Three hundred pounds of robot plunked down, shaking the house. The RoboAide™ wiggled on its back, as if trying to scratch an itch. It paused to stare at me, shifted its gaze to my wife when she rushed in, then ignored us.
“What’s Mr. Giz doing?”
“Tech said the personalization module needs a factory reburn. Normally they swap in a flexibility loaner because depersonalized RoboAides can stiffen up, but those are backordered. We gotta make do for now with a leftover module from someone’s RobotPet™ upgrade.”
Mr. Giz slinked to a sunbeam, stretched. “Meow.”
My wife eyed me. “How long?”
_________________
Marc A. Criley began writing in his early 50s,
and his stories have since appeared in Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Abyss
& Apex, Galaxy’s Edge, and elsewhere. Marc and his wife “manage” a
household of cats in North Alabama, from where he maintains kickin-the-darkness.com and tweets as @That_MarcC.
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