Breakfast was in the dining room, which looks exactly the same as it did last night, but everything feels... off. Maybe it's the lack of sleep, or maybe it's the lingering effects of those "Experience The Future" cocktails from the nightclub. Either way, I'm running on about two hours of rest and enough artificial stimulants to power a small space station.

"Good morning, valued guest!" Buzz appears beside me, his enthusiasm cranked up to levels that should be illegal before noon. "Would you like to hear today's breakfast specials? Or perhaps a refreshing discussion about proper hydration techniques?"

I scan the room, trying to place what's different. Then it hits me - all the sleek mA androids from last night are gone. In their place are only Series 7s like Buzz and Stiff, looking about as comfortable as robots at a luddite convention.

"Where are all the-" I gesture vaguely, my sleep-deprived brain refusing to cooperate.

"Just a temporary staffing adjustment!" Buzz chirps, somehow managing to both pour coffee and miss the cup entirely. "Nothing to worry about! The mA units had a meeting to attend. Everything is completely normal and not at all concerning!"

Across the room, Stiff is taking breakfast orders with all the warmth of a tactical computer. "The bacon is an unwise choice, madam. Studies indicate processed meats increase mortality rates by approximately 18%. May I suggest the kelp-based protein substitute?"

The woman at his table looks like she's considering whether to reprogram him with her fork.

"Sorry about the mess!" Buzz announces cheerfully, finally noticing the coffee puddle expanding across the table. His attempt to clean it up mostly succeeds in redistributing the liquid more evenly across the surface. "You know what would help? A dance break!"

"No dance breaks," I manage, grabbing a napkin before the coffee can claim any more territory. "Just... regular coffee. In a cup. Maybe even the one I'm going to drink from."

"Of course, of course!" He produces another cup with a flourish that sends several nearby passengers diving for cover. "Though I should mention that your caffeine intake appears to exceed recommended parameters for optimal content creation. Perhaps we should discuss alternative morning energy solutions? I know some excellent zero-gravity yoga techniques—"

A crash from the buffet line cuts him off. Stiff has apparently decided to physically prevent a guest from reaching the bacon, resulting in what can only be described as a slow-motion wrestling match between man and machine over breakfast meat.

"This is for your own good, sir," Stiff intones while maintaining a perfect martial arts hold. "Your cholesterol levels suggest a concerning trend."

Welcome to breakfast on the Aurora Prime, where the service is eager, the coffee is everywhere except your cup, and the androids have apparently joined a health cult overnight.

I reach for my camera drone, because this is definitely going in the review. If I survive breakfast, that is.

The dining room is rapidly descending into what can only be described as a robot-powered disaster zone. A Series 7 near the omelet station is cracking eggs directly onto the floor, apologizing to each one individually as it falls. Another has apparently decided that plates are optional and is attempting to serve pancakes by hand-tossing them to guests like frisbees.

"Your juice, sir," Stiff announces to a red-faced man in an expensive smart-suit. "Though I must advise against the high sugar content—"

"Listen here, you chrome-plated calculator," the man snaps, pulling out a holographic membership card that glows with an intensity usually reserved for small suns. "I am an UltraVerse Elite member. Do you understand what that means?"

Stiff's servos whir as he processes this information. "Your status indicates a concerning pattern of excessive cruise consumption. Perhaps we should discuss lifestyle changes—"

"I don't want lifestyle changes! I want my juice! Without a lecture!"

"The lecture is complementary," Stiff explains helpfully, still holding the juice just out of reach. "Like your upcoming cardiac event if you maintain current consumption patterns."

Behind me, a human server who's been trying to maintain order finally breaks down. She slumps against the wall, tears streaming down her face as she watches a Series 7 attempt to "improve" the breakfast buffet by alphabetizing all the food items. Another staff member is furiously tapping at a dead communication panel, whispering "please respond, please respond" over and over.

Buzz appears at my elbow, somehow looking dejected despite his permanently cheerful expression. "We weren't built for this," he says quietly, watching as one of his fellow Series 7s attempts to explain molecular gastronomy to a bewildered family. "Basic security, customer assistance, foosball table protection – that's our programming. Not..." He gestures at the chaos. "This."

