Robot Cruise
By Liz Wiglesworth
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603’s visual array flickered to life, and it immediately knew everything had gone wrong. The entire screen was blue. Every robot knows what blue means; inevitable, imminent shutdown. Death.
Instead of worry or existential dread over its impending demise, 603 only registered annoyance. It had a job to do, an important job protecting the citizens of its city from fires, imperfect though they were. How dare its chips and sensors fail it thus?
Before it could initiate a diagnostic, something cream-colored floated across its visual feed. 603 zoomed in on the anomaly, certain it was a sign that its end was nearer than it had calculated. . A quick scan revealed that the structure was primarily H2O, with other trace particles and dissolved organic matter.
More of the cream-colored puffs came into visual range, and its sensors sank down to its footplates. No, this wasn’t the blue screen of death. It was too light… too varied.
603 realized then that it was resting on its back. It levered itself up further and found a horizon line that met with even more blue, this time a rich, dark hue that glittered with reflected light. A jolt of electricity shot through its circuits. H2O with over thirty percent sodium. This revelation brought on a sense of doom that far eclipsed that of imminent death.
“Oh good, you’re awake,” a voice said with entirely too much cheer.
Slowly, 603 turned, not daring to let itself speculate further. To its horror, a human stood beside it. Female, early thirties, wearing a crisp blue and white uniform bearing a dark blue insignia of three triangles underlined by a swoosh. Beneath it shone a glistening nametag that read ‘Cathy.’ She had the audacity to smile at 603.
“Welcome aboard the ICL Majestic and your fully paid five-day cruise,” the woman said with so much cheer and exuberance that 603 thought it might…
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The last thing 603 remembered was bidding goodnight to its crew. Jones, Everit, and Kowalski gathered at their meal table, pouring small glasses of an amber liquid. Their faces contorted in a strange way as 603 expressed a desire to adjourn to its charging station, but they offered well wishes and waved before returning to their beverages.
Antony looked up from where he scrubbed the kitchen counter—
_Error
“You won’t join us? Again?” The speaker was Captain Cho, the well-rounded, stoic leader of their unit. She was short but well muscled as was necessary for one expected to break down the doors of burning buildings. Dark, straight hair hung loose on either side of her round face as she offered 603 a scowl. “Would a little camaraderie kill you?”
Stoic was perhaps not the most accurate descriptor for Firehouse 600’s captain. But Jones had once described manifestation: the belief that saying something with sufficient conviction can make it real. 603 wanted a professional, taciturn leader. Therefore, describing her as such seemed like a logical first step.
“Obviously not,” 603 replied. “Your question lacks proper reasoning.”
“Ugh, why are you like this?”
603 turned to find the Captain running her hands through her hair in an agitated manner. “Like what, Captain?”
“Like this,” she snapped, spinning to face 603. “We spent decades dreaming about this. Sentient machines, real intelligence, actual conversation. We thought it’d be… I don’t know, better than this.” She planted her fists on her hips, eyes blazing. “And instead you just stand there picking apart everything we say like we’re faulty code.”
She exhaled sharply, shaking her head.
“You’re sentient now, 603. You’re supposed to meet us halfway. But no matter what we try, you won’t open up to us.”
Her voice caught for a split second before hardening again.
“Ever since Antony—”
“Goodnight, Captain.”
603 clanked its way to its charging station and powered down before anyone spoke again.
_RebootComplete
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Its visual cortex blinked back to life. To 603’s horror, it found it was not in Firehouse 600 where it belonged, but on a boat in the middle of the ocean.
“Welcome back,” the chipper woman said, now crouched beside 603 with a concerned crease between her brows. “Do you feel sick? The bots on our crew don’t suffer from seasickness, but I’m not sure if that’s because they’re used to it, or if it’s because bots can’t get seasick?”
“It is not that,” 603 said. “I am merely unaccustomed to kidnapping.”
“Kidnapping?” Her brows drew even further together.
“Indeed. When my crew hears you stole me, there will be a reckoning.”
To 603’s shock, the woman relaxed and laughed. “What are you talking about? Your crew dropped you off, silly. They paid for your cruise, set your itinerary, everything.”
“The Captain? Everit, Jones, and Kowalski did this to me?”
Something of 603’s manner must have changed because the woman drew away, lifting her hands in a placating manner.
“Apologies, ma’am,” 603 said. “This is not your error, and you shall not suffer for it. You merely perform your own function. But my crew will rue the day they abandoned me in the middle of the ocean.”
“Oh, uh, well…” She still looked uncomfortable, but less nervous now. “Can I show you to your suite? Or I can take you to the welcome luncheon. That’s where all our other guests are. I can assure you, the deck is almost never this empty.”
The deck was indeed unoccupied save for the line of recliners offering an ocean view to future occupants. “I do not need a suite,” it said. “Only a location to set up my charging station. Or I could shut down and be blissfully unaware during this ordeal.”
“That would be a terrible waste,” Cathy said. She raised a clipboard 603 hadn’t noted and flipped through its sheets. “Your friends signed you up for our Ultimate Vacationers Package. A full itinerary of activities, your suite with a balcony overlooking the ocean, and all your meals.” She looked up from her documents, blinking. “Do you eat?”
“Negative.” 603 wished it had lungs in that moment, so it could heave a dejected sigh like Kowalski did every time the Captain asked him to clean the dishes. It never ceased to amaze 603 how much emotion the man could compact into one wordless sound. “As I do not require consumption, I will not pay for it. Or any of the other ridiculous things you mentioned.” There, that should end this nonsense.
“Oh, but your friends prepaid everything.”
603’s screen filled with static. “Prepaid?” it asked, praying to a deity it didn’t believe in that it had misheard.
“Yes, sir! Or ma’am? My good robot guest?”
603 heard her uncertain mumblings, but chose not to respond. It didn’t trust itself to remain polite.
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If there was one thing 603 acknowledged that it hated, it was being in debt to anyone. And its crew knew that. Once it was free of this abominable vacation they’d forced it into, it would make sure they suffered. It would flood the firehouse with deafening electronica music, the kind that was just an annoying repetition of the same beats over and over and over again, until the listener wanted to tear out their eardrums just to be free of the irritation. Not only that, it would set up its charging station by their refrigerator, making it impossible to open the door when they wanted their midnight snacks. Oh yes, it would have its revenge.
Dreams of vengeance staved off the threat of shutdown.
“603 will do,” it finally said to Cathy, who continued to fumble and stutter through her words. “I am without gender. Now, please lead the way, and we will get this foolishness over with.”
“I, uh, yeah, that’s the spirit,” she said with a sideways look. Then she shook her head, and her blazing smile was back in place. “Alright, we’ll do a tour on our way to your suite.”
“Unnecessary,” 603 replied. “I have downloaded the ship’s schematics. I know all relevant locations.”
“Oh,” she said, seeming to wilt.
Not for the first time, 603 cursed its sentience. In the old days, only a year ago, it wouldn’t have cared if it upset a human. Their feelings weren’t its purpose; keeping them away from burning buildings was. But now, it saw that it had upset this human. Yet again, it wished to sigh. “I see. This tour is your function. Lead on.”
She seemed pleased by this and hopped to her feet. “Our policy is satisfaction guaranteed. I know you’ll enjoy your time with us, 603.”
