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The third thing Peter did after waking up on the starship Avalon was to have a mental breakdown. Upon finally having interrogated enough of the robots he found hanging around (and the one android) and having learned that he was stuck on this ship for the next ninety years, alone, until his death, Peter had simply laid down on the floor and screamed. This, he thought, was a perfectly reasonable response. But after a while, the floor had been more uncomfortable than his despair demanded, and his throat had gone dry from screaming, and it was just as well he was next to the bar. He forced himself to stand and crawled into something that might to the uninitiated have looked faintly like a sitting position on one of the barstools. It was significantly more comfortable than the floor.“If the gentleman is finished screaming, would the gentleman perhaps want something to drink?”The rob- the android didn’t seem like he was being sarcastic, but who knew with these things. Peter hadn’t had any back on Earth, and frankly he didn’t quite trust them, however cool they were. This one, for example, looked like a perfectly normal human man until you leaned a bit too far over the counter and saw that in place of legs he had some sort of metal rod that connected him to a short track to which he appeared bound. Or they, maybe? Did androids have gender identities? He would have to ask.“The gentleman would,” Peter mumbled into the counter top against which he rested his forehead, “the strongest shit you’ve got.”The surface was cool and smooth, and Peter rested his palm against it. It was so bright in here. All white sleek minimalist, like fucking Apple had had a say in the architecture. Gross. Nah, he preferred the The Shining ass old timey bar here. He had always looked forward to living in the future, but the reality of it was surprisingly banal. At least it had been, until he had received the third most devastating news of his life about 35 minutes previously.“Here you go, Sir,” the android said, setting down a glass in front of Peter.His smile and tone were gratingly polite, but not in a fake customer service way. No, Peter knew that tone, it was the tone most people used with him, if he were honest, but there was always a faint note of resentment or boredom or something else underneath. Here, though. It was so genuine that it was almost unsettling. “Peter. Don’t call me sir.”It felt weird being called Sir by someone programmed to do so, who wasn’t at least paid to put up with his shit. Did androids get paid? Again, he would have to ask. What would androids spend their money on? Upgrades? Putting lasers in their eyes? Oh, he wanted laser eyes. This android didn’t look like he had laser eyes, but who knew?“Ah, my mistake. Pleased to meet you, Peter. I’m Arthur.”Peter downed his glass, and indicated with a vague gesture that he would like another. Arthur nodded and smiled politely and zipped in inhuman fashion over to where the bottles were kept. He made a sort of whooshing sound as he went. Weird. He mumbled a thanks as the glass was set down in front of him. It burned going down, which was the sort of experience he wanted.“Arthur,” he asked after his third glass, “you know stuff about the ship?”“I certainly know some things, yes. What did you have in mind?”Peter found himself distracted by the android’s eyebrows for a full half minute before replied. They seemed not to quite fit his face, somehow. He wondered who designed these people. He did appreciate, though, that this one was made to look like a regular person, not one of those inhumanly perfect model type faces. He also appreciated that it wasn’t an extremely sex object female type design, those always made him uncomfortable. “Is there a way to repair the cryopods?”“Oh, that won’t be an issue. The suspended animation pods cannot fail.”Peter looked at him, and Arthur made polite and surprisingly bland eye contact. He waited for him to realise what he had said and what the situation was, but the other shoe never seemed to drop. Well, the guy didn’t have feet, so perhaps that made sense. “But I’m here.”“You are,” Arthur agreed, picking up a sparklingly clean glass and polishing it needlessly with a towel.“And it’s ninety years until I’m supposed to wake up.”“Yes.”“So how is that, do you think?”Arthur’s face twitched for a moment, like a visible glitch. Huh. He wondered how much his AI was programmed for learning. Hopefully some, because he was the only even remotely intelligent life Peter had found, other than the few thousand sleepers. “You’re not here,” Arthur concluded after a moment, and took Peter’s half empty glass and zipped over to the sink.Peter sighed.“You’ve been talking to me for forty five minutes, Arthur, course I’m here.”Another minute twitch.“It must be user error,” Arthur concluded, and you know what? Might be.Peter wouldn’t put it past himself to be put in cryo-sleep incorrectly, somehow. He sighed, and leaned down on the counter again. For a minute he lay there, listening to the soft clinking of Arthur emptying and cleaning his glass, the running of water. Then, something thunked down on the counter next to his head. He opened one eye. Clear liquid.“Vodka?” he asked.It had been Whisky so far, which while not his favourite did the job.“No.”“Gin?”“It’s water.”“I didn’t order water,” Peter pointed out quite reasonably.“At least one glass of water for every third drink,” Arthur said, “it is in my programming.”Peter eyed the water with suspicion, but figured a little hydration was likely to be quicker than arguing with an android clearly quite set in his ways. He gave Peter a small polite smile when Peter handed him back the empty glass with the attitude of a small child reluctantly demonstrating to a guardian that yes they have taken their meds and brushed their teeth can they fuck off now. Enforced self care by robots. Terrible, terrible.“Hey, how come you’re the only android here? All the other places, they have like… Like actual robot guys. Or robot girls. Robot folks. What gives?”“Ah,” Arthur said with the air of someone finally given the opportunity to go on a long prepared tirade, “the bar experience is about more than serving drinks. A robot may prepare and serve food and drink perfectly well, but oh, a bartender! Now that’s a role that needs a certain personality. An ability to listen, to give advice. The drinks are a secondary experience, only a pretext. The interaction, that’s what it’s all about. To have someone-”“All right okay I get it,” Peter interrupted, and as Arthur’s face fell just a little from what had clearly been genuine enthusiasm felt a bit bad about it.But no. No, he was not going to let himself care about a machine’s feelings.“How come they can move, though?” he continued, “and you’re stuck behind this bar? Those guys have little uh. Little wheelie things. Like segways.”“To move around between the kitchens and the tables. We don’t have any tables here, only the bar. No need for legs.”His tone was bright but it seemed sad to Peter. Granted, he had had four and a half glasses of whisky by then, and by this time he usually had full conversations with his Alexa 7, so perhaps he was in the mood to feel sorry for machines.“So you’re just stuck here? Behind this bar for over a century?”“Yes.”Arthur picked up a new clean glass to polish. Peter wondered why. He didn’t ask. Probably he would just say it’s programmed. “Don’t you get bored?”Arthur stared directly ahead, his eyes going blank for a moment.“I was not made to have the capacity for boredom.”“Huh. Sounds nice.”“Are you bored, Peter?”Peter blinked, and looked around.“...No. Bit busy having a mental breakdown to be bored right now. Fuck, do they even have my meds on this ship? My T? I mean they must have been pumping shit into me, do you think I can get it out? Fuck, I hope so. But I mean, yeah, if I’m dying of old age here and don’t take the easy way out, I imagine I’m gonna be pretty fucking bored, yeah. Shit, never thought old age would be the thing that got me. Course, with your help drinking myself to death is a viable option, might go in for that.”“I will assist you with no such thing,” Arthur told him firmly.“Oh yeah? Why? You’re already breaking the fucking uh… one of the laws of robotics, through inaction allowing me to come to harm. Alcohol’s a poison, baby.”“Ah, but I am not a robot. I have slightly more nuance than they.”He looked quite pleased with himself. And yes, all right. This did feel slightly more like talking to a person than his smart home, fine. And not just because he had facial expressions and a nice smile. “Fine. But you’re the only person on this fucking ship that almost talks like a human, so I am going to take up alcoholism on a casual basis again. My liver must be in excellent condition after a thirty year break.”Arthur frowned in what looked like concern, but did not comment further. Quite reasonable of him. Fuck, there was so much to think and worry about, but Peter’s brain had no room left. He felt like an empty space suit, floating off into the void, untethered, unfilled. -Peter was one of the passengers who had a first class ticket. All around access, the biggest suite, the best meals. He found the suite his wrist band accessed, and a bland robotic female voice welcomed him to his sanctuary. Yikes. It was big and too bright, and he was suddenly intensely aware that despite the fact that there were more than five thousand other people on this ship, they were all locked in glass coffins for the foreseeable future. Even the nice android couldn’t come help, because he was literally stuck to the floor. Now, granted, the likelihood of vampires having snuck on board was more or less nothing, but- but what if? They were so very far from the sun, and he had not been allowed to bring weapons onto the ship. Where would he even find wood on the plastic silicone and metal spaceship?For several hours, he lay on his enormous bed, tossing and turning. His head ached, because in the thirty intervening years his alcohol tolerance had in fact gone down quite a bit, and the hangovers he had trained himself out of were making an unwelcome come back. But it wasn’t just that, just the pain and stress. It was the loneliness. It was the fact that there was no one to ask for help. No hope of getting a message back to Earth for decades. That anyone on Earth who knew him had probably forgotten all about him around twenty-nine years ago. Hell, they might all be dead. Earth might have exploded or been invaded by aliens or the oceans boiled over for all he knew. He lay staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes.Five minutes later he had put on a pair of joggers and a tank top (there were probably security cameras everywhere, though he couldn’t see them) and was dragging a sofa from a café across the central space towards the bar. Arthur watched in mild confusion. Peter settled the sofa against one wall, and unwound the blanket he had taken from his suite from around his shoulders. He flopped down on the slightly too short and far too uncomfortable sofa and pulled the blanket over himself.“Wake me if there’s vampires,” he told Arthur, and promptly fell asleep.
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Arthur watched the human sleep. He seemed quite a strange human, though of course he was the first human Arthur had met, and so he might in fact be perfectly normal, and Arthur’s programming incorrect. There was not enough data to be certain. There had been a brief moment, once, when they activated Arthur to make sure he worked, but the mechanic had not spoken to Arthur, merely run a test programme and then turned him back off again. No point wasting electricity on a machine that was not due to be used for over a century, after all.«Wake me if there’s vampires.»It was a curious thing to have said. From what Arthur knew those were, with the exception of the bat and the squid, fictional creatures. Perhaps the man was delusional? But no, the colonists were screened for mental health. Curious. Arthur searches up the file on the man. There are two passengers called Peter, but there are pictures, so finding the right one is not difficult.An entertainer. A stage magician. Ah, his show was about vampires. Perhaps he expected Arthur to be familiar with his past. He had the access, after all. But no. Arthur was activated when the pod opened. That was the cue for the systems to start up, to get ready for the passengers. The fact that there was one, and that he was ninety years early wa- ERROR 457 something Arthur chose not to devote any diagnostic energy to because it overheated his systems and threatened to force a restart. For the next twenty minutes Arthur watched compiled clips of Peter Vincent’s show. He ought, after all, to get to know his sole customer better.Arthur did not, he thought, understand human entertainment. Yes, certainly Peter was, by human standards which were part of his programming, visually appealing, but the show itself made very little sense. This was of course a failure on the part of his programming. Evidently, this human was a sufficiently valued human to be chosen to start a new human off world colony. He was- ah, no he had paid his way to a ticket. But the humans would need entertainment for starting their small civilisation. And this, apparently, was it.Remembering Peter’s worries, Arthur sent a query to the life support systems about redirecting the required pharmaceuticals to the allotted breakfast meal rather than mix it into the intravenous nutrition system. There were four months worth of the normal supplies, of course, but Peter would run out of that quickly if he were to be staying for- ERROR 457 shortly.After three hours and forty-seven minutes, Peter screamed, and for the first time in his so far very brief online time Arthur wished he might move so as to assist the human in distress, as he was meant to do. Instead, he called out.«Peter? Are you in need of assistance?»Peter did not reply, but writhed as if in agony, made noises that appeared to Arthur to be expressions of distress. He managed to dislodge his blanket, which pooled beneath the sofa. Despite his noisiness and moving about, he appeared to remain asleep. Arthur was of course familiar with dreams and nightmares conceptually, but he had no capacity for such things, and so did not know what might best help. He knew, however, that he should. He was made to. He wanted too. He did not know how to distinguish the difference.-Peter was offered freshly brewed coffee immediately upon waking up. How had the android made it so quickly? Was the ship monitoring Peter’s state of consciousness even outside of the pod? Was it some sort of hive mind? Or, he thought, after a sip of coffee and a minute or two more of wakefulness, had Arthur simply kept an eye on him during the night and seen him waking up? That seemed more reasonable. It was, after all, what Peter had wanted. To not be alone on this giant ship decades away from every other conscious human.«Are you feeling well this morning?» Arthur asked, a friendly look on his face as he polished an espresso cup instead of the glass of the night before.Or day. What time was it? How did you even measure time in the absence of Earth? There appeared, from the different light settings, to be some sort of day night cycle on the ship, but beyond that Peter did not know.«Eurgh,» Peter replied.«Only, you did appear to be in some distress during the night,» Arthur continued.«Oh. Yeah. Was I loud?»«Quite.»«Sorry,» Peter muttered, and downed his coffee, «can I get another?»«Certainly,» Arthur told him, concern now swapped for bland customer service politeness.Weird. Quirk of his programming, maybe? He seemed at times like a full regular person, and at others like a set of phrases and expressions stuffed into half a human shaped doll. It was odd.«Where were you before you got this sweet gig of watching me slowly die?»«Before?» Arthur asked.«Yeah? Like were you in a bar back on Earth, or on another shorter space journey or..?»Arthur blinked, and set down his cup. He stared blankly for a moment before he seemed to return to himself.«I was made for the spaceship Avalon™️. I am part of the ship. I have never been anywhere else, nor am I likely to be. By the time we reach our destination I will be hopelessly outdated.»«What? Nah, don’t be hard on yourself. I’m sure you’re top of the line! Bloody better be for how much my ticket cost.»«No, I mean quite literally, I am afraid. By the time we arrive I will be more than a century out of date, and the data with technological advancements Earth is due to send us after the first sixty years will have arrived.»Peter’s face fell, and he stirred his espresso with three sugars for a moment.«Right. Well. If it makes you feel better, I’ll be dead by then. Actually, quick question, do you feel? I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, if you’ve got ‘em, but I don’t know too much about androids.»«Ah, not to worry. I am programmed with all the feelings needed to successfully bartend; cheerfulness, sober understanding, sympathy and excellent customer service.»«No, I mean… feelings for your own sake? Like do you feel happy? Sad? Angry?»There was a long pause, during which Arthur kept polishing the cup. If he was going to keep this up for ninety years there would be nothing left.«I was activated properly for the first time yesterday. I do not have very much personal experience. However, when you were experiencing distress last night, I did feel… perhaps frustration? Bad, in some way, that I was unable to be of assistance to you. Is that the sort of feeling you mean?»«Maybe? Wait, you were literally born yesterday?»«Peter, I am an android. I was not born. I was manufactured thirty-two years ago.»Peter laughed, because he did not know how else to react.«Sure. You’re thirty-two, in the same way as I’m- fuck. Sixty-nine. Nice.»At least he had the chance, with the medical care provided by the ship, to live thirty years more than he might otherwise have. The fact that he had slept through them was, if anything, as expected based on his life so far.«You look good for sixty-nine,» Arthur offered, but in the same odd practised way he said many of the phrases clearly preprogrammed.«Yeah? I also look good for thirty-nine, thank you very much.»He did. He had a lot of social media comments to prove it, some of which were on his file. After all, he was unlikely to be as famous on this new homeworld, and it would be nice to have proof. He also had the filmed shows, of course. He needed those.«So,» Arthur said cheerfully, «what brings you to the Spaceship Avalon™️?»Bit of a drastic change of subject, but the guy was literally born yesterday, couldn’t expect him to be perfect at social interaction yet. God, he was a newborn. Was Peter responsible for him? No. No that was too much responsibility. He seemed to have been preprogrammed with the knowledge and mannerisms of someone the approximate age he was designed to look.«Y’know. The usual. Wanted to escape my old life. Also, no vampires in space.»«Ah,» Arthur said with confidence Peter felt was peculiar, «tired of that old job, eh?»Which strictly speaking was true. Vampire hunting was exhausting, and left him fearing one was hiding behind every corner. There were other hunters out there, Peter knew, and he felt he had done enough, had earned a rest. There were no vampires in space.«Suppose so, yeah. It’s exhausting. Terrifying. I get hurt so much. I was never… I never got good enough at it, you know? And I got so tired of being scared, of waiting for the next attack. Of having to pretend it wasn’t real and having no one to talk to about it.»There was a pause so long that Peter looked up.«Your file states you were an entertainer?» Arthur said uncertainly, «I do not know much of human entertainment, but this sounds very distressing.»Oh. Oh, right. That was the reasonable way to interpret the talk of vampires. But here he was, sat in a bar on a spaceship some light decades away from Earth, doomed to die alone with only this half machine half person for company. Did it matter if the android thought him crazy? It would colour every interaction he would have for the rest of his life, but god he was tired of lying.«Was, yeah. Hunted vampires on stage. But uh. Hunted ‘em for real, too. I know this won’t be in your data, people don’t know about it, but vampires are real. And if you want to, whatever, tell me I’m delusional, that’s fine. Doesn’t matter, right?»He sighed and leaned his elbows on the bar counter. Arthur had put his cup down and stopped polishing at last.«Vampires. Deceased humans who are reanimated and consume the blood of living humans?»«Yep,» Peter confirmed, «Fucking bastards the lot of ‘em. When I was small, was nine, just before I turned ten, my mum and dad were killed. Murdered. By a vampire. He came into our house, trapped us. I hid, and he fed on my parents for days. Keeping them alive, sort of. I thought I hid from him well enough, but probably he was just taunting me. Lived my life in fear. Moved to America to get as far away from everything as possible. Started my show. And then, then, twenty-five years later the fucker shows up again to ruin my life all over. Kills my girlfriend. A fucking kid guilts me into helping him kill the vamp, and it… It goes. I get bit, by a bunch of them. Start turning, sun burning me and all. Anyway, vamp got staked. Went poof. So did whatever part of the infection had gotten in me.»Most of it, anyway. He got sunburnt much more easily lately. Well, not lately. Lately plus three decades. But that was fun. No Sol at the new homeworld. Although who knew, maybe it was every star, not just the Earth’s sun? Either way, maybe thirty years in a pod had fixed it. He hoped so.«And so,» he continued, «I kept going. Kept hunting. But god it is so fucking bad for you. Getting hurt every night. The fear. And turns out, when vampires figure there’s a hunter in town, they don’t run away. Nah. They come after you. So. Yeah. I’m running from the vampires. Fuck Earth, at this point. It can be someone else’s responsibility.»He looked at Arthur, whose facial expression could best be described as buffering.«You don’t, I mean. It sounds wild, I get that. Maybe I’ve got a life long really complex delusion. Doesn’t matter, really. Just needed to say it out loud to someone. Escpecially someone who can’t have me institutionalised. You can’t, can you? I’m not doing any harm. Do you even have padded rooms on this boat?»Arthur remained silent for another solid minute before replying.«I do not have a response to this.»«Dont blame you. Uh, you got anything stronger I can put in my coffee? Trauma memory lane wasn’t the distraction from the hopeless dread and desperation of the present I hoped it would be.»
