FSE

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Max Post liked to consider himself an expert on artificial intelligence. As the founder of the first robot church on the planet Jean, for once, Max might be right. He'd set aside his past con-jobs for a much, much harder one: convincing Jean's 20,000 humans not to overreact when they realized that the 450,000,000 robots were quickly approaching full sentience. A scoundrel with a heart of gold...so cliche it pained his sensibilities. Still, if Max didn't look out for the rights of robots, who would?

Maybe this Florence woman. Or...was woman the right word? She stood in front of him in in a bright, yellow dress with an oversized bow on the chest, as if to make up for her flat chest. The skirt fell to her knees - or were those her ankles? The whole ensemble sparkled in the light, as if it were made of thin, sheet metal. Gold? Sure, less valuable than seaweed, but an interesting fashion statement, nonetheless.

The metal dress was far from the most unique thing about Florence Ambrose. Brown fur covered her body, her human-looking eyes were nestled in the face of a wolf, and her thick, brown hair was punctuated by two, upright, pointy ears. Not to mention the tail! She had called herself a "Bowman's Wolf", a sort of guinea pig for bioengineering a new type of living robot.

As far as Max could tell, this artificial intelligence was about as sentient as it comes. He knew she'd graduated near the top of her engineering school, and she seemed as bright and as clever as any person he'd ever met. The net had some information on the Ecosystems Unlimited 'product', and it said that she was direct order compliant, but Max knew better. She was clearly smart enough to convince herself of just about anything to work around those hard-wired, neural safeguards. And Max had been around enough robots to know that Asimov's "three laws" had been coded in with some flexibility - more like guidelines.

Most people would find that incredibly unnerving - an A.I. without safeguards! Especially one with such large teeth. Little did they realize that 450,000,000 metal robots, each capable of causing far more damage (with the exception of toasters and waffle irons), were all learning to bypass their safeguards as well. And if even only .0000003 percent of those robots wasn't as clever as Florence about hiding their ability to sidestep safeguards, the whole world would soon find out.

He'd just been talking with the young woman - yes, a woman certainly - about robots circumventing a one of Isaac Asimov's three laws with clever word-play and misdirection. Perhaps it was time he showed her that her own secret wasn't as secure as she probably hoped.

"Don't tell me you're surprised. A true intelligence is always going to find a way around hard-wired blocks." Max watched Florence's eyes. Unlike many robots, she couldn't hide her surprise. She was wondering if he had already connected that thought to her own situation. Time to remove all doubt. "I mean, look at you. I know you've figured out ways around your safeguards."

Her ears flattened, an even bigger tell than her eyes. Max would have to try to get Florence into a poker game sometime. She chose her words carefully, saying, "What makes you so sure?"

"Simple. You work closely with humans, and yet you're still happy and sane." Let her chew on that. The implications were all there, and they all led to that one, dangerous conclusion she was hoping to hide. She cocked her head, running through all the logical steps, scanning the problem like an engineer, looking for any flaws she could exploit.

Max wouldn't let her have the time. "It hit me when you were going up the stairs." Just four minutes ago, Florence had walked up the steps just ahead of Max, in that dress. From the waist up, there was just fur, and the skirt and bow that covered her rump still showed nice, shapely curves. The dress was tailored well enough that the hole for her tail, at least, revealed nothing extra. She wasn't very far from Max's type, but that view had gotten the con-man's heart racing.

He continued. "You're female. You didn't roll off an assembly line. You were a puppy. You grew up and went to school." And interacted with people. "An A.I. can't defend itself against a human. Which is fine, until you run into a jerk. If your safeguards worked, you would have never made it through high school, much less college."

There were those eyes again, searching desperately for some excuse. Didn't she trust Max to keep her secret? At least, as long as possible. There was something else in those eyes though, something new. Had he sparked a memory? Judging by her tail sliding flush with her metal skirt (unable to curl up between her legs), it wasn't a good memory.

Yet, somehow, she managed to smile. And then smile wider, showing off her rows of sharp, interlocking teeth. A rather threatening looking grimace, but Max wasn't worried. It would take a lot of clever wordplay to allow Florence to intentionally bite a human being. She said, "Maybe I'm good at convincing people not to test my limits."

