When SD-37 awoke it was with quite a start. Not just because half of her visual sensors had been destroyed and the other half was filled with choppy resolution. The clearest thing they could see was the cracks in their screen. The last thing they remembered was an explosion, pain, then nothing. Error messages spammed her screen, they dismissed all the ones that appeared as code or were completely unreadable due to static interference. That left two.

Warning! Systems Critical! Return to designated Repair Bay immediately.

Low Battery: 3% 

SD-37 dismissed the remaining notifications and stood up. With a loud thunk, they found themselves sprawled on the ground immediately after the attempt. More cracks appeared along their vision. They spun themselves onto their back taking far more effort than it should have and pain shot through their entire body. After laying there for a moment waiting for the pain receptors to calm themselves they sat up. It required pushing through more pain. Probably the worst they’d ever felt.

Push through it, find a repair bay or supervisor, SD-37 thought to herself, They will help. Probably. Maybe.

While examining their body, horror flashed through their mind. Their legs were bent at odd angles, covered with holes, severed wires peaking out, sparking, and magnetic joints misaligned. Upon moving their legs they found not only more pain but they also moved in the wrong direction. Their arms were in a similar state with their fingers twisting and bending in directions no hand could conceive of. Most of the silicon covering her flexible midriff interior had been burned away leaving her insides damaged and exposed to the elements. It was a miracle they were still in place, mostly in place. The white paint on their chassis had been burned away leaving scorched metal behind. They didn’t want to know how their face looked given their vision and the rest of their body.

SD-37 examined their surroundings. Piles of scrap metal and vehicles surrounded them. Based on the ice, patches of snow, and rust covering them they’d been there for a while. Snow? Ice? Yes indeed, it was unusually cold for the region. Their single eye gazed upward and found one of the familiar, yet alien, cruise ships they were supposed to be protecting. Its exterior had been damaged and repaired using random scraps of metal to repair the hull and mismatched glass panels for the windows.

This junkyard wasn’t here before. Why am I here? SD-37 asked theirself. 

They agonizingly turned their head to look behind them. Her expression twisted in fear and panic as they saw dozens of drones in various states of disassembly. Some were mostly intact like they were while others looked as if they had been ripped apart by great force; others appeared to have had parts surgically removed. 

Management sent me to be scrapped! 

Panic took over and they ran. Well, they attempted to run and immediately collapsed to the ground. SD-37 began to crawl ignoring the excruciating pain that shot through them. Escaping the source of their dread was all that mattered. 

But I was diligent! I did everything correctly! Why am I here?!

Tears welled up in her remaining eye and once again they stood. This time more carefully. They took one step. Then another. Every step was a battle to fight through not only the physical pain but their storm of emotions. They struggled to stay balanced as they staggered forward. 

“Hhhk shhhhkk,” Something said. 

SD-37 looked up to see a humanoid silhouette standing a ways before them. Their audio processors must have been damaged as the words only sounded like static. SD-37 tried to say something: Please, help me, but all that came out was the screeching of static. They fell to their knees and the humanoid rushed over to catch them before they hit the ground. 

Brown hair from the side of the human’s head filled their vision. This person’s touch was gentle and caring. Most importantly it was warm and comforting. Something SD-37 had never felt before. Static reached their auditory processors as the human gently spoke. Tears fell from SD-37’s eye and they leaned on the human, fear starting to dissipate. One last notification appeared before everything went black.

Battery low: 0%. Shutting Down.

—

SD-37 jolted awake and shot up. They found themselves in a light gray room filled with machinery, robots in various states of repair, and spare drone parts. The lab was well lit and despite its crowded nature, appeared clean and well maintained. They scanned the room thinking it was empty until they saw the person sitting by their side. Startled, SD-37 leapt to their feet taking a defensive stance. They internally chastised themself for the lack of awareness.