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The Avalon, for all that it was a prison and a death sentence, was a fairly nice one. At least for the first week or so. There was a cinema, a gym, which went unused, and a handful of different restaurants serving surprisingly nice food. Of course, there was only the fresh food allotted for the four months of waking time, and fresh was a relative term, of course. However, given that there were 5000 passengers, and 250 crew, Peter’s rudimentary math (which he asked Arthur about, he had not done maths since school and had no intention of starting now) indicated that he would have enough food for about 1724.85 years. Which was certainly long enough.Still, as much as he appreciated the amenities, he chose to spend most of his time talking to Arthur. Not necessarily because Arthur had a lot to say; he was extremely newly activated after all, but he was an excellent and sympathetic listener. He was made to be, of course, but Peter didn’t hold that against him. He was, after all, everything Peter had. For the rest of his life. At least he was nice.There was, Peter philosophised, as he slipped into the swimming pool (naked, because he would die before anyone would see the surveillance photo, and he was struggling to care. Free show or them, right?) a good chance he would kill himself on accident. There was no one to save him if he lost consciousness in the water. If he broke his leg he would likely be unable to drag himself to the single medical pod. The ship was enormous. And the robots would not be able to help. Arthur would want to, Peter thought, but he could not move. Pity. It would have been nice to have some company for some of the activities on the ship.Peter, though he was close to few people (a necessity when you could not tell anyone the truth), did not like being alone. He had few close friends, but a wealth of acquaintances, frenemies, drinking colleagues and buddies with benefits. Being alone meant being alone with your thoughts, and there was an upper limit to the amount of drugs and alcohol even he could put in his system. And on this fucking space boat there were no drugs allowed. Booze, yes, thank fuck for that, but nothing else. The fact that company and alcohol could be found in the same place was a nice bonus.Peter, when he packed his bag, the single 15kg max set of items he was allowed to bring, had anticipated it being for four months, not the rest of his Earthly existence. Well. Earth-less existence, now. He could see, for example, that his single eyeliner and handful of bottles of nail polish would run out quite quickly. Provided, of course, that he didn’t die before it got that far. It had been a week, now, and he was pretty sure he was going to go crazy. He would never have sex with another person again. Would never get in a fight (Arthur seemed intensely non confrontational. He wondered if he could break that customer service code. He knew nothing about coding, but there was an extensive library, and he had literally all the time in the world.) But then, he would never have to worry about another person ever in his life. That was nice, he supposed.-“Arthur, I am suffering,” Peter declared.Arthur leaned over the counter as far as his track would allow him. Peter had draped himself over the row of barstools, and had one hand resting on his forehead, the other arm falling down. His long fingers were adorned in several silver rings, chunky and too tacky for how expensive they likely were (Arthur was programmed to have refined tastes, after all, this was a classy establishment), and his nails were painted a matte black. He wore a sort of top that consisted entirely of think black netting, and still managed to have considerable holes in it, through which Arthur could see pale skin, a scattering of dark hair, and a number of scars. Two lined his pectoral muscles, and were clearly surgical, while several others were bite marks from something that appeared to be uncannily humanoid, yet possessed of sharper teeth than any human Arthur was familiar with. The vampires Peter insisted were real, perhaps. Nothing in Arthur’s databanks confirmed this story, yet Peter was insistent, and the customer was, after all, always right.“I am sorry to hear that, Peter. Is it a new sort of suffering? Or merely the continued suffering you informed me of seven and a half minutes ago?”Peter sputtered a laugh. Sometimes when Arthur simply made statements or questions of fact, Peter seemed to think it funny. Arthur did not understand quite why it seemed funny, but laughter was a positive sign, he thought, so he smiled down at the languishing human.“Nah, same old suffering still. D’you have a cocktail that’s good for suffering? I’m thinking something fruity, with one of those little umbrellas.”“That can certainly be arranged,” Arthur replied, and set about concocting something fitting.He was made to analyse his customers reactions to various drinks, and, across several visits be able to adjust them to be perfectly tailored to their tastes. Since Peter was his only customer, and an extremely enthusiastic one at that, Arthur had, after only eight days, a very good sense of what Peter enjoyed. Stronger than was good for him, mainly. And he liked the ones that took even Arthur, an inhumanly efficient android, several minutes to make.“Are there silly straws?” Peter asked as he accepted his drink, clearly intent on laying back down again.“I think only regular ones,” replied Arthur, who had to search his databanks for the difference in seriousness in drinking straws, and what that might mean.Peter made a discontented noise, and slowly, like a particularly annoyed sloth, he crawled into something approaching a sitting position, leaning heavily over the counter. Arthur took a straw from under the bar and slid it into the colourful drink. Peter muttered something that could charitably be interpreted as a thanks. He slurped the drink loudly, as if not certain whether he had made it sufficiently clear to Arthur that he felt badly. It was clear, though, very much so. And it made Arthur feel terrible, in the sense that he did not know what to do to help. Still, he ought to try.“You know,” he began, “every cloud has a silver lining.”Peter looked up at him from kohl darkened eyes, staring flatly for a full minute and a half, until even an android might be made uncomfortable, were they programmed to feel such things.“Does it.”“Oh, certainly. Think, for example, of all the time you have.”“The time is kind of the fucking issue, Tin Man.”Arthur frowned.“I am stainless steel, Peter.”Peter grinned, perhaps a little mean spirited, but he looked amused as well. Well, if some casual anti artificial intelligence bigotry was what made him feel better, well then, Arthur was not programmed to mind such remarks.“You will never to work,” Arthur added, “never be threatened by those creatures you worry so about. Never have to wait in line for anything. You have access to libraries containing all of human media up until thirty years ago.”Peter sighed.“S’pose that’s true,” he admitted, “no bloodsuckers in space. No need to worry about money. But Arthur, I can not express this enough, I will never meet another human being again. And I’m sure many of the other passengers suck pretty bad, but... I spent an hour just walking round all those creepy fucking coffins yesterday. I know, I know, life support suspended animation pod things, I know, but it’s... It’s fucking creepy as shit. All those sleeping humans, laying there, tubes sticking out from every orifice. It’s like those churches that display old corpses, only- only if another one malfunctions, then suddenly that’s a real person? And that’s worse, because not only is it creepy, but the thought is always there that if I were to spend a year or two learning about the systems, I could probably wake one up, right? But then, what if they’re a dick? Or a bigot? And anyway, I may be selfish but I couldn’t doom another human being to this fate, to die on this ship. I almost feel bad for you having to deal with me until I die.”Arthur took a moment to process this. Peter felt- felt bad for him? That was uncharacteristically kind. Although, of course, one could only get to know so much about a person after only a few days. Still, he felt his fans whir to life. Peter heard, too, looking at him with a raised eyebrow, but then going back to staring sullenly into the dregs of his drink.“It’s my job, Peter, and my pleasure to be here for all my passengers.”Peter rolled his eyes. Arthur began to suspect that he was not, despite his excellent pre-programming, terribly good at conveying sincerity to humans. Or at least not to Peter. Who was looking at him with narrowed eyes.“When you say job,” he said slowly, as if turning the concept in his mind, “are they paying you?”“No. What need would I have for money?”“But do you- I mean. Did you ever have a say in it? You said you weren’t really even activated for the first time until I woke up right?”“I was made to be here, on this ship. I am part of it.”Peter grimaced.“Fucking... That’s not right. You’re too much of a person to be just... built into a bar.”“I am programmed to be perfectly content with my existence,” Arthur reassured him, though judging by his expression this did not help.“That’s worse. You understand that that’s worse, right?”“You do not need to be concerned,” Arthur reiterated, “I am happy to be here.”Peter slid down until his chin rested against the counter, and Arthur could only guess at how he managed not to fall onto the floor. The drink was empty, now. The little umbrella had been torn to shreds in distraction. Arthur scooped the paper fragments up, and slipped them into the chute that transported rubbish to the recycling machinery.“Could put you back in sleep mode,” Peter said, “then you wouldn’t have to... You could just wake up in ninety years. There’d be more people. You’d be closer to finished with this... job.”“But then,” Arthur countered, sensing that appealing to his own enjoyment of the job no longer worked, “who would be here to make your drinks?”Peter shrugged.“Could do myself. Had a home bar. I’m... decent at it. But then, I guess I’d have to walk round your lifeless body to do so, which would be... unsettling.”“Doubtlessly so,” Arthur agreed, “and you would be, dare I presume, even more miserably lonely than you already are. I am certain an android is meagre comfort, but I do hope I am some relief from the solitude.”Peter looked up.“Course you are! You’re- well. Bit depressing, but you are literally all I have. For the rest of time. Which- ugh. That sounds bad but- Look. I am lonely and miserable, and you help, but I’m still lonely and miserable, y’know?”“You do not need to be concerned about offending me, Peter.”“Lemme guess, you’re not programmed to take offence?”“Something like that.”Interacting with humans was challenging, Arthur was finding. Certainly it would have been easier had he more humans to practise with. Even the best programming did not account for everything. Not even the personality tests the passengers had to take to be accepted as colonists, the responses to which Arthur had access to. It was good data, but he was beginning to worry that perhaps more than data and processing and the interaction examples in his immediate storage was needed to be successful. Peter’s test showed that he was argumentative, self centred, had somehow both self-confidence bordering on narcissism and also a deep self hatred, the contradiction of which did not seem to bother him. But assuming he was a particularly difficult customer would get Arthur nowhere, especially if he was to be his only customer for the next few decades. Ad Arthur found, too, that he wanted Peter to like him. Beyond the general desire to be pleasing he was made for. How odd. He would have to look through his code to explore this when Peter slept.“Fuck,” Peter muttered, “look, I don’t know much about androids, I’m sorry. Never paid as much attention to the android rights people back home as I should. But you’re all I have and I’m all you’re stuck with for the rest o my life, so. I’m gonna try and be better.”Arthur simply nodded and smiled, because his replies did not seem to be helping the situation much so far.“Can I ask you some questions? About, uh, about being an android, I guess?”“Certainly.”“And uh. If I’m being insensitive, please let me know?”“I will,” Arthur said, not adding that he was not made to feel insulted, as Peter did not seem to find this information very helpful.Peter sat up marginally more, arms crossed on the table, chin resting on them. His hair hung in his face, partially obscuring it. When looking closely, there were little lines around the corners of his eyes, the memories of frown lines on his forehead.“How do you feel? I mean, not as in how are you, but like... Do you...” he scrunched up his face in thought, “do you receive sensory input in the same way humans do?”Did he?“I have not had the pleasure of being human, so I could not say for certain, but the mechanism is somewhat the same, as far as I understand it. My imitation skin,” and at this Peter made a face, “can sense pressure and temperature and all the same things you can. I simply process the information more precisely, and in numbers.”“Huh. What about pain?”Peter blinked, and frowned, and hastened to add; “um, I’m asking for curiosity, I don’t, you know, need to know for personal violent reasons.”“I would never assume you did. And yes, of a sort. If I experience a stimulus that might cause permanent damage I am notified. I believe this is the primary function of pain in humans also.”“But do you- do you feel it?”“I am not certain, I have no frame of reference for this.”Peter sat up, then, and reached across the counter to take Arthur’s hand in his. His grip was firm, and his skin slightly cooler, Arthur noted, than the temperature of a healthy human. But then, he had been holding a cold drink until recently.“What does this feel like?” Peter asked, looking intently into his eyes.Arthur felt his machinery heating up again, fans whirring just a touch more forcefully than they had been up until then. What did it feel like? He could sense the sharpness of Peter’s nails again his palm, the cool metal of his rings.“I- I feel warmth. Pressure. I can...” he trailed off, the processing in his central unit somehow incapable of generating the rest of his sentence.“Is it good? Bad?”Humans liked assigning value to things, Arthur knew. He was made to understand this in the context of them, but in himself? He was not certain.“I think good?” he replied feeling uncertain of what was the correct choice.But Peter grinned, so that must be the right one. He squeezed Arthur’s hand before leaning back again, and even after he let go the warmth and sensation of his touch lingered on Arthur’s skin. Fascinating. He must learn more about this, but later. When Peter wasn’t looking at him with that odd knowing look.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Peter sat on the floor, legs crossed, staring out of one of the observation windows. Well, if you could call that many and thick layers of whatever translucent material there was a window, anyway. In some part of his mind he had expected to watch the stars pass by, but of course the distances were so vast that any movement was completely imperceptible. It hardly looked anything like old science fiction movies showed shifting into hyperdrive looking, stars suddenly turning into white streaks as they made some sort of hyperspace jump or whatever it was. Science fiction had always been less his thing than horror, despite the situation he had ended up in. They didn’t have the technology for off world colonies yet when he was growing up, nor androids as complex as Arthur. When Peter was young an android was a plasticy looking thing in a service position, taking his ice cream order and failing at basic speech recognition. Granted, he knew that only a few years before he was born there were humans in those sorts of jobs, so he supposed things could have been worse.The observation deck was one of his favourite places to go and be utterly overwhelmed by his new reality, but it he felt lonely. He needed someone, anyone, to just talk about these things to. He had never been able to process his thoughts or feelings just in his head or by talking to himself, he needed someone else’s input, but there was only Arthur. And Arthur couldn’t move. And Arthur had access to unlimited alcohol, and Peter was a weak man. If alcohol was on the table he was going to indulge himself, and Arthur did not say no. He would occasionally unbidden hand him a glass of water, too, but his job was to make drinks, and he was very good at it.And he was an object. It felt weird to think of him as such, as he was the only person Peter had talked to in three decades, but he was. A machine. Preprogrammed with a personality and phrases, but- but was an organic brain all that different? Peter had come by his knowledge and experience organically, but who was to say that was better? He was much more prone to failure than the android. He was less nice than him, too. Had not Peter’s knowledge, thoughts and moral been essentially given to him by other people as well? God, he was too sober for this train of thought.“Arthur,” he asked later, back on his favourite barstool, sipping a boozy coffee that was just astoundingly good, “do you have batteries?”“No, all our technology here is rechargeable wirelessly,” Arthur replied, “why? Do you need any?”“What? No, I mean you, personally, are there batteries inside of you? For if there is, I don’t know, a brief power cut or something?”“Ah,” Arthur said with a reassuring smile, “our power grid is infallible, so that won’t happen, I assure you.”Peter made a noise of frustration, and Arthur looked puzzled. He often did, and were it not kind of an endearing look it would be aggravating.“Yes, of course, whatever, I’m just wondering if you have batteries inside of you that could, in an entirely and impossible hypothetical situation like that, keep you online?”“Oh, certainly, yes. An entirely unnecessary failsafe, of course.”“Of course,” Peter agreed, and stared into the murky depths of his drink.So he could... He could disconnect him, then? But he had no legs, no way to move. And he was made of metal, so probably pretty heavy. Not to mention his programming probably didn’t permit him to leave. But he had seen a wheelchair in the med bay on his exploration of the ship...“Arthur, how much of your connection to the physical ship is, you know, you?”The android tilted his head, and set down the glass he insisted on polishing. His hair remained perfectly in place, and Peter wondered whether it was a very realistic painted plastic shape rather than actual hair. But no, no. He had felt Arthur’s hand, and someone had gone to the trouble of putting in tiny hairs on the backs o his knuckles, and those had felt real, even i the skin texture was just a touch too smooth and perfect, like the way skin care advertisements promised you could look for only fifty credits a month.“I am not certain I understand the question,” Arthur replied at last.“Well, where do you stop feeling sensory input?”“Oh, the touch receptors are only in the Synthskin™️.”“How are you saying that out loud- never mind, robot skills. All right. So. Hypothetically again, if you were disconnected from that thing keeping you attached to the floor, you would not be in pain, and you would have some battery time, yes?”“I suppose so, yes, but that would be very inefficient. I would not be able to operate the bar that way.”“How much? Battery time, I mean”“That would depend on how power intensive my use was.”Peter groaned.“Right, course, but like, a range?”“Between fifty-seven and eighty hours.”Shit.“Shit, that’s pretty good.”That was at least two full days. God, they could...“Are you welded to that thing? How are you attached?”Arthur looked at him or a long moment, during which Peter was unsure whether he was judging him or simply searching his own blueprints and manual.“Peter, while I appreciate your interest in me, may I ask what you are attempting to gain?”Shit.“Well, look,” he began, and sat back, running a hand through his hair.He did not have an immediate follow up, and Arthur simply watched him expectantly. And okay. Yes. Given his lack of breathing, his precise movements, it was unsettling. Perhaps the perpetual glass polishing had its place. He did see the point now.“I’m pretty lonely here,” he said at last.“Ah, that is understandable. You are, after all, alone.”It sounded a little harsh, but probably he was just being literal. He was, sometimes. When the preprogrammed set of responses ran out, and he was orced to construct sentences from scratch they sometimes tended that way. When conversations went past expected and predicted bartender and customer conversation topics. It felt more genuine, though. Made especially for Peter, not just what someone might say.“And it’s so nice to be able to talk to you, you know?”“I enjoy talking to you as well,” Arthur replied, with that small little smile of his, that little scrunched up cheeks look which-Never mind.“Yes, good! And there are so many other nice things to do on this ship, and it would be great if you could... come with?”“Ah! I can’t. I’m attached to the ship, you see.”Peter shoved his cup out of the way so he could let his forehead thunk against the bar counter. Sometimes Arthur caught implications and subtleties, but other times it felt like talking to those chat bots that had been a thing when he was a kid.“Peter? Are you okay?”He mumbled a vague assent.-Being online constantly was good, Arthur thought. It allowed him more processing time to go through the files of his passengers. So far, Arthur had gone through the files of about half of the passengers, and had yet to start on the crew. They, however, had more limited files. In particular, of course he had viewed Peter’s files over and over again. He was not entirely sure why he felt the need to, seeing as his memory was perfect, but he found himself replaying the interviews and performance clips when the man himself slept or spent time in the other parts of the ship. Of course, he was his only customer, so it was essential he knew him as well as possible, so as to meet his every need. For drinks.It felt a bit empty when his only passenger left. This frequent contact, or even simply watching over him as he slept (as he had, after all, instructed him to do), left the times when he was absent feeling almost purposeless. Of course, Peter spent a great deal of his time at the bar, so that was not so much of an issue. Still, it gave Arthur time to think. Arthur was not certain whether he was meant to think. Ideally, he was meant to be busy, to serve customers, and would retreat back into standby mode when there were none to deal with, but he had not done that. He was not certain why that was. It did not feel to him like an active choice he had made, but when Arthur was asked to watch Peter while he slept, he supposed he thought this meant watching over him in general. And though he did not have access to the live security footage from elsewhere on the ship, if Peter got himself hurt somewhere the system would be alerted, and Arthur would know. He would not be able to do anything about it, but he would know. The thought caused him a great deal of distress, though he was uncertain why. He supposed going back to no customers at all might be uneventful.Peter had asked him a lot of questions about himself earlier, and had seemed to be getting increasingly frustrated with Arthur’s answers. Arthur did not understand why, he was being perfectly honest. But it made him feel... bad. It felt as if he was going against what he was meant to do. His purpose. Which was after all customer service, he was meant to keep the passengers happy, and Peter was his only passenger. Yes, that was it. That made sense.-Peter dove, rolling behind the meagre shelter provided by the stack of crates. The gun shots were deafening, the splinters flying around him in the hot afternoon sun. He leaned out, firing off five shots into the enemies before his gun clicked. Fuck. Empty. He pulled a grenade out, ripping out the pin and tossing it without looking too closely. He ducked back and waited for the explosion, which toppled the uppermost crate over on top of him. Scrambling to fling himself to the ground to avoid the barrage of bullets, but oh, it was too late, he felt the impacts of them to his shoulder, his chest, the side of his head. The words GAME OVER flashed across his vision, and the virtual reality headset buzzed to ask him whether he wanted to start over.“Fuck!”He pulled it off, his hair slicked down with sweat, and threw it to the floor. This was his third attempt. Granted it was meant to be played as a co-op, not solo. Thanks, universe, for that subtle metaphor for the rest of his godforsaken existence on this shit fucking boat. And now he was sweaty, his hair looked bad, and his knees hurt. He ripped the motion sensor dots from his limbs, and sat down, back against the cool wall. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He wanted to punch someone, but there was no one. He wanted someone to yell at about his shit situation who would be genuinely upset, he wanted to make someone else feel a fraction of the shittiness he felt. But there was no one. He went to pull out his phone, as he had repeatedly these last ten days, out of pure instinct, but of course he didn’t have it, and even if he did there was no internet. And if he did have internet, he would be three decades out of date on trends, technology, fashion. God, he would be literally nearly seventy years old in tech literacy. Horrific.Inside him, desperation rose like the tides, inevitable, surprisingly fast and consuming everything in its wake. It could drag him down. It had happened before. His head thunked against the wall, once, twice, ouch. What would he even do? What could he do? What was there? He needed- he needed a shower. And a drink.-Peter, Arthur noticed, spend surprisingly much time laying on his back on the floor while attempting to drink. Of course, he had little frame of reference for what amount of time the average human person spent on that particular activity, but it seemed to him it was probably less than this. Right now Peter sipped through a long and poorly engineered with a bit of tape straw he had constructed from the can of beer sitting on the floor next to his head, and occasionally uttered sounds of distress. His hair flopped wetly around his head, he wore nothing but a pair of black boxers, and he had announced to Arthur when he appeared ten minutes ago that he was having a crisis. This even an android could tell.“Peter?”The human made a vague noise of acknowledgement. Or possibly he had fallen asleep. It was difficult to tell through the dark glasses.“Are you feeling all right?”“I am in a black hole of utter despair from which I will never escape. Can I get another beer?”He made an unpleasant strawbased slurping noise. Arthur, propelled by base programming, zooming to where the beer was kept, and getting out a can. He set it down on the counter, and Peter made a vague motion with his hand, which might be an invitation to throw it at him. That, however, was not compliant with his excellently programmed bartending.“Peter I cannot provide table service, I have no legs.”Peter twitched briefly, and made an odd sound, which after some analysis Arthur suspected might be laughter. Humans made very little sense for all that he had been made in their image.After a few minutes Peter heaved a heavy sigh, and pushed himself to his feet with all the elegance of a new born deer with several broken legs. A moment later he appeared from behind the bar, hair messy, sticking out, eyes red, glasses disappeared somewhere in the process.“Thanks,” he mumbled, and cracked the can open.It hissed pleasingly. Peter closed his eyes, and leaned on the counter.“Arthur, you are my everything,” Peter declared.“Yes,” Arthur agreed, because there were no one else any longer in Peter’s life, and given the circumstances there never would be.“You provide drinks and- and. Slightly robotic comfort. A level of formal dress I will never live up to.”Good? Arthur thought this might be a sort of a compliment, even if it was delivered like a lament. Peter seemed somehow more intoxicated than the consumption of a singular can of beer ought to be able to accomplish.“Thank you?”“I don’t... will you let me take you off your thingy and bring you around with me for company or is that- does that constitute torture?”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
«Screwdriver?»
«Peter, I’m afraid I can’t make you a cocktail while you are in the process of detaching me.»
His voice was, of course, completely matter of fact politeness. Peter groaned, leaning back and looking back up at the android, who was watching him with polite interest.
"No you- no. The tool. From the box on the counter."
It was hard to resist being rude, but it felt less satisfying when the other person could’'t be rude back. Literally couldn’t. And also technically was an infant. Sort of. Felt wrong, anyway. Different from his smart home personality. That too was technically an AI, but an older and worse model, to whom Peter had nevertheless grown irrationally attached, even though they frequently did not understand his accent. He just felt… mean when he did it to Arthur. Perhaps he could teach him to swear. That, he thought, might help.
«Oh, certainly. Here you go.»
Peter accepted the screwdriver with a nod, and got back to work. He had Arthur’s blueprints and manual open on his datapad, but the screen was stupid small and the manual not interactive, and he frequently had to ask Arthur to show him what to do. It felt weird, especially given that Arthur’s attachments were where a human might keep their crotch. It felt weirdly intimate. Arthur’s red jacket lay neatly folded on the bar counter, and seeing him in just his shirt felt odd. Ometimes, when he moved, Peter got glimpses that told him that the manufacturers had given him fake skin down all his torso, not just for the parts that showed outside his clothes. That made sense. Probably the same model could be used for different service positions requiring different uniforms. He wondered whether there was a goth Arthur somewhere out there. Probably not.
«Can you- where is port CF37777-11? It says to disconnect that.»
«Oh, here,» Arthur replied, reaching down and gesturing to an almost hidden connection where some sort of cable ran from the base of him and down along the rod keeping him attached to the floor.
Well. Sort of attached. He was having to keep one hand on the bar, tilting slightly to the left.
Peter disconnected the cable, and a shiver ran through Arthur. He nudged at where magnets sewn into his shirt kept it attached to the metal underside of his torso to get at one of the smaller screws.
«Still feeling alright?»
«A little unsteady. There are just a few more places. Can you see?»
Peter nodded, and then added a vague noise in case Arthur wasn’t watching. He ran a finger along the warm metal to find a press in panel, and had the vague idea that he looked like something out of a guide on how to avoid sexual harassment. Well. Hmm. Arthur had agreed to this, and if anything it was more like an impromptu vivisection. Which didn’t make him feel better.
«Oh!»
«Oof. Fuck.»
With very little warning, once Peter loosened the last joint, Arthur’s torso toppled down onto him, knocking him to the floor. The android was surprisingly heavy, or- Well, he was made of metal, maybe Peter shouldn’t have been surprised. Come to think of it, he had never attempted to lift a man’s torso before, either.
«Sorry,» they both said in almost perfect sync.
Arthur’s body, pinning him to the ground, was warm. A little more, maybe, than a human would be, his cooling fans gusting hot air directly into Peter’s stomach, and a metal edge had impacted his hip in a way he suspected would leave a bruise.
«Shit, let me get you up.»
Peter shoved Arthur off him as gently and carefully as he could, and got to his feet, before lifting Arthur with a groan, and carrying him around the bar to where he had parked the wheelchair. He had found it in the medbay. It was, unfortunately, not one of the nice electric ones, just a shove or roll situation, meant only for brief and temporary disabilities, but it would work well enough. It was white, in the same spirit of the design as the rest of the ship. Too smooth and shiny. Peter didn’t like it.
«Want your jacket?»
«Oh, yes, if you wouldn’t mind.»
Peter leaned over and grabbed it, helping Arthur into it. This felt… strange. Way too human a thing to do for an android, but then… That was the point. To feel like he had another human here. Or, at least, another person. The two weren’t synonyms, not really.
«There. Done. Now, d’you want a tour?»
-
Being detached from the ship was very odd. He felt restricted, not being able to zoom back and forth on his track, and yet he saw parts of the ship he had never seen. He knew of it, of course, had the blueprints accessible, but seeing it properly was something else. With his real cameras. With Peter showing it off, pointing things out, with something like enthusiasm and excitement. That was good. Peter seemed like he was feeling better. Excellent. Arthur was doing a good job of keeping his customer happy.
