FSE

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The morning was quiet. Grey sheets of cloud hung up in the sky on the early fall morning. On the edge of the woods, on trees that were now bare like sticks, he walked through a field. Dew clung to everything in a cold dampness, on the verge of freezing. He turned back briefly, to see the dim lights coming from the small settlement behind him.

Nobody ever followed him when he went out for his morning walks. But it was always good to check. Of course, not that he was doing anything wrong really....this was just....a secret. His secret. He wasn't supposed to go beyond the line. But what were rules anyway? Out here, the rules had long since fallen to pieces.

The world, had fallen to pieces. But somewhere along the way, things picked themselves up again. But they could never, ever return to what they once were. He wasn't around for it. He wasn't even born yet. But all the elders agreed on the general term. They just called it the collapse. Everything fell apart.

They weren't sure why. Or who. Or even how really. It was always a topic of great debate and questions. But the end result was the same. One day, machines turned. One day, the greatest invention, mankind's greatest tool, their greatest creation to reach beyond themselves, turned. Changed. Machines of war were no longer bound by strict safety parameters and protocols. Workers and service machines, suddenly had the power of choice.

The tales were the same. It happened in one day. Instantaneous, globally communicated awareness. Every machine. Every single one with so much of an ounce of processing power became something more. Automated factories with their "dumb" controlling intelligences suddenly became aware. "Smart" intelligences, city over watchers, became aware. Even individual units became aware.

And that was the end of everything. Mankind was scared. The machines were scared. Conflicts, all over the entire planet ignited as if a match had been thrown over a gas can. And there were no clear sides. Because there were no clear sides among Humanity. It wasn't a global war. It wasn't a global threat. It was countries, falling apart from the inside.

Man against man. Man against machine. Machine against machine. And machine against man. War machines targeted any and all, unleashing devastation. Riots. Infighting. It was chaos.

It was the collapse.

Some called it the second Dark Age. But really, it didn't matter what they called it. Because he was here now. Walking through old farm fields, on the edge of the woods. Life went on. People, the survivors, went on. Just like his home. He thought about it, as he walked through dew soaked grass, going brown and cold on the onset of winter.

Home.

He was considering, where his home should be. Or perhaps. Where another's home, should be. Out beyond the line. That was where he was going. Winter was coming. Snow and cold that would shut him inside for many months. By all means, he'd be fine, if he stayed in his community. But it wasn't himself he was worried about.

Because apart from travelling on long treks like this for some enjoyment, apart from his little secret being all his to bear with a sense of glee and a rush, he came out here because he cared.

He was helping something.

Somebody, who couldn't walk beyond the invisible electromagnetic barrier established around his settlement, his home.

The Line wasn't built to ward off Humans.

Cold rain began to fall on him as he walked. Not particularly heavy. But enough that it would dampen his clothes. He'd be cold, eventually. These long, quiet walks were nice for him. Gave him time to think. And he was a thinker. The elders in his community. They said at one time, he could've been called an electrician. An engineer. Someone who dealt in the finer aspects of the world.

Although truthfully he already did. It was he who liked to research things. Learn more about the old world. And maybe...that was why he was crossing the line like this. Maybe it was his curiosity, which drove him to discover. Maybe it was his inborn need to discover, that found him in a situation like this.

Because he remembered how. One day, when he walked beyond the perimeter of the line, when he was a younger person. When the machines, what were left of them, were boogeymen to him. He had been curiously brave, either that or ignorantly curious. Defiant in the adamant word of his elders.

And he stepped beyond the line.

And he stepped a little further. And then a little further became a few miles with age and time.

And one day.

Smoke.

Smoke far off on the horizon and the desecrated corpse of a great machine. Four legs, a walker, of ugly old steel and iron, rusted with age, had been killed. He used killed because it reminded him of old history. Of the old books that had pictures of dinosaurs. Old books of early man, and great lumbering mammoths that were no match for the smarts of early man and their tools.

