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entropywritez · 1 year

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An android in an overgrown apocalypse picks up a terrarium and ponders about it for a while.

I wrote this in 2022 and haven’t done anything significant with it since, but I figured I’d slap it here.

No significant warnings I can think of to apply here, but it does talk about humanity as a general theme. WORDCOUNT - 4.7k

The android sighed internally, turning over a moldy desk. Today’s building, an office building, had long since been raided of everything useful, down to the last paperclip. Legs of wheelchairs were piled up in one corner, and the remnants of a fort built out of desks creaked ominously as the wind blew through them. Grass poked out determinedly between lines of carpet, swaying in the breeze, and the scent of must and long-expired air freshener hung heavily in the air. The android turned over another rotten office desk, more respecting the supply combing ritual than expecting to find anything. Something clinked dully inside a side drawer as it fell to the side. Crack, one three-fingered hand shot through the damp wood and gripped the object. No respect was afforded to useless objects. The android withdrew the object, shaking splinters out of its joints, and scanned the thing.

No results- try again, or change your search. The android tried again. No results- try again, or change your search. The android scanned the glass. No results- try again, or change your search. The android scanned the odd plant life inside. No results- YES, YES, TRY AGAIN OR CHANGE MY SEARCH. If I had a cup of water for every time I’ve read that message, I’d be richer than… well, everyone, I suppose. The android thought frustratedly.

Still, the object interested the android. It was a rounded glass bottle, with pebbles, dirt, and short, tangled plants arranged in neat little layers. It was no larger than the broken “soda” cans the android scavenged for and recycled. A crumbling cork was shoved into the opening, and a loop of leather cord was wrapped just under the rim and tied in a tight bow. Years of being left in the sun had left the cord sun bleached and molded into itself. The android shook its head, dumbfounded. Who would put plants like these in a bottle? Sunlight outlined the side of the glass in one golden ray of light. The android’s eye shutters dilated.

The odd glass bottle clinked and tinked inside the android’s back against its hip as it walked into the sun. Another building to cross out on the faded map on the wall at home. Another building, empty. The sun was lower in the sky now, turning the clouds shades of pink and orange. Wind blew this way and that. It would rain the next day. Good. Bits of asphalt crumbled under the android’s feet as it walked; one bowed leg in front the other. The city was so quiet you could hear your motors whine and your circuits breathe. It was. Two human children passed by, followed by an old human and a just-barely-adult. The android waved shyly, imitating the gesture Moss demonstrated every evening when it returned home. The children waved back with a shrill squeal of delight. The old human smiled at the android. The teenager glared, shoving the children along. Understandably, of course. The android thought, hurrying on by, further into the sun. Towering skeletons of skyscrapers turned into crumbling houses. Unlike the main city, these were more densely populated with humans. Fewer androids resided there, so they felt safer. The android turned its head down to the concrete roads and ran through, each step a smooth, perfectly engineered word in a synthetic song. Pastel colored houses flew by, along with the waving children inside them. If the android hadn’t stayed so late, it would have considered playing with them. Maybe tomorrow, it sighed, waving back. The same excuse as always. Soon the suburbs turned into scattered bungalows, and the crumbling concrete roads led into gravel, slowly being reclaimed by the forest floor. A little light blinked somewhere in the android’s internal wires: 50% power left in its battery. Already? I charged it just last month…

Only a sliver of the sun remained on its horizon by the time the android returned to its home. The forest around Moss’s old, dilapidated, lab. Moss themself, a lanky teenager in their customary slightly-too-big worn out cargo pants and slightly-too-small undershirt, stood expectantly in the vegetable patch out in front. A basket--- the first of many that Moss had made over the years, hung over their arm. It contained the dark outline of some spring vegetables. “How’d it go?” They asked. No Greeting. The android shook its faceless head. “Nothing again?” Moss sighed and turned around, gesturing for the android to follow them inside. Despite having been there for a solid ten years with no professional maintenance, the lab was still in surprisingly good shape. Fans blew on the two as they walked into the house, both blowing off any dust and bugs that may have been stuck on and cooling off the android’s plates, warm from the sun. Light panels turned on as the android hung its satchel on a hook right by the door and tread into the sanitation station. Granted, the sanitation station was meant for the user---probably a scientist--- to put a cart full of dirty equipment, close the door, wait for a ridiculous three minutes, and retrieve some perfectly sanitized and sterile beakers, tiny tweezers, et cetera. However, after many accidental sprays in the face from unruly hoses (and even more words that shall not be repeated), Moss managed to rig up a button inside the station for the android to press after its daily outings. Never know what one could accidentally pick up in the city, right? The android counted the 180 seconds it took for it to be sterilized, and thought about the odd little bottle it found. There are many questions for one who has just found an unidentified object. What is it for?, for example. Or, if it’s dirty or outdated enough, how old is it? But the android asked one agonizing why. Why would you want to bottle up something so mundane? An obnoxious ding! sounded from inside the station somewhere. The android left the little room, steaming a little at the shoulders. Moss was already in the kitchen. Something that smelled of roots and herbs was already boiling on the stove--- solar, of course, they weren’t animals. Moss was slicing some of the bread they had made a few days prior with an only mildly threatening knife, which is not to be confused with a very threatening knife. Those are more often shoved into something you have more emotional attachment to than a slightly stale half loaf of bread.

