Helena Seryma

Book ONE

1. Two Boxes 

An irritating ring woke me up from my deep sleep. I rolled onto my side with a grunt, grateful for the disruption. Shadows pressed on the room's only window. The red glow of the opposing building's massive neon lights pulsed like a throbbing heart.

 “You have a message from the building administrator,” said a generic female voice in my ears. I squeezed the bridge of my nose and blinked again to shake off the drowsiness. My interface's symbols appeared in my field of vision. I couldn't always tell the difference between the foreign voice from the brainwave connector and the incessant monologue of my thoughts. 

“What is it?”  I pushed the covers and brushed my tangled hair away from my face. 

“Good morning,” said the admin, an AI, the one running the entire security system of my apartment block. “I'm sorry to wake you in such an abrupt way. But I have two gentlemen with a special delivery requesting your permission.” I froze as I placed my foot on the cold tiles. 

“What delivery?” I frowned at a pile of dirty clothing waiting for my attention next to my closet. Did I order something lately? 

“They said they are from Sognare—” I scrambled out of bed and quickly retrieved my glasses from the nightstand. Sognare? I lost the second half of her sentence in the inner chaos flaring inside my head. My heart pounded, threatening to burst. My hands were shaking, a reminder that the void was just beyond the door. A door I intended to keep shut.  

“No, not now,” I said under my breath. “Breathe.” I tried to calm myself with deep breaths. Sognare? A slow build-up of excitement bubbled up my throat. At last. It was supposed to help me with my condition. Sognare promises to fulfill my wildest dreams. 

“Miss Kerry?” asked the AI with a fake hint of concern. I swallowed, clinging to that voice like a lifeline. I couldn’t help the smile that curled my lips. 

“Let them through.” 

***  

My sweaty hands clenched the knob, eager to get my long-awaited order. When I flung the door open, all happiness drained from my body. Wait a fucking, minute! I did a double take at the two cybots in blue uniforms who wheeled the carton boxes. They blocked the view of the rest of the corridor. On the side, the Sognare logo was printed in large letters. The cybots nodded at me; I just stared back, speechless. 

“Madame, sign here,” said one, taking out his led-pad. I looked up through my glasses at his blank faceplate. In this era, machines were something as common as breathing polluted air. As common as taking shots of caffeine instead of a mug of synthesized coffee. How much have we lost in the race to new shiny technology? How much are we willing to sacrifice? 

“Mm, this must be a mistake. I-I ordered only...one,” I whispered with zero conviction. The second machine stepped forward. I moved back in repulsion. He took it as permission to enter my apartment. With no effort, the cybot pulled the box inside, squeezing me on one side of the door while the other shoved the led-pad in my face. My mouth opened to protest, but I couldn't muster the courage to argue with them. I was the kind of person who preferred to curl up with a warm blanket, read, and avoid interacting with others. Yet, I refused to label myself as a loner. I wanted arms to hug, to talk to someone about the universe and world. I wanted that sense of awe I’d lost so long ago. 

“Madame, sign please,” repeated the imposing cybot. I frowned at the tiny text written in bright neon blue over the translucent material. Then back at the other cybot, pushing my precious blue couch into a corner to fit in the carton box. Wait, I was supposed to be ecstatic over this arrival, so why was I angry and confused? 

“Careful,” I shouted at the deliveryman when he bumped into the vintage coffee table. The guy paused and shrugged. The other one waited for my response while impatiently tapping his foot. 

“You have the wrong address,” I insisted and swapped my hand over my bracelet, scrolled through my emails, and pulled my order number. “Here, this is my order.” With one movement of the hand, the information appeared on the deliveryman’s device. He shook his head and then looked down at me. I pushed my glasses up. There was something cold about conversing with a cybot. The voice coming from that machine was flat and purposeful. The absence of a face gave me an uncanny feeling in the pit of my stomach. Somehow, we have lost all the smiles and warmth from waiters, bank tellers, nurses, and every client-based service. Today we must either communicate with an AI projection or attempt to engage with a cold robot.  

“If you have complaints, please contact Sognare's customer service. We are programmed to deliver goods. We've got the right address and the right order number.” With that, the second box joined the first one in the middle of my living room. I sighed in exasperation. 

“But I didn't order two—” 

“Madame, if you don't sign, I'll make you pay the penalty fees for my lateness on my next delivery,” threatened the cybot. I gasped at his audacity. How dare he! He leaned closer, making my pulse race. Sweat trickled along my spine; my hands balled into fists, wrinkling the front of my t-shirt. I hesitated but gave in when the second robot stepped to my left, cornering me. Talk about intimidation. 

“Don't come crying when I rate your service with one star.” My voice sounded weaker than I intended it to. I glared at him as I swapped my trembling hand over the device. It beeped, confirming the delivery. 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” they both said in a flat voice. They bowed and exited. I collapsed against the wall, feeling weak from the stress.  

