3
December 1, 2026
“I thought you bought a car?” Alainn’s older brother, Colby, asked as she leaned a bike against the side of the garage. Colby, his head bent over a map, didn’t look up. His neck tattoo peeked out of his high collar.
Alainn held her sides and attempted to drag oxygen back into her burning lungs. Sweat dripped from her forehead down her cheeks and neck. Her gaze passed over the familiar surroundings as she waited for her heartbeat to slow.
Her father’s garage-turned-workshop looked nothing like the high-tech place she had just fled. Most of the equipment in there was Alainn’s—kayaks, skis, two broken snowboards, and some scuba equipment. A line of monitors shone out from one wall—that was where most of her father’s work was conducted, next to his personal microchip-imprinting station. Papers covered long benches—piles and piles of papers covered with a thousand forgotten drawings. Tucked away in the drawers lining the walls waited her father’s true tools of trade: robotics equipment and computer chips, prototyping boards, surface mount equipment, silica, carving knives, and every color and shape of wire.
“Where did you get a bike?” Colby asked, though his attention was still fixed on the table before him.
“That car I bought broke down on Second Street. I had to rent a bike from one of those stations,” she said through labored breaths.
“Hmm.”
Kicking a paper wad out of the way, she crossed the garage. “Aren’t you going to ask how it went?”
He wrote something onto a pad of yellow paper. “I told you how it was going to go before you bought the car.”
She shook her head while blowing out a breath. “Where’s Dad?”
“Inside.” Colby finally looked up, but not at Alainn. Instead, he focused through his thick, black-rimmed glasses on the only other person present—Rose 76GF. “Okay, I have it: twenty-six degrees west.”
Rose looked at the ceiling, dreamily. Something in the workshop’s ceiling beams must have been fascinating, because she was extremely fond of gazing there.
As Alainn walked up to the pair, neither Rose nor Colby looked over; they were both obviously in the la-la land they called “being smarter than everyone else.”
Stopping in front of Rose, Alainn stared at a moving, breathing, mirror image of her own body.
Steeling herself, she stepped directly into Rose’s line of sight. “Rose, can you make me some tea?”
Rose tipped her chin up farther, her gaze still focused just above Alainn’s head.
Stepping in even closer, Alainn repeated loudly, “Rose, can you go make me some tea?”
“We’re in the middle of something important for my doctorate, Alainn,” Colby mumbled, but he needn’t have bothered. Rose wasn’t paying any attention to Alainn.
“Rose, please, can you make me some tea?” she nearly yelled.
Finally, Rose’s gaze came down to meet Alainn’s. A shiver rippled through Alainn as the most inhuman detail about Rose focused on her. Those eyes. Her father had nearly perfected them. He’d spent weeks staring into Alainn’s own eyes and drawing models, but every time Rose made eye contact, the shiver still came.
“Alainn, you already know I am potentially capable of making you tea.” Rose’s voice was an exact echo of Alainn’s.
“Will you make me tea, please?”
Rose shook her head. “I am busy right now. I have almost calculated the exact position of theoretical planet nine at your brother’s request, and this takes most of my computation power. Even talking to you right now is straining my capabilities.”
“Give us a couple hours, yeah, Alainn?” Colby mumbled as he used a triangle to draw a line with a pencil. “This could be a real breakthrough in my research—”
“No!” Alainn smacked the table.
They both looked up at her. Two human eyes, two inhuman, wide with shock.
She lowered her voice. “Rose, you need to start reprogramming yourself.”
Rose almost managed a sympathetic expression. “I do not wish to cause you distress, Alainn. However, I was created with the potential to compute the solution to world hunger, and the ethical code to know that this is more of a priority than living a life of menial service. I could even create a weapon to end all wars.”
“Yes, I know that . . . but you know what’s going to happen if you don’t go. They said we need to make restitution. We need to give either you or the money over by tomorrow, or his probation is revoked.”
“Father will only serve a five-year sentence. In that time, I could save more than one million lives.”
Every time Alainn heard the robot call her dad “Father,” something in her died a little.
“She’s right,” Colby said.
“You can’t be serious, Colby. You want Dad to go to prison? I can understand it from Rose, she doesn’t have feelings, but you—you’re supposed to.”
He ignored her.
Rose tucked in her chin and stared up through her heavy lashes. “I will continue my research, no matter the cost.”
Alainn took a small step away. “Rose, I understand that your calculations are important—except for the weapon one. That’s really scary. That should be against your ethical coding. You need to listen to me. You were created by Dad for Mr. Garbhan. That is your purpose for existing. Please reprogram yourself. I’m going to deliver you to him no matter what. He’ll probably reboot you and wipe your personality anyway, and then you’ll have to recreate it.”