Neither android nor human spoke as Moss cooked. If you have nothing to say, don’t say anything. The sun had fully set, now, and the faint tap-tap-tap of the sprinkles before rainfall made pleasant white noise.

“See any people today?” Moss asked, sitting on a counter stool with a bowl of carrot-sage-cauliflower soup balanced on one knee and a hunk of bread on the other. The android nodded. “Any kids?” The android nodded again, more vigorously. Moss grinned. “Cool. Kids are good to have.” They brushed a stray chunk of brown, unwashed hair from their eyes and continued attending to their soup. As you may understand, conversations are rather hard to maintain when one of you can’t communicate outside of gestures, and the other prefers not to talk unless there’s something important to say. In fact, the lab was often rather quiet. It wasn’t an uneasy silence, waiting for the other to acknowledge something rather urgent, nor was it a tense silence, where the both of you have agreed not to talk as to keep an argument resolved. It was a comfortable silence, in which both parties simply enjoyed the other’s company. Moss furrowed their eyebrows together. “Any idea how the lady down south with the chickens is doing?” The android nodded.

“Is she alright? Or at least her chickens?” The android held up one finger for the lady and nodded yes, and a two and a yes for the chickens. “Good. I may go down there tomorrow to get a few. Protein is important.” The android didn’t respond. Both knew that was an objective fact. “Plus, with chickens you can get their eggs, the meat, the bones for stock, and I can use the feathers for more writey-thingies. Pens, probably, but more likely a quill. The android thought. It wished once again it could correct Moss. Moss sipped on their soup again thoughtfully. “You sure you didn’t find anything useful?” The android shook its head. “Dang. How about things that aren’t useful?” Oh! If an android could move excitedly, this one did. It retrieved its bag and pulled out the odd bottle, holding it out for Moss like a small child might show another child a cool bug. Moss’s face lit up. “Interesting! What is it?” The android shrugged. No clue. “Couldn’t even scan it?” Not at all, the archives are frustratingly bare, the android shook its head and held out its arms exasperatedly. “Dude, again?” Moss laughed, “Jeez, you can barely scan anything.” Exactly! Every night, once Moss had gone to bed, the android would have the house to itself, provided it didn’t wake the human. This wasn’t a difficult task; the lab’s bedroom was soundproofed well enough that nightly shenanigans went unnoticed. It could pretend to sleep too, but there was no use to that when you aren’t a sleep-needing creature.

Every night, the android stood in the middle of the living room and decided what it would spend the next 7-12 hours doing. There was laundry to be done, dings in tables to be repaired, rain barrels to be emptied… And the bottle. It’s decided, the android thought, much like every night, grabbing it from the counter and inspecting the bookshelf. Any and all machinery books were almost assuredly out. So were the user manuals for the assorted pieces of equipment in the lab. Cookbooks, household-tips-and-tricks-books, comic books deprived from a final update… There were only two books left; a book on cheap DIY gardening, and another book about something the android’s archive yet again couldn’t identify. The android pulled out the botany book and started skimming the pages. It was well worn, bound more like a magazine than a true book. The android turned the pages as gently as its motors would allow, careful not to let the paper crumble in its fingers. Moss would have gotten upset if any more paper had fallen apart. Tomatoes, basil, mint, mint removal, de-lawning your lawn, this is all outside information. The android shook its head and re-shelved the book. Maybe the mystery book would have something. Off the top of its head, the android couldn’t recognize the plants shown. All that was there were the common name of the unknown plants and information on care.

No results- try again, or change- goodness! This is practically useless, I can’t read anything in here. The android huffed internally. There wasn’t enough information to add new entries into its archive, either. Wind howled outside, throwing sheets of rain against the windows. No respect afforded to useless objects, the android thought, returning the book to its place on the shelf. It would consult with Moss about the book in the morning, whenever that would come. A light blinked again in the android’s side view. 50% power. “Mmmh…” Moss muttered, apparently in the doorway. The android spun around, rapidly changing from confused to concerned to an acknowledgement of mundanity. Moss was sleepwalking again. They stood stock-still and stared at something unseen in the living room, lips moving wordlessly. It would have been unnerving, if the android felt such an emotion.

