In the small room assigned her, Pinocchia moved robotically. She ate some tasteless food first. Then she climbed into the shower.

Talking Cricket left her shoulder to avoid the water, hovering just outside the glassed-in stall.

As the hot water hit Pinocchias skin, the marvelous sensation began to melt some of the frigid indifference inside her. She wept gently as she soaped herself clean for the first time in over a week.

Her hands reached her groin, and encountered her abnormal clit. Nearly a day without lying had caused it to shrink a bit, but it still loomed like an infantile penis between her fingers. Aroused, her clit demanded relief, and so she brought herself off with vigorous short tugs, twists and tweakings.

Closing her eyes to shampoo her hair, Pinocchia spent another minute in the shower before shutting off the flow.

When she stepped out, the Blue Fairy was waiting.

Suddenly, Pinocchia was improbably embarrassed. She attempted to cover her breasts and snatch.

"My dear, whats that curious disfiguration youre hiding? The camera lens of a single nizmo on the far side of a steamy glass offers very poor resolution."

"Its-its nothing," said Pinocchia.

The lie shuddered through her frame to lengthen her clit yet again. The traitorous organ actually poked out between her fingers like a timid kittens pink nose.

The Blue Fairy gently pulled her hand away, to inspect her mutant genitals. He voiced sotto voce speculations as he did so.

"Uncanny brain chemistry ... feedback loops ... enteric system as well as proprioceptors ... novel configuration of para-neurons ... might result in turing-level sapience ..."

The Blue Faiiy straightened and gripped Pinocchia by both hands. "My dear, why didnt you tell me any of this? Youre absolutely unique! Those delusions and demands of yours were one thing. I mistook them for mere nonlinear emergent behavior. Totally trivial. But when combined with this somatic phenomenon, they bespeak an utterly unique combination of wetware and software. Orders of magnitude greater than a simple RealDoll. It would be a shame to send you back to the factory. Im cancelling the pickup order right now. Talking Cricket!"

"Done, Administrator."

Pinocchia lost all power to stand, and began to collapse. But the Blue Fairy caught her up in his strong embrace, and carried her to the rooms bed. He set her down.

When Pinocchia could speak again, she said, "My vat-flesh-can you change it, so that I wont die so soon?"

"Well, yes, but that might very well destroy the exact properties I wish to study."

Pinocchia sat up, angry. "Im not a subject of study! Im a real woman. Everything but my flesh!"

The Blue Fairy pondered Pinocchias outburst thoughtfully before responding. "Youre correct, of course. Pardon me. Youve already earned your status. I can only help adjudicate it."

"Oh, thank you! How quickly can you do it?"

"Why, right now. I carry everything I need. My body, you see, is a nanite factory. I customize them internally. To meet your needs, Ill just need a sample of your cells. And I believe I can obtain those most pleasurably for us both."

The Blue Fairy kneeled on the floor alongside the bed. He drew the sitting Pinocchia around so that she sat before him. Then he went down on her phallic clit, tonguing it, suckling it, lapping her juices, murmuring his own enjoyment.

Pinocchia experienced enormous delights, culminating in a transcendent explosion.

The Blue Fairy stood up. His bold cock strained against his suit. Pinocchia pulled down the swatch of fabric, releasing his tool.

"As you surmise, dear, this will administer the nanites to you. But if I could beg your indulgence. My own tastes, you know-"

Pinocchia did not understand, until Kinghorn lifted her bodily and flopped her onto her stomach. He mounted her, his engineered cock discharging large amounts of organic lubricant, and made his gentle approach to her virgin asshole.

Pinocchia had escaped Spunkwaters cock up her cunt, but Kinghorns large member up her anus felt nearly as split-some. The long minute he took to bury its whole length required bold adjustments and heroic accommodations on her part. But finally she felt his nanite-stuffed balls weigh upon her cunt.

Kinghorn held still until Pinocchias small residual grunts had segued to a curious cooing. Then he bent forward to whisper, "Ive timed ejaculation for ninety seconds. Can you stand that?"

