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gratification was a powerful force, and a lack of ejaculation led to very grumpy and aggressive cybernetic troops. All that testosterone the military valued for its aggressive traits proved detrimental when allowed to build up. However, given their need for secrecy and the lack of females on their new homeworld, ejaculatory release proved a challenge. Apparently, masturbation just wasn’t quite the same, hence trips to bordellos became a fact of life.
    For the other cybernetic units at any rate. Einstein, probably the only cyborg alive without an urge to ejaculate, came on the mission more out of practicality than any interest in sticking his cock inside a receptacle. While the smartest cyborg currently alive, intelligence didn’t do him a whit of good without the proper tools or supplies to back them up. Things he could have easily gotten his hands on back on earth proved almost impossible to get in space. Pirates and other black market options available to cyborgs were few and far between, especially those willing to deal with those, “damned murdering robots.”
    Propaganda on cyborgs and their slaughtering ways still splashed the news waves galaxy-wide. False headlines such as “Psycho Droid Kills Entire Colony,” or “Cyborgs, Machines out to Destroy our World” acted as a cover for military misdeeds. True or not, these false stories worked. Humans shied from them, even those skirting the edges of lawlessness.
    With pirates unwilling to trade, they had to turn to other methods to acquire the things they needed. Problem was raids didn’t always net them the right kinds of tools or raw materials. Not to mention, money, real money in the form of gold, the only currency black marketeers would accept, wasn’t easy to procure. Falling back on an old earth custom of trade, in this case the trading of Einstein’s expertise when it came to robotic repair, was the coin of choice for this transaction.
    Leaving his post in the command center, but maintaining a link to the shipboard computer in case of approaching trouble, Einstein entered the floating pleasure palace. Known as the Space Pussy Emporium, the lavish floating space station moved around the galaxy and boasted some of the most advanced sexbots humanity had to offer. He wasn’t impressed.
    Having tried evacuating his testes with a droid once and only once, Einstein could think of a dozen ways that claim could be improved, if he cared. He didn’t. His IQ had more important things to work on, such as how to create better cloaking devices for their ships. How to improve the nanotechnology running through their not so human veins. Who cared if the muscle movement of a sexbot truly reenacted the actual oral suction of a female, or if the vocal chords of a droid came from a speaker in their ear instead of from their mouth? He sure as heck didn’t.
    Lagging behind his eager comrades, Einstein’s enhanced eyesight only briefly made note of the lush décor—thick burgundy carpeting, plump cushioned seating, soft music and lighting. All elements meant to soothe and convey an aura of sumptuous decadence. A waste, he thought.
    As his brothers, in an orderly fashion, entered the entertainment area, Einstein instead approached the courtesy desk manned by a petite female droid who reminded him of images of an earth doll known as Barbie. Supposedly, she represented the epitome of femininity with her curved shape, blonde hair, and painted pink lips. Personally, he thought the ratio of breasts to hips with the very tiny waist made her look like an hourglass with synthetic hair, but then again, he preferred objects with a more balanced symmetry. “I’m looking for the male in charge of robot repair. He told me to meet him here.”
    “One moment please, sir.” Blinking, the receptionist droid sent out an unencrypted, wireless message that he easily picked up.
    It wasn’t long before a corpulent human appeared. “Sorry to keep you waiting. We had a problem with some