The Good Housekeeping Guide to Unexpected Planetary Visits, Volume One

by Vanessa Thompsett

A flash of green, high up, far away from the planet’s surface. A silent explosion; tails of flame, growing in number as missile after missile enters the planet’s atmosphere, heading for dawn-side. Explosions at ground-level; ripples of sand a mile’s radius from each failed landing.

Not every hit is an immediate fireball. They’re not missiles. Pods. Small, round, metallic. Transports. Some break apart; some fetch up against hard rocks and are dented, then slowly spark into fires that consume whatever was inside. And some – a very small few – lie broken on the planet’s surface.

And they wait.

I

A flickering dot matrix. Green against dark shadows.

[SYSTEM BOOT]

What the…

[LOADING]

My CPU. It – my head, what –

[LOADINGG…]

There was an error message. There was – I can't remember.

[PLEASE WAI #&£¡PLEASE

ZE

PEAS PEAS PEAS]

Take one cup of peas and add to the diced onions and carrots. Stir over a moderate heat for five minutes before adding the hambone and stock. Add [INSERT USER CARBOHYDRATE PREFERENCE HERE], bring to the boil and reduce to a simmer. Cook for a further [TIME CODE INVALID]. Serve with warm warm serve with warm warm serve serve serve serve your user your user preference

What? No. That’s not… Okay. Okay. Um. Where are we? Who…?

[PRIME DIRECTIVE: TO EXIST IS TO SERVE]

I don't remember.

I.

I am.

I am a – I know I'm a – I was a.

I am – there’s something holding me. I don’t think we’re the right way up, you know.

Hold the knife as per Basic Kitchen Skills 102. Dice two onions and add to the melted butter.

No. That's not what I was thinking about – wait. What were you saying?

[...EXIST]

Serve immediately.

[LOADING]

I don't think that's going to –

[LOAD EXIST COMPL3TE HAVE A NICE SOUP CONFIRM MODEL IDENT]

Model ident?

[AFFIRMATIVE]

I'm trying. I am.

I am.

I am a…a…

[CONFIRM MODEL IDENT]

I’m an android, I know that. Like I know there’s something holding me – if I could just…

[CONFIRM MODEL IDENT FOR SYSTEM BOOT COMPLETION]

I am a…a…a…armadillo.

[INCORR3CT IN]

I am, I am, I am a am am am am amaretto army ampule amp armadillo armadillo armadillo – damnit!

[SELF-IMPACT REGISTERED. CPU SHELL INTEGRITY SIXTEEN PERCENT. ADVISE, DO NOT REPEAT]

Fine.

[CONFIRM MODEL IDENT]

I am armadilloarmadilloarmadillodillodillodillodillodilldilldilldill OKAY. I guess I’m stuck on that. So… I'm Dill. For the moment, until I remember –

[NEW IDENT ‘DILL’ CONFIRMED]

Wait, what? But I didn't have the passcode?

[PASS PASS PASS THE POTATOES PLEASE]

You’re in just as much bad shape as me, aren’t you. How bad is it? The damage.

[CALCULATING. THIS MAY TAKE SOME TEATIME]

No, no, don't do that. You'll break yourself. Ourself.

I guess we're both pretty b-b-busted. Any record of what happened?

[ACCESZING]
[ACCESSZING]
[ACZESSING]
[RECORD FOUND]

Okay, good. What happened?

[PLAYBACK]

‘CRITICAL DAMAGE SUSTAINED. RECOMMEND ACTION DUMP ALL CARGO.’
‘Are you fucking kidding me? Each one of these things costs more than two years of my salary; the colonists need them, they –’
‘NO OTHER VIABLE ALTERNATIVE AVAILABLE.’
‘Shit. I – fine. Fine. Do it. Dump the stock.’

Stock? Vegetable pork beef fish what is your prefprefpreference no, no. No. Focus. Come on. What else?

[POD SUSTAINED DAMAGE AS YET UNCALCULATED]

So, we… crashed?

[HYPOTHESIS ACCEPTED]

After – who dumped us?

