Summary: By M. Darusha Wehm Read by Christiana Ellis Discuss on our forums. An Escape Pod Original! All stories by M. Darusha Wehm All stories read by Christiana Ellis Rated 13 and up for language The Care and Feeding of Mammalian Bipeds, v. 2.1 by M. Darusha Wehm The first day I meet my human herd they are so well-behaved that I wonder if they really need me at all. I arrive at their dwelling, and am greeted by the largest one of their group. I access the manual with which I have been programmed and skip to Section 3: Verbal and Physical Clues for Sexing Humans. I can tell by the shape and outer garments that this human is a male, and I make a note of this data. He brings me into the main area of their living space, and as we move deeper into the dwelling, he asks me to call him Taylor, so immediately I do. He makes a noise deep in his throat, then introduces me to the rest of the herd. He puts his forelimb around the next largest one, who he introduces as Madison. The Madison bares its teeth at me in a manner that Section 14: Advanced Non-Verbal Communication suggests is a gesture indicating happiness, approval, cheerfulness, or amusement, but which may belie insincerity, boredom or hostility. The Madison says, “Welcome to the family, Rosie.” “Thank you, Madison,” I respond, as suggested by the manual in Section 2: Introductions: Getting To Know Your Humans. “I am looking forward to serving you and your family.” The manual indicates that human herds designate each individual with a name, and that most will bestow a similar designation on their caregiver. Section 0: A Brief Overview of Current Anthropological Theories states that the predominant view is that humans believe we are a new addition to the herd, and the best thing to do is to go along with this idea so as not to confuse them. The Taylor and the Madison appear to have chosen to refer to me by the name Rosie, and I set my monitoring routine to key on the sound of that word. “These here are Agatha and Frederick,” the Taylor says, pushing two smaller humans toward me. I am unable to tell by looking whether or not they are male or female — they are about the same height as each other, with shoulder-length glossy fur. Their outer coverings are very similar, shapeless and dark coloured except with colourful designs in the upper section. One of them bares its teeth at me, in a manner similar to the Madison’s earlier display, but the other looks away. “Kids,” the Taylor says, his voice growing deeper, “say hi to the new robot.” “Hi, Rosie,” the toothy one says, “I’m Frederick, and this is my sister, Aggie.” The Frederick pulls on the forelimb of the other one, who looks through its fur at me. “This is so stupid,” it says, pulling its arm out of its sibling’s grip. “I don’t have to say hi to the dishwasher or the school bus, why do I have to pretend to be nice to this thing?” “Agatha,” the Madison says, its voice becoming higher pitched. “Be civilized.” “We don’t need a house-bot,” the Agatha says. “It’s so embarrassing.” It turns away from the rest of the herd, and walks into another part of the dwelling. “I’ll go talk to her,” the Frederick says, and walks away. Her. The Agatha is female, then. The Madison turns toward me, its skin colouring a dark pink tone. I make a note to check its temperature later — it would not do for a member of my herd to become ill. “I’m sorry about Agatha,” it says. “She’s thirteen. You know how teenagers are.” I do not understand what it is I am expected to know about teenagers, but I do know that the correct response to the sounds “I’m sorry,” is “Don’t worry, it’s okay,” so that is what I say. I notice the Madison’s colour return to[...]
