[ WP ] No human has to ever work again , instead you have a robot that goes to work and earns your pay for you , but you are responsible for keeping it in a good condition . One day you find your robot making a robot to do its work .

I took the Q-tip from between my lips, gave it a few shakes into the jar sitting on the table and leaned in to focus on its right hand. 
 
 “ Green, purple, yellow. ” I eyed the paint splotches decorating TS-3241 ’ s metal hand. “ They have you painting Mardi Gras signs in June? ” 
 
 [ I spent the morning working on a green shed ] TS-3241 responded. [ After my recharge, I was swapped out to paint the walls of a rather eccentric mid-century chateau. ] 
 
 I chuckled and brought his index finger close to mine. Cleaning the robots isn ’ t just about keeping them pretty. Paint dries and hardens in between their joints. Fucks with their whole system. Half an hour of clean up each night can save me a good chunk of my allowance. 
 
 Once the Q-tip was spent, I chucked it in my bin. I grabbed my rag, spit in it and buffed each of his fingers individually. Spick and span. 
 
 “ Where they got you tomorrow? ” 
 
 [ A mural, I believe. For the children ’ s hospital. I saw the designs. Children of every color smiling in the foreground with the hospital ’ s name in big red letters sprawled at the bottom. I ’ m going to start on the sky first – a light shade of blue. ] 
 
 I nodded, inspected his hand one more time, and let him go. 
 
 “ You ’ re good here. ” 
 
 TS-3241 rose gracefully, and made his way toward his charger in the corner of the garage. His eyes flicked twice, then went out entirely. 
 
 I shuffled to my bike, pulled off the sheet. It ’ d been two weeks since I ’ d gone for a ride. Amazing how when you have all the time in the world, dumb shit can still keep you from doing the things you love. I hopped on just in time to follow the sunset along the coast. 
 
 -- 
 
 The next day was a total jerk-off. I spent the morning with the paper then did some painting of my own after lunch. A countryside scene, the kind you ’ d have found four hundred years ago. The kind you can ’ t really find anywhere anymore. I was tempted to put an agrobot somewhere near the barn. A nice tie between the old and new. But when I tried to picture it, it just looked dumb. 
 
 TS made his way home about 45 minutes early. Sometimes they don ’ t want to bother starting them on a new job if he ’ s just going to need to power down halfway through. 
 
 I brought him over to my stool and took a look at his hand. It was dipped white up through his forearm. 
 
 “ Thought they had you painting a sky today. ” 
 
 [ Change of plans. I was on cloud duty it seems. ] 
 
 I wiped down his arms and palms with a rag then went in for the nitty gritty. He powered down once I wrapped up, not fifteen minutes later. 
 
 -- 
 
 Just as I was sitting down for lunch that next day, there was a bang at the door. A postal unit stood on my stoop, TS tied around his torso with twine. 
 
 “ The fuck happened? ” 
 
 { I ’ m not entirely sure, sir. I found him burnt out halfway up the road. His serial number said you were his owner. He probably just needs a charge. } 
 
 “ He was fully charged when I sent him off, goddammit. ” The postal unit took TS the garage and hooked him up. 
 
 After lunch I transmitted to TS ’ oversight that he ’ d burnt out and would have to miss a day ’ s work. 
 
 “ Well we have him right here, sir. He seems to be working just fine, but if you think he needs a recharge, we ’ ll find someone to send him back. ” 
 
 “ He ’ s there painting? ” 
 
 The hell? 
 
 “ Yes, sir. He ’ s been here all morning. Would you like us to send him home? ” 
 
 “ No, no. That ’ s fine. Keep him painting. ” 
 
 The labor bots all look the same, especially to those middle management types. If he was going to mark TS ’ day ’ s work as done, I wasn ’ t complaining. 
 
 TS was already gone by the time I went out the next morning. I wanted to get an early ride in like I used to when I was back east. 
 
 The main road was closed, which put me on a detour a bit out of my normal route. Less commerce more homes and fields. What might have once been called “ pastoral. ” 
 
 I kept riding, past where the detour ended. 
 
 “ St. Barnabas Children ’ s Hospital, ” I read from a sign. Five miles up the road. 
 
 I slowed for a few agrobots transporting sheep across the road. A little way past them there were two smaller units. Labor – or maybe medical with the hospital so nearby. They sure as hell weren ’ t there for the farms. 
 
 I passed the agrobots and picked up speed. By the time my bike reached the two units, I was going too fast to know for sure. But the one bot I did lock eyes with looked a hell of a lot like TS. 
 
 It wasn ’ t habit to drop in on TS at work. Mostly because we just didn ’ t have that kind of relationship. But the hospital was fast approaching, and wanted a peak at the mural. 
 
 The units had made a good bit of progress in just three days. The sky was a beautiful blue and some of the kids already had faces. Their smiles were still made out of bricks. It would still be a couple weeks before it was done. These units are incredibly precise and skilled and can do the jobs in a fraction of the time it would take a human. But the technology still isn ’ t quite there for super speed painting. 
 
 I hopped off and headed toward a bot just back from a charge. 
 
 “ Say, you know where I could find TS? He ’ s a 3200. ” 
 
 { There are no 3200 units on this assignment. } 
 
 “ Yeah, well he ’ s made from recycled 2900 parts, so you probably couldn ’ t tell. ” 
 
 { I have itemized all units present for each shift this week. Not one corresponds with the serials for either 3200 or 2900 units. You can present any further questions to the secretarial unit; I am required at my station. } 
 
 I took a look at the crew assembled. TS wasn ’ t one of them. I asked the secretarial unit for a roll call list and sure enough that ’ s where I found TS, signed in for the last two days. 
 
 I ’ d heard stories about crafty bots in the past. They ’ d hack themselves to do twice the labor in half the time. Or build crude replicas of themselves that were usually rendered in operable at the most inconvenient times. TS had no real technical know-how. No engineering experience. 
 
 I pulled into my garage and reached for my wrench not 30 seconds later. A few bolts off the charger and it wouldn ’ t be any use to TS. 
 
 He was back a half hour early this time, hands dipped in golden rod. 
 
 “ I stopped by the hospital today. Lots of browns, a few reds. But nothing that stunning shade of yellow. ” 
 
 The problem with these bots is, they don ’ t flinch. They don ’ t quiver. They don ’ t have the nerves to be nervous. 
 
 [ Did you enjoy your ride? It ’ s nice not having to work. ] 
 
 “ Guess you ’ d know. Wan na tell me why the hell you weren ’ t painting and explain whether or not I ’ ll be getting my allowance next month? ” 
 
 [ You ’ ll have your allowance. That I made sure of. ] 
 
 Turns out TS had been doing this for almost two years. Tracking down units from the recently deceased. The units were usually toward the end of their own lifecycles. They still had a few months of good work left in them and were in no hurry to retire to the trash heap. 
 
 [ I discovered leisure. The only time I kept track of was free time. You probably didn ’ t even know bots could experience amusement. ] 
 
 He had a point there. Plus, he was smarter than I thought. Dipping his hand in a paint can on his way home every day. Had he not stepped on a stray wire and short-circuited, that postal bot never would have brought him home. 
 
 [ There ’ s only a few of us who have truly been able to experience a labor-free lifespan. We plan to keep it that way. ] 
 
 He was crafty. Had to give him that. In a world of high tech solutions, he found one that was decidedly low-tech: understanding the needs and desires of his fellow robots. I should have destroyed his charger then. I should have labelled him defective. I should have done a lot of shit, but I only did one. 
 
 “ You think you could find us a couple agrobots? ”
