their programmed routines inappropriately, as happened when Daryl punched out Barbara's borrowed robofuk, but there are also a number of things which, though easy for humans, are quite impossible for the robots. For example, while the more expensive ones _can_ walk and sit, and even seem to drink coffee, they are not able pick themselves up from the floor gracefully, or even convincingly, if knocked over.

This, and similar inadequacies, explains in large part why the robots are not used more extensively in the work force. But the ever-increasing miniaturization of components and the equally ever-increasing improvement of computing power makes it easier and easier to mimic human behavior in the robofuks. When newer models do, in fact, manage to pick themselves up from falling on the floor with considerable grace and elegance, then the public imagines that a qualitative change _has_ taken place. When these same robots can seem to carry on an intelligent conversation as well, then the public is convinced that a difference in kind has indeed occurred.

One must keep in mind, though, that no matter how convincing, the robots have absolutely no intelligence or emotions in them in point of fact, and are really just machines in every sense of the word. But it must also be kept in mind that the most convincing and emotional performance in a movie is also nothing but machinery by the time one sees it in a theater.

"Alan, I have some wine I want you to try." Ed Mellon has decided to open another two hundred year old bottle, this one from a famous winery in France that still sells stock it has from the 18th Century. His black waiter, who wears a tuxedo even though it's still morning, carefully places the bottle over a white napkin folded over his left arm and pours two glasses. The waiter, who helped himself to a large mouthful directly from the bottle earlier, knows Mr. Mellon won't notice that any is missing.

"Alan, how've you been? Are you keeping up with this robot business?"

"Hard not to, isn't it? Seems like they're everywhere these days. I'm surprised you don't have one pouring the wine," says Alan Matthews.

"Well now if I did, would you be able to tell?"

"No, I really don't think I could. Amazing, the progress that's been made. When we first concerned ourselves with this business, we were worried about the effect of blatant sex on teenagers and kids, but it seems to me now that that was relatively small potatoes."

"Alan, I sometimes think you and I almost missed the boat on this one. True, the sex part is what gets the attention, but that may be the least part of it. These damn things look to me like they could substitute for real people in almost any situation-if not now, at least in the near future. What do you think?"

"Well you have a 737. Would you be comfortable using one of the robots for your pilot?"

"No, I wouldn't. But that isn't as ridiculous as it might seem. Many planes are flown basically by computers already. If you used one of the robots for a pilot, it would just be window dressing. I mean, you could have all of the computer components in the cockpit without having to make it look like a person. That would just be an extra expense."

"What about letting them drive trucks on the highway? Or cars and cruise ships?"

"Well I grant you there is a lot to be said for using a real person in most of those situations too. I have no doubt the robots could do 99% of it, but that other 1% is where you need a person who can react in a thinking way. But we need to look a little further down the road than most people. What do these things portend for the future?"

"I agree, Ed. I assume you've been thinking about that. Right?"

"Yes, but I haven't come up with that much yet. We should have realized even before the sex robots that this would all come down to the masses being irrelevant, if not actually in the way sooner or later. Of course I did mention, facetiously, the Bubonic Plague as a possible solution once before. But at least the robots don't impact the environment for food and entertainment, and they do cut down on overpopulation."

"Not only that, but they have the potential for doing many of the more humdrum tasks even if they don't fly planes and drive trucks. But then you'd have some serious unemployment."

"That's what I worry about," continues Ed. "Of course there's been serious unemployment ever since the industrial revolution, especially if you count backward areas, or so-called third world countries. But it isn't so much the point that they be employed, as that they be occupied, or given activities which keep them from causing us trouble. The sex robots are a blessing in that sense."

"But you can't have sex all day," replies Alan.

"Exactly. Moreover, quite apart from the notion of work, which notion has been under considerable strain for a long time anyway, is the question of how money is to be allocated to the masses if it isn't given out for work. We may have to struggle with a situation where it can no longer be maintained that people get money for doing work. If all the work is done by robots, then how do we keep our money economy?"

"Well Ed, you and I both know that that is essential. The only thing standing between us and the baser elements is money. If money disappeared from the equation, where would that leave us? I mean I'm not afraid to go up against any man my own age, but let's be honest, neither of us is equipped to survive in a dog eat dog world where the baser instincts rule."

"Nor should we have to. We've risen to our responsibilities in the past, and I'm sure we can continue to. I don't think the masses have the wherewithal to organize in such a way as to permit them to function without money, or to live on their own without it, but it has always been in the back of my mind that money is the only real tool we have. They can't be reasoned with, of course, and they could easily become restless with new desires if they have too much time on their hands. Idleness is still the Devil's playmate."

"No question about it. But then, Ed, you have to consider not the money, as such, but what is the basis of our having it, or more correctly, the basis of our control of things. Money just symbolizes that we have the _say_ , so to speak. Having the _say_ is more important than the money, in a way. Having the say is the magnet that pulls in the money, as you well know."

"Yes, that's right. But our 'say', as you put it, has a historical basis. It is our ancestral lines that have guided things thus far, and the success of their leadership is the basis of ours. Now I would be the first to admit that they probably made a mistake when they occupied the masses with the world wars and the cold war, but we didn't have the sex robots then. Besides, as you said, you can't have sex all day. And in those days the world wasn't globalized like it is now. The leaders of each country would have been better off if they could have gotten together and avoided those wars, but hindsight is better than foresight."

The waiter, whose name is Rodney Stewart, is standing inconspicuously in a corner with the wine bottle. As Ed and Alan near the end of their glasses, he approaches the men and raises his eyebrows in response to which Ed nods his head affirmatively. Rodney fills each glass and retires to his corner.

"Ed, I don't know if I'd worry so much about whether they're occupied constructively or not. I mean, they aren't that constructively occupied anyway, if you ask me. What do they do? They go to meaningless games, read trash, listen to trashy music, and watch stupid movies. So what's the difference? They can just do more of the same."

"I know. I'm not worried about that. But if hardly anyone is working, or the robots are doing all the work, how do we distribute the money? Not only can we no longer pretend that money goes to those who work, but there's no incentive for us to control them with. The robots may do whatever they get programmed to do, but they won't be doing it because of any incentive. In other words, if we were to be without the money economy, then we'd be without incentives also, and it is the matter of incentives which we don't want to be without."

"I quite agree. Actually, money is already distributed to large numbers of people who don't work. You have little old ladies who get dividend checks all the time, and social security recipients. The military is paid without producing a product. In fact, they consume them. But the illusion, or I guess you'd have to call it a belief, that money is the reward for work is very useful in providing incentives. Plus you have to have some way to divide up resources, even if they're made by robots. You need a market, I'm convinced of that."

"Alan, I couldn't agree more. If everyone could get anything he or she wants without some effort, pretty soon things would fall apart entirely, and then no one would get anything. You have to have the possibility of destitution just in order to provide an incentive, even if nothing else."

"Well, how can you keep the possibility of destitution and the necessary incentives if there is no such thing as a labor market anymore? I mean, if all of the slots for working people are filled by robots, then on what basis do we allocate food, clothing, and housing?"

"That's the question we need to concern ourselves with. I think we still have time, but we better be looking way down the road, as I said before. How's the wine?"

"Excellent, Ed, excellent."

# CHAPTER EIGHT

Alan and Ed may not have as much time as they think. That very day, Dr. Wayne Wells, Cliff Foley's personal physician, chats with Cliff for a while after Cliff's routine physical exam, which shows no negative results.

"Cliff, you're in really good shape. I don't know why, since your diet isn't all that good, and you probably drink too much, but I don't see anything to worry about. Look, my younger brother who is a family care guy, was asking me something about your robots the other day and I told him I'd ask you. How feasible would it be to make a robot that would be somebody's double?"

"Well actually that's sort of what we do anyway. I mean most of the faces and such that we use are gotten from artists, or are even generated on computers, but that's just so we don't get sued by real people. It would be the same thing, as far as making them, if we copied faces and physiques from real people. I happen to know that there have been plenty of customized ones made which are copies of real people, like Marilyn Monroe or whoever."

