Author: Ken Poyner

Coming back from work, I pass near the Post Office, so I thought I would stop in to see if the expected package had arrived. And it had: there in our box was the slim three inch by four inch by two inch box, the code autoloader with its new programming, and all the product safety cushioning. Clearly, the item was marked as coming from the Robot Companion Corporation. I took everything in the box but, to the center of my attention, the new code was my main mission.

I opened the box as soon as I got back to the car, eager to read what I could from the interior packaging or on the autoloader itself. Alas, only the acerbic title “Intimacy Upgrade Level Four” could be found. No teaser, no list of new feats, no new extensions listed that would be contained within the download. No hint of surrendered limitations, additional selectable proclivities. Nothing. These companies are so secretive about their features – you have to essentially buy the product and install it blind, betting – on the effect of past editions – that this new upgrade will be worth the price.

I drive home a bit more directly and rapidly than I should. Leaving the other mail on the passenger seat, I expectantly exit the car, leaving the car less straight than usual in the driveway.

The front door recognizes me and swings at best speed open, taking into account wind speed and weather conditions. I can hear my companion busying herself deeper in the house. As the door closes, I peel the safety cover off of the autoloader, pop open the access port just inside my shoulder, and insert the device. The new code is injected and begins to get comfortable in all the places it needs to be.

I pause to look over the uniqueness of the upgraded programming, and think, “oh, my subscriber is going to love this. She will be so surprised, so exhausted.”

I reset briefly and track her location by the noise she makes.