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Something strange was happening on the Satellite of Love.
But "strange" was probably too strong a word. Everything had been strange for Mike Nelson since the day he'd arrived (or been whacked on the head and forcibly shot into orbit, if you wanted to be blunt about it), which meant that really, nothing was strange anymore. Not the way it would've been back down on Earth, anyway. He figured that if strangeness was a scale, and a 5 represented an average day on Earth, an average day on the Satellite registered at around a 7.9.
But he could tell something was different. Something in the ship's atmosphere had changed over the past few days-- not in a literal sense, obviously, or they'd all be dead, but in a metaphorical sense-- and it was starting to irk Mike, just to the point of 'this is a concerning level of weird, even under the current circumstances'.
He hadn't been able to identify the issue by name yet, but as he stood in the spacecraft's corridor one evening, it finally hit him: it was really freakin' cold in here. Not to the point of danger or anything, but definitely past a mere slight annoyance. Aside from that, the fluorescent lighting seemed a little less... well, fluorescent? It was dimmer and darker, almost like the sun was setting earlier than usual. For a moment, Mike wondered if he'd forgotten to pay the electric bill. Then he remembered that he didn't pay for anything, and also, there was no electric bill.
"...Guys?" he finally called out, at a loss for what else to do. His voice echoed down the hallway, bouncing across the haphazardly-placed metal. He swore he could see his breath; it was that cold all of a sudden. Awesome. Slowly succumbing to the harsh subzero vacuum of space had actually been pretty low on his list of ways he'd expected to die aboard the SoL.
"Crow? Tom?"
"We're in the living room!" The high-pitched, singsong voice of GPC came from further down the hall.
As Mike entered the living room (which looked pretty much the same as all the other rooms but with a very large, very ugly sofa that comfortably fit the four robots plus Mike-- none of them knew where it had come from, and it was better not to ask), he was relieved to find that it was warmer than the hallway, at least. Three of the four bots were already sat lounging on the couch, looking over at him expectantly. Even from over in the doorway, he could hear their circuits whirring-- they were trying to generate enough power to emulate some level of body heat, he presumed.
"Yeeeshh, about time! " Tom Servo griped. "Thanks for finally joining the rest of the family, Mike." His dangling, non-articulated arms were as close to being crossed as they could possibly be.
"It's supposed to be our day off! " Mike protested, barely having time to register how surreal this whole thing was; this being passive-aggresively scolded by a robot in space when he could've very well been on Earth receiving the exact same thing from his actual-- well, his Earth family. "I had other stuff I wanted to work on today."
They waited for him to elaborate. "...What stuff?" GPC asked after a moment.
"Just... I dunno, stuff! We don't have to do everything together. I mean, you guys have your... hobbies; I'm not allowed to have mine?" Mike asked, throwing his hands up in defeat.
"No, of course you're allowed, Mike," Servo reassured him. "We just all know that you don't have any hobbies."
"Okay, jeez, Tom. I didn't come down here to be heckled." Mike turned towards the door as if to leave the room. As he predicted, GPC and Servo instantly began whining "No, stayyyyy!" in protest. He smiled to himself a little.
"So," Mike addressed the three robots, "you guys have noticed that the ship feels different, right? Like, really cold and depressing. It's not just me?" The bots each nodded and/or hummed in agreement. "Okay, good. That's a good start. Does anyone know why this is happening?"
Another unanimous nod from the bots, although this one was preluded by a beat of hesitation.
"Cambot said earlier the Mads left us a message about it," Servo told him. "They can-- Cambot, can you go ahead and pull it up on the screen?"
Cambot's light flashed, and they swiveled around, indicating the others look up at the little screen mounted on the living room wall. It was one they rarely used, actually. Since it was mounted so high up and at such an awkward angle, it had caused several minor brawls over who had the optimal viewing spot. (Plus, Tom had to be balanced on the back of the sofa in order to see what was happening, and it was hardly worth the trouble.) But it snapped on, courtesy of Cambot's internal remote control, and the screen changed to blindingly white with fuzzy black text. Mike winced at the sudden brightness, squinting until his eyes adjusted. It was an e-mail.
