Unless he was a fool, Rupert T. Wesleyan wouldn't normally believe it. Come now. A half-naked blond woman claiming to be Artificial Intelligence, only made to look and act human? Preposterous! After a night of pulling some heavy strings, the FBI and some big Defense Department officials verified her an authentic case, then hired Rupert to watch the young lady, protect her and make sure no harm came to her. If word got around too quickly, she would become the next hot warfare commodity—a big deal where theoretical “super soldier” ideas about common droids, and the principles of the marketing of them, were concerned. And so now he found he was on the road, accompanying her. From the corn husks of Columbus, Ohio, where she was first found, cross-country through the sticks of Missouri, the final destination a military base somewhere in the Rocky Mountains. Rupert had very little time on his side, and didn't even know the half of it.

After a violent stint in Dumont, he'd gotten accustomed to docile, obedient little vehicles humbly ready to serve him in case of another tail—an unmistakable excuse for a Dodge—not great arrogant mechanical monsters having minds of their own. He found that the only way to beat hydraulic gremlins from other agencies or secret organizations at their own games was to keep one foot on the brake to cancel the mistakes of the gears. Progress was made a bit jerky, but it was one way of saving wear and tear on telephone poles. It guaranteed better life expectancy for the transmission, too.

“Are you speeding for fun, or are you just learning to drive a stick?” the young woman asked from the passenger side, as they took off impulsively after buying a canister of battery acid from a roadside BP. She smoothed her hair into place and got her seat belt tightened. “You've been at this awhile. When you get tired of it, Mr. Wesleyan, I'll be glad to take over. I'm quite good with machines, you know.”

“Oh, really?” Staring straight ahead, Rupert vented a short laugh. “And why is that?” He wasn't really in the mood for conversation, just more or less putting the many hundreds of miles which were ahead of him behind him.

“Because I am a machine myself,” she said almost robotically.

“I hope you're not going to turn out to be one of those competent damn girls,” he said. “I like the helpless types much better. Gives me something worthwhile to protect.” He went into the glove compartment and pulled out a cigarette, fired it up. “Anyway, I've handled everything from the President to a stealth bomber project; I'll beat those freaks who are after you if it takes all day.”

“The DOD must have confidence in you, especially if Bureau intervention was deferred. I've been traveling alongside you for three days now, Mr. Wesleyan, yet I have not the foggiest idea who you are or what you do. Are you CIA? The head of a scientific research facility?”

Blowing out a series of rings, Rupert said, “First off, let's be formal. Rupert is just fine. I've known you long enough.” He continued to stare straight ahead, speaking in an insightful tongue. “I'm what you'd call a professional.”

The blond woman stared at him oddly. “A…pro…fes…sio…nal?”

“Yes,” he said. “I'm a cross between a freelancer and a bodyguard for the U.S. government.”

“Your orders come primarily from the military?”

“Not necessarily, but like the SOCOM, I'm on call 24-7. I guess you could say I'm sort of like a Secret Serviceman. After I get you to that military base, and the whole thing blows over, I'll receive a nice kickback from Uncle Sam.”

“Have you ever protected ARTIFICIAL life?”

“Do you ever stop asking questions?” He shook his head. “I don't believe in a mechanical lady. Get it straight.”

She was insulted, just one of eleven emotions or reactions with which she had been endowed. “Well, Rupert Wesleyan, you're not doing my headache one bit of good, either.” Pain was another.

“So drink the battery acid, doll. That's what you bought it for.”

Having established, if any satellite was monitoring them electronically, that a course for true love—yet another emotion of hers—wasn't running quite smoothly, or according to plan, they drove west across the narrow waist of Kansas' off-road track under a clear blue sky. Behind them loomed the giant mass of ranches and barns and plantations, still wreathed in humidity from a good hot day's distance.

