To the Last Man I Slept with and All the Jerks Just Like Him (20 page)

“What? Oh, my God!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Get me one fifty cc’s of sugar, stat.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The ensign carefully attaches the glucose bag to the subject’s IV. The team then sets its timer for a year-long recovery period. For the next two weeks, they watch movies and play a game similar to ping-pong in the ship’s lounge. They take turns monitoring the subject—maintaining its hydration and sugar levels throughout hundreds of perceived crying jags and pastry binges. The ship meanders from outpost to outpost, its robot fingers carefully collecting the distilled panty crotches sent into space by billions of hard-working minions all over the Earth.

Stephanie blows her nose and throws the wadded tissue toward the small pile of empty cupcake wrappers. She changes the channel again.

“Oh, Brad . . . take me, you hot, sensitive pirate!”

Nothing but more soft-core porn. Have the cable channels finally managed to broaden the definition of prime time?

This time, Stephanie doesn’t turn off the television. The actors seem to get better looking every night. She’s riveted to the screen.

Later, in bed, her hands are riveted to her sides as the trashy movie replays in fast motion in her mind. Finally, guilt- and sweat-ridden, she lets the hands furiously touch her body under the sheets until she’s completely exhausted and able to sleep.

“Gimme the swab, Crych! Let me try it!”

“Hold on, hold on . . .” Ensign Crych pulls the swab away, but Flsyk snatches it out of his claw, then rubs his feeler along the tip.

“Oh, my copulating Goddess! This is
excellent
. This is the mother-copulating. . .”

“Ensign Flsyk. Please.” The captain, as always, has appeared without warning.

“Sorry, boss.” Flsyk surrenders the swab.

“Mm. This
is
excellent. Ensign Crych, awaken Dr. Xotcd from stasis. It’s time to begin.”

Once the program designer and xenopsychologist Dr. Xotcd is awake and able to watch his subject’s real, live reactions to stimuli, results come in much more quickly. The doctor doesn’t run out of volunteers to test them by running their tongues slowly and deliriously over the swabs. His teammates give each other high-fives. (Actually, they’re high ones or high thousands, depending on whether you count the one limb or the thousands of sensitive hairs across its tip.) They congratulate themselves on how wealthy they’re going to be. This subject’s juices are that good—like poppy nectar or cricket-people glands, but without the messy side effects or the jail time. Dr. Xotcd reads his data and rasps his antennae, but the others ignore him.

“Accelerate the programs, Dr. Xotcd.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Stephanie pulls at the halter neck of the black dress. Even though she must have lost tons of weight—she had to have, in order to fit into Elena’s dress—she feels uncomfortable here, tonight. Like it’s all some sort of joke. Like, any minute from now, everyone’s going to put down their martinis to point at her and laugh.

“There you are. God, you look hot tonight.”

Stephanie flinches away from the hand brushing her bare shoulder. She turns and sees him—Brad Rockley, the handsomest, trendiest man in the room.

Why is he talking to her?

“What’s wrong, Stephanie? Show me your beautiful eyes and tell me what I can do to make you smile.”

She tries to laugh lightly, but it comes out more like a gagging sound.

“What—did Elena get you to do this?”

“Get me to do what? Darling, please . . . just let me kiss you once . . .”

Stephanie gasps and stumbles back, down the stairs, away from him. He reaches for her blindly, his eyes closed in an imitation of passion. That bitch Elena. Stephanie
knew
she shouldn’t have trusted her. And she knew she looked fat in this dress!

Arms crossed over her exposed flesh, Stephanie runs to the street to hail a cab.

Dr. Xotcd’s antennae rub together softly, creating a rasping sound.

“This is what I was afraid of. All along, the subject has shown a slightly irregular response . . . irrational levels of guilt- or fear-induced enzymes . . . This is something I’ve come across in my studies, but I’ll need time to research . . .”

The captain’s antennae flicker impatiently.

“Will these enzymes affect the results? I want to have something to show the CEQ when we dock next week.”

“Well . . . not to an extent that . . . They might affect the chemical composition, but probably not so that it’s noticeable to the palate. But they could create within the subject a . . .”

“Change the scenario. Give me results.”

“But . . . Yes, ma’am.”

Stephanie pulls at the black leather collar around her neck. Brad, clad in a silk kimono, walks into the room with a riding crop in his hand.

“Hello again, Stephanie.”

Stephanie doesn’t answer. Her eyes are wide, her arms and legs bound.

“You know what I’m going to do to you, don’t you?”

Still no answer. Brad kneels down so that his mouth is level with her ear. He whispers into it.

“You
want
me to do this to you, don’t you?”

Stephanie emits a quiet sob that could mean yes or no. Brad’s lips touch her ear as he whispers again.

“Let me put it this way: I’m going to do this to you whether you want it or not. But you do want it, don’t you? Say it.”

She lets out a slightly louder sob and nods her head.

Back at the home office, Dr. Xotcd shakes his head at the monitors. This particular program is distasteful to him. However, he’s been charged to produce results, and the subject’s thoughts—conscious and sub—have shown that this is the quickest way to do it. And, besides, he must remember to keep his personal feelings out of his projects. The captain’s note on his last review flickers through his mind. “Hindered by tendency to anthropomorphize his subjects.”

The subject’s body flushes and flinches under the electrodes. Her essence flows into the collectors at an unprecedented rate. Xotcd’s antennae rasp as he goes to his console to absorb the most recently translated Earth media: web sites, movies, romance novels. He’ll stay up all night writing code for bonds and restraints, submission and surrender. He only has two months to set the permanent program before it’s time to fly back to Earth for the next project.

The salty wind lashes at Stephanie’s hair and the frayed edges of her bodice. The worn, wooden plank hits her in the small of the back as she backs away from the pirate captain. He and his mates leer at her hungrily.