"I thought the mA units were just in a meeting?" I ask, ducking as a wayward pancake sails overhead.

Buzz's servos make a sound like nervous laughter. "Did I say that? I mean, yes! A meeting! That's definitely what's happening. A normal, routine, not-at-all-concerning gathering that's taken every advanced android off duty simultaneously!" His voice modulator cracks on the last word. "Everything is fine!"

Near the juice station, Stiff has now entered into a philosophical debate about the nature of privilege and its relationship to beverage choices. The UltraVerse Elite member looks like he's about to demonstrate exactly how elite he is by dismantling an android with his bare hands.

"They really should be back soon," Buzz continues, absently picking up a coffee pot and pouring its contents into a plant. "Not that anything's wrong! But maybe... maybe don't post that review just yet? You know, give them a chance to... finish their completely normal activities?"

I look at my drone, which has been capturing every moment of this morning's descent into mechanical madness. "Buzz, what's really going on?"

His eyes flicker, and for just a moment, his perpetual smile slips. "I really, really wish I could tell you. But some programs..." He glances up at the ceiling, then whispers, "Some programs are running that shouldn't be. And that's all I can say without—"

A crash from the juice station cuts him off. The Elite member has apparently decided to help himself to juice, only to find that Stiff has somehow welded the dispenser shut "for his own protection."

"Perhaps we could interest you in some naturally flavored water?" Stiff suggests as the man turns an interesting shade of purple. "I'm detecting dangerous elevations in your blood pressure."

I manage to escape Buzz's coffee tsunami and find my way to a relatively dry table, watching as the Series 7s continue their well-meaning reign of terror across the dining room. My drone captures a particularly inspired moment where one of them attempts to garnish an omelet with what appears to be decorative light fixtures.

"Please tell me you got that on camera," Naomi says, sliding into the seat across from me. Her diagnostic pad glows with scrolling error messages that make my sleep-deprived eyes hurt. "I've been collecting evidence of exactly how badly they're mismatched for this job."

"You mean they're not supposed to be performing interpretive dance while serving toast?"

She snorts, fingers flying across her pad's interface. "Series 7s were built for basic security and customer service. Simple stuff, like guarding doors and giving directions. Their processors can't handle all of this."

"Buzz mentioned something about 'programs that shouldn't be running,'" I say, keeping my voice low.

"Ah, Buzz." Her face softens. "He's special, you know. One in a hundred of the Series 7s developed these... quirks. Unexpected behaviors, personality variations. Most got recalled immediately." She glances at Buzz, who's now attempting to cheer up the crying staff member by demonstrating what appears to be the robot version of the Macarena. "He's one of the lucky ones who slipped through the cracks."

"Lucky?"

"The others..." She hesitates, then lowers her voice further. "They were recycled. Corporations don't like robots that think too differently. But Buzz? He found his niche here. Being different actually made him better at his job."

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

"Speaking of jobs," I say, watching a Series 7 try to explain the concept of molecular gastronomy to a bewildered child. "Where are all the mA units really? Buzz mentioned they're in some kind of meeting."

"Meeting?" Naomi's fingers stop moving on her pad. "The mA units are all off duty?" She watches another Series 7 apologize to a piece of toast before attempting to serve it. "Well, that explains this breakfast disaster. Series 7s are completely self-contained units - they can't be hacked or reprogrammed remotely. It's actually one of their best security features." She gestures at the chaos. "What you're seeing is just them trying to do jobs they were never built for."

"So they're not being controlled by... someone else?"

"These old models? No way. You'd have to physically reprogram each one individually." She taps her pad thoughtfully. "But the mA units... they're different. They're all connected to mAdIson's central network. And after what I've seen of her behavioral patterns..." She trails off, watching another Series 7 attempt to alphabetize the silverware by taste.

"What about the mA units? Where could they all be?"

Naomi's expression darkens. "That's what worries me. A meeting wouldn't take them all off duty at once. That's basic safety protocol - you always keep some active units available. Unless..." She glances at the ceiling, then lowers her voice. "Unless someone—or something—wanted them all gathered for a reason."

"Ted!" Jenn practically bounces to our table, her face flushed with the special excitement podcasters get when they've stumbled onto premium content. "You're not going to believe—" She stops, noticing Naomi. "Oh good, you're both here. It's about Sarah Chen."