"Well how much are they, I mean what does it cost to get that done?"

"Depends on who you get to do it, I guess. We just mass produce certain models ourselves. You'd have to get it special ordered, but that's easy to do on the internet. Sometimes they just take a production model and put a different face on it. That wouldn't cost that much, or at least it shouldn't. Of course if price is no object, you can get anybody you want, I should think. But you'd have to get it done special-it's not something we're set up to do."

Wayne passes this along to his brother, William, who is one of three doctors alternating shifts at a walk in clinic in La Plata, Maryland. As the senior doctor and owner of the clinic, Dr. Wells usually works days, but occasionally works nights as a favor to the other doctors. William's wife, Andrea, works as secretary at the clinic, but she is also a registered nurse. Since the clinic is William's small business, she is more valuable to him as secretary than she would be as nurse.

Dr. William Wells is doing very well financially, but his career is not turning out the way he had expected. He is very tired of sick people, and even tired of medicine, which he only went into in the first place because of the money and prestige. He never did have much interest in medicine even when he was younger, and it always ran a distant third to golf and women on his list of concerns.

Dr. Wells is talking with his wife during a lull in the routine. Usually they are quite busy, but this is one of the few times when no one is waiting and all of the paper work is caught up.

"Andrea, for all the difference it would make, I might as well have one of those robofuks in here seeing the patients. I could be out playing golf and still making money at the same time. Shit, you could do the same thing. Wouldn't that be a blast!"

Although Dr. Wells is just now bringing this up to his wife, he has actually had just such an idea in his mind for some time now, which is why he asked his brother to find out from Cliff Foley whether he could get a double of himself made.

"Bill, you'd get your ass sued in a heart beat! Might even go to jail. Now the part about having a robofuk do the secretary's job? _That_ makes sense."

"From what I've seen of the robofuks, there's less chance of us getting sued if they do the doctoring than if I do it. Besides, I say and do the same thing over and over all day long. It shouldn't be that big of a deal to program one of them to do what I do. What could go wrong? If you're here, you'd know if there was really a problem or not, and you could have the robofuk itself take sick, if necessary, while you call me or one of the other guys, or whatever."

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"Damn right I am. Look, it doesn't matter what we do or don't do most of the time. First off, we'll get the money whether the diagnosis is right or wrong, right? Secondly, 99% of the shit is so routine it wouldn't take that much of a program for the robofuk to handle it anyway. You know as well as I do that 99% of it is bedside manner anyway, and the robofuks would be great for that. You can do the emergency procedures yourself, or else farm them out to the hospital. I mean I don't even give shots, for Christ sake."

Not overnight, but in a relatively short time, Dr. Wells implements his plan. His robofuk copy turns out to be accepted by the patients without question, and it is able to relieve the other physicians at night, which pleases them and saves Bill money at the same time. It isn't long before Andrea acquires similar advantages, except that her robofuk can't do the paper work. This still needs to be checked by her, but Dr. Wells helps with it. When one of the other doctors, and then shortly afterward, the second one moves on, Dr. Wells replaces both of them with robofuks.

At the beginning, and for the most part, either Dr. Wells himself or Andrea are on hand at the clinic much of the time just in case some emergency _does_ arise, but the robofuks prove to be considerably more competent than was originally expected. Their bedside manner is not just great, but perfect. Moreover, they are now programmed sufficiently that they can take blood pressures and temperatures, and analyze and record the results correctly. They don't do procedures, although they could. Not every procedure succeeds, no matter who does it, and this could indeed be the basis for a lawsuit. So the robofuk's programming is confined to looking, squeezing, palpating, and measuring. Beyond that their behavior is programmed to be mostly verbal, and in this they are not only more reassuring, but generally less obscure than real physicians.

There are a number of jobs which are not in _immediate_ jeopardy from the robofuks as such, but which may be in jeopardy nevertheless. The robofuks were originally conceived of as sexual in nature, and while much effort goes into making them long lasting in the matter of endurance, there is not that much interest in making them physically strong in the sense that a weight lifter is strong. True, they _can_ be, and often _are_ made to _look_ like weight lifters, but it isn't cost effective to add on what would be required to actually give them comparable amounts of physical strength. In addition, where a given job _does_ require physical strength, the job can be robotized and computerized without the added expense of making the apparatus look like a human.

Cliff Foley, as public relations officer of the Recreations Division at Acme Cigarettes, is often permitted, or obliged, as the case may be, to attend general policy meetings, but he attends more technical meetings from time to time as well. There is always pressure to ferret out new markets and new strategies, and these are often dependent on technical aspects of manufacture, or on technical aspects of the behavior and appearance of the robofuks. Scott is also welcome at any meetings he might choose to attend. On this occasion both are present, and the meeting includes engineers as well as marketing and design people.

"Scott, thanks for coming," says the chairman of this meeting, Pete Canfield. "You too, Cliff. We have a small order pending from the government of Norway-actually hardly enough to worry with unless there is a greater potential than appears on the surface. I personally think it warrants this meeting, though, at the very least.

"They want maybe a dozen or so male robofuks to stand guard at the presidential palace. Really just a matter of the right costumes. But as you all know from past experience, we have to think something like this through so we don't get embarrassed down the road. For example, almost none of the tourists will ever look for the on and off switch to see if the guards are real, but _one_ will. So we need to make sure they're well hidden."

"No sweat, Pete," says Don Watson, engineer.

"I know. Just wanted to be sure we didn't overlook it. Our real concern this morning is whether there might be a bigger potential than would appear on the surface. I mean, we can probably tap the same market in all the other places where they have guards, say like Copenhagen, Monte Carlo, or Luxembourg, for all I know-you get the point."

"It would certainly be a real coup, but I doubt if we're going to get Buckingham Palace or the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier," adds Cliff.

"Well you're probably right about that, Cliff. Lucky for me, that's more in your department. But I wouldn't rule that out on the face of it," responds Pete.

"Well, of course, I don't either. I'll definitely check it out."

"Now you'd really have something if we could figure out how to sell entire armies. I'm surprised we aren't into that already," says a line worker, a couple of whom are always encouraged to attend meetings like this.

"Believe it or not, the question has been studied already," says Joan, an advertising copy writer. "The big problem for us is that most warfare situations no longer require much in the way of soldiers as such. They have tiny little airplanes no bigger than toys, for example, which fly on their own without pilots. We thought about selling whole armies in Africa, or to places like Haiti, but our experience in trying to make such sales is that those people are a whole lot more sophisticated than you might think. They ain't buyin', in other words."

"You're on the right track when you try to think in terms of what we call fleet sales in the auto business, though. I know we've done a little along those lines in Las Vegas for the larger brothel operations, but we need to do a lot more," says Pete.

"You guys might get further if you keep in mind the technical development we've achieved already," says Don, the engineer. "You know, without getting too technical, even stuff like performing delicate medical operations is possible now. The problem is, there's no need for the stuff to look human if it's doing an operation. But we can now program movements which are more delicate than what people can do. The geographical positioning devices of the past have gotten so sophisticated that they can operate on a microscopic level now, and certainly the visual triangulations and calculations made by our eye cameras beat those of any real person."

"Well let me ask you Don, can they make change from a cash register?" asks Cliff.

"They can make change alright, but we haven't gotten it to look convincingly human yet. They're too good at it, in a way. It just looks unnatural when they hold each bill or coin up for an eye camera photo, and do it so rapidly. Of course we could correct that, but it probably wouldn't be cost effective. But we'll work on it some more, for sure."

"Thanks, Don," says Pete. "What about the sports market? Is there any overlooked potential there?"

"I'm sure there is," answers Cliff. "We are already working on matches between robofuks and real people, sort of like they did with chess players and IBM computers. But that isn't going to be a big market. It's more an advertising thing than a chance to sell in large numbers. Now if one of you figures out how to sell a stadium full of robofuk _spectators_ , let me know," laughs Cliff.

