Frankissstein Read online

  I see … OK. Well. I’m not visiting any time soon, so I don’t have to worry about directions. Now, here, see the map, here where we are now? This is a delta region also, like the region of the Nile around the first Memphis.

  Have you been to Egypt?

  No, but I have been to Vegas. Very lifelike. Very Egypt.

  I hear they have an animatronic Sphinx in Vegas.

  Yes, they do.

  You could call that a robot.

  You could. I don’t.

  Do you know everything about this place? Your Memphis?

  I like to think so, Dr Shelley. If you are interested in Martin Luther King, you should visit the National Civil Rights Museum right on the site of the Lorraine Motel, where he was shot dead. You been there yet?

  Not yet.

  You been to Graceland though?

  Not yet.

  Beale Street? Home of the Memphis Blues?

  Not yet.

  You got a lotta Not Yets in your life, Dr Shelley.

  She’s right. I am liminal, cusping, in between, emerging, undecided, transitional, experimental, a start-up (or is it an upstart?) in my own life.

  I said, One life is not enough …

  She nodded at me. Uh-huh. Ain’t that the truth? That is the truth. But don’t despair. Way over yonder is life without end.

  Claire looked into the middle distance, her eyes shining with certainty. She asked me if I would like to go with her to her church on Sunday. A real church, she said, not a white man’s whitewash.

  A beep on her headset crackled an instruction I couldn’t hear. She turned away from me to make an announcement over the tannoy.

  My mind idled around the difference between desire for life without end and desire for more than one life, that is, more than one life, but lived simultaneously.

  I could be me and me too. If I could make copies of myself – upload my mind and 3D-print my body, then one Ry could be in Graceland, another Ry at the shrine of Martin Luther King, a third Ry busking the Blues in Beale Street. Later, all my selves could meet, share the day, and reassemble into the original self I like to believe is me.

  What is your substance, whereof are you made, That millions of strange shadows on you tend?

  Claire turned back to me, smiling. I said, mostly to myself, I don’t want to live forever.

  What’s that you say? She leaned forward, frowning.

  I said, Life without end. I don’t want to live forever.

  Claire nodded and raised her perfect eyebrow.

  Uh-huh. I’m going to be with Jesus, but you can suit yourself.

  Thank you, Claire. Have you taken a tour around the expo?

  I am a venue expert, not a host, so I am not expected to have detailed knowledge of the events here.

  Have you seen any of the robots?

  Robots are serving in the cafeteria. It’s not a good experience.

  Why not, Claire?

  They bring your eggs, and when you say, Excuse me! Hey! I didn’t order tomatoes! They say, Thanks, Ma’am. Have A Nice Day! And glide away to the water fountain. They glide because they can’t walk yet.

  No, they can’t walk yet. Walking is hard for bots. But be patient, Claire, and remember – bots find the unexpected difficult to process.

  Claire looked at me like I’m in Special Needs.

  You call a tomato The Unexpected?

  Not the tomato – your response to the tomato.

  Claire shook her head. Y’know, Doc, my mom worked in a late-nite diner all her life. 6 p.m. to 6 a.m. to feed her family. She could throw out the drunk guys with one hand and give the hungry kids an extra helping with the other hand. She wasn’t an educated woman, but there was nothing artificial about her intelligence.

  That’s one view, I said. I respect it.

  I am not even supposed to be here, said Claire. I’m emergency support. I am on release from the World Championship Barbecue Cooking Contest.

  Wow! Champion Barbecue Person!

  Yes, said Claire, in full flow. We get over 100,000 visitors a year here in Memphis for the championship – it’s a real big barbecue scene – didn’t you know?

  No, I didn’t know.

  I started in Sauce – I managed the Sauce Wrestling – that’s forty gallons of barbecue sauce in a giant vat and in you go. Yes! Right in! Fight it out! It’s messy but it’s fun.

  Claire, have you personally fought in a vat of sauce?

  Personally? Dr Shelley, no.

  But you are the champion!

  No! I organise the competition.

  Oh. I see. (Pause.) Is it flavoured? The sauce?

