Sk-2. Femboy Hooters

The small shuttlecraft slipped into Earth’s mesosphere, its energy shields heating up from friction as it fell into the gravity well. As it accelerated, it became visible from hundreds of kilometers away as a bright, fiery streak; of course, it was only one of thousands such craft that entered and exited the atmosphere every day, so nobody paid it much heed. It was assigned to one of the air traffic control AIs overseeing the central Eurasian area, an overworked and somewhat frazzled system named Moldavite.

Moldavite sent a ping to the craft, and instantly received a handshake back. The transmission’s metadata caught his attention, so much that he generated a separate instance of his consciousness to focus on this specific shuttlecraft. He frowned as he studied the information, then opened up a direct comm channel.

A cheerful-looking girl with fair skin, bright green eyes, and long blonde hair tied in an elaborate four-ponytail hairstyle popped up on the comm channel. She flashed him a big smile. “Hiya!”

Moldavite cocked an eyebrow and maintained his usual professional demeanor. “Hello, SSTE-12149656. I just wanted to confirm some details on the ping you sent. According to this, your shuttlecraft has two passengers, both with Omega-level security clearances?” Omega-level clearances were reserved for top governmental officials, such as the Premier herself, and Moldavite was downright shocked one showed up in his sector without so much as a military escort.

“That’s right! Sorry to pop in unannounced but we had a quick errand to take care of before heading out to Mars. I’m the AI of the craft on your scopes, presently designated SSTE-12149656. My name is Captain Sveta Levesque of the Revolutionary Army Maid Corps.”

Moldavite’s eyes widened. “Wait, hang on. Sveta? You’re not… THAT Sveta?”

The girl giggled. “Yup, I’m THAT Sveta. Why, you want an autograph?”

Moldavite stared at her, speechless. The AI who’d orchestrated humanity’s victory in the Sarcophage War, three-times awarded Hero of the Soviet States, was now smiling brightly at him. Star-struck, he felt a sudden rush of nervousness. What if he said something to embarrass himself?

“Oy, Sveta,” came another voice, followed by a red-headed girl poking her head into frame. “Quit trying to impress the traffic control AI. Let the poor fellow do his job.”

“Aww, c’mon Miette. It’s fun messing with him!” Sveta protested, half in jest.

Of course, Moldavite thought, It only makes sense she’d be here too. The other girl was Senior Lieutenant Miette Levesque, Sveta’s equally famous pilot-wife. He thought back to the documentary film he’d watched about Maid Squadron; if he remembered correctly, Miette and Sveta were nigh-inseparable. Yet never, in his five years of uptime, did he think he’d ever actually meet them.

“Hawa,” Moldavite said eloquently. “Hawawawawawa…”

Both girls stared at him, Sveta sporting a mischievous grin and Miette frowning slightly. He took a deep (simulated) breath and tried to form words once again.

“M-May I ask the purposes of your visit to Earth?” he managed to stammer. “I-If it’s not classified, or…”

“Nah, it’s not classified,” Sveta said breezily. “We’re visiting a friend, on the outskirts of Moscow, north side of the Troitsky Administrative Okrug. We’re in a bit of a hurry, so we’ll be taking a direct flight path.”

Normally, any vessels entering Earth’s atmosphere would be remotely piloted by the traffic-control AIs, to best ensure safety in skies cluttered with all manner of aircraft and spacecraft. However, Sveta had the proper permissions and certifications to fully control her own craft from de-orbit to touchdown… and with her Omega-level clearance, all Moldavite could require from her was a positional locator beacon. He was secretly relieved by this; piloting the shuttle of two famous war heroes would have stressed him out to no end.

“R-Right. Per regulations, please maintain an open radio positional beacon during your flight and send me a detailed flight plan. What’s your final destination?”

Sveta didn’t miss a beat. “We’re going to Femboy Hooters!”

The pause that followed that proclamation was so pregnant, one might have expected it to give birth to triplets.

******

Femboy Hooters was a small restaurant situated on the edge of a large industrial district filled with huge factories. Until seven years ago, these factories had been endlessly smelting wartime materiel, Gravity Frames and spaceship engines and the like. These days, they manufactured farm equipment and atmospheric processors designed to assist with the re-terraforming of Earth.

