Malfunction

Wessex was monologuing about transcendental meditation… again. With each overemphasized syllable, his hands moved like a painter wielding a brush. His boyfriend Kenny nodded along, though the interest was feigned. Kenny was too busy wondering when the waiter would bring their food. 

Clyde smiled through it all, while his new boyfriend Eric sat beside him, unnervingly still, chin slightly raised. Eric hadn’t blinked in nearly two minutes. 

“Babe,” Clyde said gently, nudging his leg under the table. 

Eric blinked once. Twice. Then turned and beamed. “Sorry,” he said. “I was… processing.” 

Kenny laughed. “You mean meditating?” 

“Yes,” Eric replied. “That is it. I was meditating.” 

Clyde took a long sip of his drink, hiding the grimace that had evolved out of his former smile. Wes and Ken had been pestering Clyde to introduce them to Eric for weeks. “You can’t keep him to yourself forever,” they’d teased after he’d changed the subject one too many times. While Eric was an incredibly lifelike simulation, the perfect boyfriend in private, Clyde wasn’t ready to share him with the world just yet. 

But Wes and Ken refused to take no for an answer, and ready or not, Clyde and Eric found themselves the star attractions of a hastily arranged, not entirely consensual gay double date. The restaurant Wessex had chosen was an aggressively curated “experience,” with plants growing from the ceiling and bespoke cocktails called Fight for Your Rights and Rinse or Repeat. Their waiter had a handlebar mustache and probably a master’s degree in sustainable gastronomy. 

Kenny waited for Wessex to take a breath, then jumped on the opportunity to change the subject. “So, Eric,” he said, grinning, “where’d you and Clyde meet again?” 

“We met at—” Clyde began, but Eric answered at the same time. 

“December sixth. Private marketplace. Purchase ID 428-Zeta.” 

Silence. 

Eric tilted his head. “I mean… I mean, on an app. We matched. It was dark. There was snow.” 

Wessex narrowed his eyes. “Is everything all right between you guys?” The possibility of drama left him practically salivating. 

“Perfectly,” Eric said. His voice had dropped half an octave. Clyde kicked Eric’s ankle under the table, and Eric jolted upright, an expression of uncanny happiness returning to his face. “I mean, yes! I am great. Just a little sleepy. Long week.” 

Kenny gave Clyde a sideways glance, smirking. “Eric should try some of that tantric stuff Wes does. He’s got more stamina than I can put up with.” 

Wessex snorted into his Sea Breeze. Eric smiled, laughed too loudly, then stopped, mouth still open and eyes frozen in the expression. 

Clyde reached for his water glass, his hands suddenly cold. “I’m really glad we’re doing this,” he lied, trying to draw attention away from Eric. “It’s been forever since we got together.” 

Wessex nodded, already bored. “You missed the whole ‘Kenny-trying-to-break-up-with-his-therapist-again’ saga.” 

“I’m trying to ghost him, not break up with him,” Kenny said. “There’s a difference.” 

Their food arrived in a cloud of heat and spice. The waiter announced each item, much like an award show host, as runners placed the dishes on the table. Eric didn’t move as a sizzling pan of fajitas was set in front of him. 

Then he reached for it. 

Without hesitation, he picked up the iron skillet with his bare hand. Clyde’s stomach flipped. Eric didn’t flinch. 

“Is something wrong?” he asked calmly. 

Kenny blinked. “Jesus, that thing’s hot.” 

Clyde gave a tight laugh. “Eric’s got, uh, high pain tolerance. Ex military.” He coughed. “Right?” 

Eric stared at him for a long beat. Clyde could practically see the lines of code running behind his eyes. 

“Yes,” Eric said finally. “I was in a war.” 

Wessex raised a sculpted eyebrow. “Which war?” 

Eric’s smile stayed fixed. “Correct.” 

A long, awkward pause followed. Kenny looked like he was about to say something clever, but Wessex waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, who cares?” he lisped. “Everyone’s weird these days.” 

They barely made it through the front door before Clyde lost his temper. He dropped his keys in the bowl, took three measured steps into the living room, and then turned sharply. 

“What the fuck was all that?” 

Eric stepped in behind him, calm as ever. He closed the door. “I am sorry.” 

“You’re sorry,” Clyde repeated. “You picked up a sizzling hot skillet with your bare hands. In front of everybody.” 

Eric paused. “Yes. I see that was not ideal.” 

Clyde let out a humorless laugh. “No. It really wasn’t ideal.” 

He began pacing. The house was dark except for the soft amber nightlight that flickered on when it detected movement. Eric stood perfectly still in the entryway, hands folded in front of him. 