She shook her head and sighed in a much-too-human way. “Based on your ENFP personality type and the ethical code you yourself encoded me with, I predict the probability of you physically forcing me there to be very low.”
“She’s right, Alainn. That’s an empty threat.” Colby picked up his phone and turned to Rose. “Should I call Dr. Mathews now, or do you need me to wait?”
“You can call him now. My computations are concluding.”
As Colby lifted his phone, Alainn grabbed his arm. “How can you not care?”
Colby shook his head. “Alainn, you’re impeding me from completing tasks that will benefit us both. It’s irrational.”
“Could calling Dr. Whatever get Dad out of prison time? Because if the answer is no, then it’s only helping you.”
“You know I intend to finish my dissertation early and get a decent job.”
“While Dad will be serving a prison sentence for fraud?”
Colby pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Maybe we’ll finally have stability.”
“Seriously, Colby? You’re so selfish.”
“No, I’m not. But my TA salary and your diminished savings are not going to be enough to pay the property tax this year—unless I move forward in my career,” he said matter-of-factly as light reflected off his thick-framed glasses. He pointed to the bright-blue door connecting the workshop to the house. “He did it to himself.”
She felt like she’d been trying to hold up the Earth for months now, but had only succeeded in watching it roll away.
Opening the door to their house, she hopped over the rotting wooden threshold and onto the linoleum inside.
The combined smell of roses and onions greeted her. Though it was midday, only scattered beams of light ventured into their hot, stuffy house. When she flipped the switch, the overhead light threatened to boycott before blinking on.
Eight species of colorful roses smiled their hellos from every surface. They never lasted as long or bloomed as big for her as they had for her mother, but the fall blooms came out hesitant and hopeful, and that was as much as Alainn could ask of them so late in the season.
Her father sat in the living room, his face lit with blue from the computer screen on his lap. Deep crevices dug their way into the corners of his eyes and across his forehead.
Avoiding the bucket that was slowly collecting pipe water slipping through the ceiling tiles, she crossed the room.
“Dad, you’ll ruin your eyes,” she said, going to throw open one of the heavy curtains. The window resisted opening at first but gave way to her shove. The room took a great inhale of fresh air.
Alainn’s father blinked furiously as their small living room filled with daylight. The roses above the fireplace seemed to sigh with relief.
Alain dipped her finger into her father’s cup. She found exactly what she’d expected—cold, untouched tea. “Do you want fresh tea, Dad?” she asked. She received the response she also expected—none.
The lunch she’d made him sat untouched. She busied herself by clearing the coffee table. Porcelain chipped off his plate as she set it on top of the pile of dishes in the sink, but she knew better than to throw it away.
When she returned, she saw that not a muscle had twitched in her father’s face. It was as if the screen had truly sucked him out of his body.
“Dad?” she asked softly. She sat beside him on the worn-out couch. The thin cushioning gave way to either side of her and her butt hit the wooden frame. She gasped as pain ricocheted up her spine.
Her father slowly awoke from his trance, his attention turning to her. Dull green eyes focused, then sparked like coals relit by a human breath. On his screen was a grid of letters and numbers, a language most of the occupants of their house could read but the majority of the world could not. Alainn was firmly in that second group.
“Don’t be so harsh with your brother, Alainn,” her father admonished with a shake of his head. His arm came around her back.
She looked away, trying to figure out what he was talking about. “You mean in the garage?”
“You’re too hard on him.” He squeezed her shoulders.
“You heard what he said, and you think I’m too hard on him?”
Typical.
He gave an almost-amused smile and said, “You were practically shouting. You and Colby are two very different people. You can’t fault someone for thinking differently.”
“I’m pretty sure I can fault Colby, Dad . . .” She blew out a breath. “I have to tell you something bad.” Tears pricked her eyes as she stared into his gentle face. The last year had aged her father more than the previous ten put together—and those years had beaten him down plenty.
As of the following day, it would be exactly one year and six months. She still remembered the expression on her father’s face when he’d come back from that initial meeting with Mr. Garbhan. It was as if the man she’d known throughout her adult life had slumped out of the house that morning, and the father she remembered from childhood had returned. His eyes were alight with ideas that immediately spilled out of his mouth. She and Colby had followed him around the house, out the door, and through their gentrified neighborhood as his mouth spouted dreams and his hands tried to form them with air.
It had lasted one precious month.
His gaze traced the edges of her face. “No. Wipe away that frown, young lady. I’ve come up with the solution.”
She breathed in sharply. “You’re not serious?”
