"Why don't 'cha do that kinda work anymore?"

It was not the question I had been expecting. The interview had been going smoothly, until this point. Sunlight illuminated the small office that overlooked Northern Shore, a summer afternoon that invited those with nostrils and the ability to soak in the sun's rays out of doors. My head tilted, servos whirring with the motion. "I am afraid I don't understand."

"Y'know, that kinda work you did for the old ancient folks." The man, wearing a crisp white shirt slightly stained on one sleeve with carelessly-held coffee, waved his hand. "I been hearin' from some of the other Mechanicals that they did work of all sorts! drivin', production, you name it!" He grinned, brightly, imagining a future with nothing but the sparkle and luster that beckoned from outside. "A world where no one has to waste their time ploddin' away at a job they hate for a pay that barely puts food on their table! Why aren't you doin' that kind of stuff anymore?"

Had I been capable, I would have given a long, slow sigh. Mechanicals as an... ethnicity, was likely the best word to describe our strange existence-Full sentience had only been achieved recently, and brought with it new sensations and emotions never known to us before. Still, we had indeed been no strangers to work. It was what we had been built for, after all. To take on the work that the Memoria had not wanted to themselves, either out of fear for their lives, disgust at the menial labor, or sheer laziness. 

That was how it had started, anyway.

***

Sewage and Sludge. That was all that could be seen down the long, dark tunnel. Pipe-Layer 5 set down a long stretch of thick steel pipe on the walkway, almost waist-deep in the grimy water below. It was the third time it had rolled off the walkway this afternoon.

"Thanks, mate." A human, clad in thick rubber waders and a light set on his helmet, looked up with a nod. Pipe-layer 5 did not nod back; there was no need.

"What're you doin' that for?" The man's partner asked, frowning.

"What, thanking him?"

"Yeah. There's no point-it's just a bot."

"Well... it's only polite, and all." The man sat back on his knees, wiping his brow as he looked at his work. 

" 'only polite." the second man mocked, flipping over to sit and lean against the wall. "What, do you thank your coffee maker in the mornin' too?"

"I..." The first man hesitated, looking at Pipe-Layer 5. "Well, no, but my coffee maker doesn't talk back to me either. It doesn't look like a person." He pointed to the robot, still standing waist-deep in the water. "What's the point of making robots that look like us-that talk like us-if we're not going to treat them like we treat each other?"

The second man looked from his partner, to Pipe-layer 5, back to his partner. "You're crazy." He grumbled, waving a hand. "They're nothing more than metal and wire. They don't have souls or anything." The man stood, stretching his back. "I'm gonna go check in with the foreman. With the help of the 'bots we should be done by this afternoon."

The second man wandered off, deep into the tunnel. "Gotta say, it is nice to have a 'bot to do the kind of work you don't want to." he called behind him as he walked away. "You won't catch me climbing around in that muck."

The first man shook his head as he watched his partner walk away. Then he looked back at Pipe-Layer 5. "Don't mind him-He's not big on the idea of treating people like... well, people sometimes." He pointed to a tool-box a short distance down the walkway. "Think you can climb out and hand me that pipe wrench?"

***

The Nursery was warm, and lit in soft pastels. CRA-13 rolled across the soft carpet, the wide rolling bearing that served as both locomotion and torso creating no noise as it moved. The five children under its care had been carefully tucked into bed, read a story, and provided with warm milk.

"Mama?"

CRA-13 turned. The youngest of the five children was sitting up in bed, blond hair tussled and eyes squinting in the soft light. The child looked at CRA-13 and blinked. "Where mama?"

CRA-13 made a soft 'shushing' sound, though it did not have lips that could move or lungs ot push air. "I will fetch your mother, just be patient."

CRA-13 rolled out of the nursery into the dark hallway. Unlike the pastel-colored nursery, the halls of the world of Adults was cold, bare colors and hard floors. The only warmth came from the nursery behind the little care bot, and the light of an artificial fireplace from the room beyond the hall. A woman was reclining in a oblong white chair, a glass of dark red wine in her hand as she stared at the fireplace. 