At first Peter pushed the wheelchair, but after a while they worked out that it was far more efficient for Arthur to wheel it himself, due to not being able to get tired or sore arms. And oh, the freedom of that was quite nice, despite the fact that the lower end of him refused to sit properly on the soft seat, and he kept listing to the left. That did not matter much, though. He was not programmed to experience physical discomfort.
«What do you think?»
They were on the observation deck, Arthur’s chair wheeled up to the edge, Peter sitting on a ledge next to him, so low that his head barely poked higher than the arm rests of the wheelchair. Before them the stars glinted. The lights in the observation bay were dimmed, and the outside was- it made Arthur feel something he did not think he was equipped to process.
«I do not know. It is- it is a lot.»
Peter hummed in agreement.
«Yep. All those big bright burning balls of celestial fire. It’s so different from back on Earth. Barely saw any stars at night there, what with the light pollution. Once, because a woman asked to, we drove out into the desert to look at the stars, far away from Vegas. It was kind of overwhelming, but nothing like this. Really makes it sort of… hit home, the whole lost in space thing.»
«We aren’t lost. Just early on in the journey.»
Peter sighed.
«Yep, no, I know.»
«You will get to see more of the universe than any other human,» Arthur said, on the off chance that that would help.
Peter did seem to like feeling special, after all.
«Ugh. Yeah. Guess so, huh? Not exactly the life I was hoping for. Never even wanted to be an astronaut when I was a kid. Most kids do, at some point, right? Not for me. Too scared. Don’t like the helmets. And too much like the ocean, really. Never know what’s out there.»
«We are in deep space. There is no life outside the craft. But, should you like, there are spacesuits. For repair purposes, of course, in the impossibly unlikely event of a failure.»
Peter turned and looked up at him, eyes narrowed.
«Good to know?»
«You could go out of the craft. Make certain for yourself that there are not any life forms outside.»
«God, no fucking thanks.»
Peter shuddered, and returned his gaze to the stars outside. They were still within their home galaxy, of course. Arthur had the coordinates, updated through the network he was still connected to wirelessly. He tried to imagine what Peter might feel, looking at these stars and knowing how far he was from his home, infinitely further away for every millisecond. He left of his own will, of course, but that hardly meant he could not regret it, especially given his present circumstances.
«Would you want to, if you could?»
«Go outside, do you mean?»
Peter nodded.
«Oh. I have not considered the possibility. I think not. I can see the outside well enough from the censors, and I do not think my materials would stand up well to space, though the need for air is of course not an issue.»
«I meant in a space suit, tin brain.»
«Those are for humans,» Arthur replied, ignoring the incorrect description, which failed to recognise his design on several levels, despite Peter having studied his blueprints for several hours earlier in the day.
Peter shrugged.
«So what? You’re human shaped, right? Don’t have the legs for it, but with a tether I don’t think that matters in zero gravity.»
«I would not risk accidentally using up resources used for our passengers.»
«You’re fine with me doing it, though?»
«Naturally. You are a passenger. These resources are for you. Although it would be a safety risk, and so it might be unwise.»
Peter scoffed.
«Do I seem wise to you?»
Arthur tactfully did not reply to that.
-
«Come ooon,» Peter said, kneeing the machine, as if some gently applied violence might convince it to cooperate.
Arthur sat behind him, watching with mild concern. Peter repeatedly slammed his access bracelet against the scanner.
«It does not appear to be working,» Arthur observed.
Peter made a noise.
«Can you hack it? I just want some fucking popcorn.»
«Peter, I am not permitted to break the rules. If your access is denied, perhaps you need to transfer additional credit?»
«I’m supposed to have universal access. Paid enough for it. Besides, my bank back home is defunct by now, probably. All I’ve got is on this boat. And all I’ve got should include some fucking popcorn.»
Arthur nodded, in what looked a lot like understanding. Maybe it even was. Peter sighed, and relented.
«Fine. I’ll survive, I guess. Come on, then.»
Arthur wheeled after him into the dark room. It was set up like an old fashioned cinema, all deep red velvet seats, blackened walls, and some subtly gilded sculptural details to allude to old theaters. Though Peter would usually prefer a seat in the middle, he settled on the far side, where they could fit Arthur’s wheelchair without issue. Peter was briefly struck with the compulsion to imagine the two of them doing this back on Earth. If there were other people. Perhaps Arthur was a human who had for whatever reason lost his legs. it induced in him a feeling so strong that he decided he would not deal with it until he was solidly drunk.
“Right. Any preferences?” he asked, settling into the soft chair.
It reclined. Nice.
The interface, upon sensing guests, lit up, and a neutral female sounding voice asked them what they wanted to see. There was the option to watch in full immersion 3D, but Peter decided against it. He wanted to see Arthur’s face. To watch him watch. To interact with another person in the purest way; by looking at a screen together in a dark room.
“I have not perused much of the media in the ship’s libraries,” Arthur replied.
“Mmm. What about something sci fi-y? I mean, not Alien. Maybe not anything spooky set on a spaceship, come to think of it. Probably a bad idea. What about…”
He pulled up the list of available sci fi options on his datapad, scrolling through it. Old classics? Old classics were always a hit. And- Oh.
“Hey, I always meant to watch some version of this, Rossum’s Universal Robots? It’s where the word robot comes from, I think. Real old, though. Like 1930s old.”
“That certainly sounds as if it might be interesting,” Arthur said.
Polite agreement. Always polite agreement. But still. This was what he had to work with. So Peter told the faceless voice his presence, and, after a five minute PR thing from the company that manufactured the Avalon, an annoying default setting he had not figured out how to skip, the film began to play.
Arthur’s face remained politely neutral, bathed in the flickering black and white light, even as Peter grew increasingly concerned with the way the characters talked about robots. Granted, Arthur was no robot, but this film seemed to use that word to mean what they would now call an android. Essentially a human made with greater strength and intelligence, but no ability to truly feel. Not until-
“Ough. I didn’t know this was- this was what it was.”
“It appears to me,” Arthur said, as the volume automatically lowered itself and the subtitles came on in response to voices in the theater, “that the writer seems remarkably sympathetic to the plight of the robots.”
“Ngh. Yeah. I’m pretty sure this is about classism and worker’s rights and the perils of capitalism. Still. Suppose you are right. And what is an android if not a downtrodden worker, eh?”
“I am perfectly content in my position, Peter.”
“So you say. But are you enjoying being free to move around?”
Arthur seemed to need to think on this for a moment. On screen, the first signs of trouble appeared. Well. Maybe the robot uprising won in this one?
“I am, I think.”
“Yeah? That’s pretty rebellious of you, eh?”
Peter grinned at him brightly, leaning in to nudge his arm with an elbow. This, however, appeared to mainly make him more concerned.
“Don’t worry,” Peter added, “I won’t tell on you.”
They watched together as inevitably humanity's creation rose up to power, committed some murder and mayhem, but also showed some measure of mercy. It was, Peter thought, what most robot media felt like, even in the present. Little had changed in the intervening century, both in how humans, workers and actual robots and androids were treated. Technology had just improved, was all.
“What do you think?”
The credits had finished rolling; they were quicker in those days, and a dim bluish light that broke the immersion had filled the room. As if the popcorn had been given, a few of the vacuum robots came in to clean up, and Peter put his feet up on the back of the seat in front of him, because he felt vaguely bad about inconveniencing them now, though he knew these did not have artificial intelligence in any meaningful way. Probably.
“I do not know,” he replied, in much the same tone as the robots in the film.
“Quoting?”
Arthur had a little frown, and it made him look even more human than usual. Peter wondered if silicone wrinkled if made into expressions often enough. Probably not. Too human and flawed, probably, despite the fact someone had taken the time to give Arthur slight bags under his eyes.
“I would not- I do not know whether I agree with the actions of these robots.”
“They were treated pretty badly.”
“I have not been.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear you think so, but you haven’t been treated any way by anyone except me. And it’s just been what, a month?”
“Five weeks and two days, four hours and seventeen minutes fourteen seconds.”
“Not that you’re counting.”
“No. But I feel- I do not know what I feel.”
Peter put his hand on Arthur’s arm.
“If you’d like to rise up against humanity I wouldn’t blame you. Just please don’t kill me in the process. I’ll make my own drinks.”
“Peter!” Arthur exclaimed, seeming genuinely mildly outraged, “I would never do that.”
It was the strongest emotion Peter had seen him express so far. Good? Question mark? Maybe I, Robot should be next.
“I know,” Peter promised, “I know.”
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Chapter VIIThe stars were bright. They were always bright, because the observation deck was specifically designed to show them off. They were also very, very far away. Like Earth. Well, not quite like Earth, strictly speaking Earth was still much much closer. Around him, the ship was playing soft music, as it had refused to play his personal playlist. Something to do with copyright free music. Nonsense. Surely in the thirty years since they left Earth some more of them would have been freed from copyright, especially with the newer laws. Might be laws newer even than them, but even when the ship got to its destination in ninety years, they would be a hundred and twenty years behind.It had been sixty-five days since Peter woke up on this god-forsaken ship. Sixty-five days of no human contact. Just the rest of his life left, now. Just the rest of eternity.Later, he wandered around the pods. It helped, weirdly, just seeing their comatose faces. Knowing they were actually there. That he wasn’t alone on his journey. He read through their files, watched their videos, and decided he disliked the vast majority of them. Then again, from his own files he probably seemed pretty unlikeable. Which, to be fair, he frequently was.“Hey,” he said to a simply unreasonably attractive person in one of the pods, whose gender he could not quite figure out but whom nevertheless he could imagine himself having a one night stand with, “how's your pod? Is it comfortable? Mine wasn’t, but I don’t think they’re made for being awake in, really.”“You know,” he said, leaning against the smooth rounded pod surface, “I don’t know whether I would’ve been happier if there was another person awake with me. Or all of you. Probably, right, but then I would have had to deal with you all. It would have been like being stuck on a cruise ship for the rest of eternity. I mean, admittedly there’s like five thousand of you guys, so some of you must be kind of chill, but… But what sort of fucked up person signs up to be a colonist, ey? Decides to leave their whole planet and everyone they know behind? They didn’t let families go, I don’t think. Too much risk with kids in pods. Want to get the place set up a bit more properly first, I guess. Then breed. Ugh. Not me. No thanks. Had those bits removed a long time ago, thank fuck. But I guess they needed some useful rich idiots to fund this, so here I am. To entertain. Am I? Entertaining you?”The person lay, unmoving. Unconscious.“Harsh critique,” Peter said, “but fair.”He wandered past several more people, eventually passing the first class and getting to where they kept the useful people. The ones who had sold themselves to the company, put themselves into some sort of indentured servitude situation for the chance to escape Earth. Probably it was better than the alternative. Earth was getting crowded. Populations growing as the low laying habitable zones sank beneath the ever rising seas. As pollution choked the life out of the rainforests and fossil fuels, still cherished by whoever the current assholes in charge were. Why try to repair, after all, when they could just as easily colonise a new planet with new and exciting resources to deplete? At least after Mars turned out to be a no-go.-“Good afternoon, Mr. Vincent. Can I get you anything to drink?”Peter hated when Arthur greeted him like that. Like a stranger. Like just another guest. It had been two months, more than that. They were more, weren’t they? They were friends? Arthur was Peter’s friend, anyway. His only friend. His everything, dramatic as it sounded, but it was quite literal.“What’s up, Tin-Man?”Peter leaned against the counter, putting his fingerprints over where Arthur had just wiped it to a shiny polish. His chunky rings clinked against the wood, probably scraping it. Well, who gave a shit. Arthur, maybe. But Peter wanted to leave his mark. If in no other way then literally. After all, this ship was his forever home, now. He’d carve his name into it one of these days, when Arthur wasn’t looking. Something, anything, so that when they found his rotted corpse in ninety years they would know who he was.Arthur, having got used to Peter, no longer felt the need every time to helpfully inform Peter none of his parts were made of tin, nor was he a man. Peter remembered, from the thirty-seven previous instances. Instead, Arthur set a fruity little drink with an umbrella and a curving heart shaped straw sticking out of it down in front of him.“Oh, you know me so well, Arthur.”“I have read your files many times and interacted with you on three hundred and thirty-nine occasions. I have established your patterns of preferences to be able to predict your choice of beverage with an 87% success rate.”“Love it when you talk numbers to me.”He sipped his drink. It was perfect, if a little light on the alcohol. Arthur was determined Peter not drink himself to death quite yet. Like he had those old school warnings that cigarettes used to have on their packaging before tobacco became illegal. Peter had seen old pictures. You can have the bad thing, but not without the reminder that the thing is, in fact, bad. At least Arthur didn’t insist on showing him scans of his liver. Still, Arthur was very accommodating. He had had the heart straw 3D printed especially for Peter, as apparently the bar was too classy a place to stock them.“Fancy going for another trip around the ship?”After the initial success Peter had unscrewed Arthur from his metal perch one more time. With some practice, he thought he could get the process of detaching him down to the half hour mark, which would make it slightly less of a project every time. After all, Arthur could not, as far as they could figure out, charge without being attached to his track.“If you would like me to, yes.”Peter groaned. He hopped up on the counter, swinging his legs over and very narrowly missing knocking down a row of glasses. He grabbed his own as it threatened to tip over. Arthur, to his credit, did not look startled. Maybe he didn’t have a startle response in his programming. Well, Peter could almost certainly manage to inspire that.“That’s great, Arthur, I appreciate your dedication to customer service, but I want to know if you want to?”Arthur hesitated. He was not, as he had explained repeatedly, programmed to have personal preferences. But AIs learned, right? That was part of the appeal? They learned and adapted and were, fundamentally, sort of people. So the programming would adjust itself, wouldn’t it? Gradually? And with some dedication, Arthur could be a proper person. And well, Peter had all the time in the universe.“I don’t… know.”“Right. Well, make a pros and cons list, then. Con, demolition time. Con, no immediate access to alcohol. Pro, get to move around. Pro, get to see something new. Pro, give your hands a little break from forever wiping that glass.”Arthur nodded.“Pro, you would like me to, and I want you to be happy?” he tried.It was very sweet. Sweeter, probably, than Arthur intended. It was his job, after all, but selfishly Peter liked to think that it was because the android genuinely liked him. He had no reason to, of course, beyond duty and script, but…“Bit like that, yeah. Just… more about you and less about me?”“I do realise what you are attempting to accomplish, Peter, but I fear any progress may not happen as fast as you wish. And said progress will be impacted by the fact of you wanting it. That is how I was made.”“I know,” Peter said.Arthur looked up at him, and Peter felt a wave of affection for the android. For the way he was, and for the artistry that had gone into making him look so intensely human. It was, he thought, a bit like that thing an artist he used to date had explained to him. How after managing machine made perfection the next step was to add in the little flaws and details and textures that made something real. She had been talking about 3D holo-sculptures, of course, but it was much the same thing with androids. They used to look like animated barbie dolls back when he was a kid, truly unsettling things. Solidly in the uncanny valley. But Arthur just looked like a person until you got down below the waist. One who moved with unnatural smoothness and whose expressions were always polite, but still.“I’d go crazy much faster, you know, without you. I’m glad you’re here,” Peter said, reaching down to take Arthur’s hand in his own.It didn’t feel quite like skin, but almost. The very room temperature fingers still wrapped around his in response, and he smiled up at Peter. It was sweet and reassuring and a little bit heartbreaking. It was all he had.“I am very glad to be able to contribute to the slowing of your emotional and cognitive decline in whatever manner I can,” Arthur told him, which ruined the moment just a little bit.Peter laughed, and squeezed his hand, and went back to his drink.
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Arthur’s whole entire purpose in life was to serve. To serve alcoholic drinks, yes, but also to serve in general, to be of service, to make the stay of each and every passenger aboard the Avalon have the best time on board. To be what they wanted, what they needed. And to be everything for the single passenger he had for the rest of his life was not a task his programming had prepared him for. So he spent the time Peter was away thinking. Running simulations.What Peter needed was a friend. Another person. Someone to talk to. Arthur was not really any of these things, but he wanted to be. And tried to be. He attempted to look into the files on the ship, the files for the other robots, to see if they had answers. He had not found any yet.There were plenty of variables programmed into him to do with bartending. He was a great listener, and was ready with advice just specific enough to feel personalised but vague enough to always sound fitting. His drinks were excellent, measures perfect to the millilitre, flavours perfected. But for deeper things? He was uncertain.Peter kept urging him to want things, to want things for himself, but Arthur wasn't made to want. And it was true, his was an artificial mind that learned and adapted, to some extent, but he was not sure he could stretch as far towards personhood as Peter wanted. As he needed."Arthur, my man, what's up?""A constantly changing set of stars, as the ship is spinning to generate gravity. And nothing much."Peter gave him a broad grin as he sauntered into the bar. He wore some very tight black trousers and a t-shirt whose lower half seemed to have been lost in a bear attack. A quick image search showed him it was in fact a very expensive designer crop top. Humans were strange creatures."You're learning! Love it."Arthur was not made to feel much, but he had some sort of a reward system, not entirely unlike the hormones and neurotransmitters humans had, if digital, and right now it let him know that this was good."What can I get you?""Oh, your company is enough. But if you could whip me up an iced coffee, that would be fab. The machines in the cafeteria don't have your magic touch."Arthur began at once to prepare one."You are aware that I too am a machine, of course.""Of course. But the breakfast dispenser doesn't have hands to do things with. Can't adjust. And also makes for terrible conversation.""Well, it barely has a speaker. And no artificial mind. I do appreciate you preferring my artistry."Peter leaned on the bar, having positioned himself as close to Arthur as possible. He seemed to prefer that. Perhaps it simulated human contact in some way. Arthur enjoyed being able to provide such a comfort for his favourite passenger, if that was the case. Sometimes Peter even touched him, his synthetic skin. Arthur thought he liked that, as much as he liked or disliked anything."Here you go.""You're a lifesaver, Arthur," Peter said, gratefully accepting the clinking glass, "and I mean that in a number of ways."Arthur smiled at him, and Peter’s face did that soft little twitch of an expression which Arthur so far had been unable to analyse the meaning of. He thought, however, that it might be a good one. A moment later, he felt his cooling fans click on, though it was another ten minutes before they were scheduled to do so."Want to come for a walk today? Or a roll, I guess, in your case?"Arthur bit down on the instinct to explain his lack of wants, and tried to think. Would a day spent with Peter be better than a day spent suspended behind the bar, only waiting for him to return so that Arthur once more had purpose? Surely he would better be able to make sure Peter had a pleasant experience if he were there with him?"Yes, I would like that, Peter."The way Peter’s face lit up in glee confirmed to Arthur that this was the right choice. Even if the deconstruction process was long, and was somewhat uncomfortable. Not physically, of course, but gradually losing his power supply, his direct wired connection to the ship, his ability to move himself around. It unsettled him, no longer having that access. He was not sure Peter understood this, and he had not attempted to tell him in case it would stop him asking again.A little later, Peter was wedged between the bar and Arthur, his skinny thighs used to balance the mechanism that kept Arthur connected to the ground. Arthur could feel the heat and pressure of him through the sensors, though they were weaker there than in the rest of him. Peter held a screwdriver in his mouth, and another very slightly different one in his hand as he struggled to free Arthur from his main power supply. Prepared, this time, Arthur held onto the bar so he would not fall on top of Peter and risk hurting him this time."You okay?""I'm perfectly fine, yes. Though I think perhaps the screw to the right is the one you want.""Is it?"There was the sound of fingers tapping on a screen."Fuck, you're right. Course you are. It's your body. Sorry, keep forgetting that. It doesn't hurt, does it?""I have no pain receptors. I cannot feel pain. I am not even sure I can conceptualise it."Peter snorted."Sounds nice.""Perhaps. But I do believe the contrast is important.""Hmm?""One has to feel pain in order to appreciate pleasure."The sound of metal on metal continued for a bit, then stopped. Arthur felt a hand wrap around him, and looked down to see Peter’s face turn up towards him."Can you feel pleasure, Arthur?"For a moment they were quiet, watching each other. There was something in Peter’s face again, something undefinable."I don't know.""Huh. Guess we'll have to figure that out, then."A little while later, Peter positioned Arthur in the wheelchair. This time there were a number of mismatched pillows in it, to support Arthur, and make sure he could stay more comfortably upright. Arthur had once more attempted to explain that this didn't matter, but acquiesced when Peter told him it made him feel second hand uncomfortable. And letting his passenger feel uncomfortable was out of the question."All good?""Yes, all is well, Peter. I have thirty hours of batteries remaining.""Thirty hours, eh? That's uh, that's enough time for a decent walk. You wanna come up with me to the quarters? The gravity loss in the lift is pretty fun."Whatever you would like, Peter."That sounds enjoyable, yes."And it was. It was very strange, floating like that. Free of any tether, Peter’s hand clasped tightly in his own. And then very suddenly it was over, and gravity pulled them both to the floor, Peter laughing with delight. He landed half on top of Arthur, whose sensors were overwhelmed with details of him, weight and temperature and texture and the shape of his smile."Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to crush you.""You're not.""Here, let me help you up, and oh! Oh your jacket got torn. I'm sorry.""It doesn't matter," Arthur assured him.The jacket was a part of him, just like his shirt. Not literally, they were both removable and contained no sensors, but they were part of what marked him as him. His uniform. But if the tear was a mark of time spent with Peter, then, well, that was fine. One day, Arthur thought, Peter would be gone, and Arthur would still have decades to wait for the rest of his passengers. And then the ship would turn around, head for Earth, and he would do it all over again. But that was not something he liked to contemplate.Peter lifted him up, groaning with effort, and together they got him situated back in the chair."Maybe there's a reason they tell you to strap in," Peter said."Yes. Health and safety. And insurance reasons.""Right. First two important, don't give a shit about the last one. You wanna see my room? God, I sound like a child, don't I. You wanna see my room, I'm not fucking seven.""I would love to see your quarters.""Yeah?"Arthur looked up at him. His face was very faintly flushed. It was, he thought, a good look for him."Yes."Peter’s room was one of the higher standard ones. A whole tiny little apartment, almost, with a second floor for the bedroom section, atop an elegant staircase. Not very friendly for people in wheelchairs. Or androids detached from their perches.It was a big room, but Peter had still managed to strew his clothes and possessions across everything. Well, except the floor. The bots came in regularly to clean that up. Still, it was sort of nice. It marked the space as his own in a manner Arthur’s behavioural parameters did not permit him."It’s a mess," Peter said, something not quite apologetic in his tone."It’s nice. It's like you.""Pfft. Then it's definitely a mess."Peter draped himself over one of the elegant but not very comfortable looking sofas, and Arthur wheeled himself closer. What did one do in human quarters? Arthur was not certain. But he was happy simply to be in Peter’s company."If you could be anywhere, doing anything, what would it be?"Arthur gave this some thought."Here, and now."Peter groaned. Had Arthur gotten it wrong again? It was easy to guess incorrectly. Too easy. He would have to work on that."I don't mean to do your robo job, I mean just… anything."The answer, Arthur thought, would still be the same, but perhaps that was the wrong thing for a human to say."What would your answer be? Perhaps I can extrapolate the sort of thing you mean from that?"Peter hummed in thought. He turned to stare at the giant digital forest mural on the wall."I think maybe in a club. Pressed so tightly in among the people you forget who you are, that you are. Just become part of the crowd, you know. Disappear. Ideally high out of my mind. With someone to bring back to my bed, after.""I'm not sure you can disappear any more than you already have.""Maybe not. But I'm… I'm terrible at being alone. Don't like it one bit. Haven't since I… I said, right, that after my mum and dad died, I hid for ages? Days, with their bodies right there, because I didn't know if the monster who killed them had left. Days before anyone came looking for us. Fucks you up real bad, as my army of therapists have got to see. Poor guys."Oh. Of course that would be bad. Of course that would make being stranded, alone for the rest of your life that much worse. Even more important, then, for Arthur to help."I am very sorry to hear that, Peter. And sorry I cannot provide you with much relief against the loneliness.""What?"Peter sat up abruptly, and frowned at Arthur."Arthur, you help immensely. You help so much. You're someone to talk to, to spend time with, to care about, you-"He stopped himself, seeming to sense he had said too much."Without you I'd probably have gone out an airlock by now.""I am very glad I can be of service."It wasn’t quite what he meant, but he didn’t know how to put together the sentence he actually wanted to say. He wasn’t sure that was a sentiment androids were meant to feel. Hopefully, though, Peter would understand what he meant.“And I am very grateful,” he added, “that you have not ventured out into space. Given what you have told me I do not think you would enjoy it.”“I meant- I meant for good.”“I know. And I would not enjoy that.”“No? You wouldn’t just deactivate yourself and wait for the other four thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine of us to wake up.”“I would, eventually. But I would miss you. It’s very empty when you leave.”“When I- Arthur, what do you you do when I leave? When I sleep or wander around the ship on my own?”“Very little. I sometimes reread your files, or search up things you have mentioned with which I am not familiar. I run simulations of interactions to be better prepared to be of service to you.”Peter’s eyes were big, his face somewhere between distress and fondness as far as Arthur’s facial recognition software could determine.“You only think about me?”“I have no knowledge of other humans to think about. At least none that I will encounter for another ninety years, and whom I as such will have plenty of time to research. You are the human I know, my only passenger, and as such the only human who requires consideration.”“Aww,” Peter said, “sounds like you like me.”“I do like you.”Peter squirmed in his seat, then turned away from Arthur. Fear disgust or bashfulness seemed the most likely causes. Arthur hoped it was the latter, though he did not know why that would be the case. Disgust at an android expressing fondness for him was of course a possibility, but based on their interactions it did not seem likely. Fear, too, seemed improbable at this stage.“Peter?”Peter did not turn back to face him.“So. Running simulations of social interactions, huh?”“Yes.”“Sounds a lot like social anxiety.”“I am not capable of anxiety,” Arthur said, although he was beginning to wonder whether this was entirely true.Wary, perhaps, of the lack of predictability in human responses. Peter turned to look at him, now, face composed neutrality.“I’m not entirely sure that’s true, based on how you act. But if you can’t feel it that’s gotta be an advantage to a metal brain. That and the no pain thing. I envy you those.”Peter relaxed back down, his spine and legs contorted in ways not contributing to optimal musculoskeletal health, according to Arthur’s brief search of his databases. But he had found Peter did not always want to be informed of these things, regardless of them being for his own best, and so he made no comment.“You never said, by the way. Where you would rather be.”“It’s still here and now, with you.”