The message, typed in a barely legible font, read:
Greetings, you frozen turkey giblet!
As you may have noticed, the vibe aboard the Satellite of Love is particularly dreary right now. Moreso than usual, I mean. Now that's really saying something, you understand, because you guys are huge bummers. But we did it nonetheless!
You see, Mike, we've noticed that you've been taking your "unique situation" in stride lately. Which is to say, you've actually adjusted quite well to being marooned on a satellite going absolutely nowhere. You're a real team player! Congrats.
Well, that just won't do. We don't really want you getting used to anything. So for the first time ever, we've decided to re-implement a previous addition to the Satellite-- new, improved and now freshly tailored to your own miserable psyche-- introducing, completely new to you, Mike Nelson-- the Climate Simulator!
Yes. As of right now, it only has the one setting, and that is "Midwest November". Your bones are aching with cold, it's dark at 4 PM, and you can't seem to pull your lazy butt off the couch. And there's not a reprieve in sight-- it's nowhere near Christmas yet, and this is only the beginning of a five-month winter. Or however long we decide to keep it on.
The robots can explain it to you if they want, but trust me, it's going to kind of suck to be alive for a little while.
Enjoy!
❤ Dr. F
(P.S.-- Frank's here too. He wants to say hi. I don't know why he always does this. You can write your own emails, Frank.)
Mike sighed deeply. "Well. That's pretty evil, I guess."
"Yeah," Tom agreed. "It probably won't last very long, but... hmm. You know how movie theaters are always sort of cold and they make you want to fall asleep no matter what time it is? How much you don't want to do anything except go to bed when you exit a theater?"
"Yeah?"
"It's gonna be like that, except all the time. They've somehow perfected the feeling of not just 'winter', but 'dark and rainy afternoon after a disappointing matineé in winter'."
"Huh." Mike let the information sink in. "Well, he was right. That is gonna suck."
"Yeah," the three 'bots sighed in unison, seemingly just as unamused as he was himself.
Leave it to the Mads to try and drive him insane with completely mundane Earth things like Daylight Savings Time when they had seemingly endless mad science-based hijinks at their disposal.
After a brief lull fell across the room, Mike asked a pressing question that had been on his mind since a few paragraphs ago: "Say, GPC, how come we're calling you that right now? It'll be over twenty years before your name gets changed, and I as a character firmly set in the '90s would have no way of foreseeing that."
The purple bot hummed, always happy to be included in the story. "Well worth noticing, Mike! I think it's probably because the writer doesn't feel comfortable using my original name if they can avoid doing so, especially since I do have an alternative that's been canon since 2017."
"But hey, wait-- doesn't it disrupt the flow of the story to acknowledge this at all?" Tom pointed out. "I'm sure the audience could've come to that conclusion on their own, without all the fourth wall breaking... is this tacky? Are we selling out?"
"I think it gels well with the tone and humor of the show," Mike reassured him, "and our fans will appreciate the meta moment even if they don't agree with the creative choice itself.'
They all nodded, satisfied with the bit.
"Where's Crow, by the way?" he asked, finally realizing the actual issue at hand: it was extremely unusual to have the whole group together without Crow. And for that matter, it was weird to be talking to Tom Servo without having Crow interject with a quip every now and then. It threw the whole energy of the conversation off.
He realized that the robots were once again hesitating before answering.
"Crow's in his room. He used to get weird whenever the climate simulator was on," Tom explained, sounding tired. "The Mads tried this 'winter' thing a couple times back when Joel was here-- but he's from Wisconsin, so y'know, it didn't really affect him much. But Crow was all thrown off. Something in his hardware is really sensitive to the environment changing, I think."
"Is he gonna be okay?" Mike asked, a little concerned. "I mean, should we check on him?"