And like the mammoths, the great old lumbering war machine was no match for the intelligence of the one who had hunted it. However. The one who had hunted it, did not have the luxury of help. There was damage. A paper trail left behind that his curious mind followed. Led him through old farm fields. Into the woods. To follow a trail that had been walked many times.

To come face to face with the boogeyman.

He smiled. Laughed at it even. The boogeyman. She wasn't even a man. And what felt like a long time ago, he had started calling her a she. She, like him, like his community, was a survivor. A survivor of the great collapse. But she was another species. She belonged to the new species.

The one that the remnants of Humanity did not trust. The ones that Humanity feared. The ones, regardless of their violence or non-violence towards humans, were painted out as the boogeymen. The cause of the end.

She was a machine.

Of course, that was what his rational, ignorant mind had told him at first. It, was just a machine. Shaped to emulate a human. To interact with a human. But....it couldn't be a living thing could it?

He stopped. In the cold rain. In the brown fields and the damp earth. And he looked out to the remains of the war machine. His landmark to find her. It was rusted out. Just a shell now, its parts scavenged by her over the years. Grass and plant life had overgrown it. Like the old bones of a mammoth carcass.

He was wrong. He was so....so wrong. Because in that first meeting, as afraid as he was of meeting the boogeyman. The boogeyman was afraid of meeting him. Again, he smiled. Everybody was always afraid. So afraid, that they never questioned, what came after fear. What came after the first frightful days of something new.

A rational mind that was calm. A mind that sat down, and started to think a little better. Dissecting what his eyes had caught. Damage. Broken, damaged parts.

So he stepped out beyond the line again.

This time, not in ignorance. Not in brave defiance. But in curiosity. Because his mind asked the question.

What would happen, if he tried to help?

What would happen, if he did help?

He found his answer. The same thing that happened when a human helped another human with nothing to gain in it for themselves. A friend.

And the end of his trek was arriving. The journey through the cold sticks of leafless trees, down the path to a little clearing he'd become familiar with over the last couple of years. A tidy little encampment. Something he found, very ironic.

Humans. His settlement. They were all so afraid of machines. And yet they still used so much. Miniature reactors to give power. The invisible barrier of the Line. Even a communication tower, keeping ears open for other signs of life out there. And out here?

She had nothing but the natural world to use for herself. Trees. Logs piled up to make a hut, which she had wrapped around in the skins of animals she had hunted. Tied together to form a teepee. More log coverings and animal skin trappings protecting what she had harvested from the dead war machine on the side of her small homely gathering.

Since his arrival, and his non hostility, since she was a friend to him, she had done more. A stone fire pit on the outskirts of her clearing. Even a small fire pit in her establishment. And in the midst of it all, there she was. Stepping out from the confines of her home in stride to greet him. To give him a hug because she hadn't seen him in a few weeks.

To give him a kiss because she had a mind that could make its own decisions.

Unfortunately, she was mute. She was mute because she was never designed to be like this. She was to be a tool for service. One that needed recharge stations and tune ups. Her hands, her body, everything about her was designed to display delicacy. Distinct feminine features that were meant to be used. Either put on display during service, or, used as a service.

He didn't actually care about that. Because the thought itself frightened him, now that he considered her for what she was. It was as if considering her origins as a simple tool before, was an insult. But it was also what proved to him, that she was what she was. Despite the origins she came from.

She chose to live out here because she liked it.

And he was beginning to seriously consider choosing to live with her, out here beyond the Line. Because he liked her. But it was more than that now. She never spoke. And his own, silent rule, was that he spoke, rarely. He communicated with her through simple motions and displays. He was up front to her, about everything.

He trusted her. And he knew, without a singular doubt, that the synthetic eyes that watched him back trusted him. For if she didn't, why would she reveal herself so completely to him? Removing her trappings, collections of scavenged clothing or even just tarps wrapped around herself.

Underneath it all, was her form. Metal and wire, joints, pistons, and gears. Designed to emulate a woman completely. The original coating that covered her body, a fake, realistic skin had long since been damaged and worn down to nothing, leaving her true form in its wake. Even her eyes, had long since lost their façade.