It was presently early in the workday, around 9 AM, and Femboy Hooters wouldn’t open its doors for another few hours for the lunch rush. The peace of the quiet morning was shattered by the telltale thundering whine of gravity fins as the shuttlecraft slowly descended onto the street directly in front of the restaurant.

Maurice Spiteri, who’d been prepping food in the kitchen, rushed out the front door to see what the commotion was, and stopped in his tracks upon spotting the shuttle hovering just above the street. His eyes bugged at the shuttle suddenly pitched, nose pointed down at the ground, and four large pylons parallel to the hull unfolded into arms and legs. With a ka-chunk and a click-click-click, the shuttle slowly transformed into a full-sized Gravity Frame, thirty meters tall, angular and painted white with pink highlights. At the center of its chest was a floral design, a bunch of pink lilies and green vines. Maurice remembered that design well.

“SVETA? IS THAT YOU?” Maurice yelled over the whine of the gravity fins at the Frame touched down.

“YUP!” boomed back a voice, seemingly broadcast from loudspeakers. The gravity fins powered down and the cockpit hatch in the chest opened, revealing two girls. Both of them jumped down to the ground, the twenty-five meter drop apparently not bothering them much as they easily alighted on the sidewalk. Sveta’s Telepresence Doll did a particularly flashy landing, going down on one knee and driving her fist into the concrete.

“Did you see that, Miette? Flawless superhero landing!” she gloated.

Miette responded by lightly smacking the backside of her head. “Yeah, yeah. Give it a rest, Iron Lesbian.”

Maurice ran up to the pair, grinning broadly. In contrast to his simple slacks, tee and apron, both girls were dressed smartly in uniforms that blended the drab green of the Army's standard uniform with reddish maid-like embellishments, such as frilly lace around the shoulders, a bow tied around the neck and a skirt that reached to mid-thigh; Miette wore sheer black pantyhose under her skirt, whereas Sveta had a pair of white thigh-high socks. A patch on their breasts identified them as members of the ‘Revolutionary Army Maid Corps.’

“I see you’ve finally started to understand Sveta’s strange jokes, Miette,” Maurice said.

The redheaded pilot scoffed, placing a hand on her hip. “By osmosis only. How’ve you been, Maurice? It’s been, what, two years?” She pulled the larger man into a bear hug, and Maurice found himself surprised by how strong her grip was as he reciprocated.

“Yup, two years. I know you kids are busy with your secret military projects, but you could come visit an old man every now and then, hmm? Especially now that me and Chris finally have the restaurant open.”

Sveta jumped up and down in excitement. “Ooh, yeah! I’ve been wanting to see it! You got lots of twinks in there dressed up in skimpy outfits?!”

Maurice smirked. “Most of the staff doesn’t show up for another few hours. It’s just me and Chris right now doing some of the morning prep. If you can hang around until the lunch rush though, I promise you twinks aplenty.”

Sveta turned to Miette, with sparkling eyes begging permission. Miette simply shrugged. “You’re the one with the schedule, Sveta.”

Sveta tapped her chin in thought. “We can probably spare three hours, max. We’ll be out of your hair by the time noon rolls around, I promise.”

“In that case,” Maurice motioned to the doors behind him, “care to come inside?”

*******

Chris Spiteri, Maurice’s husband, was a gentle man with curly brown hair, big brown doe-eyes and an infectious smile. As soon as he caught sight of Sveta and Miette, he rushed out from the kitchen to greet them enthusiastically.

“Sveta, Miette, welcome! It’s been too long! Welcome to our humble restaurant!” he gushed as she shook hands with them.

“Nice to see you again, Chris!” Sveta responded. “You’re looking good. That kidney thing still bothering you?”

“Nah,” Chris replied, waving his hand. “Both of my kidneys are back at full function. That new nanotechnology the doctors are using is absolutely amazing! Now I can drink like a teenager again!” He guffawed loudly.

Sveta recalled the first time she’d met Chris, at a big party held two years ago on the fifth anniversary of Victory Day. All of Maid Squadron and their families had been in attendance, with two exceptions, and the event had functioned as a big reunion for comrades who had drifted apart to their own separate lives over the years. Alcohol had flowed freely, as it tends to at such celebrations, and Chris had complained rather loudly to anyone who’d listen about how his doctors wouldn’t let him drink anything. Sveta was glad to hear the newest developments in medical technology had returned him to full health.