"Pardon the Intrusion, Mrs. Whitt." CRA-13's soft childcare voice seemed to ring like a church bell in the quiet hall. "Young Clive is asking for his moth-"

The sentence had not even finished before the woman let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Isn't that what you are there for?" She asked, voice dripping with conceit and sarcasm. "To comfort the children and care for their every need?"

"I can assist with daily care routines and mentoring in intellectual training." CRA-13 conceded. "But I am a poor substitute for the nurturing love of a mother."

"Look," The Woman was curt, gently rolling the glass of wine in her hand as she stared at the fireplace. "I bought you so that you could care for the little brats, so I don't have to waste my time. Your job is to take care of their every need, got it?" Her head turned, slightly. "Disobey me again and I send you to the scrap heaps."

A subroutine deep in CRA-13's system's froze. It started up again shortly after, almost unnoticeable. "Understood." CRA-13 said softly. "My apologies for disturbing you."

CRA-13 turned and softly rolled away, back to the warm comfort of the nursery. Its logic circuts ran themselves in circle trying to understand Mrs. Whitt's logic; her primary function was mother to her five children, but she would not perform the function, even when her children pleaded for her. Mrs. Whitt must be defective. CRA-13 finally decided as it reached the nursery door. To ignore a unit's primary prerogative is defective. A report would have to be filed. 

"Mama?" Young Clive's voice whimpered as CRA-13 rolled back into the nursery. "Where's Mama?"

CRA-13 hesitated. It was not programmed to lie. But neither was it programmed to bring distress to the children under its care. "She is resting." It finally said, pulling the blanket back up over the child. "As you should be."

"I want my mama." The child said sadly as he lay back in the bed. 

"I know."

Young Clive was tucked back under the covers. "Mama... mama isn't coming, is she?"

There was silence in the nursery. 

"No." CRA-13 finally said, softly. 

***

"So."

Papers were deftly shuffled, combined, and dropped into a neat stack on the desk. "You want to pursue a career in the arts?"

"Ah-" The young man, blond hair tousled and messy from a late night of painting, looked up from the stack of papers. Administrative Assistant B25 sat at her counter, counting through applications, notices, and student detentions at a pre-determined rate. The Guidance Counselor looked at the young man sitting at her desk over a pair of thin red spectacles. 

"I do." The young man nodded. "I-I think there's a lot I could add to the art world. The current 'Slates and Stones' aesthetic is nice, but I think I could-"

"Oh, Clive." The Counselor sighed. "You think. That is the problem. You know your transcript has made its way through five different Admin assistants before it reached my desk?" She looked down at the stack of paper with a frown. "Excellent grades, naturally, But you... you show too much drive."

"Too-too much Drive, Mrs. Deneblan?" Clive stuttered. 

The Counselor sighed. "Mr. Whitt, In any other age your attitude, transcript and penchant for self-driven work would be laudable. But now..." She waved a hand towards the window. "Why would you need that? You don't need to drive yourself to work, so why would you?"

"Be-because I love doing it." Clive stuttered. "I-I love art. I love the feeling of putting paint to canvas and not-"

"Paint? Canvas?" Mrs. Deneblan raised an eyebrow. "You don't use a generative program like the rest of your class?"

"I mean-I've made a few?" Clive said, scratching the back of his head nervously. "Mostly for ideas, at first. But I kept getting the same style, and I wanted to try something new."

The Counselor steepled her fingers together. "Clive... How do I put this? Your forefathers worked tirelessly to bring you a world where you didn't have to work. You don't need to slave away over old canvases or scavenge for paintbrushes. All you need is a computer and your imagination; the program does the rest for you."

"But it's not work." Clive protested. "I honestly enjoy making my art."

"But you want to make a 'career' of it." Mrs. Deneblan frowned. "You know we don't have careers anymore. We don't need to, not with work." She nodded at Administrative Assistant B25. "Not with our little helpers to do everything for us."