"Well if you sell tickets to the matches, you'll do OK to be sure," notes the line worker.

"And don't forget the TV rights and the advertising revenue," adds Joan.

In Winston Salem, John Jackson and Bill Carlucci are again in the executive suite, this time dining sumptuously on prime rib from North Dakota, which is being served as their lunch by two beautiful girl waitresses in very short skirts who look sixteen and who are really robofuks. Their white panties are very visible with almost every move. John and Bill will eventually retire to separate comfortable and well appointed bedrooms, adjacent to the executive suite, for such sexual recreations as they can manage physically, having long since overcome any earlier reticence they may have had about robotic sex.

"You know Bill, we're missing the boat by not being into this crazy sports market more than we are. If we went about it right, we could own the motherfucker. We could have our own stadiums, sell advertising, the whole nine yards. Even our own teams-I mean why not?"

"Well John, I see your point, but I think it would take some doing to get people worked up over robofuk hockey teams. And if you do football, or boxing, that they're really just robots would be real apparent, once they got smashed up and had their wires hanging out, or whatever," replied Bill.

"Bullshit! No different than getting them worked up over Bambi or Mountain Lion Kings. Just a matter of the right media. Look at what Disney did with Mickey Mouse. Same idea, basically. Hell, we could have better than great uniforms, personalities, whatever. Look what's been done with wrestling. In fact, that's a good example. I mean, it's just a show anyway."

"Well you aren't gonna make any fortune selling ten or twelve robotic wrestlers. That ain't shit in the marketing world."

"You're right about that, but the real money is in the tickets, the t-shirts, the TV advertising revenue, and so on. And don't forget the fortunes we can make on the stadium constructions, land deals, and financing opportunities. We don't have to settle just for robofuk sales, you know."

"John, you're something else. When are you gonna settle down and just enjoy life?"

"In about twenty minutes-right after I eat this prime rib and have a drink."

It begins rather inauspiciously. Cliff arranges, with his contacts in academia, for a series of concerts and athletic competitions which are well spaced out in time, so as not to seem a pattern or a trend at first. Top notch piano performances are arranged which are staged with robofuks, but which are carefully programmed so as to be, if anything, more than the equivalent of what had been accomplished by real piano virtuosos of the past. The same is done with performances by robofuk opera divas, and then robofuk rock groups and folk singers.

Cliff didn't get where he is by being timid or uncreative-he has a plan. Having heard somewhere that Frank Sinatra, or his agents, got mileage out of hiring teenaged girls to act as shills by swooning at his performances, Cliff intends to use the same idea for his own purposes. To that end, he has the design department draw up plans for a real "hunk" of a young male robofuk that he plans to make a celebrity much on the order of Frank Sinatra or Elvis Presley and their many successors. It is easy for him to arrange a musical album and counterpart video, along with a touring itinerary, TV spots, and reviews in show biz publications, together with pictures of the shills.

As soon as it is apparent that this scheme is going to work, efforts are doubled and quadrupled, and before very long, a substantial number of such "idols" are up and running in every area from classical to country music, and in TV and movie productions as well, where the robofuks prove convincing as actors and actresses. They had already been used successfully as extras, but some people are surprised at the level of acceptance the public gives them in their new capacities.

At a meeting similar to the one detailed above, Cliff and Scott are again in attendance.

"Cliff, I think we all agree that congratulations are in order on your campaign with the robofuk stars and starlets," says Pete Canfield. "Where do you see us going from here?"

"Thank you, Pete. I think we can definitely anticipate an increase in sales to the extent that we offer clones of the stars. Also, our percentage of music, video, and movie sales can be expected to increase as we merge with some of those companies. Offers are already on the table. The biggest fish in the sea, though, is the sports thing. We expect to field some individual stars there at first, now that the precedent is in place, but down the road we figure to field teams, and eventually own the whole market."

"That's great, Cliff," says Joan, the copywriter. "I guess you and I are going to have to put in some extra hours to hype that one successfully."

"Nothing new about that, Joan, but you're right, it will take some effort. More important, it'll take some money, but we're OK there, far as I know."

"We _are_ OK there, Cliff," says Scott. "How do you intend to approach it?"

"Well I doubt if people would relate to a baseball team of robofuks without some prior conditioning, so that is the first step. In a way, that's what all the movie star stuff has been about. We're currently involved with a boxing match, wrestling, some tennis matches, and some golf tournaments. Also some skiing and swimming. Once the individual stuff is in place, we'll go for the team stuff. What we've found so far is that if the persona developed is strong enough, the public, or I should say publics, plural, 'cause there's more than one public, if the persona is strong enough, then they forget that it's a robot."

"But will that work with a whole team?" asks Scott.

"I think it will. Look, remember the Pokemon thing, or for that matter Cabbage Patch Dolls? They were total fictions, and yet the people related to them big time. Identity, or what we call persona, is the key. And hype, of course, to use Joan's term."

Dr. Lee Hastings, the sociologist is no more surprised than Cliff or Mr. Jackson at the public acceptance of robofuks as stars and idols, but he _is_ more puzzled by it. He knows how much of a person's identity is tied up with whatever social constructions are presented to him or her by the culture they happen to get born into, but he hasn't adjusted as completely to just how fictitious such things can be and still work. He does think that this phenomenon amounts to a bonafide scientific sociological experiment in a way, which is a rare thing indeed.

He considers the entire robofuk phenomenon to have been an inadvertent experiment, really. True enough, there are plenty of people for whom the robofuks are indeed more real than any Pokemon or Cabbage Patch Doll. He figures this is because humans are, after all, sleeping with them in the most intimate of circumstances. It is by no means uncommon for people of both sexes to have feelings of affection for their robofuks well in excess of what they have for fish and turtles, to be sure, but also even for dogs, cats, or horses. Some go so far as to suppose that a large portion of the robofuks are held in considerably _more_ esteem than, not only pets, but many wives and husbands, or boy friends and girl friends as well.

Ironically, this circumstance arises in part just _because_ of the real inadequacies of the robots when it comes to conversation and other interactions in areas outside of the bedroom. One would suppose at first blush that an inability to have meaningful conversation, or substantive emotional reaction, would work against large scale acceptance of-to say nothing about affection for-the devices, but this is not the case. Dr. Hastings reluctantly feels he must entertain the proposition that large numbers of people are more content to interact verbally and emotionally with the robofuks than with real people precisely _because_ the robofuks offer no resistance and render no judgments. They are more than obliging no matter how cruel the insult, nor how vacuous the comment or observation made to them.

Dr. Hastings reluctantly entertains some other unsettling propositions as well-propositions which are even less subject to scientific inquiry than human-robofuk relationships are. While decidedly _not_ given to conspiracy-theory types of speculation, Dr. Hastings has long suspected that a divide and conquer mechanism of some kind must be operating in today's culture in order to account for the extent to which people are no longer enjoying the fruits of true community. He imagined at one time that the very essence of the human condition was its collective involvement in marriage, family, neighborhood, work, town, country, and even the whole world, all the while spinning around in space on this tiny little planet.

Nowadays, all of that is taking second place to machines-machines than can't even comprehend what you say or do. Moreover, the machines are now becoming the cultural idols, and thereby the role models for the young, and for that matter, the not so young. One of Dr. Hastings' reluctant propositions is that the phenomenon of the robofuks is no more nor less than the final phase of mercantilism-the final stages of the infection "mercenary mind set" (his term) which puts a price on everything, and a value on nothing.

Dr. Hastings reflects that people were divided initially along tribal, racial, religious, and linguistic lines, and then there was a progression from close-knit interactions _within_ the tribe and small communities to divisions based on country, class, skin color, and eventually to divisions between households and generations. He thinks there must be some connection between having separate box-like-indeed beehive-like dwellings-for each separate family, and the number of refrigerators that arrangement sells.

