S2-ENF-004 - CONVENIENT CENSOR

“At last,” crowed Dr. Emilia Lucent. “I’ve done it!”

“Done what?” said Dr. Blithe, as the pair strolled through downtown San Diego, California, taking in the many sights and sounds of that well-known, bustling, easily described city. “I don’t see anything.”

“Precisely. And you never will again. My new censorship field edits out anything obscene from the male field of vision.” Emilia tapped the vantablack disc, around the size of a quarter, that hung from a silver wire around her neck. “No matter how hard you try, you won’t be able to get a peek at anything… inappropriate.”

“Like what?”

“You know perfectly well what.”

“But does the machine?”

Emilia hesitated. “It ought to be perfectly obvious,” she said, primly. “I trained it on countless pictures of women, using the latest machine-learning techniques. I’m sure it was easily able to deduce from context what is and is not obscene.”

“I see,” said Dr. Blithe, thoughtfully, watching a group of attractive young Latina women on rollerskates zoom along the presumably lively San Diego waterfront. “And, just out of curiosity, what’s the area of effect of this device?”

“Oh, about a mile. I wanted to be sure to protect all the women around me, since I care about their dignity so much.”

“And have you turned it on yet?”

“It needs a few minutes to charge up, but it should be activated about… now,” said Dr. Emilia Lucent, as all her clothes transformed into a blur of pixels and disappeared, leaving her standing stark naked on the noticeably busy streets of San Diego. The inhabitants of a nearby Italian restaurant cheered and applauded as she looked down at herself, realized she was totally nude in a very public place, covered herself and shrieked.

“I wonder what would happen,” said Dr. Blithe, thoughtfully, “if the machine accidentally learned that women’s clothes are obscene, and it should make sure nobody could see them.”

“EEEEK! EEK EEK EEK EEK EEK! DON’T LOOK AT ME! STOP!”

“Probably something like that,” said Dr. Blithe, as the effects of the anti-censorship field swept like a tidal wave down the street, systematically eliminating every last item of ladies’ clothing in the vicinity. The attractive young Latina women, who were all called things like Rosa and Maria and Isabella, squealed and tried to hide behind each other as their yoga pants and sports bras vanished into thin air, exposing their pert brown bottoms and dark-nippled breasts and neat black bushes and tender pussy lips to the amused gazes and prying phone cameras of the men who surrounded them. “Maybe you should turn it off, Emilia.”

“I… I can’t! I forgot to add an off switch!”

“Too bad. I guess you’ll have to take it back to the Foundation. Where’s the nearest door?”

“There should be one just down this alleyway,” said Emilia, and tried to open the hidden door that would take her back to the interdimensional space of the Foundation’s research facilities. “Oh, no! I can’t find it!”

“I wonder if the censorship device also somehow learned to hide Foundation doors from you. How… inconvenient.”

“But, doctor,” wailed Emilia, now stranded with no clothes on in the middle of San Diego, blushing bright red as a rapidly growing crowd of people gathered around to laugh, wolf-whistle, catcall and take pictures of her, “what am I supposed to do?”

“Good question. I can’t wait to find out.”