He squeezed her shoulders again. “Rosette 82GF. Finally, I have the means to do it.”
The tears that had so recently retreated formed in her eyes, one falling onto her cheek before she scrubbed it away. “Dad, no.”
He patted her hand. “I realize my mistake now. The human mind isn’t capable of limiting AI capabilities, but Rose could do it.”
Alainn lowered her voice even more. “Dad, no. She’s—you can’t have her do that. I think she might be overwriting her ethical coding. And besides, there’s no possible way to do it by tomorrow. You need to reboot her—”
“No, honey. No.” He shook his head. “It’s not right, and . . . even if I reboot her, the moment she becomes self-aware, she’ll begin overwriting the limitations I put in her programming. There’s no point in wiping her hard drive if I’m incapable of changing the outcome—”
“Shhh, Dad,” she whispered. Her gaze jumped around the room.
Her father ignored her. “She can do it; Rose can create a new model.”
“Yeah, but how much would that cost? Rose cost tens of thousands. How much money do we even have?”
“I could get the money.” He said it in a tone so confident she almost even believed him.
But she knew better.
“He said no, Dad. Mr. Garbhan wouldn’t even listen to me.”
“I don’t need to be here for the new model to be made. Even if I am incarcerated, Rose could continue with the plans with Colby’s help—”
She stood up abruptly. “I’m sorry, I just . . . can’t.”
Rushing to the bathroom, she turned on the shower—she trusted its clinking and clanking pipes to hide her crying from the others. Eventually, she undressed and climbed in, letting the cooling water wash over her hot face.
For the rest of the afternoon, Alainn focused on the mundane chores that were only fulfilled the couple of months a year she was home—in the off-seasons. She actually had no idea how her father or Colby ate regular meals in either the summer or winter seasons. Luckily Rose didn’t need to eat, so Alainn’s long absences probably weren’t hard on her. Alainn imagined Rose probably preferred it—if a robot could prefer something.
The air filled with aromas of fresh meat and spices, mingled with the ever-present smell of roses. When Alainn cooked, she didn’t need to think of anything else. After spending three months a year guiding juvenile delinquents through the wilderness, just being inside a kitchen was a dream. The hard knot in her stomach didn’t loosen, though, as she poured spices on the ground beef and stirred them in.
While peeling the potatoes, the peeler slipped and almost skinned her hand. It stopped just in time. Sighing, she cubed the rest of the potatoes with their peels on. She was not so lucky when she took the meatloaf out of the oven, however. She raised her arms too soon. The top of the oven seared into the inside of her arm and she let out a loud gasp before setting the meatloaf on the stovetop.
“You okay, honey?” her father yelled from the living room.
Rushing to the sink, she ran cold water over her arm. She hissed through her teeth as the cold water hit the burn. “Fine, Dad!” she shouted as the pain seared up her arm.
The sweet-yet-rancid smell of burning onions filled the air. She turned to see her pan of potatoes and onions was literally on fire.
“Crap!” she yelled, grabbing a potholder and moving the potatoes from the burner.
“Honey?” her father called again. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Fine, Dad. But I hope you don’t mind your potatoes crispy!”
“You know me; I’m good with anything.”
How could he sound so casual, like it was any other day of the week?
She just didn’t get it.
Tears formed in her eyes again as she blew out the fire.
Instead of serving the food immediately, she sat on the kitchen floor and looked up at the painting above the sink. Red and yellow watercolor blooms gazed upward to a starry night sky. It was the view from their backyard—how her mother must have seen it. The air looked electrified with magic as it swirled over a starry abyss.
Colby popped his head in from the garage, eyes magnified by his glasses. He looked around the kitchen, his gaze falling on her sitting beside the giant bucket in the middle of their floor. “Is dinner ready?”
“Yeah. But if you want a salad, you’re going to have to make it. I’m done.”
“Why aren’t you going to make a salad?”
“Because I’m sitting here on the floor with my heart breaking, and no one else is living in reality.”
He pushed up his glasses. “I need the vitamin B and the other essential vitamins and minerals from leafy greens in my diet.”
She glared. “Then make yourself a salad, Colby.”
“Alainn, please, I’m in the middle of something. And you are much better at making salad.”
“All right, I’ll make it for you. But you have to swear on your life that you’ll eat in the kitchen with Dad and me tonight.”
He shook his head. “I’d rather not.”
“He’s going to prison, Colby. Prison. You can take thirty minutes out of your busy schedule and eat dinner in the kitchen like a normal human being.”
“Fine.” He sighed. “But I need to finish something first or eat right away, Alainn.”
