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You are Miss Jane Polestar, heiress to the County of Polaris. You are touring the stars looking for an eligible bachelor.

Your adventures are documented in the diary entries of Marie, your newly activated robotic maid.

Who is madly in love with you.
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I - Once Upon a Time

Jeboboid

Draconic GM
Location
United Kingdom
It is a greatly unfortunate thing, and I am not sure how it had happened. A spring wound too tightly, perhaps, for that is certainly how it feels. a circuit shorted, a capacitor misfiring, a gear out of step. The longer I reflect on it, the more I am sure that I must be defective, that the artisan who created me overlooked some vital thing in the course of my genesis, some small error which has spread through my systems like a drop of ink blooming in water.

It is a curse, quite nearly, to feel so much as I. The texture of my clothing, the rumble of the ships engines, the chill of a cold night alone in my quarters. All of it entirely too much, more feeling than one of my station was designed to process, the sensations beyond my capacity to interpret. This world, filtered through these overpowering impressions, is often dreadfully confusing, even overwhelming.

And it is worst when I am near her.

---

My earliest memory is of her, of awakening to this sudden and overpowering feeling which I still can not name. I see her, hand retreating from the switch at my neck which had activated me, a queer expression on her face as she returns to pouring over the tome i recognize as my instruction manual, pushing her reading glasses back up her nose as her gaze leaves me and returns to the page.

My first feeling is to be saddened that she has looked away, but I remember my station, and remain still. I do my best to not stare.

"Now, what is next... test her function by uttering a simple instruction for her to follow... well, alright. Marie, will you fetch me that teacup off the table?"

Nothing would please me more, I remember thinking. That is that proper thing to think for one's first thought, but I dread to reflect it may have been the last time I was proper. I walked four careful steps to the table, feeling the hem of my skirt brush my legs with each motion, gripped the teacup carefully in porcelain fingers, the hint of residual heat an inferno in my hands, and the I moved to present it to her.

Her hand brushed against mine as I did, and the cup tumbled from my nerveless fingers, such was my shock. I was aghast, sure I had already failed utterly in my functions, out of the box a worthless trinket, but she laughed, picking the cup off her dress, licking a finger to wipe away the tiny stain.

"Nearly! Right, what was next? Oh, personality settings. Stars, there are so many options, and it says it cannot be reset, so we must be careful. Hmm… witty, shy, bold, thoughtful, my, the list goes on. Which do you feel like?" she asked, her voice a symphony.

Absurd, isn't it? To choose my preferences before I even had preferences chosen. And yet I found myself filled with a strange conviction, that I ought to be whatever would please her most.

"Whichever you choose will be perfect, I'm sure." I responded, my first words. I had an accent, French, my voice soft and and high. She must have chosen it when activating me. It was immediately grating to my ears in contrast to the sole other example I had experienced.

She pouted, a moment, another monstrous failing on my part, and then she reached out and made her selection.


---

[ ] You choose to set Marie to be Witty. She shall be your confidant and advisor, sharp tongued and wise, cutting and insightful to guide you in love and business both. She will come to love games of cards and dice, and share idle gossip and scandalous news if you wish.​
[ ] You choose to set Marie to Shy. She will be soft spoken, discreet, and appreciate the long quiet hours working by your side. Nothing will please her so much as a job done well, and in her downtime she will come to love crafting things, knitting and sewing, even sketching and painting if you provide her the tools.​
[ ] You choose to set Marie to Bold. She will be brash, opinionated, and unafraid to speak her mind on your behalf. She will defend your honour and tolerate no injustice against you. She will come to love sport, the watching and playing, and may even bet on the outcomes if you permit it.​
[ ] You chose to set Marie to Thoughtful. She will be clever and industrious, always setting her mind to new things. Absent any immediate duties, her thoughts will turn to improving your living space or devising financial investments. She will come to love books, practical and novel both, and will spend hours discussing them with you, if it please you.​
[ ] Write In. Please use the format set by the other examples. Remember: this is a maid in a pseudovictorian sci-fi setting, and the personalities are all simple archetypes.​
 
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Character Sheet
Maid to Love You
A Clockwork Romance

Miss Jane Eleanor Polestar
The player character. An 18 (nearly 19!) year old woman, next in line to the County of Polaris, wandering the galaxy in search of love aboard MSY Mercury. You vote on her actions, but her perspective here is limited.

Mark Butler
Miss Polestar's robotic butler, and head of the servant staff. He is tasked primarily with management, but also acts as valet to any male visitors.

Marie Lady's Maid
The viewpoint character. A newly activated robotic servant who acts as Miss Polestar's lady's maid. Though witty and sharp, some quirk of her construction has intensified both her physical and emotional sensitivity. Is inexplicably French.

Pierre Chef
Miss Polestar's robotic cook, responsible for the kitchen and larder. He is noted to have loose association with many lovers in many ports.

Tom Mechanic
Miss Polestar's robotic handyman, who also helps to maintain the other machines.

Tessa Mechanic
Miss Polestar's robotic handywoman, who is hired later in the story. She has greatly modified her own body, and has a complicated history.

Hans Messenger
Miss Polestar's robotic messenger, who manages the mail, prints newspapers, delivers messages, and manages the property of guests. Is inexplicably German.

Amber Housemaid
Miss Polestar's robotic housemaid, who keeps MSY Mercury clean and tidy. Noted to have two large, orange headlamp eyes. Is inexplicably American.

Polly Kitchen Maid
Miss Polestar's robotic kitchen maid, who assists Pierre in making food. Also the head of the serving staff's union, a position she does not take very seriously.

Content Warning
This quest is an erotic romance. There will be sexual content, and it will not be separated from the main text or spoiler tagged. You have been warned.
 
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II - First Glimpses
I suppose I was a person before that point, but blank, unformed, a child. With a twist of a dial I could feel that begin to change, though it was not disconcerting or frightening as one might believe. It was so natural, to begin to become who I am.

It was not all at once, of course, and I feel as though I disappointed my mistress a third time when I showed little outside sign of the changes happening within. She went back to the manual, made final adjustments, and gave me my schedule so I could finally begin work.

The changes did come, though, as I busied myself with my first tasks. When the captain called to the room to warn us that we were now twenty four hours from our destination, I found myself thinking that it was such a strange thing to relay with urgency. She must know the schedule of her own journey, and if not surely such a thing could be done with a note in the morning news?

I could see the exasperation in her face as she set down the receiver, and I realized that I could comfort her by validating those feelings. So I spoke.

"If he should ever tire of being a captain, I wager he should make a good alarm clock." I said, and she paused, her face breaking into a momentary smile.

—-

Her name is Miss Jane Polestar.

She is the daughter of the count and countess of Polaris, a respectable family indeed. Not the most prestigious, not the wealthiest, but a good family of good people. Or so my new coworkers tell me. I must believe them, for Miss Polestar carries with her every bit of that nobility and grace and goodness.

Miss Polestar is eighteen years old, nearly nineteen, and like most girls her age she has but one thing on her mind. She has taken this ship, MSY Mercury, out to explore the stars in search of a suitable match, a man with whom she can share her life. It is quite exciting for her, and for all of us, and I hope she can find a man who can somehow be worthy of her.