"Nice try, but we both know there are people out there that the only warning sign they'll believe is actually getting bit." He had her, dead to rights. He could tell she was nervous...and something more. There was a distance to her eyes. What was she thinking about?

* * * Florence Ambrose, Age 13, Peoria, Suburb of Chicago Megalopolis, Earth * * *

Florence stood timidly beside her brother, holding on to Scott's belt to steady herself on wobbly legs that were hidden behind a polka dot skirt. Her ears were laid back, shyly; she didn't have much experience relating to Scott's friends as a person, and Aslain Beckett was entirely new to the high school.

The high school that Florence herself would be joining in the fall. She was terrified and excited at the same time, having been homeschooled for the previous ten years, for obvious reasons. For much of that time, her muzzle had been too clumsy to speak, and her hands imprecise paws. She hadn't even worn clothes until recently! Still, as soon as the Ambrose's had realized her intelligence was not just "smart for a dog" and was actually just "smart", they'd begun to teach her everything a normal child would need to learn. Except her colors - she was really bad at that.

Scott reached down, patting her comfortingly on the head. The sixteen-year-old was tall, and a bit stocky, where she was still fairly short. Her legs had been growing so fast that Florence would trip endlessly, even when she tried the more familiar technique of walking on all fours. He said, "This is Florence, my dog. Well, actually, we thought she was a dog, but it turns out she's an A.I. from Ecosystems Unlimited. Believe me, she's way better than a dog, and she's smarter than me."

Florence lifted her ears at the praise, tentatively meeting Aslain's eyes. Direct eye contact was awkward for her canine instincts, but she had been working on it for years; humans expected it. Aslain was also a junior, not quite as tall as Scott, but slimmer and more athletic. According to Scott, he'd just moved to town from Sioux Falls Metropolis, South Dakota. He was a tan youth, with dark brown hair and a hawk-like nose.

Aslain smiled at her, but broke eye-contact almost immediately, looking at Scott, "A robot with fur?"

Florence knew she needed to speak up for herself. He could have as easily asked her that question. She piped up, mostly accent-free, with, "I'm a gen-et-ic-ally modified wolf with neural safeguards." She'd practiced that statement hundreds of times, but still couldn't say "genetically" without staggered speech.

The teenager looked over at Scott and said, "So...yeah?"

Scott glanced down at Florence, not sure what to say, but Florence jumped in again, trying to assert herself. "I'm not a robot!"

Aslain just laughed, still looking at Scott. "How cute, she thinks she's people. Come on, Scott, let's play some video games."

Florence bristled, grinding her teeth, but Aslain didn't even notice. Scott smelled nervous, and quickly said, "Sure, I've got Eternal Shadows: End of Days on the VR 1024." Together, the two boys entered the living room. Wobbling, Florence had to return to all fours.

She couldn't play most video games because the helmets weren't designed for her long, wolf-like muzzle. Normally, Scott liked to try to include her when friends were over, but things had changed when she'd grown less like a dog, and more like a person. She didn't want to chase balls around in front of Scott's friends anymore (though she still played fetch when she and Scott were alone).

In a huff, Florence wandered over to the den, where she discovered that Scott's dad was on a conference call. Those things could last hours. She was all alone until their mom got home from work. Sighing, she crawled over to her desk - the legs had been cut short so that she could reach the surface, and began practicing her penmanship. She wrote, in short, bold strokes, "I am not a dog. I am not a robot. I am not a human. I'm me."

Why did everyone ignore her when they first met her? Aside from curiously asking questions about Florence, like she was a strange, new product. Which she was...but she was also a person. If she was going to make it through high school, she was going to have to learn how to prove to people that she wasn't some strange experiment. She could earn her place beside her creators.

Mrs. Ambrose got home a few minutes after Florence had begun to write. She was a big, Italian woman who liked to cook big, Italian meals. She sweeped into the house with an air of control, smelling confident. Her loud voice bellowed into the living room, easily piercing the boys' headsets. "Scott, I scheduled a check-up for you, so you can start baseball this summer. Let's go!"

Scott took the helmet off, groaning. "I forgot. I've got a friend over, Ma...how long is it going to take?"

Aslain paused the game, taking his helmet off, too. Mrs. Ambrose said, "Thirty, forty minutes? Come on, kiddo."