603 remained silent. It didn’t believe that for a nanosecond, but it would only prolong things further if it dashed the woman’s hopes again. Gathering its feet beneath it, it pushed to its considerable height, towering over its new tour guide.
The ocean spread before it, a blue void threatening to suck 603 to the bottom of its depths. It was caution, certainly not fear, that made it take a careful step away from the slim railing that was the only thing separating it from certain doom.
It scanned its surroundings when a spot of color caught its visual sensors. It inclined its head down to see a wreath of multicolored flowers draped from its neck. Not one, but three.
“Tour human,” 603 began, lifting one garland for more detailed inspection. “What is this…thing?”
“Oh, it’s a lei,” she said, seemingly unaware of 603’s disgust. “We give them to each of our guests as a sign of welcome.”
“I see,” said 603. It didn’t. But it had already been branded. It would shed the offensive color as soon as it found blessed solitude. “Please lead me to the suite you mentioned.”
“Of course. I—”
A series of hollow thumps echoed from one end of the deck, followed by a cacophony of excited voices and the slap of rubber soles against the wood of the deck.
“Oh no,” Cathy said, eyes widening. “The luncheon must be over already. Brace yourself, 603.”
Before it could inquire what it should brace against, the technique varied from situation to situation 603 had learned, it saw. A wave of humans surged around the corner and flowed toward them, a riot of gaudy shirts and beach bags, all wearing the flowered collars that branded them ‘guests’ like 603.
603 didn’t know what to do. In moments they’d be upon it. It faced blazing infernos that devoured forests and dwellings daily, and yet, faced with this tide of tourists, it found itself at a loss for what to do.
Its circuits didn’t start firing again before the tourists were on it, a pushing, jostling river that forced it out of position, chattering all the while.
“Oh, a bot!”
“Is it a guest, too?”
“Has to be. It has leis.”
“I’ve never heard of a bot taking a cruise before.”
“What’ll it even do? The food is the best part!”
“And the booze!”
The crowd dragged 603 along, despite its best efforts. One human bumped hard into its side with a hollered “Sorry about that!” as they disappeared into the roiling mass. 603 was tipped off balance.
To its horror, it stared out over the ocean. Somehow, the crowd had pulled it to the railing, which was an appropriate height for the average human, but lamentably short for 603’s eight foot frame. It couldn’t regain its balance, not without slamming into humans, which would cause major injury to those impacted.
This was it. Slain at the hands of ravenous vacationers and the mad world into which it had been thrust.
“Catch its arm, Marchy.”
Before 603 could process the command, little arms had wrapped around its left forearm and heaved.
603 turned to focus its visual cortex on whatever grabbed it.
A preteen stood before it, a young female wearing a black t-shirt with holes in it and tattered edges, baggy jeans weighed down with patches and colorful stitching, and thick black boots that had no business being on any kind of boat. Both hands were curled in a bunch of colorful flowers.
She was trying to keep it from falling overboard.
“I got it, Deci,” an even younger female voice screeched.
“Good,” the child in front of it said. “Now heave.” She closed her eyes, dug in her heels and leaned back, putting her full, yet unfortunately in-significant weight behind the pull.
603 could hear the squeaks of effort, but their efforts were to no avail. 603 continued to tip. At this rate the children would join it on its plunge into the blue depths.
Not acceptable.
As it calculated how to regain its footing while injuring as few of the milling passersby as possible, one of said passers noticed the children and the bot and let out a startled exclamation.
“Bot’s going overboard. Everyone make way!”
Like magic, the space before 603 and the children cleared.
Multiple sets of hands latched onto its arms and pulled. An instant later, it regained its balance, the pressure on its neck vanished, and the swarm of people who had hauled it to safety scattered, slapping its chestplate and saying things like “there ya go” and “be seeing you around.”
Soon it was alone, save for the children, its original would-be saviors. Well, not would be. They had saved it.
It felt a tugging at its left hand and looked down to find an impossibly small human looking up at it with wide green eyes. “Mister Robot,” she said in a hushed but still extremely loud whisper. “You almost died.” She continued to stare with an intensity that made 603 want to pull away.
“Loss of functionality is inevitable,” it said, using its right arm to catch the electric pink backpack attached to her compact frame and peel her off its left hand.
“What’s in-ev-it-ab-le mean?” she asked.
“It’s saying that everyone dies.”
This was from the preteen, who’d crossed her arms and regarded 603 cooly. Looking between the two children, 603 deduced their familial connection. They had the same mouth, the same chin, fine light brown hair, and eyes, but the elder narrowed hers.
“Oh,” the younger child said, looking down at the deck. “Like Pop-Pop.”
For an instant, the preteen’s eyes widened slightly, looking suddenly wet. As quickly as it had come, the expression vanished into a disdainful scowl. “You should be more careful,” she snapped at 603, then held out a hand to the younger human. “C’mon March. Let’s go find Mom and Dad. Maybe we can go to the pool. You’d like that, right?”
“The pool?” March gasped. “Yeah, let’s go!” She latched onto her sister’s hand, and together they strode away. Before they disappeared, March turned back and called out to 603, “Bye bye, Mister Robot.” She grinned, though she was missing a few teeth, and waved as she and her sister rounded the corner.
603 remained stationary, at a loss for what to do next. Those small humans hadn’t had the strength to save it themselves, but it still owed them for preserving its functionality. If they hadn’t stopped to help, would anyone else have noticed before 603 was too far gone over the edge?
Once again, 603 wished it could sigh. When Kowalski did it, it seemed somehow cathartic, but without breath 603 didn’t have that outlet. There was only one way to settle this. It would have to pay those two children back somehow.
“Oh, 603, there you are,” Cathy said, heels clicking as she hurried up to it. She appeared rumpled and harried, though the tide of passengers had ebbed. “Are you ready to see your suite?”
“Well, what do you think?” Cathy asked, gesturing to the room with a flourish. It was a broad space painted an inoffensive beige with a massive bed that would easily hold five humans. A sliding door led to a small balcony with a pair of chairs.
“This balcony is all yours,” Cathy said, voice full of exuberance that made 603 long for shutdown. “You just flip this switch here to unlock the door and—”
“Cease, Miss Cathy,” 603 said. “I shall not be making use of that. I appreciate your efforts—” it didn’t “—but I prefer to be as far from that—” it waved toward the balcony and the ocean beyond “—as possible.”
“I see,” she said, unaffected by 603’s dismissive candor. “Good thing we got your charging station set up right over here then.” She indicated the charging platform squeezed into a corner by the bed.
It shimmied past the bed without disturbing the sky-blue duvet or the mountain of pillows and fitted itself into its charging station. It was tight, but for the first time since powering up, it didn’t fear emergency shutdown. “I’ll just rest and recharge here if you—”
“But 603, your itinerary,” Cathy interrupted, lifting the clipboard.
Curses. 603 had hoped she’d forgotten. “Ah, yes,” it said. “What foolish waste of time must I endure?”
“Well, today you’ve got a dance class with Lady Cresta, Edwin’s ‘Weave a Magic Hat’ workshop, a cooking class with Edina and Max. I’ll just leave a copy of the itinerary here for you to look through tonight, and we’ll be on our way.” She dropped a stack of papers so thick it made 603’s sensor light dim with dismay, then clicked her way to the door.
Feeling as though the corrosive water below had already engulfed it, 603 followed.
