On the drive back I had some quiet time. I wasn’t occupied with thoughts of how to kill Nanny Cunt or the boyfriend, so the computer circuits were buzzing with what passed for thoughts about my biggest problem. That problem being power of course. How to get it and how to conserve it.
I stopped for gas near Capitol City. I had a need to add to my cooling system, so I went inside. I don’t usually do that. While I was in there I saw a small tire pump hanging on a hook. One end of the wire plugged into the accessory outlet, what used to be called the cigarette lighter. It powered the pump which could be used in an emergency to inflate a flat tire. The example was to pump it up so that one didn’t have to change the tire on a some dark lonely road. If it weren’t for the power problem, I would never have noticed the pump. I could simply buy something like it and cut off the appliance. I could put an end on it which would accept one of my charging devices. My intake was under one of the round bullet scars I had from the old body. My purse contained the various adapters which I needed to use for about any power source.
Back on the road, I decided that I had been told about the power accessory outlet on a car I had just been so intrigued with the free electron charging that I hadn’t paid enough attention to the other methods. I hadn’t considered that I would be on the road that much or that I would be hiding out in a house without power. I had thought about being caught in a jungle or rain forest somewhere for days, In which case the solar array jacket would be important and I would be operating like someone who hadn’t had enough sleep. I would be on maximum power conservation mode. The vehicle charging was a huge discovery hidden in my memory bank. I still couldn’t sit across for a school for a half hour without being noticed, but there were plenty of deserted parking lots around, since so many businesses had closed.
I arrived home at first light. I hadn’t bought the adapter end for the car, so I went home to rest, as I thought of the recharging. The more I used terms from my old life the more I felt in touch with it. Since I had all day, I ran TV shows for the last few days. Mostly it was fictional drama but some news shows crossed my mind as well. There were bits of information in even fictional dramas that tended to be of value once the rest of the crap was sifted out.
News shows were more of a bore, since someone’s pig winning best in show, was of no interest to me at all. What was happening in the Arab spring was only of minor interest, but I did store the information since it might be of interest at a later date.
I sent a message to the duty controller at the farm. I asked him/her to check on the status of Nanny Slut’s BF for me. I could have done it and the controller knew it, but I would have had to search all kind of things. Things which I wasn’t familiar with. They could task a random search on a computer dedicated to such things. Things like Medical Examiner’s reports. When something came up concerning that particular murdering prick, they would know it. If it were alerted to forward me a message, the computer called BART would do that as well.
Bart’s access was absolutely restricted to the people at the farm who approved requests. They claimed it was so that he wouldn’t get bogged down in minutiae. I was surprised, when I got an approval for the search without having to beg or promise the operator a blow job.
Speaking of which, my circuits were running super fast and producing a lot of heat. They had been since I saw the light in the sky over the campground. I was sure there was no computer adrenaline surges, but I wondered if there wasn’t something like it. I felt a familiar sensation surging through my circuits. Damn it, as impossible as it sounded I was horny.
“Just like with the sense of taste and smell I had receptors built into the channel which discharged the coffee and foods I pretended to eat. Those receptors were there to tell me when I was finished and even what was happening, so that I could control the valves and relays. As I remembered how it felt to masturbate, I began to rub that opening as if it were my vulva. I was just pretending of course/
Equally shocking was that by mixing memory and those sensations the circuits which replaced my brain became warm. Usually it was of concern when my circuits heated up, but I had no desire to stop it. Actually I had a desire to continue, which I did. If what I was doing burned something up, fuck it, I thought. I needed something and I was pretty sure I was headed for it. Without warning stored memories from my old life flashed through my active circuits and I began to respond just as I had with the old body. Things that passed for muscles began to clinch and I began to store energy somewhere without knowing why. Then all of a sudden that stored up energy released itself in what can only be described as an orgasmic rush. It was the same feeling I had when I had danced with the man earlier.
I found that I could orgasm, I had expected to only be able to please men in order to manipulate them. That was one of the things they explained to me at the farm. I was the perfect candidate because I had always been willing to use sex as a weapon. To me it was just like any other weapon. They didn’t factor in that I just liked screwing as well as the guys I used had.
Since I didn’t have a birth canal aka pussy, I was taking it up the ass so to speak all the time. That being the case, I needed about two minutes before I had sex to empty everything. It was just to be sure I didn’t get lost in the feeling while doing it and discharge the pretzels and beer at an inappropriate moment.
I was finding out things about the new me all the time. I expected that the controllers were as well. I could see them sitting in their dark room responding to me as if they were watching a porno movie. I had visited their control room and they had something called Response Interpolation Algorithms. In other words they could build a picture to see what I saw but also to show me as I was relating to the things around me. It was some kind of weird shit like super techno Gwen and Mike with their camera following me thing.