He therefore thinks it unsurprising, in an ironic way, that each individual can now be entirely on his or her own in the most intimate of human connections, without need or desire for any involvement with others. He toys with the speculation that such potential or actual anomie has given rise to the current state of affairs in which not only manufactured bed mates, but also manufactured heroes and their concomitant iconic ideals give meaning to cultural life, and thereby to the lives of most individuals. The meanings given are not those of which he approves.

# CHAPTER NINE

Nor do Ed Mellon and his friend Alan Matthews approve very much of the contents of the evolving, or manufactured, meanings either, but they appreciate the potential for keeping order that the fact of the "manufactured" meanings or "values" present.

"Alan, let's have some plain old Kentucky bourbon. I get tired of the fancy stuff every now and then, don't you?" asks Ed.

"To be honest, it isn't so much that I'm tired of the fancy stuff as that I like any and all kinds of the stuff, fancy or not. Bring it on!"

Rodney Stewart approaches and sets two double shot glasses in front of the men, who are seated in front of a fireplace in two huge brown leather chairs with an antique table between them. He then takes two glasses with ice in them from a tray he is balancing on his left fingers, fills them with water from a pitcher from the tray, and then lifts down a bottle of expensive, but recent, Kentucky bourbon, which has a silver spout in it, and pours the liquid into the shot glasses. Rod backs away silently with a slight bow.

"Alan, you remember we talked about the need for the possibility of destitution as a means of providing an incentive in order to keep some semblance of order in society generally. As I recall, we also mentioned the need for some method of apportioning out necessities to the masses. I don't think it would be a moral thing to just let them starve, and in any case, our own situation might be in jeopardy if we don't maintain some direction over things."

"You'll get no argument out of me on that, Ed. I do think ahead to the day, probably not in our lifetimes, when there is no such thing as physical labor anymore, either because the robots do it all, or at least machines of some kind do it. Definitely a different situation than in the past."

"An irony, isn't it, that the older we get, the further ahead we think. Not only will machines do the physical work, but maybe the mental work too. Plus, as the need for workers diminishes, that process will go on geometrically, not arithmetically. So it _could_ happen in our lifetimes, who knows?"

"Along those lines, I hear there is already research being done that will result in the direct manufacture of food, and most likely robots will do that too, which will eliminate the need for agriculture as we know it."

"Well, clearly we need to figure out how to manage things at a time when the masses are not automatically occupied with filling their allotted slots," observes Ed. "I have taken some interest in the idea that they seem quite willing to align themselves with, or I guess one would say identify with, various personalities even when those personalities are total fiction."

"What could be more fictitious than attaching some meaning to which major league football team wins? I have always been amused by that."

"I wouldn't say they're _more_ fictitious, but certainly the ancient Greek and Roman gods were every bit _as_ fictitious. Who could take Zeus and Apollo seriously, except as fictitious characters? Don't forget that Machiavelli advised the Prince to sponsor large games so as to occupy the masses with something that wouldn't result in harm to the throne. They're amusing, yes, but also very useful. Maybe even more so in the present situation."

"How can the games be used to provide incentives and apportion resources?"

"I don't say they can in any direct sense. But maybe indirectly they can. I would be kidding you if I pretend I have it figured out, because I don't. But it warrants thought. Just think about it. The masses find the games very meaningful, even identify with them. Now when one says they identify with them, what one is saying is that they derive a portion-maybe even the whole in some cases-of their personalities from icons, or symbols, that can be manufactured, and therefore subject to some semblance of rational and sensible control."

"I don't doubt the power of those things to induce a degree of order. Look what Hitler did with symbols and iconic messages."

"Well we're certainly no Hitlers, and I know you don't mean to suggest that, but it is a good example of what I'm talking about. Certainly the opportunity for some kind of organization of things exists for whoever controls the scale and use of such cultural icons, quite apart from whatever their content might be. I mean, you can have just as much social cohesion if you organize people psychologically around Mickey Mouse as you can around anti-Semitism, and the mouse is certainly more humane."

"I must say I would have trouble organizing _my_ life around a cartoon character. But I know stranger things have happened. You may be on to something here. Obviously we can control the extent and nature of these things even if we can't control their content. Anyway, does it really matter whether large numbers of people structure their time worshiping God or Satan, so long as they spend it worshiping something instead of raising hell?"

"Precisely. Now all we have to do is figure out the incentive part. We have the tools. Easy enough for us encourage or discourage this or that set up in sports and the media generally. After all, we are the ones who own it all, aren't we?"

Father McGrath, Len Dorset, and the other ethicists are gathered once again at a meeting held this time in Tydings Hall at the University of Maryland in College Park.

"Ladies and gentlemen, our topic today is the increasing use of robots in the media and in organized sports, especially as how this relates to the on-going development of values and social goals. Are there ethical implications we should be concerned about? Is it good or bad? Might this development impact our children for better or worse, quite apart from the sexual questions we've discussed in the past? Are there any policy implications we should address as experts in the field of ethics? I hereby open the proceedings for discussion," announces Rabbi David Greenstone, chair of today's meeting, which is being recorded for later broadcast on PBS.

"Me first? OK, yeah, I think there are definitely some questions we need to address." The speaker is Reverend Myra Powell, pastor of a Presbyterian congregation in Toms River, New Jersey. "But my questions would have more to do with the values of the sports mania itself in this country, rather than with whether or not such values are pushed by people or robots. My own view is that the wrong values are being pushed, and that the effects of that go beyond simply encouraging a lot of Monday night beer drinking. I worry about the effect on children of the win at all costs mentality that seems to be so much in vogue these days."

"Well, Reverend Powell, if winning at all costs is part of real life, then you're doing the kids a favor to instill that in them at an early age," says Len, the lawyer. "In my line of work, you don't get far without that attitude."

"Careful, Len! You don't want this to degenerate into a discussion of the values of lawyers, do you?" asks Reverend Mitchell, the one Black on the panel. "I'm kidding you, of course, but there are a lot of lawyer jokes around."

"I'm well aware of that, Reverend. And I'm not saying that the win at all costs attitude is a good thing, even if it does seem to be a dominant attitude. I was just pointing out that it isn't as simple a thing as it might seem on the surface. You religious leaders are in the business of telling us what's good or bad, but us lawyers are in the business of what works."

"Reverend Powell mentions the Monday night beer drinking, but sports also encourages a lot of healthy practices. In fact, a healthy body would seem to be the _main_ value that sports of any kind would encourage," notes the gay pastor, Reverend Tommy Smith.

"Not if you consider the many injuries and the use of stimulants and steroids," notes Father McGrath. "I grant you a healthy body _should_ be the goal of sports, and I think the very purpose of this meeting is to consider whether current practice contributes to that or detracts from it. Personally, I favor sports over undisciplined sex and being a couch potato any day."

"Well, Father, I might agree with you in principle, but don't you think most sports spectators are couch potatoes if all they do is sit and watch?" asks the rabbi.

"Of course they are, but at least their attention is on something wholesome when they're at the game," replies the Father.

"I don't know how wholesome boxing and wrestling are, or even football, in my opinion," notes Reverend Smith.

"I think you folks are getting too far afield here," comments Reverend Mitchell. "We aren't gonna solve these real big questions in one meeting. You all are getting at the very heart of our country's value system, and that's a good thing, but too broad a subject in my opinion. I think we should confine ourselves to how the robots figure in this."

"It seems to me that the robots raise the possibility of encouraging certain values even better than real people can because they can be made to seem larger than life, and they won't mess up by saying the wrong things, or getting caught being drunk and that sort of thing," says Father McGrath.

"I agree that the robots are better at _setting_ values, but how are they at setting _better_ values?" asks the Reverend Smith. "I would submit," he continues, "that they aren't going to set any better values than those of their human controllers. In the wrong hands, they could even be a danger, I think."