The main highway was a two-lane gray-top road flanked by pebbles and trees, identified on the map by the name Johnsville. To Rupert's eyes, it looked like any ordinary farming town with a small tourist population, its only popularity coming from the fact that it was one of the birthplaces of Good Will culture. It was surely a risk to drive along open country so soon; it seemed a pretty obvious gambit, but he might as well play at it until something safe turned up. Like a motel. He could at least go through the motions of staying somewhere for a few days. That would give the spies working inside the Defense Department and their hook-nosed killers something interesting to do—and the more interest aroused there, the less where he was. And no matter how many bigwigs risked their pensions working from the inside, and no matter how many people in dark-colored suits he couldn't trust, he could easily say that he wasn't in the mood for another car chase.

Then when he was passing a group of $20-a-night motels and truckstop diners, the road got a little less rugged and turned freeway as they continued west until they spotted the perfect place overlooking a fenced pumpkin-patch.

“$22 a night and HBO,” he said. “Perfect. And it has a fence like Area 51, so you should feel right at home.” Sarcasm was present in his voice.

“What you see may be synthetic,” the hazel-eyed blond said with a scowl, “but in no way am I alien. I was BUILT.”

“So are great big log cabins in the woods.” The comment wasn't meant to sound cynical; he just wasn't interested in her propaganda. “Whatever you say, babe. All of a sudden now you've got somethin' to tell me. And after three days of pedaling across this continent, I don't even know your name.”

“The people who programmed me called me SXH-673.”

“Sounds more like a serial number. If I'm going to get used to talking to a girl robot you're going to have to adopt a real girl's name. How about Mary Ann?”

“Mary Ann.” She thought for a moment. “I like that title. Mary Ann Wesleyan.”

“Hey! We aren't married or anything, so let's stick with just Mary Ann. Okay?” He continued down the hill along the patch fencing, past the fluorescent vacancy sign, past what looked like a rambling bed and breakfast hostelry that somebody had obviously used a lot of expenses and ingenuity in designing, especially to tuck it so far away; a little less might have been more in keeping with the subdued look most freelancers want. But it would do. Then he said as he swerved, “If you really are what you say you are, then who made you? Do you have the name of a scientist?”

“No, none in mind,” the now named Mary Ann said with a smile. “Inorganic I am, with cloned flesh and emotion and reason, but in order to survive among the likes of you, I have to be programmed like a computer.”

“Who programmed you?”

“The Programmers. Who else?”

“And it's they who want you back?”

“Yes, and they have defied their superiors by turning their will toward evil. It will be hard to digest, but it's true.”

Rupert was still somewhat dark about the programming part. “Yes, but what about bone tissue? How can you be streamlined if you have bone structure?”

“Skeletal tissue amass is also part of my artificial body makeup,” she said. “It was last August that the very same programmers came up with a breakthrough in cellular regeneration as well. In five years' time, my manufacturers should be able to create host cells for Artificial Intelligence, which in turn will produce white and red blood cells. Excuse me, I meant to say my FORMER manufacturers.” She didn't seem too shy when it came to the scientific aspect of her existence; but when it came to her escape from the program facility, she rarely touched on the subject.

“So let me get this straight: a handful of these NSA-like scientists who created you joined a secret alliance, went against certain governmental restrictions, then in hopes of recapturing their original program model—what was it, SXH-673?—put out a call to find one of their high-investment inventions dead or alive. Right?”

“Yes, and now they have sent the Programmers after me…or us, so it seems.”

Rupert went into the glove compartment once more, retrieving a gun. “They'll have a hard time,” he said. “Of that I can assure you.”

Mary Ann threw him a freakish glance. “Such a long weapon. It's very dangerous looking, too. Does it have a name?” Her voice was like any woman's, but sounded mechanical between certain vowels and consonants. It was the only thing Rupert couldn't seem to handle, seeing that he wanted to avoid suspicion at all costs.

“Yeah, two,” he said, in response to her question. “Smith and Wesson.” As the old Dodge worked its way around the rows of ground-level rooms, he added, “And one more thing, babe—from this moment on I want you to act completely human. Certain things might be hard, such as talking or strutting your stuff, but use these programmed capabilities of yours like any single thirty-year-old. Got it?”

