Much More than a Trim

Hydraulics squealed as the lift brought the gleaming tube car up to street level. It was a new model, an import; the kind of personal vehicle that only the upper class could afford. It's bright blue metallic paint and brilliant white marker lights stood out against its new surroundings as the platform it rested on rotated, aligning with the sidewalk. The door opened silently, driven by hidden motors, and a pair of black open-toed heels descended to meet the textured surface below.

This part of the city was older, but nicely updated in the current style. Once left to the workers of the lower classes, it was now resurgent, a neighborhood experiencing an influx of younger, more wealthy residents. Amid the bustle, the buildings shimmered in bright daylight, most of them built with a polished piano-black material and covered with glowing strips of low-energy lighting, bright enough that they overpowered the direct sunlight with neon blues, greens, and oranges. Everything was sharp corners, geometric shapes, and set with such machine perfection that no seams could be seen in any of the architecture. Even the sidewalk itself was immaculate, but grooved to prevent pedestrians from slipping.

Chanda Komassa stood to her full height, squinting as her contacts darkened over her olive eyes, adjusting from the dim of the vacuum tunnel to the full-on light of day. She sighed, mostly out of relief. It had been too long since she'd visited this sector of New Francisco, and more importantly, too long since she had gotten a haircut. Chanda could feel her sweat soaking into the heavy synthetic fabric of her restrictive business suit already, and her wavy dirty-blonde hair clung to her sticky neck. It was down to her mid-back now, and in the searing 100º F heat, she longed for a shorter style that would allow for some airflow.

The businesswoman had been away for some time, laying out new contracts in China and Kenya. She was only in her late 20s, which meant her firm kept her busy with travel and other tasks that the older employees were unwilling to complete. Instead they sent the new girl a message and she got it done, whatever it was. Not that Chanda minded at all; she was driven, motivated to become the CEO of the company. No one doubted that one day, once the current leadership retired, she would.

Small street pods moved by silently, carrying the residents of the area to work or maybe to lunch. Chanda watched them, envying their climate-controlled interiors, but resigned to walk to the salon. Even in the dense humidity, it was only two blocks. She could use the exercise, and the sun. Her naturally darker complexion kept her from turning the pasty-white of someone who stayed indoors most days, but she had noticed that she was looking paler than she liked. As she walked, a group of young teenage girls, dressed in the same precise style that informed the architecture around them, parted to allow her pass. The intricate makeup on their faces shifted as they smiled and then giggled to themselves. Chanda smiled back unconsciously, years of business training telling her that it was best to reciprocate with a pleasant reaction.

Across the road was a small storefront of tinted glass, with backlit text built into the facade above that read "SALON TWO" in simple thin lettering. She had scheduled her appointment earlier that week, to make sure that she wouldn't need to wait, and to ensure that the place was still in business. Lucky for her, it was. The last time she had visited, over three months prior, the owner had been talking about selling the business because more and more clients were moving to the trendier establishments that were springing up in the district. But despite that fact, here was Salon Two, still on the same corner and still with the same sign. Chanda waited for the traffic to stop, her wearable terminal registering with the traffic sensors that a pedestrian was waiting to cross. After a minute, the street pods paused, and a bright green path of pulsing lights appeared in the roadway, showing her the path to the opposite side. She stepped forwards, long legs making easy work of the traverse.

Salon Two was far from her apartment, it wasn't as high-end as the salons in her sector, and it certainly wasn't as fast as the laser trims one could have in street shop. Its prices were fair, and its offerings had always been basic. So why had she come here? Familiarity, she supposed. When she was in university, she'd lived in this neighborhood, working a part time job to stay out of debt. Every month for four years she'd come to this very spot to have her hair trimmed and get an hour or so of respite from her busy world. Eventually, it had become her second home, a place where she felt secure and comfortable, and there was no way that she could ever abandon it. So, every chance she had, Chanda made the quick trip through the New Francisco Vacuum Network to have herself styled.

As Chanda approached the salon, the array of sensors and cameras above its entry identified her as a returning customer with an appointment. They also made detailed scans of her body, her attire, and her hair that were immediately sent to her stylist. The doors retracted smoothly into the obsidian walls, and a rush of cool air washed over her, chilling her sweat-drenched skin. She hummed in relief at the feel of the air conditioning, and hurriedly stepped out of the sun.

