Grey Rollins: When There's a Will, There's a Way

“Why are you stopping?” she asked.

I permitted myself a chuckle. “For the romance of it.”

She took a long look around us at the pastoral setting. There was not another soul in sight. “It is beautiful,” she admitted.

“You know that pack of crackers you keep in the glove box? Get them out. Let’s have a picnic.”

“What do I drink?”

“I’ve checked the maps. There’s nothing significant between us and the headwaters of this stream. The water should be safe to drink.”

She gazed at my eye in the dash for a long time before responding. “You know, you’re right. You haven’t changed. This is just the kind of thing that you used to do.”

“Romance isn’t flowers, it isn’t going for walks, and it isn’t sex. It’s a sense of anticipation. I may not be able to hold you in my arms and kiss you, but I intend to romance you within an inch of your life.”

She leaned over and got the crackers out of the glove box, then looked at me with misty eyes. “I love you,” she said quietly.

“Alexis—”

She held up a hand to stop me. “Don’t say anything. I don’t even know if you can love in your present form. I think we’re on uncharted ground, here. But that won’t stop me from telling you how I feel.”

I opened the doors and she kicked off her shoes and rubbed her toes in the grass as we watched the Sun quietly slip into evening.

You can’t spend all of your time in a car, and you can’t always find a drive-in restaurant when you need one, so we detoured into Boston and had me fitted with short-range transmitters like they use on microphones. That way I could talk to Alexis wherever she happened to be. It worked out so well that she splurged and bought a wider bandwidth transmitter and a portable eye. Now I could see as well as hear. She bought a cheap sky-blue day pack and put the equipment in it, then carried me slung over her shoulder wherever she went.

Strange looks came with the territory. She would set the bag on the table in a diner and proceed to talk to it earnestly. Waitresses adjusted quickly enough, once they saw that the bag was full of gadgetry, but those who weren’t close enough to see inside the bag invariably seemed to form the impression that Alexis had a mental problem of some severity. Once she was asked to leave by a manager who had been approached by some nervous patrons. Fortunately, these problems were quickly straightened out.

We were working our way south along the spine of the Appalachians on the Skyline Drive. Night had fallen and Alexis was driving, just to keep in practice. Mountain roads at night, unfamiliar ones, can be tricky. Curves seem to come out of nowhere, often more tightly radiused than you expected—especially if you’re in an Icarus going at a fair clip. She was doing well. Only a slight tightness around the eyes betraying her concentration as her hands chased each other around the perimeter of the wheel.

A sign came up, then whipped past.

“Did that say what I thought it said?” she asked me.

“There’s a lodge ahead. Would you like to stop for the night?”

She thought this over for a few seconds, then backed off the accelerator.

The lodge was a fine old specimen, built back during the Depression. She got a room in the main building, trudged through the darkness and opened the door, then gasped.

“My God! I didn’t know they made places like this any more.”

“They don’t. The Depression was a long time ago.”

She gave me a wry look, then began running her fingers lightly over the rich, old chestnut paneling. She stood and admired the fireplace made of stone. “I wonder how much it would cost to stay here the rest of my life.”

From my vantage point on the bed, I watched her walk slowly around the room, leaving no single thing untouched. Then she took a deep breath and I could almost see the tension melt away. She began to unbutton her blouse.

“Oh, for want of a pair of arms,” I murmured.

She gave me a sidelong look. “Maybe we ought to see how much it would cost to get you a prosthetic or two.” She balled up her stockings and tossed them onto a chair with the rest of her clothing.

“You wouldn’t mind rubber arms?”

“You talk a good line, mister. I’m tempted to put you to the test.”

After she bathed, she pulled on a soft terry robe and sat on the bed next to me as she brushed out her hair. “Seriously,” she said, “supposing there were a way, a practical way, to fit you with arms. Then what?”

“Well, to begin with, I think I’d start by exploring every inch of your body. Granted, being able to look is nice but I want to touch.”

A lazy smile began. “Oh? And why don’t you tell me what you’d like to touch.”

As I spoke, her breathing deepened. After a few minutes, she reached and turned out the light, then settled back next to me.

“Talk to me. Tell me more,” she whispered.

I heard soft sounds in the darkness as she undid the belt on her robe.

“Alexis?”

“Shhh. If you can’t touch me, I’ll have to, just tell me what you want me to do…”

Slowly, softly, I described in detail what I would do if only I could, guiding her imagination. She, under cover of darkness, used her own hands to bring the fantasy to fruition. Her breathing quickened, caught once, twice, then began to slow.

“That was… very nice,” she said. “I’ve never touched myself with a man near me. It always seemed too… I don’t know. It’s just not something women feel comfortable with, I guess.”

“So what’s the difference?”

“I don’t know, really. I… don’t misunderstand, but you’re kind of imaginary to me already. I suppose it was just easier for you to fit into my mind than it would be if you were lying here next to me.”

“It almost sounds as though you prefer me like this.”

Her tone was reflective, almost sad. “Keep in mind, whether you remember me or not, we’ve known each other before. I’ve known you as a man, and as a machine. Given a choice, I’d take you as a man, but we have to play the hand we’re dealt.” She rolled her head on the pillow and faced me in the dark. “I hope that I haven’t hurt you saying that. I don’t know what, or even whether, you can feel. I know; that from a certain point of view, you’re helpless, that you’d have to take whatever I dished out. I don’t want to take—”

“Alexis—”

“—Advantage… what?”

“I love you.”

She cried herself to sleep with her arms circled around me.

In spite of it being mid-summer, the next morning dawned cool and comfortable. There are advantages to being in the mountains.

Small noises came through the window.

“What’s that?” Alexis asked sleepily.

“A doe.”

“Seriously?”

“She’s been eating the grass around the edges of the parking lot. At the moment, she’s right outside the window.”

“But how… oh, that’s right, you’re not just in here with me, you’re out in the car, too.”

Quietly, Alexis slipped out of bed, padded to the window, and stealthily parted the curtain. “Oh, she’s beautiful!” she whispered, peering out.

“I’ve been watching her for a while now. There are three others in sight at the moment. If I had a screen, I could show you what I see. You wouldn’t even have to get out of bed.”

She let the curtain fall back into place and turned back to me. “Now, why didn’t I think of that?” She quickly slipped into the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and within ten minutes, we were packed and ready to go.

As we headed south, the terrain flattened somewhat, then began to steepen again. We stopped at the overlooks to enjoy the view. Occasionally Alexis would get out and stretch her legs, walking the paths, taking me along in the bag, although we were limited by my transmitting range as to how far we could go.