Cambot and GPC both rotated their heads in the direction of Tom Servo, who looked like he was starting to get really sick of people looking over at him for the next line.
"I guess so. I mean, that's what Joel used to do," he muttered at last, not facing anyone in particular. "Not that he was all that good at it either, but you know... it's the thought that counts or whatever."
Mike nodded slowly, a crease of worry barely starting to form between his eyebrows. "Yeah. I mean, I'd like to help, but I don't know if I'm the person he'd want to talk to--"
"Ugggghhhh," Tom groaned without any further prompting. "Fine, I get it, I get it. Gotta make old Tom Servo do it. 'Servo, you gotta go talk to him.' 'Servo, you're the only one who could possibly understand what it's like to be a robot born in space and spend your whole existence on television.' 'Servo, you're Crow's best friend and you understand him on a profound level that you don't want to think about too much lest it becomes weird.' Fine. I'm going." He hovered out of the room in a dramatic huff.
"...I have never said any of that," was all poor clueless Mike could say after Servo was already out the door.
"It's okay, Mike," GPC reassured him. "He said the exact same thing last time this happened."
Mike couldn't decide if it was really funny or really sad that Dr. Forrester (and his... assistant? Boytoy? Husband?? He was still unclear on all that) had failed to break Joel, the human man with an organic brain prone to all sorts of malfunctions, but they had apparently succeeded in giving a robot seasonal depression.
Well, that's life, he thought, and decided to leave the story.
~~~~~~~~~~
Tom Servo knocked on Crow's wall -- none of their bedrooms had doors except Mike's, because what was the point?-- and announced himself before rounding the corner.
"Croo-oowww? Mike's been looking for you," he called out.
"What'd you tell him?"
Tom heard Crow before seeing him-- he was huddled in the corner of his bed, curled up under two quilts. His head shape made it difficult for him to properly bury his whole head under the blanket, but he was certainly trying to.
"Nothing. Just that the climate simulator makes you act weird."
"Oh well, thanks," Crow said-- flatly, but clearly still making an attempt to be playful. "He definitely won't have any follow-up questions about that."
Servo hovered just inside the doorway, trying to decide if he should settle down or try to nudge Crow out of his room.
"If you're trying to decide whether to settle down or nudge me out of my room," Crow spoke up, "I might be able to be bribed."
"I... hmm." Servo rotated in a circle, as if trying to check his non-existent pockets. "I literally have nothing to bribe you with. I'm sorry."
The lighting in each of their bedrooms was adjustable, and Crow's walls currently glowed with touches of deep blue and angry purple.
"Oh come on, the lighting's a little melodramatic, Crow."
"...No it's not. This is how I feel. On the inside."
"Crow."
"I don't wanna talk about it."
"That's fine. You don't have to."
The silence in the room lasted all of four seconds.
"I didn't want... these changes," Crow said simply. "I've tried to be a good sport about it, and Mike's a good guy, but... I dunno. I miss Joel."
"Yeah," Tom agreed. "You and the audience both."
"I'm serious! I'm being serious with you for once, can't you just..." Crow sighed in frustration. "Fine. Forget it. You wouldn't get it."
"Oh, right, of course I wouldn't," Servo shot back. "It's not like I'm the other part of the main trio of the show or anything."
(He did have a point there. In fact, someone even more melodramatic might have even said that Crow T. Robot and Tom Servo were the only ones that could completely understand one another-- and fully grasp just how unfair the situation they were actually in was. But they were only as dramatic as they were dense, so they merely looked at each other.)
"I know you a lot better than Mike does," Servo said. "And I know you don't really care about his opinion of you, at the end of the day. So you've been hiding out in here for another reason, which means you're also hiding from us."
Crow rolled his eyes so impressively, it was amazing he didn't pop a fuse. "Eugh. You really do know me too well."
"I'm right, though. Yeah?"
