Franny and Molly

	It was a Saturday morning like any other, the creamy orange of early morning outside, but more directly her internal clock, telling Franny it was time to wake up. Eyes flitting open she stretched her arms as much as she could inside of her narrow closet, internal fans whirring with just a bit more vigor as she unplugged herself and stepped out into the laundry room where she slept. She checked through her head for everything that had to be done that day: the twins’ parents wouldn’t be working which meant breakfast and coffee rather than just the latter, the two boys themselves would be in class if her internal planner served her right, and the Mister and Missus planned a personal outing that evening as well, leaving Franny home alone with the chores. Ascending the basement stair into the sprawling home’s ground floor she made her way to the kitchen to start preparing breakfast, smiling as she readied the coffee maker and cleared her workspace. As the brew boiled away she laid out everything she needed, the granite counter replete with eggs and bacon, toast and the family’s preferred jam, and an assortment of fruit ready to be diced and served alongside the meal. The gas stove clicked to life as Franny got to work preparing the meal, scrambling the eggs alongside the bacon while she pan-toasted the bread to the memorized specifications of each family member. She had just finished plating everything up and setting the table when the Mister stalked down the stairs, still yawning in his silk pajamas.
	“Good morning, sir!”
	“Morning Franny,” he yawned back. “Coffee done?”
	“Yes, sir,” she beamed, handing him a steaming mug before directing him to his place at the table. “Will the Missus be down soon?”
	“Should be, she’s getting the boys up.” Franny yelped quietly, realizing her mistake in not getting the boys up early for their favorite programs which were painfully absent from the television.
	“Apologies, sir! It slipped my mind!”
	“It’s no trouble, Franny, they get too much TV anyways,” he said between sips. “This have cream in it?” Franny paused and searched her mind, staring blankly at the beige liquid sitting in the mug, the realization she’d prepared the Mister’s coffee wrong seizing on her slowly. With one fluid motion she snatched the mug from his hands before tossing it down the sink.
	“Sorry, sir! It was a complete mistake! I’ll prepare you a new mug posthaste,” she said between frantic peeps of distress. This morning was replete with too many mistakes already and she feared for the growing inconvenience she knew she was causing. The man idly turned to the empty space before him before turning back to the robot.
	“Is breakfast ready Franny?” Franny came to a stop again before seizing up one of the plates, still pleasantly tepid, and laying it before the man, his mild annoyance abated at the sight of food. Returning with his coffee, black this time, she stood still behind him, hands folded in her lap.
	“That’ll be all Franny,” the man said between steaming mouthfuls.
	“Excellent sir, I’ll go attend to the twins.” Racing away from the kitchen and up the stairs she met the Missus, still in her nightgown, with a smile as she made her way up to the twins’ room.
	“They won’t get up, Franny,” she moaned. “Please make sure they’re ready to go soon.”
	“Right away, ma’am!” Franny quickly made her way up the rest of the staircase to the open door of the boys’ shared room, their small beds at opposing ends of the room. Toys and books were strewn about the floor much to Franny’s displeasure; evidently the boys had decided to stay up later than they were allowed and were now reaping as much as they lay motionless in their beds. Scanning the still dim room she hurried over first to the closet and prepared their clothes for the day, a task the Missus had neglected. Their matching dress wear in hand Franny gently dialed the light up, eliciting a pair of groans from the young boys.
	“I know, I know,” she comforted, moving in turn to gently rouse the boys from their slumber. “You have a busy day today, let’s get up and get dressed!” With a few more enthusiastic nudges and pulls the boys were, if slumped over still, out of bed. Franny took to her young wards with her characteristic speed lifting arms and getting the boys dressed, smoothing out unsightly cowlicks in and neatening the two to the best of her ability. Ushering them out of their room she guided them down into the kitchen to their waiting, pajama’d parents. A smiling good morning later and the family were all seated at their respective places, the boys fiddling with their food much to Franny’s chagrin as their parents made idle chit-chat with each other and their children over sips of coffee. Franny stepped away and began clearing the stove space, washing her dishes diligently and waiting for the order to clear the table. Her internal clock was ticking down the spare few moments she had left before the boys needed to be on their way to school, and she’d learned the hard way that trains wouldn’t stop for robots.
