Amidst this disaster area masquerading as a room, Walter Nebicher sat in front of the only touch of sophistication the cellar contained - a state of the art computer terminal, one of a kind, inspired by his sense of right and wrong, designed his imagination, built by his skill. It was an achievement to be justly proud of, yet at that moment self congratulation was the last thing on his mind.

Brilliant light shone down on his despondent figure, ruthlessly exposing the taut lines of his face, the monitor screen as empty as the expression in the wide dark eyes that stared at it so intently. His slender hands, sensitive to the slightest irregularity disfiguring the precision of a microchip, lay clenched on the unyielding top of the work station, skin stretched tight over knuckles. The young smoothness of the tense features was an odd companion to the aging weariness in the dark gaze.

The room's atmosphere of abnormal stillness was abruptly shattered when Wally slumped down in his seat, his hands slipping from the desk to rest on his lap. Helpless, caught in dark imagining, he stared at the blank screen of the computer monitor, tortured eyes begging for some unknown mercy.

For three agonising days he had fought against this moment, hiding behind suddenly urgent household chores and make-work at the precinct, dreading what he must do to preserve his sanity. His reality was now in his dreams – nightmares – and he still couldn't bring himself to accept the cold logic of the input. The data was –

Anger flared in Walter at the terminology of his own thoughts, destroying the pseudo-detachment of the scientist. Damnit, he wasn't circuits and printouts! He was living, breathing flesh, not machine!

At odds with himself, he stumbled to his feet, awkward with the war raging out of control in his head. Desolation killed the fire and he circled the room in a restless fashion, avoiding the only cure for his pain and confusion. It lay in easy reach, taunting him to use it and show his courage. But he had no courage, and pain lanced through his mind as he flinched from the necessity.

Walter stopped pacing as his gaze was caught by the shadowy reflection of a stranger trapped in a hanging mirror. The mottled glass pock-marked his face. He stared at the reflected image, the faintest touch of a sneer hardening a mouth that usually expressed a curious mixture of gentleness and stubbornness. The mirrored gaze met his and he winced from the contempt he saw there.

Unable to endure his own gaze he turned away, shoulders drooping as he mounted the stairs on dragging feet. He was reluctant to leave the basement, yet knew he couldn't hide in his sanctuary – his prison - forever. At the top of the wooden flight he stared back down into the creative untidiness, a familiar feeling of loathing and gratitude assailing him as his gaze touched upon one object, then another. Those piled cartons contained his life, each battered box over-flowing with hoarded trivia – which just about summed up his existence. It was all trivial to him now, except for one recent addition - a fragile little box on his workstation. That was like the bottle that held the genie ... It was the one thing he was most proud of accomplishing, but also the one thing that was destroying his peace of mind - a fitting punishment for the crime he had committed in his innocence.

Again Walter felt the longing, that impossible need. It crucified him now, as it had in the early hours of the morning when he had identified his sickness. He shuddered, unwilling to give credence to the knowledge that had attacked him with such devastating suddenness three days ago, but unable to deny its validity. Whatever he was, he was not a moral coward to hide away from the proof of his inherent instability.

Pain splashed through Wally's mind, emotional acid eating away at his control. He sagged against the door, wanting all at once to cry, to assuage his hurt and wash away beckoning insanity. But tears were the easy option and he refused their comfort. His palm slammed against the light switch, plunging the basement into darkness, but never out of his mind.

Taking care to make no sound that might attract the attention of his overly curious landlady, Walter gained the safety of his tiny apartment without hearing her strident tones. He locked the door and sagged against the chipped and scratched wood, a gritty tiredness stinging his closed eyes. It wasn't tears. He was just tired. That's all. Just tired ...

The monotone litany of deception failed in its magic. The warm wetness of his grief seeped from the tightly shut eyelids, trickling down the curves and lines of Walter's face, leaving the bitter tang of salt on his lips. He blotted away the betrayal with the crook of his arm and staggered towards the bed, falling onto the mattress with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. He buried his face into the soft white pillows, his hands clutching the cool cotton material of the under sheet as he gave way to despair.

A draft of cool air stroked across restless, sleeping features and Walter shivered awake, rolling onto his back as he was reluctantly drawn back to the grey dawn. Instinctively he fought off returning awareness, sensing a lurking menace even if he couldn't recall its cause. This self-imposed amnesia was shattered when memory exploded into his mind, keeping his eyes squeezed tight shut against the hostile world.