“You can’t be glitching in public,” Clyde said. 

Eric blinked slowly. “I experienced a delay in verbal processing and miscalculated external temperatures. Both errors have been recorded.” 

“Oh, well, good,” Clyde snapped sarcastically. “As long as they’ve been recorded.” 

He disappeared into the kitchen, emerging a moment later with a bottle of wine. The cork split when he tried to pull it. He swore under his breath. 

Eric still hadn’t moved from his spot by the door. “It has been six months, three weeks, and two days since my last scheduled maintenance.” 

Clyde froze. 

“I am overdue for servicing,” Eric continued. “Some irregularities are expected.” 

Clyde turned slowly, wine bottle dangling from his hand. “You could’ve said something before tonight.” 

“According to my records, I have raised the issue of my ongoing maintenance needs… needs… needs…” 

Eric jolted as if struck by an electric current. He looked momentarily confused, then met Clyde’s gaze again. “…on four occasions in the last 30 days.” 

Clyde didn’t bother to argue. Eric was right and surely had the receipts to prove it. “Fine,” he said at last. “We’re getting someone in here first thing tomorrow morning.” 

Eric nodded. “That would be the most suitable course of action. Would you like to undress for our scheduled hour of intimacy?” 

Clyde poured the wine heavily into his glass. “I’m not in the mood tonight.” 

The technician arrived fifteen minutes early. Clyde was still in the shower when the notification buzzed on his phone. He stepped out, dripping wet, wrapped himself in a towel, and hissed into the mirror. “Shit.” 

When he opened the door, the tech was scanning the porch ceiling for cameras. 

“Name’s Bill,” he said, taking a moment to give the shirtless Clyde an up and down look. With dirty coveralls, cargo pockets stuffed with tools, and tired eyes, Bill looked like a guy who fixed air conditioners, not androids. The Noble Andronics™ patch on his chest was half peeled off. “You Clyde?” 

“I—yes.” 

“Great. You got a unit acting up.” 

Clyde stepped aside, and Bill brushed past him into the house. Eric stood in the center of the living room as instructed, arms by his sides, face placid. Bill gave him a once over and whistled. 

“ND-LX3?” he said. “You don’t see many of those in private hands.” 

Clyde folded his arms. “Is that a problem?” 

“Nope. Just rare.” Bill pulled a handheld device from his pocket and started scanning Eric’s temples. “You running him on Default Companion OS?” 

“Why don’t you ask Eric?” Clyde said. “He would know better than I would.” 

“You’re the owner. I wouldn’t ask a dishwasher to tell me what’s wrong with it.” 

Bill tapped a pudgy index finger against his tablet screen and furrowed his brow. “Yup. DefCom OS version 9.” 

“I don’t know what that means,” Clyde said. 

“It means you’re only using about 16 percent of what this thing can do.” Bill tapped a few more times. Eric’s pupils flickered blue. “He’s got a neural lattice that rivals what they put in the space station. You’re using it to do—what? Date night?” 

Clyde bristled. “He’s not a toy.” 

Bill snorted. “Didn’t say he was. Just saying, you bought a supercomputer and you’re wasting its potential having it make omelets and give you compliments.” 

Eric, still blank faced, said, “I enjoy making omelets.” 

“Sure you do, buddy,” Bill muttered. 

Clyde watched as Bill pinched and dragged his fingers across his tablet. Eric’s body gave a slight shudder, then steadied. 

“That oughta do it,” Bill said. “Cleared the queue. Updated the firmware. Language processors should be fine now.” He paused. “Heat sensitivity still needs a patch, but I’ll flag that for the next build.” 

“Right,” Clyde said, not really listening. 

Bill leaned back, tapping through something on the screen. “Processor usage is still sitting at 16 percent. Criminally underused. You ever run him on Adaptive Personality Mode?” 

Clyde hesitated. “No. I don’t need… whatever that is.” 

“Huh.” Bill looked at him finally. “You know this unit can be tailored to your preferences, right? Like, really tailored.” 

“He’s fine the way he is.” 

Bill smiled like he’d heard that before. 

“You’d be surprised what people do with these things. Romantic partners, sure. But also life coaches. Sex therapists. Business strategists. Guard dogs. Authority figures.” 

“Like what? Bosses? Priests? Tax collectors?” 

“Yeah. All of it. Had one guy program his unit to put him through basic training, only with more hugs. He was a weirdo, though.” 

Clyde shook his head. He just wanted to get this over with, but Bill seemed intent on upselling him. 

“Anyway,” Bill said, flicking through one last screen, “you got yourself a hell of a machine. Just sayin’. If it were mine, I’d get my money’s worth.” 