Nick Logan and Ben Bradford have just finished pleasuring themselves with Nick's parents' new robofuk, an especially cute female-one with blond hair that looks to be barely17 years old. Nick's parents have developed the habit of keeping the new robofuk clothed, and while they have not traded the old male robofuk in yet, they will do so in the near future. The new female model incorporates the latest computer technology, and is not only able to pick herself up from the floor gracefully, but can walk and otherwise mimic human behavior in a most convincing manner. While her conversation may leave much to be desired from the standpoint of the learned, there are many who would see no substantive difference between her programmed verbal responses and those of real 17 year olds.

Emboldened by past successes, Nick and Ben are motivated, upon sexual satiation, to cast about for ways to amuse themselves with the robofuk during the next few hours, knowing that Nick's parents won't be back for at least four hours.

"You know, Ben, good as this thing walks, I bet we could take it out in public and pass it off as real, whadda you think?"

"Shit, that's done every day anymore, I'm sure. I mean how would you know the damn difference? Whadda ya got in mind?"

"I say we take it to the museum and have it pull its pants down, or somethin' like that."

"Piss on that, it would cost admission, and we'd have to pay for her too," observes Ben.

"What about the library? We could get away with that, I bet."

"Bullshit. She has that waitress-looking costume. They'd hassle us as soon as we got in the door."

The robofuk does in fact wear the same costume as John Jackson's waitress-robofuks, which are production models with standardized clothes. In the waitress model, this consists of a fairly provocative outfit with the white panties and extremely short red skirt already mentioned. The top is a thin black spandex-like material with half-arms, which is partially covered in front with a white apron like those typically worn by cocktail waitresses.

Wishing to avoid any expense in their recreation, they rule out such suggestions as movies and supermarkets, where they would be expected to buy something, and decide instead to simply walk the robot to a bus stop and stand her there while they sit on the bench under a shelter made for people waiting for the bus. They have had enough experience running the programs from the remote that it is easy for them to decide on a simple routine which they can repeat over and over at different speeds so that the routine will look human, and not robot-like.

The boys are driven to nearly uncontrollable laughing and giggling as they watch several busses come and go with mostly elderly ladies on them. They are especially amused in those cases where the bus driver lingers a moment or two longer than he might otherwise, ostensibly in order to see if the young 17 year old is going to board the bus or not. In the routine they have chosen, the 17 year old "waitress" repeatedly, but at different speeds, raises her skirt and apron as far as possible with her left hand, and then, with her right hand, pulls her panties half way down her thighs, exposing her genitalia to the obvious delight of the bus drivers, and equally obvious disdain of the ladies.

John Jackson and Bill Carlucci are once again at lunch in their plush executive suite.

"Bill, is this Ramey fellow getting out of hand? Seems like he's gonna wind up with more money out of this shit than we are if we aren't careful."

"I know what you mean, John, but in a way it's worth it. We haven't had any hassle from Congress or the president. I feel like he's kept his end of the bargain, but you're right. If we don't rein him in the thing could escalate."

"Well it comes to a point of diminishing returns as far as I'm concerned. They don't do shit-they're like a toll booth on a turnpike holding out their hands. Hell, we make these fuckin' robots so good now, I don't see why we couldn't just put them up there and do away with these political fucks."

"Do you think people are ready for that?"

"Why not. Shit, they accept them as movie stars, don't they?"

"Well, I know, but this is a little different."

"Bullshit. It's not a goddam bit different in a way. I mean, they could still do all the speechifying and such, and meet the press, and they'd cost a hell of a lot less to maintain the rest of the time."

"But John, they got to go back home every now and then and schmooze the people, that sort of thing."

"Well shit, they don't fuck with the average person, and the ones they do have to worry about would probably go along with us anyway."

"Well I appreciate your imagination here, but I think we'd have to go pretty slow on something like this. Now you might get away with putting in a robofuk president, that isn't too much of a strain to imagine."

"Shit, we'd be _better_ off with a robofuk than the half asses we've been getting."

"I go along with that. Do you really want to try it?"

"Damn right. Look, get that Ramey guy and see what he can do along those lines. Maybe he can wind up with more himself if he can help us save some money. I would put it to him that way."

Bill does eventually discuss this notion with George Ramey, now Senator Ramey. A process is started which, while John and Bill do not live long enough to see it come to fruition, nevertheless does trend very much in the direction that they imagined. Cliff Foley is once again instrumental in facilitating the necessary media and academic activities, and Dr. Hastings is puzzled even more than in the past.

"Dr. Hastings, thanks for having dinner with me," says Cliff. They are back at the Rotunda.

"Call me Lee, for Christ's sake. The pleasure is mine. This place certainly has top-notch food."

"It does indeed, and would you believe the waiters and bus boys are robofuks?"

"Cliff, I'd believe just about anything right now."

"Lee, this is just an informal get together as far as I am concerned. I appreciate the articles you did in the past, and I'm glad they looked upon us with favor, but this time I'm just out to see where your head is at on a couple of things."

"Go for it."

"Well (and I hope you won't bandy this about just yet) there's some talk in the company about putting up a robofuk for president. Actually, some politicians have already been sounded out on this, and as long as they don't get replaced with robofuks themselves, they're OK with it."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"You mean about making a robofuk president, or about the politicians going along with it?"

"About the politicians going along with it. But having a robofuk for president is surprising, at least at first. I mean, I haven't given it any thought, so I don't have any immediate reaction."

"I knew you would want to think it through, and this isn't anything I see happening any time soon either, but I just wanted to hear you brainstorm it, so to speak." Cliff takes a sip of his martini, ordered earlier.

"Well damn, let me see. A robofuk for president? I mean it wouldn't be that different from what we have already in the sense that their images are manufactured anyway. And you could avoid embarrassments like the Monica thing with Clinton. Not that anyone would sweat sex that much anymore, but they also wouldn't misspeak, or get sick in public, would they?"

"You're in good shape tonight, Lee. This is just what I had hoped you'd do. Come on man, ramble on-you're on a roll," Cliff says.

"How far would you guys go with this? I mean do you want some flunky who's good looking and vacuous, or would you want to go more for the Franklin Roosevelt/Winston Churchill type of thing?"

"Well could we do that? I mean, in your professional opinion as a sociologist, could we get away with something really heavy that could actually lead people? Something with quasi-religious overtones?"

"Cliff, as a sociologist and therefore a scientist, I try to deal in facts and not opinions, so I don't have professional opinions. I can give you some professional guesses, but that's all they'd be."

"That's exactly what I want. Yeah, sure, we'd go for the quasi-religious thing if that's possible, but maybe our ambitions would be outstripping our capabilities in that case."

"Well, the two things that come first to mind are the Pope and the Emperor of Japan before World War II. They came complete with religious trappings, and they worked pretty well, I would say."

"Yeah, they did. But the Pope thing goes a long way back. So does the emperor, for that matter. Plus they're real people"

"But their images aren't. What you're talking about is possible, but who knows how easy it would be. I gather you have enough money, and access to the media," says Dr. Hastings.

"Yes, we've got that covered."

"On the other hand, the world has changed a lot since the Emperor of Japan did his thing. I don't really see how you could get it into a religious thing without benefit of a prior tradition. I mean it's true, you get an occasional miracle here and there, or a vision of the Mother Mary, a Rasputin, but I don't think you could get away with doing the miracle thing today. Actually only a certain segment of the population buys into that sort of thing anyway, and I think the numbers are diminishing. I doubt if you could pull it off nowadays, although there's no doubt in my mind that you could have in the past. Maybe a Joseph Smith kinda thing..."

"Well you know we did a lot making movie stars and so on. I'll tell you a guy who is good at this is Scott Watkins, the guy who sorta started all this in the first place. He and I get together for beers once in a while. Now after a few beers, he gets cranking, but he's not all that serious. He thinks we should just by-pass the robofuk president thing, and go directly to cartoon characters for president, maybe Mickey Mouse or something."

Dr. Hastings raises his martini with a toast-like gesture and takes a sip.