Walter bit the inside of his cheek, tearing the delicate membrane, the minor pain lost under the flood of the major. He tasted the metallic flavour of his own blood, a macabre sacrifice to a hunger raging inside him that wasn't just physical. His thick dark brows snapped together as he hugged his arms around himself in an effort to still his shivering. He had fallen asleep crying. The deletion of Automan's programme was what common sense dictated as the only answer to an impossible situation, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. It would be murder; cold blooded, premeditated murder. Survival was no excuse at all. Not for him.

He listened to the half darkness of dawn; listened to the stirring life of the city that surrounded him in a cocoon of buildings. A police siren wailed close by, but Walter ignored this sure sign of trouble, focussing his mind inwards as he concentrated on the signs of his own life. It hypnotised him, releasing memories of years spent in involuntary isolation; remembering the years of intense study and debilitating shyness that had driven him into the world of computers. It was a world that had captivated Walter from the first, his growing involvement with its intricacies gradually scaling down his crippling inferiority complex to a level where he could live and work within its limits. Computers had become his only friends. Computers had not aimed laughter or jokes at him, the way most of his classmates had, and he had felt safe from humiliation in their presence. He was on equal footing with the machines. More, he was in control. From the very first time in twenty odd years, he was in control and the feeling was – out of this world. He had achieved everything he had ever wanted - independence, recognition of his skill and a job he loved. Yet still something was lacking, a cold void that had somehow made every triumph ring hollow. Searching to fill that void he had acquired a new obsession; a revolutionary new computer programme. A programme so far advanced in its conception he had, in turns, been both excited and terrified by its implications. The project had taken over his life, his commitment ensuring years of hard work and every penny earned going towards the realisation of his dream, but he had done it. In fact, he had succeeded beyond his wildest imaginings and trespassed into the realms of nightmare.

The thought was pain itself and Walter's body shuddered under the onslaught and he stifled a sob. His dream had darkened and, with it, his life. Depression crushed his spirit, a spirit already fragile from repeated rejections. He had created the perfect friend in the program called Automan, only to make the belated discovery that he had also created the perfect lover.

A smile of bitter self-mockery tilted Walter's mouth. Perfect lover. God, what a joke that was. Rolling onto his stomach, he pushed himself onto one elbow and opened his eyes reluctantly. Walter froze, his expression achingly open.

The corner of the cluttered room glowed with the strange blue halo generated by the long, supple body sprawled in the armchair facing the bed. The darkness of the room hid the almost too-perfect structure of the classically handsome face of Automan. He sat still and silent, hands steepled together, almost in an attitude of prayer.

Rumpled from sleeping in his clothes and feeling grubby into the bargain, Wally glared at the three dimensional image, reddened eyes huge in his unshaven face.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded, harshness concealing the wild, timid creature clawing at his composure. "I didn't call you."

For a few seconds there was no reply as Automan considered the human; then, "You have been neglecting me," he eventually accused his creator, his voice a gentle drawl.

"I – "

"It has been three days since you were last in contact with me," Auto carried on remorselessly. "I was becoming quite concerned."

The intense sapphire gaze nailed Walter to the bed, the note of worry in the quiet voice sending shame through him. Aware of the reaction and feigning indifference, Automan spoke again.

"Our last meeting was so – unsatisfactory, don't you agree?."

"Unsatis – "

"Really, Walter, your conversation leaves much to be desired on occasion."

The velvety reprimand left Walter reeling, completely thrown off balance. Wide-eyed, he looked on as Automan rose gracefully from the chair and a hunted expression played across his face as the tall figure strode purposefully to stand before him. The towering form of glimmering blue was intimidating and, to Walter's everlasting fury, he shrank back against the headboard, obscurely afraid of the unfamiliar tenor in the carefully modulated voice. The unfathomable gaze took due note of the involuntary movement and Walter flushed, bouncing from the bed to his feet. He pushed past the blocking body, or tried to. A pair of well-shaped hands shot out and held him still with gentle but firm insistence.

"No, Walter, this time you won't hide from me."

"What?" Walter bluffed, desperately fighting down the undignified and useless urge to struggle. "That's crazy. I'm not trying to hide."

"Are you not?"

The soft contradiction alarmed Walter and he stiffened, tanned face hard with apprehension; an apprehension that grew as he found himself pushed back towards the bed. The yielding edge of the mattress hit the back of his knees and he sat down abruptly. Automan hunkered down in front of him, still holding his shoulders.

"Walter, why do you lie to me? Surely you must be aware I can detect such an attempt?"

