You Dance Divinely, My Dear

By Laurie Herlich

Cooling my jets on a passenger transport from the outer planets to Mars, I was looking forward to conducting my research on pre-android robots from a safe, but observable, distance from Earth. Naturally, that’s when it happened.

The radio crackled and the captain of a passing freighter, leaving Mars for the outer quadrants, dared our pilot, “Try taking ’em in two parsecs closer.” Our pilot enjoyed living dangerously. Without further encouragement, he steered our rocket much closer to Earth than the Milky Way Department of Rocketry and Safety recommended.

And that’s how it happened. We only made it one parsec closer before the “welcoming committee” arrived. In the twinkling of a star, we were captured, hauled down to Earth, and sold at auction. I was purchased by a primitive robot—not even an android! This was not the safe distance recommended by my superiors. Still, I was curious.

My new owner had a permanent metallic crewcut. Tall and silvery, he wore a 1950s style men’s suit, shirt, and tie. He squeaked when he walked.

“This,” he said, after transferring credits for the sale, “will be a change from the old days. Humans used to own robots. Now I get to own my very own human.”

I did not bother to correct his assumption.

His head swiveled toward me, and his fluorescent eyes scanned my frame. “Do you waltz?” His metallic voice grated on my ears.

I stared coldly at him. “I am certain that I can learn.”

We left the auction facility in his transport unit and within a few minutes, arrived at a free-standing antique-style residence. It appeared to have been constructed of wood harvested from once-living trees.

A robot with a female appearance opened the door to greet us. She had shoulder-length plasticene hair, styled in a bob. Her red-skirted suit matched her spiked heels. When she saw me standing behind the male robot, her eyebrows knit in a furrow, giving the appearance of a frown.

“Dickie, what have you used our credits on now?”

The male robot turned to her and preened. “A new maid for you and a dance partner for me.”

“I don’t need a maid. I don’t get tired.” She turned away in frustration and stamped one of her red-stiletto-clad feet.

“It’s not about need, Laura,” he replied. “It’s about status.”

We entered the residence together and Dickie led me to a room with formal furnishings. He bent over a wooden box, which began to play music.

He held out his hands and began my lesson.

“You dance divinely. You’re lighter than air in my arms.”

He did not dance divinely. He was a much earlier model of synthetic being than I, by several centuries. His metallic grip was uncomfortable and would have bruised my flesh if I were human.

We continued to whirl around the “dance floor,” bashing into things. Flowers and vases, candles, and candlesticks went flying. His ersatz wife knelt on metallic knees, cleaning up after us.

“Dickie, stop showing off!” She huffed in exasperation.

I wondered how to end my imprisonment. I needed a distraction. As we whirled about, I glimpsed the antique phonograph again. I leaned to the right and managed to steer our manic waltzing toward the wooden box. It crashed to the floor, stopping the music. The male robot released his grip and stood still.

“Oh Dickie, now see what you’ve done!” said Laura.

Dickie rasped, “I can fix it. You should have put it somewhere else. You know I am quite enthusiastic about my dancing, and our new maid is a fit partner.”

Their new maid. What a joke. I, a vastly more advanced model, fit for scientific research, a maid for these ancient inventions.

“Then help me fix it, Dickie,” Laura pleaded.

“I thought you didn’t get tired. Well, then, let the maid do it.”

“It’s not about getting tired. Neither the maid nor I will be able to fix the phonograph to your specifications.”

“Correct. I will comply.” Dickie dropped to his knees with a creak and focused his attention on the broken music machine.

They were, due to their ancient programming, easily distracted. As they were cleaning, I slipped out the front door, and took off running at a gentle speed of 322kph.

I easily returned to the spaceport, slipped onto a freight transporter, and was on my way to Mars in ten minutes.

I wonder if they’ve noticed yet that I’m gone. This will be a fascinating addition to my research.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Laurie Herlich loves living in rural northeast Tennessee, where Story is everything. She writes flash fiction and cozy mysteries in a converted garden hut situated in her backyard. Laurie is a regular contributor to Christian Devotions and is a finalist for a Selah award in the online devotion category. She is also a contributor to Jonesborough, Tennessee’s StoryTown NPR Radio Show/Podcast, and is an intern with the Jonesborough Storytelling Guild.

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