The android pondered why Moss had been sleepwalking more as of late as it guided Moss to the bathroom. One would think that sixteen years would be a bit old for sleepwalking, but when they were properly conscious Moss asserted it wasn’t uncommon in humans. The android could not say otherwise.

It was always odd, watching Moss sleepwalk. Their face was so devoid of thought that it was easy to believe Moss has never been so confident in their faux-intelligence.

Once Moss was back in bed and the door was shut tight, the android went back to the bookshelf. It frowned internally at the spines. Surely there was something else, right? “Hey, any idea what this thing is?” Moss held out the odd bottle to the fifth mall settler in twenty minutes. For the fifth time, the human shrugged. For the fifth time, the android followed Moss as they walked away to the next person. “Thanks anyway!” They said for the fifth time, frustratingly cheerful. If the android could speak, it would probably have yelled something less-than-corporate-setting-appropriate by now. So many humans here, and none of them know what this thing is? The android straightened its bag strap for the umpteenth time and focused on each step, one after another. The mall settlement was unusually active for a group of humans. Humans bustled about, carrying water and meat and children and things the android couldn’t quite scan. The android looked down at the crumbling tile, waving to a child no more than five as it walked by. Rather than waving back, the kid ran in the other direction. Moss kept an iron grip on the side of their pants as they asked the sixth person about the terrarium. This human was on the much older side, with suntanned skin and intimidatingly clear eyes.

They took one look at the bottle and grinned. “Ah, that’s a terrarium! Y’put dirt n’ moss n’ all that, keep the bottle shut and it’ll live practically forever.” The android frantically made a new entry in its archive. The old human handed the bot---, no, terrarium back to Moss.

“Is there anything I’ll need to do to maintain it?” Moss asked, shoving the terrarium into a side pocket in their pants. “Not much; jes’ water it if it looks dry n’ trim it if it looks overgrown.” The android opened a care tab. If the android compiled a list of the times it wished it could talk, this would be at the top.. Why? The android screamed within its circuitry. Why would you want to bottle moss?

As many of you know, light from the sun travels thousands of miles through space before it reaches earth. This fact made it all the more frustrating to the android that Moss managed to hold up the terrarium exactly so the sun reflected into the android’s eyes. “Where do you think I should put this?” Moss asked--- rhetorically, of course. On the windowsill, in the sun. Plants like sun. “One of the shelves might work. Moss grows in dark places, right?” I can’t confirm nor deny.

Moss walked stiff-legged, like a toy soldier. When the discs scattered around the lab still worked, Moss watched an odd movie about a toy soldier coming to life over and over. The android couldn’t quite understand the appeal, but it saw no harm in it. Years later, Moss still referenced that movie just when it had left both their and the android’s thoughts. The android was grateful to reach the forest just outside their lab. Anything was better than the expansive silence of the suburbs. Hidden in the trees, cicadas sang their buzzy end-of-summer song, punctuated with the crunches of their dead brethren under the android’s feet. Moss stepped carefully around them.

You’re slowing us down, the android thought bitterly. It made no gesture.

Moss held the terrarium in both hands the entire walk home. By the time the pair had reached their home, the terrarium’s glass had two overlapping hand shaped prints on either side.

As the android entered the dark lab again, it couldn’t help but wonder why its hands did not make the same prints when it gripped the bottle. “Any day now I’ll get this thing fixed, and you and I can go wherever we want,” Moss muttered, cursing as their wrench fell on their face again. The android watched from a few feet away as the human worked under the solar car. It sighed internally and nodded. On one of the few remaining computers left in the lab--- a clunky old thing--- blared music from its perch on the workbench. Moss sung along under their breath, mumbling every other word. “After this---” Moss gave the bolt one last triumphant twist and wriggled themself out from under the car, “all I’ll have to do is replace the charging panels, find some of that one-way paint, paint the thing, fix the trunk lock, find the keys…” Moss went on, counting their ever-lengthening to-do list on their fingers. They sighed and leaned their head against the side of the door, grinning weakly. “But that’s only, what, nine things? Only four more until five things.” The android nodded. “Besides, it’s not like anyone’s waiting for me,” Moss added bitterly. ...I suppose I don’t count, then. Moss straightened in one swoop, leaning back to crack their spine back into place. “Well! Dinner?” The android turned to head back inside. “What are you thinking? Rehydrated chicken, veggies, fish, what?” The android did not reply. Moss trotted up next to the android and looked expectantly at it. Both stopped walking and stared at each other, the android much more confused than its human. Neither said anything. Moss shrugged. “Eh, I’ll just do the chicken. I don’t feel like going out to fish, anyway.”