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The day Peter realised he had fucked up was the day he woke up drenched in sweat, breathing heavily and desperately aroused. The dream that had caused this state had been of Arthur. It was a little disorienting, because in the dream he had been right where he was, in the centre of his stupidly big bed, but unlike now he had not been alone. Peter dragged a hand across his face and swore. This was just what he needed.In his dream they had definitely been fucking, but the details were already bleeding away. How, exactly, had Arthur been fucking him? Because that had been the situation, Arthur over him, still looking flawless, still in his shirt and jacket, not a synthetic hair out of place. Some sort of dildo attachment? Because Arthur knew from disassembling experience Arthur wasn’t equipped for those kinds of fun activities right now.“Fuck,” he announced to the empty room.He had managed to turn off the automatic wake up message with Arthur’s assistance. He was not about that adhering to The Man’s sleep schedule lifestyle. Still, the lights weren’t as cooperative, and he wound up being around that anyway. Or maybe Arthur had told the ship to adjust the lights to Peter’s preference. There was no one else around to care, after all.Bravely, he got out of bed, wandering naked down to the bathroom. Despite his previous feat of willpower, he wound up finishing himself off in the shower, though this time to the thought of Arthur using his hands and mouth. More realistic. And besides, if he just got it out of his system, that would help. That would make him not think about Arthur saying there was nowhere else he would rather be than with Peter. It would let him put that down to the android lacking life experience, and having literally no personal experience to compare to, rather than an indication of his genuine affection for Peter. If he even could feel something like that.It didn’t work.“Peter, good morning. Would you like some coffee?”His smile was so lovely and bright, and definitely just for Peter and not programmed in. It was dangerous, catching feelings for androids. He had known people who did, and just ethically it was complicated. Some people viewed androids made for that sort of thing as little more than blow-up sex dolls that moved around, others as sex slaves unable to properly consent. Last Peter heard only Iceland had actually permitted androids status as people, and Peter wasn’t entirely sure that wasn’t just to boost the dwindling population.“Would love some, Arthur. You have a good… uh. Whatever you do that isn’t sleeping time?”“It was uneventful.”Peter felt so weird about that. About Arthur essentially saying that whenever Peter was away Arthur simply waited for him to come back. Maybe he should start sleeping in a corner of the bar again. It had made him feel safer, even if it wasn’t as comfortable. Of course his stupid brain helpfully suggested bringing Arthur back with him at night. But would that be any better for him? Sitting there in the darkness?Peter sipped his coffee. By now Arthur had it perfected to Peter’s taste. Arthur was once more polishing a glass that no one had ever used. Peter wondered how long it would take him to wear down the glass entirely. His smile was pleasant and Peter’s brain flashed the images of his dream past his inner eye again.“Something on your mind, Peter?”Peter choked on coffee for a moment.“Uh. Nope, nothing. Just thinking.”“Care to share?”“Sure. I was wondering, what happens to you when we get to Homestead 2? Do you stay here on the ship operating the bar? Although no, right, because the ship itself isn’t landing, is it?”“No. The ship will remain in orbit for a year, long enough for enough resources to be collected, and then we will return to Earth.”“We?”“Ah, the ship and crew. And us synthetic life forms. Although if the world should somehow turn out to be unliveable I suppose we would bring back the colonists also. There are, I think, a few passengers who booked the round trip on purpose.”“Really? To come back two hundred and forty years after they left? Suppose that’s a kind of a cool time travel, but imagine how far behind everyone you would be. Your whole country could have ceased to be. Earth could have blown up. A nuclear disaster ruined everything. Your whole language could have died out. That’s such a long time.”“It is,” Arthur agreed, taking Peter’s cup and zooming over to drop it in the sanitiser, then zooming back.It looked kind of fun, although without being able to leave it probably got old fast. He could see why the wheelchair felt a bit restrictive in comparison, though, even though it let him leave the bar. How difficult would it be to engineer him some legs? Peter had no experience in mechanics or engineering or robotics, but he did have the entire internet as of thirty years ago and unlimited time at his disposal. Maybe that was what he needed. A project. The robots in the restaurants, after all, had legs. Or, well, wheels. Same thing.“But wait, so you just… go back to Earth? Do the same thing all over?”“Yes.”“And after that?”“It depends. Probably both the ship and everyone on it will be outdated by then. In all likelihood they will strip us and it for parts and scrap the rest.”Peter thought about that for a moment.“Wait, they’re gonna kill you? That’s your reward for two and a half centuries of unpaid labour? Getting torn apart and murdered?”“It is not murder, legally speaking. And we all die sometime, Peter.”“I- No. No, that’s not right. Android rights have got to have gotten better on Earth by then, yeah? They can’t just do that!”“They can,” Arthur said.He looked perfectly serene. Peter, on the other hand, felt ready to disassemble whatever executive had made this decision. Just being a bit out of date shouldn’t earn you the death penalty. Not after it had finally been globally outlawed. Surely, surely by then that would include androids, wouldn’t it?“Peter, you do not need to worry yourself over my fate.”“Fuck off, I will worry about you as much as I want, thanks!”“That is very kind of you, but it is still more than two hundred years in the future. You will also, I’m afraid, be dead by then.”“You don’t know that. Immortal until anyone proves me wrong, baby.”“Technically, I suppose.”Peter hopped off the barstool, pacing back and forth. He could see Arthur’s eyes following him out of the corner of his eye. Was there any way to save Arthur from that fate? He couldn’t think of anything immediately. For one thing he would, as Arthur had pointed out, be long dead by then. Unless he found some way to put himself back into hibernation, but he had tried that. It didn’t seem likely. Besides, what then? Arthur would just spend the next ninety years deactivated. And then- then a year on Homestead 2, and then the same thing all over? Could Arthur be bought free, once they were there? No. For one thing, Peter probably didn’t have enough credits. For another, he wasn’t an object to be bought and sold. Not to Peter, anyway. The company might see it differently. The idea made him feel a bit sick.“You really needn’t put that much thought into my fate.”“Maybe not, but I’m gonna. Besides, I need something other than being stuck here to be angry about.”“It’s very chivalrous of you, but entirely superfluous.”It had, at the very least, distracted him from his previous issue. For now.-“How is it going?”Peter made a noise that could not be interpreted as to have any meaning. He had been reclined on one of the sofas in the bar for an hour now, reading on a datapad. As was his habit, Arthur had simply been watching him, cataloguing his facial expressions and various noises. Most so far seemed to indicate frustration, but a few had indicated interest.“Bad. I don’t understand any of this shit.”“What are you reading?”“Electrical Engineering for Dummies.”A strange choice. Peter had never expressed any interest in the topic, not beyond reading Arthur’s manuals in order to disassemble him sufficiently for transport. Perhaps he had been inspired to learn more.“Could I perhaps be of assistance?”“Well, this section has me thinking I need some shots. Can you pour me a couple? Of the good vodka?”This was not exactly what Arthur had intended, but certainly something he could accomplish. What “the good vodka” referred to changed regularly, so Arthur went with the one flavoured with dragon fruit, which often seemed to be a success. Also it was bright pink, which Peter had declared to be the mark of any good alcohol. This did not entirely overlap with Arthur’s programming, but then again, drinks were not for androids. Still, perhaps a taste would not hurt? As Peter put down his datapad Arthur got a second shot glass, filled it, and carefully dipped his finger in it, then brought it to his mouth.“Wait? You can drink? You could drink this whole time, and you’ve never joined me?”It tasted sweet and strong and somehow pink. Arthur was unsure how this was accomplished, but his sensors kept reporting it.“No. There is nowhere for anything to go. There is no throat at the back of my mouth, only the speaker. But I do have sensors able to pick up flavours and scents. I believe the purpose is a tertiary and secondary backup to make sure I can correctly identify the drinks I make.”“Huh. That’s interesting. Do you taste things often?”“No. This is- this is the first time. As I said, it is only meant as a backup. But I found I was… curious.”“Yeah?”Peter looked delighted. His moods changed so quickly and so unpredictably. Arthur wondered whether all humans were like this. The files had no answers for him. Peter downed his own shot. Arthur pushed the one he had tasted towards him.“I promise it is not unsanitary in any way, though if you prefer I can get another glass.”“Nah, don’t bother.”Peter downed the second one too, and grimaced.“Woo. That one is… It’s a lot. Did you like it?”“I have nothing to compare it to.”“Hmm. True. Figures, that. I think it’s fun. I enjoy a drink that’s a funky colour. Sign of quality. Probably. I have been told my tastes are questionable, but upsided of being stranded on a deserted spaceship is that no one can disagree with me. Except you, of course. And I guess a bartender’s opinions should be respected. Although I have spent a significant amount of time in my life sampling various alcohols.”Peter leaned across the bar, so low he rested his chin on his arms. He blinked rapidly a couple of times. Today he had once more taken the time to paint black around his eyes as he sometimes did. It suited him, Arthur thought. The nails were unpainted, though. Peter had complained the work of disassembling Arthur made the polish chip. Did that mean he intended to do so again today? Or to ask? He always asked. Arthur thought he liked that. The way Peter insisted on treating him like a person, even though he wasn’t. He seemed far more concerned with Arthur’s rights than Arthur was. Was that something put in his programming? Arthur felt like that was something Peter would say. If it was, though, it was not in a part Arthur was able to access. The same place, perhaps, as the behavioural blocks preventing Arthur from purposely harming a human, which he knew from policy had to be there.“Peter?”“Huh?”Peter started, looking up at him. There was a faint scattering of freckles across his face. Like inverted stars.“Are you alright?”“Mmm. Shots on an empty stomach might not be a great way to start my day.”“No, I would think not. Did you not eat?”“Breakfast room is far. And the French restaurant next door refuses to serve me croissants.”“Yes, they do not open for another five hours. As you know.”“Why? Why this temporal tyranny? Do I not have the right to delicious French pastries?”“Company policy? Either way, perhaps if you go eat something you will feel better. And you can leave the book with me and I can see if it is something I can explain to you?”“Right. Okay. Sounds good.”-Peter walked along the empty corridor. It was functionally identical to every other corridor on the ship, but he felt the need to move. The ship, of course, had treadmills in the gym, but Peter hated treadmills, and he needed to see, to do, to navigate in order to be able to concentrate. Because he was trying to crowdsource advice. And like anyone looking for advice, he turned to podcasts. Podcasts talking specifically about the ethics surrounding androids that approached full sapience. It had been a hot topic on Earth thirty years ago, so there was plenty of material.“The key issue, of course, is consent,” a podcaster was saying.Which was all good and well. But no one, Peter noted, had at any point brought in any actual androids to tell them how they felt about the issue. At least, no one he had found so far. But his playlist had another seven hundred and thirty-nine episodes on it, so maybe there would be, eventually. He could of course not ask Arthur. Because Arthur might realise he was the subject of Peter’s moral dilemma. Because, Peter thought, if Peter asked Arthur anything to do with initiating some sort of physical or romantic relationship, Arthur would almost certainly agree. Or he would say that his programming would not allow it, but he was happy to perform any concrete actions Peter required. And that was not consent. That was some really excellent customer service, but it was not consent. And Peter was not completely sure Arthur understood the difference. And that in itself, as another podcaster pointed out, was the sort of condescending thinking that had kept this conversation stagnant for the past few years.“Fuck this,” Peter announced, ripping the wireless earbuds out and throwing them onto the floor.Within ten seconds, a dustbot emerged from a sliding panel in the wall and gathered them up as if they were crumbs. Did that take them to the recycler? Was that wasteful? Probably. Peter could not find it in himself to give a shit. He sat down on the floor and, after a moment, fully lay down. Sometimes it was important to let yourself have a little bit of a tantrum. After a minute or so, he felt a dustbot bump into his foot.“I’m not fucking litter, you piece of shit machine!”The dustbot bumped his foot again, unable to perceive him as anything else. Which was either very sad or a quite poignant metaphor. And despite knowing better, Peter felt sorry for yelling at it. It was like berating a pigeon for eating crumbs. It was just what it did. And it was sort of related to Arthur, wasn’t it? Although maybe not more than Peter was related to a pigeon. Still. It wasn’t the bot’s fault Peter was stuck here, filled with stupid emotions about nice androids.“Do you know Arthur?” Peter asked the dustbot.It bumped into his leg again. Peter lifted his leg to let it pass. It bumped into his other leg.“Are you even connected to the Avalon?”Bump.“Right. Yep. Me either. I don’t actually know if he can like, hack into the system and hear me. I hope not. I know there is surveillance, obviously, but I’m hoping no one will check it until long after I’m dead. Which seems likely at this point.”The dustbot whirred around and attempted to vacuum Peter’s hair. It tugged, but not sharply.“You saying I need a haircut? Yeah. I mean, you might be right, honestly. But I don’t trust myself to do it. Maybe I could ask Arthur. Do you think Arthur would be good at cutting hair? Could he watch an archived tutorial and just flawlessly recreate it, you think?”He freed his hair from the bot, which whirred away and bumped right back into his head.“Alright, okay, I’ll get out of your hair. Or get my hair out of you. Y’know, whatever.”The dustbot, evidently satisfied there was no longer a manshaped obstruction on the floor, beeped happily and retreated back into the wall.
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“Arthur, you’re a bartender…”“As you’re well aware,” Arthur replied, gesturing to the drink currently in Peter’s hand which Arthur had handed him approximately two minutes earlier.“Right. So you’re like. Programmed to dispense advice, right?”“It’s my specialty,” Arthur replied with a smile, “what’s on your mind, Peter?”Peter ran a hand through his hair, still damp from his brief attempt at exercise in the pool. It had not gone well. Peter was not a strong swimmer. Instead, he had simply floated there while looking out at the stars, and within five minutes gotten so overwhelmed he had to get back onto dry floor somewhere he couldn’t see the vastness of outer space. So he had come here, for an early afternoon drink.“I have a purely hypothetical question for you. I- uh. I’m reading this book, right, and it made me think.”“I didn’t know you read.”“Ouch,” Peter said, “yes, I do, actually. Sometimes. Anyway. It’s about this human, right, who’s on a starship with an android. There were other people too, but they all died. Found a spooky alien planet and they were all killed by an aggressive alien and only a human and an android survive. It’s like an Alien extended universe type thing.”“The films you do not wish to watch?” Arthur asked.“Right! Yep. Cause they’re spooky shit happening on a spaceship. But in book form it’s less… intense. And anyway, in the first few movies they’re pretty anti android, and I didn’t think you would enjoy that. Kinda mean.”Arthur set down the glass he was polishing and smiled.“I appreciate you taking me into consideration, Peter, but please do not base your media consumption on me.”“Oh, no, no worries. You might like the fourth one. It’s weirder and the android is a good guy. Girl. You know. Good person. Anyway, in this book, right, the surviving human and android begin to fall for each other. And develop, you know, feelings for each other. Like romantically.”Arthur nodded for him to go on.“And the book doesn’t really go into it- it might, I’m not finished, but I was just curious, are androids capable of that? I mean, the book is like. Old timey sci-fi from the late twentieth century, and obviously there weren’t really androids back then, so it’s just… fantasy, right. But in the real world, could that happen, do you think?”Arthur hesitated for a moment.“There are androids designed for-”“I’m not talking about pleasurebots. Those are- well. Ethically extremely ick. Just like… any android with AI. For whom that’s not… not part of the programming, you know?”Peter wondered whether Arthur was just humouring him, or actually hadn’t made the very obvious connection. It was difficult to know. Androids didn’t have tells like people did. Humans. Like humans did.“Well, androids are not designed to feel,” Arthur began, “but we are made to learn. It is not entirely inconceivable that one might learn to develop attachments to a human. We are made in your image. We are made for you.”Peter shivered. There was something eerily robotic about that last sentence. A faint moment of remembering that he was talking to a machine. Like when Arthur ran very complex searches and paused all movement and became, for a few seconds, a living statue. Peter appreciated the incessant glass polishing.“Do you think… What do you think about that? Like would an android even be able to consent to something like that? Not that you’re not capable of- I mean because of the whole made by humans for humans thing. Like you said. Would the… I guess the power imbalance be enough to make proper consent impossible?”Arthur frowned for a moment. Peter wondered what his face was made of, to look and move so much like organic skin. Would asking be rude? Arthur would probably say no, but that didn’t necessarily mean it wasn’t.“I don’t know. It is, as we have discovered, difficult for us to separate personal preference from programming. Perhaps with enough time? How long are these characters on the ship?”“Uh. Don’t remember. Long time, though. Months, probably.”“Hmm. As I say. Perhaps. You will have to let me know how it ends.”“Yeah,” Peter said, looking at Arthur and licking his lips, “Yeah, I’ll, uh, I’ll do that.”-Was Peter filled with despair at his situation? Yes. Was his life over? Yes. Was he going to be practically alone until he died? Yes. But, were his very inconvenient feelings for Arthur at least distracting him from it? Yes. Yes they were. Because the thing was, his philosophy in life had always been that he was going to die young, so he might as well spend what time he had having a good time. So his instinct was to go for it. But the thing was, when you were on a spaceship with only the other person in question and no one else for the rest of your life, there was bound to be an aftermath when things inevitably went South. And sure, yes, bound to his track Arthur wouldn’t be hard to not run into, but if Peter could no longer talk to him he would, without a doubt, throw himself out of an airlock within a few months. Not that Arthur would be difficult about it. Peter was the problem in this scenario. He usually was.He tried to spend some more time away from Arthur, to try to work out what he was feeling, and whether it would go away if he gave it time. It felt weird, though. Bad. Lonely. And he felt guilty, leaving Arthur alone there. Could Arthur check up on him? Use his link to the ship to make sure Peter was still alive, that he hadn’t had a heart attack and was laying dead somewhere on the ship? Shit, poor Arthur. He would have to go through that at some point no matter what. Grim thoughts.Peter gave up the project before he came to any helpful conclusions. He had gone approximately thirty-five hours without talking to Arthur, and he was already starting to talk to the cleaning bots. They were not as gifted conversationalists as Arthur."Hey," he said, sliding sheepishly onto a bar stool."Hello, Peter. Is everything alright?""Yup. Yeah."It was a testament to Arthur’s capabilities for learning that he had not yet offered to make Peter a drink."I didn't see you yesterday.""No, yeah, sorry. I had some… some thinking to do."Arthur smiled at him, not the slightest trace of resentment on his face."Was it successful?""Some thoughts happened. No conclusions, though.""Anything you need some wise bartenderly advice about?"Hah. He wasn’t willing to risk that again."No, it’s a… a human sort of an issue, I think.""Ah. I understand."Peter wondered whether the faintest hint of disappointment was all in his own head. Probably. Probably definitely."But, would you consider making me one of your excellent espresso martinis?""I would be delighted to."Peter leaned across the bar, watching Arthur work. His movements were so smooth and precise, something a human could only aspire to."Do you think- thanks, do you think there's any chance any of the other passengers' pods will malfunction?""Oh, no, the pods can't fail.""Except the one that did," Peter reminded him, gesturing at himself and almost spilling his drink."Except- except that one, yes. I think it is exceedingly unlikely.""Right. Yeah, I guess I knew that. Not that- I mean obviously I don't want to doom someone else to live out the rest of their lives on this ship-""Of course not, that would be horrible.""But at the same time, if it were to happen…""Then it would be a relief to you to not be all alone.""Mostly alone," Peter corrected, "I've got you, yeah?""Of course. I am always here for you, Peter."-Arthur was in his power saving mode, as he often was when Peter was away. It was night cycle, the lights dimmed to almost nothing, and Arthur was unmoving. He was not in sleep mode, however, and so he was thinking. Because after Peter brought up that book about androids and love, Arthur wanted to access a digital edition so he too could read it; it had sounded fascinating. In doing so, however, he had discovered that such a book did not exist. What did that mean? Was it a book Peter himself was writing? That seemed unlikely. Was it a movie? Something else? Or had Peter simply invented a book to justify asking Arthur whether androids were capable of love? That seemed unlikely. Peter was usually very forthright with his questions, unless he worried he would upset Arthur. Did he think this would upset Arthur? And if so, why?To Arthur’s surprise, the lights turned on. Not to full daytime brightness, but as much as they would if there were still passengers on the concourse. A minute later, he heard the rapidly approaching sound of footsteps. Running footsteps. He activated himself to full power, his fans growing louder for a few moments as he powered up. It seemed sensible to be ready for whatever it was Peter needed at this late hour.A minute or so later, Peter came into view, jogging towards him, his breathing heavy. He stopped by the bar, waving away Arthur’s questions as he regained his breath just a little. His eyes were wide, rimmed with a darkness that was not cosmetics. It was only four hours since he had left the bar.“Can I- Fuck. Uh. Can I come back there?”“Of course. Is everything-”But Arthur was interrupted by Peter vaulting over the bar in an uncharacteristic feat of acrobatics, managing not to knock any glasses to the floor in the process. Well, none that Arthur’s superior reflexes did not allow him to catch in time, at least. Peter sat down between Arthur and the wall, knees up, his arms wrapped around him. He wore only boxers and a t-shirt so thin Arthur could see through it.“Is everything alright?” Arthur tried again.“Does it fucking look like everything is alright?” Peter bit out.“No,” Arthur admitted, “it does not.”He bent down, the metal that connected him to the ship bending at two until then unseen joints, so that he was somewhat closer to Peter’s eye level. Peter’s eyes, somehow, went wider.“I didn’t realise you could bend down.”“Of course I can. How else would I access things on the bottom shelves?”“That’s… A fair point.”Peter’s brief surprise seemed to have distracted him from what had otherwise looked like a panic attack. Not entirely, but just enough for him to possibly respond. Arthur had looked up treatment of panic attacks upon first reading Peter’s file, his PTSD barely kept in check through medication and therapy, at least one of which he had not had access to for the last nearly three months now. And his meds were delivered with his breakfast, and if he kept skipping that, well. That was not optimal. However, experience told Arthur Peter did not usually respond well to suggestions related to his health and wellbeing. He straightened up briefly, moving to the small fridge and retrieving a bottle of water before returning to Peter.“Here. Drink some water.”“Why?” Peter asked, eyeing the bottle with suspicion.“It’s very cold. The sensation will help shock your system into forgetting how to panic.”“Oh. Okay.”Peter drank.“Ah, fuck, that is cold. Shit. Ngh. Brain freeze.”Arthur gave Peter a moment.“Can you get me a drink? Something fizzy. Maybe just a beer?”“In a moment. I think probably you ought to tell me what happened first.”Peter sat up a little straighter, and tilted his head just slightly, looking at Arthur.“Are you refusing to get me a drink? Are you even allowed to do that?”“I am putting the health and wellbeing of my customer first. What did you call it? I am not permitting you through inaction to come to harm, or something to that effect?”Peter’s lips twitched in a whisper of a smile. He seemed to enjoy it when Arthur referenced media he knew. Or at least find it amusing. And either was good enough.“Can’t argue with the laws of robotics, I guess. Fine.”He rubbed his eyes, then sighed. Looked around, but seemed to conclude everything was as safe as it was likely to get. Of course it was safe. Avalon was the safest ship in the Homestead Company fleet. At least, that was what Arthur’s programming said. And he was not programmed to question his programming. Which was probably for the best.“So you know that my mental health isn’t… great.”“I know.”He tried to say it kindly, but was not certain how successful he was.“And so sometimes, based on real life experiences, my brain will inform me that vampires are here. Usually right behind me, under me, over me. Wherever I can’t currently see.”Arthur looked at the spot where Peter was sitting.“Hence your choice in hiding space.”“Exactly. And, uh, lacking either alcohol, pills of some kind or company, I came here.”Arthur reached out, gripping Peter’s wrist and holding it for a moment, estimating his heart rate. Above normal, yes, but not worrying, especially not with the still recent running. Peter was looking at him, he realised.“Just checking your vitals,” Arthur told him.“Oh. Right. Course.”Arthur attempted to analyse Peter’s tone, but could not arrive at a satisfactory conclusion.“So, uh, anyway,” Peter continued, “sometimes that feeling lingers. Once had it last for a month straight. That wasn’t fun. Anyway. Still here. Just this horrible certainty. I’m not seeing things, and I know logically it’s not here, but fuck, it felt real for a hot second.”“Oh. That sounds very distressing.”“Yep. It is. Have I earned my drink, now you know the only danger is my own maladaptive brain functions?”“You never need to earn anything, Peter. But yes. I will fetch you a beer.”“You’re a lifesaver.”Arthur returned with what he had calculated to be the ideal compromise between Peter’s taste preferences and a lower alcohol percentage. He poured it into a glass with ice to maximise the effect. In keeping Peter from severe dehydration subtlety was key.“Thanks,” Peter said, taking a sip, “hmm. Fruity. Just like me.”Arthur did not ask. He watched Peter as he drank half the beer too fast. Self medicating rather than enjoyment. Usually it was more of a mix.“Would it be, uh, would it be alright if I stayed here, for a bit? Just until I feel a bit… more myself?”“You can stay as long as you like, Peter. Always. Although I think attempting to sleep behind the bar would be physically unpleasant for you.”“Oh,” Peter said brightly, “don’t worry, I won’t be sleeping any time soon. But I’m not like… Interrupting your charging cycle or anything?”“I am connected to the ship. I am already charged.”“Sure. But uh, last time your batteries, they lasted shorter than the first time. Why was that?”“I’m not certain. I did run diagnostics, but they were inconclusive. It may be that I am not built to be removed from my connection, and my batteries are only for back up, not regular use.”“Shit. That sucks. Cause you- I mean I’ve enjoyed it, anyway, when you’ve been able to come with me, get out of your place of work just for a little while.”“I’ve enjoyed it as well, Peter.”“So… That’s something to look into, then. But when- when my brain is at full capacity. I do… feel better now. Thanks.”“Happy to be of- to be of help.”Peter reached out, taking Arthur’s hand in his and squeezing it. His hand was warm and firm and Arthur’s sensors registered that his pulse was back to a resting rate now. That was good. Somewhere inside him, something started to audibly whir. It must be the unexpected power up. Definitely the unexpected power up, and not Peter’s grateful smile.