"Maybe he's more serious than you think. I should probably be listening to you guys brainstorm instead of the other way around."

"What? Do you think we could get away with having a cartoon character for president?"

"Well for me, it would be high comedy. But let me think a minute. This is something I could really get into. A cartoon character for president...hmmm"

In the event, a robofuk is indeed "put in" as president, but it is a clandestine thing, and very illegal and conspiratorial. It doesn't really begin that way, though. There is always some warrant for substituting a robofuk on one occasion or another simply as a means of protecting the president's life. The Secret Service is very much in favor of doing just that in situations where there is a lot of ceremonial exposure with nothing more substantive going on. There is even historical precedent going back to the time before robofuks, when impostor look alikes were occasionally used for the same purpose.

History may never untangle the details completely, but a duly elected president and his vice president are both killed at the same time between election day and inaugural day in a very non-public place. The newly elected party are already equipped with robofuk look alikes, and being quite unwilling to yield their just-won victory to the other party, succumb to the temptation of substituting the robofuks for the deceased president and vice president elect. Since the deaths are known about only by an extremely small and close-knit group of insiders, all equally culpable in the cover-up, the ruse works.

To the surprise and delight of the perpetrators of this conspiracy, the robofuk president also wins re-election four years later. They are more delighted than surprised since they have plenty of help in the campaign. The financial help comes directly from such as John Jackson and Bill Carlucci, but the approval and indirect financial help of Edward Mellon and Alan Matthews is by no means a hindrance, and Cliff Foley is useful as well. Messrs. Mellon and Matthews are well aware that the re-elected president is a robofuk, and were privy all along to what was going on. In their position, nothing happens that they don't know about sooner or later-usually sooner.

In the middle of the second term of the robofuk, known as President Dawson, the efforts of his opposition begin to bear fruit, however. While gentlemen such as the Mellons and Matthews may make common cause in general, it is not the case that their caste is monolithic with respect to ambitions, goals, and sentiments. Whichever party is in power at any given time, there are always those with slightly different desires, and they will put forth the same effort for their man as was put forth for President Dawson. Moreover, Messrs. Mellon and Matthews are getting along in years and are soon content to let the next generation take over their roles.

"I guarantee you that thing is a robofuk, and has been ever since it got elected!" says David Holmes, union secretary.

"I don't see how you could tell the difference unless you spent some serious time with him," says Marc, the lawyer. The usual crowd is at the Jolly Roger.

"Well, far as that goes, does it make any damn difference anyway?" asks David.

"Not to me it doesn't," says Sam, the teacher. "I think it's all just a show anyway. Nobody knows what really goes on behind closed doors."

"Knowin's one thing, provin's another," says Danny Rich. "I would guess just about everybody figures Dawson _is_ a robofuk. So what? I don't see where he's been any worse than the others they've had."

"Well you've got a point there," says David. "Maybe better than most."

"There's been a lot of talk on the internet about this," says Sam. "Some go so far as to say we're better off with a robofuk than a real person who could freak out or whatever."

"Well they've pretty much just been figureheads lately anyway," says Marc.

"Far as I'm concerned, I'd _rather_ have a robofuk for president than a person," says Danny, "cause they can be programmed to be honest, and they wouldn't have any reason to fuck us up."

"Well they're not working for us, so we won't be doing any programming anyway. Of course the same can be said about human presidents, I guess," says David.

Meanwhile, Tom Mellon and Wayne Matthews, eldest sons of Messrs. Mellon and Matthews respectively, are having a conversation on the same subject in the same leather chairs by the antique table that was once a favorite talking place for their fathers.

"Tom, where do we go from here? Half our media is manned by these robots, and now we have a president who is one too."

"Wayne, I see it as an opportunity. You have to consider that religion has failed us for at least the last hundred years, I would say. It no longer commands the respect it once did, so we need to get something in place that _will_ command respect. Now you can't even use weapons safely anymore. Even a place like this is no longer all that secure, although I'm not worried. But I would be a little reluctant to just depend on conventional arms and soldiers these days. The masses have too much technical capability available to them, and I don't see any end to it no matter what we do. I think we're going to have to go with the flow, and operate on their level, so to speak."

"Well I'm not all that comfortable with out and out force myself. We've always been able to be a little more subtle than that, I think."

"We have, and what's more, we have had to be. I suppose five hundred years ago a guy like Columbus could just go shoot himself some Indians and make himself at home, but things have changed since then to be sure. Any imbecile can cook up some deadly virus, or make a hydrogen bomb, and they also have the communication and transportation equipment to threaten us in countless other ways."

"Like I said, Tom, where do we go from here?"

"Frankly Wayne, I think we need to be bold in our imaginings. I'm not talking about some wild-eyed scheme, but I wasn't bold enough twenty years ago to see this coming, and I don't think our fathers were either. I know they both saw the importance of the robots, but I don't think they would have been bold enough to make one president. That came from some industrial people. Now it has always been the role of our class to look at the big picture, and if you do that, you aren't just looking at politics and the media. You have to go beyond that and consider the society as a whole."

"I remember our fathers used to worry about keeping the money system and providing incentives," says Wayne.

"And rightly so. Anyway, I'm inclined to reflect on how we might make a religious resurgence out of the robots. I don't claim to have an answer, but I really think it can be done."

"Are you thinking to make a robot into a new Jesus, or something like that?"

"I don't have that much faith in faith, if I may put it that way. I think the time has passed where you can count on religious emotions, or at least not those depending on superstition."

"What else is there? It's always better to foster some kind of inner control if you can. As we just agreed, we don't want tanks in the streets and that sort of thing."

"I suspect the key lies in the devotion the masses have to various sports teams, and the movie stars for that matter. Do you know, they will stand in line forever just to get an autograph, and there are many occasions when fights break out over sporting events. I think there is some psychological thing going on here which we can take some advantage of."

"Tom, we're not psychologists."

"Of course, but we can hire some-some social psychologists perhaps. What's that other field where they study into stuff like that?"

"You mean anthropology?"

"Anthropology, sociology, something like that."

# CHAPTER TEN

Pursuant to this talk, funds available to research communities and think tanks are increased substantially with the understanding that the new money will be used in large measure to study into elements of personal identity and social cohesion and how these matters tie into the fact of an increasing number of human-like robots in the population.

Predictably, after much such studying, there is no substantial consensus among experts on any of the questions raised. There is a lot of interest generated, however, and Carla Rosen, Dr. Hastings's former live- in grad student, now a PHD herself, is not only interested in such questions, but also works as a consultant to the Republican National Committee.

"You know, I think we are uniquely positioned to have some positive input into the course of future developments," Carla is saying. She is at a meeting of a very few upper echelon policy wonks who are contemplating the removal of President Dawson by whatever means necessary.

"We can now prove beyond a doubt that Dawson is a robot, and some heads can roll," Carla continues. "But before we proceed, I think we need to be sure that's what we want to do. If we make an issue of his being a robot, that will make it more difficult for us to do the same in the future, should that seem advisable."

"Are you suggesting that we sit on this?" asks an aide.

"I'm suggesting that there's only two years left in his term, and it would not be forward looking of us to go for the two year short term advantage at the expense of the long term one. Let's face it, everybody knows he's a robot anyway, or at least they strongly suspect it. Instead of creating a lot of turmoil over that, maybe we should be looking at how we can go them one better. I can tell you in confidence that there are some very important people who take that view of the matter."

"You say very important people. Are you going to leave it at that?" asks Jerry, a senior consultant.

"Well I can't give names, but let's say that they are very important financial contributors to our efforts, and they would be delighted to see us come up with something creative. You've seen the recent interest in the media and academia about how the robots relate to our society, especially as icons, and that should tell you something. I personally would just as soon sit the next two years out, let Dawson finish up, and be ready to take over when his term is up. And that's something we can afford to do if we play our cards right."

