The Escort Service

Chapter 1

He fitted it into the hole and started to screw. He could screw until doomsday, but it just wasn’t going to work. He pulled it out to check the circumference and the grooves. It was about an eighth of an inch too big, and the pattern of the grooves bore no resemblance to his own.

Andrew threw the leg aside. He was disgusted. How could he chaperon Ms. Highbrow tonight without the appropriate legs? She was at least 6’2, while he with his normal set of legs would be only 5’11.

Why had they chosen him, anyway? Normally his clients were young, not yet at the height of their careers. They were less demanding than their more senior counterparts. Besides, it was easier to rev up his equipment with a charming twenty-five-year-old than with a graying Executive Vice-President.

A buzzer sounded inside his head. He was wanted in the inspection room. No doubt they wanted to be sure he was perfect for tonight’s festivities. What a surprise they’d have when he arrived carrying both those legs, he thought.

Andrew’s regular legs slipped on easily, sliding smoothly into the grooves. What a relief, he sighed.

As an android Andrew had a multitude of interchangeable parts. He was able to change the size of any of his appendages to suit the female clients’ needs. Unfortunately, not all the paraphernalia fit properly. One woman had wanted a muscle-bound ape, so he had been forced to attach enormous biceps to his meager basic skeleton. He had spent the next two days recharging his batteries, since his circuitry had not been made to serve such bulk.

The buzzer went off again.

I’m coming, I’m coming, he muttered to himself.

Andrew hoisted the legs up, carrying one on each of his shoulders. They were shaped rather nicely, he thought. The vegetable-based coating was much smoother than the synthetic used on his own legs. No doubt about it, the materials they used were getting better every day; not so the craftsmanship, though. Less and less time was spent on the actual nuts and bolts. And no consideration was given to the androids’ comfort.

Andrew sniffed the air in the hallway. His sensors were picking up a musky smell. Actually, there was a hint of perspiration. He turned his head toward one of the legs. The chip hidden inside his left nostril flashed a signal that this was the object from which the odor emanated.

Wow, he thought, they’ve finally managed to weave in a human odiferous characteristic. He used to dab on all sorts of scents before meeting his client. But halfway through the evening the fragrance always seemed to disappear into the plastic meshing running throughout his system. At that point in time the female would suddenly become cooler toward him, making it more difficult for him to fulfill some contracts. Andrew wished now that the legs had fit. He did wonder, though, about how they would stand up to the compulsory sterilization every android had after each engagement with a client.

The inspection room was filled with smartly dressed androids, some going to the theater, the ballet, the opera. Many were due at art show openings. Andrew himself was scheduled to attend a classical symphonic performance.

So what’s with the legs, Andy?

Andrew turned and faced his supervisor.

They don’t fit, Ray. They smell nice, though. Andrew winked.

Let’s see, said Ray. No wonder! Look at those rough edges. They should have been filed down before the legs were sent to you. I’ll have Harry do a rush job on them. Should get them back to you in plenty of time.

As Ray exited the room he stopped short to allow a human to pass. The human was Todd Sawyer, president of the escort service. Todd was one of the few male humans with whom Andrew made contact. It seemed human males never attended the functions Andrew was at.

Are you ready for tonight, Andrew? Todd asked.

I’m just waiting for the legs to come back.

The legs?

My client is quite tall, so they have to add a few inches on my height, Andrew answered.

Todd nodded wisely. His gray hair was freshly cropped, and he wore a tuxedo. After glancing down at his shoes he decided to brush each shoe tip on the back of a pant leg.

You know, I would like you to take special care of your client tonight.

I always do, Mr. Sawyer, responded Andrew.

Yes, I know, that’s why you were chosen.

I’m being rewarded with a matronly giraffe, thought Andrew.

Tonight I would like you to whisk your client off her feet. Spare nothing on her food, her drink, your time. Keep her out until dawn, if possible, Todd said.

Well, I’ll certainly try to live up to our service’s standards, Mr. Sawyer.

They’re perfect now, interrupted Ray. Take them back to your cubicle and get ready.

Todd stretched out his arm and grabbed hold of Andrew’s shoulder. He squeezed tightly, then let go and vanished into the hallway.

Ray, I don’t understand why my client’s so important to Mr. Sawyer.

Because your client is Mrs. Sawyer.

Andrew looked surprised.

Yeah, said Ray. Highbrow is her maiden name. Sawyer himself is having a quiet dinner with one of the female model Sr2242’s. The model has become real popular with the over-fifty crowd.