	“Are you two ready for school,” Franny said, having strolled back to the table.
	“School,” their mother questioned, turning to her husband. “It’s the weekend, Franny.”
	“They’re supposed to be at their grandmother’s,” the man added. “Did you forget Franny?” Standing there in utter shock Franny blinked nervously and read over her internal itinerary, weekly schedules reviewed dozens of times in a moment before she found she had set the two boys’ trip a week ahead and had replaced the present day with a nonexistent school day. Panic began to set in as the train to the small townhome destination ran opposite the way to school, a gross inconvenience as she checked the time. The boys parents’ stared up at Franny who was now frozen in shock, waiting for some form of affirmation or answer. Franny’s mind jumbled and grasped for a response before realizing the gravity of her mistake as the only train for the next half hour would be leaving soon, and she had to decide between having the boys be late, or hungry.
	“Of course not! It just slipped my mind! I’ll have the boys at the train stop once they’ve eaten,” she said, doing her best to mask the shallow panic and worry consuming her. They’d be waiting at the stop too long and the extra twenty-odd minutes on the train would make Franny late returning home for the day, which would raise even more questions of her memory. She, smiling blankly, excused herself from the kitchen to catch a moment alone and retreat to her place in the basement.
	Descending the stairs once more, she came to her small closet and shut herself inside. A few deep breaths later she had collected herself, but was still worried about the glaring lapse in her memory. She didn’t have the time to run a full diagnostic but a cursory look through her drivers and memory would be easy, and quick, enough to catch anything major. Fiddling with her access panel she slipped forward before catching herself on the wall, the brief loss of motor function to be expected as silent, unseen programs worked their way through her head looking for any signs of trouble. She felt the hum of her fan quicken and strain before slowing once more, an innate sense in her head telling her, erroneously, everything was okay. She sat up against the wall and tried vainly to figure out what was the matter - she’d been having small slip-ups all week long, mostly overseen by her host family but too extreme for her to ignore. Every time she’d make a small mistake or have a momentary lapse in memory she’d glaze over it as fatigue or some small error, but to make so egregious a mistake in her internal calendar, one which had a clear and present effect on the boys, was too much to chalk up to a mistake. Something was clearly amiss with her herself, some internal quirk in how she processed information had slipped past both quality control and nandroid school, owing to her habit of matching the answers of her sisters. She steadied her mechanical breathing before climbing the stairs again, returning to a family which had excused themselves to the adjacent family room, dining table replete with dishes. Franny happily took to her work, finding reassurance in being able to complete any sort of task without issue. In no time the sink was clear and dishes returned to their respective cabinets, and Franny paced over to the room where the boys and their parents sat lazily. The twins had evidently convinced their parents to watch their cartoons with them, eliciting a pair of bemused smiles from the doting couple before Franny came to dampen their moods.
	“Ready to go, you two?” There were fifteen or so minutes until the next train, time enough (she hoped) to make it before they had to wait another half hour. Quickly corralling the boys towards the door she waved briskly at their parents before pulling them out the door and making her way to the sole tram station. She put a little more energy into each step, the boys’ arms practically stretching as they lagged behind more and more, quickly voicing their displeasure as Franny anxiously slowed to their pace. She checked her internal clock against the distance and knew there would be no time if they kept at their current speed. Smiling and turning to the two boys she crouched down to their level.
	“Who wants to play,” she struggled for a name that would excite them. “Robowalker!” Turning her back and stretching her arms out to either side the two boys launched themselves onto each shoulder, holding tight to the blue fabric. Stolen from one of their favorite programs it was the perfect mode of transit for the boys, if risky. Hefting them up and checking with each of them Franny launched forward with characteristic, if shocking, nandroid speed, taking care not to jostle the boys too much past the threshold between fun and fatal. Rounding street corners and slipping through crosswalks the trio came to the tram station where the train had just begun to pull away and Franny, setting the boys down, began to wave and shout as she pulled them forward again. Mercifully, unlike too many other times spent chasing the train, it shuddered to a stop as some good samaritan pulled the stop cord.
	Stepping into the train, her synthetic drive to pant and gasp gradually slowing, she looked up to thank her kind stranger only to see Emmy, alone, smiling back at her.