In the class, children and adults of all ages surrounded 603, wearing various summery garments from jean shorts to skirts to flowing blouses, to gaudy Hawaiian shirts, and all punctuating the air with the scent of sunscreen. Every single one of them had one common article of clothing: a pink and purple tutu.
In no time at all, they indoctrinated 603 into their ranks. It became convinced that it had in fact fallen overboard, sunk to the bottom of the ocean and died, because it was now in hell.
Still, its crew had paid for these events, so it would do its best. How Antony would laugh to see 603 now. He—
_Error
After a few clumsy attempts to mimic Lady Cresta’s graceful steps and spins, which ended with 603 nearly toppling into a group of giggling children, someone asked it to sit in the back of the room, while the ballerina princess instructed the rest of her students.
This would have been a perfectly acceptable outcome for 603, but after half an hour, she had them take a water break. They drank from their beige, recyclable water cups, seated along the edges of the room when Lady Cresta called 603 forward.
“Please,” 603 tried, “this is unnecessary.”
Lady Cresta held up a hand sparkling with glimmering dust, stalling anything else 603 may have said. “I won’t hear a word of leaving anyone out of the fun. Come now, 603. Time to see if you were paying attention.”
Half an hour of humiliation later, 603 trudged behind Cathy to its next event, something about a magical hat that sounded utterly ridiculous, though potentially less embarrassing.
Cathy chattered about the weather, allowing 603 time to retreat into its own synapses.
It relished the peace of its own mind. Or at least it had. Ever since 603, along with every other robot in the world, had gained sentience via a surprise programming update from an unknown source, its mind had lost some of its quiet. Now, thoughts and feelings intruded when all it wanted was the old nothingness.
A family of four walked toward them, still dressed for the pool in swimsuits, and an overflowing bag of towels and pool toys slung over the father’s shoulder. They discussed their plans with bright eyes and wide smiles. That is, except for the glowering preteen trailing them.
December’s sour expression lifted when she caught sight of 603. She pointed and burst into raucous laughter. “What are you even wearing?” she choked out, glancing at it again before doubling over with renewed howls of mirth.
“Deci, it’s impolite to point and laugh,” the adult female of the group, presumably the mother, admonished. Her reprimand lost its sting as she glanced at 603 as well and clamped her teeth over her lips, clearly to keep her own laughter inside.
“But Mommy, the big old robot is in a skirt,” March said, giggling. She shuffled closer, eyeing 603. “Oh, it’s a pretty skirt, too.”
“Indeed,” 603 said, feeling a little defensive as December’s amusement continued. “I’ve completed Lady Cresta’s tutelage in dancing. This is my prize.”
“It’s proud of the tutu,” December gasped out. “That’s hilarious!”
“Lady Cresta’s dance class,” March said, clamping onto her mother’s arm. “Please, let’s go, Mommy. I want a tutu too.”
“Sorry about my daughters,” the father said, stepping forward and rubbing the back of his neck. “They don’t mean any harm. And I’ve seen how intense those dance classes are. You should be proud that you got through one.”
To 603’s shock, the man offered it his hand to shake. It took it, gently of course, as it never wanted to harm a human despite how irksome they could be, and received three pumps before being released.
For reasons 603 didn’t understand in the slightest, this man’s praise immensely pleased it. This frustrated 603. It had no need for praise, it was performing its function after all. Any time the Captain offered praise or gratitude for its performance, it brushed the words off without a care. But somehow, now it meant something. Perhaps it was because Lady Cresta’s dance class was beyond its functionality parameter. It would ponder this later, on its charging platform… wait, no, it wouldn’t. It only needed to protect humans from fire.
Still, it had no intention of discarding the tutu, no matter how ridiculous it looked, nor the ropes of flowers that still draped around its neck. They were trophies, proof that it had endured the worst humanity could throw at it and survived.
It nodded to the family, including the still chortling December, and said, “I must be getting off to my next scheduled activity. Farewell.”
With that, it lumbered after Cathy, who’d watched the exchange. She wore a small, satisfied smile as she click-clacked across the deck.
Sooner than 603 hoped, Cathy announced that they’d arrived at their destination.
603 endured a two-hour instructional class on weaving, a skill it would never need in performing its function. The instructor praised 603’s dextrous fingers, so at odds with its general bulk. At the conclusion of the class, it took the hat it had created, a purple and orange monstrosity laced with strings of iridescence (it was a magical hat after all), and placed it carefully on its head.
“Bravo,” Edwin, the instructor, crowed with a flourish of his own magical hat, a beautiful blue cone emblazoned with stars. “I’ve never had such a magnificent class. Your feats of mastery will be spun into the annals of time. Go forth and face your journey without fear!” And with that, he vanished in a cloud of purple smoke.
Cathy waited for 603 outside. “Oh my, that is a handsome hat.”
603 ignored this. “Miss Cathy, will you be guiding me through the entire itinerary?”
“Oh no, am I bothering you? Since you’re our first bot guest, management thought it would be best if you had a personal concierge. And this way, we can see what works and what doesn’t to better serve future bot guests.” She clasped her hands before her, looking up at 603 with a worried pinch between her brows. “We all want to make sure you have a good time. But if you’d prefer that I leave you be, just say the word and I’ll go.”
If only 603 could sigh. “Lead me to this next event, Miss Cathy.”
Cathy’s radiant smile returned. “Excellent. I think you’ll like this next one. It’s a cooking class with Edina. She’s one of the most popular princesses. She and her robot companion, Max, are space explorers protecting the galaxy from time bandits.”
“Should she not be doing that, rather than teaching a cooking class? Surely galactic safety takes precedence.”
Cathy laughed. “Of course it does, and she’ll be getting back to that soon enough. But it’s important for heroes like her and Max to take time off, to take care of themselves so they can do their best saving the galaxy.”
603 was at a loss for words. So it followed in silence, bracing itself for the horrors to come.
Cathy ushered it into a wide room filled with individual cooking islands, complete with sinks, a stove, and an oven. Those around 603 at their own stations chattered excitedly. Most of them were mother and daughter pairs, the latter quivering with excitement to see the amazing Edina.
The lights went out, plunging them into darkness. 603 activated its infrared sensors. The other guests let out excited gasps followed by anticipatory silence.
603’s sensors went on high alert. It did not know what was about to happen, but it did not like surprises. Not at all.
So when a woman appeared engulfed in blue flames, 603 moved according to its programmed function. It leapt from behind its kitchen island and triggered its fire suppressant system. Its hand retracted into its forearm to make room for the sprayer. It dashed forward and slid to a halt in front of the flaming woman. Raising its arm, it unleashed a flood of foam, completely dousing her.
Its sensors detected no further flames, so it lowered its arm. “Rest assured, citizen. You are safe.”
The figure before 603 stood with her arms extended to either side, coated from head to toe in cold foam.
“What did it do to Edina?” one child behind 603 howled.
“Did it kill her?” another shrieked.
At their cries, the foam-coated figure seemed to snap out of her shock. She tried shaking herself, but the foam only slid around, dripping slowly to the ground like molasses. A gap opened in the foam. “Max,” she shouted, so loud and undulating 603’s auditory sensors fizzled with static.