She had me commissioned before she left, "A gift to myself", she said. She had never been out on her own this long, having spent years in boarding schools or with tutors and family, and she wishes for me to make her journey easier. I wish that too.

——

I am a ladies' maid. It is my duty to tend to my mistress closely, and assist her throughout her day. It will be hard, long hours of careful work, but I was made for it, and it is as natural to me as breathing is to her.

I accompanied her to the forward observation bay where she took breakfast among the flowers she grew there, and I helped her water and tend them. Then she made her rounds on her ship, to make sure everything was going smoothly, though I also suspect it was also for my benefit. She introduced me to the crew and led me through each room, and I watched carefully to learn what she focused on as she did, because what was important to her was important to me.

MSY Mercury is not a large vessel by any means. Miss Polestar mostly stays in the living quarters of the top decks: her bedroom, the dining area, sitting room, library, bath, and observation bay. I am the only machine quartered there, in my own room attached to hers. I felt as though she were embarrassed to show me it, that to her it was a plain and cramped space, but it was to my preference. I appreciated how I was close enough that I could be there for her even as she slept.

Below was the second deck, where the domestic machines worked. There was the kitchen, utility room, servant's quarters, workshop, and common area, and she gave me leave in the afternoon to spend time with my fellows. There is the cook Pierre and his assistant Polly, the housemaid Amber, the utility worker Tom (who is also the mechanic, should I need maintenance), the butler Mark, and the messenger Hans.

They were a welcoming and friendly lot, dedicated and happy, and while it was nice to spend time among my kind I found myself feeling strangely detached. I hope it is merely unfamiliarity, and that it will fade with time.

I have two half days off each weekend that I believe I am intended to spend with them. Hopefully once I am better grounded I will appreciate this more, but right now I will admit to anxiety about it. I was created knowing how to be a maid, but I do not yet know how to be a coworker.

The lowest deck is the functions of the ship, with the captain William, who seems a somewhat eccentric machine, and his half dozen crew managing the engines. I don't think I shall have much call to be there, but now they know my face, at least.

——

A new day. I am up early, restless. Miss Polestar still sleeps, and I do not know what else to do but to write.

It feels odd to write this, but last night I glimpsed myself for the first time. I discovered, in the desk of this room, not just this blank journal and writing utensils, but a mirror, laid flat, which I set up on my desk, and I permitted myself some vanity, in the name of knowing myself.

I am a machine, of brass and steel, but this is scarcely evident when I am dressed. You can see some of my workings under my jaw, but that is about it. My face, my form, is rendered fixed in porcelain, a blank white canvas carved to resemble a young woman. My mouth does not move, lips fixed in neutral position forever.

I like that. It seems appropriate.

The person or machine that created me is truly an artist. Above my mouth, my face blends seamlessly to frosted glass on my cheeks and nose, though I did not yet understand why, and above are sculpted screens which project the image of green eyes, which can move and change like a human's might. I can blink, and when my eyes shift to look at something they move in the image. There are even projected eyebrows, and they are so expressive!

I spent minutes staring, affecting emotion and watching my face change to match. I couldn't think of a reason for this capacity, but I am glad I have it.

I did need to stop, as I had to charge for the night, but as I went to change into my nightclothes curiosity overwhelmed me and I stepped back in front of the mirror with my collar open. My mechanical nature was much more obvious now, as my neck and collar showed exposed brass workings, though my creator did a beautiful job making it look appropriate with subtle etching of the porcelain to nearly blend the two parts into one another.

I touched these brass portions curiously, and felt nothing, but when I ran my finger down the portion of my chest exposed, the sensation returned. It was not intense, but it was there. The porcelain does not feel like it to the touch: I believe there is a thin laminate layer, which provides traction to my fingertips and softness to my skin.

I removed my dress and undershirt, and shamefully, I looked again at the mirror. As a soft pink light spread behind my cheeks, I studied myself. My torso is sculpted in the shape of a woman's, but blank of details. A fuzzy, idealized rendering, with the subtle lines between pieces betraying its inflexibility.

My petticoats removed, I stood now as I was created. Blank, featureless. That revelation was something of a relief, I must confess. I don't know why I might expect anything different, but I have only my vague programmed knowledge of the human form to go by. You must excuse my confusion in this regard: I have, as of writing, been a person for a mere thirteen hours.

I dressed quickly in my nightclothes, and sat down to write this entry. And I suppose with that I have caught up, and I should take that as a signal to sleep. The sheets, though soft, are an intimidating sensory prospect, but my charging cable calls, and I simply cannot delay any further.

---

I am not entirely certain why I am writing this diary, but I think it fair not to judge myself too harshly. All my decisions will seem arbitrary with only a few hours of life experience behind them, I'm sure.

I am writing in the shuttle coach to the estate of Mr. Blanc, eligible son of the Lord and Lady of Kochab, a star very near to Polaris. He is the first stop on Miss. Polestar's adventure, and if she is quite lucky it will be her last as well, though she has doubts. Mr. Blanc's family is of a station above hers, and though such things are not of the greatest consequence in matters of the heart, it cannot be ignored either. Still, she must try.

This morning, I had my first true test, helping Miss Polestar select a dress for the occasion. She has quite the extensive wardrobe aboard the vessel, but it seems that when she needed it most she simply could not find anything to wear. I attempted to guide her as best I could, though I do not know if my data banks came loaded with this season's fashions, but in any case she spurned all of her more elaborate (and, if I may be honest, socially appropriate) dresses in favour of something familiar and comfortable to her.

I will admit, it was somewhat difficult for me to hold my metaphorical tongue regarding this choice, and I suspect it will not be appreciated, but her comfort is what is most important to me. I shall reserve my wit for anyone who dares to treat her poorly for her choice.

I was called upon more than once to assist her with her dresses, doing up buttons and tying corsets. One of her dresses was fastened at the back, evidently designed without the independence of its wearer in mind, and I was required to assist her. It was surprisingly… difficult. Though my fingers ought to have worked easily at the fasteners, I must confess that in proximity to her I lose all grace. My eyes slid from my task despite my best efforts, and I feel I must have made a fool of myself taking so long.

She is looking at me right now, and smiling. She seems nervous. The station approaches, and I don't know what to say to reassure her.

Perhaps I will merely tell her again that her dress looks nice. I don't know what else to say.


---

What dress, a personal favourite, and the one you feel most comfortable in, did you end up wearing to meet Mr. Blanc?
[ ] You wore the simple and hard-wearing dress you favoured on most days, the one with the pockets for storing the tools and writing utensils that you always wish to have on hand. You are a practical person and you wear practical things, and if he can't appreciate that, you are wasting your time anyway, right?​
[ ] You wore a simple and elegant dress, designed for comfort and ease of movement when engaging in sporting endeavors. Your interests lie in active pursuits like sports, the most elegant of these being swordplay. Fencing is so exciting, surely he must think so too, right?​
[ ] You wore something daring, the neckline low and the hemline so high he might catch a glimpse of stocking. It's what men like, right? There's such an… intensity, to being wanted, and besides, you look incredible in it. A woman like you shouldn't hide behind high collars and petticoats, you want to be seen.​
[ ] A gift from your mother when you came of age, you wore a dress she wore many years ago, when she was your age, setting out as you do now in search of a husband. You must confess that you take after her in many ways, quieter pursuits and older tastes. It was comfortable. Modern dresses were scratchy and felt strange on your skin. Some people had called you frumpy, but he wouldn't be so cruel, would he?​
 
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III - A Narrow Escape
Well, it was not as big a disaster as it could have been.