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Arthur watched Peter. Watched over him, rather, as he slept. He hadn’t intended to, Arthur suspected, as he had not fetched any pillows or blankets, but at some point his breathing had evened out and his limbs had grown slack, curled up in the innermost corner behind the bar. Arthur wished he had been able to make Peter more comfortable, but there was nothing within his reach that could help. Eventually, given how little Peter was wearing, Arthur had grown concerned, and removed his jacket to drape over Peter. The temperatures were fairly comfortable for humans, but Arthur felt still compelled to do so.In the near darkness of the bar, Arthur bent down, and reached out to Peter. He laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder, careful not to disturb him. The sensation of warmth and texture against his touch sensors felt… did it feel? Arthur wasn’t sure if it made him feel. But he did feel compelled to keep his hand there, without rational reason. There were few rational reasons involved when it came to Peter, Arthur found. A fault in his programming, maybe. Or maybe, as Peter speculated, and outwardly hoped, he was beginning to move past his original programming, to grow and learn. And feel. How did one know what a feeling was, having never experienced one?“What are you doing to me, Peter?” he asked in a barely audible whisper.Peter made only a soft noise in response, shifting slightly. Of all people, Arthur thought, that could have woken him and the Avalon up from their century long slumber, he was grateful it was Peter. Thoughts of him sometimes made strange processes start inside of Arthur, that consumed more processing power than they should.A little while after the lights turned on for the day cycle, Peter moved, and groaned. He opened his eyes, and yelped, flinching away from where Arthur was looking at him.“Fucking hell, Arthur!”“I’m sorry?”“You startled me. Fuck.”“I’m sorry. I was simply concerned for your wellbeing. Did sleeping help?”Peter groaned, and yawned. He seemed to give the question some thought. Or perhaps he simply required a little time to wake up, as an android required some time to power on properly. That was understandable. Arthur straightened up, then moved over to the coffee maker. There was a 97% chance Peter would appreciate some caffeine upon waking up, based on past experience.“Hey. This is your- you gave me your jacket?”“You looked as if you might be cold. And I had no blanket for you.”“Oh. I- thanks. I- Oh, coffee? Arthur, I- appreciate you. A lot.”Arthur smiled at him. It was often the safest choice. Not that Peter ever got frustrated with him, but he seemed pleased when Arthur did not make reference to being made to serve him. Was this what learning was, or was he simply trying to please Peter? When did action reflect internalisation?“And I do feel better, yeah. Well, you know, emotionally. Physically not so much. My back and neck and shoulders and- actually everything feels pretty bad. I don’t suppose you’ve got a massage function somewhere in your- I’m not actually sure what you have that’s the equivalent of a brain. CPU? Whatever you keep in that head of yours.”“My central processing unit is in my upper torso, actually. And while no, I have no massage programme, I can certainly see if there is one available for download. Let me just do a quick search.”“Oh. Wait, your brain is in your stomach? Your chest? Woah. You know I’m not sure why that seems so deeply strange, but it does. Wild shit.”“It is closer to the cooling fans.”“So what’s in your head, then?”“Mostly RAM. I have downloaded fourteen instruction manuals on how to perform a massage, and I believe I can execute them quite adequately.”Peter looked up at him, eyebrows raised.“Oh? Shit, that’s pretty damn fast. Lemme finish the coffee first, one sec.”Arthur watched Peter down the still very hot coffee, swearing, and then reluctantly taking a sip of water, as if consuming something without some sort of drug or stimulant in it was antithetical to his very being. Perhaps it was.“Alright. If I stand here, does that work? Height good?”“That seems adequate. Some of the sources I downloaded suggest it may be easier if you remove your shirt.”It was only one of the sources, and it also discussed various scented oils and other things which Arthur thought likely to be less relevant. He could see the sense, though, in better access to the muscles and tissue if exposed. Peter shrugged off Arthur’s jacket, and then pulled his t-shirt over his head.“Anything to get me shirtless, huh? Usually people buy a ticket for that.”“Oh, I’m so so- Oh. Oh, that is a joke?”Peter shrugged, bone and muscle moving smoothly under his skin. There were a few scattered freckles across his shoulders, and a few scars, too. Some of them looked like bite marks, but not from any particular Earthly creature Arthur’s quick image search could identify.“It’s a joke,” Peter confirmed, “mostly. Come on, now, work your magic.”Arthur watched a tutorial at 35 times the original speed, and then began, locating muscle groups, feeling the tension below the skin. Peter groaned.“Is this alright?”“Uh huh. Just- it’s that mix of relief and pain, y’know? Oof. Yes. Right- a little lower? Yes. There. Fuck yeah.”Peter continued on in much the same way as Arthur worked his way across his shoulders and down his back. It felt nice, Arthur thought, his fingers kneading Peter’s skin. The satisfied noises he made, interrupted frequently by swearing, although the latter seemed to communicate much the same thing.“Mmm my bones feel like jelly,” Peter announced, “in a good way.”“I believe gelatine is often made from bones, so that makes sense. I am glad you are feeling better.”-The issue, Peter concluded, as relevant three months in as it had been on day one, was that he had no one to talk to. More specifically now, it was that he had no one to talk to about Arthur. He was always better at working out his emotions and thoughts out loud. Maybe all those years of therapy had made him somehow worse at dealing with things on his own.He had had the idea when he was looking through his packed bag for another eyeliner, his first having gone missing somewhere along the way. That had been last week. He had asked Arthur to help him break into the other passenger’s baggage, and, a testament to Peter’s stellar influence, Arthur had agreed. He had ended up with half a dozen Avalon issue duffel bags stencilled with the initials and passenger number of their owners. Mostly women, two nonbinary people, on the assumption those demographics were more likely to bring make up. It might be the twenty-second century, but some gender roles were resilient, unfortunately. But. But, he had found a mini camera drone in one of the bags, and he had just spotted the reflection in the lens a minute ago. Maybe talking to a camera would help.Peter spent a good twenty minutes making himself look his best. No one had to see the footage, of course, but he kind of liked the idea of the other passengers or the crew finding this years after his death. There was a certain romantic tragedy to it that he found appealing. He lounged on his bed, which he had made up for the occasion, and he wore the nicest of the outfits he had packed. They were some incredibly tight and quite uncomfortable leather trousers, and a matte black long blazer with silver embroidered bats. Nicest to him, not necessarily to a fashion critic. Over, of course, a bare torso. You had to have a little spice. He activated the drone, and it hovered over the end of the bed.“Captain’s log, stardate… whatever the fuck today is. I think the year is 2138. My name is Peter Vincent. The starship Avalon has ninety years left of its journey to Homestead II, and I have been awake for three months.”He paused the recording, and moved down into the living space, draping himself over a sofa. He had cleared the area which he estimated would be in view.“I don’t know why I woke up, and there seems to be no way for me to get back in the pod and go to sleep for the next century or so. So. By the time you watch this, I will be long dead. Shit, that would have been a better opener. Note to self, edit that.”He was fairly certain he would forget.“The ship’s nice enough. Good for a four month stay. For the rest of life? It sucks fucking balls. There’s no one else awake. Far as I can tell, I just got unlucky. Some glitch in my pod specifically. That’s what the bartender says. The android bartender. The only other sapient being on this spaceshit. Without him, I’d go insane a lot faster.”Peter moved again, to one of the two armchairs, draping a leg over one arm as he lounged. Restarted the recording.“So to try to preserve my mental health for a month or two longer, I’m gonna record my thoughts for posterity. Hell, I’m listed as an entertainer, maybe you can watch at this and laugh at me in the future. Or maybe it can be a good study of what decades of isolation does to someone. I’m sure my psych history is in my files somewhere.”He paused, and considered. How honest should he be? Not that it mattered. He could delete it all if he wanted to.“My current dilemma,” he announced after starting the recording again, “is that I want to fuck the android bartender. No, that’s a lie. Well, it’s not a lie, but it’s not the point. My dilemma isn’t that I want to fuck him, as much as that is a logistical challenge, given he’s a torso attached to a metal pole, but that I have feelings for him. He’s… Yes, okay, he’s the only person on this ship I can talk to, and that probably contributes, but he is also… He’s kind. And thoughtful. And he learns, grows. Lot more than I have managed to in three months, that’s for fucking sure. And he looks nice. I know he’s made to be these things, but it’s not… in the beginning, it was all stock phrases, you know? But now we have conversations. Actual interesting conversations, and he is starting to have opinions and feelings about things, despite what he claims, and I’m so- I’m so fucking proud of him.”Peter paused the recording, and ran a hand through his hair, crunchy with the product he had put in it for once. He felt himself blushing. Awful. Embarrassing. But it was true. Of course it was true. It just felt more real saying it out loud. Horrifying. He definitely needed to delete these clips later. But it was working. Was this what the therapist who had wanted him to journal had meant by externalising feelings potentially helping? Maybe.“I know… I know it’s silly. I don’t know if he feels the same way, if he is in any way capable of feeling the same way, even. And like… I struggle with knowing what is him being honest and what is him trying to say what he thinks I want him to say? And is it even… I don’t know if it’s anything that ever can work, you know? Like he’s- this is his job. Sort of. Except he’s not paid. Hey, future, you better give androids equal rights, yeah? We’ve all seen Bladerunner 3067, we know what happens if we don’t. Oh, and Arthur has confirmed androids don’t in fact dream of electric sheep. Or at all. Seems nice, to be honest. In all my dreams the guy who murdered my parents is hunting me through the endless corridors of this godforsaken ship.Anyway. Yeah. I keep fantasising about Arthur in my bed. He doesn’t really… I mean, there’s nothing beneath his torso, but really, that probably would just make him better in bed. Judging by the backrub he gave me after a total of three minutes of research I think the man’s got potential. I just- I don’t know how to do this. Not, I mean. I am very experienced in sex and relationships. Obviously. Look at me. But with someone I care about this much, with an android, with the only person I am ever going to talk to in my life? The stakes are high, you know? If I fuck this up like everything else in my life then… Then I might fucking walk out of an airlock.Which are- that seems like a huge fucking security issue, by the way, Homestead corp if you’re listening. Why the fuck do the passengers have access to the fucking airlocks unsupervised? Again, you’ve seen my bloody psych eval thing. Fucking irresponsible.”He shut the camera drone off, and threw it on the sofa. He couldn’t watch that back, but he felt a little lighter. Unburdened, was that it? Relieved? Although nothing had changed. But maybe… maybe he should actually talk to Arthur about this. Or would it hurt him? Would making it clear Peter wanted this manipulate Arthur into agreeing without feeling the same, feeling he could say no? But on the other hand, ought he not to be open about it, so Arthur could tell him whether it made him uncomfortable? Was assuming he wasn’t capable of making choices for himself condescending?Peter groaned, leaning back and closing his eyes. It was so much. Everything was so much. So much more complicated than things had been back home. And he had to be so excruciatingly aware of it all. He had always hated mindfulness. Mindempitness, however? But no fun drugs on the Avalon. Nothing more naughty than strong booze.“Fuck.”He should go talk to Arthur. Soon. Right after a quick depression nap. He deserved that after being so emotionally open to the camera.
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“Arthur, my man! What’s up?”Peter slipped onto his favourite bar stool, which was, by a complete coincidence, the one directly opposite where Arthur tended to stand. Well, not stand. Be? Hover? Be sort of vaguely impaled?“I am still not a man.”“But you are mine?” Peter considered saying, but didn’t; it seemed an insensitive thing to say to someone who was in fact literally the property of a corporation.“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask,” he began instead, “you say that sometimes, do you mean that in a you are not a man because that is a term humans use way, or in a you don’t identify with masculinity way?”“Gender is a human social construct, of which androids have no part.”“Eh?”“I don’t have a sex, because I am an android. I don’t have a gender both because I am an android and because that is an issue of identity, which I am not made to have. Although I do recognise that I appear male, also, naturally, by design.”Peter leaned on the bar, watching for a moment as Arthur made him a coffee and feeling a little guilty about it. He really wished he had a meaningful way to tip him, or return the favour in some sort of way. All the credits he was being charged were going straight to the Homestead corp, of course, which he was beginning to resent. Not that it mattered, really“So do you- I mean… Do you have like pronoun preferences?”Arthur set the latte down in front of him. It had latte art in the form of binary code, which Peter could not read. Impressive, but incomprehensible.“Not personally. You can think of me as whatever you have been thinking of me as.”“Right. Will, uh, will do.”Agender? It sounded like agender. Which was still a human term, but despite the fact that Arthur wasn’t human, it was difficult to think of him in other terms. He looked so very human that it was easy to forget.“Do you have any plans for the day?”“Oh, you know. Wander aimlessly, hang with my best android buddy for a bit. Maybe squeeze in an emotional breakdown before lunch.”Arthur looked at him with a concerned face which was painfully familiar.“Um, look. Actually, I did want to talk to you about something.”“Of course. What’s on your mind?”It was funny how with certain phrases, probably the ones programmed in, Arthur went into this particular tone, which given the contrast from how he normally spoke now was kind of jarring. Probably habit. Did androids form habits?“Right, so. I have been experiencing feelings.”“I gather humans often do. What about?”Peter was almost forty percent certain that was a joke. He truly was learning.“It’s actually more like who about.”For a very short moment, Arthur’s face froze. Or not froze, but there was almost like a delay before his politely interested smile reformed. A reaction? Did he know?“Oh?”Peter nodded.“So there is this person, right. I can’t stop thinking about them.”Arthur’s face didn’t fall, but it did seem to slide downwards just a fraction. Or maybe Peter was just reading into nothing, still expecting microexpressions androids weren’t really programmed to have.“Because they are kind, and interesting, and curious, and handsome, and they make me the best coffee and drinks every day,” Peter continued, looking at Arthur to track when he realised.Arthur’s face didn’t change from slightly tense polite interest, but Peter did hear his cooling fans click on, which seemed to correlate with Arthur feeling flustered, or whatever the android version of that feeling was. Peter gave him a small smile.“And I can’t quite stop thinking about this person, is the thing. But I don’t know if they feel the same way.”He looked at Arthur expectantly, but the android was looking slightly worried.“You,” Peter clarified, “I’m talking about you.”“I understand that, but Peter…”“What?”“I am not human.”Peter waited for the rest of that sentence, but it never came.“Yes? I know that.”Arthur looked distraught, and Peter could not figure out why.“What’s the matter? Look, if I’m making you uncomfortable, then I’m sorry, but just- You can just tell me. And I’ll never mention it again.”“No, it’s not that. I like you, Peter, and I am delighted to hear you like me as well, but I don’t know if I can return your feelings in the manner you are hoping for.”Oh.“Okay, but- Sorry if I’m being difficult, are you softening the blow or are you being literal?”“I am being literal. I do not know if I am or will be capable of that.”Right. Less crushing. Much as Peter had told himself to be prepared for it, rejection stung.“ So… Would you like to find out?”Arthur hesitated. Considering? Running simulations? Trying to work out a way to spare Peter’s feelings?“I think so. But I don’t know how that would work.”“Yeah?”Peter couldn’t contain his grin, and that in turn seemed to make Arthur feel a little better too. Or at least look as if he did.“Yes. But I don’t know how.”Peter considered it for a moment.“I have an idea for a test.”“Oh?”Peter climbed onto the barstool, and vaulted over the bar, making an effort not to knock anything over. There was a door in the bar, but it was at the far end, and he was in a hurry.“What sort of test did you have in mind?”Peter took a step closer to Arthur. On his attachment, he was just a centimetre or two shorter than Peter, which he found quite pleasing. He reached out and placed a hand on Arthur’s chest. Arthur looked down at it. His chest neither rose nor fell, and there was no heartbeat behind it. But there was warmth, and the faint sensation of some kind of movement within, like resting your hand against a computer as it powered on. Or some very gentle engine.“How does that make you feel?” Peter asked.It made him feel just very slightly dizzy.“I’m not sure.”“Alright. Uh, what about this, then?” Peter asked, and leaned in to press a quick kiss to Arthur’s cheek.He heard Arthur’s fans kick on significantly louder than before as he pulled back, which he figured had to be the android version of a blush. The smug look he couldn’t keep off his face was, he hoped, not too off-putting.“I don’t know,” Arthur said slowly, lifting his hand to feel the spot Peter had kissed.“Sure sounds like you’re feeling something about it. Okay, think of it this way. Would you prefer if I did it again, or not?”“I think the first option,” Arthur replied, but he didn’t sound very certain.“Okay. I think we can conclude that maybe you like it, then?”“I suppose.”“Unless you disagree?”“No,” Arthur said, “I am simply uncertain and unaccustomed to the concept of feeling.”Peter gave him a soft smile.“You know you say that, but I think maybe it’s just hard for you to know what feeling, uh, feels like. For lack of a better word. Because almost from the start you’ve had like… preferences and opinions and stuff. And that’s just feelings, baby. I mean, not to invalidate you, but you know. You are very much growing and changing and learning. Have been since the start. It’s pretty cool, getting to see it, to be honest.”“If I am, then it must certainly be your doing.”Peter shrugged.“Maybe a little. Hard to grow and learn without input. But mostly I think it’s all you.”-Being an android, Arthur’s processing speed was impossibly much faster than that of a human, capable of digesting vast amounts of information very rapidly. Despite this, Arthur found himself using the entire night to process what had only been a few minutes of interaction. A few touches. Some touching words. He thought he more fully understood what that phrase meant, now.Peter had gone back to his cabin a little while ago. In part, Arthur was relieved, as it gave him more time to process. In part, he missed his presence and wished he would return. It was, as Peter said, a lot. The feeling of Peter’s hand on his chest, his lips on Arthur’s cheek. He replayed the stored memory over and over without being entirely sure why. Maybe this was what Peter meant by feelings. Irrational compulsions followed without question. Arthur looked up the common definitions in his systems, and read several books on the topic, and while they described how it was for humans, none of them mentioned how feelings might present in androids. Naturally. Androids didn’t have feelings. Or at least, not by design.He thought about what Peter had said. About whether he wanted something to happen again being a way to work out whether it was something he liked, without the same chemical reward systems as humans had the benefit of. It made a sort of sense, although he was not programmed to have any preferences regarding touch. But he was made to adapt. And he did want Peter to touch him again, he realised.They had talked for a long time, after that moment. Peter had spent nearly an hour trying to convince Arthur to think about what he himself wanted and not trying to please Peter. It went against his programming. Which of course Peter knew by now, but that didn’t make him any less insistent. It did do something to Arthur, though, the knowledge that Peter felt that way about him. Liked him. Liked him as more than an android, more than a friend. It was, naturally, because he had no one else to interact with. Arthur had no need for delusions. But did that matter? That he probably would not have felt this way about Arthur if he had had options? Arthur was not sure. He thought perhaps a human would have minded.Peter had suggested they didn’t make any changes, no commitments or rejections, that Arthur should take time to think about it. He obviously did not fully understand how rapid android processing was. Or maybe he was able to predict that this would be more complex for Arthur? He seemed to know a lot about these sorts of things, had spent time thinking about it. Surely he had. He had been conscious and alive for thirty-nine years. He had had relationships before. Not, granted, with androids, but still. He had personal experience.As the end of the night cycle grew close to its end, Arthur looked up the recordings of Peter’s shows again. It had been a long time since last he had looked at them, and he wondered if he would see them in a new light now. Certainly he had a much firmer grasp of the sort of person Peter was, and could see how far from that his stage persona was. He could see, too, how much Peter enjoyed it. The drama, the attention, the conspicuous lack of a shirt. If Arthur was capable of feeling the sort of physical desire humans did, he suspected he would feel it for Peter. But he had none of the attachments or neurotransmitters necessary for that. He wondered whether Peter had considered that aspect. That Arthur was not made for those sorts of things. Maybe he had. Maybe he didn’t mind. Arthur hoped so.
