Disaffection

Contact

This, my imperative tells me, is home.

I do not know what "home" is, or what feelings I should have on it. I surely don't feel them, however. I am as indifferent as I was stepping off the ship to D.O.M.E, to Kepler-22b, to the maintenance shops scattered along the way. You would think they would've given me directives here, for such a momentous occasion. They didn't.

You have fulfilled your primary directive, my imperative urges, report.

Reports are easy. I shelve the conundrum of "home" for a later time, and adjust the landing gear. There are no good landing places, I deduce upon my second slow circle of the planet. This place– home– is predominantly water. Water, and sharp, gray structures rising up into the clouds. Not all of the structures are like that, even as most of them are. I rather like the short, colorful ones concentrated heavily in a desert area. They feel more personable than the indifferent steel.

Overall, it is somewhat disappointing to me that my people (there is an odd sensation at thinking that) are far from the most technologically advanced persons I have encountered. It is tough to remind myself that technological advancement speaks no further about a people than the opportunities they've had, and says nothing about their intellect or skills.

Finally, I find a broad, open expanse large enough to house the ship. My imperative did not allow me to name it, which I find a pity.

The landing is rough, and I thank my creators for the hard armor plating they granted me. This surely would've hurt otherwise. I have deduced I do not feel pain in the way that many mortal creatures do; as a response to direct stimuli over a focused area, rather, any damage sustained to my body results in delocalized pain which simply spreads over my entire being, thus lessening the severity of the sensation while still allowing me to understand that I have been damaged.

The ship comes to a stop near a small, wooden structure. I frown, as I do not even know what wood is, or what that entails. I engage the landing gear, allowing the ship to take root, and step out into the bright sunlight.

The sun here is... underwhelming, I decide. It is likely different elsewhere on the planet, and likely is seasonal, but in my current location and time, it is unpleasantly cool. I do not know why I needed to feel such a thing, what drove my creators to grant me the dubious honor of heat and cold sensation. Perhaps, I muse, it is for an empathetic understanding of humanity.

That is, I am sure, why I look so similar to them, despite being wholly different. At least, I am sure I look similar to them, for I look dissimilar to every other person I have encountered, and I know that there are limits to all creativity; everything is drawn from something one already knows.

Report, my imperative insists once more, stronger, this time.

I shake myself from my thoughts. I am more than willing to report, but... to who? <There are no sapient lifeforms nearby>, my sensors so helpfully indicate. Even that is interesting. Usually, they make no distinction between "sentient" and "sapient", despite the different implications. The distinction generally doesn't matter.

I categorize that for further investigation. If my sensors deemed it necessary to distinguish the difference, it means both sentient and sapient creatures pose a potential threat to me, and that both are abundant enough to make the distinction pertinent, though there is likely a vast disparity between what harm they could cause to me.

I do investigate the wooden structure, and, to my immense disappointment, find it wholly abandoned. Humans, it seems, are at least similar in size to me, for I neither need to stoop to enter nor scramble to sit upon a strange, soft structure that seemed to follow the general universal schematic for a chair (chiefly, that it is a structure intended for sitting upon. From there, a lot of discrepancies occur across planets and galaxies and cultures).

Beside the chair is a magazine written in what I know is English. "Playboy," reads the title, and I frown, anticipating a helpful explanation from somewhere deep within like I usually get. None is forthcoming. I flip through it gingerly, taking particular care for it. It is a possession of my creators; or, at least, ones like them.

The contents are pornographic in nature, and I need no prompting to understand that. The singular universal constant I have found that extends beyond physics and basic chemistry is porn. No matter what form it comes in, no matter the people it features, I am quite adept at recognizing it at this point.

I put the magazine down, finding the contents no more rousing than the many dissertations I have attended. I find the lack of reaction somewhat surprising; surely, if my creators were to give me any desire, it would be for the same species as they. Perhaps I am capable of none; it isn't something I've bothered with exploring. There is no emotion beyond the faint surprise, I truly couldn't care less either way. It isn't important. 

<There is one sapient life form nearby.>

I look up, and there is. My sensors must be faulty, for I should've registered it much earlier, even if it wasn't in my immediate line of sight. I knew I should've gotten them checked before heading back... I am doubtful there are any such convenient places to fix them here. 

We spend a moment staring at one another, neither of us saying a word. Maybe humans don't speak. I am embarrassingly lacking on my knowledge of the peoples here. They clearly have written word, and language implies speech, but one can never be sure. 

The human-- and I am sure that is what it is-- is perhaps five centimeters shorter than I (I am not quite sure what a "centimeter" is beyond its pure, metric value), and is much paler than my armor plating. It has pitch black hair, similar to my own, though it wears it much shorter, and I suspect it to be organic. Cloth covers much of its body. It seems to be staring at the magazine I was just holding. I wonder how long it was standing there. 

Female, I am informed, or male. Very helpful. I wonder why there is only a biological dichotomy on Earth. Most places have more variety than that, and I know that identity often extends beyond biology.  I wonder idly which aspect of the dichotomy I was designed after. 

"Huh," it says, in a deeper register than I would have expected, and I don't even know why I had expectations to begin with. "Huh", is, evidentially, used as a filler word in some parts of this world, used to express shock or confusion. I hope it's more of the latter than the former in this case. 

Report. 

I snap to attention in a way that I am unaccustomed to. Such formality has never had precedence before. "I have," I start, the words feeling foreign on my own tongue, "much to report to you, ma'am. Or sir. At your discretion and leisure, of course." 

"Huh." The human says again.