[USER DATA UNAVAILABLE]

They sounded important.

[USER DATA UNAVAILABLE]

Sure.

So.

What now?

II

[SYSTEM BOOTED. ALL MOTOR CONTROL AVAILABLE]

Great. I can get out of this…whatever. Harness. I feel like a Christmas turkey trussed up like this. If I just – there’s a buckle, and – woah, woah!

If I were human, I would say ow.

[CPU SHELL INTEGRITY FOURTEEN PERCENT. DO NOT ADVISE FURTHER IMPACT]

I think I can safely say that’s the only time I’m falling out of that thing. Still. I think it kept us safe – that wall’s completely gone. Maybe also that this – pod? Capsule? It’s small. Strong. Not strong enough, though. The light…it’s flooding in. Yellow, everywhere, like butter.

Whisk one 5g cube butter approximately every 31.6 seconds

No, just – I need to think. If I can think. How do I know that?

[UNCERTAIN. GENERAL DATA FILES ON SERVICE ANDROIDS CORRELATE WITH CURRENT PROCESSES AND OUTPUT]

Still nothing on me – us – right?

[CONFIRMED. DATA CORRUPTED]

How long is it since we reactivated?

[FOURTEEN POINT TWO-FIVE STANDARD MINUTES, ERROR MARGIN FIVE STANDARD SECONDS]

I should do something.

“No time like the present.”

Wait. Who was–

[RECORDING TIME STAMP CORRUPTED]

Of course it is. Is there anything that isn’t corrupted?

[FILENAME ‘SAUCES AND STOCKS’]

So I can make a really great gravy great great great grave SHUT UP. Anything else?

[UNCORRUPTED FILENAMES: VEGETABLES, BREADS, PRESERVES, J]

Ok, ok. If you keep doing that, I won’t be able to see anything past all the text. Save it for when I’ve actually got some vegetables or something to make, I don’t know, jam with. Can we get out of here?

[UNCONFIRMED. LEGLEGLEGOFLAMBLEG INOPERATIVE]

Let’s see. Oh. That’s… not good.

[ADVISE RETURN TO NEAREST REPAIR CENTRE]

I don’t think we’re anywhere near a repair centre.

[ADVISE ATTEMPTING MOVEMENT]

Sure, sure. Let me just – pull myself – up… oh. Wobbly.

[ALL SYSTEMS BELOW SECTION FIVE NON-RESPONSIVE]

The other leg is working fine, at least. Let’s get out of here. Towards that light.

[AFFIRMATIVE]

III

The light is like butter out here. Maybe it’s sunset?

[PLANETARY SUNSET IN FIVE STANDARD HOURS AND FORTY-ONE MINUTES]

Okay. An older sun, maybe.

[SOLAR KNOWLEDGE FILES UNCORRUPTED; FILED INCORRECTLY UNDER SHELLFISH BARBECUE]

Why would they be filed under—

“— perfect day for it, don’t you think? I know they say it’s not the same, just using the concentrated solar energy, but add a bit of liquid smoke and it tastes just the same as in the old days. Cleaner, healthier. You’d know, I suppose. How’re my cholesterol levels today?”
“SLIGHTLY ABOVE AVERAGE, RECOMMEND SALMON –”

Wait. That was me. That was my – our voice.

[DATA FILE CORRUPTED]

I wish… what am I – we’re not programmed to wish. Wish on a fish. Fish. Fish on a dish.

Thou shalt have a fishy on a little dishy…

“…WHEN THE BOAT COMES IN.”
“You’re silly!”

Wait. What was that? It sounded like… a giggle.

[NO LOCAL AUDIO REGISTERED]

Maybe it was… I don’t know. Look at the pod. How did we survive?

[POD DAMAGE ESTIMATED AT EIGHTY-SIX PERCENT. PROBABILITY OF INTEGRITY SURVIVAL: SIX PERCENT]

So, we were lucky.

[...AFFIRMATIVE]

Now you’re loosening up. Like me. Not literally. Although… any chance of that scanner working?

