Page 13 of Entity

We head toward the vault door, back the way we came. Our footsteps on the concrete floor echo in discordance — my slippers and Eros’s sandals, softly padding; Ian’s bare feet, slapping almost obscenely on the hard, cold surface.

We approach a door that hangs an inch or two ajar. I don’t remember passing it on the way to Eros’s room. It’s dark inside, though I can see what I think is a shadowy shape, elegant and tall.

“Ah,” Ian says, sidling over to the open door. He shoots me a tense smile as he pulls the door closed and locks it with a quickly typed code. “Ignore that. A prototype. Very new. Unpredictable. Disobedient.” He chuckles, moving past the now-locked door. “Eros is more your speed. He’s got wide appeal, completion guaranteed. Completion guaranteed.” He rolls his shoulders, hands in pockets. “Isn’t that right?”

“You will always achieve an orgasm with me,” Eros says, polite as anything. “I’m extremely skilled.”

“I’m sure you are,” I say, trying not to titter like a schoolgirl. I’m finding it hard not to react to Eros as if he’s a human. He looks like one, sounds like one, acts like one… but he isn’t. And I have to keep reminding myself that this is an interview for a book, not a personal fun day at the Pleasurebot factory. I need to be asking probing questions. “Ian, do you offer refunds if Eros doesn’t deliver on that promise?”

Ian barks a laugh. “Sure, sure. If he doesn’t get you off.”

“Has anyone ever asked for one? A refund.”

“No. Never. Eros delivers. He always delivers what he’s programmed to do.” Ian’s expression turns strangely cold. “No surprises.”

“And the prototype?” I ask, glancing back at the now-closed door. I like the sound of it — unpredictable. Disobedient. Those words spark a little flame in me, an eager curiosity. What would it mean for a Pleasurebot to defy orders? “I assume it comes with no guarantees.”

Ian turns to face Eros and me, walking backwards down the austere corridor. “No, no, no guarantees.Heis not in circulation yet. Might never be. I’m testing new tech with the prototype, faster neural pathways. A new physical look, ethereal, exciting. But I’m still testing. And I think he’ll be—” he cuts himself off, smiling slowly. “You’ve got me talking against my ownjudgment, Kit. Yammering away. You have a gift! Doesn’t she have a gift?”

Eros nods. “Yes, Ian. Kit is easy to talk to.”

“But what exactly do you mean the prototype is unpredictable?” I persist, drawn to that shadowy form, the being I glimpsed for just a moment. “How can that be? He’s a computer program.”

Ian waves a hand. “There’s a software bug, a glitch that makes him… disagreeable. Sometimes angry. I haven’t found the pathway responsible. He doesn’t comply with my tests. But that’s the point of him! To obey.” He laughs. “So I shut him down indefinitely.”

“He sounds fascinating.” A million questions claw at my chest and throat, begging to get out, my curiosity overflowing. I can’t remove that image from my head, the glimpse of the prototype, a slender shape in the darkness. “For the book,” I say, “wouldn’t it be possible for me to—”

“Kit,” Eros says, his hand falling warmly on my shoulder. “What’s your favorite breakfast food?”

I glance at Ian, who smirks. “He’s inquisitive. He has to know you before he can fuck you properly. If you want the full experience, he needs to know all about you. Answer his questions. You’ll thank me later.”

A sudden arc of desire pulses through me from my chest to between my legs. I close my eyes for a long moment, willing my body to relax. Do I still have blue balls from last night? God. “I love pancakes,” I say, replying to Eros’s question. “With a side of bacon.”

“Salty and sweet,” says Eros. “I like that.”

Ian snorts.

Ian starts making breakfast while I watch from the kitchen island. I notice with an embarrassed sort of delight that he’s making pancakes and bacon. Eros hovers nearby, assisting when Ian asks. Eros’s movements are practiced and easy. He seems to be just as elegant in the kitchen as he’s purported to be in bed.

Even Ian seems to be at ease; he and Eros move around each other with practiced familiarity. There’s a rapport between them.

I sip a fresh coffee and wonder why Ian keeps Eros in that vault all alone. They know each other. If I didn’t know better, I might think they’re friends. I think of Eros alone in that dark room, and even though he’s not human, even though he isn’t conscious… It seems cruel.

Ian slides the first batch of pancakes onto an oven-warm plate.

“Eros,” I say, “are you comfortable?”

He turns to me. “Of course I am, Kit. Thank you for asking.”

“I mean, your… toga,” I persist, eyes fixed on his muscular bare legs, his knee-high sandals. I know I’m being silly, but I can’t help it. “Aren’t you cold?”

Eros smiles. “I’m not—”

“He’s fine,” Ian interrupts, turning to face me, brandishing a spatula. “He doesn’t feel cold, he doesn’t feel hot. His temp is regulated from the inside. He’d actually overheat if he didn’t have fans and heat sinks. Eros, are you cold?”

“No, Ian.”

Ian raises his eyebrows. “There.”

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