The Administration Series (104 page)

"But if you're — " Not sure he believed Warrick wasn't playing games, Toreth looked between them again.

Warrick laughed. "I give you my word, it's not me. And it doesn't have my memories, except of shared time in the sim."

Too unnerving to think about for long. "You have no idea who I am?" he asked the Yes.

"None at all."

Feeling rather ridiculous, he said, "My name's Val Toreth."

"Ah!" Eyebrows rose, and the Yes glanced at Warrick. "I have heard the name before. Once or twice. It's a pleasure to meet you." It tilted its head, enquiring. "So, should I change?"

"No." Toreth took a deep breath. "No, you're fine as you are."

"Good. There's nothing to worry about, I promise. I don't bite — except on request." It took a step towards the bed, and offered its hand. "Come on."

Reaching out, Toreth clasped the warm, imaginary flesh. Creepy it may be, but not so creepy that the idea of the fuck didn't appeal more.

They made a gentle start, slow and sensuous. The pace made it easy to keep track of which body was where, to be sure who was what. He still caught himself pausing every so often to think, am I sure? But the intervals between the checks grew longer as he allowed the physical pleasure to overcome the unease.

Fucking two men wasn't something he did very often. With threesomes he liked there to be at least one person involved who didn't quite want to do it, and that often meant a couple with a reluctant husband or wife. So two men had a certain novelty in itself, albeit entirely overwhelmed by who they were. Lying on his back, a Warrick on each side pressed against him full length, his arms around them, was something he had never dreamed about, never fantasised, never imagined.

Freeing an arm, he offered his wrist to real-Warrick. "Check my pulse, would you? I have a feeling I've died and gone to heaven."

Warrick grinned, and complied. "Present if a little fast, flatterer."

Toreth accepted a kiss, and then turned to the other side.

"Do you play the game?" he asked the copy.

An enquiring frown creased its brows. "Game? Why don't you explain the rules to me, and I'll see?"

Warrick ran a distracting hand down his side. "That's not part of the training."

"No?" Toreth didn't look round — he was watching the Yes, which was listening to the conversation with apparent interest. "Why not?"

"Some things I prefer to keep private. Or at least not to make available for others' use."

Toreth looked round at him and smiled, not bothering to hide his satisfaction. "Good."

He rolled Warrick over, moving to lie on top of him, taking hold of his wrists and pinning him, thrusting against him. A moment of stillness, and Warrick conjured something oil-slippery between them, turning the sensation from pleasant to exquisite as their cocks rubbed together.

Very, very nice. And, wonderfully, not all they could do.

"Fuck me," he said, looking at Warrick beneath him, but addressing the Yes.

If it didn't understand him, Warrick passed the message along, because he felt hands holding him, stilling him, and then a cock sliding into him, smooth and infinitely satisfying.

"Ah,
God
, that feels good," copy-Warrick breathed in his ear, and Toreth couldn't disagree. He stopped moving, letting the copy's thrusts shift him against the solid body beneath him. He didn't need to ask Warrick if he was comfortable, because he would be — everything sim perfect.

Perfection indeed, or at least nothing obviously missing sprang to mind.

Surrounded by warm skin, by Warrick's maddeningly arousing smell, he shivered at the copy's mouth on the back of his neck, a touch of teeth only adding to the stimulation. At the same time Warrick's mouth pressed against his, Warrick's hands pulling him down and sliding along his sides to grip his hips and urge him to move faster.

Whether because of Toreth's response, or because of a direct instruction sent by the original, the Yes shifted above him, bracing its arms and thrusting into him deeper and harder, making him moan, and Warrick in turn buck beneath him, hands releasing him to reach further towards the Yes.

"More," Warrick gasped, as Toreth sucked his throat hard — no need to worry about marks here. "Yes, that's . . . that's it. That's —
ah
. I want you — "

He felt the peculiar, liquid twist of reality reordering itself in obedient response to Warrick's thoughts, and then Toreth found himself inside Warrick, cock already buried deep at the instant he became aware of it. He groaned, overwhelmed by the sudden sensations; fucked and fucking, bringing the earlier recording vividly to mind.

