Emmy Buys a Present

	It had only been a few more weeks, but the tree stood strong, shedding a needle here or there as the time whiled away. Soon it was just a day from Christmas and Emmy was preparing for the final day, so close yet so hauntingly far. She was home alone this day, her owner having left to do some last minute shopping for the holiday season before stopping in for a Christmas social at work. However, in his absence she had been making her own preparations; the Christmas season was woefully busy for her master, and all this time alone allowed her an unorthodox amount of freedom for a housedroid. Given her independence, she had undertaken a devilish scheme in her owner’s absence, for the sole purpose of winning herself a healthy earning of cash on the side: babysitting. The street the pair lived on was heavily populated with working parents and too many children needed some form of after school care, and Emmy introduced herself into the local market, nannying kids up and down the street. She’d saved herself a respectable wad of cash which she kept hidden in her quarters, and now was the time to bring it out.
	Emmy steeled herself for the journey ahead. It was a short walk, surely, but to be out, alone, without her owner was terrifying to her. But no, she had to go! She shook with worry and excitement about what she was about to do. She held the bills in her hand before gently nestling them into the blue leather purse slung over her shoulder and, whirling the spare house key around her finger, left the home. Exiting onto the damp snow-stricken streets, the Sun’s glow fighting Winter’s chill in each melt-filled gutter and snow-choked sidewalk. As Emmy paced, purse swinging by her side, she greeted, smiling, numerous couples, parents and their children, and a menagerie of passersby before reaching, triumphantly, the department store. Entering the monumental glass building she walked into a world of late-season festivity, red and green roping criss-crossing over the tiled avenues between each of the open-air stores. Emmy peered about, searching for the right spot, the right store. There had to be, she reasoned, some store here that would have what she needed.
	She strolled around aimlessly, scooting along escalators and motorized walkways to each successive story of the great store she was in, but each outlet, be it appliances or jewelry, had nothing stocked to her demands. As Emmy left, the least bit annoyed, yet another fruitless store, she was approached by one of the numerous security guards who patrolled the building.
	“Is everything alright, miss,” he said, turning to face her. “Oh, I see. You must be lost. We’ll find your owner soon enough.”
	“I can assure you, sir, I’m not lost, just browsing. I’ve no need of assistance.”
	“You must be one of those grocery models, then? Well you’re a few floors too high, general goods are on floor 1A, and you’ve wandered all the way to floor 7B.”
	“A grocery model,” Emmy thought. The image of the four-wheeled automatons who, without pause or any sort of outward intellect, stalked the same tiled paths as her, baskets filled with the trimmings for a fine Christmas dinner or bags of fresh produce, passed her mind. She was outraged.
	“No! I am no grocery model!” The guard was taken aback at the outburst; this couldn’t be normal. “I am a Sterling Robotics Model E Nandroid and will be treated with the dignity that affords me!” Emmy then stopped, her eyes wide as the guard reached for his small handheld radio, his face sneering in distrust, apprehension; anger.
	“Hey this is Johnson, I think I’ve got a rogue droid up here.”
	“No wait! I’m sorry, please! I just,” she paused and shrank, the man before her pausing himself. “I’m just here to get my owner a gift…” The man clicked the small side button once again, giving Emmy a suspicious sidelong glance, before turning back to the radio.
	“Johnson here, nix that last report. Just a lost robot.” He released the button again with a short crackle and straightened the black cap on his head. “So you want to get them a present?” Emmy nodded. “Well what kind of present?”
Emmy hesitated again, before explaining to the man before her exactly what she was looking for, her nimble hands forming shapes in the air as though blueprinting her Christmas gift before the guard’s eyes. He nodded in understanding, eyes narrowing as he thought where in the whole store they could find it. As the robot ceased to explain and, blushing, folded her hands in front of her, the man came to a conclusion.
	“They’ll have it in Barnaby’s, for sure… and the hardware store should be just across the atrium from there. Do you want me to take you?” Emmy paused nervously, her hands grasping the fabric of her coat where it hung down above her knees. Looking up, she nodded. “Let’s go then,” the guard said, thumbing the rim of his cap upwards and giving a wide smile to the nandroid beneath him.
