Optimist Pram Rigging

Motherfucking heart goes click-clack-Ding-Dong


"Something's broken off here. He must be."
"You do not say."
Per shuffled over to the gaping open hatch and took a deep look, shoving aside Goal vacantly. His gaze wandered over the firm steel patterns as they interacted in tiny stirs, the motions independently flowing from the pumping center all the way through twitching, steel-clad tubes, cold scaffold bones and the soft chest sheath. Always Accompanied by a gentle ticking noise, although you could only hear it with the ribcage lids wide open.
"What did he say again sounded off?"
"The sound, if I remember correctly. Some sort of, er... ticking and ringing. It seems that he called it 'click-clack-ding-dong'."
"You don't say. Turn on the light, will you. This coop is awfully gloomy."
Tor nodded and cautiously tiptoed down a path through the clutter and debris; a warm, sickly yellow light flooded the room when he flipped the switch. Some things still worked the ancient way here. Of course, complex automatic illumination systems had already been installed in other places; those however generally did not belong to people like Per and Tor but rather to the kind of people who employed them.
"Did he say something else? Just curious."
"Er, as far as I remember, he insisted on working perfectly."
"So why're we wasting our time with him then?"
"... He said it's just love upsetting this innards."
"Bull." A dismissive grin made its way over Per's face as he shook his head. "As if a fucking robot could do that. Hand me that turnscrew, will you."
Turnscrew in hand, Tor hesitated.
"Why shouldn't they? I mean-"
Per grabbed the tool and cut his brother off.
"Oh please, Tor. Stop with your naïveté, it's killing your brain. As if such a simple, unfeeling machine could suddenly develop a wondrous, helplessly irrational attribute as this from a scratch."
"Yeah, but I- I mean, no." Instead of looking Per in the face, Tor stared out of the window above the counter, helplessly fumbling with a few bolts. "Your argument isn't especially- scientific, either." Again, Per cut him off before he could manage to squeeze out anything more through his narrow mouth.
"Fine, if it'll shut you up. He can't even procreate; why should he develop something so strongly related to procreation?"
"Love doesn't necessarily mean sex. I mean."
Air fizzed past when Per screwed loose one of the tubes. He let out a surprised cough and waved his hand before his face, wearing a deep frown.
"Love means that your genes survive. You love your family because it's partly your genes, come on. They already have them, that's why you don't want to fuck them. As if you didn't know. But robots don't have genes. So what sense would that make?"
Tor let out a sharp, frustrated sigh. His exasperated argument was underlined by almost spastic flailing of his arms.
"What sense do the other emotions make, then? As far as I remember, he was made to imitate humans! He does feel! So why shouldn't he suddenly develop feelings like that?"
"Because it would simply make no sense, and also he's far too simple for that. Stop thinking in clichés, Tor, don't be so stupid, I know you aren't. And now, hand over that Richmond gauge, will you. We need to have him fixed up by tomorrow."