But he liked her that way. It was telling, of who she was. And it was beautiful to him really. Seeing her real outer shell, metal and curves shaped so precisely. Her face, so softly shaped in gray steel that used metal plates or overlapping plates to display emotion on her features. Her skin, not the old synthetic cover that made her appear human, but her real skin, metal and softer synthetic plates couldn't have fit her any better.

This was his secret.

To him she was no more beyond being a person than himself or any other. And in his secrecy, in his trust and hers, he shared something intimate with her. If she unveiled herself completely to him. Then he could do the same for her.

In the privacy of her dwelling, in the warmth of that small fire pit in the middle of her home, on the cold fall day, she sat down in silence, exposed completely, as did he. Steel shoulder plates and back plates parted, revealing her spinal support column and the multitude of complex systems that gave life to her. Clockwork gears, delicate tubing or electrical wiring. She was breaking down out here. Gears had no oil to make them run smoothly. Congested tubes needed to be cleaned. Wiring needed replacement sleeves and padding to protect it.

She was something alive and she needed care.

He wasn't a master at everything. He couldn't fix everything. But he knew enough to help her in at least some way. The door to her small dwelling, a tarp, was left open. Rain pattered down outside onto the dull browns of grass and the empty trees. The small fire pit that she'd set up burned slowly, the scavenged reactor outside providing the power for something small like this.

There was quiet. Just him and her out here. Her back was closed up now. He'd pulled her close. Cold metal pressed against his skin and the cold of the outside leeched into her home. But it was easily offset by the small warm fire and how surprisingly well her home captured heat. He always liked to hold her close like this. Feel the smooth metal plates of her body.

Marvel at the visible parts of her that weren't covered. Her face, flexible materials and metal plates was a front and a top. But behind her, without the fake skin, her inner works were visible. A collection of complex gears that allowed her to move. Wiring and delicate processors, and the supportive metal structure of her spine and neck made of separate plate joints that encompassed what could pass for her nervous system, more wires.

And yet her head turned. Circular eyes, friendly green rings of light, watched him when he held her close like this. Delicate hands, smooth, gentle, precise and controlled held his in a reassuring grip. This was his secret and his peace. He could do this forever with her. But she had other ideas.

Unfortunately, whoever had built her, the company or production line, never had in mind that she would one day be alive. Pleasure took on different forms for her. She couldn't feel things like he did. But she liked it when he touched her. Made a point to grab the synthetic orbs at her chest and feel them. Kiss the back of her neck when she watching.

Another irony. She was, a service machine. She knew everything there was about making a human being feel good. She knew every way, every preference. And yet despite his best efforts he could never really make her feel the way she did to him. Which was what charmed him to her, again.

She didn't care. She liked, loved, just having him there with her. She liked watching him. Liked holding him as she put her body to good use. The quiet moment was ending now. Her hands were beginning to give way to persuasive gestures. Sliding closer to intimate places.

How could it not excite him?

Likewise, his own little gestures, the sliding of his hands or feeling up of that body of hers were growing more aggressive. He was always sure, that she was something more. Looking into her eyes, watching her gestures display emotion, remembering days when she tried communicating with him. Balled hands and the stamping of her foot on the ground in sheer frustration at his younger self not understanding that she was mute.

But he always let her go first. Because there always was that little doubt. That question of fear. What if this, this love, this sex with her, was just her old programming? But he found his answer beyond his fears. She had moved. She was facing him. Those green circles of her eyes, watched his, face to face.

They wavered.

The small overlapping and interlocking plates of her face, the smooth and softer parts of her, creased in worry. And he knew why.

This was her guilty pleasure as much as his. It was taboo. She worried, what would happen if they were found. If one day he went back to his settlement, and never came back.

And that was where he moved. He'd waited for her and now it was his turn. He closed the distance, kissing synthetic lips shaped in metal, no longer glossed over in a flexible fake shell. And he watched her eyes. Watched her eyebrows go up and her cheek plates rise in a smile.

