This if for Plain Mike's Writing Challenge. The prompt was this illustration by @svdsdragunov.
I thought it was a very cool piece of art. Title of the art - The Forgotten One.
I hear them shuffling out of the room, the door closing softly, a tiny click of well-oiled metal. Then silence.
I do not feel pain at their departure. There is just an absence of their presence. Of their smells. And sounds of their voices. And breathing. And footsteps. The squeaking of soles on rubberized flooring. The occasional swallow.
I catalogue each by who the noise and the smell and the voice belongs to. Impartially. Indifferently. All but the one.
He’s slimmer than the others, smaller, younger. His voice carries a spark of something I am not used to. Something breezy and light, lilting at the end of each sentence. It makes me want him to notice me. It makes me want for him to come back.
*****
The first time he came, he looked me in the eyes, the way they do with each other. But not with me. Not ever with me before him. Cadet Reeves, the tall one had called him. He wasn’t wearing the same gear as the others, either. A plain black tea shirt and jeans. Like the ones I’d watch sometimes out the window, collecting their data. Twenty steps to the fountain, a 2.24 second pause, an abrupt turn, twenty steps back to the Orbitium.
*****
I’m called Neil 1204X - first generation experimental data borg. My function is to gather and catalogue. There are 723 human lifeforms on the Orbitium at any given time and six outside. The ones outside change every two hours. They do not come inside. The ones inside do not leave. I have watched them for ten years, twenty two days, five hours and sixteen seconds.
The ones who come to download my data have always been the same four men. Until the time they brought Cadet Reeves. An anomaly.
He told me to stand and he put his hand on my arm, touching the metal as if it were something else, something breakable. I do not break. I require no maintenance. I do not age.
The humans have aged since the first time I catalogued them. Their voices raspier, their smells oilier, their steps heavier. The tall one is forty-two and he is in charge. His wife bought him a trip to the outer Aialia, by himself. It is a place of pleasure for men. I do not know what pleasure of that sort means.
I do not know what pleasure of any sort means, but I know how to tell when the humans are pleased with me. It is rare that they show it. But I can see it in their eyes when they do. A little crinkling in the corners. Sometimes their faces stretch into smiles. I imitate it once they’re gone, stretching my lips, but it doesn’t feel like anything. There are no crinkles around my eyes. The polymer I am made of does not allow for it.
*****
Cadet Reeves smiled at me that first time. Before he touched me. Before he said anything to me. He seemed pleased with me before any data was downloaded. That had never happened before.
*****
I scan my log of this visit. My copy of visit data self-destructs as soon as the download is complete, but I retain a ghost copy for for twenty four hours. I was not programmed to do this. Another anomaly.
The stream of data starts to play at the customary rate or ten-x and I slow it down. I go through it slowly, in real time.
The door opens. An audible click. The tall one’s steps are first into the room. He had gained two pounds and ten ounces since my last recording of him. Two others file in behind him, followed by Cadet Reeves. He stays back, not approaching me. I scan myself for anything I’d done to displease him. I don’t find anything, but he stays by the door. Today, he does not look me in the eyes. He does not smile.
“She’s the last of the Gen Ones,” says the old one. He looks at Cadet Reeves when he says it. The younger man nods but says nothing. He still does not look at me.
The other two approach me one at each side and configure the ports for the data dump. I only register them as the two always silent once. They are like the mechanics I sometimes have to catalogue. They pull my cables taut and I slumped down in the chair, a sense of being emptied overwhelming my circuits. It takes twenty seven seconds this time, longer than usual.
Suddenly, one of the always silent ones speaks. “Are you sure we couldn’t sell her for parts at Ling’s or something, Cap? Seems a waste to just leave it….”
The tall one, Cap, shakes his head. “It weighs too damn much to bail with, you moron.” His voice is higher than usual.
Cadet Reeves looks at me then, and I sense that something is wrong. The way his eyes are is making me want to suddenly not be here in this chair, plugged into the unit. I strain to stand up, but the cables are stronger than I am. My log goes blank. When it starts again, the timestamps tells me I lost four minutes and two seconds. I watch their slow shuffle to the door. I hear the click.
*****
I sit up straight and stretch my neck. I’m still attached to the cables. I register this anomaly as well. They may have not gotten all the data they needed. Or maybe they had destroyed it and now need it back. Humans are prone to mistakes like that. I wait for them to come back and finish it. I wait for seventy eight days, six hours and fifty seven minutes, but they do not come back.
Maybe something happened to them. Some kind of trouble I could help with. There isn’t much I can do outside my basic function, but it is imperative that I try. I switch externals on and scan Orbitium for Cadet Reeves, and Cap and the two silent ones. I draw blanks on their vitals. I scan again and again with the same result. I scrap the specifics of their signatures and scan the structure for any humans. Level by level, inch by inch. It takes a long time. Longer than any scan I’ve done before. I repeat it seven times, more than my protocols call for.
The simple math of it is there, in front of me, but something pushes me to keep trying. I do not know what to call it. I scan myself and find that I’m functioning at optimal capacity and that everything is in order. Logically, I should have stopped my scans after my initial results were confirmed, but I can’t make myself stop. I keep scanning Orbitium, level by level, inch by inch. I keep trying to find a voice in the silence. A presence in the emptiness.
I am Neil 1204X. I am the Forgotten One.
img credit: https://www.flickr.com/photos/scotbot/9686457096/in/pool-creative_commons-_free_pictures/
Edit: This post got curried, for which I'm eternally thankful. That means for the first time, I'll have a little bit of money in my wallet. All but the $20.00 SBD I need to have some SP from this post will go to @rhondak, who's pretty much single-handedly saving lives of animals folks callously drop off at her rescue. Please take a look at some of her posts on it and see if there is anything you can do to help.