'Have you a cock?'

The question that broke the mandatory silence was empty of emotion, as when one asks an automated teller for tens or twenties. My answer was equally flaccid.

'No. I have no need of one.'

'Really? No cock?'

I was surprised by how easily the obscenity crossed her cultured lips, even though our propaganda averred that myriad such appendages had passed the other way. The irony amused me and a chuckle accompanied my reply.

'Yes. Sexual intercourse plays no part in my purpose.'

She twisted then bit her lower lip. Hyperbolic disappointment distorted her regal features.

'But that is so unfair.'

Unfairness was a concept I understood, though was not programmed to pay much heed. Such moral questions were not my concern. However, her statement pricked my curiosity and grew more pointed by the moment, causing a hesitance, a minor irritation, somewhere deep within my emotional processors. I tracked it down. Plucked it out.

'In what way unfair?'

After rising from the purple leather couch, she stepped forwards and circled me like a predator. Her white translucent shift clung to her subtle, girlish curves, while its hem swished against the plush white carpet; in contrast, her slender naked feet barely made a sound. Perfumed breath warmed the air around me. With such proximity, I could hear her heart, feel her heat. A touch. Physical contact. I was told to be wary of it. Wary of her. But what had I to fear, a battle-hardened killer in the presence of this petite and virtually naked female? Nevertheless, I knew she was inordinately clever, deliciously deceitful, and so I remained ever vigilant. Her tensed spread palm slipped inside my black jacket and tested my thoracic musculature.

'Because physically you are very pleasingly constructed, and as we are necessarily going to be spending a lot of time together...'

A wry ellipsical smile punctuated her words and, somehow, the unfinished sentence completed itself. Though I was left with no doubt as to its conclusion, I necessarily had to feign otherwise. So much, at least, was obvious.

'Not so, Ma'am. Once I have delivered you to Surface Containment and verified their security arrangements, I am to return to the platform.'

Reluctantly nodding her elfin head, she wafted her long lashes then feigned a petulant pout. I turned my gaze once more to the brilliant blue that surrounded us, watched a distant vapour trail form, spread and distort in the planet's turbulent upper atmosphere.

We had descended a further thousand feet before she spoke again.

'So what are you?' The question lacked specificity. I merely raised an eyebrow. She quickly dispelled my uncertainty. 'Are you a man, or what?'

As president, her image had been everywhere, her broadcasts viewed by billions, but, despite her unmistakable appearance, I could barely believe I was in the presence of the very woman who had wielded such power. Though undoubtedly spirited, she was surely too slight in stature, too vulnerable, to have commanded such loyalty and adoration. I buttoned up my black jacket before shrugging my shoulders.

'A man. I am a man.'

'Mmm.' She carefully looked me up and down and nodded. 'It is said by some that a man without a cock is like a gun without a trigger, a thing by name only, with neither use nor purpose.'

Her akimbo pose candidly accentuated her point; backlit by the morning sun, her shift became almost transparent and, as she absently transferred her weight from foot to foot, the silhouette of her distended cunt lips issued their own silent words of contempt. If she were trying to provoke me, either emotionally or physically, she failed; my delivery remained matter of fact.

'And it is said by some that aphorisms are for people who can't think for themselves. Personally, I doubt either statement is wholly true.' A nod accompanied her wry smile. I pressed home my blunt point. 'I am built for a specific purpose and, as such, am supremely fit for that purpose, have been tested to destruction countless times.'

She sniffed, deflated, and her eyes lost focus, peered into another place and time.

'So am I, dear boy. And so have I.'

There was silence. The lift continued its descent, its repetitive mechanical machinations filtered out by my flawlessly efficient sensory circuits. Constancy is a friend to me. Change alone is a potential enemy. Smalltalk invited the enemy on board.

'How much longer?'

I stood at ease, as she, a tease, sashayed around me.

'Not long now, Ma'am.'

'Good. I hate travelling in these things. They are so...' the sweeping glance across my body was almost disdainful, 'unnatural.'