Auto's expression was earnest, the blue eyes almost – tender. Walter swallowed, wanting only to crawl away and hide, but whether into the darkest corner or into those impossibly strong arms even his innate honesty couldn't answer. Confusion clouded his dark eyes and he wanted to speak, yet the words stuck in his throat. He didn't know how to react. What did Auto want from him? The truth, certainly, but that was the one thing that would be impossible to give this all knowing, yet so innocent reflection of his secret ideals. The embodiment was too painfully perfect for Walter to contemplate without crawling horror. The truth would lower his friend to an all too human level. Speechless and vulnerable, he stared at the glowing figure. Damned if he did; damned if he didn't.

Incredibly a smile curved the well defined mouth, lighting Auto's whole face with compassion, an emotion echoed in the deep voice when he broke the silence.

"One of the many advantages of my existence, Walter, is my access to a fantastic range of subjects." He grew grave, the smile fading. "Your behaviour and speech patterns have been most out of character. I was concerned and decided to monitor you. I fed the data into the medical computers of UCLA - "

"You had no right!"

Stung, Walter found the strength to pull free of the large hands and rolled across the bed to stand at the other side, arms wrapped protectively around his torso.

"You had no right."

The desolate whisper brought Automan to his feet. He looked at the smaller man, his gentleness itself a reproach. "Am I not your friend, Walter?"

"I – "

"Walter, the computers came up with a most fascinating diagnosis of your condition. I – "

"Don't!" Walter interrupted the damning words with a rare sharpness. He shuddered, spinning away from the searching azure gaze, hunching his shoulders against a growing misery.

"Why do you hide from me? I will not hurt you."

Broken laughter ached in Walter's throat. "Oh, God," he murmured, half-despairing of such innocence. He rubbed his eyes, massaging the bridge of his nose, almost forgetting the electronic presence as he stared at the gently billowing curtains drawn against the night. He sighed, facing up to the responsibilities of being human and, in this instance, the wiser of the two.

"You may not hurt me – but I may hurt you," he began bleakly, half speaking to the traitor inside as he burst out suddenly, "This is insane! I can't be in love with you! I can't … You're just a hologram – a computer composite of five separate men."

"Yet different from each." Automan rounded the bed and stood in before Walter, forcing him to acknowledge his presence. "Walter, you programmed me initially, but you also had the wisdom to build in me the capacity to grow beyond the limits you set. What you originally created can be likened to an undeveloped negative. Now, each new experience adds shades of colour to me; each day my personality grows in depth and complexity."

"You're still a computer, Auto," and the words contained all of his longing for the fact to be otherwise. "You couldn't understand – "

"Then teach me."

The quiet request was as impossible as it was heartbreaking for Walter to hear. Mutely he stared up into the Greek conception of male beauty, but the marble was warm and vital, shattering the illusion. The blue eyes held him and he shrank from the impossibility of what he saw there – for him. The recognition was immediate, an imploding pattern that reformed into a nonsense image of complete truth, so undeniable he denied it.

"You can't love me!"

"There are many definitions of the word love, Walter." The simulacrum spoke calmly, yet the façade could not conceal his uncertainty in the face of this new area of his existence. "Yet each definition reinforces the last; love of family, love of friend, love of … lover."

"Words," said Walter harshly. "Just words."

"But words that contain all that is best in humans. You programmed me to be perfect. I was to be everything you were not." Sadness laid its touch on Auto's face and he reached out to lay a finger briefly on the parting lips, gesturing silence as he continued wistfully. "And you are everything I wish to be. Warm, alive … human. I can never be that. I can never father children, nor grow old. My existence is limited to a narrow spectrum, but each spectrum has its range of primary colours. Would you deny me the most important of all? Let me experience the most definitive of all emotions. Teach me the meaning of love."

"I – can't." Walter pulled down the flickering sapphire hand, holding it tight within his grasp. The simple entreaty had broken his heart with his inability to accede to it. He swallowed back the grief, aching to accept the offered love, yet knowing he couldn't. "You are a child in my world, Auto. I couldn't take advantage of that."

"You are also a child, Walter – in my world. No advantage can be taken – by either of us."

"Oh, please … " This time it was Walter who pleaded, but Auto pressed on remorselessly, killing all resistance with his words.

