Sing A Song of Circuits

Chapter One

The Syren I ordered off Marketplace was the first package I'd ever gotten without tracking, which should've been a red flag from the get-go. But I was so caught up in the euphoria of getting a singing android at a tenth of the market value, I skipped asking "Why is a 'nearly new' 5th Edition Syren up for sale on Marketplace for the price of a fancy calculator?" and went straight to "Is this still available???" Even though the fancy-calculator price still put a dent in my very limited savings.

And when the seller insisted we switch to Signal after the first conversation, I didn't think too much of it because I usually used Signal for conversations anyway. But when they told me the package would be delivered between 11 pm and midnight on Tuesday and that I had to be ready to grab it from my front door before anyone else could see it, that's when I started worrying.

I mean, no one gets arrested for pirating software, right? Not unless you're, like, really intense about it. But buying a robot that was stolen, or jailbroken or whatever? Now that might be a little dicey.

So when I heard the thump of the package outside my front door on Tuesday at 11:23 P.M, my heart dropped into my stomach. Even though I was still pretty excited to get a droid of my own. A real, artificial Syren! All to myself! I didn't know anyone else with an actual Syren in their house, not personally.

I got on my tiptoes to look through the peephole, but whoever had delivered it already left. Angelica, my Kittipet cat-shaped alarm clock/calendar bot, swished around my legs in a preprogrammed rhythm when a real cat might've been tempted to dart outside to get a better look. My mom got her for me as a birthday gift a few years ago, a not-so-subtle hint for me to get my shit together.

The beige-painted metal door of the apartment to the left of mine opened, and Mrs. Pastyukovich stuck her head out. She was wearing a robe over her nightgown and a scowl on her face. "Odessa, we've talked about you having late-night guests, and the noise you're always making in your room. It quite disturbs my sleep. I'm sure the other residents would agree."

I pushed down the spike of irritation her appearance provoked in me. "My music studio's soundproofed, Mrs. P, so any noise you're hearing must be coming from another unit! And it's not a late-night guest!"

Mrs. P narrowed her eyes at the package at my door. The box itself was standard green EcoBoard, only a little dented from the shipping process. Completely unmarked: no stamps saying "FRAGILE" or "THIS SIDE UP", not even an address label. It came up to a little past my knees.

"Is that... drugs?" Mrs. P hissed, like that was something I could just order a giant box of.

I rolled my eyes. "Mrs. P, maybe worry less about what I'm doing and more about if you'd remembered your medication today."

"What did you just say?" Mrs. P was a little deaf, which gave me the few seconds I needed to get control of my annoyance.

"That I'm sorry for disturbing you at this late hour, but I promise my purchase is nothing you need to worry about! Have a good night, Mrs. Pastyukovich!" I said, a little louder, and started lugging the green cube through my front door.

The box was smaller than I was expecting, but heavy as hell. I ended up half pulling, half-kicking the thing through, turning the EcoBoard from "a little dented" to "a lot dented" in my attempt. Eventually, though, I had it sitting in my tiny carpeted living room. Just me, the box and Angelica, who continued to wind around my legs and purr mechanically.

Outside my window were countless other apartment buildings stretching far up into the city sky, the lights still on in few of them. The factories started a few blocks south, the noise and fumes from the manufacturing plants making this area cheaper than most other parts of town. But this late at night, even the factories were quiet. It really did feel like I was the only human person awake in the whole world.