  Sure is! Takes weeks to get the taste off your skin and every dog in town follows you home. Four legs and two, know what I mean? I manage the entire event now – entirely. Sponsorship, demos, games, prizes.

  That’s impressive, Claire.

  Yes, it is. I am an expert in my own field.

  You look like an expert. Maybe it’s the way you style your hair. Very professional hair.

  Thank you, Dr Shelley. Anything you want to ask me?

  Would you like to come around the show with me? Might make you feel better about it. I can explain a few things. I know a few things about – (not love) – robotics.

  I am a Christian, Dr Shelley.

  There is nothing in the Bible against robots.

  It says in the Bible that thou shalt not make unto thee a graven image. That is one of the Ten Commandments.

  Is a robot a graven image, Claire?

  It’s a ballpark likeness of a God-given human.

  A likeness that comes to life?

  I wouldn’t call it life. We’re fooling ourselves if we call a robot alive. Only God can create life.

  Claire, are you sure?

  I don’t want to take any chances, Dr Shelley. I have to think of my eternity.

  That’s certainly taking the long view …

  Yes, it is.

  A young woman wearing tight leather trousers and an oversize buckskin fringed jacket rushed up to the desk, interrupting without even noticing she was interrupting.

  She said, I’m looking for Intelligent Vibrators. Where are they?

  Claire took a breath before she answered. Ma’am, are you an exhibitor, a demonstrator or a purchaser?

  I have an emergency!

  What kinda emergency?

  The woman shuddered inside her leather and buckskin as she said, I have accidentally posted pictures of myself, mostly naked, except for two tassels, using the Intelligent Vibrator, on my Facebook page.

  That wasn’t very intelligent, I said.

  The woman glared at me.

  It’s a privacy infringement! I need to speak to the demonstrator at the stand. They showed me how to work the camera on the vibrator. I knew it had a remote control. They didn’t tell me it would remotely upload to my default app if I didn’t reset it.

  Claire pursed her lips and went to her screen. I could see her manicured fingertips tapping out Intelligent Vibrator. I asked the woman – because I had to know – why would anyone want a vibrator featuring a camera and a remote control?

  She looked at me with a mixture of anger and contempt. She said, Teledildonics.

  Pardon me?

  She said, Haven’t you heard of teledildonics?

  Sadly, never. But I am British.

  She raised the kind of eyebrow that says: What are you even doing here, dude?

  She sighed. (Heavily.) She said, The idea, the idea, is sex-play with your partner, or partners, from separate locations. It feels like they are in the room – doing things to you.

  Does it?

  Yes, it does. And you can share the photos.

  With all your friends on Facebook?

  Actually, this is none of your business, OK?

  It’s a bit late to be asking for privacy.

  I thought she was going to hit me. Fortunately Claire swung back into the zone.

  Your name, miss?

  Polly D. Just the initia
l D. I am on the list.

  We don’t have a list, ma’am.

  The VIP list. I work for Vanity Fair.

  We don’t have a VIP list, Miss D. I have paged the company. A representative from IN-VIBE is coming right now.

  Haha – good pun, Claire, I said.

  Now Claire was glaring at me too. She folded her arms in a goodbye-and-get-lost kind of a way.

  I have to do my job, Dr Shelley, and I guess you have to do yours. The Adult Futures Suite is to your left and signposted.

  Is he in pornography? said Polly D. I mean, he’s obviously not a real doctor. What is he? Some kind of Dr Jackoff?

  I ignored her. Thanks for your help, Claire. Good luck, Polly.

  I turned away, hearing:

  Asshole!

  On the way to the Adult Futures Suite I pass the Singularity Suite. There’s a large screen showing an interview between Elon Musk and Ray Kurzweil talking about the Singularity – the moment when AI changes the way we live, forever. Some young guys are wearing T-shirts with the slogan ‘Give Up Meat’.

  It’s not that the future will be vegetarian – just that they believe that soon enough the human mind – our minds – will no longer be tied to a body that is a substrate made of meat.