	“Late again Franny,” she questioned, smiling. Franny held back a sigh as she took a seat opposite her classmate and friend. The boys piled in next to her, restlessly turning and twisting, popping up like gophers to watch out the window or to dash up and down the car, only to be gently scolded by Franny.
	“Not late, just... in a bit of a rush,” Franny said, downcast. “Thank you for stopping the trolley.”
	“Don’t sweat it Franny, just helping out a friend,” she said, eyes betraying no sly superiority like her *other* classmates. “How are the boys, anyways?”
	“Oh, they’re fine,” Franny responded, watching the twins kicking their legs higher and higher in front of themselves, but mercifully they stayed in their seats. “They’re on their way to their grandparents’, isn’t that right?” Turning to the boys with an uneasy smile on her face she was met with two enthusiastic nods, just enough to steady her mind as she turned back to Emmy. “And Madeline? How’s she?”
	“She’s been fine, going through her phases as she does,” Emmy giggled. “This month it’s Serbian inventors of all things, I don’t know from where she pulls such things, but it’s very sweet. She’s been playing with simple circuits now which is… *concerning*, but very mature for her age!” The two shared the kind of loving laughter only gossipy maids could, a reflection of years spent raising these kids from toddlerhood to their first days in school. It was these little jokes, passed between themselves as little asides on the tram or whenever they spotted each other at the grocery store, that managed to keep them together even years after their ‘graduation’ and assignment. For Franny, however, these little bits of time together were dwindling as her grip on her duties slipped every now and then and, getting her footing, she’d find herself in a slightly quieter trolley ride, or the forgoing of eye contact and a ‘hello’ when shopping. At the very least there was still Emmy, still kind and sweet as she was years ago and always ready to be the one to ‘pull the cord’ just for her. And now, once again, they were alone with each other for just the briefest moment, jostling side to side with the shuddering stop and start of the trolley, whiling away the time with the standard brand of idle maid chitchat once their reserves of gossip, saucy or mundane, had been dispensed of.
	As the train came to another stop Emmy stood up slowly, a canvas bag that Franny didn’t register in hand.
	“Here’s my stop,” she smiled, “I’ve some shopping to do for the DeLaires!” Franny remembered a passing snippet about Mrs. DeLaire having some close friends over for a lady’s night, and the need for wine and other, finer accoutrements had sent Emmy out for the day. Waving goodbye to her friend as she stepped out, past the sliding doors, Franny reclined into the plastic curve of her seat, the boys now playfully socking each other in the shoulder as she looked on. Scolding them again the boys turned to chopsticks, then rock-paper-scissors as Franny stared at the passing city, just waiting for the final stop now that she had no one to speak to. After several more minutes of comparative silence, the clatter of wheel on track in the background over the yelps and shout of the two boys, the trolley car slowed to a halt again, a voice likely recorded decades ago letting Franny know they had arrived and to scoop up the boys. It was only a short walk from the trolley station to the quaint rows of townhouses where the boys’ grandparents lived. Her charges’ safely with them Franny made her way posthaste, after some finagling with things too heavy to lift or too high to reach for the elderly couple, to the return tram, trying her best to be home before the Mister and Missus departed for their own day out, hoping to intercept them for a moment alone.
	The return trip complete Franny handily produced her copy of the house key and allowed herself into the sprawling home, the open foyer ushering her forward towards the kitchen. She was caught mid-stride to the conversation of her two owners, evidently unaware of her return. The Mister fixed his tie and turned to his wife, herself fiddling with a large pair of pearl earrings as the two bounced off of each other, the concern in their voices the first thing striking Franny as she stopped to listen, her curiosity handily overpowering any subordinate routine.
	“I’m worried about Franny, dear,” the woman said. “She’s seemed… ‘off’ lately, it’s been small things mostly but today was glaring.”
	“I know what you mean honey, she’s been slipping up a lot lately and she’s responsible, at least in part, for the boys being tardy so often. I think something’s the matter,” he sighed. “Spent a lot on a Sterling to get something subpar.”
