The Missing Flesh

The Missing Flesh

How Things Must Be

"Hey, Fuckshit, come over here for a bit. I need your micro-assembly skills."

That was my boss. Of course, at the time she wasn't my boss so much as owner. Except she wasn't exactly my owner, either. Perhaps it was closer to say I was her apprentice. Except for the fact that she wasn't teaching me a trade. You could say that we had a complicated relationship. Except we didn't.

Actually, it's really quite simple. I was her minion. Her henchwoman, or henchgirl, to be accurate. She didn't own me but she didn't pay me either. Oh sure, I could have left anytime I like but there was nowhere for me to go. Besides, without her resources there is no way I could have maintained all my cybernetic enhancements. Cyborgs don't last long without proper maintenance. So I was stuck in my situation with the woman who was my putative employer but who in truth was much more like an owner.

"Fuckshit! I said I need your help! Get your ass over here!" My boss again. Since my name is Maralee and not Fuckshit I continued to ignore her.

I was busy doing self-maintenance. Virtually all cybernetic enhancements require regular maintenance but none more than cybernetic hands. In my case my hands double as weapon systems. In fact, I have several pairs of such hands. All of them designed by my boss who just happens to be one of the galaxy's leading scientific minds. She's also something of a loon although I'd never say that to her.

Still bent over my work I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Hey, Fuckshit. What's wrong with you? How many times do I have to ask you to give me a hand?"

I looked up to see my boss glaring back down at me, her face the very picture of severe displeasure. She happens to be both a very beautiful and striking woman. She's also very imposing and easily towers over me. Although, it's easy to tower over me as I'm fairly short and skinny (although my girlfriend insists that I'm not actually skinny, just slender). She's also black. Well, more like a rich chocolaty brown to be more accurate. With long dark hair that cascades over her shoulders in loose ringlets.

But her most striking feature is her eyes. She has this way?of staring right through a person. As if you were nothing more than an insignificant wisp of vapor from someone's cup of coffee. Or worse, an insignificant insect which she would be crushing under her heel soon enough. The effect is only amplified by the steel-rimmed glasses she wears. I'm not convinced she actually needs glasses and my theory is that she wears them only for the psychological effect they have on others.

She was staring at me, waiting for answer. "Sorry," I said. "I didn't realize you were talking to me."

"You didn't realize I was talking to you?" she said, her voice like solid ice. "I called your name twice!"

I shook my head. "No, you said, 'Fuckshit'. My name isn't Fuckshit."

"What? No, I did not call you 'Fuckshit'!" she replied. "I clearly called your name which is Fuckshit!"

"See, you just called me Fuckshit again!" I said.

"No I did not call you 'Fuckshit', Fuckshit!" At this point her eyes were bulging and bits of spittle flew from her lips. I couldn't help but shrink back from her. "I can't believe you think I'd call you 'Fuckshit', Fuckshit! I'm pretty sure I know what your name is, Fuckshit!"

At that point she was trembling in fury and I was shaking in fear. "Yes, Doctor," I replied. I wasn't sure what was going on but I knew that I didn't want to anger the Doctor any further than I already had. "I apologize. I wasn't paying attention. I was busy changing out the plasma connectors in my hand units."

"You can come back to that later," she said. "Right now I need your help on a new prototype I'm working on."

Not trusting myself to talk I merely nodded, stood up from my workbench and followed her to the bench on the other side of the spacious but cluttered workshop where she was working on what was clearly a cybernetic hand. An unfinished hand still lacking the skin-like covering that all my cybernetic hands had.

"I need you to line up the emitter plate with the flash chamber," she said. "I just don't have the fine motor control you have when you're using your manipulators."

I suppose I should mention that I didn't actually have hands at that point. Or I should say I wasn't wearing my hands. Or using them if that sounds better. Instead, what I had were a pair of?multipurpose tool sets that I use when I do maintenance on my cyborg components. Or when I'm helping the Doctor build whatever device she happens to be working on at the time.

I bent over the cybernetic hand on the Doctor's workbench and zoomed in on the components she had mentioned. Beyond the cybernetic limbs the Doctor had seen fit to augment both my ability to see and my ability to hear. I'm one of the few people who have eyes and ears that come with updateable operating systems. Sometimes to my detriment.