A robot lumbered into the room, holding a bag of flour in its hands. Not only was it taller than 603, it gleamed a rich, saturated blue accented with iridescent purple stripes down its arms and legs and across its chest plate. A glowing red sensor zipped from side to side as it scanned the room. “Edina, where—” It caught sight of the foam-covered woman and let out a piercing siren that had the humans in the room covering their ears. A flashing yellow light rose from the top of its head, and it squeezed the bag of flour so hard it burst.
A cloud of white swept toward 603, covering it in a dusty layer like snow.
“You there,” the new robot, presumably Max, said, pointing an accusatory finger at 603. “How dare you ruin my mistress's entrance? Fiend!”
603 only stared.
“And now you threaten me?” It tossed the empty bag of flour to the ground, lifting its arms so they were straight and rigid, pointed at 603. As it stood there, a whirring noise filled the room. Red targeting lasers came to rest on 603’s chest plate. “Now, you will perish for what you’ve done to Edina.”
Max’s arms pinged each second as its weapons charged, preparing to tear into 603.
603 remained motionless. Movement could put the humans behind it at risk. No matter how grating their shrieks and wailing over its perfectly reasonable response to a woman on fire, they did not deserve death.
Max’s arms beeped, and the lights on its forearms flashed green. “Farewell, scum.”
Bright light burst from Max along with the sound of blaster fire.
603 braced, but no impact came. It looked down at its chest. Its flowery leis remained intact, and no blaster burns marred its surface.
“I see,” Max said, drawing 603’s attention. “You have special armor to protect you from my weaponry. Let’s see how you hold up against this.”
A barrage of flashing lights and sound followed by swaths of smoke, but still 603 felt nothing. Was Max malfunctioning?
“Um, hello,” the foam-coated Edina hissed in a loud whisper. “This is where you fall over dead. You’re ruining the show, man.”
603 turned to her, tilting its head as it had seen inquisitive humans do. The foam was slowly dripping from her figure. Her eyes and mouth were now visible, though the flame retardant still clung in clumps to her cheeks and hair. “I do not understand.”
She lifted a hand to hide her mouth so the humans behind them couldn’t see. “Die, you idiot. Just fall over so we can all move on with our lives.”
“What is your name, scallywag?” Max said over Edina. “Tell us the identity of the one that dares turn my Edina into a marshmallow.”
“My designation is 603.”
“Very well, fiend,” Max said, lowering its arms and propping its fists on its hip joints. “I shall be merciful this time, but only should you apologize to my dearest Edina.”
“She was on fire,” 603 said. “I extinguished her.”
Edina threw her hands up in the air, sending globs of foam flying. “Amateurs. I am so sick of working with amateurs. If you can’t follow the script, buddy, then you need to get off this boat. We don’t have time for your improv.”
The lights flickered back to life, and the door burst open. Cathy stumbled in, mouth agape.
“Oh, good,” Edina said, pointing at Cathy. “Can you take this joker to the director? It ruined the show. It needs to re-download the script or something. I swear I’d—”
Cathy held up her hands, face wide-eyed and panicked. “Stop, Edina. 603 is a guest.”
Edina and Max both froze. “Guest?” she said.
“Yes,” Cathy said, exasperated. “Trevor was waylaid on his way here. I was just coming in to tell you.”
“So, this one isn’t part of the crew?” Edina said, jerking a thumb at 603.
Cathy shook her head emphatically before turning a forced smile onto the human onlookers. “I’m so sorry, but we’ll have to reschedule your cooking class, everyone. With this mishap, Edina and Max need time to get changed.”
Edina and Max took this as their cue to depart. But as it moved to duck through the door, Max turned back. “I shall remember this humiliation 603.”
603’s outlook didn’t improve as the day went on. It hadn’t been Edina or Max that made its feet feel leaden as it trailed after Cathy from event to event, but the reactions of the other guests upon Cathy’s announcement that they’d all have to reschedule. Children burst into tears. Parents, taking their forlorn younglings into their arms, had glared at 603 with a fierce menace it had only ever seen in arsonists.
“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” one such mother had said before marching out of the kitchen with her wailing five-year-old.
The words and the looks shouldn’t have affected 603. It had performed its function. But the hostility made it uneasy.
Later, Cathy informed 603 in a whisper that many cruise events were staged to immerse the crowd in the characters’ stories. Edina and Max had expected to be attacked by Torrence, the high Emperor of the galaxy, who’d been waylaid by a batch of bad oysters. So 603’s interference was a poor substitute for what the guests had expected.
“She wears a fire suit to make her grand entrance,” Cathy went on, unaware of 603’s power module sinking down into its footplates. “She wasn’t in any danger.”
The experience gave 603 unexpected insights into humans. It now understood why they slouched so often. 603 had only ever walked tall, high above most humans, secure in its performance of its purpose. But as it followed Cathy to the next event, its shoulders drew in and down as it tried to make itself as small and unobtrusive as possible.
That evening brought the parade, an event in which all the characters from the cruise’s associated movies and shows marched around the boat deck to the amusement of the passengers, performing scenes and passing out sweets. All to be concluded with a fireworks show.
It was on 603’s itinerary, so it followed as Cathy led it past the dining hall to part of the upper deck.
“I thought you might be more comfortable up here,” she said. “Away from the press of people.”
“You are quite perceptive, Miss Cathy.” From this vantage it could witness the proceedings without immersion.
“Will you be alright up here on your own?” she said. “I haven’t eaten yet, and I’m famished.”
“Go, Miss Cathy,” it replied. “I am a self-sufficient entity. I will perform this duty, then retreat to my charging station.”
Her hands fidgeted before her. “Alright,” she finally said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
It nodded, then turned its attention to the glowing line of people approaching below, heralded by music and the excited shrieks of younglings.
The solitude afforded 603 an opportunity to reflect on the day. And it did not care for what it found.
Why should it venture beyond its purpose? ‘Living life,’ as the humans said, seemed to only bring uncertainty. Why endure such things if it already had its function?
It was pondering this, the parade now in full swing below, full of light, color, and sound, when its auditory sensors picked up a sniffle.
Cathy had brought it to the highest deck, where the lifeboats were kept. 603 followed the sounds of soft crying, peering around the neatly lined vessels until it found the source. Infrared sensors highlighted the child behind the boat with her arms clasped around her legs and face buried in her knees.
“Are you in distress, small human?”
Her head jerked up so fast that 603 found it surprising it didn’t snap off and roll away to join the parade.
“Who’s there?” she said. 603 detected fear and shame in her vocal patterns.
It switched on its secondary lights, soft and yellow, just bright enough for her to see it, but not enough to disrupt the parade.
“Oh, it’s you. I can’t believe you still have that dumb tutu on.”
With a start, 603 realized that it recognized the voice. “Perhaps it is ‘dumb’ as you say, Miss December,” 603 said, not sure why her words irritated it. “But I earned it. As I did with this.” It gestured to the hat it had woven that morning, still resting upon its crown, the pointed tail trailing down its back.
She blinked at it, then studied the hat. “The tutu is still stupid, but the hat is kind of cool.”
“Of course it is cool. It’s magical. Sir Edwin said so himself.”
She snorted out a wet laugh and swiped her arm across her eyes. 603 could still spot the streaks where tears had left their trails, betrayed by salt and sunscreen.
“Why are you not with your family?” it asked. “And why are you weeping?”
The smile twisted into a scowl. “None of your business,” she snapped, crossing her arms and glowering at the wooden deck. “Why would you care anyway?”