Her smart contacts took a few moments to adjust to the indoor lighting, and her wearable chimed on her wrist, alerting her that the salon staff were aware of her arrival. She surveyed the familiar shape of the space as she undid the top button of her shirt to allow for additional ventilation. Something about the salon seen different. As her brain registered more and more changes, Chanda realized that the entire atmosphere of the salon had been updated. She paused, momentarily unsure if she was in the right place.

The décor, the lighting, the chairs, seemingly the entire feel of Salon Two, had been redone. Pulsing electronic music played on the sound system, sending low bass through her body. Summed together, the changes made the space feel youthful, energetic, and completely unfamiliar. Well, at least mostly unfamiliar.

One aspect of the salon appeared to have remained the same, and it the most important part of Chanda's experience: the robotic stylists. Several of them moved about the space, carrying supplies, cleaning, and conversing. She saw two in the back working with clients. These stylebots, as they we called, were older models that she suspected were manufactured in the mid-2050s. Each was nearly identical to the others, built with a friendly feminine face and body, and a synthetic appearance formed from glossy black metal, white plastic, and carbon weaves. Unlike the flawless humanoid bodies of the current android generation, these were designed before artificial flesh, and were intentionally robotic-looking to avoid falling into the uncanny valley.

If asked, Chanda would have admitted that she found the stylebots attractive. Despite her conservative appearance, she'd realized in college that she was a pansexual. Something about the perfect female form, the expressive blue eyes, and the plump black silicone lips always grabbed her attention. Plus, they all matched her in height. Even in 2072, a woman over six-feet tall was somewhat rare, and she preferred partners who could look her in the eyes. She'd often fantasized about taking one home, having her reprogrammed, and getting down to business. It wasn't an impossible fantasy, especially after the bonus from her latest promotion.

One of the stylebots looked up as she entered and approached her, motors humming gently as she took long strides across the spotless floor. The only way to tell her apart from any of the others was her "hair," a molded carbon fiber construction that approximated a shoulder-length cut with asymmetrical bangs. The others had different haircuts, each unique, that helped patrons tell them apart. Chanda recognized this one, but had never interacted with her up to this point.

"Welcome back to Salon Two, Miss Komassa! My name is Meruru, and I will be helping you today. Please, follow me." The stylebot spoke with a clear, bubbly voice that sounded so authentic it could have passed for human. It surprised Chanda, because ever since she had been coming here, the voices of the stylists had sounded noticeably synthesized. Perhaps their voice engines had been upgraded, or maybe their entire AI package had been swapped. Despite the unfamiliarity, Chanda followed, occasionally glancing down at the stylebot's seductively swaying hips. The android's designer hadn't left anything to the imagination. Such a pervert.

"Please have a seat here! This one is my station," said Meruru, gesturing to one of the sturdy metal styling chairs. They were definitely new, and judging by the brand and the workmanship, very expensive. Chanda turned to sit.

"I can take your jacket if you like," came Meruru's voice from behind her.

"Oh, thank you," Chanda answered, lifting her hands to undo the front button of her suit.

"Oof!" she gasped in surprise. Meruru's hands were apparently faster than hers, and her metal fingers darted around Chanda's waist to her buttons, unhooking them. She felt the robot lean up against her back, soft breasts pressing against her suit.

"My apologies Miss Komassa," Meruru spoke in a low voice near Chanda's ear, "I didn't mean to startle you. My programming can sometimes be excessively accommodating. Please, allow me to remove your jacket for you."

Trying to relax, Chanda nodded, and allowed Meruru to pull the jacket from her shoulders and stow it on a hook to the side of her station. She hoped that she wasn't blushing, and wondered whether such behavior was normal for the stylebots. Coding errors often occurred when AI systems were upgraded, so perhaps this new system wasn't entirely without flaws. She glanced at Meruru once more, then sat. The chair instantly adjusted to her body, providing lower back support and cupping her toned bottom in a type of electrosensitive nanoparticle foam. She was accustomed to this type of system, but typically it was relegated to first-class flights and expensive tube cars, not to salon chairs. Still, it felt nice, and she felt her muscles begin to relax as her nerves dissipated.