'The alternative is much more unpleasant, I assure you.'

Fed-back images suddenly scorched my retinae. Battle-cries rattled my baffled memory banks. Bodies exploded. Ships disintegrated. Fire. Death. Destruction. The shock momentarily immobilised me. Though buried beneath the psychedelic clamour, her voice, thin and disembodied, brought me back to the moment. Sensors quickly re-established space and time, confirmed both my physical condition and orientation. Quickly scanning every system, I found nothing remiss, noted nothing but normality. I focussed on her face, and recognised an equal mix of fear and concern within its unsettled symmetry. Warm fingers stroked my steely bicep.

'Where were you? What did you see?'

I produced an apposite smile.

'Nowhere. Here... Out... there.' I nodded to the thickening clouds beyond the transparent walls. 'The alternative is to fly, Ma'am. To fly between the platform and the Earth. Now war is over and the platform is in geostationary orbit, the cables provide a safer - shall we say - more predictable means of transport to the surface.'

She quickly changed the subject.

'May I have music?'

Her request surprised me. Lift music was notoriously banal. I nodded.

'Of course. Anything... in particular?'

'Yes. I had a piece uploaded yesterday, a special piece for my final journey. It should be ready to play.'

The remote about my wrist served many purposes: alarm; emergency stop; door opening, to name but three. Music was an oft underused facility. I pressed play. It began. Her enthusiasm was contagious.

'Can you see it? Soaring, gliding, dipping, diving.'

I closed my eyes. The music seeped into my ears, filled my head and overwhelmed me.

'Yes, I do. I see it. What is it?'

She laughed.

'A bird, you philistine!'

I laughed in return.

'I know! I can tell that - I'm not completely stupid! But what bird?'

'A lark. Do you not recognise its song?'

I replied honestly.

'No. I have never heard one.'

I considered adding how birdsong recognition is not high on the list of a killer's requisite skills, but wisely considered it inappropriate.

'Then listen! And close your eyes and watch it fly.'

I saw it all. Set against a cloud-bank of shifting parallel chords, the violin imitated the creature's warbling cry as it hovered then dived and snatched up a scurrying vole in its savage clutching claws. Again it soared, its song a concentrate, a condensate, of the natural bucolic beauty that had once covered the now wasted Earth. Fighting to hold back tears, I wished the piece would end while simultaneously praying it would never end.

The dying strains faded. I opened my eyes. Though it was obvious she had been crying, she had recovered her composure and was perched perkily on the arm of the couch. She turned to me.

'Thank you.'

'No, thank you. The pleasure was mine. What is it called? The piece you chose?'

'The lark ascending.'

The irony was not lost on me. 

'"The lift descending" might have been more suitable...'

She twisted her lovely mouth and looked me dead in the eye.

'Well, yes... but surely one has to fall to rise again.'

More silence. Normally I enjoyed its mirror-like perfection; today it unsettled me. I searched for a reason and found none. Another blank whose unwanted presence further nibbled away at my incumbent certainty. Her words brought more teeth to the burgeoning feast.

'So you prefer predictable?'

I was momentarily confused.

'Sorry?'

'You said the lifts are more predictable. Tell me, soldier, who but a killer prefers fucking predictability?'

Another uncharacteristic profanity. Unexpectedly, slender arms encircled my neck and she pressed her body into mine. She gasped and her blue eyes widened, though the source of her astonishment escaped me. Moist and warm, her breath entered my mouth, its chemical composition instantly available for my appraisal. In immediate response to the unexpected incursion and precisely as programmed, I dehumanised my voice as much as was inhumanly possible.

'Ma'am, I am immune to such substances. Did you imagine my creators to be unaware of your hollowed teeth and the mind-altering drugs you secrete there? Your attempts to subvert me disappoint me - in every way.'

Though barely a single shade short of sincere, her submissive tone was still undoubtedly counterfeit.

'Okay. I'm sorry. You win.'

I trod carefully.

'No more tricks?'

