Asune clinked her glass against Bri’s, eyes bright. “To surviving the bots. And the boys.”

Bri clinked back, but her eyes drifted to the empty archway where the bot had disappeared. “We’ll see,” she murmured, and let the drink burn all the way down, trying to forget the feeling of being seen.

. The noise was the first surprise: not just the steady pulse of piped-in music, but the clatter of hundreds of voices, the soft whir of rolling suitcases, and the synthetic pings and chimes of a dozen different alert systems. The air was a quick slap of citrus and ozone, with undertones of fresh paint and something chemical that Bri couldn’t place.

She blinked hard, and for a second, the entire scene doubled in the reflection of her glasses—like two parallel ships, one stacked directly on top of the other, both equally likely.

Everything gleamed. The floors, the ceiling, even the handrails. A featureless LED glow made it impossible to tell what time of day it was. Gold-accented pillars sprouted up every few yards, perfectly spaced, like the columns in a bank or a fancy mausoleum. The human staff wore gold vests and black bow ties, and they glided through the crowds with perfect, not-quite-smiling efficiency. Each one wore a lanyard printed with a single, stylized word in crisp, blocky letters: GUIDE.

But the staff weren’t the first thing anyone noticed. That distinction belonged to the serving bots. The first one that trundled past Bri and Asune was shaped like a boulder on legs, with a tray of cocktails mounted on top and a tiny LED readout across its “forehead.” The readout cycled through a series of polite greetings and terrible puns: “WELCOME ABOARD,” “ENJOY YOUR STAY,” “HAVE A SPARKLING DAY.” The drinks on its tray were each labeled with a QR code, and a simple swipe of a wristband made one of them unlock with a mechanical clink.

Asune watched the bot go by, then deadpanned, “I, for one, welcome our new robot overlords.” She made a face, but Bri could already see the gears turning, calculating how to crack its code for free drinks. Bri rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Just try not to get us thrown in the brig on the first day.”

They moved deeper into the lobby, following a river of students and actual adults all shoving toward the same end goal: check-in. The line stretched out in front of a curved reception desk manned by three human hosts and two bots. The bots here were even more unsettling. They stood perfectly still until a guest approached, then animated in a way that was almost human, like a cutscene in a video game. These had silver “skin,” jointed at the fingers and elbows, and faces so close to plausible it took Bri half a beat to realize what she was seeing.

Bri stared, her thumb and forefinger pinching together in a nervous tic. An electric current of curiosity warred with the part of her brain screaming that this was wrong. She’d never seen a humanoid bot outside of a video feed, and the reality was far more unsettling.

Asune appeared less impressed. But Bri guessed she was reeling internally too. Bri risked a photo, pretending to text but angling her phone to catch the bot’s profile. The bot’s head rotated a perfect 30 degrees in her direction, eyes locking on her for a single, too-long second.

It smiled tilting its head to pose.

A flash of defiance cut through her unease. Fine. If it wanted to pose, she’d take the damn picture. She snapped the photo, the click feeling like a small act of rebellion.

Asune went feral. “I want to see if the mini bots will serve me a drink. Do you think they card the younger kids?” She didn’t wait for an answer, just spotted another tray-bot trundling past and made a beeline for it.

Bri trailed after, half in a daze. The main atrium rose up for five stories, capped by a dome of LED panels that cycled through sky blue, then orange, then a weird, midnight indigo. A single spiral staircase wound up the center, connecting decks, and a waterfall feature sent water down clear plastic tubes at the edges. There was a sense of perpetual motion—nothing here ever stopped, or even slowed.

A family with three toddlers in identical sun hats posed for a selfie by the waterfall. One of the female bots—the same silver-skinned variety from earlier—offered to take the picture. It clicked its eyes shut and it was done. She tried not to stare, but her brain catalogued every movement.

She was about to look away when the bot turned directly toward her.

It walked—no, strode—across the atrium, each step calculated and identical, until it stood two feet from Bri and Asune.