Meruru returned and stood behind Chanda, looking down at her long blonde hair with an expression of mixed disappointment and excitement.

"Miss Komassa, you've been away far too long. You're in desperate need of a trim, maybe more!"

"Ah, you're right! Just a trim, Meruru. Take it up to my shoulders... it's been too hot this summer for long hair, no matter how much I like it."

"Are you sure? Our records show that your finances are more than enough to cover any of our other services... I could..."

"Just a trim will be fine," said Chanda, cutting off the enthusiastic stylebot. She flashed a polite closed-lipped smile into the mirror.

"Sure thing!" said Meruru, masking her disappointment carefully.

The floor-to-ceiling mirror in front of Chanda flashed, and she watched as the image changed from her reflection to include other information. Adds for hair products, new prices for cuts and coloring, and some clothing advertisements scrolled down the sides. Her face flickered, and suddenly she was looking at a version of herself with straightened, shoulder-length hair. When she shook her head, the short hair moved playfully. It was exquisite augmented reality, matching her movements perfectly and providing real-time animations. This wasn't what she expected from Salon Two at all, but the visualization was nice. Last time she had visited, the mirrors were simply mirrors with a few embedded displays.

"That looks lovely!" Meruru grinned at her client's approval, and the AR mirror returned the scene to reality.

The stylebot stepped behind the chair and paused, her system running through her station's controls. "Let's start by giving your hair a wash!"

The chair reclined slowly, silently, and without warning, causing a momentary vertigo that made Chanda clutch at the armrests. As it changed positions, a set of metal plates slid out from the back of the chair and arranged themselves into a washing basin, complete with a drain. Meruru ran her fingers over Chanda's blonde locks, pulling them all towards the sink. An articulated metal tube snaked up from the chair and attached itself to a socket on the stylebot's forearm with a satisfying click.

Cool metal fingers ran through Chanda's hair again, and this time they were accompanied by warm, fragrant water that gushed from small openings in the tips of Meruru's digits.

"Your typical shampoo and conditioner, Miss Komassa?"

"Please."

Meruru massaged Chanda's scalp deeply, with a practiced technique that felt more human than any stylebot she'd been with before. Her hands were now heated by the flow of the water, and the soft tips of her fingers pressed into Chanda's skin, relieving the tension in her facial muscles and opening her pores. As her hair soaked, she realized that Meruru's movements seemed gentle, almost as if the stylebot was enjoying touching her customer's hair as much as Chanda was enjoying the wash. Maybe she was just imagining it, projecting her own fantasy onto Meruru, but the way her hands moved felt wonderfully sensual. Chanda shivered as the bot ran her hands down to the base of her skull, loosening the thick hair that grew there. She felt Meruru pause, then resume her work, and she swore that she saw the robot's lips form a near-imperceptible smile.

Shampoo frothed from one of Meruru's hands as the other washed it away with steaming water. Suds covered Chanda's damp hair and flooded into the basin, producing an inescapable pleasant aroma. She listened to the gurgling noises of the water foaming through her mane, and continued to focus on Meruru's expert touches. If only the men or women she'd been with in the past few years could pull off a massage of this quality, perhaps she might have stayed with one of them for longer than a month.

Chanda realized that her face felt flushed. Even in the air-conditioned salon, she felt hot. If she had checked her wearable, she might have noticed that her heartbeat was slightly elevated. In her daydreaming about Meruru's fingers, Chanda found herself embarrassingly turned on, and she quickly attempted to calm herself. There was a scent in the air, something out-of-place and enticing, that made her feel a little out of control. It took her a few minutes to realize where she'd smelled it before: at a high-end nightclub on vacation to Jordan. Since her last visit, management must have installed an aerosolized aphrodisiac device in the salon. Such systems used a bioengineered compound that was highly effective, especially in women, and was originally developed as a booster for the female libido. It was already popular in clubs and bars, but retailers had realized that an aroused customer is often less inhibited in her spending. And while high-ppm doses were regulated, systems like the one found in Salon Two had been declared legal several years prior. For Chanda, there was no escape from it.