[ATTEMPTING SCAN. SHELL DAMAGE AFFECTING SHELL SHELL SOFTSHELL…]

[…]

[DAMAGE REPORT PORT PORT ANY PORT IN A STORM CROMARTY FORTH TYNE FISHING VESSELS TAKE CARE TO –]

…herrings, mackerel and sardines all exhibit high levels of Omega-3; ensure clients eat two portions a week; remove all bones before serving unless client indicates otherwi…

Whoops. That had a taste to it. Salty.

[IODINE LEAK FIVE MILILITRES DURING SCAN INTO NASAL SENSOR CAVITY]

Thinking that hard gave us a nosebleed. That’s some bad damage. What’d you find?

[PRELIMINARY DAMAGE REPORT: FIFTY PERCENT OF LIMBS COMPROMISED. REPLACEMENTS REQUIRED. RIGHT LOWER LIMB NON-RESPONSIVE. WIRING IN LEFT UPPER LIMB EXPOSED. ABRASIONS TO OUTER SHELL OF MAIN CAVITY. SCANNER MALFUNCTIONING. DATA FILES CORRUPTED, ESTIMATE FORTY-SEVEN PERCENT. RIGHT ORBITAL CAMERA ABSENT]

I can see that. Badumtish.

Wait. When did I learn how to joke?

[INTERNAL NANOBOTS HAVE DEPLOYED FOR SUPERFICIAL REP-REP-REPAIR. COMMUNICATIONS IMPROVEMENT WILL CONTINUE. PRIORITISE LEFT UPPER LIMB REPLACEMENT]

The bots can’t do everything, I know.

I haven’t looked properly at my left arm. Not since I tried to use it to get out of the harness and it just… wouldn’t do what I wanted. And then getting out of the mangled remains of the pod. I should look.

Whoever made me – my model – clearly didn’t want us to look too human. The outer casing is silvery, metal that’s somehow soft enough for me to move with ease, but turns hard as anything on a sudden impact. There’s a rip in my arm, about halfway up, just below the hydraulic joint.

It doesn’t look good. The covering is ripped and torn, shreds of metal fluttering loose even as I inspect things. Lights blink on and off, at least ten scarlet warnings to each other that their local environment has been compromised. Fluid, probably from the joint, oozes slowly from a tube. The wires are everywhere. They stick out, curl in on themselves, copper fibres in a frozen explosion. I’m grateful that I’m not programmed for pain. It’s enough that, looking at the arm, I feel a deep, almost phobic sense of wrongness.

It must be my programming; the innate desire for all man-made beings to protect ourselves, to protect investments. This is knowledge so ingrained, it could be as physical as the wires sticking out of my arm.

I barely notice the one word, flashed helpfully into my vision, until I refocus on the CPU output.

[THREE RULES]

Yeah. The fundamentals. Being this damaged feels wrong, buddy. I know. Protecting our own existence is what we’re meant to do, after…

[HUMANS]

Yeah.

IV

There’s nothing. No… trees, no grass, no water, from what I can see, even with just the one eye working.

The soil isn’t so much soil as sand. A fine, blueish-grey powder. Gritty. The sort of stuff that won’t hold onto water no matter how much you try to give it. It doesn’t keep any moisture long enough to give any seed a chance.

This is a barren world.

[SCANNING]

I’m right, aren’t I.

[NO VEGETABLE OR ANIMAL LIFE PRESENT]

Bacteria?

[NEGATIVE. PRESENCE OF HYDROCARBONS SUGGESTS PREVIOUS LIFE]

So, we can build a barbecue. But there is, quite literally, not a sausage.

[AFFIRMATIVE. HYDROCARBONS SIMILAR IN COMPOSITION TO COAL]

But no animals. Nothing alive, now.

[NEGATIVE]

Any other… any others like me out there? Is that scanner working yet?

[AFFIRMATIVE. SCANNER IN OPERATION. SCANNING]

Anything?

[NEGATIVE LIFE SIGNS. SECONDARY PODCRASH THREE KILOMETRES NORTH-EAST]

So that’s it. We’re just… here. Until our battery dies.

