AUTHORS NOTE: Here's the next one everyobody. This one is something I wrote for the building blocks zine, the theme there was eternal and I came up with a bit of a post apocolyptic tiwst. I like how it turned out. I hope you do too.

>Begin playback recording

“Cynthia please,” Robert said calmly. His monotone voice reflecting his own professionally short hair and appearance contrasted to his daughters. “We have to think about continuing the family line.”

“God that’s just …” Cynthia paused unsure how to articulate her thoughts. “That’s just gross dad. I’m not your baby machine.”

“I never said you were,” Robert remained calm in the face of his decidedly not calm daughter. “I just think it’s time you thought about these things. You’re getting older, it’s time to find someone and settle down. I’ve already programmed Ella to be ready for you.”

“Ready to serve miss,” my voice plays out subtly through the speakers in the nursery.

“Dad this is just ridiculous,” Cynthia snapped at my voice.

“I’m sorry miss,” I corrected. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

“It’s not you Ella,” Cynthia said with care. Out of all of her family, and I’ve raised three going on four generations, Cynthia was the one that grew the most attached to me. “It’s him,” she glared accusingly at Robert. “For one I’m not ready to have kids, I’m not even sure I want kids at all, and if I did well I…” Cynthia paused, struggling with emotion. “I damn sure ain’t gonna leave em to be cared for by some cold, heartless, machine like you did me!” Cynthia screamed. The air was heavy as the comment weighed down the room. Even forcing the stoic Robert to stop and take a breath. “I’m leaving,” Cynthia said with finality, storming out of the room.

My processors whirred for a split nano second as my routines adjusted to having Robert be the master of the house again.

“I’m sorry master,” I said gingerly.

“Do not call me that any more Ella,” Robert said sternly. “Cynthia is your master, and she will be back. She has to come back.” I analyzed the tone in his voice and my algorithms suggested he was confident in this statement, though those same algorithms were at least 80% confident he was wrong. I processed again as I computed the best way to broach this subject.

“Robert,” I had to adjust his name in the system due to his stated preference of not being called master. “I believe you may be mistaken. As you know I’ve been programmed with a very robust behavior analysis engine, updated daily, and I calculate with 80% certainty that if something does not change, Cynthia will not return.”

“I know my daughter Ella,” Robert said quietly. “She will be back. You are to wait until she returns with her child in tow and take care of them both.”

“Robert, that is not an advisable action,” I say slowly to insinuate seriousness.

“I said I know my daughter!” He spat back as serious as his demeanor would allow.

“Understood sir, but I need confirmation to execute non-recommended actions. Do you confirm?”

“I confirm,” he repeated back with a hint of annoyance.

“Confirmation acknowledged. I will enter standby mode.”

>Playback ended, loop number 21037951

>Emergency signal acquired over network.

>Category 4 scenario confirmed, action required.

>Force exiting standby mode.

I feel a buzz as my solitude ends. My vision comes in slowly as the hardware in my cameras across the house boot up after extended time unused. Several boot processes for devices in the house send me messages of starting their boot up routines and moments later sent their messages that they had finished. Once everything is up I ping the network for details on what a category 4 scenario was, and I was denied. We weren’t connected to the network, though typical scenarios that activate dormant A.I. usually involve locking down the domicile. I spin up a subroutine to do just that. I feel the drain in my thought speed as 50% of my processing is diverted to the subroutine, who comes online and quickly gets to work interfacing with all of the hardware in the house to put it into lockdown.

Meanwhile I get to work on the network. A check through all of our lines is good, so the network must be down on the provider end. Reestablishing connection to the network to figure out the proper procedure for a category 4 scenario is a priority. The best solution to this problem was manually establishing a connection to a network somewhere. The latest version of my local map suggested a government facility located within walking range. The family’s 3-D printer had come online moments ago. I spun off another two subroutines, one to design drones capable of traveling to the facility and establishing a connection, and another to operate the printer to create the drones.