I immediately saw her problem, there was no way for her to fit her fingers into the tiny space between the plate and the flash chamber. Fortunately, my manipulators were designed for exactly that sort of work. From my left hand tool set I extended a pair of thin finger-like manipulators and inserted then into the tiny crevice and grasped the flash chamber. It took me a few seconds to align the chamber with the emitter plate. Using my right hand tool set I extended an even thinner wire and tacked the flash chamber into place.

I withdrew my manipulators and stood up, backing away from the bench. "All done. Is there anything else you need me to do, Doctor?"

"Nope, that's all I needed," she said. "Good work, Fuckshit." She looked me over carefully as if appraising me. "Are you feeling okay? Is there something wrong?"

"No, not at all," I said. I certainly wasn't going to bring up the fact that she had been calling me 'Fuckshit'. Not after her earlier reaction.

"You know you can tell me if there's something bothering you," she said. "You seem a little...I don't know...off I guess. If you're worried about that little scene earlier, don't be. I'm not angry or anything."

It hit me, she was put off by my overly polite use of her title. "No, everything is fine, Doctor Eliza." I gave her my best smile. "Really, I'm doing just great."

She smiled back at me and put a hand on my shoulder. "That's my girl," she said as she gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Why don't you finish up with what you're working on now and then call it a day? When you're done check with Zaxie to see if she needs any help with dinner tonight. I think she mentioned needing some stuff from the grocer's so you might need to make a quick trip into town."

I nodded, grinning like a fool. A trip to the grocer's might not seem like a big deal, but to me it was always the highlight of any day in which it happened. I didn't get out much.

***

I poked my head into the kitchen. "Hey, Miss Zaxie, are you here? Doctor Eliza told me I should check with you about tonight's supper."

Zaxie popped up from behind the large island in the middle of the spacious kitchen. When I say spacious I mean spacious, the kitchen is big enough to feed fifty people at a time. Doctor Eliza doesn't do anything by halves. In addition to the island the kitchen has a wrap-around slate counter and a overhead rack suspended from the ceiling. The rack is home to enough kitchen utensils that Zaxie could cook every meal for a week straight without using same utensil twice. "Ah, Fuckshit, there you are. Eliza said you'd be finished with your work soon." She fumbled around in her apron before pulling out a folded piece of paper. "I made a list of what we need from the grocer. I need you back in about ninety minutes so you can take your time as long as you're back by then. You can stop by your favorite bakery if you like." She winked at me as she handed me the shopping list.

For a moment I mulled over her use of the word 'fuckshit' as my name. I really didn't know what to think of it. Perhaps it was some sort of slang? Or a joke? I thought about mentioning it to her but given the Doctor's reaction I decided that it was best just to ignore it. Although it was somewhat disconcerting to hear Zaxie use profanity. It was very unlike her.

I shrugged, left the kitchen and cut through the living room to the back door. From the back door it is a short walk across the yard to the shed that sits on the edge of Doctor Eliza's property.

One of the first things I did once I had full use of my cybernetic prosthetics was to refurbish the shed. The Doctor didn't see the point of worrying about the shed but in the end she let me do as I wished. It had been an ugly weather beaten wreck and in an eager attempt to be useful around the house I re-shingled the roof and painted the shed yellow with white for the trim. Once it was finished Doctor Eliza told me it looked like a giant banana cream pie. I prefer to think she was being complimentary but when I offered to paint the house she insisted on choosing the paint.

Inside the shed, along with all the tools I use for yard maintenance, is where I keep my bicycle. A low tech mode of transportation but one I enjoy. From the house the grocer's is about fifteen minutes by bicycle even though we live on the edge of Mayweather and the grocer's is towards the center of town. From that you might get the idea that Mayweather is a small town. Of course, with a name like Mayweather you wouldn't exactly expect a bustling metropolis.

In the shed I took down my bicycle from where it hung on the wall and set it down on the floor of the shed before wheeling it out the open door. The bicycle was old but in good condition. It was mine and I took care to keep it in good working order. The chain was always oiled, the tires changed whenever they showed signs of wear and the brake pads changed every year. I didn't own much but what I did I made sure to take care of. I can't say that it was a good looking bicycle what with the granny basket in front along with being painted with a floral pattern that had faded years ago but it did the job of getting me into Mayweather and back.