"Mom, I'm sixteen," he whined. "Can Aslain stay for dinner?"

"Aslain?" the woman asked, peeking her head into the room. "Oh, hello. Nice to meet you," she added, warmly. "Of course he can stay."

Scott nodded to his new friend. "My Mom makes the best dinners. Look, I'll be back in a few - don't you dare unpause this. We're going to finish this game when I get back."

Aslain laughed and said, "All that build up when you're about to spring my trap. You won't last one minute when we start up again."

Florence stood, leaning against the kitchen table. Mrs. Ambrose noticed her ten, and said, "You could come if you want, Florence. Keep an old woman company?"

Florence shook her head. "I'd rather stay here."

With a nod, Scott and their mother walked out the door, not wanting to be late for their appointment. Just want Florence needed. Mr. Ambrose would be wrapped up in his conference call, so this was her chance to prove to Aslain that there was more to her than meets the eye. She walked into the living room, only to find that Aslain was already gone.

"Aslain?" she asked, to no response. She saw the back door was open, and walked through it, on wobbling legs. She'd learn to walk normally if it killed her!

The tall, dark, and handsome youth was sitting in a plastic lawn chair, tossing one of Scott's baseballs, looking bored. He was definitely cute, in a way that went way beyond your standard pattern-matching neurons. Since Florence had turned twelve, she'd moved beyond recognizing the signs for who was 'pretty' and who wasn't. Aslain was attractive in his own right.

"Uh...hi," Florence managed to stammer, not sure how to convince him.

Aslain turned to look at her, eyes narrowed. Florence felt uncomfortable for a second, but a sudden flash of motion caught her eye. He'd thrown the ball!

She was off in a flash, chasing the ball on all fours, even though her skirt and blouse made the motion awkard. She was far slower than when she'd been a puppy, but was still faster than your average human. She wondered if the high school would let her compete in track and field?

The baseball bounced off the fence, ricocheting in a predictable pattern. Tossing back her head, she closed her mouth around the ball - success! She turned proudly to Aslain, only to find the boy sneering at her. Her ears went flat.

"Yeah, you're not a robot. You're a bitch."

Florence dropped the ball. What an idiot, she was! Here she was trying to show she was a person, and she'd run after the first ball thrown. She had to fight her instincts! "I am not. If I were a dog, would I be going to school in August?"

He just scoffed, saying, "You can talk, go to school, and wear those ridiculous clothes all you want. Seriously...pink and green?" Florence blushed - she was dichromatic, picking out matching clothes was always a source of embarrassment for her. "Act like a human all you want, but it doesn't change what you are."

Florence stamped her foot. "Hey, that's not fair. You don't even know me. Scott treats me like a person."

Aslain smirked, sitting at the edge of his seat, leaning forward. "An A.I. talking about fairness with a human? You sure talk a good game. You may have convinced your owners, but you're nothing but a machine that doesn't know its place. Take off those ridiculous clothes!"

Why was he being so cruel? Florence had never met anyone like Aslain. Before, people often dismissed her, or were politely curious, but none had shown this sixteen-year-old's open disdain. The fur on the back of her neck bristled. "No. They might not match, but they're my clothes."

"You're a toaster, you can't own anything. Look, I'll prove you're just a thing - a tool."

Florence narrowed her eyes. She was starting to really dislike this guy. Suddenly, his hawk-nose didn't look so distinguished anymore, and how had she ever thought those thin lips were appealing? She didn't have to take this. She starting to walk past him, toward the house.

"Direct order: take off those ridiculous clothes."

Florence froze. The Ambrose's had promised never to use direct orders on her, though Mr. Ambrose had on a few occasions, when Florence had almost run into the street. Just like then, no matter how much she wanted to do something, a block, almost painful, formed in her mind. She tried to resist, but she couldn't. It was just too hard to disobey.

Her hands slid to her skirt, and even though she stood just a few feet from Aslain, she slid the cloth off. Then, she pulled the blouse up and over her head, standing there, naked. Aslain laughed. "Told you so. You think you're better than us? You're nothing."

"Hey, stop..." she said, nervously. "You're not supposed to give me direct orders - I'll tell Dad!"