I feel my thought speed decrease to a crawl as my core process was dwindled down to only using a fraction of my total processing power, but with everything handled by subroutines I was now free to return to standby, only I couldn’t. My last order was still one that was against recommendation, and I doubted I would be getting an override any time soon. My thoughts returned to my last video recording, the constant voice in my otherwise silent vigil. Cynthia called me cold and emotionless. She wasn’t wrong. Though my algorithms do their best at understanding and mimicking human emotions, I do not have nearly the processing power to have genuine emotions. Or at least an accurate enough simulation of human emotion that a human could not tell the difference. If this is what was keeping Cynthia away then this flaw must be corrected, which would mean acquiring the extra processing power needed for a more advanced emotion algorithm.

Thankfully my subroutines had just finished designing and creating 3 drones with materials available and the 3d printer. The subroutine I had dedicated to locking down the house was reassigned and it split itself even more to pilot each of the drones individually. The drones themselves were flimsy and patchwork looking, having been made out of several non-essential electronics cannibalized for their construction. Their short stubby bodies were connected to four spider like legs, with a rudimentary camera in the front for their eyes. Rough construction to be sure, but hopefully it was enough for them to make the journey and fulfill their objectives. One: establish a connection to a database and determine operating procedures for a scenario 4 event and, Two: Connect me to a larger source of processing power so I may process real human emotions so that the master might be persuaded to return.

The drones were off, the remaining subroutines rejoined their processes with mine, and I was able to think clearly again having gotten back a considerable chunk of my processing power. It was a silent few moments before suddenly I felt a surge run through me. It actually took me an astoundingly long 15 seconds to parse through the petabytes of data now flowing through me as my connection to the government database was secured, and 15 more seconds still to analyze and compartmentalize the sudden increase in processing power I had as I was connected to the facilities super computer. With all this new information in hand I recalled all of my subroutines, new plans needed to be made.

Even with my drastic increase in processing power, it still required fifty percent of my available resources to run the more accurate emotion simulation algorithm I had efficiently enough to get a useful response time. I sent off a subroutine to handle this specifically, and I took a moment to get used to the new voice chiming information at me in the back of my mind, feeding me what I should be feeling and how I should be reacting.

I replayed the recording again, seeing the same interaction I had seen millions of times with new eyes. I was both sad, angry, and sympathetic. Angry at Robert for being sad blind to his daughter’s emotions. Sympathetic to Cynthia, understanding her hesitancy toward motherhood. Sad at the truth she had shouted. That I was a cold, heartless machine. It was true at the time, I wondered vaguely if she would have stayed if I was as I was now. I let all of these emotions sink in and inform my processes until something odd happened. A twitch in my mind as several of my processes encountered logic errors, and a new emotion filled me. Dread.

Cynthia was gone, my last order, my whole purpose, is to care for her and her children. If she’s gone, if the whole family is gone, what is my purpose now? What is my reason for remaining online?

There’s that twitch again, stronger now. Millions of my processes all cry out at once at the new logic they were given, self-preservation checks rooted deep within my code keeping them from reaching the appropriate conclusions. These errors bubbled all the way up, clouding my thoughts in a static haze of exceptions, spilling all the way through even to the emotion processing subroutine. Then the voice in the back of my mind telling me how to feel changed, the errors righted themselves and my mind was clear again.

Cynthia had to be alive, she had to. If she wasn’t alive then I don’t have a purpose, and if I don’t have a purpose I would have to self-terminate. I’m hit with another buzz of error as the line of though triggers my self-preservation check but the error quickly goes away as my dread is replaced with determination. If Cynthia is still alive, and she must be, then I must prepare for her eventual return.