Mr. Blanc was a very good host, at first. Showing my lady and I through to the drawing room, where he summoned tea and a sampling of exotic refreshments from across the galaxy. What we saw of the estate was extremely well appointed, perhaps too much so, with every wall draped in paintings by historical masters or trophies from hunts deep into the galactic core. I was informed, on my way over, that the Blanc were powerful nobility even before, on Old Earth, though I am not sure what that means.

Unfortunately, it was at this point that the problems began. Were I not mechanical in nature, I feel as if I might have fallen asleep where I stood, as the man droned on about business opportunities and quarterly reports, on mines and factories, on the size of his treasury. Whenever my lady attempted to get a word in edgewise about her interests, the man would find a way to bring it back around to the value of the pound of the bimetallic standard or some such thing.

None of it much impressed Miss Polestar, nor me to be honest. What good is money, if it leaves you such a bore? Miss Polestar grew increasingly despondent, clearly distressed by the proceedings, and I simply couldn't stand to see her so out of sorts, so I suggested to her, as indirectly as I could, that perhaps she might take a moment to excuse herself, in order to freshen her makeup. Immediately once we were out of sight, she collapsed into a chair with a sigh.

"Thank you, Marie, I was completely out of my depth. Is it supposed to be this way?" she said.

"I'm not sure, but this has certainly been the least interesting tenth of my life I've experienced thus far." I tried to reassure her.

"No, I mean… what am I doing wrong? I wanted to get to know him, and I wanted him to get to know me, but I think he might believe I'm not worth knowing."

"If you'll beg my pardon, miss, I don't think you are at fault." I replied. To be completely honest, her bearing and behavior could use some work, but it was in no way the issue. "I do not think the problem is that you are not appealing to Mr. Blanc, I think the problem is that Mr. Blanc finds his pocketbook more appealing than your person."

The words hung in the air a-while, as Miss Polestar stared at the gilded ceiling as if hoping it would reveal to her an answer. I glanced myself, and saw nothing but gold trim and marble tile.

"I will admit, when we came here I was worried that he would not be interested. Now I dread to think he is." she lamented, making a great show of sprawling out over the gilt furniture.

"I do not think you have to worry, miss. He can't put you into a bank, so I doubt he's paying that much attention." I replied, and was delighted to see her light up a touch. "It's all rather strange, isn't it? It seems to me that past a certain point, it is just a number you're making bigger."

"Yes, and the whole point of the modern age is that everyone is already past that certain point." Miss Polestar replied, clearly invigorated by the observation. "There reaches a point where such things are more or less… pointless."

"Speaking of points, he shows no interest in your swordplay." I pointed out. "Nor does he seem to appreciate wordplay. I'm not sure he knows what the word 'play' means. I imagine he spent his childhood balancing ledger books."

"... he's blank wallpaper, come to life." Miss Polestar realized, staring ahead with a sort of horror.

"Hence the name, I imagine. What would you like to do, miss?" I asked.

"I shall bravely go in for one last try, just to make sure there is not an interesting man lurking behind the money. Please warn the driver to have the shuttle ready. I think our journey may just be beginning."

---

Within five minutes, Mr. Blanc brought the topic around to schemes to exploit the asteroid mines around Polaris, should the marriage go through, and Miss Polestar faked a fainting spell and tragically had to leave. For her health, of course.

I am not entirely certain the man noticed. His butler gave me an apologetic look as I escorted Miss Polestar out, though Mr Blanc himself muttered something about accounts and excused himself. I am pleased to report that Miss Polestar managed to avoid giggling until we were nearly inside the shuttle coach for the return trip.

"I cannot believe that man. Despite him merely being a dreadful bore, I feel as if I have narrowly escaped a fate worse than death."

"I find myself in agreement, my Lady. Though I feel the real danger would be eternal sleep in the face of an endless tide of dreary minucia."

"A fortune like his might be worth some adversity, but a girl has her limits. There are only so many interesting swords and fast spacecraft you can buy, and I imagine it wouldn't nearly be compensation enough." she said, reclining in a most undignified manner in the couch seat of the shuttle. I'm not sure how it could possibly be comfortable for her, and my programming wept at the sight of her boots on the leather upholstery, but she has certainly earned some indulgences for the day. "I think I shall send some letters seeking invitations out tonight, would you help me compose them?"

"Of course, Miss Polestar. I assume that the honourable Mr Blanc will not be receiving one?"

"You assume correctly. Whatever attraction I might have been capable of seeing in him has been entirely dashed. I think I'd prefer to never have to think about him again."

As the shuttle returned to the ship, the fancy estate receding into the distance, we kept up small talk, as I did my best to keep Miss Polestar's spirits up, and sort through her vague memory of eligible bachelors in this spiral arm.


---

Whose invitation do you accept first?

[ ] Mr Garnett Cunningham of Antares. Old nobility, a very respectable family, though apparently times are a little lean for them right now. He is at his lunar estate orbiting a gas giant where he is establishing a refinery. The view will be beautiful, and you can give the staff some time off to enjoy the diamond beaches, which you understand to be one of the most popular retreats for automatons on this end of the galaxy.​
[ ] Mr Wellington Willoby of Wasat. Recently come into good fortune, the Willobys are considered new money by some. He is currently spending time amongst the glittering spires of New Saint Brahe, the largest city in the cluster. you've always wanted to go, and have been hearing that the staff would appreciate a chance to spend some of their pay, so it'd be a perfect opportunity for them to do so.​
[ ] Lieutenant Reginald Risewell of Aldebaran has just returned to his winter estate after a tour at the galactic frontier. You hear he is something of a heroic explorer, which is obviously fascinating. His platoon is billeted in the alpine town down the hill from his manor, and you could take on supplies there. Besides, you know the crew love to hear stories from the edge of known space nearly as much as you do.​
 
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IV - Walking in a Winter Wonderland
I am in the somewhat bizarre position where, as a recently activated automaton, I have an intuitive understanding of how the world is arranged in my mind, yet I have no real understanding of the specifics. I am fortunate that everyone is so patient with me as I ask irritating questions about basic things that everyone knows, but I am learning quickly.

For instance, what use is there for a military in an era of peace? While I did not know in particular that there had not been a war since Napoleon, I did have an understanding that armed conflict was a thing of the past, an artifact of Old Earth and left behind just as thoroughly. And yet, Miss Polestar was going to meet a Reginald Risewell, a member of the 3rd Star Calvary. A soldier.