“Would you like your photo taken?” it asked, voice sounding perfectly human. “We can commemorate your embarkation in the Erebus Hall of Fame.”

Asune was already posing. “Yes, please!” She grabbed Bri around the shoulders and yanked her in. Bri started to protest, but the bot was already counting down: “Three. Two. One.”

A bright white flash. The bot’s eyes fluttered closed and open again, a split-second “blink” that registered as both endearing and absolutely horrifying.

It handed each of them a small, rectangular card, matte black with a white Erebus logo in the corner.

“For photo retrieval, please visit the Memories Station on Floor 5A. Or, download our app for a seamless digital experience. This card is synced to your personal profile,” said the bot, without looking at the card or them.

Bri took the card, fingers cold. She wanted to ask what else it tracked, but Asune was already moving again, her attention bouncing to the next new thing. “That was wild. You see its face? Almost too perfect.”

Behind them, two voices overlapped, one deep and easy, the other crisp and accented. Bri recognized the first voice instantly: Michael, her unwelcome stepbrother. “I told you she’d find the bots before anything else.” He wore the same suit from earlier, though he’d lost the tie. “Or that they’d find her,” said the second voice—Gabriel Ishikawa, standing a careful half-step behind.

Bri startled, more from the proximity than the voices. Michael shot her a grin that almost—almost—made her want to punch him. “Nice picture, by the way,” he said, nodding at the black card in her hand. “If you don’t like it, the bots do retakes, no questions asked.”

Asune, undaunted, looked Gabe up and down. “How do you know that?”

Gabe shrugged, a gesture that looked expensive and unbothered. “There was a sign. But I am sure the photo was perfect.” His gold eyes flicked to Bri, then away, unreadable.

Michael reached past Bri for one of the drinks from the nearest tray-bot. He passed a drink to Asune, then to Bri. She took it without thinking—her hands moved before her brain had a chance to veto.

The drink tasted sweet like pineapple and cherries. Bri tried to hide her reaction, but Michael caught it and snorted. “Good, right?”

Gabe ignored the banter, focused instead on the silver-skinned bot. “That’s not like any model I’ve ever seen,” he said, voice low. “I had heard that each one runs on a custom AI core. They’re supposed to be a million dollars apiece, easy. Only an idiot would have them taking tourist photos.”

Michael laughed. “You know who owns this ship, right? Constantine? He once tried to buy out one of our R&D subsidiaries that was developing self-healing bioskin. I never thought he’d actually get it to market on a cruise ship.”

Gabe’s expression didn’t change, but his tone went flat. He gave Michael a hard stare. “Don’t get any ideas about dissecting one.”

Michael spread his hands, feigning innocence. “You know me. I like tearing things open, It's literally what I do. Curiosity is good for business.”

Bri watched the exchange over the rim of her glass. A warning from Gabe, a playful deflection from Michael—it felt like watching a match where only one of them knew the rules. She sipped her drink and said nothing.

The bot, sensing it was no longer needed, said “excuse me” and strode away. The moment it was out of sight, Bri felt her shoulders drop, and she realized her jaw had been clenched so hard her teeth ached.

Asune poked her. “You realize you just got your picture taken by a million-dollar android.”

Bri looked at the card, then at the archway where the bot had gone. “That’s one for the scrapbook, I guess.”

“I’d like to see that scrapbook sometime.”

Bri met his eyes, a challenge, “what do I get out of showing you?”

Gabe smiled, beautifully angelic. “I’ll think of something.” Michael gave him a stink eye.

In the brief silence that followed, the music overhead shifted to a slow, instrumental track. The LED ceiling dimmed to a soft amber, casting long shadows from the pillars. The air seemed to quiet, holding a different kind of energy. Or maybe it was just the pineapple and rum, already hitting her head.

Asune clinked her glass against Bri’s, eyes bright. “To surviving the bots. And the boys.”

Bri clinked back. “We’ll see about that,” she said, and let the drink burn all the way down.