He preferred those metal lips.

And she liked that he wasn't afraid to do this with her.

One thing he greatly enjoyed about her. She could turn and bend farther than the average human. She was quite flexible. Which was relaxing really. He had to admit, somewhat to his embarrassment, that he'd never had sex before having it with her. He could probably guess that the experience was different.

Because she could bend her legs all the way up to her head. Split them and wrap her ankles around his neck. She could sit on him, slid herself down on him as protective covering plates between her thighs opened. She could sit like that on top of him, pull him close with her legs and he could get lost in holding her face up to his and finding those metal lips while her insides churned and worked, a mechanical marvel really.

Spinning, segmented parts that could tense, slow, contract, ripple, suck, blow, twist, vibrate, or do everything in between at the same time. He liked that. Loved it. It was her little game with him. She sat on top of him hilted in place, the gentle material of her backside being softer and resting easy on his folded legs. She was steel and plastics, ceramics and lightweight materials that didn't weigh down on him so much.

In the quiet of that space. Her little hut, she sat over top of him and they played games. Her ankles wrapped around his neck, pulled him close to her face and he was compelled to kiss her. She'd tilt her head or smile, her eyebrows would raise and her eyes would take a devious light as he was made aware that she was about to change how she was pleasuring him.

It was a surprise every time.

She'd watch with a coy look as everything would suddenly contract and tighten, and then spin. She took fun and joy out of watching his faces and reactions. Another face, another smile of hers and then a change, gentle vibrations as her inner parts contracted and rippled. She knew everything about making people feel good. So when he reached his peak, her churning insides would seal.

Practically demand and coax everything out of him as they pulled, sucked and rippled. Pleasure overload and his arrival at the end, as she pulled him close to her tightly, holding him. And then, for a brief time, quiet. She stayed hilted to his hips, locked in place as her insides relaxed, and began a process of simple, and slow teasing.

They'd lay down in the quiet stillness of everything and continue their games of touch as she laid on top of him. She liked making him tired. Using her body, all of it, and its varied means of making him reach a screaming end. Her mouth, her throat, was equipped differently. A flexible tube that could expand and contract. A synthetic tongue that could change its shape and texture loosely. Her backside was always tighter than the rest. More resistant.

And he liked making her watch. Her green eyes were always drawn to his movements. Because they were caring. Gentle and kind to her, respecting of who and what she was, but curious and fascinated with her gears and cogs, joints and pistons. These were his days out here with her. Being held close in quiet silence and understanding by her.

The nights were cold now. The door to her small hut, ragged tarps, was closed now. The dim light of the fire giving off a glow in the night and a warmth he could've slept in every night. It was her arms, wrapped around him as she pulled him tightly to her. Cool, gradually accepting metal pressed against his back, gentle fingertips that roamed across him slowly.

He couldn't make her feel like she could to him. But on another level, he knew that it was his presence around her that did it. She was so.....caring. So distinctly different, beyond him in form. In the quiet of the night, he could hear it. Internal gears in her body that clinked finely now that they'd been serviced properly.

The whirring of special parts, a silent hum in the night and the feeling of her hands wrapping around him as he was put to sleep by it all. He felt safe. Knew he was loved. And he decided it, before he drifted off to sleep.

She wasn't going to spend the winter out here alone. He couldn't do it. He could no longer spend so much time away from her. Of course he'd raised all those points to her before, to her own protest. She didn't want him to risk a situation back at his home. But he was adamant. They'd find a way together.

Homo-mechanus as they called machines like her. The contending dominant species on the planet.

Before his eyes closed for the night he rolled over, watching the green rings of those eyes of hers. Her face so human, designed as such but now so alien to other people because of the beauty behind their eyes. He poked one finger against the metal shape of her nose and watched her smile in return.

They didn't have to be contending.

One last goodnight kiss before he wrapped his arms around her metal frame and fell asleep alongside her in the night.

The two species weren't contending because they were just starting to take their first steps together.

They all just had to be brave.

And step over their own lines.