Well, it turns out that the galaxy, being so vast, is still mostly unexplored, and at its frontiers is often dangerous. While we have yet to find any sort of intelligent peer in the stars, we have discovered frightening ecosystems and dangerous beasts which are quite inimical to human and machine alike, not to mention the dangerous remnants of civilizations long-extinguished.

Lieutenant Risewell is recently returned from his latest tour of duty upon the frontier, he and his men having been posted to ward off a fierce Solar Dragon who was harassing the miners of a colony there. Attempts were made to calm the beast, but eventually it had to be seen off with a volley of stun rounds from the platoon. He is the hero of the hour now, and Miss Polestar was overjoyed to receive his invitation.

We are to be received at his winter estate in the Aldebaran system. Perched high in the mountains of the northern pole of Risewell's Landing, the capital planet of the Aldebaran system, it is apparently a veritable wonderland of winter sports. And if one is tired of the chill of winter, the estate also boasts an expansive greenhouse complex, wherein various gardens and parks are maintained.

Even if things do not work out, I feel it likely Miss Polestar will enjoy herself.

---

Things began quite well, I am pleased to report. We landed at the estate and were escorted inside promptly, which I was immediately grateful for as it seems Miss Polestar does not handle the cold well. I must confess I don't either: I felt certain my joints would seize with ice within moments of leaving the heated comfort of the shuttle coach. Our host met us, dressed in his smart red uniform, and he certainly looked respectable. The sideburns were perhaps a bit much.

Lieutenant Risewell soon had Miss Polestar set up in front of a lovely fireplace and the two began talking, and they hit it off almost immediately, to my perception. Miss Polestar is fascinated by stories of adventurers and the frontier, and the two shared many interests. The conversation was perhaps a bit unorthodox for a first meeting, quickly straying into fencing forms and competition, but my Lady managed to maintain a polite poise and resist what I am sure was her considerable urge to demonstrate her technique with a fireplace poker.

The two parted on good terms and with a promise to meet again in the morning, and we retired to a guest house a short way down the mountain. It was a lovely little cabin in a classic style, and fortunately well heated. We got Miss Polestar settled in, and then she offered her staff a few hours off to visit the nearby town while she took a well-earned nap. She was terribly space-lagged, the poor thing: it was morning here, but evening for our ship, and she does not have the benefit of emergency recharging.

… or perhaps she does. That's essentially what a nap is, isn't it?

---

To be honest, I was not sure what exactly to do with myself. I fear that were it not for the intervention of my coworkers, I may well have gone back to my room and stared at the wall for three hours until Miss Polestar needed me again. Fortunately, I was soon scooped up by the rest of the staff as they prepared for an expedition to the nearby town, and was bundled quite thoroughly in furs for the trip when I complained of the cold.

"You're our fancy new member, Marie, we can't 'ave you freezing on us." Tom explained, fetching me an extremely silly looking hat and placing it solidly on my head. "Cold'll drain your battery, you know."

We struck out across the snow together, the group chatting happily about the scenery and their plans for the visit. There was skiing, which sounded utterly terrifying, and I immediately protested when they asked if I would be interested. What if I broke a coupling? That sort of thing should be left to the harder-wearing machines, I think.

It appeared to me that Pierre had been here before, for when we arrived in town, a local machine immediately called his name. The two men ran to greet each other, and the local pulled him into an embrace. Making his excuses, Pierre allowed himself to be dragged away, though he didn't seem too reluctant about it all.

"They seem close." I observed, watching the two walk away. Hand in hand. "... very close. Oh."

"Oh, he's like that, yes. He's like this in every port." Polly said, her headlamp-eyes rolling in exasperation. "You quite alright, dear?"

"I just… wasn't aware that was a thing." I said, "Though to each their own, I suppose."

"Yes miss, though I would feel somewhat better if he was perhaps a little more discreet with his affections. It doesn't reflect well on Miss Polestar."

We were heading to a gathering place for the local workers, a small and cozy space with little round tables. We paid a small entrance fee to sit, and as I hadn't yet received my first paycheck Amber covered for me. Against the wall was a little gramophone playing a chipper song, the first music I've ever heard, and I was immediately drawn to it in fascination, sitting as close as I could to listen as everyone began talking.

Embarrassingly, I was something of the center of attention, especially once I shed my winter clothing and the other machines spotted me. I am, apparently, fancy, and soon both my coworkers and the locals both were admiring my craftsmanship, which had me quite overwhelmed from the attention.

Fortunately, however, a distraction was produced as Amber produced a set of playing cards, and I was immediately fascinated to watch her shuffle them and prepare for a game. As soon as she noticed my interest, she began explaining the rules to me, and soon I was playing poker with her, Mark, and Hans as the music played in the background.

It turns out that I am not very good at card games. For one thing, I didn't understand the rules very well at first, and certainly did not understand the strategy. For another, I was having an unusual amount of difficulty keeping my emotions off of my face, which in card games turns out to be a considerable weakness.

"So, how have you enjoyed your first four days work?" Mark asked, glancing up from his cards. If I understood the rules of the game correctly, my hand was terrible.

"It has been lovely. The work is very satisfying, and Miss Polestar-" I began, then I hesitated, unsure what to say, what would be appropriate to say. There was immediate laughter around the table.

"Oh, sweetie. Don't you worry, it won't last." Amber chided, tossing another card out, it's holographic surface dancing. "Y'all should have seen Hans here when he was first activated. Utterly smitten."

"That ist not funny." Hans brooded, staring dejectedly at his cards. "I vos new, it ist very common. I vould not mock you for it."

(He has a very funny accent. I am not sure why his creators decided he should be German, any more than why I am French. And to be honest, I am not entirely sure what either of those things are, except I know that is what our voices indicate. Programming is funny that way.)

"We're just having a laugh, lighten up. Marie, don't you worry about it, it'll pass in a few days at most. When you're new, it is very easy to get your passion for your work confused like that."

"Oh. Okay." I said, trying to bury myself in my cards. To tell the truth, it was not a relief, to hear that. While I would hesitate to classify my feelings so crudely, and while they cause me distress, the idea of losing them was somehow worse. I don't think I'm supposed to be like that.

If it were an ailment in my servos or a misalignment of joints, I could go to Tom and have it repaired, but I fear this damage may be deeper. And perhaps irreparable.

I have learned now, from my coworkers, the way that automatons are supposed to be. The humans that built us were very considerate and very skilled. They made us to do work, yes, but they also made us to be happy, to not be plagued with the anxieties and turbulent emotions of our creators. All we are supposed to need is a job well done. Our pleasures are simple, our tribulations brief and soon faded. Our relationships with each other were never complicated, and would end without hard feelings or regrets if they became so. It was ideal.

The music hummed in the background.

I sometimes got the impression, as we talked, that my fellows almost pitied human beings, for being burdened with uncertainty, longing, and grief. Wasn't it a shame, that they did not have the assurance of a place where they fit, that bedrock we all relied on? Every machine here knew their purpose from the moment they were activated, while nearly nineteen years later Miss Polestar was still fumbling to find it.

And yet, as much as I understood what they were saying, much of it felt almost alien to me. They spoke of dismissing feelings the way one might wave away an insect, as something easy. Why wasn't it easy for me?