"Walter, I would not have come if I thought this would damage you in any way," he hesitated, and then smiled, a wry twist of lips. "My motives are not altruistic. I have already told you I wish to learn, but there is more. When you are not with me I feel … abandoned ... empty. When you are hurt, I wish only to protect you and keep you safe. When you are sad, I want to make you smile and laugh and forget your loneliness. Your isolation hurts me, Walter. It hurts me here." Fleetingly his hand touched the starfield of his chest, a childlike bewilderment shadowing his eyes. "I feel for you and through you. You give me a soul. You are my soul."

"'The male is not less than the soul nor more … '" Walter quoted from a long dead poet, then shook off his numbness and dragged in a ragged breath. He stared at the haloed figure standing so close, dark eyes wide with astonishment at his own handiwork. He pushed the hair back from his face, shaking his head. "This is impossible – it can't be happening! You're just a computer projection."

"I am Automan," a quiet declaration of pride, though a trace of hurt showed in his eyes. "I am the world's first fully automated man. I do not think even you ever fully appreciated the full meaning of that." Automan looked down at the unshaven face with tender pride. "You are very good, Walter. You programmed me for every eventuality, yet you also had the wisdom to know that if I did not feel, I would never be able to understand the people you created me to protect."

"I – I didn't mean for this to happen."

"I know." Auto seemed to sigh and, without preamble, pulled the smaller man into his arms. He felt a brief resistance before Walter slumped against him in passive acceptance. He gazed down at the young features, the familiar sight given an alien hue by their proximity to his electronic field and raised a hand to tilt the dark head up, saying softly. "I cannot stay. The city is waking, draining my power supply."

"I don't want you to go." Walter protested the inevitability fiercely, fierceness echoed in his hold.

"Nor I." Auto traced the curve of the human's face, knowing how fragile was the casing that contained the other man's questing spirit; knowing also that time was running out. He lowered his head, feeling Walter strain up to meet his touch halfway. The warm human mouth was strange, yet welcoming as the only other mouth he ever had kissed had not been, and the difference short-circuited his sense of time.

Meeting the sudden urgency, Walter dug his fingers into the broad shoulders, appalled when his nails sank in. He cried out against the mouth that possessed him, tightening his arms around Automan as if to hold the familiar fading away at bay, but the implacable laws of physics defeated him. Auto was gone, blue smoke carried away by the wind.

Deprived of solid support Walter stumbled forward, half falling against the curtained windows. He squeezed his eyes shut against the agony of unfulfilled desire that twisted a serrated blade into his stomach. Slowly he slid down the window, his hand clutching the fabric. He huddled against the wall in a tight ball of pain; alone in the half light of the room …

Lost in a world of strange thoughts and impossible longings, he had functioned on instinct alone, going through the rituals of living with automatic precision. The devastation wrought by the traumatic confrontation at dawn had wrecked the solid foundations of his life; recovery was impossible. Unable to face the world he had called in sick, grateful when Captain Boyd had not pressed him for more information about his bogus illness. The phone call to work had not been his only contact with outside world, though; both Roxanne Caldwell and Jack Curtis had rung up to enquire after his health and their friendly concern had instilled a little warmth into the ice surrounding him, but hadn't been enough to melt it completely. Walter was waiting for the only thing that could.

With the resigned patience of the condemned he sat in the chair facing the bed, a curious lethargy deadening any anticipation he might have felt. Even the pain was dulled by its tranquilising touch. He stared at the shadows covering the room, a patchwork quilt of darkening shades, his mind turning in the same old tired circles it had all day as his hands lay quiescent on his lap.

Leaning his head back, Walter closed his eyes, his spirit still shivering in the winds of the bleak, desperate pact he'd made with his own particular devil. Enfolded in the protective circle of Automan's arms, he had rested briefly against the long body, giving himself up to dark dreams of completion. Those fantasies had sung through him, sweet music with a bitter chord running through the melody. The dream had ended, torn apart by the outrageous reality of falling in love with his own creation.

Blinking rapidly to clear the sudden tears in his eyes, he became aware of the figure that melted through the locked door and into his room. His weary expression brightened into a smile of welcome he couldn't control, but it faded soon enough. He sat in his chair unmoving as the computer hologram's own smile disappeared into a frown of concern. He looked at the beautiful, glittering form, then his eyes moved past it, as he noticed for the first time the stained walls and fraying carpets that lay under shabby furniture. His fists clenched as he recognised the sordidness of his own home for the first time. He gulped back a half sob, half laugh. Home. What a joke that was. The only real home he had ever known was the computer terminal in the basement. He glanced at the bedroom. This was no setting for Automan. The simulacrum was a sparkling king trapped in a peasant's hovel. Helpless to deny his sudden feeling of shame, he shook his head, wounded eyes huge in his pale face.

