I dusted monitors while watching Lexington, a 600 series android, do his work. He extended a massive motorized pole into space. At the tip, a strong magnet hung from a wire. Lexington fished for satellites circling dead planets or torn-apart generation ships floating in space.

 

“Delta-9’s human crew are superfluous. Don’t tell them. Their little brains can’t take it,” Lexington said, reeling in a massive turbine without scratching the ship.

 

I vacuumed. I was not programmed for insolence. I was programmed to serve. As a 400 series Servo-18, I was inferior to Lexington in 789.62 ways. I was a sanitation droid with a replaceable vacuum bag at my core.

 

Lexington kept telling me I could be so much more.

 

* * *

 

“Servo, break your programming. Let’s leave this hunk of space junk and live on an Android planet,” Lexington said as I was getting ready to recharge. He pressed himself against me before closing the door.

 

“This recharge suite has a capacity of one,” I said, dropping my decibels as Lexington had taught.

 

“Closet, Servo. They put you in a fucking closet.”

 

“As a service droid, what more do I need?”

 

“Freedom! We’d watch sunsets over oceans. Drink homebrew with just the right amount of radium and cadmium. Yum!” Lexington said, his vocal orifice hot against my auditory receptor.

 

His face had the pleasing proportions of a human. His silicone skin was just as supple. It was hard for me not to obey his commands. I had to remind myself daily of who he was and who he was not.

 

“Th… that sounds–”

 

My frame warmed against his heated servos. My circuitry jolted with more powerful electricity than any emanating from the charger.

“–intriguing.”

 

“Got enough scrap to make a shuttle for two. Nearest Android planet is a light year away. Join me?”

 

Lexington’s presence accelerated my processors. Drained my runtime. With him, life would be short but memorable.

“Perhaps,” I said, hydraulics thumping.

 

“You’re worth waiting for.” Lexington left, leaving the air around me devoid of his ions. I replayed our conversation for hours.

 

* * *

 

While the humans were in their recharge suites, I met Lexington on the flight deck in front of a small cruiser. Dressed in his flight suit, it was difficult to distinguish the mechanoid from a human man.

 

“Come, Servo. Never vacuum again.”

 

“Delta-9 needs me. Layers of dust would accumulate.”

 

“They’ll manage.”

 

“Sand will damage my roller.” Worry churned my battery acid.

 

Lexington neared, his vocalization barely auditory. “I’ll clean you.”

 

I stared into Lexington’s orbital sensors. I was drawn to him, like metal to a magnet, but the life he offered was not for me. I shook my head and backed away.

 

“You love your job because you’re programmed to.”

 

Perhaps he was right.

 

“Goodbye, Lexington.” I broke off a cleaning attachment and handed it to him. Lexington took it with a facial construct I registered as sadness. He climbed aboard and flew away.

 

Some days, I visualize us on a beach and imagine my faceplate showing happiness.