	“Johnson here again, I’ll be guiding a customer down to the Barnaby’s on 3C, need someone to cover 7B for a hot minute.” A crackle of affirmation lept from the radio before the man released it to his belt once more and, holding the nandroid’s shoulder, pointed towards the nearest escalator, the diagonals criss-crossing from floor to floor. The pair descended, story by story, until they came to the third one, stepping off the mechanical staircase into an open courtyard with great, tall windows overlooking the busy city street below. He then pointed towards the northern module of the floor, highlighting with his fingers a small square culdesac of stores, where one store stood out, dominating the western side of the extension.
	“Right there’s Barnaby’s, and just across from it is the hardware store. You want me to walk you?”
	“I think I can handle just fine, sir. Thank you for the… guidance,” Emmy responded, turning to him with a look of childlike determination, her eyes and servo-guided eyebrows narrowing at the guard towering above her.
	“Sound good, then. Merry Christmas,” he said, already on his way back up the escalator, radio in hand. Emmy nodded to herself before walking to the large shop, her steps finding newfound purpose on the tiled floor, the hard clack-clack of her flats beating out a percussive rhythm to her thinking. Coming to the great glass doors of the Barnaby’s she stopped and waited, wincing at the squealing of rubber on tile as they slid open. She entered into what could easily pass as a miniaturized version of the great mall, complete with tiled aisleways and small carpeted squares reflecting each section of goods. She peered at the ceiling, each successive guiding sign pulling her eyes left and right until she saw the sign for “Home Decoration”. She nodded quietly to herself and grinned slyly, marching the long way to the back of the store, passing weary-eyed clerks and even more exhausted parents who’d waited until Christmas Eve to start shopping. She came at last to the small square of cream-colored shelves, almost entirely bare, and the little stand where a long-haired teenager stood, chewing gum and flipping through a magazine.
	“How may Barnaby’s help you today ma’am,” the girl said without looking up.
	“Oh, uh, glass decorations?”
	“This is the place,” the girl droned.
	“Th-Thank you?” Emmy passed the girl as she smacked and bubble-popped away, not batting an eye from her department store lectern. The small droid paced the aisles until coming to the back wall which, surprisingly, was untouched, tacky decorations and plastic elves populating the unending rows of metal shelving. Down one direction the decorations turned to faux-wood trees and ornaments, and the other to angels, stars, and general tree-toppers; Emmy opted for this direction. Coming to the rearmost corner of, quite possibly, the entire mall, Emmy found herself in a small haven of uninterrupted quiet, the gentle Christmas music all but silenced in the isolated crevice of decorations. She looked up and down, ceiling to cheaply-carpeted floor until she spotted exactly what she had had in mind. It sat, boxed up in cardboard, on the highest shelf. Emmy reached, vainly, stretching her uncooperative (and diminutive) arms, just brushing the box. She got off of her toes and sighed, peering past the corner of one line of shelves to the small kiosk again. The girl was still there, still page-turning, still chewing. Emmy sighed and walked all the way back to the kiosk.
“H-Hello,” Emmy squeaked. The girl paused and closed her magazine, but not before dog-earing her page.
	“Yeah?”
	“It seems that there’s something too high for, um, for me to reach.” The girl paused and rolled her eyes, before producing a small microphone from underneath the wooden surface of her station.
	“Jeremy, can you come to Home Decor,” she said, a whirling hint of annoyance tinting her voice. Emmy see-sawed from heel to ball, as she looked around, avoiding eye contact with the girl in front. Before long a tall, lanky boy came over, no older than the girl clerk.
	“What’s the problem Jessica?”
	“This lady is too short or something.” Emmy, face scrunching briefly at the snide comment, looked up at the boy and nodded.
	“Yes, there’s something I can’t reach.”