Gee, I didn’t know the client was so important.

Don’t fry your silicon, Andy. This is the first time she’s used the service. Don’t think she’s had a date since before she was married thirty-five years ago. She’ll be grateful for some masculine attention.

Why now? I mean, after all those years with Mr. Sawyer, I would have thought she’d be settled in by now.

Mr. Sawyer’s never been ‘settled in.’ They’ve come to some understanding where they’ll each look the other way as long as the liaisons are kept to androids.

I don’t understand.

We’re not considered real. We’re kind of teddy bears and baby dolls for grown-ups. Fantasy, Andy, all fantasy.

I don’t feel... fake! I’m quite real.

Tell me, have you fallen in love with one of your clients? Wait, have you ever fallen in love, period?

Certainly not. I’m not programmed to fall in love.

That’s exactly it. We’re not free to feel what we want.

Come on, Ray. Are you going to tell me that humans, who are controlled by their hormones, think for themselves?

They’d also say they made us.

And they’ve produced each other. None of them spontaneously came into existence. Two other humans had to gasp and grunt their way through some acrobatics to ensure another life.

They look at it differently, Andy. They call it... What’s the word they use?

Sensual.

Yeah, that’s it.

I kept hearing that word used by so many women that I searched for a definition in the Random House Dictionary. You know what one of the definitions was?

No.

‘Lacking in moral restraints; lewd or unchaste.’ Can humans call themselves superior to us when this is one of their main goals in life?

Wouldn’t think so. Hardly sounds like upstanding behavior.

I’ve been programmed to fulfill just such objectives.

Not me. I make sure everything is in order and goes smoothly. All of us are just bits and pieces of synthetic fiber, Andy. I know, I handle them all day.

Are humans any different?

Well, I guess an android like you has one up on humans. At least you can change your shape and dimensions from day to night without any disfiguring scars.

Makes me feel eminently above humans.

Shhh! If a human hears you, they’ll see to it that you’re permanently dismantled. Go get your proper legs on, or you’ll be late and we’ll both be in trouble.

Andrew picked up his new legs and headed for a cubicle in the back of the long room. He knew that most androids didn’t bother going that far back to change, and he didn’t want to argue over space.

The cubicle was dimly lit. Probably no one ever bothered to check the conditions this far back. There was an old-style leather hassock in one corner facing a full-length mirror. Andrew stepped out of his trousers and sat down. As he twisted his own leg off he pondered the conversation he had just engaged in with Ray. Even Ray, who helped dress androids like Andrew, seemed to frown upon his occupation. In Andrew’s studies he had caught glimpses of prejudice against those who engaged in satisfying others, especially those who had feminine characteristics. He wondered why flaunting breasts and vaginas was considered immoral.

His leg fell to the floor. He picked up the new one, admiring the texture. They really went all out for this pair of legs, he thought. He wondered whether they had been especially made for his client, seeing that she had connections. The leg went on much more smoothly than the first time. Both legs fit snugly into his crotch but didn’t impede his other appendage at all.

He stood and viewed himself in the mirror. It was impossible to detect the crack where the thigh met his own basic body structure. The folds of fake flesh stuck together, giving the appearance of continuity without any unattractive bulges. He took a few steps. They were a comfortable fit; no annoying rubbing that might jostle his walk.

Damn, he hissed. He had left this evening’s tuxedo pants back in his room. A few more wasted minutes, he complained.

Are you ready yet, Andy?

Ray, think you could go back to my room and get my tuxedo pants? These will be too short now, he said, lifting his old pants from the floor.

Sure. Here, give me your other legs and pants, and I’ll put them back in your room.

Loaded down, Ray took off in a hurry. He’s good at what he does, thought Andrew, but so am I. While he waited, Andrew tried some knee bends, then he knelt on the plushly carpeted floor. The administration ordered up the carpeting after one of the more expensive scrotal balls had cracked in a fall.

What are you doing, Andy, praying that I’d get back in time?

While taking his tuxedo pants, the android explained how he might have to take that position at some point in the process of fulfilling tonight’s contract. He didn’t want any surprises from squishy knees or worse. He had heard of another android blowing up from a shorted wire.

Don’t worry, I inspected them myself when I had them ground smooth for you.

Thank you, Ray.

Andrew was ready to meet the president’s wife.

By the way, is she vice-president of this company?

No, she works for a waste disposal company.

Human?

At first Ray looked at him quizzically.

Oh, you mean... No. Useless synthetic waste.