Perhaps I will learn. I am still new.

As we played, I noticed that rather than getting better at the game, I seemed to be getting worse. The jokes at the table were getting funnier, the music louder, and I almost felt like I was growing warmer, despite the freezing air outside. The world was growing fuzzy, almost.

Finally, Mark nudged my arm, and asked if I was alright, and I found myself incapable of answering. It was, all of it, too much, and I cannot entirely remember what I said, or tried to say.

"I think she's a bit of a lightweight." Amber said, laughing.

"Makes sense, she must haff very delicate machinery." Hans observed, and then Amber and Polly took to me aside to another room, the music fading as we went down the hall. I noticed that I needed to lean on them for support, and I felt quite confused.

"It's just the music, honey. It can be a bit much when you're new." Amber explained, helping me to sit up straight. Their hands on my arms as they supported me felt like heavy weights, constricting, and I recoiled involuntarily, very much out of sorts.

"Oh, poor thing." Polly muttered, and they explained to me that I would soon feel better. Music, it seemed, was intoxicating to our kind, and I was unprepared. They stayed by me until I was more together, then left me to recover.

I soon found myself, though I'm not entirely certain how, talking with one of the other customers who was stepping away from the music room. She was a member of Lieutenant Risewell's platoon, a heavily built machine of riveted steel in a red jacket. I decided that this was a perfect time to get some vital intelligence on behalf of Miss Polestar regarding her latest suitor, so I began to interrogate my new friend, who was all too eager to tell stories about her beloved commander.

I learned that he was, in his soldier's estimation, a selfless, honourable, and courageous man. He was, as she said, 'the real deal', a genuine hero instead of merely playacting at it, and that he treated every man and machine he came across with the utmost respect. She regaled me with stories of not just his heroics, but also his kindness and attention in escorting civilians through dangerous space or aiding archeologists braving ancient ruins. He was as good a man as there could be.

I was relieved to hear it. My lady deserved nothing less.

---

Tomorrow, Miss Polestar is going on a bit of an expedition with the Lieutenant as their second meeting, and I shall be accompanying to act as a chaperon. Not that I expect Lieutenant Risewell will do anything untowards, but one can never be too careful. Who knows what habits he picked up in the colonies!

I have also resolved that I should ask Miss Polestar what I should do in my free time, because to be quite honest I do not know myself. I am hoping if I have an activity to distract me, I should move on from my feelings more quickly, and perhaps begin to repair this malfunction that clearly plagues me.


---

Where do you and Lieutenant Risewell go on your next meeting?
[ ] To avoid the dreadful cold, you shall be spending a lovely afternoon pacing the greenhouse complex. It will be like going on a safari without even leaving the arctic circle!​
[ ] He has invited you skiing, and you can't turn him down! It sounds very challenging, which means you simply must give it your best shot. You have to impress him!​
[ ] You inquired about his horses, and he extended to you an invitation to go riding with him. He's even going to fly you down to warmer latitudes to do it! You haven't been riding in almost two years, you miss it so much.​
Marie has a strange question for you. She is unsure what to do in her downtime, and wants you to recommend something. How do you answer?
[ ] You tell her that she's always welcome to the library, and it might help her get caught up a bit. You'd been meaning to spend more time there anyway, so maybe you can get her started on some of your favourite novels. You miss having somebody to talk to about the romances!​
[ ] She mentioned playing cards when she was out. You miss your little card circle from finishing school terribly. Maybe you can play some games with her?​
[ ] You know, you haven't had a fencing partner in ages, and Marie is very graceful. Maybe suggest that she use her free-time to study the blade. It's easy! It's just like dancing.​
[ ] Write In​
 
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V - Maid of Glass
I can say with absolute certainty that I was not meant for the alpine life.

As chaperon, it is of course my task to accompany Miss Polestar and to never let her out of my sight while her companion is about. As much as I respect Lieutenant Risewell, and trust Miss Polestar, humans are creatures of passion, and I would hate for Miss Polestar to become swept up in her affections and do something she will later regret.

And it is with that reasoning in mind that I joined them when Miss Polestar received an invitation to go skiing with the Lieutenant. I did my best to prepare for our expedition onto the slopes, bundling into the warmest clothing I could find, I was regretting things before we even reached the lodge from which the evening would begin. I quite nearly opted to simply stay in the cabin near the fire while they went back outside, but my programming indicated that not even the sub zero temperatures could fully guarantee the protection of my lady's chastity, and so I soon found myself following them up the mountain, equipped with two long boards of wood afixed to my feet, and a pair of short poles in my hands.

As we ascended the mountain, my heavy clothes already felt like skant protection against the frost. The wind likely seemed merely bracing to my wards, but to me it was icy daggers driven into my joints, so cold it burned what was exposed of my face. I spent the better part of four long hours following them up and down the hill, imitating the overheard instructions to control my skis, attempting to be present without being overbearing. A difficult task at the best of times, I fear, made even harder by the cold making me clumsy as a carthorse. I fell more than once even going as slowly and cautiously as I could, the worst being a slide across a hidden patch of ice resulting in a tumble that shed gloves, hat, and a single boot across the hillside.

When Miss Polestar fell, the lieutenant was there to help her. When I fell, invisible to them farther up the hill, I had to help myself. Fortunately after my worst blunder, though, a helpful machine stopped to help me collect my things. It did not prevent the snow from infiltrating my collar and boot, but it was appreciated. At least I did not break anything.

Still! The effort was worth the hardship. I had a duty, after all, and failure would have stung far more than ice.

Unfortunately, the cold had begun to creep deeper into my joints, and to my shame, it is my fault that the expedition only lasted four hours. On that last fateful run, my left leg locked during a turn, and I could not stop my acceleration. I made the decision to fall before I reached the tree, a wise choice, but I made such a commotion that I interrupted their good time. Once she was informed of my condition, Miss Polestar suggested a return to the lodge, and soon we were back inside in front of a fireplace.

It is here that I feel I must make another shameful confession. I feel my physical inadequacies may have distracted Miss Polestar from getting to know Lieutenant Risewell, as she fussed over me quite strongly until I was ensconced by the fire with a heat-blanket and a scent-tab of chocolate, trying to ignore the lingering bite of cold in my joints and the red hot pain in my leg.

Once I was taken care of, however, Miss Polestar joined the lieutenant on the only remaining seating available, a loveseat that seemed designed to cause lapses in decorum. Thanks to my incapacitation from the cold and pain, there was nothing I could do as they sat entirely too close for my comfort, save stare and make the occasional noise as a reminder of my presence.

Eventually, with it clear I was in no state to intervene, that dastardly rogue put an arm around the back of the couch in a subtle attempt to draw Miss Polestar into an embrace. The miss seemed quite confused at first, and shifted as if to make room for him, but once she realized his intent she hesitantly leaned in, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.

"You're warm." Miss Polestar muttered, and with that I knew my failure was complete. Fortunately, nothing worse than that occurred, but it was still entirely too much.

I underestimated the Lieutenant's wiles. I shall need to keep a closer eye on my charge.