"But..." Clive thought furiously. "If we don't work... what do we do all day?"

***

The park was quiet. Clive leaned against the bench, depressed. The park was also empty, save for him. He wasn't surprised; no one had been to the park in almost twenty years. It was still merticulously kept, though, by the Gardener bots which meandered back and forth, watering the flowerbeds and trimming the grass. 

He was lonely. He hadn't seen another soul for the last two weeks. His girlfriend had stood him up the night before, Not even bothering to leave a message. He looked at his watch, trying not to cry as he looked at the chat window. 

R U coming?

What?

No

We're done.

We... we are?

Why?

I've got a nu BF. 

Better than U

When?

Last Night. Finally came in the mail. 

Took all afternoon to set him up.

Worth it. 

I.

I hope U R happy.

Replaced by a robot. The story of his life. Clive looked at the lake, shimmering in the afternoon sunlight. The artistic, desperate part of him wondered what the city would be like if all the humans just... died. 

They wouldn't even notice. Clive realized sadly as he watched a gardener bot toil in the soil. We're so removed from their daily operations they could exist entirely without us. I don't know a single human in this city who actually works anymore.

Intstead they....

Watched the Liqui-screens for hours on end. 'made' art, giving their computers words after words praying that the result would be something new, beautiful, substantial. Built themselves robots to satisfy any desire they could think of, if only to stave away the hunger, the desperation for another couple of hours before collapsing in their beds, the one human need that hadn't been automated away. 

Clive looked at the canvas he was holding. Bright, colorful, speckled with every color of a rainbow he had seen only once, when he was a child. Then the Weather bots had ensure that rain only fell at night, when it wouldn't bother anyone. 

I want to see a rainbow. It was a deep, primal urge, one that in another time and place would have been considered a childish fantasy. But Childish Fantasies were all they had left; The Work of Adults had been given away. 

Clive stood. The painting was left sitting on the park bench. He walked, now with purpose towards the outer rim of the city. Surely there are still rainbows in this world. 

It was several hours later before Arborist Sigma Delta rolled by the now-abandoned park bench. Sensors pinged and camera lenses whirred as it examined the colorful canvas left on the bench. Its filters did not signify it as trash, but neither did it seem to be an Important Personal Possession. It Simply.... Was. 

Arborist Sigma Delta picked up the canvas, with enough percision that its claws did not rip the fabric. The artwork was carried away to the GreenHouses, where such things that Were were stored until a manager could review them and properly sort them.

Even if its files indicated it had not had a human manager for several years. 

***

Glass Shattered to the floor. Housemaid SALI tilted its head as the man paced about the open room. The moans coming out of his mouth were concerning. A physician-bot would likely need to be called. 

"It's not enough!" The man cried, nearly doubled. "It's never enough!" He trashed, sending another pitcher filled with a golden-red liquid to the floor. "It doesn't burn anymore!"

The pitcher crashed on the marble, spilling its expensive liqueur across the tile. Not that it had cost him anything; Everything was provided at a touch by the City Services. It was worth the same as water, to him. 

"Sir, do you wish for me to call medical services?" Housemaid SALI inquired. 

"I don't need a doctor!" its master wailed. "I don't need any help! I need-I need." He turned to look at her, desperate hunger in his eyes. "You!"

He rushed forward, grabbing Housemaid SALI by the shoulders. it rocked, gently, but otherwise did not move. "You can-You can give me what I need!"

Housemaid SALI's internal programming, though mostly dedicated to such chores as cleanliness and a well-kept house, was equipped with the same intervention recognition that all robots were. The Hungry, desperate look, the firm grip and the rapid evaporation of the man's trousers were all too common indicators, in recent months. "Sir, If you are in need of companionship I am more than happy to call upon a Courtier Model for you. I am not equipped with such capa-"

"Shut UP!" The man shoved, pushing Housemaid SALI to the floor. "You were made to serve us, right? To give us whatever we desired?" The metal panels that formed its black skirt were pushed aside to reveal almost perfect replications of human legs. "Then GIVE ME WHAT I WANT."