“In what mess have I gotten myself into? Was it worthwhile to spend the money on a custom boyfriend?” I whispered. I frowned at the boxes taking over my personal space. Running a shaky hand through my messy bleached hair, I cursed under my breath. But it was done. They were here now. They? “I need to send one back!” I sighed, pushing my black-rimmed glasses up my nose. This had to be a mistake. I paced back and forth, trying hard not to knock into the low coffee table. I sighed again and then sank onto the edge of the couch with my head in both hands.  

“What am I going to do with the two? This is insane. Why did I order one to begin with?” It was Lyla's fault. She just had to move away with her new boyfriend to one moon of Saturn, of all places. I envied her. I've never thought of leaving everything behind. My routine, my beloved boredom. Our girls’ night out and my VR life were enough to keep loneliness at bay. As I watched her shuttle rocket into the night sky, I knew I had to act. 

I didn't want to be alone.  

I pushed to my feet and walked to the boxes. Maybe I should have chosen real dating. It would be easier. I waved at the dark clouds hanging over my head. A flash from the happiness program hit me full force. Positive thinking! Keep that door closed. Locked. 

“So hello,” I addressed the boxes as if I was expecting them to answer. I walked around my delivery twice, grimacing as I scanned each corner of the generic brown carton boxes. After minutes of hesitation, I crouched near one of them. 

“Which one should I open first?” I whispered, tapping my index on my chin. They both looked the same. I leaned to the one on the right. The box was about twice as tall as I was. It had a red cord poking out with a tag saying pull to open. On the side, in fat letters next to the logo, screamed FRAGILE, 

PLEASE HANDLE WITH CARE. 

“Lyla was right, the ideal man doesn’t exist.” I drummed my fingers over the surface of the box. My fingertips tingled from excitement. “What were you thinking, Liliane?” I whispered as I tackled the box. I've never owned a robot before. Actually, I can't really use the word robot since it meant everything from the fridge to my bracelet. It's tricky to use that word. What I ordered was an artificial, short for an artificial humanoid helper. Unlike the cybot, they are sophisticated—smarter. They offer a wide range of services. Mostly in caring for the elderly, security, space exploration, and for the last five years as mates. 

I pulled on the cord; it tore around the seams of the box. I slipped my fingers into the cutout handle to lift the cover. I fell back on my butt with a giggle escaping my lips. The content of the box was miles from what I was expecting. Wait! What was I actually expecting? Definitely not this sexy thing. 

My eyes roamed back to the inside of the glass pod, where a man rested, wearing only a pair of black boxers. He had a muscular body with a toned hairless chest and a beautifully sculpted six-pack. All in flawless tanned skin color. He was outrageously handsome; it was almost scary. I noticed tiny moles on his forehands forming a triangle. My eyes trailed to another one on his belly, they wandered lower, and my face instantly flushed. I averted my gaze. Did I just mention he was out of this world sexy? Hiding my smile with my hand, I shook my head to get rid of the blush creeping up my face. I’m definitely keeping this one. I couldn't believe the number of details they put into making him look this...real. 

“No! No! No Liliane! Since when were you this basic? You shouldn’t judge a man on his looks…alone.” I pressed both of my hands over my mouth. Who am I kidding? I leaned closer to the glass studying his face instead. He had short black hair that was nicely combed away from his brow, a square jaw, a delicate nose, and slightly parted lips. This couldn't be real!  The thought of having this man walking around my apartment made my mind spin out of control. I sagged against the glass cover for support and the name of the series appeared, along with other specifications. My eyes widened with surprise. My heart raced in my chest. 

“Model Helios 4. Supernatural theme: Werewolf,” I giggled as I read it. His name is DEMOS. I couldn't look away. I squealed and danced. Then I stopped to check if someone witnessed my crazy moment.  

“Oh, my god! Oh, my god!” I sang like a little girl on Christmas morning. I rushed to the other box and pulled the cord in haste. The box made a loud ripping sound as I carelessly tossed the cord to the side. Then pulled the cover while laughing like a lunatic. Once it was out of the way, my mouth hung open and all life slipped out of me. 

“No, fucking way.” In the second glass casket, a slim young man with pale skin and wavy brown curls surrounded a delicate face. Tiny freckles sprinkled on his cheeks and nose. He was quite the opposite of the tall one sleeping in the previous box. A different type of handsome. It finally dawned on me. I finally realized that I had to choose between keeping the tall tan sexy thing or the modellike beauty boyfriend. Still, they both were way out of my league. Those two were perfection made flesh, whereas I thought of myself as plain and uninteresting. 

“This definitely is a mistake,” I said, my voice a mere whisper. I placed my hand on the glass cover and just like the other; it displayed his series and other information on the surface. Model Helios 2. Fantasy theme: Elf. His name: GRANT. I couldn't help smiling at his pretty face. I don't remember telling Sognare that I wanted a werewolf and an elf as mates. 

“This is crazy.” The survey only had psychological questions, about what I liked and how I would react to certain events. I allowed them access to my brain wave connector, which provided additional data about my preferences. What I had in front of me was way out of proportion. I frowned at both boxes. What am I going to do now? I swapped my bracelet over Demos' pod and the logo of Sognare popped up in front of me. 