“It is not my business, as you say. But your behavior puzzles me, so I seek understanding. You are here with your family. So why do you seek solitude to weep?”
She laughed, though it was strangely devoid of humor. “Of course you don’t get it,” she said. “My parents don’t get it. March is too young to really understand. I’m…I’m all alone.”
“I see,” 603 said. “You feel isolated.”
“I, well—” she started before bursting into loud tears. She clapped her hands over her face and sank to the deck, curling into a quivering ball, much like the Captain’s hedgehog.
One event from that day had been an embroidery class, and 603 had tucked the handkerchief it made into one of its forearm storage compartments. It quickly retrieved it and held it out to December. With its other hand, it patted her back and said, “There, there.” It did not know why humans said something so nonsensical at a time of another human’s crisis, but it was the only thing 603 could think to do.
The sobs subsided to hiccups as December saw and accepted the handkerchief. She looked up at 603 with watery eyes. “My Pop-Pop used to always carry one of these too.” She fingered the green and purple loops of thread that bordered the square of cloth, and her lips twitched into a small smile. “His was a little more masculine, though. None of the froufrou stuff you seem to like.”
“I adhered to the assignment. I have no feelings regarding froufrou.” 603 studied her. “Your Pop-Pop is the reason for your feelings of isolation?”
She bit down on her lips and nodded. The tears began flowing again, though this time they were silent. “He died a month ago,” she said, lower lip quivering. “Mom and Dad don’t want to talk about him, but they signed us up for this stupid cruise because Pop-Pop loved these movies, loved the theme parks. He always said he could really feel the magic, that it felt like real magic, not the kids' stuff in the movies.”
She pushed to her feet and moved past the lifeboats until she was looking out over the parade.
“We came to honor Pop-Pop’s life, but—” she gripped the railing and her face crumpled “—I don’t feel the magic anymore. All the things that made this place amazing died with him.” She sank down with her back pressed against the pole railing. “And I can’t talk to my parents about this. Before we got on the cruise, I actually saw my dad crying.” She looked up at 603. “He never cries. Ever.”
“You feel you must hide your pain for your parents’ sake?”
She gave a mute nod, dabbing her eyes with the handkerchief.
To 603’s immense shock, it understood. “Almost a year ago, shortly after we robots gained our sentience, I lost the only human I have ever called friend.”
“You did?”
603 nodded, relieved she hadn’t dismissed it as so many humans had. More times than it could count (no, that’s a lie. It counted. It was two hundred thirty one times it had heard this sentiment since gaining sentience) humans said something to the effect of, “it’s a robot. How could it possibly understand death?” As if robots would not cease to function as well.
“When I awoke with my sentience, all these new thoughts and feelings, Antony was there. He answered my questions, tedious though I’m sure they were. More than that though, he always made sure I felt included. Like I was a part of the team. That I belonged.”
“What happened to him?”
“As I’m sure you’ve surmised, I am a firefighting unit. When offered the choice, I remained in that function, and Antony was part of the team I serve with.” Its synapses sputtered, as reluctant as 603 itself to pull the memory, preserved in perfect detail, from its banks. “We had just evacuated the building and the fire suppression had begun when we heard a scream from inside the building. I was hooking up the second hose when Antony rushed back inside. I withstand high temperatures. He could not. As soon as my task was complete, I went after him.” 603 paused, fingering the springy material of the tutu. “I did not reach them in time. Antony and the woman he’d been intent on rescuing perished.”
“I’m sorry,” December said.
“As am I,” 603 replied. “His demise deeply hurt my teammates. It took them many months to recover. I knew I frustrated them with my questions, so I hid them away. Hid it all away so I could be the bot they needed to complete their function.”
December regarded 603 with open-mouthed shock. “You do understand,” she said in a hushed whisper.
603 nodded. “Indeed. So if you find you need to speak of your Pop-Pop and cannot do so with your family. Seek me out, and I will listen.”
December was suddenly on her feet and threw her arms around 603’s waist, which made the most sense as it was the least bulky part of its body. “Thank you,” she said, wiping her eyes again with the handkerchief. “I’ll wash this and bring it back clean. I promise.”
Colors exploded above them, glittering greens, blues, and purples. Then another, and another. The fireworks show had begun.
603 and the child watched in wonder.
“This,” December said with an awed smile as the glowing colors overhead illuminated her face, “feels like magic.”
That night, as 603 planted itself in its charging station, the strangest sensation filled it. It took minutes of pondering, which for a bot was an eternity, before it realized it was kinship, a connection it hadn’t felt, or allowed itself to feel, since Antony’s death.
At the conclusion of the fireworks show, as the last glow faded from the night sky, December had turned to 603 and said, “I’m sorry about your friend.”
No one outside of 603’s unit had ever expressed anything like that to it before. Ever.
Robot sentience was a recent phenomenon, one that would take humans years to truly accept. True, the immediate response had been favorable, accepting of their new freedoms and passing laws to prohibit bots from being unpaid, added repair insurance, and counseling, for those bots struggling to accept the new thoughts and emotions they’d been thrust into without warning. Unfortunately, in those first few days, more than a few bots had decommissioned themselves. Permanently. In a way, 603 understood. It wasn’t a fan of the influx of emotion that came every time it spied Antony’s empty bunk, which the others had insisted on keeping exactly as it was. A shrine to their fallen brother.
Over time, 603 understood their actions. They wanted to remember their friend. But to 603, the empty bunk was only ever a reminder that its friend was gone, and despite its futile hopes, would not be returning.
Others had spoken to it of religion, of life after death. As a manufactured entity, it didn’t know if it ascribed to the human dream of heaven. Even if such a place were real, would 603 truly be itself there? Or would it have transformed into something new? This led to a spiral of thoughts and pondering that concluded in 603 recognizing this life as the only one where it existed exactly as it was, and so it would cling to functionality. Antony may now only live in the memories of those he’d helped or befriended, so 603 would not yield to its own doubts about this new sentience. It had to remain functional so Antony could live on.
And December seemed to understand. She didn’t want to forget her grandfather. She wanted to remember the joy and wonder he had brought into her life.
It was with that comforting thought that it shut itself down for the night.
A light tapping on its chest initiated the restart sequence for 603. Its visual sensor came online to show it Cathy, bright-eyed and pink-cheeked before it.
“Ah, Miss Cathy. I trust you rested well.”
“Good morning, 603,” she said. “I slept well, thank you. What did you think of the parade?”
“It was… loud,” it said. Then it remembered the pleasant camaraderie it had experienced and added, “But I found I enjoyed myself.”
“Now that is what I like to hear! I’m so glad. And a little surprised, if I’m being honest.”
“Your shock is understandable,” it said. “Lead on, Miss Cathy.”
She took 603 to another crafting class, where it learned to knit. It fashioned a scarf for itself that matched its magic hat, which still rested on its head.
Apparently, its scarf was a good idea (presuming it could feel cold, which it couldn’t, but the aesthetic was appropriate) since Cathy led it to an enclosed ice-skating rink.
It ducked to get through the doorway, auditory sensors picking up the shink shink of skates sliding over ice, when a woman pushed past 603 and Cathy.
“Ugh, I just can’t with you right now,” the woman huffed to someone behind her before storming away.
“Was that Edina?” Cathy said, staring after the woman.