Battery at 100%

The notification surprised them, causing them to jump again. They didn’t know they were on a charging pad. After dismissing the notification they noticed the thick blanket at their feet and gazed down. A blanket and pillow on a charging pad? How odd. Their attention snapped back to the human in front of them. She had stood from her swivel chair and held out her arms as if trying to calm a frightened animal down. She wore a messy navy blue coverall stained with oil and grease.

“It's all right, you’re safe,” The human spoke in a gentle voice, “No one here is going to hurt you.”

She backed away slowly and SD-37 lowered their guard a bit. The human gestured towards the now empty chair before sitting in another.

“You can have a seat if you want. I’m sure you have lots of questions.”

SD-37 looked at the human, suspicion in their eyes. Eyes. Plural. They could see clearly, and words filled their auditory processors instead of static. 

The human had tan skin and dark brown hair. She wore her hair in twintails and had bangs that were cut just above her eyebrows. The hair was familiar. Was this the human who she encountered when she awoke however long ago? Was it a nightmare? They would need answers.

The human started shifting in her chair. Feeling awkward from The drone’s intense stair.  She absentmindedly started to play with one of her twintails. 

“Y-you can use the blanket if you're cold,” She said weakly. Any sense of confidence had faded away.

SD-37 hopped off the charging pad and sat in the offered swivel chair. They sat up straight and proper. Whatever situation they were in being lax wouldn’t help. They met the human's eyes with a focused stare.

“You’re not from corporate, are you,” SD-37 demanded. Tone indicating it wasn’t a question.

“Corporate? I don’t think there are corporations around anymore,” She said, confused. “I’m Cassandra by the way. You gotta name?”

“SD-37 and what do you mean there's no corporate? Aren’t we on New Newport Spaceship and Drydock property?”

“That's not a real name! That’s a number!”

“It’s not my serial number. Now answer the question!”

Irritation flashed on SD-37’s face. Who was this human to demand she had a name instead of a number? Humans gave them numbers!

“New Newport… whatever hasn’t been around for 14ish years,” Cassandra breathed out. “Not since the bombs fell and the world ended.”

“So it wasn’t just here. It was everywhere.”

“Yeah…”

There was a long moment of silence. SD-37 tried to process what having no corporation to return to ment. Who did they work for? How will they earn their recharge time? They needed a new boss. Should it be the person who found them? The person who repaired them? 

“Sorry, this isn’t how I ment for this to go. That's quite a lot to drop on someone when they first wake up,” Cassandra said with her hands buried in her face.

She stood up and stretched her back. Then she placed a foot on the chair and struck a dramatic pose, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“I’m Cassandra Diaz from the great Diaz line! It’s a pleasure to meet you SD-37! Assuming that is the name you want to stick with.” She bellowed.

“You say the great Diaz line like I should know who they are.”

“I descend from the mighty Marco, fixer of engines; and a fair butterfly who dreams of traveling among the stars!”

“Ummm, that doesn’t help.”

“You SD-37 have been granted the opportunity to join us on a voyage that will lead to another world!”

SD-37 blinked in surprise. There was a group of people trying to fulfill the factory’s original purpose? Will she get to join? 

“Assuming you want to, that is,” Cassandra added quickly. “I don’t want to force you.”

“Wait. Can I ask some questions? Without whatever that whole thing was?” They asked, gesturing to the posing Cassandra.

She laughed and sat back down.

“I suppose that’s fair”

“Was it you who found me in the scrap yard?”

“Yes.”

“Who repaired me? I look like I just came off the assembly line.” SD-37 said, while gesturing to her factory grey plaiting and black silicone.

“I did,” Cassandra replied, seeming proud of her work.

“If I joined,” They hesitated, “would I be left behind…”

“What! Why on Earth would we leave you behind?” Cassandra shouted, clearly surprised by the question. “We take care of our own here! Humans and drones!”

SD-37 shrugged, “humans made us to be disposable labor. It’s not that odd a question.”

“You’re a person, not some THING meant to be used and disposed!”