They came together with sim-tuned perfection, Warrick's cry covered by his own, and a soft echo of them both from the lips pressed into his shoulder.

When he opened his eyes, they were still in the bedroom. There was only one Warrick present, though, lying beneath him and holding him. As Toreth lifted his head, Warrick released him.

"What do you think of it?" Warrick asked.

Toreth rolled off him and settled into the feather mattress.

"Pretty good," he said. "But . . . "

Warrick frowned. "But?"

"But it isn't you, is it?"

Then he winced inwardly, because that sounded far more . . . meaningful than he'd intended. Luckily, Warrick didn't seem to notice.

"No, it isn't. However, as I said, it's not supposed to be an exact replica of me. It shares some of my sexual responses and preferences, that's all. What I meant was: how did you rate it as a convincing sexual partner?"

"I, um . . . " Toreth sat up and rested his elbows on his knees, trying to come up with something useful and, unusually, failing. With the physical distraction of the fuck over, the unease had returned, and that was rapidly overwhelming the memory of how much fun it had been. He stared at the flickering candles, hoping for inspiration.

"It wasn't bad, I suppose. It knew what it was doing. It was good at it. It was a bit . . . passive. Or something. I don't know — maybe I wouldn't think that if it didn't look like you. But . . . there was something missing. It felt like — "

Then, finally, he put his finger on it. It felt like strangers in bars and temps at work. It felt like all the fucks he'd had over the last fortnight and every single fuck in his life before he'd met Warrick. It threw the distinction into sharp and disturbing relief.

Nothing sounded in the room except the low crackle of flames, until Warrick said, "Are you hungry? I haven't eaten anything since breakfast."

Toreth took the diversion gratefully. "Yeah. Yeah, I am. Want to go out and get something?"

He heard a snap of fingers behind him as Warrick called up the console, and for once Toreth was glad to see the sim fade about them and to find himself back in the couch and the real world.

As the lift opened into the reception area, Warrick said, "Needless to say, everything I've told you is still highly confidential."

"Sure. Not a word to anyone."

This time he meant it. Not even Sara, who had heard all his other virtual fuck-stories. This one would pass a coffee time nicely, but he didn't feel like telling it.

"Would you sell it?" he asked as they stepped out of the building into the cool evening. "If you can get round the legislation?"

"Yes, of course. It's only a question of time and resources. Truly human-like objects are an important feature of the sim as it was originally envisaged and we desperately want to keep them."

"No, I mean, will you sell that one. You."

"Ah. No. A modified version of the Yes might be commercialized, but not in that shell. No real people will be used."

"Good."

"Well, I say none. One business proposal is to license shells from well-known porn actors. That would come into its own in the longer term, when the per-unit cost of the sim is down to a level that private ownership becomes widespread. Although before that, it would be viable in leisure centres . . . "

Toreth lost track of the details, enjoying the walk, and the sound of Warrick's voice, whatever he was talking about. Enjoying the solidity of the real world, noticing all the things he wouldn't normally give a second thought to: the smell of the evening city, voices in the distance, lighted windows and the thin crescent sliver of the new moon.

The thought intruded that the sim could be this real. They had models of the campus, or at least of this part of it. Of the SimTech building, too. He could so easily be walking through an illusion, with the Yes beside him.

"Look at the moon," he said, cutting into Warrick's flow. Saying it only so that when Warrick stopped and looked up, he made an easier target to grab hold of and kiss.

For once, public as it was, Warrick made no move to pull away and Toreth didn't release him until he was absolutely sure.

"Well?" Warrick raised an eyebrow. "Am I real?"

Toreth stared, his hands still on Warrick's shoulders. How the hell had he
known
?

Warrick laughed. "Everyone suffers from that from time to time."

"Even you?"

"Mm. Actually, no. I can always tell. But then I've worked with it for a long time, and I know where the flaws are. A few of the small, simple rooms are close to indistinguishable from the originals, but nowhere this complex. I keep hoping, though."

