Sheik Bin-Salman was being shown around the factory. It was a proud achievement to have won the rights to host the factory. A source of high-quality jobs, that would bring back his people. Show him as a benelovent leader, and making the neighbouring Sultans, Emirs and so forth jealous.
Pushing the gaudily large red button, he'd started the production line three year ago. Now, it was in full production. The wealth of the country bringing more wealth. It diversified from an oil-based economy, venturing into tourism. The synthetics it created were of the highest quality. Artificial lives, battling their ways through the courts, were ultimately defined as not real. Lacking rights, they were coded to be subservient, and incapable of harming a living soul.
They were durable, and hard-working. As the production had followed the trend of customer demand. The sheik had found it was producing more gynoids, than androids. Until, the production was now entirely female. The role of wife had now been outsourced, demure, submissive, unquestioning obedience had proven to be a fantastic sales pitch.
Even his neighbours were bidding for them. Adding to his fortune. He received many bids from 'more enlightened' countries, who still wanted their thirsts slaked. The dirty secret his research labs couldn't crack was the human element. Beneath the programming, the instincts had to come from an actual human. Naturally, the first subject weren't fully encoded. The resources needed for that were prohibitively expensive, but as the technology advanced, it became possible to record and transfer a whole consciousness into a sythetic body.
The first experiments had been on those destined for hanging. The corpses mounted as the experiments failed, but within six months he'd succeeded in waking one of those criminals in the synth body, to watch his own execution.
- - - - -
After another six months, the Sheik had shifted to picking those who'd volunteer their consciousness for transplanting. Agitators, rivals, and malcontents were found new roles... productive roles in society. Their unfortunate tendencies buried beneath the programming that ensured compliance.
He watched as his last union organiser came off the conveyor belt. His eyes wide with horror, he couldn't help but feel the shimmy and bounce of her new bust. Or the tingling hunger of her new sex. Her too plush lips worked silently as she fought to ask any question, to cope with her reveral. But, she was programmed to be mute, so she stood defiance glittering in her eyes. His heritage ripped from him, she had no trace of her Arabic genes left. She looked like a pneumatic blonde bimbo. A popular model, all around the world.
This one was destined for Tokyo, where she'd be effectively illiterate. There was a certain customer who wanted a more curvaceous bride. Who wanted a foreign bride.
https://i.pinimg.com/originals/53/91/fc/...
The sheik gave her an amused smile and a patronising wave, as the technician arrived. Deactivating her with the remote, she was easily crated up for transport.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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