#thankyouoppy

All of this sadness, the emotional attachment to these machines on a distant plane, a different world, another planet. 

Yes, androids have been sent on space conquests, but... 

But it’s different, in this time so long ago. Where the generation current was much younger, and somehow, more emotionally attached to things so... well, not human.

It’s one thing to care about something as cute an animal, and even just other living organisms. But then there are machines, and things fall into murky water.

There’d been a love for iRobot Roombas and their lookalikes, back when they’d bump into walls and make little, distressed beeps, get stuck on parts of the floor, sometimes adorned with large, dopey googly-eyes. And then, what has Connor immensely puzzled, is the love and mourning for the Opportunity Rover. 

Just before Valentine’s Day of 2019, the Rover, nicknamed ‘Oppy’, had officially been declared “dead” for eight months. ‘Her’ mission went well beyond her intended 90 days, as she roamed Mars for 14.5 years. She was engulfed in a massive, global dust storm.

Connor feels a twinge of something, churning, a knot in his abdomen. For some reason, his vision is blurry. There’s a pulse of this... this strange sensation in his body, one that has him biting his lip.

Her last message seems to have triggered it. He ignores the dialogue box in his vision that tells him his optical cleaning fluid has increased its production by 44%, inexplicably. 

‘My battery is low, and it is getting dark.’

There’s a trickle of something down his cheek. He’s baffled by it, but he can’t make it stop when he feels it on the other side of his face. 

“Hank?” Connor calls, hearing the shuffle of Hank’s sweatpants in the kitchen, just beside Sumo’s bowl, where the dog whimpers softly and looks up at him.

Hank follows his line of sight, and his smile drops a little.

“What’s wrong, son?” he asks, socked feet padding closer, his hand slowly cupping Connor’s shoulder. It’s not trembling, he’s shaken, but intangibly so. “I’ve never seen you cry. Didn’t even know you could.”

“I am reading up on trends in recent history, including ones about the affection towards particular machines, so as to assist Jericho. I might have contracted an error or virus while reading that has caused my optical units’ cleaning fluid to overact. There is also a strange build-up of tension in my abdomen, similar to a stone sitting in it. I may need maintenance and repairs done.” Connor explains, calm. 

The fluid drips down his face, his eyebrows with the slightest of creases at their inner ends, forehead very subtly wrinkled and the tiniest of frowns tugging the corners of his lips down. 

Hank stammers for a moment, trying to make sense of all the technical jargon and understand what was said. Finally, he manages, “So, you were reading up on robots humans liked and started crying?”

“Not crying, per se, as it’s likely just a malfunction--”

“What were ya readin’ up on when ya started tearing up?”

Connor sighs, “The Opportunity Rover.”

Hank crosses his arms and sits on the couch beside him, leaning into the back of it with something mildly forlorn in his faraway gaze. “Ah, Oppy. Now I get it.”

“Her last words seem to have triggered the--the tears. Something about it makes my hardware shiver with unease. Meanwhile, my software doesn’t know what to do with those inputs, so I’m sort of... confused.” Connor shrugs, running a hand through his hair.

“I mean, I feel it, too. Just thinking about it has me getting a little choked up.”

Connor pictures it. A clunky robot looking at an oncoming storm with those words, then getting engulfed, all alone when she dies. 

It leaves him cold. Somehow lonely and-- “Hank, is this what sadness is? What it feels like?” 

Hank nods with a shrug of his shoulders, “Probably. That’s usually why people cry, though there’re plenty of exceptions.”

Connor takes a second to process that, LED cycling yellow for a long bit. He’s still crying when it comes back to blue, but there’s a strange, hollow feeling of joy that graces him, too. 

It’s nice to feel this much. It’s overwhelming, yes, and so very puzzling, but in such a controlled environment, it’s incredibly comforting to have such a range of emotion. 

“Thank you, Oppy.” Connor doesn’t add, ‘for making me feel this way,’ at the end. Instead, he tacks on, “Rest in Peace.”

Hank pats his shoulder and sends him a crooked and warm half-smile that barely helps to ebb away some of the chill that still shakes his components. “Amen.”