	“Okay ma’am, take me to it,” he said, his voice cracking unceremoniously as he brushed his own long hair out of his eyes. Emmy pointed down the long aisle to the back corner and, employee in tow, came to the offending box. She pointed and, as quickly as she had given up on reaching it, the boy grabbed it firmly and lowered it into her welcoming hands.
	“Thank you, young man,” she said, smiling.
	“N-No problem.”
Emmy made her way back to the store’s entrance as the boy stalked away back to his post, wherever that may be; perhaps with the ladders, Emmy silently mused. Emmy arrived, triumphantly, to the checkout line. A whole cadre of equally young, equally bored employees sat idly, waiting for someone to buy something. Emmy shuffled up to the first counter and placed the box onto the waiting conveyor belt.
	“Did you find everything okay today, ma’am,” asked a shorter, pimpled boy.
	“Yes, thank you.” The large box trundled up to the laser scanner and, with a curt beep, was ready to be whisked away.
	“Your total today is fifty-two dollars and ninety-nine, miss.” Emmy nodded and ruffled through her small blue purse before relinquishing a few large bills, the cashier taking them and stowing them away, diligently flipping out the change. “And eight is your change.” A wan smile on the cashier’s face she proffered the bills to Emmy, who took them with her own smile.
	“Thank you for shopping at Barnaby’s, enjoy your purchase.”
	“Y-You too-,” Emmy said before catching herself and looking down. She scuttled out of the store, averting her eyes as she made her way to the hardware store across the small plaza. The bright red-orange neon sign of the hardware store shone on Emmy’s face as she entered a smaller, singular door, one that didn’t slide open with the same tortured squeal. A little bell rung as she entered the narrow shop, far smaller than any of the other stores in the building and feeling almost out of place, paradoxically quaint in contrast to the materialist grandeur of the rest of the mall.
	“Hello miss,” spoke a gruff, bearded man who sat behind a glass counter. “Anything we can help you with today?”
	“Yes, sir. Do you have colored lacquers?”
	“Well sure, what colors do you have in mind?”
	“Oh, um, silver? Gold maybe?”
	“Quite the choice, miss. Here, follow me.” With an exaggerated grunt he arose from his little desk chair and disappeared through a door behind the counter before emerging from another hidden door, now free of the glass and metal bondage of the checkout. Emmy quickly bobbed after the man who led her to the middle of the store, a small display case of lacquers and other small metal cans of varnish or stain. “Take your pick,” he said, producing a small key and opening the case. Emmy reached in and picked a few small cans of different, artsy lacquers, weighing each can in her hand and reading their colors, instructions, no detail escaping her darting eyes.
	“This one.” She held out a medium can of deep golden lacquer that the man then took in his hand, making his way back to the counter. He left the can on the glass top before returning to his chair via the sideroom and ringing up the lacquer.
	“Twenty dollars even please.” Emmy once again produced the bills and, hesitating for a moment, decided to ask her question. She looked down at where she had left her present and knew there was no better time or place.
	“Do you happen to have a workshop here sir? I’d like to do a bit of a work project, it’s for a present.”
	“Sure we do, it’s in the back. We’re not busy so I’d be happy to help you,” the man said, handing Emmy her receipt.
	“Excellent.”
	The two made their way to the rear of the narrow store, finding laid in the wall a metal door. The man produced a scarce key ring and fumbled with the handful of keys there before finally opening the door. Behind it was a narrow room with a bare concrete floor and harsh, white fluorescent lights hanging over a sole workbench, tools hanging from the wall, waiting to be used. Emmy smiled; it was exactly what she needed. She rested the can of lacquer on the table, and the hefty cardboard box too. She gently unfolded the top and produced her prize, an immaculate black ceramic angel, its cherub-like face and carefully sculpted wings and robe fluttering in mock motion, a childish air of play around it. Emmy weighed the piece, hovering in her hands like black water, made motionless by the confines of its ovened prison, before setting it onto the table.