He gazed up at the moon again, his voice soft. "The world is so beautiful, when you look at it. So detailed. So sharp. Everything's just
there
— so much more than we need. Light we can't see, sounds we can't hear. Sometimes I wonder if that's what it takes to make it real. But one day, I'll go into the sim, into a world like this, full of other users mixing with people who are no more real than the scenery, and I won't know. The illusion will be perfect. Then it'll be finished. Not commercially finished, but complete as I conceived it. I'm sure it can be done. Will be done, in the end."

If Warrick expected any sort of response, Toreth had no idea what to say. This was Warrick's world, not his, and the passion in Warrick's voice was as disconcerting as the Yes.

After a moment, Warrick shook his head and smiled, a little ruefully. "That's what it's about, after all, at least according to Asher."

"What?"

"SimTech. The Yeses. Asher says it's all about proving that I was right and the people who said it would never work were wrong. Back before SimTech, when they closed the project."

Which sounded like a convincing theory to Toreth. "I wonder where she'd get an idea like that."

"I've always suspected Dilly." Warrick glanced at the moon again, and then laughed. "It doesn't hurt to dream, does it? Come on. Before I faint from very real hunger."

They started walking again. It had been a once-in-a-lifetime evening, Toreth thought, at least if SimTech didn't start the Yes programme again. That would be fine with him.

One Warrick had to be enough for anyone.

Taking an extra-long Friday lunch always felt slightly naughty to Sara, even when, as today, Toreth had suggested it. Two cases had finished and no replacements had yet arrived, so he'd said they deserved a celebration.

Unfortunately, they were late setting off, and by the time they reached the commercial buildings on the periphery of the Int-Sec complex, most places were full. Even with the bright sunshine, the blustery October wind had obviously discouraged people from venturing too far. So for once they made it a little further — off the Int-Sec grounds altogether, and to an Italian cafe-bar neither of them had visited before.

They found a table in a quiet corner, and Toreth offered to buy. Sara glanced at the menu, then said, "Surprise me."

"Okay, but don't blame me if you hate it. Juice?"

"Pineapple, please."

The surprise would be steak and chips, because it always was. She watched Toreth threading his way between the tables, idly appreciating the rear view, and the way his hips moved as he squeezed between two chairs. Not something she ought to be looking at, she reminded herself sternly (and unsuccessfully). When he reached the bar, Sara shook her head and fished out her hand screen. She was supposed to be making arrangements for tonight, for a double date with her sister, and Fee would kill her if she forgot.

After a minute or two, a quiet male voice said, "Excuse me?"

Sara looked round to find an elderly man standing a couple of metres away. Once he must have been handsome and powerfully built. Now age had begun to melt muscle away, leaving a stooped frame. But his thinning hair was neatly cut and combed and he was smartly dressed, although the style was almost old-fashioned enough to look like a costume: a blue blazer and striped tie, and shoes so highly polished it was hard to see the colour.

"I'm sorry?" Sara said.

The man smiled, a hesitant expression at odds with his appearance. "Ah — the man you were talking to — his name wouldn't by any chance be Valantin Toreth, would it?"

"
Valantin
?" Not even his despised parents called him that.

The man clearly mistook her surprise for a negative. "No, of course not; I apologise for troubling you."

"No, sorry — I mean, yes, that's him."

"Ah." He hesitated again, obviously torn between staying and going. "I wondered if — "

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Toreth's voice was loud enough to attract attention from tables right across the bar. "
Gee
?"

The man took a small step back. "Yes."

Toreth slammed the glasses down on the table, slopping juice over the rims. It took Sara a moment to read it as surprise, not anger. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

"I, ah — I was passing by when I saw you come in, and I thought I recognised you. I wanted to say hello, that's all. I won't disturb your lunch."

"Yeah, well, hello."

The pause slowly slid into a silence, and Sara took the opportunity to cough quietly.

"Sorry," Toreth said. "Gee, this is Sara Lovelady, my admin. Sara, this is, uh, Gerald Evans."