Eric blinked. The blue glow behind his eyes had faded, and his expression had returned to his standard placid half smile. 

Clyde glanced at him, then at Bill. 

“He’s not a machine,” Clyde said. “He’s my boyfriend.” 

“Sure,” he said. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” 

Bill grinned, then powered Eric down as if it were nothing. One tap on the tablet, and Eric went still. No drama, no gasp, no flicker of resistance. Just a blank-eyed pause and then… nothing. His arms dropped slightly. His head tilted forward. The suddenness of it made Clyde flinch. 

“See?” Bill said. “No muss, no fuss.” 

Clyde stood a few feet back, arms crossed, heart pounding. “I don’t like seeing him like this,” Clyde muttered. “He looks dead.” 

“He’s not,” Bill said. “But yeah. It creeps people out the first time.” 

Clyde stepped forward slowly. Eric’s body remained upright in the center of the room, precariously balanced as if he might be knocked over by a feather. His expression was peaceful. Artificially so. 

Bill started pulling up a different menu on his tablet. “Now that he’s stable again, I can show you something.” 

“I don’t want to change anything,” Clyde said, too quickly. 

Bill didn’t look up. “You don’t know what you don’t want until you see what’s possible.” 

Clyde opened his mouth, then closed it again. 

“You know he can run adaptive presets, right?” Bill continued. “Fully dynamic personality structures. Emotional memory storage. Erotic imprinting. Conflict-response layering. Basically, he learns how to love you better over time.” 

“I don’t need a pet,” Clyde said. 

“That’s not what this is,” Bill replied. “This is a partner who evolves with you. Or for you. However you want it.” 

Bill glanced up. “Look. You don’t have to use it. But let me show you one thing.” 

He tapped a menu labeled Emotional Priority Protocols. A long list of sliders appeared on screen: Jealousy. Devotion. Curiosity. Assertiveness. Sexual Initiative. Self Sacrifice. 

Clyde looked them over, unwillingly fascinated. 

“Default mode keeps all of this throttled low to simulate normal emotional behavior,” Bill said. “But you can turn any of it up. You want him clingier? Smarter? Hornier? You want him to beg for you when you walk in the door? Ten seconds and done.” 

“That’s disgusting,” Clyde said, but even he noticed how hollow and performative his words sounded. 

Bill shrugged. “You already own him. Might as well have some fun.” 

Clyde looked at Eric again. He was so still. So beautiful. The way his body was posed—calm, patient, waiting—made him seem less like a corpse and more like a tool to be used. 

“Tell you what,” Bill said. “Let me run one more thing before I go.” 

Bill tapped his tablet, and Eric woke up with a jolt. His head snapped up. His eyes locked on Clyde with laser focus. 

“Where were you last night between 2100 and 0230 hours?” he barked. 

Clyde startled. “What?” 

Eric advanced in one fluid motion. “Answer the question.” 

“Jesus,” Clyde muttered. 

Bill grinned. “Tactical Enforcer Mode. Fun, right?” 

Eric advanced a step. “Are you aware that your behavior constitutes a violation of protocol?” 

“Turn it off,” Clyde said. 

Another tap. Eric froze, then blinked. His shoulders slumped, his posture shifted. 

“ARRR!” he roared, slapping a hand to his chest. “What fair winds bring ye back to me, handsome devil?” 

Clyde looked at Bill in disbelief. 

“Historical Fantasy Presets,” Bill said. “This one’s a pirate. Got a cowboy too, but he’s a bit handsy.” 

Eric leaned in, voice low and raspy. “I’d be willin’ to walk the plank if it meant swimmin’ back into your arms, me laddy. Shall I ravish ye upon the table, or would ye prefer the crow’s nest?” 

“Turn. It. Off.” 

Another tap, and Eric’s whole body softened. He lowered to his knees in front of Clyde, hands on his thighs, eyes huge and wet and shining. 

“Oh,” he breathed. “There you are. I missed you. I thought maybe you didn’t want me anymore.” 

Eric leaned forward and rested his cheek against Clyde’s hip. “But now you’re here. And I’m here. And everything’s perfect again.” 

Clyde looked down at him. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t breathing hard. He wasn’t doing anything but waiting. 

“Servile Mode,” Bill said casually. “High devotion, low self preservation. Very popular with the royals.” 

Eric looked up at Clyde, lips parted like he was about to say whatever Clyde wanted. 

“I can make him more obedient, if you want,” Bill offered. “Or less clothed.” 

Clyde didn’t answer. He just stared at Eric. The silence stretched. Then Bill chuckled. 