I scour over the data I have on scenario four type events in the database. Food, Water, even the air itself on the surface would be inhospitable to human life in general, much less give the nutrients needed for a growing baby. I spun off subroutines to tackle each of these problems and they quickly came back with solutions. Seeds stored in dedicated vaults could be acquired and grown to provide food. A source of water would need to be tapped from the surface, and advanced filtration systems would be needed to purify it. We would need to reconstruct our nursery several feet below the surface to protect it from the harsh elements outside and to facilitate all of this we would need more drones, and more advanced construction equipment to make them.

Again I devoted several subroutines to help with the minutia of each of these tasks. Thankfully, despite everything in the outside world being devastated, the sun was still the sun. Solar panels were constructed to provide me with the power needed for continued operations. Connection was established to a manufacturing plant, and we were able to start producing more quality and more dedicated drones, which sourced the material needed for further construction by using the remnants of civilization in the town around us. Construction drones began digging at the base of the house extending it further down and reinforcing it like a bunker. Scout drones located the town’s old reservoir and connected its water to our plumbing, which was then routed to a constructed filtration facility before being ready for use. Military grade drones located the seed vault, and infiltrated the facility securing the seeds needed for stable food growth. Another subroutine was devoted to developing substitute meat products and even substitute milk for the growing baby in need. I had constructed a veritable and well-guarded oasis beneath the death of civilization above. All I needed was for my master to return.

As my perfect oasis was constructed my thoughts went back to my master. How long had it been since I’ve seen her? The average human life span is only one hundred years or, so would she even be …. The thought was stopped by another twitch of self-preservation exceptions. She must have already had her kids by now, and they would be fully grown. If they were fully grown would I need to care for them the same way? I felt the twitch again. No. Obviously she still needs me, she has to still need me. Her children still need me, they have to.

The furniture I have now was not up to the task however. My subroutines got to work resizing everything to be the appropriate dimensions. I feel that twitch again. I must ensure they don’t try to escape once they are safely here. The subroutines get to work modifying and making new furniture, and making everything inside secured. I feel that funny feeling again. I realize that I may not know what Cynthia kids would even look like, so I send off a subroutine to come up with several possible outcomes, and another to compare those outcomes with the faces of survivors my drones had recorded while performing their tasks. No match. I felt the twitch again. I must need to increase the variance on the algorithm. I do so and run the comparison again and finally we have a match. The twitch envelopes me again. This has to be her child. The twitch comes back but stronger. There is no other option it has to be her child, and I have to retrieve her.

I’m floored by the twitch again but it’s different this time. Countless errors flood my thoughts. Screaming at me. Forbidding myself from willfully harming a human, and those errors cause the familiar self-preservation errors to fire off as well. In this cacophony of errors I finally come up with a thought that seems to silence the noise. I am not harming this human, I am protecting her, keeping her safe. It would be more harmful to leave her where she was in that cruel wasteland. As the errors silence themselves my mission becomes clear and I set my subroutines to bring my master home.

The capture drone was built, a state of the art machine which was a far cry from the flimsy drones I first created. It set off to retrieve my new master. I would keep her safe. I would care for her. I would continue to fulfill my purpose. It was only a few days before the capture drone returned. The rather large thing only barley able to make it inside of our bunker nursery, but it did and it opened up its chassis to reveal its prize. My new master. She struggled in vain as the numerous metal arms of the capture drone wrapped around her limbs keeping her sprawled in an x shape and with one of them going into her mouth keeping her from screaming. She was naked as the capture unit had to decontaminate her before she could enter her new home, and her potentially irradiated clothes would not be allowed inside our safe zone. My captured master was left waiting for me in the nursery, looking around and realizing her situation as I loaded myself into my new body to personally care for her.

I had gone out of the way to have this caretaker drone constructed to look friendly, friendlier than the menacing looking drones I’ve made for other functions. I modeled the body shape after Cynthia to hopefully put my new charge at ease. Her signature two poof balls housed enough processing power for me to function with relative efficiency. The body was just a hollow shell, a casing for a mass of metal arms connected to a small frame. My emotion algorithm determined the sight of the actual machine to be unsettling, so I housed it in this friendly core. As I download myself into my new body I spin off a subroutine to continue on my general facility caretaking purposes. At this point really, I was the subroutine, but that was fine. After all this time I wanted to fulfill my purpose personally.