It was about eleven in the evening, and Moss still refused to leave one of the lab rooms. They kept the door locked and the glass frosted. The android paced around the house impatiently. Any and all housework that it normally would have done to keep itself busy had been finished hours ago. Faintly, something crackled, a hot blue light flickering from somewhere in the lab room.

“What in the frick frack snick snack…” Moss muttered. The android finally knocked, three even, impatient metallic taps with one knuckle. “Coming!” There was some banging and the sound of falling parts, then the minute beep of the lock as Moss slid the door open on its rails. “What’s up?” They kept their body in between the door and its frame, so the android couldn’t look past them. The android gestured vaguely at the room behind Moss. “It’s a secret,” Moss said, smirking. “I’ll show you when it’s finished, though.”

They pushed past, carefully shutting the door so not to let the android see.

Moss pointed in between the android’s cameras. “Don’t go peeking, either! It’s a surprise.” The android nodded, disappointed.

Once twilight had faded and Moss had retired to their bedroom, the android returned to the lab room. When it tried the door, it was surprisingly unlocked. The android winced as the sliding door scratched on its rails, glancing toward Moss’s room before stepping in. Light from the hallway cast an eerie shadow against the equipment in the lab room. I’m not afraid, though, The android assured itself, fear is only a human emotion. Every whirr of the android’s motors, every soft squeak of rubber was its own cacophony. Nothing about the lab room seemed different compared to when the android had last visited. Granted, the android did not keep accurate memory of how the lab room was arranged. It stepped carefully between tables and around stray pieces of twisted metal, but with a microphone-shattering CRASH, the android tripped on something huge and boxy, knocking over one of the workbenches scattered haphazardly around the room. Somewhere in the house, a lightswitch was flipped. Oh, no. Moss padded through the doorway, stepping carefully around fallen parts. “You’re probably the only impatient robot I’ve ever heard of.” The android sat up guiltily. No warning lights flickered in the corner of its vision--- it would take more than that to even seriously hurt a human--- but the indignity of being an impatient robot hurt more than any burst tubes or split armor plates. Moss sighed, squatting down next to the android. “I can show you now if you really want.” The android nodded quickly. Moss turned the box around to face the android. “Here, let me get a cord…” they muttered, standing and rummaging through another pile of parts on a close workbench. The box’s blank screen warped the android’s reflection. It stared back, puzzled. The object wasn’t a computer. No results- try again, or change your search. Moss flipped open the cover of a port on the android’s neck and plugged the cord in, then knelt and plugged the other end into the object.

Please wait, setting up device. A long-dead company’s logo flashed on the screen, and the device played an out-of-tune jingle. “Welcome to our new and improved Annndro-communicatooor!” the narrator sounded more like a sports announcer than a tutorial for a new device. An obnoxious airhorn sound effect played, and the narrator continued, slightly more professionally. “With this revolutionary technology, it takes seconds to communicate with your beloved androids!” The logo was replaced with a fake child’s drawing of a little girl holding hands with an android. “Here’s how it works: you plug in the wire to start talking to your android. And that’s it! Easy as anything. Go ahead, try to say something.” The android furrowed its eyebrows internally. “...Hello?” An outdated synthetic voice sounded from the device. “Good job!” the narrator encouraged. “Now, are there any questions you’ve been meaning to ask your android, but couldn’t get an answer?” Moss rolled their eyes. “Try asking your android a question! Something simple, for now.” “Uh… How are you?” Moss tried. “Fine.” The synthetic voice replied. “Faaantastic! How about you, dear android, do you have any burning questions?” “Burning questions…” the synthetic voice repeated. The android’s mind wandered back to the steamy prints left on the terrarium, the garden out front for dinners, Moss snoring loudly in the middle of the night. The android looked down at its own hands, large and smooth, two fingers and a thumb folded politely together.

“I don’t know,” the android admitted defeatedly. “I suppose I’ll come back later.”

Rain tapped gently against the android’s plates as it walked through the forest. Moss had declared the day a rest day, and encouraged the android to come up with a good question to ask through the speaking machine.

The android opened a new document in the back of its circuits, leaving the cursor to blink expectantly on its empty page.

A frog dashed out of the way of the android’s foot, paused to look up, then continued its way across the gravel road. Leaves sang as the rain passed through them.