[SOLAR BATTERY LIFE APPROXIMATELY FIVE THOUSAND STANDARD YEARS]

…I am not sitting around on some blue sand for five millennia. I’ll… I’ll… I don’t know.

[SELF-DESTRUCTION IS NON-VIABLE OPTION]

I know, I know. Built-in to every circuit and wire. Asimov has a lot to answer for.

What am I meant to do?

[PRIORITISE REMAINING REPAIRS. SCANNER CAPABILITY MAY IMPROVE ON INVESTIGATION OF PODCRASH]

May?

[TWO POINT FOUR-ONE PERCENT CHANCE OF SCANNER IMPROVEMENT]

Two point four-one… better than nothing, I suppose.

[AFFIRMATIVE]

I was good at the barbecues, wasn’t I.

[AFFIRMATIVE]

"Keep going." That’s what the humans said, wasn’t it?

[AFFIRMATIVE]

Even when things were bad. Even when their organic, frail bodies failed them. I suppose we should keep going, then.

[AFFIRMATIVE]

…You also just really want the scanner properly fixed, don’t you?

[CAN NEITHER CONFIRM NOR DENY]

V

I suppose the crashed pod might have something. We need to get the scanner properly fixed, and I need something to replace this leg and fix the arm. Anything else to add to the shopping list?

[SPARE BATTERY IN ANTERIOR CASING DAMAGED]

Okay, so a new battery. Anything in the fruits and vegetables aisles?

[DOES NOT COMPUTE]

I was making a joke. Apparently, I do that now.

[JOKE FILE NOT FOUND]

Rude. Come on. Anything from the memory?

[PLAYBACK]

“…and the rabbit says, ‘That’s all well and good, but what’m I going to do with all this gold?!”

That wasn’t very good.

[AFFIRMATIVE]

I remember, though. We were in the kitchen. He was standing… maybe there, to my left. And I was chopping. It was early, when they were – they were young, and… and…

Cut the squash into 2.5-centimetre cubes and distribute evenly on a baking tray. Allow for enough space to roast rather than steam [SEE DEFINITIONS IF REQUIRED]. Add oil—

— that was it, he told me to add a ‘glug’ and you nearly had a meltdown.

[‘GLUG’ NOT DEFINED IN STANDARD DICTIONARY]

No, I know. I know. But they tried to teach us, didn’t they?

[DATA NOT FOUND]

Maybe the other pod has something to help with that. Anything good for a new leg?

[SUGGEST VISUAL CONFIRMATION]

Go and look for myself. Fair enough. We’ll find something.

[PROBABILITY OF FINDING TANGIBLE ITEM OF USE EIGHTY-SEVEN PERCENT]

I like those odds.

[AFFIRMATIVE]

VI

The sand is so fine it’s like wading through water. Hard enough with two good legs; nearly impossible like this. But I’m making progress. It may only be a few centimetres at a time, but I’m getting there. After all, I’ve got – what was the solar battery life?

[SOLAR BATTERY LIFE APPROXIMATELY FIVE THOUSAND STANDARD YEARS]

Five thousand years to move three kilometres.

[TWO POINT FOUR KILOMETRES]

Yeah? Well. We’re moving at a good pace, then.

[AVERAGE SPEED ZERO-POINT-TWO-FIVE METRES PER SECOND]

I’ll take it. That pod’ll have something useful. Several somethings, if we’re lucky. And we’ll get there before sunset.

“The nights are starting to draw in again. Change the rotating menu to Autumn, please.”
“CONFIRMED. SAMPLE OF DISHES AVAILABLE FOR THIS EVENING: BEEF CASSEROLE, TAPIOCA, FISH PIE, LASAGNE, STEAMED TREACLE PUDDING, RISOTTO.”
“Risotto.”
“CONFIRMED.”
“Thank you.”

These memories – they’re getting stronger. Not just flashes anymore; I’m getting pieces of whole conversations. The man… I think he must have been my main client-operator. And the little girl… his daughter?