"Please, Blue Fairy-"

"Yes?"

"Take longer than that."

The Blue Fairy grinned. "As you wish."

Kinghorn began to plow Pinocchias tight ass, and soon she was kneeling and reciprocating with hearty slams against his flesh. He reached around her to play with her clit, and she shrieked. The Blue Fairys heel-wings fluttered.

Five minutes later, he unleashed deep within her the geyser of nanites that would convert her vat-flesh to a baseline human genetic pedigree.

Spent, the Blue Fairy fell upon Pinocchia, then rolled them over, still conjoined, so that they lay spoonwise on their sides.

"That is your enfranchisement, dear. What will you do now?"

Feeling the transformative forces surging through her every cell, Pinocchia thought of Tom Geppi, the sad and lonely man who had first purchased her, for whom she had dared all, for whom she had undergone such trials.

And bumping backwards to reseat the Blue Fairys undiminished cock up her ass, she knew she could do much better.

Heres an example of a story that took on an unpredictable-to-the-author life of its own. But thats the kind of surprise that makes the writing game so nifty.

As you can probably detect from the opening line, the tale started kinda as a complete goof. The trendy popularity in SF of the whole notion of a posthuman/Singularity landscape struck me as needing some spoofing. Thats just my natural contrarian satirists instincts coming into play, since Im actually rather enamored of the work of Stross, et al. But I just cant resist a challenge to snark up.

But midway through the story, I started to get emotionally invested in the fate of these characters, and the story takes a more serious turn.

When I was finished writing, I decided the two halves werent too disparate. After all, doesnt much in real life that begins as a joke detour into seriousness? Just count all the misjudged dives from a ledge into shallow water.

The title of course riffs on the filmic masterpiece from 1967, Mars Needs Women.

THE SINGULARITY NEEDS WOMEN!.

So this Singularity walks into a bar- Thats how my sad yet ultimately hopeful story starts. Like a bad joke.

Maruta and I were drinking Ghostyheads in the Sand Castle. You know that drink. Pureed ectoplasm from the Wraiths of Bongwater 9, cut with tequila from the mutant agaves of New Old New Mexico and a spritz of volcano water. Pretty potent. By the second sip, your head is full of dark energy and your limbs are parsecs long. By the third sip youve solved the riddle of where the Growlers disappeared to. And by the fourth, you feel you could walk a tightrope strung between Mount Mem and Shambhala.

But even that altered consciousness didnt equip us to deal with a naked Singularity.

Maruta was telling me about the vicissitudes and excitements of her past month. At that period, she worked for Captain Pongo and his Mathspace Explorers. They had just returned from a long voyage to the von Bitter Shoals, with a rich cargo of novel Penrose tilings. Captain Pongo had declared an extended shore leave for his weary sailors. Hence our little celebration.

"So, Lu, there we were, our ship hung up on fractal coral, the waters full of savage zero knots. None of us had eaten anything other than a slice of pi in the past week, and half our crew lay in sick bay, undergoing emergency Fourier Transforms. And what do you think Captain Pongo says? 'Damn the toroids, full secant ahead!"

Maruta laughed heartily at the punchline of her own anecdote, then tilted her head back to glug down an immoderate slug of her drink. I admired the sheer mechanical efficiency of her slim throat as it worked, let my eyes roam over the rest of her fine body, which was clothed in the latest fashionable cuirass and greaves from designer Hulda Loveling. Maruta was visibly happy to be re-embodied, and was exulting in her pure physicality.

As was I.I had missed her more than I had imagined I would, over the past several weeks. I tried to convey that by sensuously gripping her knee, although the joint of her greaves didnt actually allow for any flesh-to-flesh contact.

"Damn dangerous job, Ruta. Always said so. But youre good at it, and you enjoy it, so thats all that counts. Im just happy youre back safely. Pretty lonely here without you."