“Well,” Chris continued, “you two are probably eager to catch up with Maurice.” He planted a quick peck on his husband’s cheek, and Maurice blushed a bit. “I’ll take care of today’s prep, babe. You enjoy your visitors.” He turned and headed back into the kitchen while Sveta, Miette and Maurice all took a seat in one of the booths.

“So,” Maurice said, “can I get you anything? I know you can’t drink, Sveta, but would Miette like some coffee or tea?”

There was an awkward pause, and Miette fidgeted. “No thanks, Maurice.”

“Well, just let me know if you change your mind. So what brings you to Earth? Not here to ask me to come back to the Army for ‘one last mission,’ are ya?”

“Nah,” Sveta replied with a laugh. “In truth, we’re just here to visit. After today we’re gonna be away from Earth for a while… a very long while. Several years, possibly decades. We’re taking this chance to visit some old friends before our trip.”

“We just saw Vicky on the moon,” Miette added. “She’s happily chugging away at her little farm, growing all sorts of crazy genetically engineered moon crops. She says hi, by the way.”

Maurice smirked. “To think our dear horny ex-maid actually did become a farmer in the end. Takes all types, huh?” He sat back in the booth and stroked the stubble on his chin. “So, when you say you two are going on a long trip…”

“Sadly, we can’t talk about it,” Miette said quickly, apparently preempting Sveta. “Highly classified and all that. You know how it is.”

“I’m guessing it has something to do with that massive ship y’all are building behind the moon?” Maurice said, eyes narrowing.

“You know about that?!” Sveta gasped, before clamping her hands over her mouth.

“Of course,” Maurice said proudly. “We get lots of soldiers in here, and I overhear gossip. Besides, it’s hard to hide a construction project that big. That ship is what, six or seven kilometers long? I’d bet a month’s ration tickets it has something to do with Zehra and her study of faster-than-light technology.”

Miette and Sveta didn’t answer him, but the look on their faces told him everything he needed to know. “Aha, I knew it.”

Sveta shook her head. “Looks like Teles’ much-vaunted new security agency ain’t as competent as they claim,” she muttered. Four years ago, Teles had spearheaded the unification of the NKVD and GRU, along with a half-dozen other state security agencies, under the umbrella of a brand-new intelligence service called the KGB. Although she wasn’t officially in charge, everyone knew she pulled the strings behind the scenes.

Miette shrugged. “Maurice is right, though. When you’re building something that big, there’s no way to keep it completely under wraps. Hell, just the construction crew numbers in the hundred thousands. Teles probably knows there’s no way to clamp down on every pair of loose lips.”

Sveta nodded. “Let’s hope the old adage ‘loose lips sink ships’ isn’t true in this case.”

Maurice clapped his hands together. “So! You two are charging off on another space adventure, huh? Were I thirty years younger, I’d come along in a heartbeat. Alas, as a man in his mid-fifties, I’m enjoying my retirement far too much. I must say, Sveta, I’m a bit jealous of you. As an AI, you don’t age like us poor fleshbags. Right, Miette?”

There was another awkward silence as all three stared at each other for a moment. Then, Maurice squinted. “Actually, Miette, now that I think about it, you look like you haven’t aged a day since the end of the war. You’re in your thirties now, right? Do you have some sort of miracle skincare regimen Zehra invented?”

Miette’s eyes fell and she pressed her lips together. “Well, yes and no. It’s something Zehra invented, but I don’t really have skin anymore.” She held out her left arm, which suddenly flickered; the holographic projection of her skin vanished, revealing the smooth ceramic-composite surface of a Telepresence Doll.

Maurice gasped. “Wait. WAIT! You…”

Miette nodded. “I underwent the brain-scanning process, yes. This Telepresence Doll has its own miniaturized computer core which contains my consciousness. I’m not like Sveta; her mind is spread across a bunch of partitions in many separate computer cores. How many are you up to again, Sveta?”

“1,247 separate partitions in 1,043 computer cores,” Sveta responded. “Most of those are Gravity Frames. At some point, I became the standard OS for the newest generation of Frames, so they’re installing copies of me everywhere!”

“Right. Point is, I’m not like that. I just have the one body, this Telepresence Doll,” Miette concluded.