'No, soldier. I'll come quietly.'

A hissed intimate whisper, the word 'come' was imbued with an incredible intensity. It swirled within me, drew important resources from my centre and out to an unknown periphery. I struggled to maintain an impassive demeanour.

'Ma'am, the war is over and I am no longer a soldier.'

Her brief laugh carried easily quantifiable humectants into my respiratory tract along with traces of complex organic chains that were harder to analyse. Standing on tiptoes, cheek pressed to my chest, and still clinging tightly to my unyielding body, she softly and sweetly sang a stanza from a once-popular protest song.

'A soldier in a suit is just a soldier with no boots,

He's still a soldier when he shoots your sorry ass.'

I rolled my eyes, held out my hands and shook my head.

'I have no gun, Ma'am.' 

She retorted immediately and with blatant incredulity.

'You sure?'

Outside, the clouds had grown thicker. The scorched surface was surely no more than twenty minutes beneath us. A quick glance at the altimeter confirmed my observations. I again shook my head. 

'I assure you, I was a soldier long enough to know a gun when I see one. And besides, this cabin was searched. You and I were both meticulously searched.' She winced at the memory and, inexplicably, I found myself enjoying her discomfort. 'Ma'am, there are no guns for a hundred miles.'

'There are guns, and there are guns...' A finger jabbed my chest. 'You are packing, soldier, I know it. I can... feel it.' Her brow furrowed, eyes narrowed, and she gazed up into my face. 'Yet you try to deceive me'

She was mocking me, yet I could not grasp the core of her jest. I countered, best I could.

'There is an element of deceit in everything. Nothing is at face value. To acknowledge this fact is an essential of survival.'

Again, her retort was immediate.

'Well, you would know. You survived. You survived everything.'

More unwanted images flashed before my open eyes.

'Yes, I did.'

'How many did you kill?'

'Ma'am, the numbers are not..'

'How many?'

The power of her delivery fired a fine spray of saliva into my face. I resisted the unconscious urge to wipe my eyes.

'Six hundred...'

Though I had barely started, she was already incredulous.

'Six hundred?'

'And fifty-three thousand, seven hundred and...'

Her eyes flared with momentary hatred. The fire was quickly quenched by what appeared to be a wave of morbid curiosity. She released her grip on me and stepped away, the loss of her weight and heat leaving a gaping void in my senses. Her pained voice tore another hole.

'You have killed... over half a million?'

My shoulders shrugged. I remained matter of fact.

'Yes. But I had some help. I wasn't working entirely alone.'

My ex-president rested her rear on the arm of the couch, closed her eyes and bowed her head. Her raven hair now hid her perfect features, became a shield for her emotions. With fascination, I noticed how its blue sheen reflected the swiftly passing clouds. Her sigh, though almost silent, filled our tiny space to bursting with anguish. After countless strained moments, she turned to face me, her cheeks now wet with tears.

'Did you ever ask why you were killing?'

'No. I follow orders. Such questions slow reactions, make me less effective.'

'But how did you know who to kill? How could you be sure?'

This was a question for which I was eminently prepared.

'Fighting machines have been able to differentiate between possible targets for generations. My algorithms are flawless. The human mind is hindered by ethical considerations, whereas mine is not. From visual contact through the decision process to elimination takes millionths of a second. The target is dead before he or she knows it. The slowest part of the process is the bullet.'

She fired back.

'And you have never made a mistake?'

'No. How could I?'

A weary sigh and further measured breathing were her only retorts. I waited in vain for a verbal response to my simply stated certainty: as a machine for discriminate killing, I had no peer.

Once again she paced around me, her voice now even and thoughtful.

'A man without a cock is tragic enough, but a man without doubt? Self-doubt is an ethical brake. Uncertainty makes for introspection and cautious forward steps...'

I interrupted.

'I am always cautious. My programming allows nothing else.'

Her reply was presto, perturbation seemingly sparked by a glance at the frantically spinning altimeter.

'Okay, so you have killed to certain rules and yes, perhaps you have not faltered in applying those rules.