After a quick round of conditioner, Meruru gave Chanda's hair one final rinse. The metal hose disconnected from her arm and slithered out of view. Meruru's fingertip openings issued a blast of heated air, drying the blonde just enough that she wasn't dripping with water anymore. This time, Chanda wasn't surprised when the chair moved again, bringing her back up into a normal seating position where she could once again view the augmented mirror. Her stylist beamed happily, looking back at her. Her right hand transformed, growing numerous bristles on the palm until it was clearly meant to approximate a hairbrush.

"Alright Miss Komassa, I'll start with a straightening, and then we'll get you that summer cut you want! I can give you a traditional flat iron, or you can have a treatment that lasts longer..."

The hairbrush moved through Chanda's hair, pulling loose the few remaining knots. As Chanda thought about the question, she watched Meruru curiously. In a way, it looked as if the robot was petting her head. The smooth tips of the bristles tickled at her sensitive scalp, and the aphrodisiacs wouldn't let her ignore them. Considering her finances, Chanda opted for the longer-lasting option, especially since she didn't know if her schedule for the next few months would allow for another visit. "I'll go with something more permanent, Meruru."

"Excellent! This is, um... a new treatment style. I think you'll love it!"

Chanda watched as Meruru lifted her palms and retracted her brush bristles. The small perforations where they had grown from remained, and now beaded with a clear gel. With fluid motion, the stylebot ran her hands through Chanda's hair, coating it with the substance. The goo was warm and tacky, no different than any of the other hair products one might find in a salon. It seeped into her hair, lending it a sheen that looked unnatural even for an advertisement. Fortunately, the luster faded after a moment as the gel set in the dry air, until there was no evidence that it had been applied at all. Meruru stood back, hands on her ample hips, and waited.

Without a single touch, the long waves in Chanda's hair began to unfurl, like delicate vines growing towards the sunlight. Her natural curl was erased within seconds, replaced with completely straightened hair that looked almost impossible. Meruru ran her hands up the sides of Chanda's head, lifting the hair and watching it cascade back down, each strand perfectly linear.

"How... how long does this last?"

"Well, it's permanent! This product alters your hair at a molecular level, down to the roots. If you want your natural hair back, you'll need another treatment designed to add gentle waviness."

"I see... well, good thing I like my hair straightened!"

"I knew you'd like it!" Meruru beamed at her through the mirror. "Let's just get you covered up before I start!"

At the thick base of the chair, just next to Meruru's feet, a hidden drawer slid open revealing an article of neatly folded fabric. The stylebot bent to retrieve it, her shapely backside raised for the rest of the salon to observe. With a shake, the pile of black cloth unraveled into a lightweight salon gown that was quickly thrown over Chanda. Soft fingertips traced along her collarbone as the garment's ties were drawn around her neck. Meruru lingered with her hands, going more slowly than she should have before fastening the straps with a loose knot. Chanda tensed as the stylist placed both hands on her shoulders, tugging the gown up to cover her sleeves.

Circling, the stylebot made to straighten the cover so that Chanda's legs were not left exposed. She rested her hands on her patron's chest, feeling her heartbeat accelerate. Running the index and middle fingers of each hand across the fabric, she made a path to Chanda's perky breasts, feeling their firmness. Using the sensors at her disposal behind the mirror, Meruru targeted Chanda's nipples, making sure to rub directly over them as she smoothed the gown and continued down. She smiled briefly as the chair informed her that Chanda's skin temperature had spiked. Her hands quickly cupped the underside of the woman's bust, moving the custom 3D printed gown into place.

Meruru wasn't done. She carefully arranged the synthetic layer on Chanda's lap, smoothing the wrinkles along her legs. Chanda felt the android's fingers slide towards her inner thighs, sending a tingling through her nerves. It was a complete invasion of her personal space, but she didn't want it to stop. Meruru's caress was the most action she'd had since she began her business trip, and she bit her lip at the neediness she felt. Meruru couldn't have seen, but the cameras noticed and logged the nanoexpression with the stylebot's AI.