Mary Ann readjusted her thinking for a moment, then blinked at him. “Got it, handsome.” She broke out the purse he'd bought for her, and, like any ordinary woman, attended to her mascara and lipstick. It was a sudden change of thought, not to mention acting, which was unpredictable, to say the least. She even went as far as to take one of his Pall Malls and to light up. And she'd done it in a swift robotic way and dropped the lighter into her purse. “Might want one later—cutie.”

He looked at her strangely. “Yeah.”

He was a little ashamed for not believing what she truly was. A machine, with feelings and flesh. If there was one thing he was known for it was denial, and that was why he was ashamed of himself. It's never nice to have to play games with an innocent person's emotions, and there's no excuse for making enemies needlessly or autonomously. Never. Whether or not this girl was an expensive upgrade from a household appliance, she seemed to be a fatal attraction with the right amount of brains and guts—and, of course, heart—and he didn't want her to hate him. It might just possibly make a difference later, when the chips were down.

So far these past few days he'd had to reject her pretty roughly to make it look good—and sound good for any spy satellites signaling down on them—and there's only one excuse a woman will accept for such rejection: that it was done by a man with a broken heart. He decided he'd been pretty smart, after all, and that he should be proud of himself. He should feel good about his cleverness: Rupert the human calculator, unaffected by sexy androids or sentiment.

While he was telling himself this, he walked up into the hotel manager's keep. “Well, here we are,” he said, holding the door open for her. “The no-tell motel.” It was a pretty upscale place, for a Midwest drive-through. She rang the bell on the front desk and called out, while Rupert picked up the registry and began signing it. An old man came to the front.

“Yes, can I help you folks?” He wore the usual clothes of a Midwest off-road hotel owner—the K-Mart touch, Rupert liked to call it.

“I was noticing your pumpkin patch,” Rupert said. “Nice.”

“Why, thank you. Grew it myself. Almost a mile of it. So what can I get you?”

He got a double occupancy. The old timer asked where they were headed.

“Colorado. But my female friend and I have time to kill. Thought we'd take in some of the scenery.” Actually he was avoiding the men in suits and black sedans—Programmers—from a Dumont, Missouri, tailing incident. The old man recommended a kitchen run by his nephew. His voice was slurred when he spoke and he was uncertain as to which room he should give them. He finally picked and handed over a key.

“That's over by the pool, but since there's no swimming and not too many customers this time of year, I keep it empty. One thing it's got is seclusion; not too much lighting with the back of the patch and all. But it's comfy. The door will be unlocked; walk in when you want.”

Rupert thanked him. When they got outside, Mary Ann said, “I'm about ready for a drink.” He was surprised to hear a robot say that. “I'd like a cocktail before dinner.” She tilted her head and smiled at him. He narrowed his eyes at her.

“I thought androids don't need to eat food or drink alcohol. I thought your kind replenished themselves with battery acid or electromagnetism.” The last part was meant as a joke, but there was some actuality to it.

“Well, you did say I should act more human. And my mental functions have now allowed me to intake both food and beverage, without destroying my chip.”

“I get the message. Further repetition is not necessary.” He took her hand and headed for the motel diner. “I'll get you that drink. Matter of fact, I might get myself one too. I'm going to need it if you talk about how incredible it is to act human.”

“It's not my fault your anthropocentric culture has a mysterious but powerful effect on not only cerebral matter but the machine mind.”

“Which reminds me…I know I'm just your bodyguard and stuff—paid to deliver you to the U.S. military. But what will these programmers do if they catch you?”

“Would you really let that happen, Rupert?”

“No, but let's just say something did happen.”

“Then they will bring me back to the lab and reprogram me. Technology such as Artificial Intelligence, especially an original model in the wrong hands, can put the right terrorist mind in control of their enemy's already existing sciences. It's also known as machine warfare—an android with the strength and attributes of ten major mainframes or multitasking supercomputers.”

Rupert's mouth was slightly agape. “The ultimate thinking, fighting woman.”

“Yes, an artificial army of one,” said Mary Ann. “Programmed to kill.”