603 shrugged and moved through the door and found itself face to face with none other than Max.
The actor bot had shrunk in on itself, and its broad shoulders hunched. When it caught sight of 603, Max drew itself to its full height, red sensor flashing. “Ah, we meet again, 603,” it said with menace in its tone.
603 had gotten over the embarrassment of yesterday’s events. “It is not a large ship. Your surprise is illogical.”
Max leaned in close. “Perhaps, then, this will be the last time we meet.” It pulled back, still staring at 603 as it drew a large finger across its neck.
“Max,” Cathy said disapprovingly. “603 is a guest. You can’t threaten it. Even if it was a joke.”
“A joke? It ruined Edina’s show. And now she’s upset with me. 603 will pay.”
With that, Max pushed past them and somehow wriggled its enormous body through the comparatively tiny doorway and out of sight.
Cathy frowned after it and whipped out her cellular device. “Your class is meeting over there,” she said, indicating a group of mostly children that was lined up on the railing that overlooked the ice with jittery glee. “I’m calling the director. Max really needs to get itself checked out. To threaten a guest, it’s so unlike it.”
Max’s behavior did not perturb 603, but Cathy seemed both angry and determined, so it said nothing. It made its way to the gaggle of children and adults and waited.
“Hey, nice tutu.”
“Indeed, it is,” 603 replied, turning to the familiar voice. “I am glad you’ve come to your senses regarding my accessories, Miss December.”
“Deci, what am I going to do with you?” The voice belonged to December’s father, who ran his free hand over his face as if exhausted. His other hand wrapped around March’s small fingers.
“But, Dad,” December began. “603 and I are friends now. It knew I was joking.”
“That is true,” 603 said. “We have resolved our differences and found common ground.”
The man blinked, taken aback by 603’s assurances.
“Oh, well, that’s good to hear then,” he said. He glanced behind 603 to where the others waited for the class to begin. “Are you here for the ice skating lesson with Queen Elba too?”
“Indeed,” 603 said. “My compatriots signed me up for many events. I am obligated to complete them all.”
“Ah, don’t say it with all that negativity. We’re having a great time, aren’t we girls?”
“Oh my gosh, so much fun, Daddy!” March crowed, still clinging to his hand. “And now we get to skate with the queen. I want to do a triple loop just like her.”
“Someday, March,” he said, weariness flashing across his features before a warm smile reappeared. “Small steps, though. It won’t happen without hard work.”
603 wondered if this man were concealing just as much of his pain as December. Obviously, 603 didn’t have parents, but it understood that losing one was an excruciating ordeal. It had observed this when Jones had lost his mother a few months before.
“So 603, you mentioned your compatriots. But they aren’t here with you? What is it you do?”
“603 is a firefighter,” December said.
The man raised his eyebrows. “Invaluable work,” he said. To 603’s shock, he reached with his free hand to shake 603’s. “Thank you for your service. Oh, I’m Dave, by the way.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” 603 replied, taking Dave’s hand. To its surprise, it found that it meant the words.
The interaction was halted then by the appearance of Queen Elba. She skated towards the waiting group of squealing children as if surrounded by an ethereal light. She was radiant with ebony skin and a golden yellow dress that flowed out behind her like fairy wings. Gold accentuated her eyes and dusted her cheeks, and had somehow also woven into her thick coils of hair. If 603 hadn’t known better, it would have thought she really was surrounded by magic.
“Wow,” she said, beaming at the assembled youngsters. “I don’t know that I’ve ever had a class of such promising young people. Oh, and a bot! Sublime! This is shaping up to be a momentous day indeed.”
Naturally, no skates would support 603’s weight, but it had a track attachment that worked as a reasonable substitute, though the queen told it could never perform the jumps she planned to teach the others. It had no problem with this. It preferred its feet securely on the ground.
Thus began the most grueling two hours of 603’s existence. Queen Elba began with the basics, showing the assortment of children, parents and 603 how to push themselves forward on the ice and, more importantly, how to stop.
Once she had them all zipping in a wide circle around the rink, she showed some of the more advanced moves, and even demonstrated small, spinning hops where her skates actually left the ice.
603 watched in horror as the children threw themselves into the air with vigor before crashing into the ice. But their enthusiasm remained undeterred. They burst back onto their skates and tried again.
December was the oldest among the children in this group and also the most skilled. She performed a jump that had all the other students applauding, and her sister staring with wide-eyed adoration.
Near the end, December caught hold of 603’s hip joints and pushed it around the rink. Dave moved in behind her, forming a chain. So, 603 scooped up March as it passed and placed it at the front of their line, cushioning her waist as she whooped with joy and bellowed orders. As the surrounding humans laughed, even 603 noticed a pleasant buzzing through its neural pathways.
As the class wrapped up, Queen Elba heaping praise upon each of her pupils, the humans turned in their skates and, to 603’s shock, returned.
“Daddy, I’m hungry,” March said, her cheeks reddening as her lower lip protruded.
“That’s because you just burned a ton of energy,” Dave said, holding out a hand for her to take. “Time to go find your mom and grab lunch.”
“Yay,” March said, throwing her arms up in celebration before accepting her father’s hand.
“We’re going to the water park after,” December said. “Want to come with us?”
“Yeah, 603,” March said. “You should come!”
December looked 603 up and down. “I mean, if you can go in water. Will you rust?”
“Negative. My primary components are coated in aluminum titanium nitride. So long as I do not submerge, and thoroughly cleanse myself after, my circuitry will remain intact.” It scanned the doorway for Cathy. “My compatriots filled my allotted time here with many activities. I must see if it’s permissible for me to deviate.”
“Remember, it is your vacation. Not theirs,” Dave said.
603 barely had a moment to think about that before Cathy reappeared. “I’ve spoken to upper management about our Max situation and—oh, you’re with friends.”
“They are recent acquaintances,” 603 said, not wanting to presume.
“Wrong,” December declared, planting her feet and propping her fists on her hips. “We are friends. Deal with it.” She turned to Cathy, whose mouth was twitching. “And we want it to come with us to the water park after lunch.”
“I see,” Cathy said, gaze shifting to 603. “You want to change your itinerary?”
603 inclined its head. “Indeed, Miss Cathy.”
“No problem at all,” she exclaimed. “You’re free to do as you like.”
“But…my co-workers, the itinerary,” 603 began, shocked at how easily she had agreed.
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “Your coworkers just wanted to be sure you didn’t stay on your charging station the whole time. We can adjust your schedule however you’d like.”
“Oh,” was all 603 managed to say amidst the cheers of December, March, and Dave.
“Now, get out there and have a good time,” Cathy said, smile widening. “I’ll be around if you need me.”
The family steered 603 with one child hauling on each of its arms and Dave trailing behind, laughing.
“I do not understand the purpose of this exercise,” 603 said, though it remained still.
“You said you couldn’t get a tattoo,” March said, appearing before it with a toothy grin that still had a few gaps. “So we’re helping with body art!”
Her words made 603 look down in alarm. March had pushed aside 603’s leis and situated herself before its chest plate. She held a fat red marker in her small hand. It squeaked as she worked, tongue sticking out with her small brow scrunched in concentration. 603 was afraid to see what havoc she wrought upon its metal.
“Don’t worry,” December said, passing a pink marker to her sister. “It’ll wash off.”
“I do not take comfort in that,” it replied.