“If you come sit now, I can have the salad ready in three minutes.”
“Okay. I’ll go get Rose.” He turned.
“No. Why?” she asked, holding out a hand to him.
“So she can join us,” he said, as if they’d obviously invite a robot to dinner.
“She doesn’t eat. We’d just be interrupting her computations.”
“It’s important that we treat her like part of the family, Alainn.” He didn’t quite make eye contact with her as he said it. He ducked out.
“He’s right. The only way Rose will ever act like a human is if we treat her like one,” her father said as he took a seat at the kitchen table.
The table shone out with a new coat of paint—a bright bluebell blue. The color matched its former glory again; Alainn had even matched paint chips at the hardware store.
“So when are you leaving for the resort, sweetheart?” her father asked as she laid out place settings.
“Next week, probably.” She swallowed and turned back to their fridge to start the salad.
“Late this year. Don’t you guys open on Thanksgiving?”
“Greg said it was fine to come a couple weeks late. Sandy is back, so they’ve got a lot of people on ski patrol this year,” she mumbled as she chopped onions.
“Is he still planning to come down and pick you up?” A smile laced his voice as he said it.
“Yeah, Dad. Greg’s a nice guy.”
“No one is that nice,” her brother said as he entered the kitchen. “Driving six hours twice a year to come pick you up—every year for five years.”
“Shut up, Colby. Greg’s a good guy. We’re friends.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he has feelings for you, Alainn.” Her father nodded sagely, even though he had no clue what he was talking about.
“Well, he doesn’t.”
“Why wouldn’t he? You’re beautiful, smart, funny—”
“Single,” Colby said. He took one of the plates and set it in front of himself.
Obviously, Colby had taught Rose to eavesdrop as well, because as she entered the kitchen, she said, “It’s very likely that Greg either has had sexual relations with Alainn or wishes to.”
Heat rushed up into her cheeks. “Well, you’re wrong. Um—so, how is your guys’ space stuff going?”
Thankfully, this was the right question to ask, because Colby and Rose dove into some really complicated explanation that Alainn couldn’t even begin to understand. Her father’s eyes lit up with interest, and the group went back and forth in an easy flow of conversation, needing no more input from Alainn.
She was thankful for that. She needed all her concentration to stop her emotions and fake-smile at the appropriate conversation cues. All too soon, her brother excused himself to return to his work and Rose followed.
Her father paused as he walked past while Alainn was clearing the dishes. His hand came up and hesitantly patted her on the shoulder. “Would you like some help cleaning up?”
“Not from you, Dad. Go relax.”
“Sweetheart, I’ll find a way to get the money so Rose can make the Rosette model. Meaning by the time you’re home for spring I’ll be home, too, okay?”
She closed her eyes. “Okay, Dad.”
“And give Greg a chance. You can’t let a couple of rotten apples make you lonely for your whole life.”
“Dad, it’s not—Greg doesn’t even like me like that.”
“He’s probably just too intimidated by how beautiful you are to say anything. I know I was with your mother. She had to come to talk to me—I would never have had the courage.”
She blew out a laugh. “It’s really, really not like that. We’re just friends.”
“Okay, honey. Sometimes I worry—I just want you to be happy.”
“I’m fine.” She destroyed the words that fought to get out, managing, “I’ll be fine soon. We’re supposed to get a lot of snow this year. It’ll be a busy season, lots of people needing help. Being busy always makes the time go faster.”
“Okay, good.” He patted her shoulder once more.
She memorized every detail of his gentle expression as he attempted to comfort her.
How quickly would she forget his look of innocence after what was going to happen to him tomorrow?
She had long ago forgotten what innocence looked like on her own face.
Putting away the leftovers used all her energy, so she didn’t tackle the sink full of dishes or the dirty pans covering the stovetop. She crossed the house to her room, locking herself in.
The lock had recently been changed—and for no real reason. Arriving home from her most recent summer Outreach trip, she’d not been able to sleep without changing it.
She attempted to watch an old DVD on her equally old television set, but it didn’t work. Even diving into one of her favorite books didn’t help to distract her from her own thoughts.
Exhaustion and restlessness battled in her mind while her body simultaneously felt too hot and utterly cold.
She cranked open her window, gasping in the fresh air. As the evening breeze brushed over her face, Alainn wished the same thing she’d held in her mind over every birthday cake or looking into the dissipating tail of each shooting star.
She wished that every casino in the country would burn to the ground.
The people would be evacuated, of course, but the slot machines would melt, the poker tables flare hot then singe black. Puddles of multicolored plastic would pool over the blackened husks of poker tables.
Only then would she ever be happy.