Wu awoke that morning...well afterno...well early evening with a slight hangover. At least in the sense that a sledge hammer was long and skinny, not very filled out at all. This analogy was the best he could seek to produce at such an hour, with horrible post-party toxins coursing through his
circulatory system. Too much of a stretch, but there was little he could do about it. He had been, as he realized, quite thoroughly hammered the previous night/morning. OH, he thought, THAT'S why it's a good analogy. Sort of. I must have thought of it last night, he thought.
This entire monologue, he realized at this point, had been composed entirely without opening his eyes, because of the pain associated with becoming aware of one's surroundings after a night to remember, if only he could. Why had there been a party, why, why, why? Perhaps the answer would present itself before him on opening his eyes.
The sun shown through the west facing windows of the living room, the burnt orange of 7PM on a fine June day. The answer was reclining on a chair on the far side of the room, watching its friends lounge peacefully after a night spent rather raucously for its sake. The 'it' was Rob and it had been Rob's birthday the night before. Rob was all of two hundred and fifty four years old, last night, and had first become aware, much less painfully, Wu supposed incorrectly*, of the world that it inhabited a few hours afterward.
Rob is a pleasant fellow, all will agree. Intelligent, of course, but understanding and sometimes quite passionate and one of oldest members its kind. Its eyes are back lit dimly with a soft green LED light. Its body is streamlined for flight powered by its internal Anywhere engines, an upgrade Rob says it received only 43 years previous. Its torso looks something like an old flying wing, but significantly bulgier. The legless torso sits in the chair at an angle that, were a human sitting in the chair, would signal a sort of inner peace. With Rob it is not clear whether this is genuine or an affectation, both are quite possible. The light in its eyes brightens a touch when Wu's eyes shine, blearily.
-Good morning- Rob sends. Adding dryly -ish-.
-Ha. Morning Rob.- Wu replies, rubbing his eyes and slowly sitting up, only moaning in pain a little. -Isn't this where you say something like 'I shall never understand this habit of sapiens to drink to the point of pain the next morning!'- Wu said wryly. Rob did not reply, and strangely, managed to do so icily. No better a student of human custom and idiom than one looking in on the outside, thought Wu, a little smugly he realized.
"Crap," he spoke aloud, before realizing it. It had been nominally a work day. His fellow slumped biologicals began to stir, groaning in the realization that light exists and hoping desperately that it would go away and leave them to their darkness. Fuzzy radio-pulses echo about the room as Rob sends messages to his other, long-overripe guests. Softly, ever so gently the lights begin brightening. Everyone must be awake.
It had been time to leave for so long that it no longer mattered. The hour had passed back to the time of wining and dining once more. No more coffee at midnight, Wu resolved. No more, post-coffee coffee, no more post-post-coffee wine with coffee chaser, and he would never eat another chocolate covered espresso bean between the hours of 5PM and 5AM. Wu sat up, TOO FAST!
"Urgh," he gurgled.
-Careful there- sends Rob, who began humming slightly as his engines quietly negate its personal gravity and push off against the chair. As it rises, it moves toward the couch. An invisible field, like a firm pillow, seems to rise out of the couch, and slowly brings Wu to a stable sitting position. Wu's hand moves to console his throbbing temples.
-Thanks- he replies. Thought messaging is useful, but between the two dashes above none of the pained expressions available to human speech can really be transmitted without directly sending generated sound data, which is still lossy and a little inefficient. A short, encrypted thought send by radio wave is cheap but lacks the personality that a statement spoken can achieve. So Wu, almost wished he'd said it aloud to transmit his pain but thought the better of it for the sake of not annoying his equally hungover friends. Or should it be hanged-over. Ow. At this point, Wu realized that it also hurt to think. -You throw quite the party Rob.-
-And it appears- sends Rob -to have hit you all quite hard. My aim is improving.-
Having sat up Wu felt slightly better, metabolizing intoxicants, oxygenating blood, all very messy. Looking to the window. -Have you slept- he messaged at Rob.
-No, I've been seeing people slowly off. I was at low-power a minute ago, but just resting the eyes- sent Rob, colloquially. -I thought I ought to let you sleep. Oh, I explained to your boss that I'd waylaid you, it's not pleased, but it'll survive. Shall I call a taxi for you?-
-No thanks, I just have.- Wu replied, coughing, clearing his eyes. -Well, had a satisfying evening then?-
-Most-
"Good," Wu spoke aloud, eliciting groans nearby. -Thank you for the evening Rob. It's a privilege to have a friend like you-
Rob's eyes flashed blue momentarily, an affectation, but a reflection of a genuine feeling. Not so different from a sapien.
A horn blared outside, startling a few more revelers. Wu shuffled through the door, from the modest home kept by the old Homo Mechanus, to the waiting taxi. Starting at the thought, Wu turned. -Oh, Rob, I always remember that it's the day after your birthday. Happy Mechanoid Rights day.-
-Thank you, Wu, now go get some rest.- Wu received as the taxi ascended to the nearest air lane.
*Sentience is very surprising to all animals and machines when they first realize they have it, leading very quickly to sudden nude sprints from the bath house, heavy bouts with liquor and, worst of all, solipsism.