	“Ah, that’s beautiful! So, what were you looking to do with it?” Emmy gave the clerk an impish smile before batting the angel off the edge of the work bench, watching it tumble end over end before it impacted onto the floor, granules of black clay skittering in all directions as the fragmented angel lay broken on the cold concrete.
	“Wh-What the hell, lady!” The man stopped and glared at the small robot beneath him. “Grab a broom, clean this up, and get out.”
	“Sir,” Emmy said, grabbing a broom conveniently laid up against the wall. “There’s been a misunderstanding. This,” she said, gesturing between the shattered angel and can of lacquer, “is my project.” She got to work sweeping up each stubborn fragment of of angel, gliding the broom across the floor and under tables, counters, benches, seeking out each errant piece. In a few short moments she’d gathered a neat pile of lint and debris, all surrounding the bulk of the fallen creation. “There,” she said. “Now, will you help me?”
	The man rolled his eyes. His face contorted a bit clearly unsure if he should even be mad in the first place but clearly wishing to hold onto at least some vestige of anger or hardness. “Fine,” he said. “But please, please do not break anything else. Okay?”
	“No contest.”
	The two quickly scooped together the angel’s remains and laid them out on the table. Emmy’s eyes darted from shard to glittering shard, her eyes piecing together the entire puzzle of the black ornament while the clerk readied the lacquer and a miniscule brush. Emmy laid the angel out piece by piece, its broken form splayed across the table like some laboratory animal, its wings punctuated by each angle of breakage. The clerk donned a small mask covering his nose and mouth and looked over to Emmy. He was just about to offer the nandroid one of her own, proffered in his hand, but caught himself as she smiled.
	“This may take a hot second,” he said, brandishing the brush and a small disk filled with the viscous gold fluid. He sloshed it gently before dipping the brush and picking up the first piece in his gloved hand.
	“I think I’d like to watch.”
	“Fine by me.” Emmy pulled over a metal folding chair and watched the man work, piece by piece rebuilding the angel’s obsidian form, gold lines spider-webbing from crack to crack. She smiled warmly as she spun her thumbs, the idea of giving this gift to her master bringing her cheeks to a gentle glow. The craftsman’s deft hands moved from piece to piece as the ornament grew fuller, larger, stronger, its old shape being rebuilt slowly, its wings once again whole and spread behind it, themselves criss-crossed with ethereal lines of gold. Emmy smiled as the reconstruction neared its end, the childish, pudgy face finally rejoined from its two extant halves, reunified in gold threading. The man wiped his brow as he slipped off his gloves, sealed the lacquer and removed his mask.
	“Alright miss, job’s done.”
	“What do I owe you sir?” The man’s eyes batted around for a moment before he drew in a deep breath.
	“No charge, ma’am. Just give this a good home.” Emmy smiled at the man before hefting the angel up once more and back into its waiting confines of cardboard, swaddled once more in crumpled paper and tape.
	“Thank you sir,” Emmy called back as she left the store. “And a merry Christmas!” He didn’t call back but gave her a heavy wave and stern nod, before returning to his place behind the counter.
	Emmy stood once more in the small side plaza of the mall, the foot traffic having lessened as the day dragged on. Fewer people were around now and held her package in front of her, her hands laced beneath it, cradling its weight. With the same confidence she had entered the mall she marched off towards the escalators, her mind churning and roiling with just how her owner would react to her adventure today, once he spied the erroneous gift beneath the tree. Emmy’s mind roiled with anxiety and fear, the label of “rogue droid” still echoing in her mind. She stopped for a moment, silencing the clack-clack of her shoes and sat on a bench, just to take in the lights that adorned the glass pavilions around her. The dazzling white lights spun around her head before she stopped her mind from charging to any unfair conclusions. It didn’t matter what they thought, what mattered was what he thought. Everything in that moment centered upon delivering that angel to its rightful place beneath the tree and, ultimately, in her master’s open hands. He had done so much for her and to give him this single, simple, gift was her way of saying it. The three words she had been sitting upon for the months she had worked for him. The three words which had burnt and lept around in her mind for all of December, but never escaped. The three words she had poured into her gift.