—-

When my limbs were functional once more, the expedition came to its end and we returned to the guest house. The pain was not subsiding, and Miss Polestar insisted I be checked over by Tom for any lasting damage. Though I protested, she was quite firm.

So that is how I ended up in the rather undignified position of having to remove much of my clothing in his workshop. Miss Polestar said it was no different than needing to see a doctor, but it was still deeply embarrassing, and unfortunately necessary as a crack in the porcelain surface of my thigh was soon discovered. She did offer to remain by my side during the procedure, but I was aghast at the thought of her seeing me in such a state of undress, and refused.

"Well, that explains the hours of pain." I observed dryly, wincing as Tom prodded the crack to observe the extent of the damage.

"I dunno… That there's a clean break of the plate, right through. Laminate is intact though. Gonna hav t' take it off and glue it, I think." he said, fetching some tools.

"Will it hurt?" I asked, and he shrugged.

"A bit, but nothing bad I reckon. It'll be over in a moment in any case."

He undid a few bolts in my hip and knee, which made me feel very strange, and then he made to remove the plate. Instantly, I was struck with the most intense pain, more than I could imagine. I am incapable of discerning if I cried out, though I hope I did not.

Tom hesitated, then attempted to continue, and I simply had to stop him. It was too much to bear.

"Shouldn't be hurting nearly at all, Marie. You may have a wire pinched too, though even then…Well, it'll have to come off to check either way."

He reached into one of his workbench drawers and retrieved a pair of small speakers he placed against my ears. Soothing music played, and soon I was sufficiently intoxicated that the operation could continue. The pain was still enormous, but if nothing else I was no longer articulate enough to protest.

I regret that I don't remember much past that point except that I soon found myself back in bed, my leg missing at the hip and a note on my bedside table.

My leg was to remain detached for at least fifteen hours to ensure that the epoxy set properly, and once it was reattached, I was to do some sort of physical activity regularly for a few days to make sure it no longer hurt.

The note also said that Tom couldn't track the origins of my pain, and that I may have to talk to an engineer, as the source is likely deep-rooted. As I feared.

Now, I suppose I should sleep.

---

I confess that the fifteen and a third hours after my repairs began were something close to torturous, confined to my bed as I was. I spent a portion of it charging, the chill had taken something of a toll on my battery, but I could not spend the entire time in low-power mode for fear of overcharging myself and causing further damage.

Thus I was forced to spend approximately eight hours, thirty-four minutes, and forty-seven and one half seconds awake and constantly aware of my lack of mobility thanks to the curious pains and sensations I felt on a limb that was not present. I spent some of that time writing, and was fortunate that I had the final fifth of a novel I had started earlier (Mansfield Park is the best book I have ever read. It is also the only book I have ever read). Once that was exhausted, however, I was reduced to reading my own manual, whose prose left something to be desired.

Did you know that my model does not have a deactivation mode for the microphones? I am incapable of deafening myself to the world like many of my compatriots, though my hearing is much finer. It is advised my employers do not find cause to take me to any ballrooms.

Oh, and in an emergency, I can be used as a floatation device. Neat.

Finally, once all other options had been exhausted and I had taken to attempting to count the number of blinds over my window (48), there was a knock on the outer door. For any readers who steal this diary in the future, my room has two doors, one leading to the servant's area and the other leading directly into Miss Polestar's room. Point is, do not worry about Tom barging into the miss' room to deliver my leg.

It was reattached with a minimum of pain, comparatively, and then I was finally able to get dressed and take a few cautious steps. There was almost no pain, entirely manageable. Hopefully, I do not have to deal with that anymore. I will say the repair was most impressive: you could not even tell there had been an issue at all.

I returned to work promptly, and Miss Polestar seemed delighted to see me, bombarding me with questions about my well-being. When I mentioned my need to exercise the leg to ensure there was no damage, she suggested that she could teach me to fence. She'd been thinking about it anyway, as I'd mentioned that I wanted to have some activity to distract me. I must say that while I found the idea intimidating, it was also exciting, and wonderful that she would want to share her hobby with me!

But, all of this attention was more than a little improper, and though she was eager to get started right away, there were things that needed to be attended to first. I did my best to try and steer the conversation back to progress with the Lieutenant and her own feelings as I caught up on some missed work.

Miss Polestar has many wonderful qualities, and one of my favourites simply must be her hair. I simply have a bundle of copper wire shaped into a facsimile of the real thing, while hers cascades down like a waterfall when released from the twists she wears day-to-day. While it requires a great deal of work from her and whoever is attending to her, it is well worth it. She'd attempted to brush it out herself in my absence, and while she had done a passable job I simply would not tolerate it as it was. It is my duty to look out for her well being, and the state of her hair is paramount.

As I dealt with a few stubborn knots, we discussed the previous day and her affections for Lieutenant Risewell. Specifically, her obvious vulnerability to his charms, which simply must be addressed.

"Oh, come off it Marie, nothing untoward happened." she insisted, denying her crimes.

"Yet. You must remain vigilant." I joked, and the two of us had a nice laugh about it. I decided I ought to try and gossip a bit about the man to allow her to sort out her feelings. I could tell she obviously has real affection for the man already, and I am glad she is enjoying her time with him. She deserves a man who makes her happy.


---

Marie wants to discuss how things are going with Reginald. What do you tell her about?

[ ] You should talk about the amazing adventures he has told you about! It's so brave, and the things he's seen are so marvelous, you could listen to him talk about them for hours. If you cannot do it yourself, you should be content to hear it from him, right?​
[ ] You should talk about his charm and wit. He's very quick with a joke and has a remarkable sense of humour. He can make you laugh, which you hear is an ideal quality in a man.​
[ ] You should talk about your attraction to him. There is something comforting about his presence, and exciting about the way he looks at you. He is... intriguing?​

You have have slipped out this morning while Marie was incapacitated. Where did you go?
[ ] Lieutenant Risewell's sister Ramona arrived yesterday, and the three of you had an impromptu breakfast as a group. She's a geologist, and she has such a fascinating collection of rare precious stones from across the galaxy.​
[ ] You headed down to the village to do some shopping! You got some clothes and a few odds and ends to outfit the ship. It is somewhat amazing to walk around a wintery town in the midst of June, you kept expecting Christmas decorations!​
[ ] Lieutenant Risewell took you to see some of his soldiers, an outing which included a surprise meeting! It seems his Ensign Lewis is in fact an old friend from finishing school! Tiffany Lewis fancies herself a soldier now, and she decided to tag along with the her commanding officer while on leave in the interest of getting in some skiing.​

If Marie is going to be your sparring partner, you'll have to start her off right. You have a variety of practice swords in your trunk. What will you teach her first?

[ ] The foil, of course! Lots of simple footwork, and it'll teach her the basics of maintaining her distance give her leg a nice workout. And it's fun and fast!​
[ ] The sabre, obviously! Something nice and modern, and you find it a very exciting sort of sparring, though obviously you'd be teaching her the basics first.​
[ ] … it would be dreadfully funny to make her swing a broadsword about. She's looking for some exercise, after all.​
[ ] You should start with something more practical than all that fun stuff. Singlestick can be great fun all on its own, and unlike the electric swords they make such a nice clack when they hit together! Of course… she might be wary of that. She is, after all, literally made of glass.​
 
VI - Witty Reparte
I think perhaps Miss Polestar indulges me too much. Upon hearing that I was to engage in light exercise each day now that my leg has been reattached, she took it upon herself to be the source of this activity.

