Darcy smiled up at the little Mecha as the robot hopped up to her. "Darcy, you have a message from MAKER!" It intoned.
"Play message," she replied.
"Darcy: I hope this finds you well. We are about an hour from your home. Looking forward to the visit!" The little robot finished, then jumped a little. "Mecha happy to see friend, too!"
Darcy pet the little mecha. "Looks like my dog subroutine is working well," she mused.
She could remember as if it were yesterday...
----------------------------------------
The box leaning on the front door had no shipping label, only a sheet of paper taped to the front.
"To whomever this may concern:
This is a MK-37-JAK personal assistance robot, or mecha. We at Mecha Industries have selected you for our open beta! Please follow the robot's instructions to access MakerNet, out customization and code social media site! The robot has an instruction manual that may be access through command prompts."
Darcy frowned at the box. It shook. Then it simply fell apart and she was left staring at a small, humanoid, robot. "Greetings, Darcy Johnson!" It intoned. "I am your new mecha!"
----------------------------------------
As the days went by, Darcy had become convinced that this was less of an elaborate joke and some sort of technological breakthrough. The mecha outpaced any robot on the market. It could hold conversations, could learn, could be asked to do a task and it would develop skills to match.
MakerNet had been a surprise too. An entire community of people with mecha, trading special parts and upgrade code with wild abandon. Darcy was a software engineer, but the Mecha code was mind-boggling. Developing the skill to understand it took years, but once it had, Darcy had found herself contributing to the shared knowledge with wild abandon. By now, her mecha had half a dozen bodies it could step into for different tasks, from cooking and cleaning to remodeling and construction. Mecha had sucked up her free time, to the point she found herself becoming distant from others. Her career stagnated. All that mattered was being on the cusp of a worldwide revolution in robotics that would create a post-scarcity society overnight.
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
And then one fateful day...
----------------------------------------
Mecha beeped. "You have a new private message on MakerNet, Darcy."
"From who?" She looked up from the parts on her workbench.
"Maker."
Her breath caught in her throat. "THE Maker?"
"Affirmative."
She sat down heavily. "The head admin, the guy who knows Mecha more than any of us, is messaging me? Play message."
It was a simple thing as messages go. "D@r$, I've been following your contributions with great interest and would like to offer you a collaboration. Details in attached document. Maker."
----------------------------------------
Maker had taken her on a whirlwind tour into Mecha. In a year she was a lead customizer. In three she was a big name among thousands. And in the fifth... Maker had extended an offer for an in-person collaboration!
It's why she was watching a huge semi-truck pull into her driveway, mind spinning. The front of the semi was even customized to look like a standard Mecha head! Adorable.
The engine died and the semi-trailer began to transform, slide-out panels loosening as the huge trailer turned into something that ate her entire rural driveway alive. The door of the semi cab swung open, and...
A mecha hopped down, a long and lanky version almost her size. "Good evening, Darcy," it said smoothly. "MAKER is in the back."
She followed the robot to a set of stairs that unfolded from the trailer. The door slid open at her presence, and she entered, thrilling at the thought of meeting her idol.
The inside was cramped, the air almost musty. Something was bubbling, a sound like the flow of water. Darcy followed the robot to a glass tank of water, barely visible in the darkness, and was surprised when the robot knelt. Then the light switched on, and she screamed.
The man inside the tank was naked, but still covered. Wires and tubes snaked in and out of his skin. It had been flensed in spots to accommodate the machinery. The eyes were gone. The mouth had no teeth. A speaker crackled. "HELLO, DARCY."
She quailed. "M-m-Maker?"
"IN THE, AH, FLESH, MY DEAR." The man's mouth stretched into a rictus grin.
"What's the meaning of this?" She began, and Maker's hands drifted apart.
"A JOB OFFER, MISS DARCY."
"To do what?" She wanted to say no and run, but she'd worked with bosses who were worse. Maker might be a corpse covered in machinery but he had always been pleasant and patient.
A dozen lights went on, and Darcy recoiled. The entire interior surface of the trailer was covered in dangling Mecha, faceplates dark and chest plates open to reveal their lack of "black box" core.
"EVERY MECHA IS A BIOMECHANICAL CONSTRUCT, DARCY." The voice was calm, if patronizing. "TO MAKE MORE BLACK BOXES WE REQUIRE, AH..." It trailed off.
Every mecha faceplate lit up. They chorused. "BRAAAAAINS!"
Darcy felt rooted to the spot. This couldn't be happening. Maker mused. "VERY UNFORTUNATE THAT THEY DO. MAKES MY FINE WORK INTO NOTHING MORE THAN A ZOMBIE MOVIE. DISAPPOINTING."
"I-I reject your offer!" She snapped, spinning in place.
Robotic hands caught her. Held her.
"I'M AFRAID YOU ACCEPTED THE OFFER WITH YOUR MK-37! IT IS NON-REVOCABLE! NOW, DEAR, THIS WON'T HURT A BIT!"
Darkness.
----------------------------------------
I frowned at the box on my front doorstep, smoothing the sheet of paper addressed to "Samuel Constantine."
"This is a MK-97-DRC personal assistance robot, or mecha..."