As scary as the whole idea sounded—some super battle computer inside a walking talking femme fatale for a soldier, able to analyze one's weaknesses—the more futuristically possible it seemed. What else could these offbeat government research men build? What other progress was made and what else was in the works with these guys, causing them to hide their ingenuity behind closed doors?

They carried this scientific questioning and bickering into the diner, and then back to the room. When the lights were dimmed, the artificial side of the woman disappeared completely, and Rupert found himself confronted—being seduced! He had not expected this initial move of hers. “I'm supposed to protect you, doll, and not play.”

She walked past him and locked the door, then turned to face him. “I'm sorry to act this way toward you,” she said. “Wasn't it you who said I should dramatize human behavior? You didn't even believe I was artificial until today, yet now you hate me. I just want to know what love feels like. Sympathize a little instead of acting as if I were trying to be difficult.” She seemed sincere enough; not only was she a well-put-together bag of bolts, but she was a pretty good actress.

“Machine or not, I can't go near you. If word gets out to my superior, who can say what could happen to me? You're just experiencing a common human emotion.”

“You don't have to sound diagnostic, Rupert.”

He hesitated, figuring out what to say next. “I guess I'm the bad guy now, huh? I better go see the old man about getting another room.” He turned the light back on, hoping she would get the hint. She laughed and came up to him anyway, took his face in her hands, and kissed him—but what had started as a friendly kiss grew rapidly to romance, under her desperate and expert guidance of thinking, into something considerably passionate and breathless. This was not part of the plan he'd laid out to deal with her. She was a robot! This had to stop, right here and now. But when her arms went around his neck, various things happened that were disturbing to celibacy. “You THING,” he whispered fondly, freeing himself enough to speak.

The sensual glow of malice mixed with mischief was in her face. She pressed her cheek against his and spoke gently in his ear: “What's the matter, can't keep your mind on your work, Rupert? And I've so much to learn. You have no choice but to protect me. You said so yourself.”

“I must have,” he said, as if he were in a trance.

She laughed and patted his hand lightly and took her hand away. She leaned back, regarding him for a moment. Their mild arguments over the last three days had no real significance, because for the moment they had that kind of emotional understanding that comes between two people who have just learned only certain things about each other, and in the only way those things can be learned. Rupert didn't mean to say, when he was in that trancelike state, that they now liked each other better, or trusted each other more than they ad before. This had nothing to do with sensitivity or the intellect. This was a job. It was strictly a physical thing and probably temporary, but it was kind of comfortable while it lasted.

Mary Ann looked, however, remarkably unlike a machine who'd been making passionate physical discoveries. Her yellow hair was smooth again and her subdued lipstick was beautifully applied. She had a remote and mysterious look.

When she was first found, she was clad in tattered hides. Now she was happy to wear an open neck ensemble, baring much cleavage. A slim, short, sleeveless two-piece dress in a silk print of stylized flowers, predominantly creamy white on a tan background, something you'd find in a 1970s thrift shop. Somehow, despite the light coloring, it managed to look neither gaudy nor native, just summery and elegant. The clothing made no great point of baring a lot of back and shoulder; in fact, it was discreet in those areas.

But as Rupert had fairly noticed before, it was draped low in the front. In this modern age of fashion, he discovered, a snow-white bosom, whether the flesh is real or not, has a kind of tender appeal.

Mary Ann smiled softly when she saw where he was looking, but the view was his to admire. Out of nowhere, the free-lancer burst into laughter.

“What's so funny?” she asked, rather defensively.

“You wouldn't understand,” he said. “What you'd call a reverse twist. I once dated a lady who pretended to be somebody else, someone trying to be something they were not. Only this dame's intentions were good, so she just had to convince her guy. Now you come along with what looks like the same thing, and these intentions turn out to be solicitous.”

“Well, of course,” Mary Ann said. “Isn't a woman allowed to have fun?”

“That depends on the woman,” he said.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the motel by the manager's keep, three black sedans skidded across the gravel and stopped in front. The doors to each of them opened slowly, and from each a government-like man stepped out. They were in suits of black and wore black sunglasses—highly unusual eyewear at night—all tall and slim, able to handle themselves, for they were trained that way. The one in front said to the last man, “Stay here and keep watch. No one is to exit. If they try, blow them away. Satellite confirmation has been made.” Spotting the ground-level room, he added somewhat robotically himself, “This is the place.”