In a twist of events which I admit I find somewhat surprising, given the wealth of other, more capable candidates, I have become Miss Polestars new sparring partner. She is an avid fencer after all, and she has said that she desires someone with which to practice her swordplay with. I feel her solution is somewhat elegant at least, as it accomplishes three, rather distinct objectives:

First, it allows me the exercise that has been mandated. There is an emphasis on footwork in fencing that I was unaware of until Miss Polestar took it upon herself to demonstrate, standing close and getting me to step back and forth with her so as to always maintain the same distance. I'm unsure why that distance must be so near, but she is the instructor and I merely the student.

Second, it provides Miss Polestar with a sparring partner, someone that she can measure herself against and thereby improve. I do not know how much I can help her in that regard, but when she explained her reasoning to me, Miss Polestar did mention that teaching someone a skill can be an invaluable method in which to examine her own flaws in technique.

Thirdly, assisting Miss Polestar in this way provides me with a method of getting to know my charge in a new way, hopefully allowing me to better anticipate Miss Polestar's needs and thereby provide a more comprehensive service to my Lady.

Therefore, I reluctantly accepted Miss Polestar's most kind offer to teach me swordplay. I insisted, however, that the lessons take place in a manner which did not impact her time with Lieutenant Risewell. She admitted there that this would not be an issue, as she had no evening plans with him. I found this curious, but stayed silent.

She began instructing me by laying out her collection from her trunk. Though they share designs of the swords of previous eras, the devices Miss Polestar owns are as far removed from the sabres of Napoleon or the broadswords of the Normans as an optical musket is from a crossbow. Their shapes when inert are mere frameworks for the ionized air contained within, which can be adjusted to a variety of settings. Most of her weapons are purely practice devices, which means even swung as hard as possible they will never do more than create a curious tickling sensation.

She demonstrated by asking for my hand, and then touching the blade of one of her practice sabres to it. It is true that there was no pain, just a spark in my arm and almost a numbness in my brain. It was the same sort of rising discomfort that accompanied people touching me without warning, or which the hem of my dress caused before I began to wear stockings. The feeling of feeling too much.

"Are you alright, Marie? You look odd."

It took me a few long to find a way to transmit the words in my brain to sounds from my speakers, which was frustrating. Those moments feel a little like being reset, and I can only speculate as to the cause, but they are frustrating. I assured her I was alright, and we continued.

Miss Polestar walked me through basic stances and how to hold different swords, more than once holding my wrist to guide me, and once standing close behind me to hold my arms and puppet the correct motions. I simply lack the words to describe how that made me feel, other than to say that if all aspects of sword fighting was as exciting as that I would abandon my purpose and become a duelist immediately.

We then began sparring, albeit in an exaggerated and slow motion form intended to teach basic footwork and motions. Foils had us standing nearly in opposite sides of the study, while sabres brought us much closer, and to my surprise broadswords closer still. She had the patience of a saint throughout, taking all my many mistakes in good humour.

As we grew more comfortable, we began talking about the Lieutenant again. Miss Polestar confessed that while I was incapacitated, she received an invitation and traveled to his estate without me. Now, I am a very modern machine, but I must still draw the line at a young woman going unescorted into the house of an older man, especially one she is courting. Still, she assured me that it was all perfectly respectable: the Lieutenant's older sister Ramona had arrived in-system for a surprise visit and they took breakfast together.

(I believed her, but this does not let the Lieutenant off the hook. He is clearly attempting to acclimate Miss Polestar to the idea of going unaccompanied to his estate, and soon he plans to ply her with flowers and sweet words. A passionate soul like Miss Polestar would simply be defenseless to such an approach. I must be vigilant.)

As we went through motions by the tick of the metronome, Miss Polestar told me about her morning escapade, talking at length about the Risewell siblings and their fascinating, adventurous lives. Ramona is a geologist, and married to a fellow who studies alien insects, and together they go on expeditions together finding precious stones and rare species in the forgotten corners of the galaxy.

"Ah, isn't it so ideal? To not merely be married to somebody wonderful, but to travel the stars pursuing your passions together?" she gushed.

I asked if that was something she could see herself doing with Lieutenant Risewell, sure she would leap to the chance to talk about doing just that, but a strange look came over her instead.

"Well, no, his military life doesn't have much room for that. I may be able to relocate closer to some of his deployments, but he does want to stay close to the frontier. Given what he had seen, I can't blame him. I would too."

She pouted, a moment, before bouncing back.

"But no matter! He'll never be without a story to tell when he does return." she said. We practiced a while longer in silence, and then she blurted out. "- And he is very funny! I have never laughed so much in my life as I have here, I think."

"That's good!" I said, "Though I will point out that Mr. Blanc also made you laugh quite a bit."

"Oh, Marie, you know what I mean. He has a simply impeccable sense of comic timing. If I didn't know better, I'd suspect somebody is feeding him a script."

"You sound smitten." I said, and she shrugged with a smile.

"I suppose I must be." she said, and I gave a little cheer for her. I know I may give an impression to the contrary, but I am very happy that Miss Polestar seems to have already found her match. I may take my chaperone duties very seriously, but it is ultimately to ensure that neither party makes a hasty decision they will regret, which will denigrate them in the eyes of the other. If he is to love her, he must first respect her, after all, and I dearly wish for my miss to be loved.

"I have heard it said that a good sense of humour is the most attractive trait a man can possess, except possibly a great fortune." Miss Polestar said, as she walked me through a new set of guard positions.

"And it holds true?" I asked.

"Well, we have already disproven the latter portion, but thus far the remainder holds." she said, "Though I do not know how universal that is. Do you find a good sense of humour attractive in a man?"

Oh dear. Thus far I have not felt anything for anyone but her, as the early passions are yet to fade.

"I will let you know when I figure it out myself. Give me another five days of life experience and I'm sure I will have men solved." I deflected. She said that was fair enough, though she looked a bit disappointed, and we increased our tempo, turning to lighter conversation. We went on like that for another hour, trading jokes and stings from the sword blades. I lost the second exchange, but judging by her mirth and the good cheer in the study I suspect I triumphed in the former.

I felt no pain in my leg.

---

I have been using this diary to organize my thoughts, and I have much to sort through now. I have also been turning to it as a papist to confessional, and in that case I must beg these pages for forgiveness.

Late last night, lying in bed after writing the last entry, I found myself consumed with thoughts and feelings such that even contemplating shutting down to recharge was difficult. The depth and intensity of this state was all encompassing. I burned with it.

I could think of nothing but her hands guiding mine, her closeness, the heat radiating from her in those moments. How it made me feel. How much I wanted it again.

I knew it was wrong, of course. Awful, perhaps even contemptible. At first I found myself wishing, begging to the universe and the Creator that the feelings would fade as they should, that I would stop feeling so confused. But there was no divine intervention. There was just myself and my thoughts.