  But for now we are still human, all too human (strange phrase, that, when you think about it), and eighty per cent of internet traffic is pornography. The first non-biological life forms sharing our homes won’t be waiters with tomato-recognition issues, or cute little ETs for the kids. Let’s start at the very beginning: a very good place to start. Sex.

  The guy waving two cell phones and wearing a headset sweeps me inside the Adult Futures Suite. He’s got the body and build of a nightclub bouncer: broad chest, overweight, short legs, thick arms, sweaty in a crumpled suit. Coke cans line the coffee table in front of the couch. Ron Lord snaps open two more and hands one to me.

  It’s a long way from Three Cocks, eh, Ryan?

  I beg your pardon?

  Three Cocks. The village in Wales where I started the future.

  That’s a big claim, Ron.

  I think big, Ryan. Google Maps. See for yourself. Three Cocks. My mum’s a bit psychic. She said it was a sign. Three Cocks is where I built my first sexbot. Mail-order doll. All her parts arrived in separate bags like a chainsaw massacre. I put her together with one screwdriver and the instruction video. Really, it’s Lego for adults.

  I knew you’d started at the bottom, I said to Ron.

  Yeah, it was her bottom where I started, said Ron.

  Sitting on the couch was a human-scale doll with soft brown hair falling onto her shoulders. The doll was wearing double-denim, shorts and jacket, and underneath a pink top stretched across breasts the size of lifebuoys.

  Is that her? Your first one?

  Show some respect, Ryan! My first is retired. She wasn’t even a commercial variety. I still have her and I love her, but she’s archive now. This one here, she’s part of my franchise range.

  Watch this! Ready? Film it on your phone! Go on!

  Ron swings up the doll from the couch and points to a bright pink mat underneath her. The mat says PUSSY.

  You see this mat? says Ron. This is a SmartMat. This mat powers her up while she sits next to you. You can have it in the car too – works on the cigarette-lighter socket. Electrodes in her bum.

  Look at this – (swipes iPad with fat finger) – here’s the factory in China where the dolls are made. Torso comes through first, swinging on the overhead wires, complete with two holes, user-ready, and F-cup moulded tits. I am working on a model with detachable tits, for variety, but they don’t make that in China yet, too specialist. Anyway, torso, torso, another torso (he swipes impatiently). Here we are! See how they attach the arms? Lovely slim arms. Then the legs. Look at the length! The shape! Slightly longer than they would be if she was human. This is fantasy, not nature, so you can have what you want. Hair goes on last, after the eyelashes. See the eyes? Like Bambi for boys.

  Ron put the doll back down on the couch, and swigged his Coke. He said, Lightweight too. Makes a man feel strong.

  So how does a sex-doll franchise work? I said.

  The way I see it, said Ron, there’s two ways to go with sexbots: buy her and own her – like I did – bring her in for a service once or twice a year, depending on wear and tear. Online you can order spare parts, if any of her gets damaged, or too messy. That’s one way to enjoy an XX-BOT. We also offer trade-ins and upgrades. Very flexible.

  The other way to enjoy an XX-BOT, more modern, to my mind, is rental. And if you rent, you need somewhere to rent her from, right? That’s how I came up with the idea of the franchise that I’m selling here.

  Your XX-BOTs?

  Right, Ryan! Good name?

  Good name, Ron.

  You see, Ryan, renting gives you all the pleasure and none of the problems. Breakages, storage, updating – the technology is changing all the time.

  And most people only buy one bot, for personal use, but what if you’re having a party? With your mates? They’ll all want a try.

  Renting is popular with stag weekends; get half a dozen of the girls in for fun and frolics. Different models too, blonde and busty, brunette and sporty. Whatever. And what if you’re the kind of bloke that only wants a bot when the wife is away? Women aren’t at home all the time like they used to be. I don’t blame them; women aren’t goldfish. They’ve evolved. But, like my mum says, emancipation can be a problem for a man.

  Renting a bot when you’re on your lonesome is safer and cheaper than the human alternative. No diseases, no revenge porn, no getting robbed of your Rolex at 2 a.m. One business lady I know personally, a high-powered lady, she books ahead quarterly.

