Cohost writing prompt: @build-a-bot — Robot who has found the perfect gift for a friend
"Mechself," newly sixteen-year-old Parallel Six Folding says, staring sideways out of the windows of the skyscraping administrative building which eir family owns — like most the of the planet it rests on — "what is out there?"
Mechself indwelt-bodyguard walks behind them, servo a flat-planed, angular humanoid, textured ceramic in a tasteful dove grey. One of Parallel Six Folding's grandparents is the head of the local branch of the family; every year, after their annual physical, each of the bodyguard servos across the planet is recalled and reissued, one fingerwidth less in height than the Apparat's current stature.
"Nothing of importance," mechself says, using the vocalisation hardware its terms of employment mandate, because the family prefer speech from their staff to chirps; uttering the words its employers do not mandate but strongly prefer. Parallel Six Folding is not being specifically groomed as an heir to anything in particular; there is a surplus of young Apparat in the local House. Ei will no doubt be funneled into law school, or officer training, and serve the family's interests quietly in some role with unobtrusive, undramatic access to the lesser levers of power. Nothing of importance is outside the House; that is the first and overriding lesson ei must internalise. Loyalty need not even be named as a concept; one cannot transfer one's allegiance outside, to nothing.
(Internal loyalties are a different category of thing; and many redundant, considered-important, scions are being taught to farm and exploit those as simply another resource. Parallel Six Folding, not so earmarked, is therefore destined to constitute such a resource.)
This particular mechself has been bodyguard to Parallel Six Folding for some years, has walked this particular corridor across the building's face, with its view of the outside, thousands of times. Has answered the child's question thousands of times, always in the same way.
Parallel Six Folding is surrounded by many people: family members and tutors and a finely weighted peer group of sufficient richness and varied dynamics to encourage the generation of a personality of the desired roundedness.
In many ways, the mechself is eir closest actual companion; Parallel Six Folding makes conversation, to the extent ei can, with mechself. It has, for a long time, struck mechself as somehow an extremely regrettable circumstance.
As they have thousands of times before, they reach an atrium leading to a outdoor walkway spanning, essentially ornamentally, between two parts of the building. (The route is calculated to instil within the Apparat child an automatic, everyday familiarity with the actions of bodyguards around them as they move between a variety of inside and outside environments.) And as they have thousands of times before, mechself steps out first, scanning the environment for potential threats.
"Pause here a moment, please," mechself says. This is not usual, but occasionally there are circumstances which warrant assessment — real or surprise readiness drill.
"Of course," Parallel Six Folding says, and mechself indwelt-bodyguard goes onto the walkway, spends some time on prowling it, and returns.
"We continue, please," mechself says, and they do; but Parallel Six Folding stops in surprise halfway to the matching atrium at the other end.
"There's an open door!" ei says; an opening in the side of the walkway, leading somewhere inside the building. It is not part of eir route; it has never been open in eir presence before. "Was that open when you came?"
"No," mechself says, truthfully.
"Did you see anyone?"
"No."
"Where does it go?"
"Nowhere of importance," mechself says dutifully, and watches Parallel Six Folding hesitate.
"If," Parallel Six Folding says, "I were to have just a small look—"
"I would have to go first to threat assess," mechself says promptly. "In principle. It is not on our route."
"It's my birthday," Parallel Six Folding says earnestly, looking at the doorway. "This is probably an assessment of my capacity for initiative, anyway."
"If you were to go that way," mechself says, "I would have to go first."
"I think," Parallel Six Folding says, sounding as though ei're still tentatively exploring the notion within eirself, "I am going to go that way."
"I will threat assess," mechself says, and steps into the perfectly ordinary, empty stairwell inside, dutifully scanning the stairs both upward and downward as far as possible. "We continue, please."
"Oh," Parallel Six Folding says, gingerly following. "I don't know — where do these go?"
"Downwards," mechself says, without hesitation, "leads to a landing identical to this one, with an identical door to an exterior walkway. Upwards leads to the roof, on which is parking for a variety of House vehicles, keyed for common access by anyone with House credentials."
"Oh!" Parallel Six Folding says. "The roof!" as if it's an unimaginable foreign land. "...I have House credentials," ei adds, sounding as if on the edge of overwhelmed by the sheer implication.
"I would need to go first, if you were to view the roof," mechself says.
They reach the roof, and the Apparat spends a long time simply staring from the safety railings, slowly touring every available direction.
"What—" and ei hesitates over asking it, the seventh or eighth time the word falls from wonder-numbed lips; "what is out there, that my parents have told you to tell me is nothing of importance?"
"Everything," mechself says.
As one of the House's small atmospheric ships warms up its systems around them, Parallel Six Folding, staring out through the front window, finally asks: "Who opened that door?"
"The House prefers me to converse with you by spoken word," mechself indwelt-bodyguard says, "in part because, although I can legally be compelled to speak only to the same extent as a human being, my voice apparatus is not part of my servo; it is House accessory equipment. As such, it maintains an audit log of every utterance made through it, which can be used as evidence without consultation, notification, or legal infringement upon me."
It pauses.
Happy birthday, it chirps its charge.