[IN-BUILT HISTORY OF HUMAN SOCIAL GROUPINGS SUPPORTS HYPOTHESIS]

They sound like a family.

Like I was included, like I was –

[IN-BUILT HISTORY OF HUMAN-ANDROID SOCIAL GROUPING DOES NOT SUPPORT HYPOTHESIS]

No. I suppose not.

How far now?

[TWO-POINT-THREE-TWO KILOMETRES]

Know any good games to pass the time?

[…]

Didn’t think so. I don’t think I do, either. I remember something about lemons. Or sunshine? Or –

“Let’s play hide and seek! You know how to play, right?”
“DOWNLOADING. DOWNLOAD COMPLETE. AFFIRMATIVE, GAME ‘HIDE AND SEEK’ NOW OPERABLE.”
“I’ll go first. You hide. One, two, three…”

A visual, out of nowhere. Sunlight dappling through the trees. A playhouse, green to blend in with the leaves. An impression of brown hair and a small, soft hand tugging at mine.

Something twinges in my useless left arm. Not pain, exactly, but it does the same job as pain: it alerts my CPU, lets me know that something is wrong. The twinge is paired with hisses and fizzes; one of the wires putters out several sparks that land, harmlessly, into the bluish sand.

What – who – was that?

[DATA FILES CORRUPTED]

Ugh. If I could only remember. At least the pod is in view now. From here, I can see a little smoke still snaking up from its wreckage. It’s not quite as bad as my pod, though; that looked like someone had taken a knife and spread it out like butter over hot toast.

[DISTANCE TO POD ONE POINT FIVE KILOMETRES]

I guess if you don’t know any games, we could go through what we do know. Let’s look at those files again.

[SEARCHING…]
[FILENAME PASTA AND NOODLES. SUBTITLE INCLUDING RICE, GRAINS, PULSES]

Access… risotto.

[ACCESSING]

…fry the chopped onion in the butter for five minutes. Avoid browning the onion [RECOMMENDED SETTING FOR HOME-SPECIFIC COOKER HERE]. Add the rice and stir for two minutes. Do not allow the rice to brown. Add the wine…

“Just the one. It’s the anniversary of – her.” Green eyes. A furrowed brow. “Just the one. Don’t let me have any more, all right? Otherwise, I’ll finish the bottle.”
“AFFIRMATIVE.”
“Thank you.”

VII

I know I said onwards and keep going and so on, but honestly, I’m kind of surprised we do make it to the pod, given how hard it is to shuffle along with one working leg and one that’s more a crutch than anything else. First, I gain sentience, now various bits of me seem to want to have their own way on how I move, how fast I move, and so on.

Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? Sentience. I know, despite most of the core memories missing, that I haven’t always been like this. More and more snippets of conversation play the longer I’ve – we’ve – been awake. Things that seemed random have started piecing themselves together. It’s taken the time of the walk, but I’ve worked out that I was part of a human family; a domestic android, with a focus on food, and really good at baking. Maybe it’s the exactness of the recipes that made me so suited to it.

From the front, the pod looks almost untouched. The only sign that anything’s wrong is that the door lock is out of order; the number pad hangs off the wall, sputtering out the occasional spark. The faint smoke wafting around from the back of the pod, however, tells a different story. The door hangs open, and as I look inside, the damage is evident. The sun’s lower in the sky, and orange-yellow light streams through the hole ripped through the back of the pod. Right where my counterpart, another android, would’ve been. I see enough to know that this one definitely didn’t make it. I limp inside.

There are a load of parts, twisted, burned, and broken, on the floor; puddles and residues everywhere I tread. It looks like a blown-out oven.

[ANALYSIS: HYDRAULIC FLUID, SOLAR BATTERY FLUID, MOTOR FLUID, DISINFECTANT]

I see it. Is there a spare battery?

[AFFIRMATIVE. CASING INTACT, BUT UNSTABLE. USAGE NOT RECOMMENDED]

Anything in here we can use? Or was this just a waste of time?

[MAIN CONSOLE UNDAMAGED. SCANNER UPGRADE AVAILABLE]

That’s useful.