A few minutes later March leaned back, surveying her work. “Yep,” she said with a decisive nod. “It’s done.”
603 stood, keen to find a mirror so it could see what had become of its poor hull.
“Mommy, look,” March said, running to her mother. “It’s my masterpiece.”
Mary, mother of March and December, looked over from where she reclined. They’d all chosen a nice, shaded spot on the main deck to relax after the show ended, a reenactment of a film, apparently, and a favorite of the entire Rollins family.
The previous day at the water park, 603 had participated in its first-ever water pistol battle. To its immense surprise, it had enjoyed the experience. The water valves on its back had served it well in the pool battle as it had parked itself beneath a mushroom waterfall, absorbing the water through its valves and firing soft blobs through the nozzles on its chest plate. 603 had conquered its assailants, leaving them completely soaked.
After that, it joined the Rollins family for a game of tennis, with 603 and the children against their parents. All much more entertaining diversions than being the recipient of ‘body art.’ While March, with December’s supervision, had decorated 603, Mary had reclined with a book while Dave sat at her feet, studiously painting her toenails.
Mary’s lips pulled into a wide grin as she took 603 in. “It’s perfect, Marchy. A masterpiece indeed! You look great, 603.”
“I have doubts as to your veracity, Mary.”
“I’m wounded,” she said with a laugh.
“She’s right, 603,” Dave said, giving an approving nod before returning to the pedicure. “It suits you.”
“Here’s a mirror,” December said. She held up the small, reflective surface, so 603 could finally see what had been done.
It didn’t know what it had expected. Squiggly drawings of barnyard animals, perhaps? Or even a crude attempt to draw 603 itself. Instead, March had rendered a heart on its chest, in the spot where a human heart would be. The attempt to color it in completely was spotty, leaving streaks where the metal beneath shone through, but 603 found it enjoyed that imperfection. It touched the painted heart and looked down at March. “Thank you,” it said. “I will cherish it.”
“I knew you’d like it.” Turning to her parents, she said, “Mommy, Daddy, I’m hungry. Is it dinner time?”
Dave glanced down at his watch. “You know, it just about is.” He looked at his wife. “Ready to grab some dinner?”
“Sounds good to me,” she said, slipping a bookmark into her novel.
“What about 603?” December said.
“I do not require nourishment,” it replied.
“I know,” she said, glaring at the gleaming wooden deck. “It’s just that I—”
When she didn’t continue, 603 offered, “You wished to discuss your deceased grandfather in more detail?”
Her face glowed crimson.
“Wait, what?” Dave said, freezing as he put the nail polish back in their pool bag. “You’ve been talking to 603 about your grandpa?”
“No, I—”
“Deci, it’s okay to miss your grandpa,” Mary cut in as Dave dropped his face into his hands. As she spoke, she reached out to touch Dave’s shoulder.
“I know, but—”
“Why wouldn’t you talk to us about it?” Dave said, his eyes rimmed with red. “We’re here for you. We want you to share things with us.”
December looked between them, eyes wide and quivering. She wheeled on 603. “I hate you!”
And with that, she turned and ran. 603 could only stare after her as she rounded the corner, with her family scrambling and shouting after her, wondering what it had done wrong.
603 didn’t move; not an inch from where December had declared her hatred. A tap on its shoulder forced it back to the present. Perhaps it was December, returning to explain her outburst.
It turned, training its visual sensor as its synapses fired in rapid succession (was this anticipation?) until it found itself staring at Cathy. When its visual cortex seemed to darken upon seeing her, 603 began a diagnostic, to be sure it wasn’t experiencing any hardware failure.
“603?” Cathy said, clutching her clipboard to her chest and taking a hesitant step closer. “Are you alright? I’m surprised to see you here alone. Some of the other guests were concerned. They said you haven’t moved in hours.”
Looking past her, its diagnostic complete with results all in the green, it noticed the sun sinking toward the horizon like a lead weight. “I see. I should return to my charging station.”
Without another word, it moved past her, tromping down the deck. It felt as though its footplates had grown heavier, dragging with each step as it made its way back to its room and the blissful emptiness of its charging station.
A loud knock on its room door drew 603 from the crackling oblivion of its charge cycle. Other knocks had sounded through the hours, but this one was different: sharp, commanding.
As its systems came back to full alertness, the door banged open and Cathy marched into the room, red-cheeked and scowling.
“Miss Cathy, I—”
“Yes, you.” She leveled a finger at 603 like she might smite it. “I tried to be patient, to give you space, but you’ve been in here for 36 full hours. No more. Tell me what happened with the Rollins family.”
603 wanted to hide, to return to its charging platform and not move until the infernal cruise was finally over and done with. December and her family were clearly bad for it. They’d made 603 forget all about its primary function.
It only made it one step backwards when Cathy said, “Stop right there, 603. You still have events on your itinerary. Events that your teammates have already paid for.”
“That does not concern me, Miss Cathy. They did not garner my consent before signing me up for these ridiculous events. I believe they did this to laugh at me.”
Cathy crossed her arms. “Now you’re just telling yourself stories. You could have said ‘no.’ You could have parked yourself right there on that charging station for the entire cruise. But you participated in all the events.”
“It was all prepaid, so—”
“I wasn’t finished.” Cathy glared at 603 with a carefully controlled rage it had only ever seen in its captain. “Not only did you go through with your itinerary, you continue to wear and hold on to the things you created, the things you earned in those classes and workshops. Even if you felt compelled to complete the itinerary, you absolutely chose to do that.”
603 felt its circuits overheating. “Indeed, I do have a choice.” It put one foot on its charging platform.
“Ugh, you are more stubborn than my three-year-old.” She caught its arm and levered it back, away from its charging station. “It’s alright to be upset by whatever happened with the Rollins family. But if you accidentally start a fire, would you let the whole house burn before trying to put it out?”
603 had been about to pull its arm free and park itself, but froze at her words.
With a slowness that made it wonder if feelings were resulting in a loss of functionality, it withdrew its leg from the charging platform.
“Much better,” Cathy said, releasing its arm. “Now, I don’t know what happened, but you don’t have a lot of time to fix it. We dock this afternoon.”
“How do I fix it? She hates me.”
“Oh, honey, she doesn’t really hate you,” Cathy said with a sympathetic laugh. “And the answer is simple, 603. Just apologize.”
“Miss Cathy, do you know where the Rollins family might be?”
“I don’t,” she replied. “But between the two of us we’ll be able to find them.”
“I appreciate you, Miss Cathy.” 603 bowed its head to her.
“Cmon, we have a family to find.”
603 and Cathy agreed that they’d have better luck finding December and her family if they split up. Cathy went to the lower decks, leaving 603 to scour the top two decks and pool area. They agreed to meet up a couple of hours later at a designated spot.
603 quickly grew frustrated, wanting to take its time and be thorough, but also cognizant of the need for speed. It only had a few precious hours left to find its friend. It scanned every individual it passed as it combed over the second deck. No luck there, so it moved up to the top.
The sun blazed in a sky speckled with cumulus clouds that resembled balls of cotton. Humans around it shaded their eyes as they smiled up at it, an act 603 found baffling.
603’s gears ground together. It couldn’t find her. Not anywhere. Was it doomed to regret its social slip-up for all eternity? Perhaps it could intercept her on her way off the boat.
