The scent of sex is an aphrodisiac for some. For others, a reminder of last night’s drunken mistake. For me, it’s just part of the job.The crowd parted before me like the thighs of a LUV 180 at the sight of a twentycredit chit. I passed a number of Pleasurebots, but didn’t stop. I’d spotted the one I wanted the minute I walked through the Lovehut door. An early model PSSN-M, maybe an 02 or an 03, one of the first Pleasurebots to strut off the assembly line. A dark-haired one, with dark eyes, instead of the standard blond and blue. The muscled arms and taut abs looked factory issue, but the rest was clearly a custom order.Pleasurebots don’t keep to themselves, but this one stood along the wall, alone. He could’ve been waiting for someone, but I suspected something more serious, like a malfunction. I made my way through the bumping and grinding crowd, my hand ready to grab my stunner if I needed it. Some PSSNs have a malfunctioning ignition. You can turn them on, you just can’t turn them off. A man who rented a PSSN-F-02 in one of the older Lovehuts learned that the hard way. She fucked him to death. Since then, Howard Adar and the Newcity Ruling Council have had the Recreational Intercourse Operatives working heavy duty overtime to find the faulty models and haul them in for repairs. It isn’t always easy. There are certain men and women who will pay ten times the going rate for the thrill of risking a Passion Model with a malfunctioning ignition.It isn’t easy to convince a PSSN he or she needs to be fixed, either, not when shoddy repairs can put them out of commission for a long time. Sometimes, even forever. Passion Models can spot an R.I. Op a mile away, even out of uniform. Sometimes they run.

This one met my eyes and let a slow, hot smile cross his perfectly shaped lips like synthetic butter on a hot cob of articorn. “Hello, officer.”

“Operative GMMA 4121609.” I slid up my sleeve to show him the tattoo badge on my forearm. “Personal ID unit?”

He spread his fingers in a mock-innocent gesture. “Must’ve left it at home.”

I raised one eyebrow at him to let him know I wasn’t fooled. “You know you’ll have to come to the nearest inspection station with me.”

In the glaring neon light from above the bar, his eyes looked dark as midnight. Blue and green swirls glittered from the flashing lights. He frowned.

“You’re kidding me.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

He took the opportunity to let his gaze move completely along my body, paying special attention to my nipples, which pushed at the navy blue artisilk of my uniform. And then, damn him, when he looked at the junction of my legs, he licked his lips.

“No, officer. You don’t.”

“You know the laws, buddy. All bots have to be registered and licensed…and inspected.” This close, he smelled unbelievable. Something expensive, custom-blended. I could smell him even above the tang of deathsticks and hallucinabars. This Passion Model was high class.

He nodded then, but his dark eyes narrowed. “You think I’m—”

I put my hand on my stunner far less than casually. “Are you going to give me a hard time?”

At my unintentional pun, he flashed me that grin again. “I guess I am. If you insist.”

I made a show of shaking my head and rolling my eyes, but since it appeared he was going to come with me quietly, I just waved him toward the door. God-of-choice, the view from behind was just as sweet. I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for the PSSN-M. They were built with a quality that seems to have gone by the wayside. Sure, the newer Pleasurebots have been improved. They make the PSSY models with an intelligence to rival any sixth grader, and the CUM 180s can even add and subtract. But when it comes right down to their real function, sex, the first PSSNs have a wonderful quality all their own, lost in the later upgrades. A sense of humor. I guess most people don’t like to laugh while they’re naked.

He tossed a glance over his shoulder as we pushed through the doors to the parking lot. “You sure you want to do this?”

“It’s my job, metalboy. Keep it moving.”

And did he ever. I hadn’t seen an ass move like that since R.I. Op training, when we were forced to undergo hours of simulated stimulation—and even most of the simstim hadn’t looked that good.

“Someone put a lot of money into you,” I told him.

He paused at the edge of the moving tread sidewalk and gave me another of his cocky grins. “Which way do you want me?”

He was asking me which direction I wanted him to take the pedtread, but his sexy double entendre served its purpose. I felt the flush rise along my cheeks. I was going to enjoy this inspection, faulty ignition or no.

“Follow me.”

Using the pedtread, we reached the nearest inspection station only a minute away. Its red neon sign blinked a beacon for us as we stepped off the pedtread and onto the sidewalk. He looked up at the sign, one of the more graphic ones. This one showed a gigantic erect phallus penetrating a pulsating pussy. The neon was old and flickering, giving the simulated copulation a frenzied look.