"Walter!"

The man flinched from the sound of his name, his voice almost feverish as he broke the silence. "This is wrong. You don't belong here. You belong in a room that matches you – with a lover that matches you. Not me. Never me. I – I'm – "

"You're Walter." Automan interrupted tenderly. "Surely that's a unique thing to be?"

The grave generosity closed Walter's eyes and Automan took the opportunity to move forward, gracefully sinking to his knees in front of the seated man. He circled his fingers around slender wrists and held the human reassuringly.

"Walter, I could make this room a palace if I so choose. But that is not what I came for. This," jerking his blonde head at the room, "doesn't matter. It's a shell only. What do I need with a shell?"

The dark head lifted at the gentle question. Walter stared at his computer dream come true, unashamed by the slow fall of his own unworthiness. He was valuable because Auto wished it so. He opened his mouth but didn't speak as the glowing figure's hand rose, his thumb stroking away the moist evidence of his grief. Wordlessly, Walter looked on as the blue electronic field of Auto's body slowly transmuted into tanned, warm flesh, his breath catching in his throat. He was pulled to his feet and guided to the bed, the teacher no longer but the pupil.

Automan looked down at the dark head of his friend and smiled; a smile holding no mirth, only tenderness. He leaned forward and took Walter's lips, undeterred by the other's tiny sob, stifling the desolation with his questioning mouth as he lowered the slighter body to the bed. Working swiftly he stripped Walter and followed him into the hungry void opening up to them, falling slowly, unaware of discomfort as they flowed together, two rivers running towards the sea as they merged into each other. They were sensation, nothing more as each man focussed only on the moment. Walter moved only when large gentle hands directed him, a surrender of self so complete he didn't think to question it. Leaning up on one elbow, Automan stared down at the flushed, vulnerable man and was caught up in a new vortex of existence. He was accustomed to the feeling of power, the deadly power of the city's energy grid, the unlimited power of the myriad banks of computers that gave him knowledge, but they were nothing in comparison with the power he felt now. Walter was his; the creator now the creation, only waiting for the final vindication of his life …

* * *

The burning glare of the fire woke him. Walter rolled away from it with a sleepy sigh, eyes still closed as he stretched with luxurious laziness, his body singing its release from gut wrenching tension. He drifted on the shore of awareness, innocent and unknowing, identity lost then slowly regained. He lay on his stomach, content to float where his mind would take him. The night had seen every hidden desire fulfilled and then exceeded. He swallowed, the muscles of his stomach flexing in surging need. But Auto was gone, disappearing with the dawn. He shivered, feeling lost in empty loneliness.

Suddenly Walter frowned as he realised that wherever he was it was not his apartment. Alarmed, he sat up quickly, a look of bewilderment crossing his face. What - ? He stared in total disbelief at the blazing log fire that had warmed him awake, abruptly hearing the crackle of burning wood. He glanced down, shocked to find he was completely naked and had been sleeping on a deep silver coloured fur.

Walter's panic stilled as he heard deep, soft laughter behind him. He turned around, rising to his knees. A lounging figure of blue smiled down at his wide dark eyes. Auto uncrossed his arms and moved to pull the slighter man up onto his feet and into his arms. He looked down into the gentle face, hands moving in slow circles, arching the straight back.

"Walter."

The wealth of satisfaction in the resonant voice drove Walter deeper into the embrace as he buried his head against the glowing chest. A gentle hand stroked his hair then tilted his head a grave blue gaze considered the expression in Walter's eyes.

Strung out almost to breaking point by the regard, Walter wrenched his eyes away, unable to bear the weight of that deep azure love. He cleared his throat, trying to still the shivers that made his need all too apparent. He looked beyond Automan, widening gaze taking in the dark panelled walls and the burgundy velvet of the long couch surrounded by classic oak furniture.

"Auto, where – "

"Where the world cannot reach us." Auto lowered his head, sure of his welcome, then raised it again. He smiled tenderly. "Last night you wished for a room to match me – this is my frame for you." The look in the hologram's eyes deepened and Walter felt the hard, needing thrust of the glowing body as he continued. "Many great love scenes have ended on a fur rug under the light of a log fire. The scene fades … Walter, what happens next?"

Walter stared into the mischievous blue eyes, a chuckle building to a laugh of sheer joy as he trailed free of the other's arms, knowing the matchless confidence of being totally loved as he enticed his lover to the silver rug …

* * *

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