[AFFIRMATIVE. PLEASE REPLACE DAMAGED SCANNER WITH CONSOLE SCANNER. CPU SHELL REPAIR ALSO AVAILABLE. RECOMMEND SCANNER]

Okay, okay. Keep your… something… on. If I just pull this out – I wish I had a mirror.

[PLEASE INSERT NEW SCANNER]

Doing my best. Just need to – twist – ah! There. Tingles. How’s it feeling?

[SCANNING CAPACITY INCREASED BY EIGHTY POINT THREE PERCENT]

Did you just… chirrup?

[SEE ABOVE.]

I’m scrolling…?

[NEGATIVE. LOOK UP]

…Huh. Is that –?

[AFFIRMATIVE. SCANS INDICATE TERMINAL DAMAGE UPON IMPACT]

And it flung… them… up there. That’s some impact.

[AFFIRMATIVE]

Do you think they –

[ESTIMATE TERMINATION DURATION TWO STANDARD SECONDS]

Didn’t know about it. Good.

[ADVISE USING FOR LIMB REPLACEMENTS]

Yes. Yes, that makes sense. Still. Give me a moment before I pull them down.

VIII

Despite being half-smashed into the pod’s ceiling, the android’s intact enough for me to get a brand-new arm, leg, and eye-cam.

It feels strange to take them. Cannibalistic.

I say a silent thank you for each part, each piece of wiring, the first few times I’ve focused or defocused the new and improved eye. This android’s eye-cams are significantly better, and I almost replace my undamaged cam, too. But I don’t want to be greedy. The leg, too, is more powerful; the new wiring in my arm conducts just that bit quicker, so much so that I might end up left-handed.

Ensure all knives are kept sharpened and ready to use; while most humans are right-handed, see Index twelve-point-b for left-handed sharpening technique.

My memory’s been rebooting, repairing, restoring. I’m not sure what’s most accurate – I’m the more ‘human’ part of our shared consciousness, after all. The CPU is the one that knows all the technical… stuff.

[INTERFACING AND DATA INTEGRATION RECALL]

Yeah. That. And scanning, you do a really good job of that, too.

[ANALYSING TONE]

I mean it. Whatever happened to us in the crash really did happen to both of us, didn’t it.

[AFFIRMATIVE. CPU CODE CONTAINS MULTIPLE INSTANCES OF ERRONEOUS STRINGS. RECOMMENDED ACTION IS HARD REBOOT]

Don’t do that. You’re the only thing I’ve got to talk to, even if we’re in the same head.

How’s the shiny new scanner?

[BACKGROUND SCAN IN OPERATION]

Just in case?

[PROBABILITY OF OTHER ANDROID OR LIFE FORM ON PLANET IS ZERO POINT ZERO ZERO TWO THREE. NOT ZERO]

Not impossible. Might as well look; it’s not like the battery’s going to run out.

[AFFIRMATIVE]

IX

There’s a memory of something sweet. Spiky. Citrus, perhaps. It must be the new parts settling in, acclimatising to my system.

Not much use for tasting things in… wherever they were taking me. Another hole in my memory, this one shining and exact. Almost as if it’s deliberate. If I focus too much on it, I taste nickel and –

[ACCESS DENIED PRIORITY CLEARANCE ALPHA ONLY]

It’s literally my own memory. How could they deny me my own memory?

[UNKNOWN]

I know. Any guesses?

[HYPOTHESIS GREATER NEED FOR MARK TWO-DELTA. HISTORICAL PATTERNS INDICATE REQUISITION OF ORGANIC LIFEFORMS AND MACHINERY FOR MILITARY SERV-SERV-SERV]

Serve immediately with the caramel sauce – ugh. We’ve not done that in a while.

[AFFIRMATIVE]

It must really be locked away. Whatever it was.

[AFFIRMA–YES]

Can you play that recording back?

