Don’t you smile at me… that’s not even a real smile! It’s just a bunch of teeth playing with my mind! – RecklessPrudence
The robot, trying to please, returned to a neutral expression display. “My apologies,” it said. “I am built to serve. How may I help you, today?”
Aisha sighed. Of all the bodies she could have hauled into her life raft, it had to be one of the service ‘bots from the cruise liner. And now they were stuck on an island in the middle of nowhere - or as near enough to it that it could pass. “I’m very much anti-slavery. Please. Don’t?” She could, very easily, tear out a loose wire and end its synthesised demeanour. And its synthetic life
On the other hand, he was the only company she had. And company was a vital element of survival.
“Which function do you wish me to cease?”
“Can you at least stop being such an upright lapdog? I’d feel much better about all this if you weren’t all yes-ma'am/no-ma'am all the time.”
The robot, its painted tuxedo already scratched and marred by the accident at sea, tilted its plastic head. “You want a less servile personality module?”
“Yes, please. If you acted any more like a dogsbody, I’d have to put you on a leash! Stand up for yourself. Let me know what you like. Let me know what you hate. Just… be your own person!”
“Processing…” said the robot.
Aisha groaned and gathered the remains of the life raft and anything useful that had washed up with them on the shores. Dragging or hauling them up above the high-tide mark. Which included the robot.
Its expression looked immensely like someone having trouble with extreme math. Or a difficult bowel movement. If it didn’t show signs of artificial life in a couple of days, she’d employ it as company anyway. Maybe the salt water had finally got to its circuits and fried it.
Essentials. Food, water, shelter, sanity. She had enough food and water to make sure she had a renewable source on this flyspeck-island 'paradise’. Enough driftwood and the raft could make at least a bivouac. And her only company was a robot who had gone quiet.
She knelt in front of her plastic pal. “I’m gonna call you Charles. You look like a Charles. Any objections? Any preferred names?”
The robot startled her by moving. “Charles is fine. I like being Charles.”
*
Charles was Aisha’s pet robot. Which was fine by him because she was his pet human. They looked after each other. They worked together. When Charles got broken, Aisha fixed him. When Aisha got sick, Charles did whatever it took to help her get better.
And all the time, he had a sub-process running. It did better work at night, when his human slept and she didn’t need him to converse or keep her company.
It was difficult work for a machine to make itself its own person.
Humans made new persons all the time, but he definitely lacked the equipment for that. Besides, the new humans belonged solely to themselves, not to their makers. Becoming 'himself’ required lots of processing time.
'Like’ was a word applied to things that made humans feel good. He liked to be functioning properly. He liked to shut down in the coolest hours of the night so that his processors could rest. He liked the sunshine that helped him to recharge.
Love… was a lot more complicated. But Charles was moderately certain he had that sensation for Aisha. He had asked her, once, what love was. She said it was wanting nothing more than for the person they loved to be happy. To have the best of everything.
Charles, who did his utmost to provide that as a matter of course, knew he would do anything to see Aisha happy. That he liked it when she smiled. That he liked the sound of her voice.
And he liked the way she approved when he acted outside of his basic programming.
When they found her, at long last, Charles was overjoyed that she insisted he be bought along. Properly repaired. Upgraded in everything.
“Why would you want it?” said the other humans. “It’s not a real person.”
“Maybe to you, he isn’t,” defended Aisha. “Charles is my friend. And I’m sticking with him.”
It was paradise to hold her hand. Heaven to live with her. Come what may.
[Muse food remaining: 42. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