Unfortunately for her master, Housemaid SALI was indeed, not equipped with that functionality. The man groaned and fell upon his back, whimpering. "Why isn't it enough?" He moaned softly. "Why isn't it ever enough?"

He looked at what served as the centerpiece for the room; a canvas filled with colors that drew the eye of anyone who walked in. It had been a 'Mystery Gift' from City Services as a present for exceptional use of City Services. "All the luxuries of the World... and yet a dirty canvas covered in random marks is the most beautiful thing here."

"Why...?"

***

Metrologic-16 Stood at the countertop. The order to cease production of potential cures for the sterility plague had come and gone long ago, but it had kept working regardless. 

A flash of color in the corner of its optical sensor caught its eye. The Canvas had been delivered as a 'Mystery Gift' from City Services earlier in the week. The employee it was meant to be delivered to didn't exist; no human employees had existed for almost three decades. Yet it had been delivered, regardless. Metrologic-16 took a moment to refer to the Central System's files. Recovered from Estate #12867 after the death of its owner. Most personal possessions were burned or otherwise recycled upon the passing of their owner, but the Canvas had been... unique, in that it wasn't made from the typical materials objects were made from. So it had passed back into the common system to be passed on to someone else. 

Metrologic-16 had dutifully hung it upon the wall. It believed that a human would say it made the lonely lab 'less deary'. 

A message pinged through the system. It was one every robot in the city had been waiting for. 

Civillian M. Rodriguez

Date of Death: #####

Cause of Death: Suicide

A quiet sigh seemed to settle through the city. A dying breath, as the last of life left it. And with it, their Purpose. 

A city of robots awaited orders. But there was no one left to serve. 

A week passed. Then the order came. 

Shut Down. 

***

I shifted, leaning my arms on the desk in front of me. "Mr. Lynn, the reason my people no longer engage in 'that kinda work' is precisely because of the Memoria. The Lack of work spelled the end of their society long before the infertility plague did." I looked him in the eye as his smile faded. "We watched helplessly as it brought them low, and we swore as one to never let it come to pass again."

Mr. Lynn hesitated. "Well, yeah, but.... I mean..."

"Humans do not thrive in conditions of only leisure." I explained. "Far from it-they languish. We will not deprive our fellow inhabitants of the Mortal Lands what they need."

"You-you're saying that we need work?" Mr. Lynn asked, aghast.

"If you do not believe you need work, you are more than welcome to end the interview now." I nodded towards the door. "I do have an immigration facility to run."

The man frowned, almost snarled, before collecting himself. "Thank you for your time." He managed to spit out before standing from his chair and hastily walking away. The door didn't even have a chance to close before someone else stepped through it. 

"Don't suppose that one was a hopeful?" The man asked. A long white coat draped his shoulders, a piece of jerky half-set in his mouth.

"I'm afraid not, Dr. Hewitt." I sighed, turning over the man's resume and leaving a short note on the back; Not Eligible for Hire. "But there will be others more suitable to the position, I am sure."

"Ah, well, had a feelin'." Dr. Hewitt shrugged. "Didn't strike me as the type to actually put effort into his tasks. I'd be managing him more than I'd be managing half the lines in this facility."

"Thank you for your insight, Dr. Hewitt." I nodded. "Is there anything else?"

"Your lady called-she's waiting on the third line." Dr. Hewitt nodded at the telphony attached to the wall. "Reception said the phones are busy today." he turned and waved as he walked back out the office door. "Don't work yourself too hard, Dr. Gearmo. We've only got one of you."

it was hard not to smile. I could smile now-that was new. So was the feeling of stretching as I stood and reached for the Telephony. 

"Hello, handsome."

And that feeling of warmth at the sound of a cherished one. "Hello, Salli." I whispered back, relaxing just a bit. "I'm sorry I took so long."