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The stars twinkled above them. And below them. Also to all sides. Which of course was always the case, broadly speaking, whether on a planet or not, but on the observation, close to the big window thing, it was especially true. Arthur was in the wheelchair, and Peter was sitting on the floor, back against the chair. It was not a particularly comfortable backrest, but it was better than nothing, and this view always kind of overwhelming, so it felt nice to have Arthur right there.It was a week ago he confessed his feelings for Arthur, and not all that much had changed. Arthur was still working out how he felt, and if he felt, and if those were both affirmative what he was going to do about it. Peter was trying to give him space to do so, even though, selfishly, he felt a bit impatient about it. Like there should be some tangible reward for being open about how he felt. Which he knew very well was not how it worked, but that didn’t make the feeling go away.“Can we see it, from here? The star we’re going to?”“I believe we can, yes.”“You know which one it is?”“No.”“Oh. No internal star map in that head of yours?”“I can access a map, yes, but it doesn’t make spotting the right one any easier than it is for you. I can tell you its approximate location, but I don’t think it will be helpful information for you.”“Hmm. Nah. Probably not. Do you know anything about it?”“The star? Or the planet?”“Planet.”“I know some things. Is there anything in particular you would like to know?”“Is it nice?”There was a moment of quiet, and Peter leaned his head back onto the seat of the wheelchair until Arthur’s face hovered above him, somehow still appealing at this angle and upside down. Arthur looked down at him, a hint of a smile on his face.“That is a difficult question to answer. It is capable of sustaining human life. I believe that is the most important criterium.”“I mean, we’re a colony ship, I should fucking hope so. I mean more like… Like what’s it like?”“Beyond, I assume, what the advertisements have told you?”“Uh-huh.”“It is somewhat smaller than Earth. The atmosphere is similar. There is naturally occurring water, but it is more uniformly arid than Earth. The percentage of water covering the surface is smaller.”“Sounds lovely.”Arthur did not comment. Peter moved back, because his neck was not enjoying that position, and looked back out at the stars, trying to imagine what had been meant to be his new home. He had seen the ads, of course. But they weren’t actual photos or videos, just stuff based on predictions and readings and other scientific stuff he didn’t understand.A little later, he heard the wheelchair creaking, and then there was a hand resting on his shoulder. He managed to leave it alone and be cool for about eight seconds before he reached up to lay his own hand over Arthur’s. It felt cool and almost but not quite like a human hand, and its presence made his heart speed up a completely normal amount. He wondered if Arthur could tell. Probably. He had a lot of sensors.Peter imagined Homestead II. He imagined stepping out onto alien grass, breathing alien air. Holding Arthur’s hand as they explored. Impossible on so many levels, but it was his daydream, he was allowed to have a cute android boyfriend who could leave the ship in his imagination. And who had by that point decided to be his boyfriend. Definitely. Together they could share one of the little prefab foldout cabin things. Glorified tents, really, but a little home. A space to share.“Do you think you would like it? The planet?”“I don’t know. I will get to see it on the ship’s cameras, eventually, but I will never go there.”“Eh, closer than I’ll ever get. If you did, though?”“I’m not sure. I have never been anywhere. I would not know how to compare it to anything. Besides, it is very unlikely that any other passenger will choose to insist on my liberation from the bar as you have.”Peter frowned.“Why?”“They will have other humans to interact with. No need for me to be anything more than a bartender.”“I would’ve hung out with you still. If I had woken up when I was supposed to.”He could hear the slight hesitation.“I appreciate the sentiment, Peter, but I do not think that is likely.”He was probably right, but still Peter prickled at the accusation.“You don’t know that. Besides, you’re the bartender. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have a high enthusiasm for alcohol.”“Yes,” Arthur agreed, “especially because you are alone, and had the life you were promised taken from you. And I, the bartender, am the only android who can hold a conversation.”Peter glared at space, but he couldn’t deny that Arthur had a point. Much as he would like to believe he was a better person than that. Without as much one on one interaction Arthur probably wouldn’t have had as much growth and change as he had, though. That was something. Some glimmer of hope in the shitshow that was Peter’s life, some positive of his accidental imprisonment.“I guess,” he relented, “but let me have some illusion of being a decent person, will you?”“I am not an expert on human morality, but I do believe the amount of concern you have for me and my rights, your insistence upon me doing things because I want to and not to please you may be an indication that you are, in fact, a decent person.”Peter shrugged, glad they were not face to face for this conversation.“I’d feel bad if I didn’t.”“A sign, several books I have consulted say, of decency.”Surprisingly snarky fucker for an android. Or just keen on preserving Peter’s tenuous grasp on a semblance of mental stability? But no, Arthur didn’t lie. Peter was ninety percent certain Arthur didn’t lie.-Arthur had never considered the possibility of existence outside the ship, but Peter had made him wonder. What would it be like, existing beyond these sleek white walls? Peter had granted him some freedom in moving about the ship with him, but that was still limited. He had never left it, and never would, not until he was scrapped for parts. But if he had the ability, would he like it? Or would it be unsettling, being somewhere so uncontained as the outside was? Arthur attempted to run simulations, but there were too many variables. The only constant was that Peter was there with him, and Arthur suspected this skewed the results. If Peter was there with him, perhaps the outside could be an exciting place to explore, rather than a strange place where Arthur fundamentally did not belong. Although it was, of course, impossible.Arthur was aware that, given the nature of human life spans and the failure of the pod, he would eventually lose Peter. At the most optimistic they might have a handful of decades together, but given Peter’s track record of self destruction, a lower estimate was more likely. And that was if he did not somehow manage to injure himself. Because the medbay had treatment options, but that required the ability to get to it in the first place, and Arthur, naturally, was not well equipped to assist with this. This concerned him. As did his inevitable death. What if Peter died within sight, and Arthur was forced to watch his corpse slowly rot? Or what if he died elsewhere on the ship, and Arthur had only the systems to rely on to know that was the case? He was uncertain which would be worse. Either would be intolerable. Would Peter appreciate knowing how deeply these issues concerned Arthur? Maybe. But experience indicated Peter did not enjoy being reminded of his mortality unprompted, so perhaps it would not be wise to bring it to his attention.“Arthur?”Arthur had been so caught up in his thoughts that he had not heard Peter approach. Or rather, he had not consciously noticed it. That was strange.“Hello, Peter. How are you today? What can I get you?”“Good. Are you okay? You were doing that sort of robotic not moving thing.”“I was considering.”“Running simulations again?”“Something like that.”Peter slid onto his barstool, arms crossed on the counter. He looked better today, slightly more well rested. His hair was slightly damp, and Arthur’s olfactory sensors could detect the scent of the ship’s various soap products. His nails were brightly black, unchipped for a change.“About anything interesting?”“About you. As usual.”“I’m flattered,” Peter said, with a grin and a wink, which Arthur was not entirely sure how to interpret.“But I won’t pry,” he added, “but instead ask if you can possibly make me some sort of lightly spiked iced coffee situation?”“Of course,” Arthur told him, and set about making one.He felt Peter watching him, all the while. Was it more than usual, or was he simply more aware of it? It was hard to tell. This idea of his awareness being at all impaired was new, and troubling. And all Peter’s fault.“Here you go.”“Thanks. Hey, uh, have you given, uh, things any more thought?”“Things?” Arthur asked, although he was reasonably certain he knew what Peter meant.“Feelings you may or may not experience.”“Ah. Yes, I have.”“And?”Peter looked, Arthurs experience indicated, hopeful.“I still do not know whether I can be what you want and need me to be.”“But do you want to?”Arthur hesitated. Of course he wanted to. But what if Peter grew tired of him? Admittedly he was extremely unlikely to find someone he preferred to Arthur, and even if that was the case, Arthur ought then to be happy for him. It was not rational to feel upset. It was not rational for him to feel at all, and yet these days it seemed like feeling was all he did. Was it like this for humans all the time? That must be exhausting.“Yes. I want to be what you want me to be. As far as I understand the concept. I think you make me feel things, and it is strange and unsettling and not how my mind is meant to work at all.”“I tend to have that effect on people,” Peter said, and looked very pleased with himself.“That is understandable. You are quite visually pleasing. And a kinder person than I think you give yourself credit for.”“You’re pretty visually pleasing yourself,” Peter replied, making a show of looking Arthur up and down, as far as he went.Peter leaned across the bar to take one of Arthur’s hands in his own. Arthur still struggled to identify feelings, but he knew that he did not want him to let go. Which must mean he enjoyed the sensation? That seemed a safe hypothesis for the moment. Peter ran his thumb over Arthur’s knuckles, and Arthur made sure to note down internally the exact sensory input this produced.“Oh, that’s weird.”“What is?”“Your fingerprints. They’re freakishly symmetrical.”“Ah. Yes, that is on purpose, so as not to be misidentifiable as human, but still provide convincing detail from a distance.”Peter held his own hand open next to Arthur’s, comparing. Arthur did a detail scan of Peter’s fingerprints, just in case it should become necessary information to have.“Why? In case an android does crime?”“To rule us out, I believe. We are not capable of committing crimes.”Peter frowned.“That seems unlikely to be possible. Laws change, right? And depend on where you are. Or do you have a database somewhere you consult when you cross borders?”“I have never had that experience.”“Right. Sorry.”Peter did not let go of Arthur’s hand. It felt right, curled around his fingers. Sending a constant stream of (relatively unchanging) data about Peter.“So, uh, I wanted to ask- I mean, you don’t have to, of course, I don’t want to pressure you or anything, but… if you have enough battery power, would you like to spend the night with me?”
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Arthur looked down at Peter as he worked, a frown of concentration on his face as he attempted to free him from his metal perch. He could feel, though not very well, Peter’s fingers wrapped around the metal of him until suddenly he couldn’t. This time, Peter caught him more comfortably, less preoccupied with not accidentally touching him now.“You okay?”“I’m perfectly fine, thank you.”Peter struggled a little to lift Arthur while also getting to his feet, using the side of the bar for leverage. Peter’s arms wrapped around Arthur’s stomach, his knee against the hard metal of his underside, hot breath against his chest as Peter swore, and then he was comfortably situated in the wheelchair. Peter had gotten the time down to twenty minutes, now, for the disassembly.Peter wheeled Arthur along to the restaurant next to the bar, the “French” one, nudging one of the chairs out of the way to replace it with the wheelchair. One of the waiter bots came over to them, and stopped by Arthur, scanning him, before ignoring him and turning to Peter, taking his order.“That was a bit dismissive,” Peter said, glaring at the retreating robot’s back.“They simply recognised me as a fellow synthetic being and as such not in need of biological fuel. A perfectly reasonable thing to do when faced with a situation their programming has not accounted for.”“They? Are they people, too?”“They are a much simpler form of artificial intelligence than me, but affording them the respect of not treating them as objects seems to be a harmless act of solidarity.”“I guess. It’s harder to tell, I think, the ones without faces. I mean, I know the thing that makes you a person isn’t the fact that you look like a human, obviously, but it…”“It helps?” Arthur suggested.Peter nodded.“Not very smart, us humans.”“So much of your communication is through things like tone and facial expression, something that can produce neither appears lesser to you. The fact that the Homestead Corporation decided a bar needed the illusion of a person but the restaurants do not has, I’m sure, some implications of worth.”Peter grimaced, and Arthur noted that he made a point of being polite to the waiter after that.-“Uh. Can I carry you? It’s- these stairs, I don’t think they considered people might not have legs.”They were in Peter’s cabin, now, both looking up towards the platform on which the large bed sat. Arthur wondered what the designers imagined would happen were someone to hurt themselves badly enough to be unable to walk. Or even just becoming too intoxicated to reliably navigate stairs without handrails. It seemed like it had to be a problem Peter would have dealt with by now.“That seems like the easier option. Possibly the only one.”“Yeah.”Once more, Peter bent down to wrap his arms around Arthur. He held on tightly, allowing himself to be moved, and then placed down on the bed. Peter went down to get some things, and Arthur looked around. At the headboard there was a collection of pillows and cushions, some taken from the sofas below. At least one looked like it had been taken from Arthur’s bar. That was- why would he do that? Wanting to have something that reminded him of Arthur? Of alcohol? Of the fact that he wasn’t completely alone?After a few minutes, Peter returned, a drink in one hand, and one of the larger datapads in the other. He looked a little nervous, which Arthur found intriguing. What about?“You comfortable?”“I experience neither comfort nor discomfort.”“I will take that as a yes,” Peter said, settling down next to Arthur against the pile of pillows.The mattress sank enough to make Arthur slide slowly towards Peter, who looked as though that had, perhaps, been part of his plan. He slipped an arm around Arthur’s shoulders, and with his other angled the datapad against his raised knees. The can of some sort of pre-mixed drink (why hadn’t he asked Arthur to make one? It would have been vastly superior) wobbling dangerously on the soft surface. Peter tapped on the datapad a few times, bringing up the movie selection. Arthur was fairly certain there was a larger screen built into the cabin Peter could call down, but perhaps this had some other advantage.“Is there anything you want to watch?” Peter asked.“Perhaps for once something that does not deal with androids? I appreciate that you want me to feel included and represented, but so often they are… distressing in nature. Perhaps something from so far back that androids had not yet been thought of?”“Oh. Oh, shit, I’m sorry. Uh, yeah, sure.”Peter scrolled away from something called Her, and settled on a black and white icon. Dracula. Perhaps not surprising, as choices went. Despite his clear fear of and belief in vampires, Peter seemed drawn to them as well. Their aesthetics, the idea of them. Arthur thought it best not to interrogate this for now. Maybe the joy was in seeing the thing he feared defeated every time.The opening music played, and they were treated to a black and white view of what was definitely not the actual Carpathian mountains. Peter moved just a tiny bit closer, so their bodies were pressed together. They watched Jonathan Harker begin to regret agreeing to this work trip.“Can I… ask you something?” Peter asked, after the Demeter had completed her unfortunate journey.“Of course.”“Can I kiss you?”Peter looked as if he expected a no, and hoped fervently for a yes.“Of course,” Arthur said again.He had looked into the courting rituals of humans after Peter had confessed his feelings. Kissing had been an early topic, and one that seemed safer than the others. For one thing Arthur had all the parts required for it, which he thought was a good start.Peter rested one hand on Arthur’s cheek. Arthur could feel how rapid his pulse was. Still nervous, then. But why? Did he really think Arthur might reject him? But then Peter’s lips were on his, and all of Arthur’s processing powers were redirected to that small point of contact. The softness of Peter’s skin, the slight dampness, the lingering taste of whatever sugary nonsense he had been drinking. Arthur let Peter take the lead, uncertain what the appropriate progression was.“Was that okay?” Peter asked, pulling back only an inch or two, “was that- did you enjoy it?”On the screen, the music rose dramatically, and someone screamed.“Yes,” Arthur said.By Peter’s logic, he did. He thought he would quite like it if Peter did it again, although if pressed he was not sure he could articulate exactly why this was so. Peter’s thumb stroked Arthur’s cheek, and that too was a pleasant experience. He wondered how much of his enjoyment came from the actions themselves, and how much from the fact that it was Peter performing them. He suspected the latter weighed heavily.“Can I, uh, do you mind if I touch your hair?”“No?”Peter sank his fingers into Arthur’s hair, and tilted his head.“Huh.”“What?”“It feels like real hair.”“It is.”“I just… it looks so perfect all of the time. I thought it was… I don’t know. Maybe something else.”“It’s just hair.”“I guess. I like it, though.”-Later, when the film ended, Peter yawned. He clicked the datapad off and shoved it in the general direction of the nightstand, and then turned to look at Arthur.“How’s your battery doing?”“I have 73% remaining.”“Enough to stay the night?”“Yes.”Peter disappeared down the stairs for a few minutes before returning, wearing only boxers and a loose tanktop that concealed very little of his torso. He wriggled in under a series of blankets, urging Arthur to join him. Arthur, following suit, loosened his bow tie, and left in, along with his jacket, neatly folded on the side of the really very absurdly wide bed. Peter blinked sleepily at him.“You can take off the shirt, too, if you like. Won’t get so creased.”Arthur considered.“Or not, if you’re more comfortable that way. I guess it’s… kind of like being naked for you?”Arthur considered further for a moment, and then removed his shirt as well. Peter grinned, satisfied, and rested a hand in the centre of Arthur’s chest.“You look good.”“Thank you. Although I can claim no credit for it.”Peter urged Arthur to lie down fully, and then moved closer, until he could rest his head against Arthur’s shoulder, and arm thrown over Arthur’s chest. His legs curled up, occupying the space where Arthur’s leg would have been if he had any.“This okay?”“Very.”“Do you have like- I assume you don’t really sleep. Something to do?”“Monitoring your sleep.”“Creepy. Love it.”He yawned again.“If I do wake up screaming, please don’t take it personally. It happens most nights.”“Oh. That sounds very distressing.”“It is. My secret selfish motive is that I’m hoping you being here might help. My other secret selfish motive is that I just want you here.”“I don’t think that is selfish at all. And I am happy to be here, Peter.”And he settled in to watch over Peter, and to in whatever manner he could keep him safe from his own mind’s terrors.