He nodded toward it. “In there?”

His pretense at innocence was beginning to annoy me. “You have another place in mind?”

He let that liquid chocolate gaze slide down over my breasts and center between my thighs again before he replied. “My apartment, maybe.”

“You know that’s illegal. Get inside.”

He hesitated again, one foot on the doorstep. “I’ve never been inside one of these places.”

For an instant, just a moment, I felt sorry for him. It’s not a Passion Model’s fault if he or she malfunctions. Still, the laws had been passed and I was just doing my job. Better for me to risk a bot going into overdrive than an untrained civilian. I could handle it. Most people couldn’t.

“Inside.”

He shrugged again and laughed. “Sure thing.”

The benches in the lobby were empty. All the magazines had been put away neatly in their racks. A pair of saucy breasts peeked out at me from one magazine cover. A set of nice firm male buns showed on another. Directly ahead of us sat the receptionist, and behind her desk stretched the long corridor of inspection rooms.

“Slow night?” I slid up my sleeve to show her the tatbadge, though Miriam and I had known each other since I first graduated from R.I.O.

Miriam nodded and brushed her waist-length ebony hair over one shoulder with crimson-painted nails. The movement slid her neckline even farther open to show the cherry tips of her perfect white breasts. Behind me, I heard the PSSN let out a low mutter. Miriam smiled.

“Yeah.” She looked me over. “But I might say that you are looking fine tonight, Gemma.”

“I’m on duty.”

She shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

I had to force back a chuckle. “Just sign us in, okay?”

Miriam yawned. “Take your pick. They’re all empty.”

I held out my arm so she could scan the badge, then opened my eyes so she could give me the retinal scan. The bright light, as always, left dark spots in my vision for a few seconds. Blinking, I stopped her when she moved to give my detainee the scan.

“He doesn’t have a license.”

A Pleasurebot without a license wouldn’t have a retscan code either. Newcity Council’s pressure to keep the Lovehuts clean hadn’t extended to a bigger budget. Captain Rando was coming down hard on the department for unnecessary expenses, and full scans cost a minimum of .75 credits. I didn’t want to be on the Chief’s rant list without reason.

Miriam looked at him more closely. “Malfunction?”

I gave him a glance. “No reports and no complaints. Just a random inspection. He didn’t have his personal ID unit, so…”

“You have got the best job.” Miriam sighed. “C’mon.”

Through the entire exchange, my handsome Passion Model had remained silent. When Miriam left the security of her desk, however, he let out a low, strained whistle. I could understand why. Miriam’s skirt covered her from waist to toes, but the material was so sheer nothing was hidden. Her taut buttocks were clearly visible under the cloth. When she reached the door to the inspection room, the dark triangle of her pubic area pressed against the gauzy cloth. It was just demure enough to be totally captivating.

“See you later,” she said and gave my bot a wink that made him groan.

Once inside the inspection room, I gave him a moment to calm down. “Have a seat.”

Predictably enough, he chose the bed. I stayed standing while I prepared to read him his rights. “You are aware that Mandate 6978 requires all Pleasurebots to be licensed, registered and regularly inspected?”

“Yeah. I know about that.”

I fingered the top snap of my jumpsuit. “You are aware that by not providing me with the appropriate license you gave me reason to require you to accompany me to Inspection Station 7308 for a full and thorough inspection of all your functions, to be completed at my discretion and to my satisfaction?”

He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking nervous. “Yeah.”

“Are you prepared to abide by my decisions regarding your function and ability, should I determine you need repairs?”

Now he laughed. “Sure. Yeah.”

“You seem to be taking this awfully lightly,” I said. “This is a serious offense.”

He forced his smile into a serious look. “Sorry, officer.”

“State your name.”

“Declan.”

I sighed. “Your ID number?”

He frowned. “I don’t think I have one.”

Memory wipe. So far, he hadn’t exhibited any of the tics or tremors that signaled a faulty ignition, but loss of RAM could indicate a bigger problem. “Never mind. I can probably find your registration code.”

He laughed again, more loudly. I didn’t like his attitude, but I didn’t show my annoyance. He’d be begging for mercy when I finished with him, anyway.

“Let’s just get started, okay?”

He looked a little nervous again. “What do you want me to do?”

I didn’t have to think too hard about that one. “Stand up.”

He did.