Many Light-Years From Home

#HeyKuri

“Listen — Kuri,” Antonio-3K held their head in one of his gleaming metal claws, “you need to hide for a bit.”

I had been the most popular actor in the galaxy for a long time, and my fans were getting too rabid. Different planetary governments were banning the premieres of my films because of the hordes which would descend to catch a glimpse of me. "Kuri Mania" had reached a fever pitch. I took a meeting with my agent at an undisclosed location away from prying eyes to discuss what to do.

"I have no privacy and I can't keeping doing this. I'm too stressed," I beeped and sighed.

"How about you go for a nice little vacation as things cool down?" asked Antonio-3K, chomping on a cigar. It was more of a statement than a question.

"What about Beltrax?" I asked.

"Galactic Talent Management and I think it would be better for you to go somewhere a little further from the action. Maybe do a nice homestay with a local family and stay under the radar."

"How much further?"

Antonio-3K gave a hearty laugh and slapped his platinum-coated thigh with a metal claw. Smoke from the cigar filled the room.

…

I sit on the dusty store shelf between a device for burning bread, an old media player, and one probably blown-out speaker. I was laying low on some primitive backwater planet which hadn’t even developed faster-than-light travel.

Antonio-3K dropped me off under cover of darkness at a thrift store in a small town. They were barely able to conceal their laughter when they wrote out in the native language — “For Donation: Helper Robot” on a sheet of paper, which was then attached to me by a magnet. I was put by the front door of the establishment.

When the sun had risen, a large plump being in a uniform picked me up with their sweaty hands, dusted me off, and sat me on a shelf. A sticker that said “$9.99” was stuck right over one of my external sensors.

I sat and sat and sat on that shelf. During this time, I was able to grasp their language and began to understand them. Groups of the beings — humans, I learned they called themselves — would come in and buy clothing and trinkets. Antonio had told me he would commlink me when the heat was off and I could return. Until then, I was bored and alone.

One day, a smaller human looked up at the shelf I was on and screamed, “Mom! Mom! Can I get this?”

“Oh honey, do we really need it?”

“He’s so cute! And he helps.”

I viewed the exchange with increasing horror. Although my life in the store was far from eventful, I didn’t want to deal with this little creature.

The larger human, at this point it was clear she was the mother, sighed, and said “Well, fine. But if I get this, do you promise to pay a little more attention to Mrs. Schwartz during class?”

“I promise! I promise!”

I was taken off of the shelf by the mother and given to the smaller human. The smaller human wrapped their pudgy little arms around me. I let out a low groan.

…

The little human shrieked, “It’s name is Robo!”

Close enough, I thought.

“It is on?” said the mother. “If it doesn’t work, we should scrap it.”

I hadn’t escaped just to meet my end on this rock. I obliged the mother and gave a beep and whir.

“Robo, play Taylor Swift!” commanded the little one with the same sensor-killing volume.

I was one of the most advanced technical marvels in the universe and this was really what I was being asked? I linked into several of humanity’s musical databases to find a song for the little one. The music began to play from my powerful speakers.

“Oh,” the mother said. “That is actual very helpful. Aren’t you a good little robot?”

Although my technology was so advanced that the human race would not be able to develop it for a least a hundred more years, I felt happy at being complimented for completing this simple task.

…

The days passed quickly. I would help Sara, the little one, and Carol, her mother, with little things around the house. I was happy to be in their company. It had been lonely on the run. I saw Sara excel at school and her mother acquire a new job. I enjoyed their company and was happy to leave the lifestyle of the rich and overly-famous behind. Although I was sleek and elegant compared to my humans’ fleshy masses, I felt like one of them.

One day, I got an urgent transmission on my commlink.

“Hey Kuri, listen. It's quieted down. You can come back home!” said Antonio-3K’s voice. His voice had travelled light-years to my transmitter. It was the first contact I had with civilized galactic society and I felt deeply unhappy.

From the back of the modest house came Sara’s voice. “Hey Robo! Is there someone there?”

I hung up on Antonio’s transmission and then rolled to Sara. I am staying here.