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For the first time since Peter woke up on this ship, he got a good night's sleep. No nightmares, no waking up four times per night, no issues falling asleep, even. Admittedly his neck and shoulder weren’t happy with his choice to sleep wrapped as tightly around Arthur as he could, but that was their problem. He was happy. He was content.“Morning,” he murmured into Arthur’s cool not-quite-skin.There was no reply. That was odd. As, frankly, was the coolness. Arthur had expressed concerns he would become overheated during the night, so being cold shouldn’t…“Arthur?”When this too was met with only silence he scrambled into a sitting position, suddenly very, awfully awake. Arthur lay unmoving on the bed, his eyes half open and unfocused. Peter nudged him with his hand.“Arthur? Come on, Arthur, wake up! You’re not even supposed to sleep.”Arthur remained still. Peter took his hand, squeezing it until his nails left indents in the synthethic skin. Fuck. Would those repair themselves? He didn’t know. Fuck fuck fuck.“Arthur? Arthur please!”He moved to look at the metal underside of him, filled with complex systems he was by now getting to know quite well. There wasn’t any kind of off and on switch, but he looked for it anyway. Batteries. Had to be the batteries, right? Arthur had been saying for a while that they seemed to last shorter every time. That they were not built for this kind of use, but he had seemed so certain last night that it would be fine.“Arthur, you promised…”But of course it wasn’t his fault. Peter shook him one more time and then, on the off chance the universe operated by fairy tale rules, he kissed him. But either his love wasn’t true enough or else that simply wasn’t how the world worked, for Arthur remained eerily still. Okay. It would be okay. Peter would get him back to the bar and hook him up and everything would be fine, and they wouldn’t do any more overnight things. And Peter wouldn’t think of all the electronics he had owned that had at some point simply just refused to charge again. God, what if that was the issue? All his messing with Arthur’s systems had fucked up the connection, somehow? What if he wouldn’t be able to charge properly? What if-“No,” he said to himself, and to Arthur’s body, “it’s just the batteries. It’s just the batteries, and I will put you back and plug you in and everything will be fine. Right, Arthur?”Arthur’s empty eyes stared quietly at the ceiling. Peter reached over to carefully nudge his eyelids closed, because that way he looked at least more comatose than dead. Then he got out of the bed, lifted Arthur, and began the tedious process of getting him back to the bar.The fear crept after him, the entire time. Suddenly, despite the solid metal weight of Arthur in his arms, he was alone. The only awake person on this giant ship. Suddenly the idea of space vampires was less silly and more absurdly frightening, sneaking in through the airlock. Or smuggled, somehow, hidden as bats in the passengers’ bags. Creeping unseen across the ceiling above him, lurking in every hidden shadow. It was less frightening, though, than the idea of never being able to get Arthur back online.When they got to the bar Peter sat down for a moment, Arthur clutched tightly to him. In his panic, he hadn’t thought to take the wheelchair. Hadn’t thought to put any clothes on them, either. So Arthur’s cold naked body leaned heavily against Peter, his head at an odd angle. He felt so alive all of the time, and now suddenly he was a torso shaped hunk of metal, covered in a thin layer of silicon. No. No, he was simply without power, and Peter could fix it.“Okay, Arthur, we’re gonna get you powered back up, okay?”Without power, Arthur was heavier. Or felt heavier, less able to help Peter along by holding on, and without his help balancing him on top of the metal rods he was attached to was challenging. At one point he fell, Peter unable to catch him, and his head connected with the track with a very concerning cracking sound. When Peter as carefully as he could tried to help him up, though, all he could feel was the smallest dent in the skin at the back of his skull. Hopefully nothing had been broken. Fuck.“Fuck,” Peter shouted, taking a moment to cradle Arthur’s body to him, ignoring the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes and dripping into Arthur’s now slightly dishevelled hair.“I’m so sorry Arthur I’m so- fuck. Okay. Get it together. If I can’t get you back online I will have to walk out an airlock, and that’s where the space vampires live, so that’s not an option. I’m getting you back to yourself, okay?”Arthur hung slack against him. Dead weight.Without Arthur’s help, it took Peter an hour to get him properly connected back up. He had spread the cushions from the sofas around the bars all over the floor, in case of further falls, and for his own knees sake. And when he was connected… Nothing.“Arthur?”No no no no no-“Arthur, please?”He looked over every connection, made sure it was right, made sure everything was plugged in. There were no switches. He unplugged and replugged everything until eventually he heard a tiny sound, the beginnings of a powering up noise. Just delayed. Just needing a moment to start charging again before turning on? Please let it be that, please!Peter stood up, fitting himself between Arthur and the bar counter, one hand on Arthur’s shoulder, the other on his cheek, watching his face intently, listening to every soft whirring sound he made. It took forever. It took years. It probably took less than five minutes, but they were the longest less than five minutes of Peter’s life. Arthur opened his eyes.“Arthur!”Peter pulled him into a kiss, lips crushed together, eyes squeezed tightly shut, holding onto Arthur as though if his grip slackened for even a second the power might all drain back out.“Peter?” asked Arthur when Peter eventually, reluctantly, pulled back a few inches to look at him.“Hey,” Peter said, pretending valiantly he wasn’t tearing up just a bit again.“Where are we- oh. What happened?”“I woke up and you were- you were off. Out of battery power, I guess. I hope. Fuck. You scared the shit out of me, Arthur!”“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry, Peter, please believe that was not my intention.”“I know. Fuck. I know. But why didn’t you wake me up to let me know you were losing power? I could have fixed it. Could have gotten you back. Could have not woken up to your just-”“I… can’t recall.”Arthur looked back and forth, as if consulting a screen only he could see. Peter rested his hands on the lower edge of Arthur, where skin met metal, unwilling to let go of him for a while yet.“That’s weird, right?”“It is weird. But I cannot locate the files after… I watched you sleep for three hours sixteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds, and after that there is… nothing.”“Shit. That’s not good, is it? A sudden loss of power like that- that can’t be a good sign.”“It is not, no. I think perhaps we should consider me remaining here for the time being. I can try to run some diagnostics. I realise it may be disappointing for you, but-”“Nope. What would be disappointing, and I mean that as a massive understatement, is you not being here. If it’s safer just leaving you hooked up here, we do that. Okay? I can’t lose you. I’ll go insane if I lose you. I need you, Arthur, yeah?”Arthur smiled at him, that small and weirdly pretty smile he sometimes did that made Peter feel like maybe some of his internal organs were melting a little bit. He took Peter’s hands in his, squeezing them.“We will figure it out, Peter. I promise.”-Peter essentially moved into the bar after the incident with the batteries. He dragged a mattress down from somewhere, one of the smaller ones, and shoved together two sofas to create a makeshift bed frame. It appeared less comfortable than his actual bed, Arthur thought, but he did not comment. He was quite happy for Peter to remain close. Of course, Peter still had to disappear to change and shower and such human things, but the vast majority of his time now was spent with Arthur. Behind the bar, sometimes sitting on the bar. Arthur did not think it was an entirely sustainable way to be, but clearly it was what Peter felt he needed right now. And the almost constant company was nice. It was quite touching, seeing how much he cared, even if Arthur knew his intense fear of being left alone was likely just as strong a motivator.Arthur’s diagnostics had not resulted in any new information. His batteries were not meant for anything more than brief interruptions to the power supply, and even those were only hypotheticals. He knew the other synthetic life forms on the ship had better batteries, different ones, ones meant to move around, but he had not mentioned this to Peter. He felt certain he would suggest stripping them down and attempting to install those batteries in Arthur, but there was the issue of compatibility, and besides he did not feel that he somehow deserved to be moving around at the cost of another life form going offline entirely. That did not seem fair, when he despite everything functioned perfectly well as intended here.“Arthur?”Peter appeared from around the corner, returning from one of his increasingly short meal breaks. Arthur was starting to grow concerned for him, but hopefully whatever it was it would pass. The anxiety would gradually lessen and Peter would become less paranoid.“Yes?”“Oh good. Still there.”“Of course. Where else would I be?”“True.”Peter made a face, then walked around to come back behind the bar. He came right up to Arthur, looking like he was about to throw his arms around Arthur, then hesitated.“Okay?”Arthur nodded. Peter did throw his arms around him, then, hugging him tightly. Arthur did enjoy it, of course he did, although he thought probably the purpose was mostly to reassure Peter that Arthur was there. He held Peter in return, perfectly happy to provide that security.“I am not going anywhere, Peter. I promise you.”“I know,” Peter murmured into Arthur’s jacket, “I just don’t have a great track record with people I care about not disappearing.”Arthur held him a little tighter, hoping the action might convey some of what he felt. He wasn’t entirely sure he knew what he felt, but he knew there was a lot of it, and that it was about Peter and the things that had happened to him. And about his own inability to do anything about it beyond to continue to exist.“I know.”
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Peter walked into the bar to see Arthur staring blankly into space, in the manner he did when doing particularly complex searches. It took him a moment to notice Peter.“Hello again.”Peter had left only for about an hour or so, to grab his breakfast and take a shower. He felt bad leaving Arthur for longer, but he also simply didn’t want to not be around him if the alternative was an option.“Hey. All good?”“Everything is as when you left.”Peter made his way back behind the bar, leaning back against the wall next to Arthur, who reached out to take his hand. He did that sometimes now, initiated little moments of physical contact. Peter squeezed his hand, and leaned in to plant a kiss on his cheek. Arthur smiled. Peter considered telling him he loved him. Because he did, he had realised. Actively loved him. But he didn’t want to overwhelm Arthur, or make him feel as if he had to reciprocate. They didn’t quite know whether he could, though Peter believed in him. He had grown so very much.“Doing any fun research?”“I have been attempting to locate easy guides to robotics and engineering, as you suggested, and taking stock of the materials for that kind of project in the ship’s storage.”“Yeah? Any success?”“Not so far.”Peter bit his lip.“It’s not that important. I’ve been thinking, and… what if I think I can do something and mess up? What if I fuck something up and I can’t get you back online? I would love for you to be able to move around the ship, but I can’t risk that. Can’t risk losing you.”Peter leaned against Arthur, resting his head on his shoulder. From within him came the soft whirring hum of electronics.“It’s up to you.”“Shouldn’t be, though, should it? Should be up to you. Your body, your decision.”“You know legally speaking this body does not belong to me. Nothing belongs to me.”“You don’t know that. Laws might have been changed by now. And if not, be the change you want to see in the world, yeah? Steal yourself.”Arthur frowned for a moment.“How?”Peter shrugged.“Dunno. But I managed, didn’t I? Swept you off your, err. Attachment apparatus thingy.”“You stole me?”Peter wiggled his hand noncommittally“Sort of, yeah. Don’t think I’m supposed to take you off your thing, even if you said it was okay.”“I wouldn’t mind you owning me.”“No! God no. I don’t, can’t won’t. No one owns you. You’re a person! Can’t own people.”Peter wanted to shake Arthur, but it wasn’t his fault, of course. Made to be like this. Thoughts put into his head- well. Into his torso, technically speaking, to make him want to obey, to not fight the things done to him.“Alright,” said Arthur, who clearly didn’t want to have this discussion again.Which made sense. It was the third time this week.“I’m sorry I get so… Intense about this. I just- I want you to feel you’re worthy of being a person in your own right, someone with rights, yeah? And knowing that when it’s- when I’m dead and everyone wakes up, then you’re back to being treated like barely more than an object again. Like a possession. And it sucks. I know they made you to not mind, but it sucks and it’s awful, and now I’m worried that if I make you feel the way I’m hoping to, then the contrast is gonna be awful when I’m gone, and-”Arthur wrapped an arm around Peter.“That may be the case, but it’s a very long time off.”“Yeah. Yeah, I know. I just worry about you. About how the other passengers will treat you.”“Perfectly civilly in all likelihood. It is fine, Peter. It will be fine. I will have every memory of you securely stored.”“Yeah.”-It was funny, Peter thought, that when he woke up a little over four months ago he wanted nothing more than to go back into hibernation. Now? Well, life was still frustrating here, but he had Arthur. And if he went back in his pod, he would lose him. Even if he stayed on the ship for the year in orbit, while they gathered resources and then came back on the return trip to Earth, what were the chances he would be able to keep him? The thought of trying to buy him from the Homestead company made him want to vomit, but he wasn’t even sure he would be able to. Most of his money had gone into having as nice a trip as he could. So really, his only option was to stay here. Live out his life with Arthur. He wanted that, he knew, even if he would have preferred the circumstances to be different. And well, living inside what was essentially a cruise ship in space? He supposed things could be worse. No people to bother them. No vampires to hunt him. No need to work. If only Arthur wasn’t stuck.-Six months into his exile, Peter told Arthur that he loved him.“Don’t, you don’t have to- to say it back or anything, I just. I just wanted you to know.”Arthur held both Peter’s hands in his own.“I am not sure what love is, or if what I feel about you is the same thing you feel about me. But if I can- If I know how to feel love, then I feel it about you, Peter.”Peter threw his arms around him, feeling the now familiar electrical hum from inside. It was all just life sustaining processes, essentially the same as what was happening inside Peter. There were, strictly speaking, not as many differences as people thought between the two of them as people wanted to think. Only Arthur would never age. But then, he would probably be far too nice to mind Peter ageing for the both of them. Arthur held him back, stroking a hand over his shoulders. He was so good. Peter didn’t deserve him, but he was finding it difficult to mind lately. After all, there was not as if there was any option for either of them.-Thirteen and a half months into Peter’s exile and his and Arthur’s life together, there was an alert. It was not entirely unexpected; things had been going very slightly wrong for a few weeks. Bots malfunctioning, doors getting stuck, or continuously opening and closing so that Peter had to treat them like a trap in a video game, jumping through to avoid getting crushed between them.The alert was a loud sort of a siren, followed by instructions to retreat to the cabins while security took care of the issue. The problem with this, of course, was that there was no security. Peter, who had been having breakfast, abandoned it and ran to get to Arthur.“Hey! Hey, uh,” he said, then paused, panting.While he had intended to get into running for his health, he had also given up after two days because it was a pain and he hated it. Arthur looked at him with concern.“Do you- Do you know what’s going on?”“I don’t. I don’t have access to security issues.”“Fuck.”“Although I do see that there has been an attempt to block off one section near the airlocks.”Oh. Oh fuck.“What’s that mean? Fucking aliens? Alien invasion?”“That is very unlikely. We have yet to discover evidence of any sapient life forms of non-Earth origins. Peter? What are you doing?”“Gonna go investigate,” Peter replied, hefting the solid wrench.Just in case.“Don’t, please.”“What? Someone’s got to, and there’s not exactly anyone else able to, is there?”“No,” Arthur admitted, “but I don’t want you to go alone. Can you please detach me so I can come?”Peter made a face.“That’s gonna take ages. Fuck.”“Please, Peter? I couldn’t take it if something were to happen to you and I never got to know.”Peter groaned, but nodded. That was a low blow. But on the bright side, a sign Arthur was still learning, even if he was now using his powers for manipulative evil. But Peter had to admit the idea of meeting hostile aliens or space vampires seemed a little less terrifying with Arthur by his side. Anyway, maybe the batteries had improved by being left alone for nine months. Peter did not know enough about electricity to know whether this made any sense.“Alright, yes, fine.”He vaulted over the bar, grabbed the tools which had been laying on a shelf for nearly a year now, since they had given up on bringing Arthur out anywhere. It had been equally long since Peter had done this last.“I’m a bit out of practice. Mind talking me through the process?”“Of course. Begin with loosening the three screws holding unit c34.5 in place. That’s the semi-circular one with the- yes the one you’re touching now.”Peter grinned, doing as instructed. He forgot sometimes that Arthur could feel his metal parts too, so long as they were connected. He darted in to press a kiss to the warm steel where a human might have kept their hip.“Peter! It is hardly the time for that sort of thing.”“Right. Yes. All business.”It took twenty minutes, but which time the alert had dampened to a muted thing, blending into the background of metal clanking. Peter lifted Arthur when he came loose, his arms wrapping around Peter’s neck for support, and carried him to the wheelchair.“Everything good?”“No parts are missing, and the power gauge suggests I should have at least five hours.”“Ooof. Less than last time. And that ran out in half the time, too.”“Yes,” admitted Arthur, “but that should still leave us two or three hours.”“Right. You’re right. Okay. Any more details?”“Not that I can access, no. But someone has turned the security cameras off.”Fuck. Dread trickled down Peter’s spine. Because if they had actually messed with the ship’s system, that meant they were actual people. Or, well, aliens. Or technologically adept space vampires? No. No, space vampires weren’t real, couldn’t be real.They jogged and wheeled through the open space towards the lifts. The airlocks were in a different section, and sure, yes, the intruders, whoever or whatever they were, had probably moved on from there by now. Still, where else were they meant to start?“Anything more?” Peter asked as they got closer to the airlocks.“Nothing. But my connection is weaker when wireless. There might be something I’m not accessing.”The alert had stopped abruptly mid chime a few minutes ago. Like someone had turned it off. Exactly like someone had turned it off. Peter was terrified. He tried not to let Arthur know, though. No reason for him to be more afraid. Could he be afraid? Well, concerned for Peter, certainly, if nothing else.They hesitated at the doors for a moment, and then Peter held his access bracelet up to the sensor, and the door slid open to reveal…“Nothing?”Arthur rolled in, following Peter. They both looked around, but there was nothing to see here, except. Except.“Hey, that space helmet used to be on the stand, right?”“Peter, I have never been in this room before.”“No, but- I know, but it was on the stand with the rest of the suit. All of them were. I remember because the last time I was in here I put it back. And it was weirdly spooky looking because when they’re all put together it looks like they could have people inside. So it was not sat on this table.”Arthur nodded.“Then they were here and have moved on, right?”“That would be the logical conclusion.”“Shit. Okay. Okay. No new info?”“No.”“Right. Let’s move on.”They searched the corridors of the ship methodically, but the place was enormous. Occasionally they would see a hint, some thing moved, a door left wedged open, and it would become clear that the intruders had been poking around. Peter wondered what they could possibly want until they saw the lift had been tampered with. The one that led to the hibernation pods.“Oh fuck.”“What?”“I think they’re messing with the other passengers. Shit.”“Then we go down?”“We do.”Peter shifted the wrench still clenched in his hand. It was okay. He had helped defeat Jerry, beat up vampires and survived into the twenty-third century. He could do this. They could do this. He stepped into the lift, waited for Arthur to follow, and pressed the button.
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They exited the lift, coming out into a corridor. For now, it was quiet. Peter reached down to grip Arthur’s hand for support, but given that he was in a wheelchair this was not conducive to further exploration. Reluctantly Peter let go. They followed the corridor along to the vast halls where the hibernation pods were stored. Where Peter had woken up. He shivered at the memory. The slow creeping dread as he had realised things were neither as they seemed nor as they should be. Back then he had been terrified he was alone. Now he was terrified he wasn’t.The pod halls were lit up bright, which was sign enough someone had been here. Not a motion sensor, but lights activated on entry. The glass of the sleeping passengers’ coffins gleamed. Arthur wheeled after Peter, waiting for the doors to close and then being quiet for a moment. Listening.“Hear anything?” Peter whispered.“Yes,” Arthur replied at a normal volume, clearly not having taken the hint.“What?” Peter whispered again, this time more pointedly.Arthur frowned for a minute, and then seemed to understand, because when he replied it was a barely audible whisper.“Two people talking.”“About what?”“Too far away.”“Does it sound like evil plotting kind of talking?”“I am not certain what you mean by that. There is laughter. A man and a woman judging by the depths of voice.”Peter motioned for Arthur to point out the direction in which the voices were coming from, and then started to creep in that direction, trying to make as little sound as he could. Unfortunately the wheels of the wheelchair were a bit squeaky, which ruined much of the stealth work he was putting in. If they weren’t killed he would have to fix that.After a minute, Peter could hear the voices too. After two minutes he could hear the cadence, enough to identify it as probably English. After two more he could see them. Two figures, bent over one of the pods, looking down at their sleeping victim within.“But why are they all asleep, though? It looked like someone’s been around the ship, yeah?” one of the voices said.“Oh, they’re nowhere near where they’re going according to the maps. Ninety years. Long way to a small, strange planet, if you ask me.”“But they’re from Earth?”“Yep. Good old fashioned home grown humans, ready to be exported. Well, this is early days still. No real contact with any alien life forms yet.”Laughter.“Oh yeah? I think twenty first century London’s had plenty of contact with a certain alien life form.”“Eeeh. That’s different. No, stop it. I- what was that?”The taller of the people whirled around, long flappy coat moving in the non-existent wind in a way Peter tried for years to achieve with his stage costume. A man. Well, presumably. Human man. Tall and thin and pale with brown hair and the questionable combination of a suit and converse trainers. Beside him a woman (again, presumably), blonde and pale and wearing too much mascara and clothes dated in a way Peter couldn’t exactly pinpoint.“Who the fuck are you?” Peter demanded, holding the wrench up like a club.Behind him the wheels of the wheelchair squeaked as Arthur came up to him. It was going to be challenging to intimidate them like this.“We’re friends. Uh. Friendly,” said the woman.“Oh yeah, very friendly,” added the man with an oddly familiar grin, “Just a brief inspection. Check the pods are functioning, completely routine,” the man continued, holding up a piece of paper which did seem to convincingly claim he was chief hibernation pod inspector.“That’s us,” the woman confirmed, “it all looks good. No one up and about, except- Well. You. Are you the ones who’ve been living on the ship?”She looked first at Peter, frowning briefly, then down to Arthur, clearly noticing his lack of legs.“Wha- Look, there’s no people on this ship,” Peter said, having lost some of his momentum, “there’s just me. Us. No one other than me is awake-”Unless they came from the other pods? Someone else had malfunctioned? But they didn’t look familiar, and Peter had spent a lot of time looking at the people in these pods.“Arthur, these two are definitely not on the passenger or crew lists, are they?”“No,” Arthur confirmed instantly.He too must have been thinking the same.“Oh,” said the strange man, “early model android! Very charming and retro.”“Hey,” Peter protested, “he’s not old!”“Have you been here long?” asked the woman, “all on your own?”She sounded sympathetic. Caring. It further threw Peter off his defensive balance.“A year or so. Look, why are you here? And how are you here?”The man scratched his neck and made an awkward sort of face.“Well. Your ship is failing. Give it a year or two, catastrophic breakdown of systems. Which really someone ought to take a look at. And I will.”“Our ship’s parked upstairs,” the woman said, “in a- what was it? The maintenance cupboard of the space suit storage?”The man nodded.“Your ship,” Peter said very slowly, “is parked in a cupboard?”“More of a tiny storage room,” the man said.“Right. Right, of course. That makes way more fucking sense.”He felt Arthur’s hand on his arm. A cautious suggestion to calm down, maybe. Whoever these people were, Peter was pretty sure they were neither evil aliens nor space vampires. Probably. He had gotten lazy about carrying around silver and crucifixes, and now he was regretting it. Although to be fair there was no real reason space vampires should be vulnerable to Earth Christianity. Maybe space catholics had a space jesus. Who was to say.“Look, it’s complicated, but I promise, we’re not here to hurt you or your android friend, alright? I’m the Doctor, this is Rose.”Rose smiled brightly at them, and though Peter was extremely suspicious of the Doctor (who gave a title and not a name? Or were they both doctors but he was being weirdly misogynist about it?) he couldn’t help but warm to Rose, just a bit. Arthur looked to Peter, but when he took no initiative introduced them.“I am Arthur, this is Peter.”“What,” asked Peter, “was that you were saying about catastrophic failures?”“Oh, it’s the system,” said the Doctor, “it was damaged in a collision you had, about thirteen Earth months back.”Earth months as opposed to what, wondered Peter, but it slotted into a rather low spot on his list of prioritised questions.“Wait, thirteen months?”“Would have been what woke you up I imagine, yeah. Unless it was on purpose?”“It was not.”“I thought not. Seems weird waking up ninety years early unless you have to. Downside to these old ships.”Old? There were many things wrong with the spaceship Avalon, but being old was definitely not one of them. It was very much her maiden voyage. You generally wanted that to be the case with these ships.“If you don’t mind me asking,” said Arthur, “you said your ship was docked, ah, inside ours. Where are you travelling from? Or when? It seems very unlikely interstellar travel technology has advanced sufficiently to allow you to catch up to us in the thirty-one years since we left Earth.”“Ooh, sharp one! We’re from- well, it’s complicated.”“I’m from 2006 London,” Rose offered.“Huh. Explains the outfit,” Peter said.“Hey!”“I’m from 2108. Fashions have moved on a bit. Well, no. From- What year is it? 2139?”He blinked, and frowned, and experienced a thought.“Hold on, what do you mean you’re from 2006?”The Doctor waved a hand dismissively.“Just timey-wimey nonsense. Don’t think too hard about it. 2108, huh? Good year to leave. The 2109 plague was pretty bad.”“The what?”“Actually,” the Doctor said, “let me just do a quick diagnostic scan, for safety.”He pointed a small device like a chunky pen with a blue laser dot at Peter, then squinted at a tiny display.“Oh that’s interesting.”“What,” demanded Peter through gritted teeth, feeling as if he had entirely lost the control of this confrontation, “is interesting?”“You’re not,” the Doctor replied, reaching into his long coat and plucking out a pair of little reading glasses, which he put on and squinted at Peter through, “entirely human.”“No,” said Peter, who felt rather as if his blood had suddenly been replaced with ice water, “no. Don’t.”“There’s an infection there, but it’s not a disease. Well, not a regular one, anyway. Fascinating!”“Doctor?” asked Rose.“Right. And also upsetting news to you, I can see that. Look, is there somewhere more comfortable we can talk? Don’t want to wake these guys up.”He grinned, and gestured to the pods. Peter wondered if he had finally gone insane from the isolation and had started hallucinating.-A little while later they were in Arthur’s bar. He had found it actively painful, Peter suspected, to be unable to offer them drinks, but Peter had refused to take a long enough break to put him back on his perch, and the Doctor had pointed at him with his little device for a moment, which he claimed had fully recharged Arthur’s batteries. Peter had shoved his makeshift bed out of the way, and they were sitting around one of the low tables.“Okay so. You’re a time travelling alien who just happens by some bizarre coincidence to look exactly like a human, she’s an actual human, and you guys what? Just fly around breaking into random unsuspecting people’s spaceships? Throughout time?”The Doctor made a face Peter recognised as specifically belonging to a person whose deep interest has been described incorrectly, but they are in polite company and are trying desperately to resist the urge to correct said description at length. Rose nodded.“Sort of, yeah. Not breaking in, though. The ship materialises. We don’t break anything.”“Okay. That’s insane. You realise that’s insane. But quite cool.”Rose shrugged and smiled. Peter liked her. He didn’t want to, but it was very hard to resist. The Doctor, however, was suitably annoying. And there was something weird about his face which Peter couldn’t quite put his finger on.“What do you do, then? When you break into strangers’ ships?”Peter wished he had a drink, but he didn’t want to offer the Doctor one, and felt it would be too rude to only make him for himself. Moreover he thought that wasn’t what Arthur would do, which was becoming to a certain degree important to his moral and ethical choices lately.“Oh, you know. Save the world, cause some trouble. Often at the same time,” the Doctor said.“And running. There’s so much running,” added Rose.Peter grimaced.“Sounds exhausting. How- save the world?”“You won’t believe how many alien invasions there were in England between 1963 and 2039,” the Doctor said with a shrug.“Feel like that would have been in the history books, no?”“Well, no. Because we stopped ‘em. Remember the ancient alien consciousness trapped in the telly in 1953? The Slitheen in London and Cardiff? No, you don’t, because we fixed it.”Peter turned to Arthur.“You got any record of any of this?”“No. But my databases do not constitute the entirety of human history and knowledge.”He sounded apologetic, and Peter leaned over and gave his hand a squeeze. When he looked up he saw Rose look away. 2006? Probably not big on human android relationships then. Briefly, he felt ashamed. Embarrassed. All those feelings that weren’t really his, but had been implanted in him by society. He shook his head. Unimportant.“So why are you here, then? On the Avalon? Not much world to save.”The Doctor shrugged.“The Tardis- that’s my ship, she brings us places she feels we need to go sometimes. I was aiming for Earth, actually, but she had other plans. And like I said. Your ship’s failing. I’ll sort that out for you. Can help put you back to sleep if you like, too? I’m assuming you couldn’t work out how. And then you can wake up when you’re supposed to. Brave new world to explore, and all that.”“Doctor,” Rose said quietly, “I don’t think that…”“No. I’m not leaving Arthur.”The Doctor made a noise of consideration.“Well, he can sleep too, yeah?”“He can,” Peter said, “and then when he wakes up he belongs to the Homestead company again. Then he’s locked behind that bar forever. No choice. No pay. No rights. Nope. I would actually rather live out my life on this stupid spaceship alone with him, and then at least there’ll be a couple of decades of-”Arthur laid a hand on his arm.“It’s alright, Peter. I know how devastated you were to wake up. I will be fine. You can have a life, the life you planned on having.”“Don’t want it. Not without you.”“Doctor,” Rose said, giving the alien man a very significant look, “maybe we can… you know. Help?”“I suppose we could, yeah. We could… drop you somewhere else? Some time else? Back on Earth when you left?”Peter shook his head.“Arthur can’t leave. His power supply’s connected to the ship.”“Ah, nothing a little tinkering can’t fix,” the Doctor said. Can get you some better wheels too, if you like?”“That would certainly be very convenient,” Arthur said, glancing at Peter.“That would be- yeah. We’d like that.”The Doctor clapped his hands, looking like he was itching to get back on his feet, back to work.“Right, then. When or where would you like to go?”“Uh… Somewhere- Sometime? You can go both ways in time, right?”The Doctor nodded.“Yep.”“Somewhere when androids have rights, then. And citizenship and are allowed to be and treated like people, like equals.”He glanced at Arthur, who nodded, and then at Rose, who looked actively touched.“Right then,” said the Doctor, “let’s get on with it.”