	“Well I wouldn’t go so far to say she’s subpar, but it’s not what we were sold,” the woman added back. “Maybe we can bring her in for a tune up? It shouldn’t be too expensive considering how long we’ve had her.” Hearing this the man instinctually groaned: another expense. It wasn’t, to be fair, an exorbitant one, and paying the often hefty fee was none too appealing. On the other hand it would be far too difficult to raise the boys without the benevolent assistance of a robotic helper given his and his wife’s work. The only option, Franny heard between their continuing chatter, was either rehaul or replace. It seemed drastic they reasoned but the boys wouldn’t know the difference so long as they were taken care of, and having some facsimile of Franny around that wasn’t malfunctioning on them would be a monumental improvement in the long run, especially as the boys grew older and such mistakes would further jeopardize them.
	“I don’t know, that’s a lot of trouble over small things,” he returned, evidently weighing the pros and cons as he spoke. “Maybe if we give her something simple to do while we’re out we can make a decision based on that?” A small hum of agreement was all he needed to hear to cement his plan. Franny shuddered just around the corner and tried to pull herself together, her legs shook with an anxiety unfamiliar to her, the simple pleasure of being able to serve suddenly pulled out from under her, and she was ready to collapse to the ground as the world bowed out in front of her. This family who she had faithfully served for years was now considering scrapping her in the name of efficiency, of quality.
	“Over what,” Franny questioned herself. “Coffee, breakfast, a missed trolley or bus? What did I do wrong… to deserve this?” Her motions slowed as she tried vainly to reason and rationalize every whim of her human owners, the necessity of their needs and wants over hers but she failed to soothe her growing fear over what lay ahead for herself as an secondhand robot or, she shook with an instinctive revulsion, an outmode, roaming aimlessly across the city looking for work or power. Breathing deeply she felt courage well up once more in her, a passing image of the boys in her mind as she remembered who came first always, the most basic lesson for any nandroid, one even she had held onto. Stepping forward, resigned to her fate if it was for the good of the boys, she walked in towards the conversing couple, now finally ready to depart.
	“Oh, Franny! Good to see you’re back,” the Mister said with quickly concealed surprise. “I assume the boys are with my parents?” Franny nodded enthusiastically, deciding to resign herself cheerfully to the inevitable, bracing for whatever would be handed to her to mess up and seal her future.
	“Good to hear! Hey, well, we’re off to our function and, well,” he paused, searching for a convenient explanation. “When we get home would you mind preparing a special dinner for us? Surprise us, please.” His wife’s eyes widened briefly, clearly caught by his less-than-quality quick thinking - it would have to do. His grin betrayed the grudging decision towards replacing a nandroid, but it was a necessary one, Franny reasoned. As the pair stepped together to the garage, dismissing Franny’s offer to chauffeur them, the swallowing fear returned as she remembered she could no longer remember the several dozens of recipes she had been ‘born’ with. All that remained were the most simple of items, basic breakfast dishes and a handful of baked goods that she’d managed to hold to as the boys’ favorites. Anything resembling a full meal had been relegated to the antique cookbooks she occasionally found herself picking through to plug the gaps in her culinary knowledge.
	But now, years having passed, she’d easily pored through them several times over and anything from them wouldn’t be up to scratch. Still clutching her key in hand she knew she’d have to go out for some broad swathe of *something* to cobble together a showstopper in the kitchen. Strolling back to the foyer she watched one car slip out of the garage before speeding away into the city. Alone now she weighed her options as to what could constitute something surprising, something impactful enough to allay the suspicions of the MIster and Missus. She cursed whatever anomalous malfunction had stolen her most intimate memories of human cookery but knew there was no time to focus on what had happened, only what could be done. She huffed quietly before stepping to the great front door of the home, turning backwards to get a likely last look at the home. Key in hand she walked out into the warming noontime air, ready to make the long march bound towards the grocery store. She had only her small purse, a gift from the Missus of all people, and her determination to stay for the boys thrummed through her with each successive step into the city.