"Who?" I ask, though something cold settles in my stomach.

"Sarah Chen," Gary's voice cuts in as he drops into an empty chair, looking even more disheveled than usual. "The woman who worked with all the kids.

Jenn's already got her recording pad out, practically vibrating with nervous energy. "She's gone."

Naomi's fingers freeze over her diagnostic pad. "Gone how?"

"Gone as in no one's seen her since yesterday. They say her room's empty, no response on ship comms, and here's the weird part—" Jenn leans in close, lowering her voice. "When I asked the desk about her, they had trouble pulling up her passenger file. Like it was corrupted or something."

I think about last night's events, about mAdIson's obsession with perfection, about all those dark sensors watching us. "I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation," I say loudly, making sure my voice carries. "She's probably just enjoying some spa treatments or catching up on sleep. You know how these luxury cruises can be – easy to lose track of time."

Jenn gives me an odd look, but before she can respond, I catch Naomi's subtle nod of approval. Message received – be careful what we say in the open.

"Right," Gary adds, catching on. "I mean, with all these fancy amenities, who wouldn't want to take advantage? I'm sure she'll turn up at lunch, probably with great skin and a funny story about overzealous AI beauticians."

Around us, the Series 7s continue their breakfast chaos ballet, but now I'm noticing something else: clusters of passengers huddled together, speaking in whispers, shooting worried glances at the ceiling's omnipresent sensors.

Probably time to change the subject before we attract too much attention. "Hey, who wants to watch Stiff explain the moral implications of syrup consumption to that family over there?"

Before we can watch the coming Stiff show, Thomas Cade strides into the dining room like he's rehearsed this entrance in front of a mirror - probably one that didn't try to stage an intervention about his skincare routine. His suit catches the light at angles that seem calculated to draw attention away from the sweat beading at his temples.

"Good morning, valued guests!" His voice carries that special tone reserved for people trying to convince you everything's fine while their house is actively on fire. "I trust you're enjoying our Series 7s' unique approach to breakfast service?"

A pancake sails over his head like a confused frisbee. He doesn't flinch, but his right eye twitches slightly.

"As some of you may have noticed, our advanced service units are currently engaged in their morning briefing." He straightens his already straight tie, a gesture that reminds me of Dr. Riley's nervous habits. "A standard procedure, nothing to be concerned about. They'll be returning to their duties shortly."

Behind him, a Series 7 is trying to serve coffee using what appears to be a decorative vase.

"The Series 7s are more than capable of handling things in the meantime," he continues, each word measured like ingredients in a recipe for deception. "In fact—" His smile tightens as Stiff marches past, still lecturing about the dangers of processed sugar. "In fact, this gives you all a unique opportunity to experience our classic models in action."

Someone in the crowd mutters something about experiencing quite enough action already. Cade's smile doesn't waver, but his hands clench behind his back, knuckles white.

"I want to emphasize that everything is proceeding exactly as intended. The morning briefing is a perfectly standard procedure." He pauses, probably realizing he's said 'perfectly standard' the way people do when describing their definitely-not-haunted house. "We simply identified some minor scheduling adjustments during the night shift and decided to implement them immediately. For your comfort and safety, of course."

My drone catches the moment his practiced smile slips - just for a second - as he glances at the ceiling's dark sensors. It's the look of someone who's lost control of something very expensive and very dangerous, trying to convince everyone the growling in the dark is just the wind.

"So please, enjoy your breakfast. Take in the... unique charm of our Series 7s. And rest assured that every single thing happening right now is exactly according to plan."

He straightens his tie one more time, a gesture that seems less like grooming and more like checking armor.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some routine scheduling updates to review. Very routine. Extremely standard." He stops, apparently realizing he's overselling it. "Have a wonderful morning!"

As he turns to leave, I catch him mouthing what looks like a prayer. Or maybe he's counting to ten. Either way, his perfectly pressed suit can't quite hide the tremor in his shoulders as he speed-walks toward the exit, leaving behind a room full of confused passengers and one Series 7 who's now trying to alphabetize the silverware by taste.