It was noon before I was ‘rested’ and recovered from the computer version of an orgasm. One thing I realized from the big C.O. was that I could have sex, but not long slow loving sex. A guy in the back of a car, or something like it, might not know where exactly where he was sticking his prick. However in a bed, in the light of day, a guy would surely realize that I only had one hole. That would not be a good thing.
As I thought all this, the controller knew it instantly. I could actually converse with him/her about it. The problem was they were nerds and not really up to speed about what was happening with me. The creator might have expected all this, or maybe it was new to him/her as well. Anyway fuck it, I thought. It was time to start living again.
I walked over to the Drugstore Condo to check on the basement clubhouse. There were two old men working. They were both obviously reformed winos.
“How goes it guys, I’m Maxine Stone,” I said.
“We know who you are Maxine,” the white one said. “We was told you would be around hovering over us.”
“Gee you make that sound like a bad thing. I have been known to hold a board or swing a hammer,” I replied.
“Yes Ma’am, he don’t mean nothing,” the black man with the even more ravished body said. “Any time you wants to help, you just come on over.”
“Well today I’m just looking. I have to get a move on. Things to do and people to screw,” I said smiling.
“Heard that,” the white guy said.
I assessed what they had done while we spoke. I played it back when I was standing in the rear foyer. The floor had been leveled by putting down a kind of gray stone used on patios. If the cops wanted to check for previous blood, they would have to tear it up and even then they wouldn’t find any.
The old brick walls had been pressure washed, and then coated with something shiny. Probably polyurethane of some kind to seal them from the dirt and moisture. The over head had been painted dead black not to hide but just to subdue the pipes and wires. All that had been accomplished in just two weeks. I was suitably impressed.
The two guys in there at that time were finish carpenters without doubt. They were building cabinets and the bar. I was sure that the decorator had been told to design with things ‘HLF’ could build by hand. Unlike any other business in the country, ‘HLF’ was charged with using as much labor as possible in their builds. The labor was cheap, but it also gave the recovering addicts and drunks something to do with their time. That was just as important as any other part of their recovery. It also put a few bucks in their pocket to spend. There reverend felt that men who earned a living felt a sense of worth, which a man drawing a subsidy check didn’t. That sense of value helped keep them out of the bars and crack houses.There was a lesson there somewhere for the world in general, but I didn’t try to work it out.
“So what evil thing have you been up to,” Jen asked over the ‘smarter than smart’ phone I carried.
“Went to the mountains to see the leaves. I was told they are beautiful this year.” I said.
“Sweetie the leaves are mostly gone now,” she said humorously.
“I know. I was obviously misinformed,” I said. “So whats up shyster skank?”
“Kate called me. You do remember Kate the chubby real estate whore?” Jen asked.
“Yes, you two seen to gave gotten as thick as thieves while I was in the hospital, ” I said it with a laugh.
“Well yeah, but realty whore couldn’t reach you and she was worried.” Jen said.
“I left the phone at home, while I was in the mountains,” I said. If the cops traced my phone, it never left home. “So what does our little realty slut want anyway?”
“Have you ever heard of the Heartland Hosiery Mill?” she asked.
“Sure they made socks for a long time here,” I replied.
“Oh yes they actually made cotton muslin for years, before they converted to socks in the forties.” Jen informed me.
“Okay, so now they are belly up and all that is southern textile history,” I replied.
“Yes it is. The mill is for sale and of course no one is buying. The old man died and the kids really want to dump it all.” she said.
“Jen, I do not want a cotton mill,” I said laughing.
“I figured that, but this time the kids are wanting to sell the mill village as well. They are willing to sell it separately.” she said.
“What are we talking about here?” I asked.
“They are willing to parcel out the houses. They have over a hundred in pretty poor shape. Most have been empty for years and are going to need a lot of work.” Jen admitted. “The old man did keep them weather sealed just in case king cotton made a comeback.”
“A hundred houses renovated would take all the money I have and then some. I am not borrowing money to gamble with. I don’t need it.” I said.
“But you do need to do something to stay busy and you need to move that money around and do some good. Sweetie it’s what I love about you. You are a closet do gooder,” she said.
“Well this is too big a project for me.” I said.
“Do you even know how much money you have?” Jen asked.
“Something over a million bucks I know. I also know that project will cost all of that and more,” I replied. It was all a guess I would have admitted if asked.
“You have almost two million sweetie and I can arrange this for you and those kids to all come out ahead.
“This I got to hear,” I said.