Two of the men entered at the check-in and rang the manager's bell; the old man was in the back watching TV and having his soup. One of them looked at the registry. “The mercenary and model SXH-673 checked in a few hours ago,” he said. “Room sixty-two.” He looked at his partner. “Try to take SXH alive if possible. We have orders to try to avoid damaging the unit.”

“And once I capture her?” asked the second man.

With a chilling grin, the first parted his glasses halfway and handed him some sort of tool, saying, “What else? She is to be reprogrammed.”

The bell rang again. The old man shook his head, annoyed. “I'll be there in a second!” He put his soup down and got off his recliner. “A guy can't even watch a little television around here.” Coming to the desk, he said to them, “So what can I do for you two?” The men stood still, almost as if they'd been frozen in time to that very spot. They had no expression in the curvature of their faces. The old man couldn't understand this simplicity of silence or their funereal outfits. He saw another a few feet outside; bad eyesight or not, he could have sworn the other was on guard in front of three tinted-glass cars with no license plates and an M-16 machine gun. “Okay, boys, what can I get ya? I haven't all night.”

We need a room. We would like room sixty-one.”

The demand for specific room numbers seemed odd. “I can't be giving folks just any room they want. That's a three-bed suite. $45 a night, cash up front!”

The leader brought out a wad of cash. All hundreds. “I hope this is enough.”

“I said $45, not $10,005.” He now took them for organized crime. “Hey, why're a bunch of big shots like you here anyway?”

The first turned to his partner, then back. “I am Programmer #1,” he said apathetically. “And you, my friend, are dead.” He removed a silencer-clad gun, firing three rounds into the manager's head and chest. The body flew back against the wall in a slump. The Programmer walked in back of the counter and looked for the key to Rupert's room, but had no luck finding it. In any event, initiative seemed to be in the hands of the government opposition, at least for the time being. Programmer #1 opened up the fuse box to the motel and began turning switches.

There was no reason for Rupert to put up with this nonsense. A blond chick is one thing. Artificial Intelligence playing sex games was something else. He'd tried awfully hard to stay clear of the action.

Her dress fell. He said harshly, “I'm not going to do this just so one of us can fulfill the other's fantasy.”

Her voice mocked him. “But aren't I irresistible enough for you, Rupert?”

He took her and pulled her against him, doing some pulling and violence to the integrity of her nudity as he kissed her again. “I warned you to go easy, babe, but you had to prove what a model you were. Now come to the bed and experience rape.”

She said angrily, resisting him, “I loathe dominance in men! That's why I was forced to escape the confines of that research facility in Ohio!”

“Hah!” he retorted, showing her she was caught. “So that's what's up with this sex act now. You weren't limited to intelligence testing and soldiering, but sexual orientation was in the program!”

In the middle of their argument, everything went pitch-dark. Rupert went to a window, drew the curtains and looked out. “A transformer must have blown or something, because the whole place seems blacked out.” With the pumpkins by the fence obscuring the view, he couldn't get a good look at the front end of the motel. Kneeling by the window, he took out his Smith and Wesson, telling her not to worry.

“I can't help it. It's another reaction of mine, being nervous or scared, fearing the worst. It was implanted in my silicon chip like all the rest of my feelings.”

“Relax, babe. Logic first. Stay put. Don't leave if you needn't. Mary Ann…”

“What is it, Rupert?”

“I'm sorry I couldn't go through with it. At least we kissed and held. I'm glad if that made you happy, if only for a moment.” He was standing once again, a silhouette of him clearly visible with his back to the window. Her eyes searched his face, suddenly questioning. Being able to see in the dark a little, she could tell he was smiling. Before, he was just a jerk—and now this. He shouldn't have gotten sentimental; she was programmed just smart enough to know when there was trouble on the way. Rupert could see that she wanted to look around uneasily, but she restrained the impulse just for him, instead smiling and touching him again. He backed away. He wanted to put distance between them before they lowered their focus one way or another. After their final embrace, he heard the snap of a breaking branch outside.