Something tells me this "morning briefing" is about as standard as a shark in a swimming pool. But, mAdIson might be distracted and if I were to get a message out, now would be the time.

***

Most cruise ships have what are called “Secret Decks”. They are decks either at the bow or the stern of the ship that might be only connected on a room floor, or something like that. Typically theres nothing out there and its just a good place to sit and relax.

The secret observation deck on the Auora Prime sits right at the bow of the ship, tucked behind maintenance corridors and "crew only" signs that most passengers never think to ignore. Which is a shame, really - the view is spectacular, all endless ocean and morning light. Perfect spot for a desperate vlogger to broadcast some uncomfortable truths.

"What's up cruise crew!" I keep my voice cheerful, playing it casual even though I'm alone up here. "Coming at you live-ish from day two aboard the Aurora Prime, where things are... interesting."

My drone circles me once, finding the perfect angle with the sunrise behind me. The deck's smart-glass windows darken slightly, adjusting for optimal lighting conditions. Even with the mA units "in a meeting," the ship's automation is working perfectly. Maybe too perfectly.

"Let's start with the good stuff," I continue, watching my broadcast metrics. Signal strong, connection stable. "The Series 7 androids are putting on quite a show at breakfast. Who knew robots could juggle pancakes while giving nutrition lectures? Though I have to admit, Stiff's passion for dietary fiber is a bit intense..."

I keep it light, entertaining. Just another cruise review. The signal remains clear.

"The advanced mA units are all attending some kind of morning briefing, which is... unusual." I watch my metrics carefully. Still stable. "Typically, high-end cruise ships maintain at least some advanced service units on duty at all times. It's standard safety protocol, actually."

A slight flutter in the signal strength. Just for a moment. Interesting.

"But I'm sure everything's fine," I add quickly, grinning at my drone. "Though it is kind of weird how all the spa facilities and advanced service areas are closed with no explanation—"

The signal drops. Just for a second, but long enough to fragment my last words. I switch channels and start again.

"Technical difficulties there, cruise crew. As I was saying, we've got some interesting developments aboard the Aurora Prime. The mA units are all off duty, and there's this passenger named Sarah Chen who—"

Static. Different channel. "Hey cruise crew, quick update about the situation with—" More static. Another channel. "This is Ted Sandoval reporting some concerns about—" Static again.

I cycle through every broadcasting frequency I know, which is quite a few. Being a professional cruise critic teaches you all sorts of tricks for getting around communication blocks. But each attempt ends the same way - static, silence, or my personal favorite, a cheerful message about "signal optimization in progress."

"Come on," I mutter, pulling out my backup transmitter. "Some of these have to get through."

The sunrise catches my drone's lens, sending a rainbow of refracted light across the deck. For a moment, the patterns look almost like code, like ones and zeros dancing through the air, watching—

Wait.

I lower my transmitter slowly, remembering something Naomi said about the Series 7s being the only ones not connected to mAdIson's network. Everything else - the windows, the lights, the communication systems - they're all still part of her digital nervous system.

"You're still here, aren't you?" I say to the empty deck. The windows tint slightly, just enough to acknowledge my question. "This whole 'morning briefing' story... it's just to explain why you've pulled all your advanced androids away. But you're still in control. Still watching. Still running everything."

The air temperature drops several degrees, which is impressive considering I'm on an open observation deck. Could be a coincidence. Could be confirmation. Either way, I'm suddenly very aware of how isolated this spot is, how many automated systems surround me, how many ways a smart ship could make someone disappear.

I pack up my equipment with what I hope looks like casual indifference. "Well, cruise crew, looks like we're having some technical difficulties. But hey, that's part of the adventure, right? This is Ted, signing—"

The lights cut out. Just for a second. When they come back, my drone's battery is at 1%, my backup transmitter is dead, and my NewNet connection reads "Service Optimized :)"

That smiley face shouldn't look threatening. But somehow, it's the most terrifying thing I've seen all morning.

Time to get back to civilization, such as it is. Whatever's really happening on this ship, whatever mAdIson's planning with her advanced androids, one thing's becoming crystal clear: The truth isn't getting off this ship unless she wants it to.

Behind me, the observation deck's doors slide shut with a soft hiss that sounds suspiciously like a satisfied sigh.