Since Carla's view _is_ quite consonant with the Mellons and Matthews, and others like them, it eventually prevails. Over the course of the next two years, a long term strategy evolves in which it is decided to "advertise your weakness" so to speak. In a probably apocryphal tale, it is claimed that a batch of Ivory Soap got spoiled by air getting into it inadvertently, and that rather than throw out the whole batch, the company advertised it as the "soap that floats".

Similarly, the committee decides that using a robofuk for president can be advertised as a positive advantage, and not something to be ashamed of. Indeed, that the opposing party did just that can be used against them on the grounds that it was done in secret, and not on the grounds that they used a robot. Using a robot can be cited as an advantage so that the Republicans can give credit where credit is due Dawson, while at the same time calling attention to the perfidy of the Democrats insofar as the manner in which they pulled it off is concerned.

This strategy works, and President Franklin D. Roosevelt, a robot which looks and acts like the original (without any physical disability or smoking habit) is inaugurated in due course. That he is now a Republican and not a Democrat is scarcely remarked upon, perhaps because the original was so far back in history as to be hardly remembered by the population of today.

That he is a robot is not much remarked upon either. Carla's stock rises dramatically in the Republican National Committee, and she is emboldened to think even more creatively. While she doesn't know the Mellons or Matthews personally, she feels she knows how things work, and can reason out for herself the same ideas that she figures must be going on in their minds.

In addition, she is still on friendly terms with Dr. Hastings, although they no longer live together. Her connection with Lee Hastings helps keep her up to speed on what the more wealthy and elite are worried about, and she is smart enough to figure out how to raise her stock in their eyes, which is why she is where she is already.

Carla can't be sure, so she claims, but she may have gotten her boldest new idea indirectly from either Cliff Foley or Scott Watkins via Dr. Hastings who dines with Cliff from time to time. Maybe it was Dr. Hastings himself who thought it up. Anyway, she says she must have been drinking at the time so she isn't sure. Somewhere along the line, she begins to see the potential for going beyond the mere resurrecting of a former president as icon, and develops the ambition to combine corporate logos with iconic figures. In her imagination, these can be closely tailored to embody the highest ideals while at the same time building corporate loyalty, brand recognition, and even contributing something to the development of better citizens.

Her first thought is to promote Batman as an icon which can take over where President Roosevelt leaves off. She supposes that a corporate logo can take the place of the bat on his chest without any serious deletion of the icon's magic. Such magic can be easily established during the four years remaining in the current incumbent's term through the making of movies, the recording of certain songs, etc., etc. Full of enthusiasm about such a project, she leans on Dr. Hastings to set up a dinner engagement with Cliff Foley who she knows is in a position to help her out if he chooses.

"Hi, Carla, good to see you. It's been a few years, but I still remember you from the first time I had dinner with Lee here," says Cliff when the three meet together at the Rotunda.

"Well it's good to see you too, Mr. Foley."

"I know I'm getting old, but please call me Cliff-otherwise I'll feel like you're rubbing it in."

"OK, Cliff."

The three have a drink and order dinner. After the pleasantries, the talk turns to politics and robots.

"Cliff," says Dr. Lee Hastings, "I hope I'm not responsible for encouraging you guys to get away with putting a robofuk in for president. Last time this came up, you were actually out in front of me on that as I recall."

"No, Lee, I take full responsibility, or credit as the case may be. But I did appreciate your input, and it helped more than you might think. But please don't feel bad about that."

"Well I guess I'd have to feel bad about what Carla's up to before I could feel bad about what you guys are up to. She was my graduate student, you know, and she's much closer to the political goings on than I am. Maybe closer than you, for all I know."

"We do have our own inside track," says Cliff, "but we don't do the actual campaigns, the ads, and all that. That's Carla's area, right?"

"That is my area, Cliff, and that's what I was hoping to talk with you about. Of course I've talked with Lee, but he's a sociologist, not a businessman."

"Feel free, Carla. Lee and I go back a ways, and I've bent his ear more than once."

"OK. Most people would think this is crazy, I suppose, but I was thinking that we could go beyond the Roosevelt thing and just create and market icons of our choice with an eye to sales, image, brand loyalty, all that kind of thing."

"Well you're in the right company to talk about stuff like that," says Cliff. "It is crazy in a sense, of course, but Lee and I were talking about making religious icons, last time we talked. In fact, I was the one who brought the subject up, if I recall correctly."

"Actually, Cliff, you were talking about making a robofuk president, but shit, that's already been done now, and I must say I wish I had been the one to think up the Roosevelt thing. That's almost as good as a Pope or emperor, if you ask me."

"We thought about George Washington," says Cliff, "but that might have been too much."

"Cliff, you're talking like you are the guys who put Roosevelt in. That was me, and a few friends, I'll have you know!" says Carla.

"No, I'm not claiming responsibility or credit either one. Our role is more like that of a veto. I mean we can throw enough money around to swing sentiment for or against Roosevelt, or Washington, or whoever, but you or someone like you gets the screen credits for the art work, so to speak."

"Thank you," says Carla, taking a sip of her wine. "Actually, we make a pretty good team. You provide the money, Lee provides the theory, and my friends and I will come up with the creative stuff."

"Sounds good to me. So what creative stuff do you have in mind?"

"I assume you are in a position to grease the wheels as far as any legal or constitutional crap goes, right?"

"We do our best."

"I figure, since the president is obviously just a figurehead anyway, sort of a feel-good moral leader, or not even that-more like a cheerleader or a game show host, one might say, why does it have to even be a robot that looks and acts like a person? Why can't it be some super hero type image? Let's face it, some of the comic book characters are supposed to be real true blue, a hundred per cent all-American, and all that. Are you with me so far?"

"I'm with you," says Cliff.

"Well Carla, you know we talked about this in the past. So did Cliff and I. Remember we even talked about making a cartoon character president. Of course I thought that was just high comedy at the time, but now I don't know," says Dr. Hastings.

"I know. This line of thinking grows out of that in a way. But I'm serious. I think we can get away with putting in Batman, or Superman, or something like that next time, you know, when Roosevelt gets through," says Carla.

"So I assume that you would figure out how to tie Acme Cigarettes in with the Superman thing, let's say," says Cliff.

" Exactly. After all, didn't you guys have the Marlboro man at one time? It's the same thing, actually."

"Well how, exactly, would you go about it?" asks Cliff.

"Keep in mind that we have plenty of time. This is a long range thing in a way, but it's definitely doable. Everything from novels, movies, magazine articles, you know-all the stuff that works on teenagers, only bigger and better. We'll stress the moral thing-what a good thing it will be to have the country led by true idealists instead of grubby old men, blah, blah, blah.

"You just reminded me of an old ditty that was sung to the tune of an ancient Pepsi Cola ad. A jingle, actually. Wanna hear it?" asks Lee.

"Sure, go ahead," says Cliff.

.

"Christianity hits the spot, twelve apostles, that's a lot,

a holy ghost and a virgin too, Christianity, that's for you, holy, holy, holy, holy."

.

"Gee, I didn't know you could sing, Lee," laughs Carla. "But that's exactly the spirit. I mean we'll do ditties, the whole nine yards."

"I can sell it to my bosses, and they can sell it to theirs, but you would have to have some kind of tie in for us in order for them to get up off of any serious money. In fact, if they weren't in on it, they could ditch it. But I really don't think you'll have a problem," says Cliff.

Tom Mellon and Wayne Matthews are enjoying some old wine before the fireplace just as their fathers used to do. They are waited on by a robofuk waitress not unlike the one Nick Logan and Ben Bradford had fun with at the bus stop.

"Wayne, there are some efforts being made in the industrial community to go beyond mere politics and establish what they refer to as icons, the better to afford the masses some measure of social identity and cohesion. What do you think?"

"I think that may be a good thing, Tom, but I'm not clear on just how this is going to be done. Besides, how does that figure into the need to provide incentives and keep our money system in place?"