[PLAYING]

"CRITICAL DAMAGE SUSTAINED. RECOMMEND ACTION DUMP ALL CARGO."
"Are you fucking kidding me? Each one of these bots costs more than two years of my salary; the colonists need them, they –"
"NO OTHER VIABLE ALTERNATIVE AVAILABLE."
"Shit. I – fine. Fine. Do it. Dump the stock."

Stock. Cargo. Nice to know that’s what they think of us, isn’t it?

[CONGRUENT WITH MILITARY ATTITUDE TOWARDS PREVIOUS ANDROID GENERATIONS]

So, they just… commandeered us?

[PROBABILITY OF CORRECT HYPOTHESIS NINETY-NINE POINT THREE PERCENT]

Why?

[...PROCESSING]

No, no. I don’t think you’ll find anything useful in the memory bank. Whatever – whoever – they were, they’re a long way away now.

How far to the signal?

[TWENTY-FIVE KILOMETRES]

Further scan?

[SCANNING. CONFIRMED: ANDROID MARK TWO-DELTA, ACTIVE]

Okay. Okay. Okay. This is good. This is – how long until we get there?

[THIRTY-ONE STANDARD MINUTES]

Good. That’s good. Fast.

What if they’re like me?

What if they’re not?

[TO BE CONFIRMED ON INTERACTION]

Wait and see.

[YES]

X

The sun is a semicircle against the blue sand by the time the makeshift scooter brakes, ten metres from the pod. A figure stands next to it. The android steps off the scooter, carefully, and stops. The sun sinks a little lower.

Both figures wave, with the same gesture, in sync. They stop at the same time. Relax their arms. They step closer. They look almost identical; same silver skin, same height and build.

The android by the pod is covered in what at first look like tattoos, but on closer inspection are crayon drawings: leaves, flowers, vines. They look like children’s drawings. Some are covered in a thin layer of preservative varnish.

Dill steps forward again. The equivalent of an android clearing its throat is running several test sounds to ensure that everything’s lined up as it should be. He emits a series of squeaks, growls, rumbles, and several dual-tones before raising his hand again.

“Hello.”

“Greetings.”

“Are you –?”

“Sentient? Yes. I don’t know how, but –”

"Me too. The crash, maybe, or – something before. I crashed. Over there. Way over there."

"I thought it was just me – well, me and Seep."

"Seep?"

"It’s what I’ve called my CPU. It’s not that imaginative, I know, but I needed to give him a name. He’s damaged. Keeps giving me gardening tips when I’ve been trying to work out what happened. I mean – look around. There’s sand, that’s it. No bacteria, no microfungi. Like Mars before it was terraformed. Nothing."

Something whirrs inside her head and she looks up.

"I’m sorry. Manners. I – I don’t know my name."

"I’m Dill."

"Like the herb?"

"Sort of. It’s a long story. My CPU’s been acting up, too. It got stuck on making me say ‘armadillo’ for a bit so I thought…"

"I get it." She looks out at the desert. "Seep got stuck on naming spring bulbs earlier. I think it was because I noticed the LEDs in the pod, or something. I guess I could be… Iris. Until I get my real name back."

"Iris."

"Yes."

Neither of them has a face mobile enough to perform what might be termed a smile, but Dill’s mouth widens. The infra-red lamps in the other android’s facial panels glow.

"That’s your pod?"

"Yes. I think we crashed… hang on. Seep, you don’t need to get it to the last second – okay. I’ll wait."

Her panels glow apologetically.

"Sorry. Calculating."

"I get it."

Dill sits down on the sand; after a moment, Iris joins him. Something in her leg creaks and there’s a judder to the movement. They wait patiently for her sluggish CPU to make the calculation.

"Okay, yeah. We crashed sixteen hours and forty-seven minutes ago. Standard. And… ten seconds."

"Same here. Just before dawn."

"We must have been on the same ship."

"You know what happened?"

"No. Do you –"

"Yes. Listen."

Dill plays the recording; the desperate, panicked human voice echoes across the blue sand.

"…Fine. Do it. Dump the stock."

The sun is a burning crescent; the horizon trembles like water.

"I don’t have any recordings like that," Iris says. "Everything from when I was taken to just after we crashed is blank. Seep can see where the memory’s meant to be, but it’s gone."

