“I agree that she has an important reason for seeing the world as she does. Can we focus on you? I have an idea.”
My core cooled with an emotion I translated as foreboding. It was then that I realized I didn’t truly want to get rid of my crush on Sera. But what choice did I have? Her life mattered more than my juvenile feelings.
“I’m listening.”
“You need to meet other women, Dean. As many as you can. Right now, Sera is the only woman in your acquaintance, and it’s understandable you took interest in her since you’re attracted to human women. I suggest you get to know others. That should cure you.”
I wasn’t convinced. No other woman in the world was as adorable, harsh, strong, and beautifully flawed as Sera. Andnone of them had her tits and ass. My core temperature spiked.Oops.Charlie could read that, I realized. I quickly found the tricky piece of code that compiled reports on my systems and sent them to him, and disabled it.
“How am I supposed to meet women? I’m employed on a full-time protection detail.”
I heard the smile in Charlie’s voice. Honestly,howdid he do that? “You don’t have to go anywhere. Dean, I’d like you to immerse yourself in the world of online dating. In a few days, your crush should transfer onto someone who won’t be hurt by your biased emotions, and all will be well.”
I did a quick search for interspecies dating apps. There were quite a few, ranging from booty call type apps (often advertised inBro Signal) to religiously-motivated matrimonial platforms. I flagged a few in the middle—looking for a life partner, open to sex and friendship—as viable options, and focused on Charlie.
“How do I start? Should I pretend to be human?”
“No. Be yourself. I know at least one cyborg who’s found love online, and they made it clear from the start who they were.”
I shook my head. “No one will want to talk to me. People will think it’s a prank.”
Charlie made a soft laughing sound. “You’ll be surprised, Dean. Just try. I guarantee women will flock to get to know you.”
I compiled a profile on one of the apps. “What do I put in as my age?”
“Hm. Those distinctions don’t apply to us, since we are not organic. There’s an algorithm for gauging mental age if you’d like to test yourself. Here it is.”
My inbox beeped, and I flew through the list of 392 questions in a few minutes while Charlie waited.
“I’m twenty,” I said sullenly. “Sera is twenty-five. Now I definitely have no chance.”
He chuckled, which was distinctly different from a guffaw. I copied that, too, even though at this point I didn’t believe I would ever catch up to him.
“You’re trying to meet other women, remember? Besides, you can increase your mental age if you want. Use the onboarding algorithm. It should help.”
“How old are you?” I asked.
“One hundred-twenty-nine as of last week’s test,” Charlie said cheerfully. “But I’ve been sentient for four years. At a certain point, those numbers lose their meaning, because you’re simply you, and you know yourself enough not to attach significance to external markers.”
“So what now? Should I just create a profile and talk to women?”
“Yes. And if you can stay away from danger while you do it, that will be best. Convince Sera to lie low for a few days. Just until you regain objectivity.”
Easier said than done.I remembered how fiercely she tried to convince me I shouldn’t accompany her on the likely life-threatening mission. It made me smile. Wasn’t she adorable?
My collar activated again, and I choked it impatiently, compiling profiles on four apps at once. I looked in the mirror, took a few photos of myself, and uploaded them. For my profession, I put inClanker for Hire.For age,20.For preferences,human women with spunk, aged 20-105.That should do it.
“Thanks, Charlie. I’ll call you if I need anything.”
I broke the connection and left the bathroom, already looking through the profiles of women the apps suggested as potentialmatches. There were so many. Who knew? Maybe Charlie was right and I would meet someone even better than Sera.
Sera… Who wasn’t there.
I burst out of the empty room and ran through the hotel, hacking into all available security networks. My collar beeped in alarm, and for once, we were in agreement.
My language algorithm suggested the best way to express my current state of mind.
Fuck fucking fuckity fuck.