“Please read and agree to our terms and conditions,” said a generic male voice as a fat chunk of text appeared. I rushed through the first two paragraphs, was bored, and scrolled further. The safety warranty paragraph made me slow down. However, it was the usual stuff like don't misuse the unit or else it won't fall under the warranty card. Boring stuff. I scrolled again to the ‘I agree’ button. 

After clicking, a quick user guide explained I had to plug the pod into an E3 socket, switch them on, and then do a voice control verification. I knew the apartment supported E3 devices. It was in the contract when I moved in. I got up and went to the nearest wall to find it. Running my fingers along the surface, I followed the power line. After a couple of minutes, I found it near the fridge. I scratched my head a little annoyed when I saw only one socket.  

“Damn it,” I said. “Quick access utilities.” I hit my house logo on my bracelet. It listed all the appliances, different plugs, sockets, electricity grids, and networks. “E3 socket.” The search bar opened and a loading circle appeared. A second went by and the only socket flashed before my eyes. “Options,” I said and an options button popped up on the side. The name of my service provider came up. Caltel Energies. 

“Email Caltel Energies—Subject: options for a second E3 socket. Message: Can I get a second E3 socket installed for a Helios 2 pod in a Type 6 B apartment? How much will it cost for installation and how long will it take to install? Do I need a new energy subscription? Because I'll plug two Helios pods from the company Sognare. End message. Send.” The message folded in half and flew to the right. I sighed. This won't be cheap. 

“Call Sognare.” The tiny screen flashed the company's logo, and the call connected. 

“Hello, Sognare customer service. Making your every dream come true. How can I help you?” sang a jolly female voice. It caught me by surprise and I had to take a second to remember that I was angry. 

“Hi, there's a mistake with my order.” My gaze roamed back to the boxes. No way, I’m keeping both. 

“How so?” The woman stretched on the words, making her sound fake. 

“Well, I have two enormous boxes in my living room. Clearly, one of them isn't mine.” The woman took a second. Which one should I keep? Tall and muscular, or pretty boy with freckles? 

“What is your order number, please?” I swapped through my last messages and found the order I'd placed one year ago. It seemed so long that when the delivery arrived, I thought I was still dreaming. I clicked the icon on my bracelet and transferred the 16 digits order code to her. 

“Wait a minute while I process,” said the woman in a business tone. I sighed, turning back to my window overlooking the street, 30 floors below. It was still dark even at seven in the morning. The neon lights gave the lower building a strange red hue. My favorite Chinese restaurant stood on the other side of the road on the eleventh floor. My stomach groaned just thinking about it. I didn't have the best morning habits. I can eat about anything for breakfast. The extra kilos piling on my hips were a plain reminder. 

“Miss Kerry, I see no mistake here. I have your survey in front of me. You've ticked too many options to fit into one unit. Sognare will always fulfill your wildest dreams.” I gasped at her response. Was she crazy? I filled out that form about a year ago. How would I recall what options I've selected? 

“But I can't afford two—units,” I insisted, feeling uncomfortable calling my— future boyfriend a unit. I knew this was too good to be true when Timi, Lyla's new boyfriend, sent me the company's website. 

“You're to pay 200 credits for 74 months. That's already a discounted price for two Helios models. We can only extend your warranty as an apology. We, at Sognare never make mistakes. It is our strongest selling point,” smiled the voice, as if it was the best news ever. I remembered taking the longest payment plan; however, it was for one, not two of them. 

“Wait, I don't need more warranties. I can't keep both.” I hated AI phone services. Clever programmers designed them to confuse customers. They always fuck people up. 

“Everything seemed all right with your file. Sognare has a 0.001% chance of making a mistake in delivery. We are a five-star rated company with satisfied clients,” she went on. 

“But—” I was going nowhere with this senseless AI. 

“Did you inspect the product? Is it flawed?” Her question caught me off guard. 

“Mm, n-no I have not switched them on yet,” I murmured. 

“Sognare manufactures first-grade units. If you find any anomalies with your mates, please contact us again,” she added in haste. 

“What—?” 

“Have a good day.” She hung up before I could finish my sentence. 

“Hold on—!” I shouted at the projection in front of me. What a terrible service! I'll totally give them a one-star rating. Will my job as a lab technician be enough to afford this expensive eccentricity? I blinked at the clock on the far right of my field of vision. It said 7:34 AM. Shit, I'll be late for work. 

***

[Helios: UnitB0237/Logs 201: awaiting transfer. Body in reconstruction 60%]

I knew her before I saw her, touched her. I've watched her interview, it is my favorite feed. Actually, I watched it in loops to memorize her every gesture—her voice. 

She smiles at the camera and talks about lonely days when it rains. 

She likes to read, but she regrets that the books from her childhood have vanished and replaced with cold virtual ones. She longed for the smell of the yellowed pages. I've never experienced rain even though I've seen it depicted in cinematography and in various videos online. I don't understand what makes the rain sad. 

Liliane Kerry is sad… it's written all over her beautiful face. The way her lips dip and her tight smile fades. 

Sognare created me to love her, to bring back the spark in her eyes. I already love her.

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