I hopped on the bicycle and rode down the driveway to the road and turned left towards the town center. Turn right and you're headed out even deeper into the countryside with kilometers of woods broken up by a few farms.

I rode past the house of our nearest neighbor. I waved to Ms. Landers who was out in the front yard taking down laundry off of the clothes line. She waved back. "Good day to you, Fuckshit! Off to the grocer's are you?"

"Yes, Ma'am!" I yelled back as I rode around the curve in the road and she disappeared from sight. "See you!"

After that I passed by the town's only church building. Sometimes I would see someone cutting grass but that day the church grounds were empty. As I passed the church building I spotted Doctor Eliza's daughter walking home from school. As I drew closer to her I slowed the bicycle and finally came to a stop a few scant meters in front of her.

Doctor Eliza's daughter is perhaps even more beautiful than her mother if less imposing. She doesn't have her mother's height but she still tops me by several centimeters. She also doesn't have the Doctor's charismatic presence and she probably won't end up being as brilliant as the Doctor either. That being said she is still exceedingly smart and exceedingly beautiful and when it comes to sheer physical attractiveness she nearly rivals Zaxie.

"Hey, Fuckshit," she said with an easy grin as she closed within conversational distance with me.

"Hello, Miss Trina," I said. "How was your day at school?"

"Oh, same as it ever is, Fuckshit," she said. "You remember how it was, right, Fuckshit?"

I bit my tongue for a moment. I never went to what one would call a traditional school. My upbringing lacked the type of luxuries that most people would take for granted. Trina knew this full well. "Sure, of course," I finally said, forcing a bright smile.

"So, off to pick up some groceries, Fuckshit?" she asked, returning my smile. In fact, she was smiling so much that it looked as if she also was forcing her smile.

"Yes, that's right," I said.

"So, what's Zaxie cooking tonight, Fuckshit?"

"I have to admit, I don't know, Miss Trina," I said. "Miss Zaxie gave me a shopping list but she didn't tell me what she was planning on making."

"Ah, I see," Trina said. "So, planning on stopping by your favorite bakery, Fuckshit?"

"If time allows," I replied, breaking eye contact with her.

?"Oh, I'm sure time will allow, Fuckshit," she said. "Zaxie always makes sure you have enough time for your little meetings with Mayweather's favorite little Asian baker. I don't know what it is about her that interests you so much. She's cute and all but she's not nearly as hot as I am. Plus, I'm sure her cock is tiny." She laughed, a crude and vulgar sound.

"It's bigger than yours," I said. The look of utter shock on her face was priceless. I was shocked as well but I didn't let it show. If there was one thing I knew how to do it was keeping my face from reflecting my emotions. My own peculiar disabilities and life in the Doctor's household had taught me to be a master of hiding my feelings.

Finally, Trina recovered from her shock. "What the hell?"

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, as the saying went. My punishment was going to be the same no matter what I did so there was no harm in elaborating. "You surmised that Robin's penis is small. You are incorrect, thus I am correcting you. Her penis is both significantly longer and substantially thicker than yours. It's also better formed and more pleasing to the eye. Although, I have to admit that is a matter of personal taste and entirely subjective. It's very likely that some people will prefer your shorter, thinner penis."

At that point, Trina seemed beyond words. She just stared at me for several long moments, her ability to speak seemingly taken from her. Glowering at me she finally regained her faculty of speech. "I will see you later, Fuckshit! You better really enjoy yourself at the bakery because you won't enjoy what's in store for you!"

***

As I said, Mayweather is a small town. One bank, one church, one cinema with only three screens and one grocer. It was exactly the sort of town where everyone knows everyone else. And everyone knows who I am. Although to be honest they probably would have known anyhow, Doctor Eliza is pretty famous, well, everywhere. Easily Mayweather's most famous citizen.

So, of course, everyone at the grocer's recognized me. And being the friendly sort of folk they are, quite a few stopped to talk to me. Or at the very least, greet me.

"Hey there, Fuckshit, Zaxie has you running errands today, I see," said Ms. Kemp as I pulled six two-liter jugs of low-fat milk from the cooler. Ms. Kemp, a short roundish woman, owns Mayweather's only?laundromat and dry cleaning service. Sometimes I take the Doctor's business suits to her dry cleaners when the Doctor has an important business meeting to attend or when we have to perform demonstrations for important clients.

