Scott Medbury - Inga

The inspiration for this story is twofold. A love of possibilities and a fascination for mans capacity for good and evil.

Robotics is set to become the biggest disrupter of society since the industrial revolution, when machinery saw the agrarian, rural societies in Europe and America become industrial and urban. The bank of England believes that over the next 20 years (yes thats 20 not 200) robots of varying sophistication could take over 80 million American and 15 million British jobs. Thats 50% of the workforce.

That is an incredibly sobering prediction and has a whole swag of ramifications for our lives and those of our children. I began thinking about what has driven previous disruptive technology, and clearly the biggest disrupter in our lifetime has been the internet. Many industries and market forces have driven the internet over the last 25 years, in fact there are too many to mention, but one of the biggest has been the sex industry.

As one senior industry figure put it, all the way back in 2002: For years it has been a dirty secret that one of the key drivers of new consumer technology is sex and pornography.

Cybersex, phone sex, cam sex, virtual sex, sex chat, live streaming and sexting are all new technological phenomena that are the direct result of humankinds most primal urges.

Just some of the technologies that have advanced far quicker than they would have had it not been for sex, include:

E-commerce instant payment means instant gratification, and sex has driven online payment and security solutions since the dawn of the internet.

Streaming video Dutch company Red Light District developed the first Internet-based video streaming two years before YouTube went online.

Webcams these were a staple of the internet sex industry long before they were introduced to the boardrooms of businesses across the world.

We can even go further back and look at older technologies like VCR and Cable TV for examples of sex driven advances. Who needed to visit an adult theater when you could simply switch the TV on.

Will Robotics be any different? That would be a resounding no. Japanese companies have been working on human form robots for over 20 years, and invariably the finished product is made in the image of an attractive young women. As I write this, there are sex robot brothels operating in Europe, and even in the US, one was slated to open in Houston Texas before facing extreme opposition.

While the label robot is a stretch for the dolls that populate these new style brothels, its fair to say that with robotics technology advancing at its current pace, over the next 20 years we will see the rise of human/ complex robot intimacy and (possibly) more frightening, relationships.

Jobs and brothels are not what this book is about though. Its a different kind of story to what I usually write, but I hope youll enjoy this tale of murder, mayhem and a pretty robot, as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Kapotnya, Moscow Russia Winter 2006

It was cold in the ancient Mercedes. The air from the struggling heater was no warmer than the breath from her mouth. Her unrelenting talk grated every nerve in his body, but he let it continue, hearing but not listening, content that soon he would silence her for good.

Finally, after an hours drive from his shitty neighborhood, he turned off the freeway and entered an equally shitty industrial estate. It was here he would end her life and dispose of her body in a dogfood factory.

A fitting end for a cheating bitch.

The drab buildings that marched along the road matched the gray day. If she was curious about why he had brought her to an industrial park on a Sunday, she didnt ask; she just continued babbling about her friends and the inane things they had done during the week.

Even when he finally pulled the lumbering vehicle over to the side of the road in front of the factory, she was oblivious. Ignorant of his dark mood. Oblivious to his intentions. Unaware that each word each peal of her sweet laughter twisted the knife of her betrayal further into his guts.

Fucking bitch!

At 17 years of age, Dimitri Molenski, already had a hard look about him. As thin and deadly as a worn razor, he was in fact, a psychopath. Like most psychopaths, he hid it well. He could be charming and adaptable, but ironically it was his bad boy persona, not his charm, that had attracted Inga Svenson to him.

When they had been introduced at a party by her new friend Kristina, Inga the daughter of the new Swedish ambassador had immediately been attracted to his swagger, his rudeness and his clear disdain for her.

The beautiful 18-year-old was not used to any man being rude to her. Indeed, she was the one normally showing disdain. Disdain for groveling boys her own age. For the middle-aged men who moved in her parents social circle, making no effort to hide their lechery. For the old men who leered at her when she was out and about.

During a giggling visit to the ladies room during the party, Kristina had warned her that he was from the wrong side of the tracks.

Hes bad, Inga. Theres a rumor he even killed a man in the summer.

Really?

Far from dissuading Inga, this information only made the mysterious Dimitri more desirable.

Can you imagine my fathers reaction if I brought a boy like that home? she said.

They both laughed, although Kristina was secretly concerned that her friend would even consider such a thing. She would have been horrified to learn that Inga wasnt just considering it.

Within an hour, the beautiful daughter of a Swedish diplomat was kneeling at the feet of the small time Russian thug in a dark alley beside the nightclub, busily breaking down his disdain for her.

Inga had been right. Her relationship with Molenski had indeed driven her father wild. But the more he raged, the more determined she became until, eventually, her mother stepped in, persuading her father to let it be.

She will tire of him in a few months, how could she not? He is a cheap little gangster. Look into his eyes there is something dead in them like the eyes of a shark. Our Inga will surely wake up from this spell he has her under but its important we dont alienate ourselves from her. We must be there to pick up the pieces when its finished.

The few months had turned into eight, and Inga had not yet tired of Dimitri Molenski. She was under the illusion that shed managed to coax a softer side of him into the light. For his part, Dimitri tolerated her. Her fathers position and her glamorous beauty gave him an envied status among his peers. Of course, the sex was a bonus.

He knew how to play the game, but occasionally his mask slipped. Those slips were scary for Inga, but rather than taking them as a warning sign, she tried all the harder to coddle him. To somehow make up for the difficult childhood that had no doubt molded him into this sometimes volatile, angry young man.

Inga finally paused, suddenly aware they had stopped. She looked around, then back at her boyfriend.

Youre not saying much, she said, in perfect Russian. Where are we?

He finally turned and looked at her. His gaze was as cold as the air in the car.

Dimi, whats wrong? she asked, placing a hand on his arm.

Marat saw you.

What?

Marat saw you with the old man. Saw what you did in the carpark, you fucking whore!

What? I dont know what youre talking

SLAP!

It was the first time he had ever struck her. Ingas mouth fell open, a red hand mark taking shape on the flawless skin of her cheek almost immediately.

Dimi! she said, tears filling her eyes. Please, I have no idea what youre talking about.