Tevun-Krus #73 - Best of '19

Moby's World - @jinnis - CommPunk

Moby's World

A CommPunk story by jinnis

MaBo 7-51 was unhappy. Not that he could have named the feeling. As a basic maintenance bot, he wasn't supposed to know about feelings. But MaBo 7-51 wasn't an ordinary bot. Perhaps he had been fitted with an additional processor by accident. Perhaps a spark of intelligence was born when a solar storm pelted the station during his assembly. 

No one knew—and least of all MaBo 7-51. Although the little bot's electronic brain held more knowledge than he was aware of. He—because MaBo 7-51 perceived himself as a he einen though the products of the Ma-Bot series were never supposed to identify with a gender. But MaBo 7-51 did, the same as he felt despite the rule bots were not allowed to have feelings. Of course, no one suspected this, or he'd been sent to the repair shop long ago.

In his permanent state of unhappiness, MaBo 7-51 carried on with the never-changing, never-ending task of cleaning the space station's automated communications centre. He didn't know he was living on a station circling a barren planet, of course, nor that the room was the communications centre. It was rare a human entered these premises at all, and if they did, they didn't take time to socialise with the small bot scurrying across the floor.

Humans mostly came to curse at one of the consoles arranged in two neat rows along a central aisle. MaBo 7-51 observed the visitors, puzzled by their chaotic energy and obstinate individuality. They were such a contrast to his small, orderly world of reliable machines, doing their work in silent contentment. MaBo 7-51 knew them all, their sounds, their dimensions, maintenance procedures, and each angle of floor between them. The little bot had done his rounds for close to eternity—or so it seemed to him.

Humans were different, scary, and interesting. MaBo 7-51 enjoyed the thrill of their visits. He observed them and learned a lot from them. About their view of life, about the love they held for their families, their anger about injustice, and also a string of colourful cuss words. But the humans never talked to him and never allowed him to leave the communications centre.

So, MaBo 7-51 continued to fulfil his menial tasks. He brushed the floor, swept the dust, cleaned the screens, tightened loose bolts and other necessary bits. Besides, he kept himself in prime working order. MaBo 7-51 meticulously followed his daily routine, crossed his t's and dotted his i's. He was a maintenance bot, after all, and had his professional ethics.

Then, halfway through another routine day, one console emitted a long, dissonant beep. It wasn't a sound MaBo 7-51 had heard before, and he had long since become an expert on all sorts of beeps. This beep had a certain finality about it.

Intrigued, MaBo 7-51 waited in front of the console for more information. Another beep, perhaps, or the normal humming noise to restart. He even ran a self check and adjusted his sensors, glued in place to make sure he didn't miss a life sign, but nothing happened. The console remained silent.

The other machines under his surveillance kept humming their individual, quiet songs. Yet with one particular hum missing, the orchestra was out of tune. MaBo 7-51 decided something had to be done. Tentatively, he reached out his tool arm and plugged his sensor finger into the access port of the console.

The move changed lives.

~ ⭐️ ~ 

Information flooded the little bot's brain. At first, his reflexes told him to withdraw his sensor to prevent his motherboard from frying. But the access to a vast amount of information tempted him to hold out, to gather as much knowledge as possible. Still, he was ready to disrupt the forbidden connection when he received the call.