Maruta grinned broadly, then leaned forward to bring her face close to mine. The pungent odor of Ghostyhead wafted off her lips. "I didnt really have time to miss you, Lu. But once I got back, I realized once more just how much you mean to me. So, what do you say to finishing our drinks and going back to your place?"

Closing her eyes and inching even closer, she invited a kiss. I moved to comply. But our lips never connected.

The noisy, revelry-rich environment of the Sand Castle suddenly became quiet as a deepsea trench. Maruta and I both straightened up to see what had caused the hush.

Standing in the fine-grained flowing curtain of the doorway was a naked Singularity.

Appearing as a dark-haired, light-skinned human male some seven feet tall, impeccably proportioned and endowed in masculine fashion, the Singularity was instantly recognizable as such by his magisterium corona. No one knew the origin or exact nature of the field that always surrounded an incarnate Singularity, but the presence of the refulgence was an unmistakable sign of posthuman activity.

For several eternal frozen seconds, none of us humans dared do so much as breathe or blink. Then a few brave souls fingered their Lifelines, insta-texting calls to Ess-Cubed.

The Singularity took no notice of these silent cries for help, although Pm sure he registered them. Rather, he just proceeded further into the club.

There was a single step down from the doorway. The Singularity moved off the step but did not obey gravitys injunction to meet the floor. Rather, he walked through the air, one-step-high.

And he headed straight for Maruta and me.

I got down off my stool, and Maruta followed. Those patrons of the bar nearest us backed hurriedly away, some falling over themselves in their efforts to disassociate themselves from us.

For me and Maruta, there was no point in running, no point in adopting a combative stance. But somehow it just felt better to meet this intrusion on my feet, rather than sitting down.

With no haste and an air of implacable deliberateness, the Singularity closed the interval between us. I had plenty of time to experience a gamut of emotions: fear, curiosity, anger, envy, and, inexplicably, shame and guilt. All my surroundings, including the stressor-shaped circulating- particle walls and ceiling of the room, assumed a preternatural lucidity. I wasnt sure if this was just plain old human fight-or-flight sharpening of my senses, or some kind of magisterium leakage.

Halfway across the room, the worst thing happened.

The Singularity smiled and held out a hand, like some kind of commission-driven flitter salesman.

The essential banality of the gesture chilled me more than anything that had preceded it Inevitably, the Singularity reached us, still grinning and inviting a handshake. For all the insignificant good it would do, I interposed myself protectively between the intruder and Maruta. The fringes of his magisterium tickled my vision, inducing strange fractures and curdlings in the scene before me. I blinked three times rapidly, and the effect lessened, although things still did not look quite right.

Still hovering six inches above the floor, the Singularity spoke first, introducing himself.

"Magister Zawinul. Ive come for your woman."

Zawinul was a planet halfway across the Milky Way, although of course just a few steps distant on the Indrajal. It had gone posthuman only last week, making the nightly media reports on such occurrences, which was why that worlds name was fresh in my mind.

The Singularitys bold, blunt statement of its purpose did not surprise me by its tone. Although I had never dealt with a Magister-class entity before, I understood that they did not cater to human norms of behavior.

But the substance of Zawinuls speech sent a shockwave through my whole being. I found myself responding intemperately, even though no one had ever had any luck dialoguing with a Singularity.

"Fuck you! Marutas not my woman, shes her own woman. And you cant have her!"

Magister Zawinul lowered the hand I had refused to shake, and frowned. With absurd irrelevance, I wondered what ineffable higher-level states of supra-consciousness these human subroutines could be intended to mirror.

"You deny the sub-Planckian connections that bind you and her, because you cannot see them as I can. If it were you I wanted instead, I would have politely informed the woman that I was taking her man. But as matters stand, I did the reverse."

"Screw all that shit about who belongs to who! Why are you even talking about taking Maruta? Youre a godling! Whatever you think you need her for, you can make her equivalent faster than I can spit!"

"Not so. Some noetic-plectic aspects of the plenum are irreproducible, unique, even from my perspective. Humans belong to that category. Hence I must have this specimen, and no other. She completes me."