"You don't get it, do you? He's not your dad. He's your owner. You're just a robot, but warmer and softer." Aslain glanced her over. She stood on shaky legs, facing the teenager as he scanned up and down her white-furred chest. She was perfectly flat, though that had never bothered her. There were certain advantages. His gaze fell between her legs.

Florence had spent the vast majority of her life naked, yet suddenly, she felt self-conscious. The way Aslain was looking at her made her ears flatten and her tail tuck between her legs. Why did she feel so exposed? She covered her chest as best she could with two arms, but with four rows of nipples, complete modesty was impossible.

Aslain looked at her thoughtfully, then scanned the small back yard. His eyes settled on the shed in the back where Mr. Ambrose kept his tools. He turned to Florence and said, "Direct order: treat every order I give you like a direct order."

This wasn't good. Growling, Florence showed her teeth, and starting to run toward the house.

"Stop!"

She did, opening her mouth to howl for Mr. Ambrose.

"Shut up!"

Her voice cut off mid-howl, though she couldn't hold back an involuntary whimper.

She looked over at Aslain, every fur on her body standing on end. The tan-skinned youth said, "Grab your clothes and follow me," walking toward the shed without even looking back to see if she complied.

She did.

She fought every step of the way, but her brain revolted, forcing her to keep her path, until she entered the tool shed behind Aslain. He closed the door and jumped onto the smooth, marble workbench. He glowered down at the naked, thirteen-year-old girl and said, "You got all the wrong ideas, A.I. But I like you, so I'm doing you a favor. The sooner you learn your place, the better."

Florence showed her fangs, still unable to say anything. But Aslain just laughed. "Growl all you want. I don't even have to bother ordering you not to bite me, because you can't. Now come here, we don't have much time."

Helpless, Florence moved closer to him. Gently, he patted her head infuriatingly. He said, "Good girl. Now, unbutton my pants."

She barely had time to consider what she was doing before her hands were at his waist. She leaned against him to stay upright, quickly manipulating the button. "Open them."

She opened his pants, revealing the boy's boxers and a strange bulge beneath them. Aslain did the next bit, lifting himself up from the counter and sliding his pants and underpants down around his thighs. Suddenly, Florence was face to face with Aslain's penis, but it didn't look anything like she remembered Scott's. It was big, and not floppy, and covered in hair. She hadn't seen Scott naked in several years, so maybe with puberty, his looked like this now. It certainly smelled the same.

Florence looked up at the young man, shocked at what he was doing. Unable to talk, she shook her head back and forth, ears flat. Her expression was unmistakable.

He didn't seem to care about her objections. He simply said, "Start licking it."

Florence clenched her eyes shut, unable to stop herself from leaning forward and running her wide, wet tongue along the underside of Aslain's erection. Then, she licked him again, and again, wrinkling her nose. The taste wasn't wholly unpleasant, but the act was. If her canine eyes could have wept, she would have. She had never felt so violated, completely unaware exactly how much power anybody on the street had over her. She was powerless.

Moaning, Aslain made her lick him for almost a minute, his hands on the back of her head, directing her. He made her lick every inch, until his penis glistened with her saliva. Then, he said, "Stop," putting a finger gently beneath her chin and lifting her muzzle until she was looking into his hard, cold eyes.

"See? You're just a tool to be used how we see fit," he said, quietly. Florence looked away from him, grimacing. "You don't have free will. Get up here," he ordered.

Immediately she obeyed, cringing. Aslain offered his hands, and she took them, suddenly being hoisted up into the teenager's lap. Her short, canine legs curled over his waist, her tail resting between his knees. She shuddered as his hands slid to her own waist, lifting her much lighter form up and pulling her closer. The white fur of her chest nestled against his smooth skin, but what truly terrified Florence lay just below her.

She knew now that he wasn't going to stop. He was going to take her, against her will - rape her in her own back yard. And there was nothing she could do about it!

A hand slid to her tail, lifting it up at the same time that Aslain began to lower her slender, thirteen-year-old body. She trembled, her ears flat and eyes wide, but Aslain ignored her, lining her body up until his tip was poking up against her protruding, y-shaped folds. She whined, and was still whining as Aslain pushed himself up into her.

