Chapter One

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by scolwell

by scolwell

My well-manicured hand flew up to my perfectly groomed hair, patting down nonexistent flyaways. Of course I wasn’t nervous. I would be fine. I was a Model-FT, one of the most perfect robots ever to be created. Impossible that I would feel emotion, especially upon meeting my new Master. The last one and I had had some… difficulties, but I was sure this one would give me a fresh start.

Sucking in a breath that I didn’t need, I swept towards my new home. Upon reaching the front door, I respectfully wiped my boots, patted myself down once more, then reached towards the VidPhone.

After a short crackling sound, the face of what was definitely not my new master came on screen.

“Model FT-046012 reporting… for… duty? Who are you?”

“Listen, I don’t have much time.” The human face on the screen surprised me. It turned away, spoke to someone off camera. “Is this thing even on? Am I even coming through? Yeah? Okay.” Turning back to me, he asked, “Model FG-what now?”

I rattled off the numbers. “Model FT-046012. One of the highest, most perfected robots to be created at this point in time. Rivaled only by the Models MT-, FA-, MA-, and JG-. Most commonly used for service to higher beings, although has also on occasion been used for-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I don’t need your instruction manual.” He rolled his eyes.

“Are you sure? I have that memorized as well.” I rolled my eyes, though to do so took more leverage than should have been necessary. Opening the highly advanced computer in my brain, I made a mental note to go for an oiling as soon as I figured out what was going on.

He laughed harshly. “Didn’t know you ‘higher beings’ could correctly utilize sarcasm.”

“Should I suspect that your improved diction is intended to offend me?” My voice was venomous, but deep down I was incredibly confused. What was happening? Where was my new master? And most importantly, what was this human’s rank? As I looked at him, he wore the sash and bracelet of a Useire, but they were torn and dirty as if he were an Underling.

“Drop the priss, sweetheart, and listen. I’ve only got a minute before they find me. Just wanted to let you know that by… um… by orders from your new master, you need to come to the Compound at midnight. Look for the guy in gray. That would be me.” His voice broke off as he looked to his left. “Aw, crap. Man, we gotta go. Wardens are coming.”

“Wardens? Where are you, human?”

“Nowhere you need to know about. Just remember. Tonight, midnight, Compound.”

“Obviously. I do not forget anything. I will be there.”

The screen crackled, then fizzled to black. Too late, I realized what I had just said. What was I doing??? I couldn’t possibly meet him… except now I would have to. Damn. He’d tricked me. He couldn’t have known that I had to stick to my word… but he must have. Any All-Knowing had to stick to their word once they gave it, no matter what.

The door swung open, interrupting my beration of myself. “Yes? Who are you?” Surprisingly, an old, creaky voice answered. Strange. Robots were not known for aging, unless you ordered the special ones, which cost several Uneins more than most pods.

“I’m Model FT–046012. I’m the new delivery.”

“Come inside and we can have a chat.”

I walked inside in what I felt to be a respectful manner; but upon ducking my head, I received a sharp rap to the back of the neck, accompanied by the words, “Stand up straight. Rafiano doesn’t like bad posture.”

I furrowed my brow, confused. “Who’s Rafiano? I received notification that I would be working for a Or. Brayde.”

“That’s Rafiano. Now hurry up, please. We’ve got to get you situated.” As the owner of the voice appeared from behind the door, I noted with some shock that it was not a robot at all, but an incredibly old Ba’area, although this particular one couldn’t have been more than three unes tall. Usually, the Ba’area were more than seven unes in stature, and their scaled skin was tight against their wide paws and flattish faces; this one’s skin was sagging, her back was hunched, and she hopped along with the assistance of a cane. Her voice was dry and rough, nothing like the smooth, commanding tones of the usual creatures; her feathers were drooping, and in some places broken. All in all, she presented a rather comical figure, and I had to quickly command the computer in my brain to repress the sound of humor that threatened to escape my lips. Unfortunately, I wasn’t all that successful.

“I wouldn’t laugh. Rafiano does not take kindly to immature little children.”

“How dare you? I am not a child! I am a servant to the highest, the most perfect of robots, and you should not dare to think otherwise! I am Model FT–04-”

A new voice interrupted my tirade. “6012? Good, you’re here.”

I froze. Turning around slowly, I dreaded who – or what – I might find standing behind me.