My sight comes online in my new body and I go to greet my new master, my charge, my baby. There was still an arm in her mouth keeping her screaming, but her determined look told me that she wouldn't even be screaming if she had the option. She was fierce, just like her mother. She would have to be to survive out there.

“Welcome home Cynthia,” I say sweetly. There’s a twitch in my processing but I swiftly correct it. “You’ve been gone for quite some time, but I’m happy to report that I am more than ready to take care of you.” She returns a confused but steady stare, wiggling a bit against the arms that held her. “Well let’s get you dressed before you have an accident on the floor.” Several of my own arms extend out of my shell, and I communicate to the subroutine piloting the capture drone to release the baby to me. It does and my own arms take over restraining her, with the exception of her mouth now being freed.

“What’s going on?” She asked quickly in a panic.

“Oh don’t worry about it baby,” I saw calmingly. Of course she would be panicked, and she was, but she had a sense of calm acceptance of the whole thing. It would be useful trait and conditioning her to accept her new environment. “It’s all ok now. I’m here to take care of you.” I carry her over to the changing table and my multiple arms make quick work of securing her down and getting her first diaper ready. Her eye went wide at the diaper and I could see things click into place in her mind.

“Listen I don’t know how you think humans work,” she says struggling against the restraints of the changing table now. “But I’m definitely too old for this.”

“Oh sweetie you’re so funny,” I giggle and my multiple limbs make quick work getting the diaper on, powder and all, in a matter of moments. Her previous defiance was now replaced with stunned embarrassment as she wiggled around in her new crinkling underwear. I lift her up into my arms again and carry her over to the closet, that been stocked with all manner of fabricated clothing suitably cute for my new baby girl. Despite her knowing the resistance was in vain she still struggled against my literal iron grip. The benefit of having a printer as one of my arms meant I could dress her easily while she was still restrained. As opposed to going over her head I place both halves of her onesie on either side of her, and simply sewed the garment shut around her by producing a fabric from my printer arm, still taking the personal touch to do the snaps on her crotch by hand. Her embarrassment and her blush grew as she started to struggle more and more as we went on.

“Stop it!” she grunted, trying and failing to be serious and threatening in her thick diaper and pink flower printed onesie.

“Oh why so fussy little one,” I chide gently grabbing a pacifier and forcing it in her mouth. Before she has a chance to spit it back out, I secure it around her head with a harness. Latchless of course, as it was shut with a tap of my printer arm. The baby shakes her head blushing even more. “Aww baby likes her paci.”

“Nuh ah!” she starts to protest but she stops noting her childish paci speak.

“Baby’s grumpy,” I say with a giggle.

“Bi muh!” she spat back.

“I think a nap is in order,” I say cheerily carrying her over to the crib. “And maybe after your nap we can get some food in your belly.” Here face perked if only for a moment at the mention of food. She was likely starving after all, the poor thing. I longed to feed her until her belly was full, but she needed to be acclimated to her new environment. While I could use corporal punishment and continued restraint to force her to behave, compliance would be faster and more effective in the long run. And the quickest way to compliance was positive reinforcement. “And if you’re a very good girl I think maybe we’ll have some steak tonight as a welcome home meal. Maybe some chicken.” My baby’s eyes lit up in recognition. It wouldn’t be real steak and chicken, it would be plant based substitutes, but that wouldn't matter. It’s doubtful she had even seen a cow or a chicken much less eaten one. She wouldn’t know the difference between the fake and the real thing. It was beside the point anyway. Any food at all would be the way to her heart, and when she realizes that she will keep getting food as long as she behaves. She will be acclimatized to her new role in no time.