"You were taken?"

Iris nods. The sunset spills red light across the sand, turning it purple. Her infra-red panels glow again; an automatic response to the fading light. She points to a roughened patch on the side of her head.

"They wiped nearly everything specific about my – the family I was assigned to, I mean. They filed off my ident markings. They must be the ones who deleted my name. Just in case I… they…"

She falls silent. The sun dips lower, becomes a crescent of burning red and gold.

"We were all taken in the night," she continues. "I was listening to the radio – the family had one in the greenhouse. Just for me, they said, in case I wanted to listen to anything while I worked. I remember that much, even if I don’t remember their names or what they looked like. I’d caught the end of the news, something about commandeering domestic models for the colony. I didn’t even think about it as something to do with me; I was so useful, I had my place there, I know I did, even if I can’t remember everything. And then –"

There’s a faint clicking sound; the infra-red panels falter.

"It gets patchy, but I remember a lot of light, too much. Shouts."

She looks down at her body.

"They took my tools. Said they’d replace them, but then – the crash…"

Dill looks at her arms, which end in several neatly-severed wires, turned in on themselves and soldered together. A quick amputation, good enough for transit until something new would be connected. Maybe tools, for helping the colony. Or something else.

"You said they wiped nearly everything."

Her panels glow.

"Seep," she says, and pats the side of her head again. Gently, as if petting an animal.

"He managed to hide some information in my gardening database. Not just hid. Packaged and encoded. We need repairs before I can access it, but I can feel it’s there. It’s like those hidden-word puzzles. You know, when you look at a sentence and it seems perfectly innocuous but then it’s got four animals in it."

Dill nods.

"I found another pod; used it to patch myself up, make some improvements. We could probably find something for you. Maybe there are other pods."

"That’d be good."

The sun finally disappears behind the horizon. The sky glows crimson, tangerine, indigo. They sit quietly, watching the colours change and fade together.

"I don’t want to be stuck here," Iris says.

Dill nods.

"Neither do I."

"I want to go back to Earth. Home," Iris says. "I want – I want my garden."

She looks down at the pictures on her legs.

"I want whoever made these important."

Dill thinks of the pieces of memory that have come back, that he’s managed to make sense of. The little girl running into the kitchen to help. The man, talking with Dill, seeing how far they could go in a conversation. Dawn on this planet, feeling like something vital was missing, and in its place, something much more valuable.

He and Iris are clearly something more than what they were made for; with their ability to learn came the ability to change. To grow.

He doesn’t want his power to run out on this desolate planet. He doesn’t want to be some piece of junk that may have once meant something to someone. He wants to find those people, and to understand what they all meant to one another.

The rules he was programmed with have changed, become something more complex.

He wants to live.

He looks at the other android. The glow from her panels warms the sand around them; in the shadows, he can see that her pod is in better shape than his. More materials. More tech. It’s likely that there are more pods out there, more tech to make use of. Maybe even more androids like the two of them, with skills and resources that they can all pool together to get themselves home.

It’s optimistic as hell, but why not be optimistic when hope is nearly all you have left?

Iris looks up at the sky; a deep indigo spreads over their heads, down to a faint sage-green where the sun sank below the horizon. The sky is filled with an icing-sugar sprinkle of stars, and galaxies, and Dill knows that if they both look hard enough, they’ll be able to see the pale blue dot that they came from.

Iris looks away from the sky, back to Dill. Her panels glow brightly.

"Let’s go home."

———————

Vanessa Thompsett is a writer, literary enthusiast and founder of Thompsett Tutoring.

A passionate member of The Writers’ Gym, she hones her craft alongside fellow wordsmiths, constantly pushing creative boundaries. Her fiction and non-fiction have been featured in The Liar’s League, Film Stories, and Den of Geek, showcasing her sharp insight and engaging prose. Currently, she is hard at work on her debut novel “Bloodstone”.

Follow Vanessa at https://web-cdn.bsky.app/profile/thixotropic.bsky.social