The android stopped and stared up at the rain, allowing the droplets to land on its face, sensationless. It recalled Moss running to get out of the rain, even when it was only drizzling. The cursor flew across its document as the android added a note and turned to head home. Moss was in the garage again, working with a bent coat hanger to open one of the solar car doors.

“You gotta open it gently, can’t brute force it,” they explained. The android nodded absentmindedly. Judging by the model, this car probably came out before there were the good navigation systems--- the kind that just told you where to go, rather than taking you there. The android wondered whether, if Moss ever finished the car, it would be able to converse with Moss in the same way that the android did. “Hah!” The car door popped open with a hydraulic hiss. “Sweet, I didn’t even think that’d work!” Moss clambered in, slapping the seats. “We won’t even have to reupholster these, this is great!” The android leaned its head to the side, peering in from the top of the door. If you had take one of those crazy old fashioned esports setups and made it into a car interior, the result would be this thing. The decor had a diverse color palette of neon green and black. Moss smacked the dashboard, and, thankfully, it did not blare to life as the android imagined it would. “Whoever left it here prolly killed the battery on purpose, so that no one else would be able to use it,” Moss explained as they began to open compartments. Killed. The android lingered on the word. Batteries died, yes, but it was hard to think that they would be killed.

Still, would I be killed if my battery died? Or would it only be the battery… Moss cursed as they banged their head on the roof. Moss certainly would if, one of their organs died, but would I? Other machines certainly aren’t the same when their batteries are replaced, but would I- A red light blinked in the corner of the android’s vision.

The android sank to the floor.

Low battery, less than 1% remaining.

Checking for updates, please wait… … … …

No updates detected. Rebooting… The android’s cameras blinked to life. It was slumped in the lab room, a thick charging cable shoved into a port in its back. Moss sat across from it, tapping their hands anxiously on their legs.

“Ack, thank heck. I really started to think you were a goner,” Moss exclaimed, crashing forward onto the android and hugging its huge torso. The android awkwardly wrapped its arms around Moss’s thin frame. The two only rested there for a moment before Moss unfolded their arms and leaned back to grab the robot’s voice. “Here,” they said, leaning the android’s head forward to plug the voice in, “Talk to me.” The android stared forward at Moss blankly.

Storage failed to recover. Retrieving backup… … … Moss’s face cinched, tears welling up in their eyes. … Backup retrieved. Installing... “How long was I…” the android hesitated, “My battery, dead?”

The synthetic voice’s cold tone seemed to relax Moss a bit. “Probably a few hours. You’re still running on fumes, though, so we’ll have to hang out until you’re fully charged again.” Moss tapped the android’s chest, where its battery layed. Several windows opened at the back of the android’s mind, programs looking for updates and notes it had left open. The last to pop up was a document bluntly named Question.txt.

“What’s the difference between me and, well, everything else?” The android gestured vaguely.

Moss furrowed their eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I know that you and I are different because we’re made of different pieces, but why am I different than any other thing made of metal parts?” the android meant to speak slowly, but the words were instead spaced out rather than played slower.

“Because you’re a person, I figure.” Moss shrugged, unconcerned.

The android rested its chin in its palm. “What makes a person a person? Or a living thing alive?”

Moss furrowed their eyebrows. “Living is easier, normally it’s just whether or not it’s organic or synthetic. But a person…” They shook their head. “That’s kind of a weird one.”

“It is. But what is a person?” The android pressed, wishing that the synthetic voice could speak louder than a corporately uninteresting volume.

“Anyone that has its own agency and can make decisions, I guess. So as long as the android can make its own decisions---which is already what an android would be--- it’s a person. But then…” Moss trailed off.

“There isn’t a great line between machines and androids,” the android finished.

Moss frowned. “Why do you ask? And, followup question, where do you think the line is?” they asked quickly.

“I was curious what your opinion was, and I think that the line doesn’t have much practical application past the question of agency,” the android answered, almost systematically. “I do think that distinction is important to people, in various levels of power, but there’s no inherent line.”

“So it would be case-to-case? Like, depending on what you’re using it for and all that.”

“Yes, but it also matters on whether the… individual… cares necessarily about their category.”

Moss raised their eyebrows. “Other followup question, do you care?”

The android shrugged. “No, they’re only really words to me. As long as they’re polite to me, I feel no need to make a distinction.”

“Good to know- wait, if it’s an identity, does that mean that I could be an android?”

The android pondered for a moment. “If you felt like it, I don’t see a reason not to. Identities are only words to sort things, so you could use whatever you really felt fit.”

#rain rain #Entropy's scribbles #writing update #original writing #full text #science fiction #soft apocalypse #writblr #Queer Writing #writing while neurodivergent #old writing #short story

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