Andrew considered rechecking his parts and doing a few more knee bends, but Ray was hurrying him out of the cubicle and out toward the waiting limousine.

After Andrew stepped inside the vehicle, Ray plopped a bundle of lilies into his lap. Tying the flowers together was a deep blue ribbon, which matched the asters dispersed throughout the bouquet.

Don’t humans use this kind of flower when their systems shut down?

They’re her favorite flowers.

Waste disposal, lilies. Andrew wasn’t too sure about this evening.

The limousine’s rear light signaled that it was ready to join the flow of traffic. Sensors on the automobile in the next lane brought the car to a careful stop. Andrew’s vehicle pulled into the traffic.

Chapter 2

Twenty minutes later, with lilies in hand, Andrew was walking up marble steps, headed for the front door of a stone mansion. He put his hand up to clutch twin voluptuous mermaid figures attached to the door as knockers. They didn’t budge. It seemed that the bronze pair was only for decoration, but it didn’t matter, because a human maid opened the door.

Andrew Pittsburgh, he said, giving the name of the city in which he had been manufactured, as every android was expected to do.

The maid was pretty--not attractive enough to steal a husband, but pleasant to look at. While trying to look indifferent she stared and invited him in. Androids were never permitted in the family areas of homes except for those who had maintenance chores to do. He was directed to a large Pleasure Room at the end of the front hall. A massive marble fireplace faced the entry. To the right were French doors covered with filmy nylon curtains. As he stepped across the threshold he heard a buzzer briefly announce him. Very few people bothered with that safety precaution, but Andrew had experience with android detectors once or twice before, so it didn’t upset him. He turned to the maid.

Now stay, she said, pointing to a specific spot on the Aubusson carpet.

Right, he said, wondering whether he should sit up and beg.

The maid took one final look and closed the door. He knew that working-class people weren’t used to being in close contact with androids, especially his variety. The workhorse android, which looked more machine than human, was far more common and far cheaper, he thought, pulling his shoulders back. Of course the maintenance androids at the Escort Service perpetuated the conceit by also appearing human. That cost more but was worth the public relations advantage.

The white walls of the room were covered with framed artwork. Some didn’t look quite right sharing the same wall, such as the Picasso and the Rembrandt. Folks will do anything to advertise their wealth, even stoop to poor taste, he contemplated. At the furthest end of the room was an elaborately carved oak bed. A pinioned silk peach canopy sunk toward the peach eiderdown on the mattress, its white fancy lace skirt barely touching the Aubusson. In the center of the room was a Navaho-white sofa on which someone had carefully sprinkled peach-colored throw pillows. A matching wing chair faced the unlit fireplace. Several books were piled next to the chair with a brandy snifter at the top. As he walked to the French doors he passed an armoire built from a wood that matched the bed.

Andrew pulled aside the curtains. The yard was a gardener’s delight; a swell of blooming colors covered most of the ground. A simple wrought-iron bench sat on a nearby pedestal overlooking the beauty brought about by some android’s hard labor.

Mr. Pittsburgh?

Andrew faced his client. Her hair was bleached a strawberry blond. The clever use of make-up hid her age well, although he assumed she was in her mid-fifties.

Would you like to sit down?

Of course. He gave her a slight bow with his head. Perhaps you should call the maid, he said, reaching out with the lilies.

Oh, thank you. The woman rushed to receive the flowers. They’re beautiful. I didn’t expect...

They have much to compete with in your arms.

Her mouth dropped open. When composed, she pulled a lever near the door. A minute later the maid entered the room.

I need these put into a vase. Mr. Pittsburgh, would you like something to drink...? Oh, maybe not.

I believe we have time for one sherry before we leave.

The woman nodded and turned to her maid. Both women exchanged quizzical looks, then the maid rushed from the room.

After you, he said, waving Ms. Highbrow toward the sofa.

She hurried to sit down as if this was part of a ceremony she had briefly forgotten.

Andrew smoothly lifted the wing chair to face her. He could see that she was nervous and wanted to keep a distance from her until she got used to him.

When he sat on the chair, Ms. Highbrow noted the used brandy glass.

I’ll have that cleared away. My husb-- A guilty silence halted the conversation.

My first name is Andrew. And yours?

I guess it would be simpler if we used first names, since we’ll probably be coming back here later, and... My name is Hilda.

Hilda Highbrow. Poetry.

Actually I’m now Hilda Highbrow Sawyer. Hilda bit her bottom lip.

The maid softly rapped, then entered carrying a tray with two stalk-like sherry