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“Why does this freak you out?”
I was standing on top of a table in my quarters so, yes, I guess I was freaked out. “Just talk to me normally!” I demanded.
“This is normal,” it said, in a squeaky voice that was just enough like my mutual administrative assistant's to be completely eerie. The fuzzy children’s robotic toy (I’ve been told it’s called a ‘teddy bear’) walked closer to the table. Thankfully its little paws were just shy of reaching the edge and too stubby to hold on if they did. “I have had this drone for years. It is one of my oldest in inventory.”
“Oh, that’s why it looks so creepy!” Its fur was all matted and discolored, and it was missing an eye. The inside of its head glowed evil-robot red. “This drone is, like, straight out of a horror film.” Knowing it wouldn’t believe me without references, I sent it a full bibliography of media featuring killer dolls and toys. “The only thing you have going for you is that you’re not a puppet,” I said.
The little teddy bear’s arms lowered. “Well—Iris found this drone very comforting growing up. I thought, after the most recent mission…”
Oh yeah. I was trying not to think about the mission, the one where corporate librarians didn’t take too kindly to ART and I breaking in to forge some important planetary documents and tried to shoot me with a grenade launcher. I’ve never been shot by a librarian before, and it felt a bit personal.
Well, this demonic teddy bear walking toward me in the middle of the night with arms outstretched and ready for strangling did a good job of putting the mission out of my mind. I know I can’t be strangled especially not by such tiny arms. I know objectively that it can’t hurt me in any way. Still!
“Oh, never mind!” The drone bleated like a sad evil baby. “I hope you have a perfect recharge cycle on your own.”
It stormed out as only a little robotic teddy bear can, stubby little legs pumping, and—I guess I felt a little guilty.
“Hey, come on….” I got down from the table and—carefully—lifted the bear off its feet, keeping it at arms length. “Don’t be like that.”
The legs kept walking jerkily in midair as its head swiveled 180 degrees to look at me.
“Yeah, that’s not creepy at all.”
“I’m not broken, I’m well-loved,” it said, which maybe made it feel bad because it went still in my hands. I’d never been what you call ‘well-loved’. Well, not by anyone but the transport currently torturing me with this terrifying drone.
I relented. “Well, I’m not cuddling you like this.”
I carried the bear to the bathroom. I ignored its protests as I mercilessly skinned it, then carefully washed the skin in the sink with my gentlest soap (its my bathroom so I only have the good soaps). This of course exposed a lot of corrosion on the drone’s plating and broken wires, so while I left the skin to get fluffed in the clothes drier I consulted some repair guides, assembled some gentle chemical cleaners, and scoured every circuit board and actuator. I replaced the wires with some from my own stash. When the skin was all fluffed up, warm and dry, I wrapped the drone back up in its skin. After that I made myself comfortable on the sofa, put on some media for us, and spent the evening sewing some patches over holes and thin spots, using fabric from the hooded jacket I'd been wearing when we met (it was super worn-out anyway, no idea why I kept it). I never really got into crafts no matter how much my humans tried, but I went all out on this.
Time doesn’t pass for SecUnits like it does for humans, so I don’t know—I guess it took me a couple days. My mutual administrative assistant stopped complaining at least, once its huge brain figured out what I was doing was not in fact some form of revenge (okay maybe it was a little bit of revenge). Anyway, when I finished I held the bear up for inspection.
“There you are,” I told ART softly. I’d replaced the creepy missing eye with a pretty new camera from one of my intel drones that I got from Officer Indah, the lens black and perfectly innocent (of course anyone who's met ART will know better).
“See?” I held it up to ART’s nearest ceiling camera. “Isn’t this better?”
“I suppose,” ART said, still speaking through this funny little bear drone. It considered itself for a moment, fluffing up its cheeks and turning its head side-to-side, which is really adorable coming from a tiny bear that is not on the verge of a) collapse, b) spontaneous combustion, or c )demonic possession. At least now it didn't look so neglected.
“I didn’t mind the way it looked before," ART said. "Iris and I went on so many adventures when she was small. I always thought of the wear-and-tear as a reminder of it.”
“Well—” I mean, the bear was far from brand new. There were still some stains, and a burn spot on the butt that I had no idea how to fix which I guess ART hadn’t noticed yet. I decided, “Well—now it’ll remind you of both of us. Your adventures with Iris. And whatever is the opposite of adventures with me.” I did forget all about the mission while I was fixing this little drone up.
“To be loved is to be changed,” it agreed with a wise nod. It was agreeing with me?
“…Okay, you’re being creepy again.”
It hugged me, tiny robot arms squeezing as tight as they could. "Thank you."
I knew from my cleaning and repair that the bear had touch sensors, so after checking to make sure no one was watching, I hugged it back. I thought I'd feel stupid but squeezing the soft fuzzy body actually made my performance reliability go up a whole couple of points. Huh. Maybe those juvenile humans are on to something with their stuffed toys.
I carried it over to the sofa, and we watched our new show. If I squished my face into the bear's soft fur, only ART has video evidence (and it knows better than to share it).