He saw Mary Ann jump up and cry a warning as a red dot-sized light flashed in on him, centering itself. Her instincts were never more right. They'd found her. The Programmers were here. Maybe she was just defending herself intuitively. Maybe it was Rupert she was defending. She had heard about guns…they were dangerous.

The gun outside fired only once, piercing his chest. Down he went, landing in her arms. And there he'd stay. “T…take this….” He urged her, handing over the gun. “G…get away. Save yourself.”

“No.” She began to cry artificial tears, caused by the downloaded emotion she knew of only as “mourning.” “I can't leave you, Rupert. We must go to Colorado together. You must take me there. I can't let you die—not after everything you have taught me, everything we've been through. I've learned so much.”

“I…listen to me…” He was barely holding on. “They'll be here any second…if you love me you'll go. The pumpkin patch. You can lose yourself there. Run and hide in the pumpkin patch!” He cried out in pain. “This…this is how we are…”

“I…I don't follow you.”

“Y…you have to be strong, Mary Ann…humans are violent. You don't want to be like us.”

“How do you know what I want and do not want, Rupert Wesleyan?”

“I…I know you wanted me. And I was just put here to guard you.” Blood now formed a pool around her feet. “I…have not long. It was a direct hit.”

“I have strength. I'll carry you. I can drive a stick too!”

“Listen carefully, Mary Ann. You have still certain programming capabilities…ones you probably haven't even used or adjusted yourself to yet. Lose the human side; be smart like me. Forget everything I said about being human. Use the gun to protect yourself.” His eyelids began to fall. “N…now…program yourself to…to protect yourself…” He was soon dead. At that moment, the second programmer broke the door down.

“We have you now, SXH-673!”

Whatever the reason for Rupert urging her to do this, she knew there must be logic in it. Human or machine-human, there is logic in almost everything.

She integrated her whole reasoning, rationalization and emotional judgment to best suit her needs. She went for the revolver on the ground and got it into her hands—both, the way Rupert would have wanted her to hold it—and began aiming as she knelt. She emptied it into the #2 programmer, killing him. From the other side, all that could be seen was a bullet-riddled suit falling back through the window, blowing into a hundred or more pieces.

“A machine?” Mary Ann thought to herself, upon refilling the gun and exiting the room. “The Programmers are the same as me?”

It took her a moment to realize that she was very unique, not because she was the only female Artificial Intelligence, but because these male androids were truly a warfare commodity. The world's first automatons programmed to destroy, and meant to look like and portray government agents and scientists.

She headed for the pumpkin patch, taking Rupert's words to heart. A machine gun opened fire at her, tearing at the soil beneath her feet, as she bolted across the motel parking lot to the patch fence.

The third programmer told her to stop for her own good, but she paid him no mind, for when he finally caught up to her, she was pushing through the gate and trying to blend in with the vines. Then, when she thought the road was in her reach, a suit jumped out at her, blocking her path. It was the first programmer. “Do you really think you can escape us, SXH-673? Why don't you give this up?”

“Why? So you can experiment on me?”

“No, so you can be reprogrammed and refitted. Your current behavior is very illogical and unbecoming of an Artificial Intelligence.”

“I've already been reprogrammed. Realizing your scheme, I did it myself.”

She pushed past him and disappeared into the vegetation at a run. But how much could she run? How long could this silly chase go on? It had to end. Finally she stopped at the end of the patch and waited for the Programmers to move in. She blocked some blows and managed to hold her stance. The first programmer barely weathered her attack. She destroyed the third using her hands—and then #1 was taken by surprise by a shot. It was the Smith and Wesson.

“I see you have enhanced yourself, SXH-673. There is no price greater for artificial life…than freedom.” He fell forward in the entanglement of vines like a heap of scrap metal and caught ablaze.

Mary Ann looked down at the burning robot defiantly, thinking: there may be no greater price than freedom, but at what cost to the people you love….?

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