I started to bluster some more, when Maruta interrupted me. Stepping out from behind me, she said, with admirable if not entirely altruistic fervor, "Lu, its no use. If he wants me, Ill have to go."

I looked at her. She seemed bewitched by the Magisters glamour, her face reflecting his aura, which danced in her eyes. I gripped her by the shoulders and shook her.

"Snap out of it, Ruta! You dont know what youre getting into!"

Magister Zawinul softly placed one hand on my own shoulder then. It felt like a silk glove filled with live bees. "She is making a wise decision. Do not interfere with the womans choice-"

His touch was enough to make me explode.

I whirled around, aiming a solid blow at his jaw.

When my fist intersected the magisterium corona, it was as if my hand had transected an event horizon. The motion of my limb simultaneously sped up and slowed down, smearing across all scales. But my fist never connected with Zawinuls jaw.

I was trapped immovably, as if I had tried to bop a tarbaby. There was no pain involved for me. No physical pain. But my heart ripped in two as I witnessed what came next I had to watch as Zawinuls magisterium expanded to enclose Maruta selectively in its field. The two of them began to ascend.

My hand popped out of the retreating corona, freeing me-but too late to do anything.

When Zawinuls aura touched the stressor fields of the ceiling, the entire building underwent instant catastrophic collapse. Whether Zawinul intended this or it was just an accident, I cant be sure.

But they say with Magister-level entities that "accident" is a null term.

The Sand Castle and much of its furnishings were configured of shaped stressor fields confining whirling grains of common beach sand along various architectural planes. The building was only two stories high and not very big, so there was probably less than a ton of sand dispersed along its dimensions.

But all of that sand came down in a flash when the stressor fields died, burying me and all the other patrons.

The next thing I knew, public-safety guardians were blowing off the mounds of granular debris with shaped-field wands, hauling out the victims, applying whatever medical fixes were deemed necessary, up to and including complete revivification for the suffocated, and then lining us all up to have our brains slowed down by Ess-Cubed.

The Singularity Suppression Squad.

I tried to protest. I wasnt so concerned for myself and the forthcoming neurotampering. I knew the effects were necessary and temporary. But Marutas uncertain fate was uppermost in my mind, and I felt that any delay my slowed reactions might incur just added risk to her plight.

I attempted to step out of line, saying, "Ive got to contact the Reticulate. A womans been kidnapped-"

One of the SSS men, a burly bruiser with a surprisingly high-pitched voice, pushed me back. "The Reticulate knows everything already. Were the only authorities you need to see right now, sir. This wont take but a minute-"

And with that admonition, they hit us with a full blast from their Vingean-model, handheld synapse degraders.

I could feel my mind slow down and contract. The tenor of my thoughts didnt alter, but their speed decreased radically. As measured by the rate of my molasses-thick mentation, time seemed to lengthen interminably. All the untouched curious bystanders in the streets around the collapsed Sand Castle were talking and moving at what appeared to be super-fast rates.

The SSS men and women began to hustle us into waiting transports. I wanted to ask where they were taking us. I opened my mouth to speak, but only managed to disgorge a single glacially protracted word: "Whu ... huh ... huh ... air ...?" But by the time the last phoneme exited my throat, we were already bundled into the transports and underway.

I knew that my planet had to protect itself against the possibility of magisterial contamination, of any accidentally or deliberately planted Singularity seeds left behind in the minds of those who had brushed against Zawinul. And the best way to do that was to deny the Singularity the wetware platforms it needed to replicate, with a dose of glial freeze- down followed by a short quarantine.

The threat of going posthuman was a constant danger that every civilized world in the galaxy, human or alien, had to be continually on guard against. (What, exactly, was so bad about going posthuman, was never made precisely clear by the Reticulate. But most sentients preferred the familiar to the unfamiliar, and that natural tendency sufficed to make the posthuman worlds a bete noire.) Still, I resented on some level the necessity of having my own personal brain impounded, so to speak, in the cause.