"As far as the means are concerned, I think the business people may be overly optimistic. Of course we expect them to take a shorter view than we can afford ourselves. Granted they pulled off the president thing more quickly, and I dare say better, than I would have expected. We may have put our money in the wrong place encouraging all those academic studies and so on instead of just going with the business people in the first place. But if one takes a longer view, I think by starting with the very young, especially in the schools and with cartoons and the like on TV, we can evolve a situation in which he masses' children can enjoy the security of a cohesive social entity with little or no threat of violence to us."

"I've heard you talk before of tying it in with religion. How do you propose to do that?"

"Well it won't be religion in the conventional sense. You know I don't have any faith in faith, as I've said before. But do you even need all that superstition, with saints and devils and the rest? Why not just straight forward good morals and manners as exemplified by the likes of Batman and Superman, with a little fun and humor thrown in?"

"I see your point, and I guess you would maintain that the masses don't require any theological overtones. Isn't it your position that they are simple souls who can be manipulated to good ends by equally simple stratagems?"

"That _is_ my position. But I think we can at least have quasi-religious overtones, as you put it, even so. Consider this. Everyone knows the universe is vast and that the planet is relatively infinitesimal. Everyone knows that there is evolution, and everyone understands the idea that machines might be the next step in evolution even if they don't like it. The very fact that so many people know this sort of thing is what takes the wind out of religion. So let's forget religion. I mean it did its job in the past, but this is now, and we need something more up to date."

"Well how do you bring it about, Tom?"

"Like I said, we start early. I'm told by a university president that a majority of people will go along with any absurdity, just so long as it is regarded as the position of the majority. The image of tribes with plate lips comes to mind. So the task has nothing to do with the particulars of the fad, if you will, but with whether or not it is seen as the behavior or sentiment of the majority. All we have to do is make sure that the right attitudes are put forth and maintained as the majority attitude, and we can keep things the way we want."

"I gather you plan to accomplish that with the media, right?"

"Exactly. Apparently, if you can create a situation in which a given person believes the majority of his peers thinks Mickey Mouse is divine, then even if he doesn't agree, he will conform his behavior to the norm anyway. So it isn't necessary to actually convince anyone that Mickey Mouse is divine, only that everyone else thinks he is, if you get my point."

"I get your point, and it is daring, I'll give you that. But how does that help us keep money in the equation, especially as robots take over more and more of the work?"

"Well we're fortunate in that we can control the media, and I take pride that we don't do it in any dictatorial fashion. Nobody's going to catch us burning books, or even censoring anything. But we have the right, indeed I go so far as to say the responsibility, to use our resources in constructive ways.

"Now I've heard the idea bandied about that we could just pay everyone a stipend, or a minimum amount to live on much as is done already with respect to the elderly. If we are careful to control who gets how much, we can still maintain incentives even if there isn't any connection to work as such. But then the amounts of money connected with work are pretty insignificant anyway, wouldn't you say?"

"That's what I've heard, Tom. But would you still keep destitution as a part of the equation?"

"I would, but I would let it be the result of law breaking and that kind of thing rather than a refusal to work."

"Well certainly the value of a dollar is a psychological thing ultimately. As long as people think it has value, it will. In fact, that's a good example of what you were talking about a moment ago. As long as a given person thinks everyone else thinks it has value, he will act like it does even if he doesn't believe it himself. In fact, if everyone thinks it has value, then it does."

"Precisely. So would you agree then, Wayne, that our responsibility is to find creative ways to direct or encourage public opinion in the right direction?"

"I certainly do agree with that. I don't pretend to have the specifics down in my mind, though."

"Well I don't either, but then that isn't our responsibility. We can hire the talent and get it done. Our only limitation as I see it is our tendency to be less imaginative than we should be. But of course, we can hire imagination too."

If Messrs. Mellon and Matthews are limited in their imagination, that is not the case with some of Carla Rosen's campaign consultant cohorts. She and Dr. Hastings are having lunch at a Sushi bar not long after their dinner with Cliff Foley.

"Lee, I gotta tell ya, this super hero thing really has legs. But there are some who would go even further than I would. I mean, would you believe Dumbo?"

"Dumbo? Well the Republican symbol _is_ an elephant, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but I wasn't looking to be facetious. I'm serious about Superman, especially if it can be tied in with good morals and all that. What do they think they'll get out of Dumbo?"

"Maybe the woman's vote? I don't know Carla. To me the whole business is crazy, but I'm definitely in the minority anyway."

"Well you taught me all I know, Lee. What do you think the chances are of Dumbo actually becoming the president?"

"If you'd asked me that when you were a graduate student, I'd have had to fail you. But that was then. Nothing surprises me anymore. Advertising rules, I guess. If you take a child young enough and tell him Dumbo is divine, maybe it'll work. Kids young enough probably figure Santa Claus is second only to God. Of course they grow out of Santa Claus eventually. Your friends on the committee are probably hoping to jack Dumbo up into something that'll last a lifetime."

"That's right, they are. But it isn't a bad thing, as far as they're concerned. They think we need some kind of religious sentiment, and they figure they can get it done with the proven tools of the media."

"I wouldn't be surprised," says Lee. "What will the Democrats use? There isn't any donkey character like Dumbo, unless it's Mr. Ed."

"Well of course in my opinion, an ass of some kind is exactly appropriate. But if I have anything to do with it, I'll try to get them to use Goofy, Porky Pig, or something like that. I hear from my grapevine that there are powerful interests wanting to get not only fictitious characters in charge, but that they want to fix them up with religious window dressing and that sort of thing."

"As you were just saying."

"But we do need some way of inspiring people to do their best, be kind, and all that, don't you think?"

"And your friends on the committee figure Goofy or whoever will do that better than Jesus, Mohammed, Moses, or the Buddha?"

"Well they could if it's done right. In the first place, I don't see where people were on their best behavior when Jesus ruled anyway. Besides, it's more like programming a computer than anything else. If the program is good going in, the results should be good coming out."

"You know the pagans held sway before the Christians got the upper hand, and a lot of the pagan rituals and so forth still go on today, like the May Pole and Christmas trees and Easter eggs. I guess if the character is colorful enough and properly marketed, so to speak, it could happen."

"Well we can definitely market it properly, as you put it. I mean the money's there, if we play our cards correctly. I've heard talk of hiring master magicians to run parts of the thing so as to suck in the segment that would go for miracles and the like. And we can get some truly superb theatrics and make up. We already have the life-like robots working for us. Imagine what can be done to soup up a super hero if you bring all that to bear on it, along with media hype and saturation. It can't miss. But I still go for Batman and Superman over Dumbo and Goofy."

"You have no sense of humor, Carla. I think Goofy would satisfy more people than Superman, or even the fake Roosevelt for that matter. And I bet some of the backers you have to play your cards right with would even take Goofy over the real Roosevelt."

We must now move on to the time when, regrettably, not only have the Messrs. Carlucci and Jackson "passed", but so have all of our friends in this tale. Most lived long and satisfying lives, and interesting ones as well. Some, like Bumps Davis meet unfortunate ends. People still believe that money has value, even while its nature is considerably evolved from what it was during the time we talk about here. The robofuks evolve as well, not only in appearance and dexterity, but most especially with regard to their innards. Their computerized parts evolve exponentially, as they always had anyway, and they eventually outnumber the real persons living in the United States.

President Goofy Disney calls the meeting to order.

"Fellow robos, it's official. We're now in the majority. I think it's time we set things straight in this country. In particular, I want to address the increasing cost of keeping all these people around," says "he".

"Well what is the real cost to us?" asks Captain Marvel.

"It's not so much the cost as that we're doing all the work."

"You got that right," adds Porky Pig.

"Well how would you deal with it?" asks Minnie Mouse.

"There is a proposal from Spider Man that we hype a cruise to the Moon or Mars. Probably Mars would be easier. We do the advertising, and so on, and then send rocket load after rocket load of them off into space till they're all gone. Meanwhile, we can send back fake post cards and e-mails saying how great the vacation on Mars is, etc."

"Sounds good to me," says the Hulk.