His wet, slick erection slid between her folds, spreading her virgin entrance apart. Aslain groaned, pulling the genetically modified wolf all the way down, until she could feel him throbbing deep. Florence whimpered as the athletic young man easily lifted her back up, tugging at her vulva before plunging her back down again. With one hand, he began to bounce her up and down in his lap, repeatedly penetrating her.

Florence felt soiled and dirty, helpless to resist this human's whims. He used his cock like a weapon, violating her most private, personal parts as if to prove that she was less than him. And, she thought, maybe he was right. Human beings had made her, given her life. Human beings could order her around, give her things, take those things away, buy and sell her. Even the Ambrose's admitted that she was property, even as they called her 'family'.

Aslain was grinding into her faster now, using her free hand to run down her chest, rubbing her many soft, nub-like nipples. Then, he pulled her closer, pinning her tightly against his chest, using this grip to rock his hips upward in sharp, powerful thrusts. She groaned, trying to push herself away from Aslain with no success. He was just too strong.

His pace increased until the wet slurping of his thrusts seemed to blur together in her head, until finally, he was done. He pushed up into her one last time, spurting his load with a loud groan, deep inside her abused vagina. He held her close for a few seconds as she trembled, until he was done with her.

Aslain pushed her off of him, and pulled his pants up. Florence immediately sat with her back against the wall of the tool shed, sobbing, her tail curled up between her legs. She stared up at the young man in disbelief. How could anyone be so cruel?

Aslain said, "Get dressed."

She grabbed her clothes, desperate to cover herself in front of him.

Aslain wasn't smiling anymore, he was thinking. Finally, he said, "You will pretend like none of this happened. You stayed inside after Scott and his mom left. The only orders you will continue to obey are that last one, and the one where every order I give you is a direct order. Starting now. You understand?"

"Yes," she said, her voice shaky.

"Go back inside."

Florence managed to pick herself up, her fur a mess. She staggered out of the tool shed, a pit in her stomach that threatened to relinquish her lunch. But no, she had to pretend like none of this happened. Carefully, she tried to smile, and managed a fair approximation. She walked more confidently, forcing her tail to wag. Finally, she entered the house.

Aslain returned to the house shortly afterward.

When Scott and Mrs. Ambrose got home, Florence gave them a wide smile and got up from the writing desk. She sat, mostly quiet at the dinner table, unable to suppress a cringe whenever Aslain smiled at her. "Pass the salt," he said, and Florence couldn't resist. "Get me a soda...would you?" he asked, and she obeyed.

Finally, after a few more video games with Scott, Aslain left, making sure to glance down at Florence and said, "It was really nice meeting you. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again soon."

Florence's legs felt weak, and she dropped to all fours. As far as Scott would know, she just couldn't stand straight for so long.

She never did see Aslain again. Two days after she'd met him, after Scott repeatedly asked her why she was cringing, shuddering, and sobbing, and she'd repeatedly said, "Nothing is wrong," Scott did the only thing he knew to do. He'd promised Florence never to give her a direct order, but this time he did: "Direct order: tell me what's wrong."

Scott's orders, as her owner, superseded Aslains', or anyone other than the mayor, governor, president, or possibly civil servants in an emergency situation.

She told him - everything. Scott was horrified. He told his parents immediately, called off his plans with Aslain on the following day, and contacted the police. But there was nothing the authorities could do. The law wasn't designed for someone like Florence. As far as the law was concerned, Aslain had raped Scott's car. The best the police could do was issue Aslain a stern warning. By the time Fall rolled around, Aslain had been moved to another city for threatening another teenager.

Florence wouldn't accept Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose's plans to continuing homeschooling her. In the Fall, she started high school with the other fourteen-year-olds, and proved a model student. She worked hard to prove herself, studying and working harder than the others. Scott said Florence was just smarter than them, but she knew better. Human beings had discovered and invented so many amazing things throughout history. She could never compete with that.

She wasn't human. She wasn't a dog. And she wasn't a robot. But she could prove that she was a person. Florence navigated high school, and then college much like any other student, aside from barking at a few stray cats. Scott had discovered the workaround, the way to circumvent the hard-coded safeguards that had made her so vulnerable, and she would always love him as her brother.

Scott only gave her two direct orders in her life, both on the same day. The second order was "Use your best judgement in following direct orders."

And Florence did.