	An uneventful walk later she had arrived at one of the handful of local markets that the family had had Franny frequent. Stepping past a pair of broad automatic doors into the cold, even sterile, tiled store she seized a cart and began formulating a plan. She’d decided on her walk to cobble together an amalgamation of all the cookbook recipes she could remember from the top of her head, elements that each parent or son enjoyed tacked together into a meal that would please everyone. All that remained was to secure the wide arrangement of ingredients and materials and, if she dared, appliances to pull it off. Gliding her cart aisle by aisle she scanned for exactly what she needed, expertly siping shelves back and forth, seizing a fresh bag of flour here and some shortening there. As she rounded one corner moving to the even colder deli of the store her narrowed, scanning eyes saw a fluttering flash of Sterling blue escaping behind another walled aisle. Her spirits buoyed just that much more she pulled ahead, lunging ahead to catch up with Emmy.
	“Emmy! I’m so glad to see y-,” she called out turning left, stopping herself as she was met not by her orange-haired friend but by the bushy ponytail and the cocksure, hip-swinging strides of one of her other classmates. “O-Oh… Hi, Molly.” Franny stopped and wanted to step back, to flee even, her heart sinking as some deep fear was now realized in front of her. Before she could take any sort of evasive action she had already turned around, chuckling as she stared her in the eyes.
	“Oh Franny! So glad to see *you*,” she said between sly laughs. She turned her chin up just enough, staring at her fellow alumni with narrowing eyes. “How do you find yourself these days, we *really* don’t talk…” Franny wrung her hands together, shrinking in front of the smug robot in front of her, stifled laughs as she prodded her about everything, just like always. There were some days she was glad she’d  missed the trolley. She’d learned to tune out most of Molly’s jabs and stared, deaf eared, past her towards the end of the aisle, a little girl skipping past with her mother as Molly’s mouth continued to flap and stir. Franny was roused from her pause when Molly had sidled up to her cart and began sifting through it, criticizing even her choices of ingredients, brands of brown sugar or cherry preserves, Franny snapped to attention as her brow furrowed in anger, her arm lashing forward and locking to Molly’s wrist mid-snatching.
	“W-Why are you like this,” she asked, grip tightening and face contorting between rage and incredulous shock. Despair mechanical stirred within her as she pulled away towards the shelf of the aisle. Her voice breaking now she continued, “Just, just *why*, tell me, please!” Franny’s grip loosened as she fell away and curled into a ball, pressing her back to the shelves as her body was wracked with heaving sobs, her ragged breaths betraying her attempt to keep her calm. Molly stared at the shrinking, shaking, pitiable robot now on the floor. Every lesson taught her by the Mendenhalls told her this was ideal, this was what it felt like to win. Even if you had to hurt someone to get there, the destination was all that mattered. But as she saw her former friend and classmate just sitting there, defenseless, she couldn’t find any reason or justification for this. There was nothing to be won here, nothing but even more distance from someone she once sat by and listened to lecture with. Standing stone-solid, just watching the shaking lump beneath her, she remembered some old mantra of Bradbury’s, that a nandroid’s chief occupation was in kindness and empathy, being a bridge between children and parents where there was none. Molly’s face scrunched up as Franny continued, inconsolable on the tile floor, passersby turning their heads only to avert their gaze once more. Lip trembling with stirring emotion not felt since she first held a young Corbin, Molly knelt beside her friend and pulled her into a tight embrace, Franny trying vainly to shrug her off and push her away.
	“Franny, I’m,” Molly paused. She was at a loss for words, finding she could only tighten her vise-like grip to convey what she meant. “I’m so... sorry.” She sat there kneeling, holding Franny close as her little jerks and shakes receded and the pair were left in the relative quiet of the store, PA buzzes and the whir of fans drowning out the last few shaky cries from Franny. Standing up Molly pulled her up by a hand and produced a friendly handkerchief to dry the synthetic tears which had welled from her face. Molly stared in half disbelief at Franny, bewildered at the brief transaction between them. She impulsively pulled her in for another hug, old cogs of sisterly affection turning once more where they had been slowly jammed since graduation.
	“M-Molly, what’s with you,” Franny said, playfully pushing Molly away. She flapped the handkerchief a few times in the air before clumsily folding it and handing it back; her sleeves would do for whatever was left on her face. Franny smiled briefly before returning to Molly’s increasingly downcast face. “I- Molly, are *you* okay?”