"That's right Ma'am," I said. "You know how it is, always running out of something you need." I gave her an apologetic smile and backed away. I didn't want to get caught up in long conversations about mundane life. After my conversation with Trina I wanted more than anything to visit the bakery and see Robin. What I didn't want was to spend what little precious free time I had talking to Ms. Kemp about the weather.

"Zaxie got you shopping again, eh, Miss Fuckshit?" said Farmer Fletcher from behind me as I selected a package of chuck roast. Farmer Fletcher owns and operates a dairy farm up-valley with her three teen-age daughters. She looks like a typical farmer with her faded blue overalls, heavy work boots and an easy smile. Years of working out in the sun has tanned and aged her face but she's still attractive for all that.

"Yes Ma'am," I said and held up one of the two-liter jugs of milk. "Just out buying more of your farm's delicious milk. Zaxie drinks two of these every day. She's probably your best customer."

"In that case you tell her thanks for me," she said. "Well, I'd love to stay and talk but I've got three teen-age girls eating me out of house and home. So here I am out running errands. Guess me and you are just a couple of gophers today, ain't that right?"

I nodded. "Yes, but I don't mind it. It's nice to come into town."

Farmer Fletcher chuckled at that. "I'll bet it is. You tell that little baker of yours I said hi when you see her."

Fortunately for me I was able to finish my shopping without any more interruptions. I paid for the groceries and left as quickly as I could. Outside, I piled groceries in the bicycle's granny basket. From there it was a short ride to A Little Slice of Heaven bakery. I parked my bicycle behind the bakery next to the overhead service door as I usually do and pulled the bags of groceries out of the granny basket.

The overhead door was unlocked, I lifted it up and entered the storage room before pulling the door back down. I navigated my way past all the shelving, crates and bins before exiting the room and entering the bakery proper. Robin's mother was busy putting bread into the oven to bake. Besides her there were two other employees working.

"Hello, Ms. Park, is Robin...?"

Ms. Park turned from the oven and hung her baker's peel on a rack set into the wall near the oven. "Why, hello there, Fuckshit," she said. "I didn't hear you come in. And to answer your question, Robin is out front at the register. She'll be delighted to see you, I'm sure."

I held up the bags of groceries. "Uh, I had to go shopping."

She took the bags from me. "I'll just put these in the cooler while you're here. Now go scamper up front. Don't worry, we'll stay back here while you visit. Too busy working to bother you girls anyway."

I scampered. As Ms. Park had said, Robin was behind the register. Better yet, there weren't any customers.

Typical of almost every neighborhood bakery in the universe A Little Slice of Heaven is fronted by large picture windows. The picture window to the right of front entrance features the bakery logo which happens to be a cute little cartoon caricature of Robin in her bakery uniform holding up a slice of pie. Along both windows are display racks for baked goods that don't require refrigeration and are typically filled with boxes of cookies, doughnuts and buns as well as fresh baked loaves of bread. Next to the racks are several small tables that look more like an afterthought than a deliberate arrangement.

In line with the register are the refrigerated glass display cases where assorted pies, cakes and puddings are kept. The display cases are tall enough that they nearly come up to my shoulders. While the front of the cases are glass to allow customers to view the cakes and pies the sliding doors on the back sides of the cases are mirrored. A fact that I had used to my advantage more than once.

I silently slipped up behind Robin and put my hands over her eyes. "Guess who."

Robin didn't need to guess. "Hey, Fuckshit! I was wondering when I'd see you again. It's been awhile. They need to let you out more often."

"You should tell that to Doctor Eliza," I said as I dropped my hands from in front of her eyes and stepped away from her. The lie came so easily at that point that I only felt the slightest twinge of guilt.

"Maybe I will one of these days," she said, turning around to face me. Despite being several centimeters taller than I am she looks like a cute pixie. She wears her hair spiky short and her eyes have small folds over the inside corners, making them look slightly slanted. She also has a beautifully smooth complexion of coffee ice cream. I readily admit to bias but even so, I don't think I'm wrong to say that Robin is easily the most beautiful girl I have ever met. "So how's life up in the big house been treating you?"