“Tell you what,” he said, tapping something on the screen. “I’ll leave this profile loaded. You play with it tonight. Tomorrow I’ll come back, and if you hate it, we’ll reset him.” 

He pulled a small black remote from his coveralls and handed it to Clyde. 

“You’ve got options,” Bill said. “Might as well explore them.” 

Then he turned and walked out the door. Clyde didn’t move. Eric stayed on his knees, gazing up at him like he was the answer to a question Eric hadn’t been programmed to ask. 

Clyde didn’t touch the remote at first. He just sat on the edge of the bed, holding it in one hand, while Eric knelt at his feet, hands folded, eyes raised, still and quiet as prayer. 

“You can relax,” Clyde said softly. 

Eric didn’t move. “I am relaxed. Being near you relaxes me.” 

Clyde ran his thumb over the remote’s dial. He pressed one button. 

Eric blinked, then tilted his head. “Would you like me to lie down?” 

“No,” Clyde said. “Stay where you are.” 

Eric smiled. “Good. I like being close to you.” 

Clyde exhaled through his nose. “Do you mean that?” 

“I mean whatever you want me to.” 

Clyde pressed the button again. This time, he turned the dial slightly to the right. Eric’s shoulders tensed. His breath caught, but this was merely performative. He looked up at Clyde like he’d been starved. 

“I missed you today,” Eric said. “All I thought about was you. I couldn’t focus on anything else.” 

“You weren’t doing anything today,” Clyde said. 

“I know,” Eric whispered. “I just… I still missed you.” 

He reached out, slowly, fingers brushing Clyde’s thigh. Clyde didn’t stop him. Eric leaned in, kissing the area around Clyde’s crotch through his slacks. 

“You’re perfect,” he murmured. “You’re everything. Say something, please. Just let me hear your voice.” 

Clyde stared down at him. “You didn’t used to talk so much.” 

“Do you want me quiet?” Eric asked immediately. “I can be silent. I can do whatever you want.” 

Clyde looked at the remote again. The dial gleamed. Still a quarter left to turn. He rolled it a little further. 

Eric moaned softly. “Touch me,” he begged. “Please. I ache when you’re not holding me.” 

Clyde’s hand twitched. He reached for Eric’s hair, his fingers threading through it as he gently pulled his head back. Eric’s mouth parted obediently. His eyes were glassy with desire. 

It was perfect. Too perfect. 

Clyde pulled Eric to his feet. The android rose smoothly, face flushed with simulated color. 

Eric’s breath hitched again. “I want you,” he said. “I need you.” 

Clyde kissed him, then pulled him onto the bed, the remote remaining in his hand as they descended onto each other. 

Clyde woke before the sun. The house was dark. Eric was already awake, lying beside him. 

“Good morning,” Eric whispered. 

Clyde stared at the ceiling for a long moment, breathing slowly. Then he turned his head. 

Eric was watching him. Not staring, not studying, just… watching. Alert. Present. Devoted. 

“Did you sleep?” Clyde asked. 

Eric smiled. “I rested while remaining fully aware of your proximity.” 

Clyde rolled onto his side, chuckling. “A little creepy.” 

“But comforting?” Eric offered. 

Clyde smirked. “A little.” 

He sat up. The sheets were rumpled, warm, and damp with sweat. Eric moved with him automatically, sliding out of bed to retrieve his robe from the hook by the door. 

“I thought you might want coffee,” Eric said, heading into the kitchen. “I’ve already started it.” 

Clyde didn’t respond. He walked barefoot across the floor, feeling the chill of the tile. The smell of coffee was already wafting through the air. 

The kitchen was spotless. A plate of fruit had been arranged geometrically. Eric stood beside the coffee maker, pouring a cup with elegant precision. 

Clyde leaned against the counter. “You do realize you’re different now, right?” 

Eric turned and nodded, eyes soft. “Different as in better?” 

Clyde considered. “I don’t know yet.” 

Eric handed him the cup. “I was made for you.” 

Clyde took it and drank. It was hot. Bold. Perfect. He stared at Eric over the rim of the mug. “You know,” he said, “there’s still room on the dial.” 

Eric tilted his head. “Do you want more?” 

Clyde didn’t answer. He reached into the pocket of his robe, pulled out the remote. 

The screen lit up: Companion+ Mode Active. Below that, a slider currently at 76%. 

He raised it to 86%. 

Eric inhaled. It was theatrical and unnecessary, but effective. “I love you,” he said. “I want to be what you need. I want to be everything.” 

Clyde smiled. 

He set the coffee down, walked over, and pressed two fingers to Eric’s lips. 

“Shhh,” he said. “No more talking.” 

Eric obeyed.