Station to Station

Where Stella came from wasn't any more important than who had created her, or her model, or her purpose. What happened before she ceased to function didn't matter that much, either. In that case, why would the future be any different? But she told none of this to the man, since he'd finally stabilized. For the most part, she just said what he wanted to hear. After all, he'd been fairly helpful as he explained the nature of his organization, even if consuming two cans of beer at work might have been an unorthodox choice.

"After I woke up," Stella continued, "The android you called an engineer ran a few system checks, updated my language drivers, almost died, and called for a vehicle to pick me up. This happened... not here." Stella looked around. The room was a perfect cube. It had too many colors to be an office. "You should get a window."

"There is a window. It's just closed." All the while, the man had been typing on the screen that emerged from the table. "Anyway, that checks out with Reira's report. Why did you attack her?"

"Just testing. If she were an enemy, she would've struck back."

"Makes perfect sense."

Should Stella say she did not appreciate sarcasm? "I understand irony is a coping mechanism to shield your mental fragile state," she said, "But I'd advise against overusing it. In any case, I have been very compliant to the demands of your superiors. I turned off most of my biohazardous components. I've been following your strange protocols. When will you tell me what happened to my owner?"

"He died," replied the man.

"...I know. How?"

"I'll ask relevant authorities to investigate."

"When?"

"Soon. Listen, I'm just a social worker."

"Didn't you tell me your organization repairs and relocates androids against their consent?"

The man eyed the mini-fridge at the other side of the office. A third beer was already flaky territory, but she'd allow it. If he tried to drink a fourth one, she'd have to forcefully restrain him and contact authorities. "No. I did not tell you that. At all. I'm a social worker contracted under a government program to help veteran androids get a home. That's what I've been trying to do all along. Get you a home."

"Against my consent."

"Well, if you'd rather stay at the landfill, I can tell them that."

"Not the landfill," Stella said. "The recycle center."

"...huh?"

"Why is the government so wasteful? Why would they devote an entire building to a non-productive android? Would it not be more efficient to disassemble and reuse my components?"

The man's expression was strange. Not a frown, but almost. Not surprise, but almost. One of his eyebrows was missing a patch of blue hair, probably due to the scar that went from his forehead down to his cheek. How bizarre: they'd waste money on 'retiring' androids, but not treating this man's condition.

He said nothing, so she had nothing to reply to. Instead, he typed.

And typed.

Stella held back the urge to toy with her ears. However many years ago, she did that far too often, for no real reason. Her owner... ex-owner called it a 'habit'. She called it a consequence of unwieldy structures due to her maker's eccentric tastes. At least she managed to hide her tail swishing under the provisional garments the wasteful organization lent her.

"Once you choose your home," said the man, "You'll be receiving additional help. We have a very capable team. They'll, uh. Help you adapt to current society."

"A team? Why a team? Who pays their salaries? That money could go to funding—"

"Stella." She recognized that tone. It wasn't a good tone. She shut up. As if sensing her discomfort, the man was quick to disarm himself, letting his shoulders drop, scratching the back of his head. "...how many times do I have to tell you? It's been two centuries. We can afford it. Trust me. No one's dying of hunger because you're finally getting the rights you deserve."

She deserved nothing. Stella bit back the phrase; she had to. She deserved nothing. She was nothing. These people were all crazy and wasteful and would absolutely destroy the society her ex-owner had died to create. But she said none of this. "I..." All she had to say was 'I understand'. 'I agree'. She hated lying. "But... and... can't I at least share the building with homeless children?"

"There are no homeless children."

"Homeless adults?"

"There's none. That's. The point. Of this program."

"Then why do social workers still exist?"

The man furiously typed something on the screen. It was very long. Perhaps it said F-U-C-K-Y-O-U-S-T-E-L-L-A many times in a row. He didn't send it, nor did he delete it. "I'll transfer you to someone who better suits your needs," was his response.

If Stella had a pulse, it would've quickened. "Wait, why?"

"Because... why not?"

"Why yes? Why? What did I do?"

"Stella, wait. Calm down."

"I'm calm."

The man stood up. He wasn't calm. "I didn't mean it that way. I'm sorry. I just don't think we're communicating at all, and—"

"I'm calm."

"Yes. You're calm."

"So then why must I be transferred? Will I have to start all over again with another social worker who will also get angry will they try to take me to the moon did you type a bad word can't you just stay until your work is done I don't like getting tossed around if you can't tell me what happened to my owner that's fine just don't transfer me and don't stay silent for a long time again say something."

The man opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed through the nose.

"Say something," Stella urged.

"Right. Sorry. I guess I won't transfer you."

"Promise?"

"Promise. I'll stay with you to the end." He sat down. There it was, the almost frown almost surprise. "...right, so. In that case..."

"I won't question your authority again."

"It's not about questioning, just... later, all right? Just know that we're here to help. Now, let's find you a home. The program had chosen this specific neighborhood on thee Moon since there is a notable catgi—feline type cyborg population, but you can choose whatever you want. Almost. It's harder to find housing on Earth than anywhere else."

"Where are we right now?" Asked Stella.

"...Earth. Please. Later, okay? We need to get this started."

"Then I choose the moon," Stella said.

"Great!"

"What are you doing?"

The man had begun to type again, but Stella couldn't tell if it was furious or not. He sure moved a lot, though. Soon, images popped up on the screen.

Stella stared at them for far longer than she should've and she knew it, but... how could she not? "It... there's... are those humans?"

"Yes."

"On the moon?"

"It's a controlled environment."

"Trees?"

"Trees."

That being said, in the picture, a blue mass dominated the horizon. If not for that, or the way the sky was otherwise black, Stella could've almost confused the picture with... well, something terrestrial.

"Wow," she said.

The man smiled. It was the first time he did that. "Told you. Would you like to see the neighborhood our experts suggested?" She nodded, so he tapped a bit. The images changed. Not too much, though. This time, a group of androids posed for the camera, with a silver building as a backdrop. While significantly more streamlined than her rusty, old model, they were 'catgirls' all right. "You like it?"

Stella neither nodded nor said yes.

"What's wrong with it?"

"There's nothing wrong with it. That one's fine. That neighborhood."

"You sure? We can keep looking."

Her model had been designed for war. The feline features were frivolous in nature, but she would've thought that, as the war ended, there would be no need to create anyone like her anymore.

Then whey did they exist?

But she didn't say this. "What happens after I choose a place? Will I go see it?"

"Of course. Would you like to?"

She nodded.

"Great." More exaggerated typing. "We'll be heading there in five minutes." Less exaggerated typing. "Remember you can always ask for other options. You're free now, Stella. We all are."

Easy for a human to— "Wait. DId you say five minutes?"

Exactly four minutes thirty five seconds later, there was a ding at the office's door.