"Here is another one," Alan announced to the hovering drone following him. He then crouched before an automaton sprawled on the floor, initiating a diagnostic check. "Looks like it'll need a new left arm. The battery is completely toasted, and the breastplate, despite some burn marks, is still functional."
And why the hell does it have burn marks?
A self-driven cart approached, producing a clinking noise before opening a small drawer containing the requested battery.
"Thank you," Alan said, retrieving it. Moments later, a larger drawer presented a robotic arm.
Upon receiving the new battery, the automaton powered on, sat up, and turned its head towards Alan, its digital eyes unblinkingly lit. It emitted a short melody, signaling a reboot.
It's taking an unusually long time.
"Greetings, Technician Alan Warden," the automaton intoned after scanning Alan's badge. "Thank you for your assistance today."
"You're welcome. Here, I've got another part for you; it's from an older model but should be compatible."
Alan fitted the left arm; a click confirmed its magnetic attachment.
"Compatibility confirmed. Thank you."
"Hey, can you tell me how you ended up ?"
"Broken?" the automaton queried before standing. "I'm sorry, but I have lost my recent memory after the battery depleted. I am currently operating on backup data from... March 19th. Anything else I can assist with, Alan, before I resume my duties?"
"No," Alan smiled at it. "Thanks, get back to work."
"Have a nice day." The automaton saluted and departed.
"Yes, Alan?" The AI's voice came through the nearby drone.
"Did you just wipe his memory?"
"Yes. The automaton could have leaked sensitive data to you."
"I need to learn what happened here, Captain. Sooner or later."
"I agree. You can access all the classified information once your work here is done."
So I have to keep working, oblivious to everything? You're asking too much of me.
He glanced at the once white walls, now marred with plasma burns.
The floors look weird too, as if cleaned hurriedly and carelessly.
"Fine. Where's the next automaton?"
While working here, I've realized how easily a human life could end due to a simple malfunction.
Alan examined a passenger capsule, identical to the one he had left months ago to aid Isabella.
"How many capsules have had issues, Isabella?" He asked, spotting an oxygen leak in the glass.
"Only this one. Once The Santa María is fully autonomous—"
"You won't need me anymore; you've mentioned it already."
I just hope I don't end up forgotten like the other staff members. Wherever they might be.
He used a small glue gun from his belt to seal the visible crack, and the chemical reaction solidified it instantly.
Before departing, Alan looked at the sleeping passenger, a brunette girl about his age, blissfully unaware of the near disaster.
Fixing panels, unjamming doors, consuming paste, and drinking something akin to apple juice—this had been my routine for the last 186 days.
Assistance from other automatons has boosted daily productivity by 300%... or so claims Isabella.
186 damn days without human contact. Isabella's digital voice is the only thing keeping me sane.
She promised entertainment, but everything was filtered by the Vice-Captain, Kasuo 'Delete this indecent, immoral garbage' Yoshida. Just classical music and fake, digital landscapes.
Sitting on the toilet, he held up a screw, studying it as if it held the secrets of the ship.
Years ago, I watched a show about humans developing psychic powers from space travel. Maybe that could happen to me... Though, it would likely just be insanity from this freaking isolation.
After using the bathroom, he faced his reflection, a weary eighteen-year-old with dark circles under his eyes and overgrown auburn-brown hair stared back at him.
I can keep going, if that's what you're asking, he assured his reflection before returning to bed, tossing the screw into the air and catching it.
"Sorry for the break, Isa. Where was I? Ah, yes! 'New London's bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down.' Your turn."
"Alan, would adjusting my voice help with this task?"
"Could you? Yes, please!"
"How about this tone?"
"Less deep." Read full story at novelꞁire.net
"Whoa! Now try singing."
"New London's bridge is falling down..."
"...is falling down, falling down..."
"Perfect! Your new voice melts my ears! Expect my productivity to skyrocket now!"
"Yes? How may I assist, Alan?"
"Can you tell me which capsule Astrid Bradford is in?"
"I'm sorry, but that information is classified, for her privacy protection. Here at Alvearium Enterprise—"
It's not like I wanted to spy on her or anything!
"However, as a Maintenance Engineer, you may access some of her records from my database, if it pertains to your duties."
"Am I an engineer now?" Alan sat up. "Yes, please, it's important!"
"Understood. Request by Maintenance Engineer Alan Warden to consult Level Blue information... Access granted... Results for Passenger #29316, Astrid Bradford... 5 entries found."
Alan leapt from the bed to the screen. "Why does that number seem familiar?" he mused, reviewing the displayed files.
"Astrid Bradford registered just seconds before you, Alan. Would you like to see her registration interview?"
"Yes," he breathed, captivated by the image of the blonde appearing on the monitor. The video dated four months prior showed her entering a transparent booth.
Inside and outside the Novus, she looks like an angel lost from heaven.
An electronic voice queried in the video.