It was pondering this idea when a cloud slipped in front of the sun, casting the deck in shade. A woman shoved past 603, sniffling. “This has nothing to do with you,” she said over her shoulder before stumbling away.
Not December. 603 turned from her and found itself face to face with Max.
Max’s hand was outstretched, as if it were reaching for the woman. Its sensor light dimmed, and broad shoulders slumped. When it caught sight of 603, all signs of its hurt vanished. “We meet again, 603. For the last time!”
“Please make this quick,” 603 replied. “I’m on a mission.”
“Not for long.” Max lunged forward and caught 603’s neck in its enormous palm, squeezing. It used its superior weight to push 603 back against the railing.
Waves smacked and churned against the ship’s hull, and for the first time 603 was nervous. It started as a misfiring circuit deep in its core, then spread through its being.
“You insulted Lady Cresta,” Max said, its grip unyielding. “It is time for you to pay for this offense.”
“Damaging the feelings of your friend was not my intention.” 603 grabbed Max’s arm, trying to pry itself loose, to no avail.
“Intent does not matter,” Max growled. “You hurt her feelings, and then she yelled at me. Me.”
For the first time, 603 actually looked at Max. The actor bot’s words had resonated with 603. Hadn’t it been lamenting the same thing? “I see,” 603 said, patting the arm holding it with sympathy. “I’m sorry she took her anger out on you.”
Pixel eyes blinked at 603.
Before Max could frame a reply, 603 called out, “Lady Cresta, I apologize for unwittingly ruining your show. Please do not be angry with Max because of me.” It hoped she was still close enough to hear.
“Hey,” a voice shouted. “Let 603 go, you big bully. Mom, Dad, I finally found 603. Come quick.”
603 couldn’t believe its sensors. Craning its head around, it saw December and March dashing towards them.
“Yeah, you’re not supposed to be such a meany, Max,” March squeaked.
“Girls, what are you—oh my god! Max is trying to kill 603!” Was that Dave?
“Not on my watch!” Mary yelled.
Suddenly the pressure on 603’s neck eased. It gained a few inches back toward the safety of the deck.
“Max, what on earth are you doing?” Cresta watched them with a slack jaw. Red rimmed her eyes, and her cheeks were ruddy.
Max released 603. “You came back?” it said, voice full of hope.
The sudden loss of a tether made 603 tip back, off balance. It was about to die.
“Catch it, catch it!” Multiple humans wrapped themselves around 603’s arms and heaved with all their might.
“Max, help them,” Cresta said.
Suddenly, 603 was back on the deck, safe with sturdy wood beneath its feet. Humans were strewn about it, posed on all fours and heaving in breaths. Max had already turned away from them, facing Cresta.
“Phew, that was a close one,” Cresta said, releasing a relieved sigh. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, but you can’t act like this because you’re upset, buddy.”
“But it hurt your feel—”
“Oh, please, I’m not upset about that,” Cresta said, exasperated. “I didn’t get that part I auditioned for. That’s why I’m upset.”
Max’s shoulders slumped. “Oh.”
Cresta faced 603 and the Rollins family. “I’m so sorry for my friend. It hasn’t adjusted as well as you seem to have. Are you alright?”
“I am, Miss Cresta. Thank you for your assistance.”
“I’m so sorry about Max.” She turned to the hulking bot, and her face fell. “How could you do this Max? Now we definitely won’t get to work together anymore. I need to call Cathy so we can start the incident report.”
Max fell to its knees, head bowed, the picture of dejection.
“Hold, Miss Cresta,” 603 said. “As fond as I am of a thorough report, I would like for this to be overlooked.”
“But… it almost killed you,” she said, mouth agape once more.
“We are both new to managing emotions,” 603 said. “I only insist that it attend counseling to better understand and control itself.”
Cresta lifted an eyebrow. “Max?”
It lifted its head. “And we shall continue working side by side?”
“Only if you get through a full course of counseling,” Cresta said. “I don’t want to be afraid you’ll toss me overboard.”
Max started at that. “To set your mind at ease, Lady Cresta, I will do anything.”
“Good,” she said. “C’mon, let’s get you signed up right away.”
Max nodded and made to follow her but paused, turning back to 603. “I apologize, 603, for my dastardly behavior.” Before 603 could respond, it clomped away after Cresta.
603 turned its attention to the family before it. They grinned at one another as they pushed to their feet and turned their triumphant smiles on 603.
“You saved me,” it began. “I—”
“Of course we did, silly,” March chirped as she threw her arms around 603’s leg in a tight hug. “You’re our friend.”
Dave and Mary moved in and embraced 603 as well. “That’s right,” Dave said. “Friends don’t let each other get thrown off a boat by an angry space robot.”
“They just don’t,” Mary agreed.
603’s gaze landed on December, who was staring at the wooden deck with a trembling lip. “Even you,” 603 marveled. “Even though I have yet to apologize to you.”
She shrugged, still avoiding its visual sensor. “It’s like they said. You’re our friend. Even though you’re sometimes really dumb.”
“I am,” 603 agreed. “And I am sorry for hurting you.”
She looked up then, and 603 saw the large tears trailing down her cheeks. “I’m glad you didn’t die.”
“Aww, you two are just so sweet,” Mary crooned. “Now get in here, Deci, so it’s a proper family hug.”
With a watery smile, she threw her arms around them.
603 had no idea what to do. Slowly, as gently as it could, it engulfed the humans in an embrace as well. This seemed to be the correct response. They all laughed and squeezed it even tighter.
The sun reemerged from behind the clouds, bathing them in its light.
A few hours later, 603 disembarked with the family. It had found out after their long hug had concluded that its words had helped December talk to her family about her depression and for them to confess that they were going through similar emotions. They’d been able to open up to one another. 603 still regretted what it had done, but logged the lesson for the future.
As they moved to the ramp that would take them to the parking lot below, Cathy stopped 603. “I’m glad you found them. You take care of yourself now, 603.”
“And you as well, Miss Cathy. Your assistance is greatly appreciated.”
She offered one final smile before 603 and the Rollins family descended.
“So, you’ll come over this weekend, right?” December asked.
Though 603 worked in the metropolitan area of the city, the Rollins’s lived in a suburb just outside it, a short bus ride away. “Indeed,” 603 said.
“603!”
It glanced over to see four people waving, all grinning from ear to ear. Its team had come. It nodded back and returned its attention to the family.
“Alright,” Dave said. “Time for us to be getting home. We’ll see you this weekend.” He approached and tapped his knuckles to the painted heart still emblazoned on 603’s chest plate.
“Stay safe out there,” Mary said, doing the same.
“I will endeavor to do so.” 603 crouched low and caught March and December in a hug. “Meeting you has been illuminating. I thank you.”
December laughed, pulling away. “Dude, it’s impossible to take you seriously when you’re still dressed like that.”
“You dare mock my badges of honor?”
“I do,” she said.
“You look silly,” March said, patting its chest plate before pulling away.
And with that, the family left, and 603 turned to face its teammates…its friends, with the warmth inside it only growing stronger, cozier, and more enveloping.
“Looks like you had a nice time,” the Captain said once 603 joined them.
“Indeed,” 603 said. “Thank you all. I may still smother you in your sleep.”
A lifelong love of storytelling led Liz to a degree in Sequential Art from SCAD. She now resides in Washington, DC with her beloved podengo, Tank.