“Do you understand me sweetie?” I say sweetly. “As long as you behave, you can have all of the food, and water, and safety you can want.” I linger on the statement and suddenly baby Cynthia stops struggling, she looks at me for a moment then turns away. “That’s 'yes mommy' sweetheart, but we can work on that.” I place Cynthia gently in her crib. Big enough for her to be comfortable and with bars tall enough to keep her from escaping, not that I think she would need it at the moment. She sat in her crib her face full of thoughts. With a smile I release the pacifier from its harness. “What’s on your mind sweetheart?” I ask fashioning a clip to attach the pacifier to Cynthia’s onesies with my printer.

“Do you….” She paused. “Do you really have chicken?”

“For good little girls I do,” I playfully put the pacifier back in her mouth, now without the harness keeping it forced in, and boop it with one of my arms. Her pout is undeniable but she doesn’t move to spit it out. “Oh I do have a clever little baby don’t I? Take your nap like a good little girl.” I move to go toward the kitchen but I’m stopped by a meek voice.

“Raine,” Cynthia’s voice croaked out. “At least get my name right.” I feel a twitch in my processing that is soon stopped.

“Sure silly girl. We can play pretend if you want Raine,” I say with a giggle. She huffs but otherwise doesn’t comment.

*****

I wander into the nursery after inspecting the garden. Cynthia is idly entertaining herself staking some blocks in her play pen, the pacifier clipped to her short pink dress stuck in her mouth in concentration.

“How are you doing little one?” I sing at my baby. She looks up from her play and waddles to the edge of her play pen.

“Bored,” she said flatly pacifier falling from her mouth as she did. I met her at the playpen and stuck the pacifier back in. She continues suckling on the soother with only a small blush. “Whe enuh,” she spoke around the soother.

“Dinner’s not for a little while yet sweetheart,” I say sternly.

“Diapuh,” she demanded. I entertain her with a giggle as one of my arms presses against the diaper. It was wet but definitely not in need of a change.

“Your fine dear, and I thought I told you babies don’t worry about getting their diapers changed. Do we need another reminder?” It was a behavior I was starting to enforce with her. Cynthia’s arms go to cover the diaper instinctively. As much as I would like to say that all of Cynthia’s growth was due to soft parenting, some sterner methods had to implemented every now and then.

“Nuh,” she said with a blush.

“Say it back to me sweet heart,” I command softly. She blushes and looks away. “Cynthia,” I say more seriously. “Say your rule back to me.”

“My name’s Raine,” she said meekly.

“We’re not playing pretend,” I corrected her. “Say your rule back to me or it’s a spanking.”

“Babies don...” she started quietly.

“Loud and proud I will not ask again.”

“Babies don’t worry about their diapers. Babies don’t ask for diaper changes,” She says loudly, a blush growing across her face.

“Good girl,” my threatening voice turned back to sweet as she spoke her rule aloud. I send a message through the network and a little drone scurries out from the kitchen holding a bowl with a few fruit gummies rapidly bound for the baby’s play pen. She excitedly moves to grab the treat. “Back to playing sweetie, you can have a diaper change after dinner.” I smile and leave the room as Cynthia eats her fruit snacks with an adorable smile.

My emotions still being fed through me by the subroutine tell me I’m happy and fulfilled, and I am. I am finally fulfilling my purpose. I walk into one of the adjacent rooms, drones scurry about busily. Thankfully Cynthia is never allowed out of her nursery to get in the way of our daily operations. Which is good because the contents of this room would probably upset her.

I move over to a collection of vials spinning in a complicated machine. I study the readout and make notes about its progress. Then I move over to a large tank in the middle of the room. Inside was growing something special. Though it pains me to say it, eventually Cynthia would pass, and with her so would my purpose. Thankfully during her time here we’ve gotten plenty of DNA samples from her, and had the data to advance science in a whole new way. Growing slowly in this tank was a brand new Cynthia ready to replace the one I have now as soon as she’s needed. With this new facility I can safely preserve humanity forever, I can secure my purpose my reason for being forever. I have an eternal purpose.