Keep Going

Have I mentioned that I hate planets today? Well there you go, I hate them.

ART's crew and I were doing survey work with a team of colony scientists. The planet was obviously already inhabited, but there was a lot of land that wasn't properly studied – namely, swamp lands.

Although everyone assured me that there wasn't dangerous fauna lurking in the cloudy waters, threat assessment was going nuts. The humans made it a priority to stand as close to the water as possible while taking their samples, even wading up their knees in some cases.

Despite my very clear instructions to not wander off, one of the botanists managed to slide down a muddy embankment and into a particularly gross-looking pool of water. Then he got himself tangled up in plant roots or something and I had to save him.

By the time I had waded back out, the panicked human safely slung across my shoulders, the survey team decided to call it a day, which sounded great to me.

My clothes were absolutely filthy, which sucked because I liked them. The others weren’t much better off.

Luckily, the colonists were feeling grateful and offered to let us shower and take newly recycled clothes. Which was a relief because my boots made a squishing noise with every step.

In the habitat, I peeled off the nasty clothes, fed them to the recycler, and stepped into the shower. When I got out, there was a new pile of clothes waiting for me.

Along with the pants and jacket (complete with colony logos, gross) there were two undergarments: a top and a bottom, both made out of a smooth, light fabric. I've never worn undergarments (unless you count skinsuits) so I considered just not putting them on, but I didn't want to raise suspicion and I really didn’t see the point of hacking the recycler and deleting its logs. After a moment of hesitation, I slid them on.

They didn't get in the way of movement but they were distracting, in a "I'm not used to this" sort of way. At least they were soft.

Once the rest of the clothes were on, I felt more normal. Once we had finished on-planet and came back aboard ART, I had forgotten I was still wearing them.

So when I trudged back to my cabin (intent on lying in bed and watching media all day) and ART prompted me to change my clothing so that it could recycle them, I was momentarily surprised that I had another layer underneath. Weird, I’d totally forgotten.

I fed my clothes to the recycler and sat on the bed, diverted from my original goal of doing absolutely nothing. I touched the hem of the undershirt.

The fabric was softer than outer clothes, slippery but not in a gross way. It wasn't like a skinsuit, those clung to my skin and were made of a resilient material. These felt like they could be shredded through in an instant. Still, I sort of liked them. When I ran a hand over the fabric, I didn't mind how my body felt underneath.

That was weird and I felt my organics prickle in a way that usually indicated unease, even though I actually felt physically comfortable. I repeated the movement, interested in the way the fabric slid over my seams – stimulating, but not unpleasant.

Without really thinking about it, I pushed a hand beneath the top, shivering at the difference in sensation. My hand felt hot as it dragged against my chest, a sharp contrast that left me suddenly desperate for air. I wondered if I'd get the same reaction from the bottom garment. I slid my other hand down, pressing fabric against the smooth junction of my legs –

ART shifted in the feed and I froze. It had been there for who the fuck knows how long and here I was with my hands shoved under my clothing.

Yeah, this was incredibly awkward.

Before I could move, it spoke.

Why did you stop?

I clamped down on my buffer before it could respond with something ridiculous.

ART shifted again, extending across the feed to settle over me. I had 82% of its attention.

Continue, It said, tone heavy with anticipation.

A small convulsion ran up my spine, definitely not causing me to let out a small noise.

It quietly watched as, almost automatically, my hand slid further between my legs. When my fingers ran over the garment’s edges to touch the metal beneath, my thighs twitched of their own accord.

I moved my other hand to splay across my ribs, over the comm box. ART's lights dimmed and I swore I could hear the low rumble of its engines change in pitch.

I increased the pressure between my legs and rubbed there for a minute or so, caught up in the slide of fabric, before I let my fingers slip beneath. My respiration increased.

Have you ever touched yourself like this before?

“No.” I whispered, unsure of what I was really admitting to. "Why does it feel so good?"

Does it matter?

It did matter, but that was something I could figure out later. Right then, I was lost in the feeling of metal beneath skin beneath fabric. My legs began to shake.

“ART, I don’t unders– ”

Hush. Keep going, It said gently.

I shut my mouth and complied, overwhelmed by the emotions I was receiving through the feed, the synapses firing in my organic brain. I laid back on the bed, feet tangling in the sheets.

I’m going to drop my wall.

I still wasn’t used to the power of ART’s processors and I was struck once again by its vastness and how easily it could incapacitate me, like I was nothing. Then it pressed its mind against mine and I could feel the pure joy and satisfaction that it derived from this, the data it continually pulled and cataloged for further inspection. It observed me like I was the most interesting thing in the universe.

Wonderful. It said softly. You’re doing so well.

Oh. Oh no.

My performance reliability dropped by 6%, leaving me scrambling to maintain my inputs. As my processors struggled, it let a wave of fondness wash through the feed, which didn’t exactly help.

I managed to keep going, hands rubbing over seams and joints, fingers digging into my ribs.

It watched as my servos began to fail, muscles and hydraulics stuttering and my breathing becoming erratic.

What a good little bot.

“Oh fuck,” I managed before I was flooded with error codes. I shuddered uncontrollably and I had to close my eyes as hormones flushed through my body.

ART pressed down, extending into my mind to pick up my dropped processes. I was dimly aware that I was making a noise, a mortifying cry of pleasure and distress.

Eventually the clenching sensations slowed and diminished, leaving me trembling and sweaty. I caught my breath and gathered my inputs.

1.7 minutes had elapsed.

What the fuck did I just do? I thought, but I still had too many chemicals floating around in me to really care too much.

Once my breathing began to even out, ART withdrew and tapped my feed cautiously, putting its wall back in place when I tapped back. The loss of its intensity was profound.

The clothes were now providing too much sensation so I stripped them off and flopped back onto the bed. ART requested a diagnostic and, before I could spiral back into my thoughts, it pinged me with a request to watch Worldhoppers. It settled in with me as I started episode one and the normalcy of this was hugely relieving.

We had less to say about the show during this rewatch, but I was riding under 90% performance reliability. After the first season, I entered into a recharge cycle.

When I woke up, I was greeted with several pings from crewmembers (non-urgent, routine communications) and a status report that included a 4.7% reliability increase compared with the previous week's average. Huh.

Then ART pinged me excitedly.

I have added several new clothing options to the recycler. It said, and pushed a folder of schematic files into our shared workspace.

I also have several graphs I think you’ll find informative.

“I’m sure you do.” I said, sitting up.

I looked at the garments that were still on the floor and hesitated before sliding them on, repressing a shiver. I could feel ART’s feed presence but it wisely stayed quiet.

Then I headed to the recycler for new outer clothes. I wanted something in blue and white and with a lot of pockets.