"I'm not trying to avoid you. I just don't feel up to... really anything right now." Crow tilted his head slightly toward Servo so he could look at him as he said, "You understand, right? Tell me I'm not the only one who still feels weird about everything changing?"
"You're not," Tom said immediately. "Not by a long shot."
Crow couldn't stop his train of thought once it started rolling down the existentialism hill. "This 'winter climate' feels exactly the same today as it did last time, when Joel was here with us. And if they decide to bring back version 3 someday in the future with the next test subject, whenever that'll be, it'll probably feel exactly the same then too! And all that we'll be able to think about is how we were here for all of it, and the rest of them get to move on. The humans have a life outside of the Satellite, but we don't... and that never felt wrong before, until Joel left."
"...Huh. Yeah," Tom said, letting the observation hang in the air. "Heavy stuff for a Tuesday."
This time, rather than getting indignant, Crow cracked a small laugh. "Yeee-ap. So that's kind of what I've been pondering in here."
"C'mon," Tom chided him. "You know that pondering's terrible for your power cels."
"And it's the most inefficient use of memory space we have," Crow agreed wholeheartedly. "But we're still doing it. It's kind of all we can do sometimes."
"Yeah. Maybe so," Tom conceded. "At least we're funny."
"God, yeah, we are," Crow sighed. "We're delightful. Mike's lucky to have us."
"Forget about Mike and Joel for a second," Tom insisted. "Forget about performing. We're lucky to have each other. GPC and Cambot, and you, and me."
"...Huh," Crow said simply. "Yeah. I guess you're right. What are we, anyway? You and I?"
"I try not to label it," Servo said, waving his hand. "It changes from episode to episode."
"Hmm. That's inconvenient. Maybe we should just get married, so nobody gets confused about it anymore."
"Crow-- okay, I'm not saying no, but I can promise you that would cause a lot more confusion."
"Yeah," Crow admitted, sounding just the tiniest bit disappointed.
"Ah, what the hell. Maybe someday. You never know."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2017
Several somedays passed before, in the slightly more (but-still-not-so-in-the-grand-scheme-of-things-) distant future, Kinga Forrester found the set of blueprints for the Climate Simulator and-- naturally-- immediately re-activated it. For the first time since the Netflix revival, the artificial "Midwest November" struck the robot crew of the Satellite of Love.
They, of course, gave Jonah the necessary context-- although the whole thing did leave them to wonder just why the Mads had gone back to this particular invention so many times. (Then again, perhaps it was just because it made for a convenient plot device. And they could respect that.)
Tom Servo floated down the hallway, still getting used to the feeling of his new design. It had a couple drawbacks, but overall he was getting comfortable with it.
He stopped at Crow's doorway and knocked. It was part of the routine by then. Whatever befell the Satellite, they all had their routines.
"Welp. Winter again, I guess," Tom broke the silence, knowing he was expected.
Crow had already put on a jacket and was sitting upright, propped up on his pillow, but still underneath the double layer of quilts. "Yup."
"How're you holding up?"
"Y'know , it feels... exactly the same," Crow admitted, kicking his legs over the side of the bed and standing up.. "I don't know, maybe I expected some profound change this time around. But nope. Still cold. Still dark. Still feels like nothing that's happened, or will happen, good or bad, makes any difference in the grand scheme of the universe."
"Heyyy. What'd we talk about before?"
Crow rolled his eyes. "Ughhh. I know. It does matter."
"Because...?"
"Because of the love," Crow echoed, having indeed been over this before.
"Because of the love, Crow." They let it sit for a second. "Because the people out there who watch the Satellite are here for us. The weird robot family. Everything else is just... a different coating. They'll come and go. Forever, if we're lucky."
"But it doesn't erase any of what's been here before," Crow concluded, stretching his gangly robot arms. "I know."
"Wanna go get a hamburger sammich and French-fried potatoes?" Servo offered, already heading out the door.
In spite of the dreary new climate hanging over him, Crow couldn't help but smile as he followed.
"That's literally the only thing I want right now."