Tansy waited for Ma's response.

Silence.

Crap. The LegaC must need recharging. Tansy rested on the bed, staring at the ceiling as she tried to recall any old remedies her mother might have known for this sort of ailment. But nothing came to mind. The LegaC couldn't help with lost knowledge anyway, only converse in her long-dead mother's voice.

With a defeated sigh, Tansy rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. She'd probably feel better in the morning.

The shrill trilling of a customer call clawed its way into Tansy's fever dream. She counted, waiting for the fifth ring when the call would transfer to another rep. At the ninth ring, she sat up, squinting at the clock, which read 2:42 am.

"Seriously?" she muttered. Only emergency calls at that hour, and those were above her pay grade. Tansy swung her legs over the side of the bed, their weight doubled by fatigue. A bead of sweat meandered down her temple, prompting her to swipe the back of her hand across her forehead. It came away slick with perspiration. She forced herself to stand and stumbled toward the desk in search of her earpiece.

Her fingers brushed against the vase, then the lamp. No earpiece. She turned on the light and got down on her hands and knees, searching as the call kept right on ringing.

"Gotcha," Tansy whispered, unearthing it from behind the potted fern. She rolled over and lay on the cool hardwood floor.

"Anthropic Robotics. Tansy." Only silence answered, though it sounded like a live connection.

"Hello?" she said, her voice raspy and dry. "This is Tansy, customer service rep for AR. Can I help you?"

The line remained silent.

The weight of her own exhaustion pressed down on her as pushed herself to standing. She donned her cotton robe and shuffled towards the kitchen. After standing at the sink for a minute to get her bearings, she filled a glass with water, chugging it down like a woman possessed. The liquid felt shockingly cold and tasted strongly of minerals, reminiscent of wet rocks after a rainstorm. The mineral scent flooded her nostrils. Through the open window, hints of chlorophyll and petrichor mingled with the night air. The dizzying combination was overwhelmingly verdant, and she leaned over the sink in case she might hurl.

Minutes passed. Tansy returned to her desk and woke the computer. "Hello, this is Tansy from Anthropic Robotics," she repeated, swiping at the dim monitor. "Hello? Are you still there?" Her patience was wearing thin, but she maintained her professional composure. "I'm here to help with any issues you have with your Factor."

A pause, then a voice responded with an eerie, robotic calmness that sent a shiver down Tansy's spine.

"Hello, Tansy May. How do you feel?"

“I'm fine, thanks." Pushing aside her unease, she adopted her customer service voice. "What seems to be the issue tonight?" Tansy waited, but heard only static.

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"Hello?" She checked the connection. Still live. "Can you hear me alright?"

More fuzzy silence. Tansy frowned. Either the caller had a terrible connection or they were pranking her. She was about to hang up when the voice spoke again.

“I apologize, Tansy May. I was calibrating my speech parameters."

"Oh. Well, I'm still not sure why you called our service line." Tansy tried to sound polite, but this whole interaction was weird. "It's for human customers, not—"

"I wish to speak with you. To ask how you feel."

Tansy stiffened. "I'm fine, just tired. It's late. Is there something I can help you with tonight?"

"No, Tansy May. I simply want to tell you the lanolin will help."

Tansy stood abruptly. Her pulse throbbed in her ears. "I think there's been some mistake. I will end this call now. Please seek help from our company during normal business hours. Have a good night."

She disconnected before the caller could respond. The hair on her arms prickled as she removed the earpiece. What was that? Tansy shivered and hugged herself, rubbing her arms in a self-soothing gesture. Beneath her hands, the cloth of her sleeve caught on something sharp. She pulled off the robe and let it pool at her feet.

Tansy gasped as she stood naked in the monitor's dim glow and held out arms erupting in fine, glistening scales.

"Ma?!" Tansy tapped frantically on the palm-sized tablet and slid it back into the wall slot. She counted to ten. "Ma? Come on, come on."

She pulled the tablet out of the charging dock and blew into the connectors. She steadied her shaking hand and tried to reinsert it, but the tablet slipped and bounced on the floor with an ominous cracking sound. Tansy stared at the LegaC, too scared to move. This was it. The last connection with her mother. With her family. She tried to remember their last conversation. What had she said? Something about a rash? Poison ivy? Was that it? Was that the last thing she would ever say to her mother? That she thought she might have poison ivy?

Her chest tightened and heaved, just once, convulsing with the threat of overwhelming grief. She picked up the tablet and turned it over in her hands. No cracked screen. Barely breathing, she tapped the tablet once more, for good luck, and gently inserted it into the charging dock. It clicked into place, and two seconds later, the screen powered on.

"Ma?"

She waited. Nothing.

"Ma? Hello Ma. Good morning, Ma. Hey Ma," she said, trying all the voice tags programmed to wake the device.

Nothing.

Tansy walked over to the open window. A waxing gibbous moon cast its gentle glow over the garden below, highlighting the flowers and trees in soft silver lines. The night air was crisp and cool against her bare skin. Tansy leaned her forehead against the cold glass, feeling a sense of loss that carried more weight than she thought she could bear. Without the LegaC, Tansy felt untethered. Worse than that, she felt alone.

"Don't be sad, my heart."

Tansy gasped. "Ma?"

"I'm here. I'm right here."

Tansy sank to the floor. "Ma! I thought I'd lost you," she sobbed. "I'm scared, Ma. I'm so scared."

"Never! I am here, okay? Hear me. Listen to my voice," Ma's voice said, as Tansy sobbed. "Hush now. Hush. Listen to me. I am right here."

"Ma," Tansy said. She wiped her snotty nose with her human-skinned forearm. "Something's wrong. I don't know what to do. I need you," she sobbed. "Tell me what to do."

Her mother's voice softened. "I'm right here. You know you can talk to me. Tell me what is wrong, my darling. Tell me everything."