  What? Yes! That’s what I’m saying, Ryan. She books an XX-BOT for her man. He loves it. He never knows which model he’s going to get. It’s a bond between them. Quite touching, I think, something they do together.

  With a rental, every girl gets hygiene-checked, bathed, perfumed, yeah, you can choose one of four scents – musky, floral, woody or lavender. When you pick her up she’ll be wearing either double-denim like this one – or a simple day dress. You can hire or buy other outfits.

  What? Yeah, just like Barbie. Yeah, I suppose you’re right, it’s a joke, isn’t it, how boys don’t get to play with Barbie till they’re grown up? Haha, I hadn’t thought of that – it’s a thought. I hadn’t thought of it but it’s a thought. My mum will laugh when I tell her. Oh, yeah, my mum is a big part of the business. From day one.

  Anyway, the girls we rent out get time off for education too – we’re always improving their circuit boards. They don’t have a big vocabulary, no; you watch porn, don’t you, so you know it’s not exactly a language-lab? But we’re on it – men do like to communicate. It’s not just ‘Hello, Big Boy’.

  What did you say? At the airport? Funny you should say that because that’s what’s next. I’m looking to go in with some of the car-hire companies – yeah, like Avis – and your car can have your XX-BOT ready and waiting, fully charged, in the passenger seat.

  XX-BOTs make a great travel choice. No nagging about stopping for lunch or needing the toilet. No sulking about the Holiday Inn you’ve booked. She’s next to you, long hair, long legs, you choose the music, beautiful woman in the passenger seat.

  If you want to be a bit more discreet you can fold her up and strap her in the back, or stow her out of sight in the boot or trunk or whatever you call it. We’re not all extroverts.

  Here, look, watch this! See it? Yeah! I’ll do it again. Are you filming this? Watch the movement. So smooth. Legs up and over. Now she’s in half. You’d need to date a bloody stuntwoman to manage that.

  Amazing! Eh, Ryan? Like a Brompton bicycle!

  When driverless cars really take off, the client could get in the back with his XX-BOT and have a much pleasanter journey. Takes all the stress out of travel.

  I’m talking to Uber.

  Yeah. I have based my franchise
model on the rent-a-car business. Pick up in one city, drop off in another. And I’ve got five styles of XX-BOTs – including the Economy model here on the couch. She’s the cheapest.

  She’s got nylon hair, so you can get a bit of static, and she whirrs a bit, but she’s a good, straightforward, no-frills, budget fuck.

  See? Three holes all the same size. No! Not in the same place! You have slept with a woman, haven’t you, Ryan? Well, where do you think the holes are? Front. Back. Mouth. Not her nostrils! She’s not a fuckin’ yeti!

  OK! You were making a joke. I get it. Now concentrate – put your finger in there!

  Like it? And they all VI-BRATE! Any hole, any position. Vibrate!

  Nice limb movement too. You can position her how you want. All the girls have an extra-wide splayed-leg position. It’s popular with our clients, especially the fat ones.

  This one can talk too. Limited but adequate voice response – like meeting a girl abroad who doesn’t speak much English.

  Does she have a name, Ron?

  Ron nodded approvingly. That’s a good question, Ryan. And I’ve got a good answer. I made the decision not to give my girls names. No, it’s not like lambs you’ll be eating later, actually it’s like those very fancy paints you can buy – top-end paint – yes, we’ve just redecorated at home – I mean the paints that use numbers, because what a colour means to me won’t be what a colour means to you – and you might be colour-blind anyway. I mean, what the fuck is Moody Blue? Wimborne White? Does Wimborne White sound gay to you? It does to me. And Donkey Brown? Since when was all donkeys the same brown? My dad kept donkeys – yeah – it’s a long story. No need to go into that today. It’s not about me.

  So with the girls, I can call them Volcano, or Autumn or Cheri or whatever, but the customer might want to call his night-bird Julie … So we leave it to the customer to name his bird.

  You’re not meant to call women ‘birds’ nowadays, are you? I always liked it. Sums women up – not in a bad way, don’t get me wrong. Birds … always out of reach. Aren’t they? You think she’s on your arm and then she’s flown.