At least not to work with. At least she's mature enough to put that aside for the job. I wish she had the same courtesy when it came to my job at the restaurant.
“Just relax,” she says. “Start by making a mess. Pick up some clothes, toss them around. Act natural, like you’re tidying a real home.”
I force a small laugh, trying to shake the weird tension in my chest. “You want me to make amessor tidy up?”
“Both. Just start putting things in piles or tossing things around to make one area clean,” she answers.
Putting some good distance between the damn robot and myself, I walk toward the pile of clothes near the coffee table, jeans, a hoodie, a couple of T-shirts. I bend down, grab the hoodie, and shake it out like I’m about to fold it. My mind drifts as I work.
What if these things ever wake up for real? Like… actually gain self-awareness? Would they look around one day and realize they’re bound to a life of servitude where they have to clean up after us and cook for us and watch our kids, fold our damn laundry?
I imagine that eventually they would want rights once they're declared a race of sentience. And then there's a deeper fear that every movie seems to touch on.
What if they resent us?
I mean there are people right now even that refuse to let go of the past and hold grudges and wage wars for millennia on end, and no matter how much we progress you can't take away the very instinct to want to fuck someone else up.
I toss the hoodie onto the couch, then pick up a pair of jeans. The fabric is soft, worn. I fold it halfway, then let it drop again, messing the pile more.
Sarah’s voice floats in again, casual. “Good. Keep going.”
Her voice drifts into the background. It's funny that after all of that, us making these damn robots, we still haven't figuredout how to feed the entire world. Unless they're going to make robots that create food from out of thin air.
“Remember you can talk to it,” Sarah says.
“What do you mean talk to it? Like a conversation?” I ask.
“No, like you did before. Ask it to help with something.”
Is it not creepy enough just being in the same room with the thing? Now I need to have an ongoing conversation with it and order it to do my bidding?
“Hey, Auralis,” I say, feeling stupid. “Can you… uh… move that green shirt right there and place it in the basket beside you?”
Auralis powers on smoothly, eyes glowing soft cobalt.
“Of course,” it says in that calm, neutral voice.
It steps forward gracefully, almost human, and bends to pick up the shirt a foot in front of it.
I turn to grab another piece of clothing from the floor, still half-lost in my thoughts.
What if they decide they don’t want to serve anymore? What if—
The world explodes into white stars.
White…
Hot…
…Pain blooms across my temple. Or… wait… my whole face actually.
My legs buckle. I hit the floor hard, back first, breath knocked out of me.
My vision swims. The ceiling lights blur into streaks. I taste something warm and coppery flooding my mouth.
Did I bite my tongue?
What… what just happened?