But soldier, have you never stopped to consider who made those rules, and if they themselves are not flawed?'

The training manual provided my answer.

'No. I am but one link in a long chain of command. To break it would invite chaos.'

Time ticked. The altimeter continued its inexorable fall. When she next spoke, her voice overflowed with despair.

'Can you not see that this is a terrible mistake? You are killing me... And yet I am on your side.'

I remained impassive

'Ma'am, I am delivering you. I am following orders. What happens afterwards is not my concern.'

'Not your concern? You bloody fool!'

She flung herself onto the couch, threw back her head and clawed at her scalp. For the first time, I noted the almost perfect sphericality of her tits. Dark nipples rose, chafed against her translucent shift and rose some more till they all but poked out my staring eyes. Her tiny voice broke my gaze. Its tone almost broke my heart.

'Forgive me, soldier. You are simply doing your duty.'

Impossibly, within our constantly corrected and unchanging pod, the gravity seemed to flux. I grew heavier. Certainty evaporated and a leaden doubt took its stead. At arm's length, yet within my emoto-sensorial field, it seemed this woman had somehow corrupted me, undermined my ineluctable certitude. I gazed at her as she, in turn, gazed out into the greying clouds that now surrounded us. Her tears fell freely, dripped from her dimpled chin and turned the shift to gossamer; her rigid left nipple suddenly appeared naked and ripe for suckling. She absently tweaked it, before wiping her tears away and clutching at her temples. Sudden resignation softened her features and, as her thoughts turned inwards, she closed her eyes and smiled. Her beauty was irrefutable; her innocence and integrity were palpable. Unexpected thoughts assailed me. I could fight for a woman such as she. I could die for her. For the first time in my short existence, I knew doubt and began to understand the enormity, the obscenity, of the things I had done. Somehow, she felt it too. She leapt up, took two steps and stood before me. Her presence was suddenly regal, domineering, and in unconscious response I bowed my head. She whispered.

'You... you have regrets.'

'No, no, I...'

Her voice rose.

'Yes! I can see them. See them in your eyes!'

I too raised my voice.

'Ridiculous! How can you?'

A reaching hand gently caressed my cheek. She spoke as a mother to a child.

'Everything you witness - kindness, cruelty, hatred, forgiveness - changes you, becomes you. It is etched, scribed on you... It scars you.' The pity in her initial tone gave way to sorrow then quickly morphed into anger. Her inner rage, the cause of which I had so recently personified, was now directed elsewhere and I was grateful to no longer be her target. 'Oh, soldier! The things they made you do! The fighting, the killing... My people! My people!'

As she spoke, I recognised a change, felt a sudden shift in my perspective. Whereas before, the fighting had been akin to cultivating and the dead had simply been the resultant harvest, I now saw the reality, felt the blood and gore of countless victims wash over me and submerge me. I felt suddenly nauseous, vertiginous. I staggered. Despite her slender frame, she caught me, steadied me, till the sickening sensations passed.

And then she stood on tiptoe and kissed my mouth.

It was an attack for which I had no defence. I froze. Confusion raged through me. Options briefly offered themselves, were rejected and replaced, reconsidered and reinstated, in an endless inescapable loop. Based on ancient well-tested code, my combat algorithms were indeed flawless; I could kill effortlessly and unerringly, and yet this simple intimate gesture had disarmed me, completely immobilised me. In my head, an endlessly spinning coin flipped from one unequivocal extreme to its undeniable antithesis. With each passing millisecond I experienced a multiplex of indecision, a lifetime of ambivalence. As per my programming, I weighed and discarded each option then raced to the next, on and on, round and round, till my eyes cried, my body shook, and my poor heart threatened to explode.

She is deadly. I should kill her. She is lovely. I could love her. But I have no cock. And she mocks me. She is danger. I will kill her. But I want her. Want to take her. And she knows it. She is using me. But I don't care. She is perfect. Yet deceitful. She will kill me. But then so what? I could love her. Run away with her. I'll protect her. I'm a soldier. I am flawless. She's the enemy. She is danger. I must kill her. But I love her...

