S I A [#Wattys2016]

3. Force Stop

Technician #479 had indeed been observed at his birthing station the fateful day of SIA's birth.

Shortly after the titanium bot sailed away on the overhead conveyor, the technician's workbench screen popped up once more. The disembodied head of a corporate admin smiled out from the glass, congratulating the technician on his "attention to detail" and his "fine artistry." The admin shared his belief that those attributes were well suited to an enveloping job in Cosmetics (well suited, indeed).

And so, on the very next day, Technician #479 reported to CosTech training instead of his old birthing station. When he emerged several weeks later, he was rechristened CosTech #479 and given a new white jacket with many more pockets, which pleased him greatly. Instead of his birthing station on the busy third floor among many other such stations, he was directed to a small enveloping suite all his own on a floor several levels up.

The tiny, bright room popped with bold splashes of color, and was filled with all the equipment he'd need for the enveloping process: spray guns and ink guns, fine bristled brushes in many textures and widths, sanders and scrubbers for polishing and smoothing. All of it housed in little clear cubbies stacked on each side of a pneumatic chute built into the wall where he ordered and received the derma-synth and hair and inks he would use.

Because of his attention to detail and his fine artistry, CosTech #479 was sometimes called upon to help repair a damaged bot as well, usually machines worn down by time. He applied new derma-synth in his seamless way, renewed faded coloring, replaced thinning hair. He didn't enjoy this restoration process as much as he enjoyed enveloping the new bots, as he hated to see them in such a deteriorated state. But, it was precisely because of this discomfort that the cosmetician worked so hard to return the damaged bots to their former grandeur.

Some of the bots bore damage so severe, nothing less than a stripping down to a bare metallic frame would do. Although he did not have to, the cosmetician buffed these bots until they gleamed like new before he re-enveloped them. He tried to pretend that they were the same as a shiny new bot, but he knew they were not, and that knowing hurt somewhere inside him.

One day, CosTech #479 was called in to repair a particularly damaged bot from the Security Offices -- a most dangerous assignment, to be sure. The bot lay in a crumpled heap in the corner of his restoration suite. From the door, the cosmetician could see this bot was missing large swathes of derma-synth, and what remained was mottled and bruised.

As the cosmetician moved closer, he saw the bot's derma-synth was dotted with round marks that appeared to be burns. One of its arms had been dislocated, and that arm clung to the shoulder by only the thinnest (but strongest) of wires. Large patches of the bot's hair were missing as well, not the usual thinning from time, but as if entire tufts had been yanked out. He winced for the bot's pain sensors, and hoped it was an older model without them.

On seeing the extent of the damage, the cosmetician began to wonder: has this been done... on purpose? Surely not. Who in security would do such a thing to a bot? And why?

No, the cosmetician assured himself, there had to have been an accident of sorts. The security offices were a dangerous assignment, indeed.

Either way, the bot would need to be stripped. With a sigh, he bent to pick up the bot and... the bot flinched. CosTech #479 flinched in response, and the ruined heap curled itself tighter into the corner, shrinking away from him. This bot had not been deactivated. Its sensors remained active, making this bot aware and alert.

More than the usual hurt somewhere inside him, what CosTech #479 felt now was rage. He'd never before thought about the damaged bots having been on when they sustained whatever damage they had -- by the time the bots reached him, they were deactivated. Inert. And to think it was possible that this bot had been hurt on purpose? He could not bear it.

With an anguished sigh, the cosmetician approached the bot more slowly, delicately. "Don't be afraid," he whispered in his most soothing voice. "I'm here to fix you. I'm here to help."

Tentatively, the bot lifted its head. "Four seven nine?" asked a familiar lilting, raspy voice.

The cosmetician's heart seized in his chest like an overworked Picker, a feeling of falling or floating through time. "SIA."

He could barely get the name out, for the heat of his rage burned deep from within, stinging his eyes and searing his cheeks. He brushed away angry tears, kneeling before SIA. "What's happened to you? Who did this?"

SIA said nothing, but let her eyes rest on the surveillance cam in the ceiling. She then arranged her broken body into a kneeling position, mimicking the cosmetician. A tapered finger grazed the hollow indent at the base of her neck, then slid down to that seamless space just below and between her breasts where her ribcage would unfurl. She tapped there once holding the cosmetician's gaze, willing him to understand. Her startling human eyes brimmed with hope. She nodded and said, "Force."

"Force?" The cosmetician asked, bewilderment tinging his pain.

SIA nodded again. "Shut. Down."

"Shut. Down." The cosmetician looked at her, confused. "Force shut down?"

At this, SIA gave him a tentative smile, one filled with relief. She tapped her chest once more and nodded a third time. "Off now." Joy seemed to permeate the raspy lilt to her voice.

The cosmetician looked at SIA's chest and nodded with dawning understanding. "Oh, yes. Yes, I have to turn you off now," he said. "To repair you."

Costech #479 gently picked up the broken bot and carried her to his metal workstation in the room's center. She flinched again when he secured her to the rotating stand in the floor, so he stood slowly, and peeled away the derma-synth covering her chest even more gently than that. He held out a shaky finger and pressed the hollow beneath her neck. Remembering.

SIA's ribcage whispered open with the same metallic ting, this part of her the only part to have been left alone, it seemed. The sparkle of her neural net shone, as did the glow of her Sol, and the cosmetician wondered if he'd been the last soul to see this wondrous beauty. His eyes traveled over SIA's remaining scarred derma-synth, and he realized the round marks were in fact cigarette burns. He knew then it was certain he'd been the last to witness her Sol. He simply couldn't believe that anyone who'd laid eyes on such inner beauty could inflict that much harm.

The cosmetician reached into SIA's chest and lightly pulled out her Sol. A shudder ran through her, and she looked up at the cosmetician, her eyes brimming with joyous relief.

"Off," she said once more with a determined nod just before her eyes closed with a final clink.