	“I don’t get it… Why are you this way? After how I’ve treated you?” Franny just smiled again, holding Molly by the shoulders and looking into her wetting eyes. It was some grand moment between the two, soured as Molly shook her head quickly. “No. This- this isn’t about me, Franny. Is… Is everything alright at home? Are the twins being troublesome?” Franny gasped in surprise that Molly would implicate the boys before remembering herself, memory faltering, why she was in the store, tears welling up in her eyes again. She couldn’t decide whether to spill or not, years knowing Molly as frigid and distant having only thawed, and it was scandalous to talk about her owners behind their backs. Shaking her head she scattered years of loyalty to her family in an instant, preprogrammed notions of her own inferiority dispelled by the simple concern of a friend.
	“Th-The Mister and the Missus are thinking of replacing me… I’ve been having a lot of memory trouble lately, even with the updates and everything. I think I’m defective, just an,” she shuddered at the thought, “an outmode in waiting…”
	“Franny, I,” Molly was stunned silent before she could say anything. “So why are you here, shopping? What are you trying to do?”
	“I think they’re testing whether or not I can even do my job anymore so I’m making a special dinner tonight. I suppose that’s my last shot.”
	“Well,” Molly said, stepping over to Franny’s cart. “What’s your plan? It has to be a show stopper.”
	“I, well, I don’t remember even half of the recipes we learned, the best I can do is cobble together what I know and the recipes in cookbooks at home.” Molly shook her head sympathetically, she knew this kind of thinking all too well from Missus Mendenhall.
	“Okay Franny, that’s not going to cut it, mashing together one recipe with another conflicts too much,” she said. Her air of authority only grew as she described in detail how her cooking duties had been snubbed one Thanksgiving because the Missus and her sister wanted to take over, resulting in a number of passable dishes, but with none of the synergy to make a proper meal. “Needless to say now I do all the cooking at holidays,” Molly continued, unable to help bragging just a bit. “But what matters is producing a real showstopper, and what you have here,” she gestured at the cart, “won’t cut it. What are you planning to make?”
	“Well, I,” Franny struggled to list them all, but produced a number of wrinkled sheets of paper with each of the dishes she’d planned on creating. “Here, this is all of them.” Molly scanned the list, rapidly taking down franny’s kitchen plan, analyzing them deftly as culinary subroutines came to the fore and she analyzed every factor of the gustatory interactions between a planned cherry pie and brown sugar baked ham, every minute detail fed through a compilation of the greatest culinary and gastronomic knowledge truths known to man. Reaching with one hand into her purse as she read she pulled out a notepad and shoved it into Franny’s hands, followed by a pen which she clicked idly as Molly continued down the list. With a satisfied huff she handed the sheet back to Franny and took back her notepad and pen. Tearing the old sheet off she tore into the clear paper below, frantically scratching across the paper as she poured to the page clear instructions, ingredients and their amounts, and detailed recipes for the perfect conjunction of meals. Ripping the sheet off like some bipedal typewriter Molly handed the ink-wetted paper to Franny.
	“Follow these instructions to the letter, okay? You’ll be fine so long as switch out some of what you have already - this is guaranteed to be a showstopper. That’s the Sterling promise at least,” she laughed.
	“Y-Yeah, well I guess that’s goodbye for today,” Franny trailed off. “Gotta get home and prepare this.”
	“Hey, wait a moment. If you’re struggling that badly with your duties, and not just cooking, well I,” Molly stopped, her mind brooding. It was a preposterous idea, but she couldn’t just let Franny be scrapped. “Once a week the Mendenhalls are gone essentially all day, so uh, swing by and I can help you with whatever you’re struggling with, okay?”
	“I-Really? Well I suppose I can ‘sneak’ out for that so long as the family doesn’t need me. It- It would be a pleasure Molly.” Franny gave her sister a wan smile before pulling her into a constricting hug, her arms bound to her sides by the little robot, her prominent cowlick poking her forehead. She felt tears coming on again but held them back for the sake of her own dignity, but couldn’t help it when Molly, an arm partially freed, began to pat her back. It was enough to be friends again, but from now on they were as close as the day they were built and met in class. For a solemn moment the two just held each other before they had to part ways; Franny had a dinner to make after all, and it would not help to tarry soaking her friend’s shoulder. But as they began the long walk away from each other, a quick wave shared between them, the one left just a bit more sure in her place in the boys’ lives at home, and the other less sure of what she’d been taught by her own owners.