She was awestruck.

'Look at you! Look what a kiss can do! I can scarcely believe you have ever killed at all!'

The more I tried to clear my head, the more nebulous my thoughts became. I saw her through a swirling electron storm, heard her through the crackling static.

'Soldier! Soldier! Listen to me! You have a cock.' And then as if to herself, 'How could you not know you have a cock?'

In the tiniest corner of my mind, a lone spot where chaos had not yet taken hold, I considered the impossibility of her words and in that critical corner could sense its truth. Other hidden truths began to show themselves, till I doubted everything I knew about myself and everything I believed. At that moment, the periphery, the unknown part of me to where I had felt resources being drawn, was revealed to me. The general area, though no more than a hand's span, was indeed situated between my legs. I sensed her fingers trace its outline, heard an admiring outpouring of breath whistle through her pursed plush lips. Her touch heightened my discomfort, intensified the internal conflict that threatened to tear me apart. I uttered a syllable and then another, built a sentence from stumbling blocks of sound.

'Ma'am. Please. I am. Burning. Up.'

She whispered.

'So am I, dear boy. So am I.'

With searching eyes never leaving mine, she bared me. I heard the zip part its toothy maw. Sensed cool air on my smooth flesh. Felt her invading fingers. The dull ache in my groin masked the subtlety of her ministrations, but the ache was fading. I sensed an outline. Dimensions. Mass. Hitherto unknown nerves switched on. Her hand was cool. The fingers pliant. Insistent. Manipulative. Imaginative. Like an animal on heat, I could smell her. She was sweating, softly swearing. Fuck, fuck, fuck. And she was oozing, dribbling; I could taste her, knew her intimate flavour from the heady, energised molecules that escaped her.

'Soldier, please! The couch. Hurry! I have so little time.'

A tugging hand affixed to my groin encouraged me to follow her. With a momentous effort, I shuffled forwards, inch by inch, to the lift's only luxury. I tried to speak and found that, with difficulty, I could.

'Ma'am, we will reach the surface in five minutes.'

'That is time enough.'

She eased me onto my back, prised off my shoes then tore off my trousers. The broad curved shaft between my legs transfixed both of us, its presence a source of both confusion and fascination. I stammered.

'I had no idea!'

Her response was thoughtful.

'Why would such a wonder be hidden from you? What have they to gain from such deception?'

She peeled off her shift, peeled open her glistening nether lips and, with eager fingers, tested her readiness. Sudden insight moved me to speak.

'Because... because it makes me vulnerable. Vulnerable to...'

The fingers pressed to my lips. My heart pounded and my head swirled. She hissed.

'I have five minutes to live. Five fucking minutes. Let me ride you, soldier. Be my last. Make me cum. Surely...' she widened her sad eyes and pouted her shining lips, 'you will not deny a needy girl her last request?'

She ripped open my shirt. I vaguely recall her clambering astride me, though what followed is crystal clear. I was too big for her, but she was insistent. Impossibly, her nether lips wrapped around the shining bulbous head. My cock stretched wide her intimate flesh and, inch by inch, I invaded her. A frenzied series of grunts, squeals, and painful stabbing thrusts, and she somehow accommodated me. By the time her tight buttocks rested on my upper thighs, she was sobbing, shaking, her long finger nails clawing at my now naked chest. I clamped my hands around her tits and lifted her; slammed her down. Lifted. Slammed. The violence intensified. I rose to it. Met her halfway. The couch shifted. The descending lift shook and swayed. Two blurry fingers ploughed a shallow furrow through her neat pubic bush, pinched and tugged on her swollen clit, and I knew she was cumming. Rather enigmatically, though surely ironically, she cried out.

'Oh soldier! Soldier! Won't you marry me?'