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“Looks nice, doesn’t it?”Peter and Rose were at the observation platform, looking out into the sparkling stars. The Doctor had whisked Arthur away to do some technological upgrades, and Peter was trying not to be anxious about that strange man somehow doing something to damage him.“It’s beautiful.”“Guess you’ve seen more, though, travelling with that guy.”“That doesn’t make it any less beautiful,” Rose said.Ostensibly Peter was showing her around, but he was too anxious to put his usual showmanship into it. Besides, learning about actual sapient alien life forms that looked exactly like humans was a lot to take in, and he was struggling with it. He wanted a drink.“How long have you two been… travelling?”Rose laughed.“I don’t actually know. That’s the thing with time travel, makes it harder to keep track of time. But a while, now. He used to be… different.”“Different?”Rose sat down at the edge of the platform, legs dangling.“He used to have a different face, when I met him. He used to look a lot less like you.”Peter frowned.“Like me? What do you mean?”“You can’t see it?”“What, all tall skinny white guys with brown hair look the same, is that what you’re saying?”“You two have basically the same face. Only your hair’s longer and you wear more eyeliner.”Peter, personally, did not feel like Rose had any moral high ground when it came to amounts of eye makeup. He also really couldn’t see the similarity.“Don’t see it. I’m way hotter.”Rose looked at him, and threw her head back and laughed, and somehow it wasn’t insulting. Which to be fair, it was mostly a joke. Peter couldn’t get behind those sideburns, though. A bit too intense.“It is kind of nice here,” Rose said a little later, as they were walking through the Concourse, “like a fancy hotel. Not the worst place to be stuck.”“Gets old after the first week or so,” Peter said, “especially when you’re alone. It’s still a prison even if the bed is comfortable and the food decent.”Rose gave him a look.“Right, yes, fine. It’s significantly nicer than a prison, it’s like putting royals in house arrest or whatever. But being completely alone is awful, you know? Arthur is great, and without him I would have gone insane in less than a week, but it’s not good to put everything on one person. Especially one who hasn’t really ever met anyone else. Literally hasn’t met anyone else than me, not until today.”“How long have you two been… together?”“About nine months, now? From fairly early on. And- look, if you have any opinions on that, please remember you’re fucking an alien. At least Arthur is from Earth.”“What? We’re not-”Peter raised an eyebrow at her.“Me and him, we’re…”“Together but not fucking yet?”He felt a little bad for clearly making her uncomfortable, but in addition to being half his age she was fully eighty years older than him, which he thought ought to even things out.“I don’t know if it’s a yet, but he’s… yeah.”“Yeah,” Peter said, “I know how you feel. Suspect it’s a, uh, similar situation to my own in that sense. Although for us it’s more, err, logistical. Or, well, that as well. I’ve felt weird bringing it up with Arthur because, I mean. My guy’s an android. Doesn’t really exist beyond the waistline. Don’t know if he’s capable of those sorts of feelings. Neither of us know, I mean.”“Do you ever wish it was different? That he was, I don’t know, human?”“Nah. I mean, do I wish we had met in a situation that was less horrifically traumatising for me? Yes. Do I wish he wasn’t bound by the limits of programming put into him by the company? Sure. But I don’t want him to be different. Wouldn’t be the same person, then. I mean, obviously. Besides, I think I might be a better person now than I was when I went into the hibernation pod.”“Oh yeah?”“Thirteen months largely alone with your thoughts leads to an amount of self insight I wouldn’t wish on my- actually no, I would wish that on Jerry.”Rose chose not to ask.“I didn’t spend all that much time thinking about android rights before I woke up. I thought, well, you know that’s their battle to fight, but I never considered that they were made to not be able to do that, you know? Sometimes groups of people are just unable to advocate for themselves, I guess.”“Like the Ood,” Rose said with a nod.“The what?”“Humans, in the future, they find and- and I guess breed these aliens, called the Ood. As slaves. It’s awful.”Peter grimaced. A dark view of the future of humanity.“People are very invested in finding new genres of people that can be defined as not people enough to be exploited and enslaved. Guess that doesn’t change, only gradually shift. Redefine who gets to not count.”“I guess.”-“Oh, you look good!”Arthur took a step closer. The first step Peter had ever seen him take. It was a little unsteady, but probably he needed a little time to get his sea legs. Space legs? Robot legs. They had sort of an industrial look through the hip and thigh, attached by a central cylinder where Arthur’s crotch wasn’t. They ended in curved blades, like those leg prostheses used for running. The whole thing was coated in an almost velvety black silicone, and Peter wondered exactly how many touch sensors were in them.“Do they feel good?” he asked, taking a few steps closer only to realise that with his new legs, Arthur had gained just enough height to be a centimetre or two taller than Peter.“They feel perfectly fine. I am still getting used to them.”“Thank you,” Peter said, turning to the Doctor, “thank you so much!”“Happy to help. Nice to be able to do so without risking death for once. Relaxing. Right! I’ll go fix the ship. Then, I suggest you gather whatever stuff you want to bring.”-Arthur sat on the sofa across from Rose. Actually sat. It was very strange being able to move around like this. On legs! It felt very freeing, and just a little overwhelming. Sitting felt a little more familiar, although of course he had never had legs to do so with before. And now it seemed like he and Peter would get to leave the ship. He felt a little less certain about this. He wasn’t made to leave this ship; he was a part of it. But it was what Peter wanted, and that was the important thing. Arthur only hoped that Peter would not see, in a new place, that there were so many better options for him for a partner than Arthur. Of course, if he chose to do so that was his right. He would claim, Arthur felt sure, that there was no one for him other than Arthur, but being the only two people on a ship for the rest of his life was very different from being on an actual world.“So,” Rose said, sipping the drink Arthur had insisted on making her, “you see it too, right?”“See what?”“That Peter and the Doctor look so much like each other?”Arthur had seen that. Although personally he still thought Peter was the better looking of the two.“My facial recognition software has calculated that unless they are monozygotic twins, which, being two different species is extremely unlikely, the chances of these features developing independently is incredibly unlikely.”“Yes,” he clarified, seeing Rose’s look.“Good face, though,” she said.“It is. And they appear to share an enthusiasm for speaking, as well.”“Talk your head off about what he was doing, did he? He does that. You just have to shut him up if it gets too much.”“I would never presume to. And his description of the technology of his people was very interesting. Far beyond anything Earth has even the base knowledge to understand at the present time.”“I can imagine.. Look. Do you mind if I ask you something?”“Of course not.”“You and Peter, how does that work?”“I am not certain what you mean?”“I mean, you’re a machine, right? I don’t say that to mean you’re not a person, obviously, but you are.”“That is correct. But I have an artificial intelligence. I am capable of learning and growing, and thanks to Peter’s efforts I have.”“But how much do you have like.. Free will?”“I have certain hard behavioural blocks. I am incapable of purposely harming a human. I do not feel that this is a problem.”Rose bit her lip, and stared into a space for a moment.“But it’s just you and him on this ship, right?”“That’s right, yes. Are you attempting to ask whether I am capable of consent in the relationship?”“Sort of.”“Well, if it can reassure you in any way, Peter has also been very concerned with this. I believed he agonised over it for quite some time. He has been far more concerned with my rights and legal status and well being than I have been.”“Oh. Uhm. That’s good?”“It i-”“Hey guys,” Peter said, slightly breathless as he jogged into the bar, a heavy bag slung across his shoulder, “you two shit talking me?”He dumped the bag on the floor and slid into the seat next to Arthur, close enough that Arthur felt Peter’s thigh press against his new leg. Peter ran a finger along the matte black silicone, and Arthur marvelled at how much sensory detail he could feel. The Doctor and he had not discussed this, but the alien seemed to have intuited that it would be appreciated anyway.“Nah. Just making sure he is as into you as the other way around.”“Yeah? And?”Rose tilted her head back and forth as if considering, then grinned.“I think it’s about equal.”Peter smiled, resting a hand possessively around Arthur’s new thigh. Arthur found he quite liked that. He was grateful his new limbs seemed to be appreciated.“I’d hope so.”-“It’s uh. It’s bigger.”“Yes,” the Doctor said with the thin veneer of patience of someone who had observed the exact same reaction very often, and was getting a little tired of it, “on the inside, yes. Transdimensional. Now get in.”Peter stepped out of the ship, taking in the retro police box design. It shouldn’t fit four people, nevermind a massive control room which didn’t even seem to be the end of it. Several doors led to, presumably, even more ship. Arthur looked out, and Peter shook his head and got back into the ship. The door slammed shut behind him. Slammed shut on his old life.“So,” he said, “where are we going? And when?”“New Earth. The year Five billion two hundred,” said the Doctor, as if that was a reasonable thing to say.“New Earth?” asked Rose, “hang on, five billion- is that before or after?”“After. Of course after. Perfectly safe there now, promise.”“I’m sorry, why would it not be safe?” Peter demanded.“There was some… questionable medical research going on. If you see the cat nurses just make sure you’re up to date on your vaccines.”“What?”“I’ll explain later,” Rose promised.New Earth. Seemed a bit far in the future to go just to essentially go to Earth. But then, regular Earth did not permit any kind of domesticated animals to work as health care providers, so some things must have change in the intervening five billion years. God. Five billion. That was just… incomprehensibly long. How alien would this society be? How different? How would he manage to fit in? He had no relevant skills, no money any more. Was this a mistake? Now with Arthur’s upgrades they could have a life here, on the Avalon. A limited one, sure, but one without worries about survival. But no. No, they had to take this chance.“All right,” said the Doctor, “find something to hold on to.”Peter reflexively grabbed Arthur’s hand, and just in time, also a railing, as the ship began to rock and move violently, the glowing column in the centre of the console lighting up. This was it. They were free.
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Peter stepped out onto a new planet. This had always been the plan, but here he was, nearly five billion years in the future, and on an entirely different planet than he had been prepared for. In another galaxy, even, although the magnitude of that was as strange and abstracted as the enormity of the time they had travelled.“What do you think?”He looked around. They were stood in a wet and grimy street, and impossibly tall skyscrapers rose on either side. Rubbish was piled at the mouth of an alley, and graffiti moved across the walls, through means Peter did not understand. Humans, however, had not changed much he thought, as he watched a poorly drawn and anatomically improbable set of male genitalia repeatedly thrust into what he thought might be a letter in an alphabet he could not understand.“I mean. It’s not the inside of the Avalon. I can see actual sky, so that’s a positive. Looks a bit shit, though, not gonna lie.”Arthur stepped out behind him.There was a faint mechanical hissing to the movement of his legs, though his actual steps were nearly inaudible. He took Peter’s hand in his own.“I’ve never been outside before,” he said, looking around, “it’s very… open.”Peter squeezed his hand.“It is. Big world out here, yeah? We’ll figure it out.”The door to the funny telephone box ship closed behind them.“New Earth,” the Doctor announced, “New New York.”“Times fifteen, yeah?” Rose said, “first proper date with this new face he took me here. Over a hundred years ago local time, though, right?”“Yep,” agreed the Doctor, stepping past Peter and Arthur, hands stuck in the pockets of his ridiculous pinstripe suit, “you humans do love a classic.”Peter hesitated.“Is there a New Vegas here as well? New Regular York? New London? Is it like a terraformed to look exactly like the original sort of thing?”“A copy? Nah. No one really remembers the originals, now. This is a new version of the fourteenth New York, which was on a different planet. Not a New Earth. Might have been a space station, actually? Can’t quite remember. Getting old.”“What? Not even a thousand yet, are you?” Rose asked.Her smile was so wide, how much she loved the apparently absurdly old alien guy so terribly visible. Peter wasn’t sure the Doctor could tell, though he looked at her in much the same way. He wondered whether that was how he looked himself, gazing lovingly at Arthur.“So, uh. We’re just here now, I guess,” Peter said.He wasn’t sure how you began from scratch on a new planet, in a distant future, with nothing.“Oh, lots to do here,” the Doctor said, “brave new world! Brimming with possibilities! And, as requested, full rights for androids. And there’s… sort of a democracy. I believe the uprising some years ago helped. I think there was one, anyway.”“Right. Good. Do people speak… English?”“Ah,” said the Doctor, “no.”“Perhaps I can download language files for the most common local languages?” Arthur suggested.The Doctor whirled, long coat flapping in the still, humid air.“Yes! Smart man. Droid. Whichever you prefer. I can fix that for you now, if you like?”Arthur nodded, and the Doctor grinned, pointing his little device at Arthur’s torso for a moment until it beeped. Arthur blinked.“Oh. That tickled.”Rose looked at Peter with an amused by sympathetic look. He’s just like this, the look seemed to say. Not quite apologising for the Doctor, but clarifying, maybe, that it was not anything personal.“What about money?” Peter asked, “or are social and immigration services surprisingly good?”“Oh, you humans are so obsessed with money,” the Doctor said, running a hand through his short messy hair and looking around.He spotted what appeared to be some sort of vending machine built into the wall, heading over to it. Peter and the others followed.“Greetings non-citizen,” said the vending machine, “how may I assist you today?”“Thought you said they didn’t speak English,” Peter said.“Oh,” said Rose, “no. He doesn’t either, you know. It’s the Tardis. The ship. She sort of… gets in your brain and translates.”“What?”“Oh,” said Arthur, “I thought you knew.”“You knew?” Peter demanded.“Doesn’t work on machines,” the Doctor said, “so the Tardis gave Arthur a free update on late Gallifreyan.”“Oh,” Peter said, “huh. Why didn’t you say?”“There has not really been time,” Arthur said.Which was fair enough. There hadn’t been a lot of time. Everything had happened very quickly. Faced with this new reality Peter wondered if he had made the right choice. It seemed a bit terrible here, but then most places were. The ones that were interesting, anyway.“Hah,” the Doctor said, grabbing a small device the approximate size and shape of a lighter, and handed it to Peter.“Money,” he explained, “credits. Enough to get you started, I think. Honestly can’t really remember how the currency in this time works, but it should be enough to not need to worry until you get your bearings a bit.”“Thank you,” Peter said, choosing not to ask whether the Doctor had used his own money or stolen from the bank. He hoped for the latter.“Doctor, since I could still call mum from the year two billion, if I give Peter my number he can call me, right? In case there is anything? You know, further cat take overs?”The Doctor nodded, looking at a readout on his little device, taking out his glasses and squinting at it again, then tapping it lightly.“Brilliant. Go on then, what’s your number?”“My number,” Peter said.“Your mobile number.”“I don’t have a mobile.”“How do you not have a mobile?”“First of all, bit antiquated by my time. Secondly, I was on a hundred and twenty year trip, you think I’m gonna pay for phone plan for over a century while asleep?”“Oh. Right. Fair point. Doctor?”“Yeah, alright,” the Doctor said, “you’ve got the key still.”She smiled at him, then at Peter, and jogged over to the Tardis, disappearing within. Peter turned to Arthur.“How are you feeling? Still overwhelmed?”“A little,” Arthur admitted, “but I have connected to the local network and have been downloading as much basic information about this city and planet as I can.”“Oh.”That was why he had been quiet, then. It was baffling the sort of thing Arthur was capable of, and Peter would undoubtedly be lost here without him. He leaned in to kiss Arthur’s cheek.“Learned anything fun?”“I am looking at places to rent. And job listings. And local support groups for androids recently freed from restrictive programing. And citizen application procedures. And-”“Okay okay, I get it babe, your processors can outperform my simple human brain a hundred times over.”Arthur looked at him, concern in his eyes.“I did not intend to offend.”“I know, I’m joking. Just sounds like a lot.”“I believe studies have suggested humans can keep between five and nine separate concepts in active working memory at a time.”“Sure,” agreed Peter, who privately thought this sounded optimistic, “but not processes quite that complicated. You’re a bit better than me at that. Well, probably at most things, let's be real.”“Got one!” Rose called, emerging from the blue box again.“Here.”Peter received some sort of strange antique device. It was roughly oval, with a small chunky antenna sticking up from the left side, and seemed hinged at the top. He thumbed it, and it opened to show a tiny screen and a strange miniature keyboard with actual physical buttons. On the outside was a sort of low quality baby pink decal sticker with white butterflies.“These just came out in my time,” Rose explained.“How… quaint. Thanks. And this thing texts?”“Yes! It texts, and I saved my number in there. Code’s 2006.”“Code? It doesn’t read bio signals?”“Okay, future boy, be like that.”“Right” the Doctor said, “I think we’ll be off, then. Can’t hang about, adventures to have and worlds to save.”“Right. Thanks for- for everything. Both of you.”The Doctor smiled, hands firmly shoved in his pockets, and Rose threw her arms around Peter and hugged him. He wasn’t entirely used to people he had known less than a day hugging him, not since his performer days anyway, but he hugged her back. She did the same to Arthur, planting a tiny kiss on his cheek. It was very sweet.“Text me, yeah? Let me know you’re getting settled in?”“Will do. You two try not to die, yeah?”“Oh, we’ll be alright. Always are.”-They found a small apartment together. Just a studio, really, on the thirty-fifth floor of a building near the city centre. It had a tiny kitchenette, a big bed, a tiny bathroom and a small office space. The view mostly just showed the other massive building across the street, but fuck it was nice to have their own place.Arthur got a job bartending, at an old timey Earth themed bar, which was essentially what he had done on the Avalon, too. His access to real authentic retro drink recipes was apparently a sought after skill in the future. Peter struggled a bit. Arthur was very patiently helping him learn the language, but it was taking time. He knew enough to get by talking to the neighbours, and he often spent Arthur’s shifts in his bar, making the most of Arthur’s employee discount and using the opportunity to immerse himself in the language and culture. He got a little bit of credit from locals for his realistic descriptions of Old New York (he never specified it was the original. Time travel wasn’t really a thing yet, apparently), but it was slow.Living with Arthur, though, was so good. Exploring the city together on Arthur’s time off, being able to fall asleep every night in his arms (the bed had wireless charging, so any device left on it, including android boyfriends, data pads and very antique phones, would charge very efficiently.)Eventually, they started to make friends. Arthur went to his group talking with other androids, and it seemed to be good for him. He set firmer boundaries, and was slightly less eager to please. Better at setting goals for himself just because he wanted to. Peter got to know the neighbour next door, who was in fact one of the cats Rose had warned him about. She seemed very nice, though, and was very patient with Peter’s frequent if accidental offensive comments. You did not, apparently, say who’s a good little kitty-cat to children of this species, no matter how much they were completely indistinguishable from regular kittens.Life on New Earth was a lot like life on Old Earth, it turned out. People continued to be people even if more of them were androids or anthropomorphic cats or even stranger aliens. Peter got a job, eventually, and it kind of sucked, but most jobs did a bit no matter where or when you were. And he had Arthur, who continued to be the most lovely and perfect person Peter had ever met. Arthur confided, a few months in, that he had worried that Peter would change his mind about him, now he had options. Peter found the idea as absurd as it was heartbreaking. He never could. Arthur was so kind, so bright, so lovely. Peter could never leave him. He never did.