The Little Android

The End

Star dragged a finger across the screen imbedded in the wall, and the lights of the cockpit went dark. She swirled it clockwise; they gradually brightened again. Counterclockwise, they dimmed darker. A tap here to raise the temperature, here to lower it. She tested every command: Play music, adjust the air-filtration system, seal the cockpit door, heat the cockpit floor, place an order for a beverage through the automated beverage service.

Confident that everything was working just as it should, she shut the panel of wiring beneath the screen and gathered up the tools that she’d used, hooking them neatly into her tool belt. She then paused, preparing herself to walk, before heading toward the ship’s main exit. Her body screamed at her as she walked, and she knew that the exertion was beginning to take its toll on her system. For weeks she had done her best to ignore the pain and the knowledge that sooner or later, her escort-droid body would rebel and reject the installed personality chip altogether. There were times when she felt she was holding her body together through sheer willpower.

It wouldn’t be long though, before she could afford a new body. Just a little while longer.

A voice made her foot catch and she paused on the exit ramp.

Dataran.

Turning, she peered into the common room that divided the front of the ship from the living areas. An assortment of comfortable seats, accented with silk pillows and cashmere throw blankets, were arranged around a gurgling aquarium that reached from the floor to the tiled ceiling. The brightly colored fish had been brought to their new home a few days before, and seemed content to float mindlessly among their artificial coral reef.

Star crept toward Miko’s rooms, her back against the wall, aware that this was not something she would have done when she was Mech6.0. Spying, sneaking, eavesdropping. Androids were not made to be curious.

And yet, there she was, standing beside the doorframe and listening to the hiccupping sounds of a girl crying.

“If we could just talk to your father . . . show him how much we love each other . . .”

“He’ll never agree to it. He doesn’t think you could keep me safe.”

Dataran released a disgruntled sigh. “I know, I know. And I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you either. I just need time . . . I can get us a ship. It may not be anything like this, anything like what you’re used to, but . . .”

“That doesn’t matter. I would go—” She sobbed. “—anywhere with you. But Dataran ...”

“But what?”

Her crying grew louder. “Do you really want to live—your whole life—with a cyborg?”

Star dared to inch closer, shifting her weight so she could peer through the crack between the lavish mahogany doors. These rooms were completed. The ship was almost finished, but for some last detail work in the front end.

Scheduled departure was in just two days.

She spotted them standing near Miko’s netscreen desk, and Dataran was embracing her, one hand cupping the base of her head as she buried her face into his shoulder.

Memorizing the pose, Star brought her hand up to the back of her neck and dug her fingertips into her own hair. Tried to imagine what that must be like.

“Miko, please,” Dataran whispered. “Your arms could be made out of strychnine wood for all I care.”

Star adjusted her audio interface so loud that she could hear the rustle of fabric, his breathing, her sniffles.