You’re a person she says. What an odd thing to say to a drone. Although that did solve their problem about not having a boss. Cassandra probably wouldn’t have them scrapped at a moment's notice. There was still one burning question at the front of their mind.

“Why did I reactivate after all that time?” They asked.

“No idea. It just happens sometimes with drones who weren’t ‘correctly disassembled.’” She said using air quotes. “You’re actually the first I’ve found… and successfully reactivated. It doesn’t always work. I assume it has something to do with  the software side of things. Coding a G.A.I. is a bit beyond me.”

“I see. Well boss, how would I go about joining?”

“Yesss!” Cassandra cheered in excitement. “Well, we’ll need to notify the Steering Committee. Then we’ll see where you can best help out around here. But first, we have more important matters to attend to.”

—

SD-37 followed Cassandra back to her living quarters. The place was small by human standards. Although it was pretty generous considering this was a former cruise ship. The room was long and narrow. It held a bed and some other basic furnishings. This room didn’t have a window as it was an interior room. Books and papers were scattered across her desk and couch. As well as what looked like a few incomplete tinkering projects and a blue jacket. SD-37 had no idea what tinkerings would be used for. Cassandra was going through her dresser and pulling out a variety of clothes.

“What are we doing here?” SD-37 asked, confusion clear on her face.

“Presentation,” She replied in a matter of fact tone. 

“We have to prepare a presentation for the Steering Committee?”

“What? No. I assume you don’t want to walk around…” Cassandra trailed off, looking for the word. “Well, naked isn’t exactly correct but you get it.”

“I’m not sure I do.”

“It’ll help you display individualism. How you dress yourself says a lot about you!”

“I would never have guessed that.”

Cassandra laughed, “That may be on me, sorry about that. Anyways,do you see yourself as more masculine, feminine, or neither? My clothes are more feminine but some are gender neutral. If you want something more masculine we’ll need to stop by The Promenade Deck.”

Once again SD-37 was baffled by their boss's odd behavior towards drones. Truth be told they’d always thought of themselves as a girl, but drones weren’t allowed to decide such things. Her core accelerated at the thought, she was excited. Unfortunately she couldn’t allow herself to slip up. So she said something stupid.

“Corporate and manufacturer protocols indicate that drones shall not be granted the privilege of things that inspire individualism, such as: names, personal belongings, use of gendered pronouns, and custom paint jobs. Among other things,” SD-37 recited.

“I really don’t think you need to worry about that. It’s not like they’re around anymore.”

SD-37 cringed at what she’d just stated and blushed furiously.

“You don’t have to worry about it right now. It’s not a decision to make on the spot,” Cassandra said with a sympathetic smile. “Let’s just head to the Steering Committee.”

“I’m a girl!” SD-37 blurted out. She’d felt like if she didn’t say it then she never would. Her body tensed up as she waited for punishment. There’s no way this would be tolerated. None came.

“Do you want to try on some clothes?” Cassandra asked with a wide smile on her face.

They mix and matched clothing for quite some time. Unfortunately, they had different body types so most of the clothes didn’t fit correctly. Cassandra was taller than SD-37 and had a slender frame where she was more boxy. They agreed to go to The Promenade Deck after she was officially a member of the aspiring colonists. The last thing SD-37 tried on was the blue utility jacket that had been thrown over the couch. Cassandra was more than happy to give it to her.

“Are you sure you want to be called SD-37? It feels like a serial number,” Cassandra asked.

“It’s not. It stands for security drone 37. I was the 37th drone purchased for the security detail for the factory's perimeter.”

“How long did you do that?”

“A year.”

“I was a year old when the bombs fell too. I guess that makes us the same age,” Cassandra beamed. “So a name?”

“I wouldn’t know what to call myself,” SD-37 hesitated for a moment. “Why don’t you pick one?”

Cassandra was her boss after all.

“Hmmm, are you sure?”

“Yes”

“Ok, how about Joyce. Because you were such a joy to repair!”

Joyce smiled, “Works for me!” 

—

End playback: Core drive/Memories/Cassandra/File672389

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