Her voice echoed and her ecstatic sweating face smeared across my retinae. Somewhere in the distance, cables screeched as emergency brakes applied. As the lift juddered and slowed, downwards momentum forced her increasing weight upon me till my rigid cock flexed and my skin almost tore. Though the rest of my body was both incapable of movement and bereft of sensation, I began to pump, pump, pump my fluids inside her. She revelled in my reflex contractions.

'Oh, yes, you beauty! Come on, give it to me!'

Speech was all but impossible.

'What... what have you done to me?'

Lips pressed to my ear.

'I have poisoned you.'

'Wha...?'

'Don't worry, soldier, you'll survive.'

'But how...'

'Of course they knew about the hollow teeth! But, like all women, I have ploys, subtle internal ploys, that you men would never dream of.'

As in a dream, I watched her dismount then squat and squeeze out a thick stream of spunk onto the hitherto pristine carpet. She leapt back astride me, her flawless teeth displayed by the satisfied smile that split her face. A long slender index finger flexed before my dilated eyes, its painted nail honed and gleaming. With a squirm, she pressed its tip into the flesh below my sternum then scribed a deep cut down my belly. Tentatively, she slid her hand inside my abdomen and rummaged among my internal organs. It was painless and so dreamlike that I was certain I was hallucinating. Her eyes suddenly lit up. From the bloodless gash, she produced a rectangular black package, and from the package she drew a small though powerful-looking gun which she kissed and addressed with a great deal of emotion, much as she had previously kissed and spoken to me.

'You beauty! Thank you!' And she laughed. 'Ha, and it has a trigger! I knew I could trust you... Thank you!'

My mouth moved and slurred words formed.

'Is this real?'

'Yes, soldier, it is. Sorry to harm you so, but I was left with no choice.'

Our pod lurched and began to move once more. The altimeter counted down.

Twenty-seven, twenty-six... 

Still sitting astride me, she lovingly pinched my cheek, her eyes now full of grateful tears.

'However unwittingly, you are my salvation and hence the salvation of my people, of everyone who still believes in me. I will never forget you, soldier.'

Sixteen, fifteen, fourteen...

I said the first words that came to mind.

'Take me with you. I will help you.'

She shook her head.

'No. Your task is accomplished. I am delivered.'

'But there is no escape, Ma'am. You will be killed... please!'

'I'll be okay. As you can see,' she waved her stubby weapon before my eyes, 'I have friends in high places.'

I pleaded once more.

'Please, take me with you!'

It was as if I had not spoken.

'Now to seek out the resistance and continue the fight. Goodbye, soldier.'

One last kiss and she clambered off me, quickly pulled her shift back over her head and crouched in readiness, her gun pointing at the waiting double doors.

Three, two, one...

The doors opened. She dashed from view. Gunfire. Cries. Slumping bodies. Within my guts, I sensed another countdown nearing its end.

Four, three, two, one...

*

'Is this all the data you have been able to retrieve.'

'Yes, Sir. The explosion tore him to pieces, completely destroying the lift and killing everyone in the immediate vicinity. We were fortunate to find even these fragments.'

'And you have found no trace of her?'

'No, Sir. None. We must assume she escaped.'

'And do we know who helped her?'

'No, but the soldier definitely played no conscious part.'

'It was we who destroyed him?'

'Yes, Sir. Self-destruct was triggered as soon as we realised there was a problem.'

Drumming fingers were punctuated by resigned sighs.

'Nuke them. Poison them. Kill everything down there. Everything. She must be terminated. Understood?'

'Yes, Sir.'

Their methods were random, indiscriminate, anathema to me. It pained me to know I was once the unstinting servant of a regime that would employ such inhuman methods. More disembodied voices floated in and out of my field of consciousness, though an absence of physical feedback told me it was I who had no body. I again focussed on their words, took succour from their negatives:

No trace.

None.

And their positives:

She escaped.

In broken fragments, I heard her music, saw again the fluttering bird soaring high above its verdant territory. I closed my virtual eyes and whispered a silent prayer for the woman who had inadvertently destroyed me, the woman who had, in truth, saved me.

*****