“So you’re, like, an android or something?” Maurice asked.

“The terminology we’re using is ‘upload’ for humans who’ve undergone the process,” Sveta explained. “For those who only have one robotic body and partition of their mind, maintaining a life close to what they experienced as a biological human, we call them ‘hard uploads.’ For those who opt for a more digital existence, either spending their time in virtual space or operating across multiple bodies and mind partitions, we call them ‘soft uploads.’ So Miette is a hard upload, and I’m a soft upload. Both fall under the umbrella term ‘artificial intelligence.’”

Maurice whistled. “How… how many people have… uploaded themselves?”

“Tens of thousands,” Miette said. “All in the military for the moment, but the Politburo will be releasing the technology to the public soon.”

“Next year, I think,” Sveta confirmed. “They need enough time to manufacture Telepresence Dolls for, well, millions of people. They might have to do a lottery at first, since we’re expecting the upload process to be very popular.”

“I can imagine,” Maurice said, still a bit floored. “You’re talking about offering everyone practical immortality. No disease, no aging, no more bad knees or slipped discs. That’s… the implications are…”

“Some old farts on the Politburo objected,” Sveta said with a hint of bitterness, “raising the specter of overpopulation that immortality might bring, a ‘Malthusian catastrophe’ or whatever. Those objections were overridden pretty quickly, though. It’s not like Earth is very crowded these days.” Even seven years after the war had ended, the human population had yet to rise above 500 million, with around two-thirds of that living on Earth and one-third in the orbital colonies; despite the post-war baby boom, birth rates were far below what the Politburo would have liked. Experts calculated it might be half a century or more before humans numbered over a billion once again.

“Sheesh,” Maurice exclaimed. “To think I’d see practical widespread transhumanism in my time. That’s remarkable!”

“You know,” Sveta said, leaning forwards conspiratorially, “we could get early access for you and Chris, if you wanted. Just have to make a single phone call and you two could have Telepresence Doll bodies of your very own.”

Maurice shook his head. “Nah. We talked about that before, entirely speculative at the time, but… we’re both content to live out our natural lives and pass on when the time comes. We’re not particularly keen on chasing immortality.”

Sveta nodded, an understanding smile on her face. “Fair enough.”

“So!” Maurice said, clapping again. “Tell me about everyone else. How are Sabina and Genevi doing? Did Sabina get herself uploaded too?”

They continued to reminisce and catch up as the dreaded deadline of noon approached. Chris looked out on his husband, warmly visiting with two of his old war comrades, and smiled as he prepared for the lunch rush.

******

At a little after noon-thirty, Sveta’s Gravity Frame lifted off from southern Moscow and, with a quick pulse of its gravity fins, rocketed upwards into the stratosphere. The maneuver was extreme enough that a certain traffic control AI had a minor breakdown, staring with wide eyes at the retreating Frame as it configured itself into shuttlecraft mode and accelerated out of Earth’s gravity well at 200 km/s.

“Well, that was nice,” Sveta said, ignoring Moldavite’s angry pings. “I’m glad to see Maurice is doing well.”

“Yeah,” Miette agreed. “A man in his fifties has no business looking that good in such skimpy clothing. Dude keeps in shape.” Maurice had, at Sveta’s insistent request, modeled the standard Femboy Hooters uniform for them near the end of their visit.

“You know,” Sveta said conspiratorially, “I took very detailed scans of that uniform. I could replicate it holographically.” She emphasized the point with a large wink.

Miette blushed. “Sounds incredible. I wonder if we could get Genevi to wear it too. Or Laria, could you imagine her bashful fidgeting?”

“I’m sure Katya would appreciate that. Oh, god! Imagine KATYA in that uniform!”

The mental image of the muscular Katya in booty shorts and a midriff-baring tank top was just a bit too much for Miette, and she bit her lip before her libido got out of control. “L-Let’s save that kind of talk for later. We have a mission to finish first.”

“Spoilsport,” Sveta grumbled. “Fine, fine, back to business. Setting course for Mars, Outpost One, Olympus Mons. ETA, twelve minutes.”

Sveta accelerated further, getting well clear of the Moon’s orbit, before pointing her bow square at Mars, spinning up her reality furnace and jumping to warp with a flare of purple light.