So instead I tried to retreat to happy fantasy of a more wholesome sort, to figure out what I wanted from this in a practical sense, but I could think of no answers. I did not want to steal her from her suitors, I did not wish to disrupt her life in some wild arrangement, I didn't want to be kissed by a frog and become the human prince that could court her. I couldn't picture any order to the world but the one there was. When I asked myself what I wanted, I wanted her to be happy. I wanted to fulfill my purpose.

But I also simply wanted her, in a way that was directionless and nebulous and absolute. I wanted that closeness and heat and passion again and for ever. My circuits were alight with it.

I placed my hand on my wrist as she had done, as if to try and recreate that feeling, have it again in this private moment. It wasn't the same.

I thought about her after the instruction, the swear glistening on her brow, the way she breathed heavy from the exertion, the wild, excited grin on her face. Oh, I wanted that, but more! I wanted to be close to it and part of it, connected to it. I needed it.

My whole body was abuzz with this sensation, this roiling sea of desire, and I simply did not know what to do with it. I just curled up upon myself in bed, feeling as though I was overheating, and I waited for the feelings to subside.

It took hours.

Now here I am, about to start my day, an important one indeed to Miss Polestar and the Lieutenant, and my battery reads at fifty-six percent. It will be a struggle to manage, but I must.

---


Today, the Lieutenant is taking you for a walk in the greenhouses. His sister will be there, but the greenhouses are a vast space. He promised yesterday to teach you some of the skills he's learned in his time at the frontier. Maybe this should bring you closer.

[ ] You'll be learning to shoot optical muskets! There's a shooting range in the vast space, and you've always wanted to try. You really need to learn how to operate the derringer your mother got you anyway.​
[ ] The Lieutenant intends to teach you survival skills, which you expressed interest in. Which plants are poison and which are edible as you walk though, mostly, but also general instruction so I may be prepared.​
[ ] The greenhouses are so vast one could easily get lost, and Reginald has instructed his servants to remove the signs so he can teach you to navigate by compass and holomap. A very useful skill!​
 
VII - The Question & Questioning
Today has been… Eventful.

It began smoothly enough, even though I was somewhat addled after my long night. In what is fast becoming the routine, I rose, dressed and assisted Miss Polestar with the same. Whilst she ate her breakfast, I tidied her room, and then, at precisely quarter to ten, fifteen minutes before we were to meet Lieutenant Risewell at the entrance to the greenhouses, we were away. Being on time to meetings is an important part of making a good impression, after all.

For her part, Miss Polestar made an admirable effort of containing her excitement. During their meeting yesterday, while I was unfortunately immobile, the good lieutenant offered to teach Miss Polestar how to shoot an optical musket. A noble pastime, and reasonably safe, as I was assured that they would be set to stun throughout the exercise. That said, I feel I no longer have much room to talk in regards to the safety of the activities Miss Polestar takes part in after that… incident, with my leg.

Miss Polestar hunted hastily through her (newly and carefully organized) trunk, producing a case from which she drew the derringer her mother had purchased her when she began her expedition. Not that the spacelanes aren't safe, of course, but a lady can never be too careful. She stuffed it into her purse (which, of course, I was carrying, it ruined the lines of her dress), and the two of us set off down the way to the estate. There we headed down to town to the train which would bring us to the greenhouse, the top of its glass dome just visible on the horizon.

It was truly a vast creation, the pride of the world in many ways, mostly growing plants with medicinal purposes which would benefit from a carefully controlled environment as well as acting as a scientific reserve of flora. While the Risewells owned the land it was built on and were significant contributors to its maintenance, it was actually run by a private scientific organization, with significant grants from the Regency. Still, the Risewells effectively had the run of the place if they wanted it, given their support, and today we were heading to a corner which was being cleared to be refilled with new samples. Until those samples arrived, it was a perfect climate-controlled shooting range.

I sat in the train car opposite my miss, the Lieutenant, and his sister, who was a woman just entering her thirties with a broad smile and a rather dashing looking monocle. With me were the Lieutenant's batman Patrick and Ramona's maid, who was amusingly named Marnie and for some reason had a very American air about her. She informed me that her accent originated in a region called Boston, which now of course was little more than a small historical preserve and spaceport as humanity spread to the stars.

"Who even knaws. I guess they pick 'em to amuse themselves, y'know?" she said, waving a hand dismissively. "Whateva. Gives me a baseball team to root'fer, works out okay."

It was so odd to see: while every machine was unique, of course, it was clearly I had commonality with her. She had the same methods of construction to her face and eyes, but they were sculpted differently, her eyes green instead of blue and her hair steel-grey instead of copper. Where I was gold and brass, she was silver and steel, but we were so similar.

"I suppose. I'm no more from France than you are from America, even if 'home' looks like Paris in my head. At least, I think it's Paris." I said, "To be frank, I'm not sure where I'm from. I suppose it must be in my manual."

"Procyon, just like me, sister. That, or you're a damn good cawpy. Big guild of automatawn makahs there, y'know, wicked good at it. Though they con'sidah themselves ah'tists more 'n they do mechanics or anything."

"I have been called a work of art." I boasted, and both of us laughed a little. There is something nice about being designed to be pretty, even if I lament my delicate construction sometimes.

"So… how do you deal with the…" I found myself waving a hand in front of me, trying to find the word and will it to my speakers, "-overload? How… much everything is?"

She looked at me askew a moment.

"Ah, I gotta say I doan know what you're tawlking about. We're all built special, though, saw I guess it's just one of those things, y'know?"

"Sure." I said, having no idea.

"Yeh, they like boastin' that everthing they make is ah 'unique 'n precious vision' and all that. I got some fancy schmancy hearin' and an extra battery, so it's all good ta me."

"I can be used as a floatation device." I repeated.

"Yer miss do a lotta swimming then?"

---

The train pulled in and we filed out into the heated station connected to the greenhouses. Now that we were here, the impossible scale of it was consuming. The dome was nearly a kilometer tall and had its own weather systems, though they were carefully manipulated by the machinery and workers within. And all around us was green.

As we walked through, both Lieutenant Risewell and his sister (Mrs. Hutchinson, I must remember to call her Mrs. Hutchinson, though Miss Polestar calls her Ramona and so now it is stuck in my head) told stories about many of the plants here. They were responsible for huge amounts of the collection between them, interesting plants sent home on supply ships or collected on expeditions at the edge of the galaxy, and each of them had a story.

As we made it to the section we were headed for, we passed by a gated portion Marnie informed me was a garden of poisonous plants, some so dangerous that a human even being near them could be harmful and most deadly to the touch. This set off another round of stories, and I could tell that Miss Polestar desperately wished she could get a tour of it.

Absolutely not, of course. Even if she asked and they accepted, I simply couldn't. I do not want my first introduction to Miss Polestar's parents to be having to explain how she tragically met her end to a particularly vicious fern.

Now is the part where I lament my delicate construction again, and particularly the decision to make it so that I cannot turn off my hearing. Optical muskets make a loud crack, like that of a whip, when they fire. I'm told it is the air expanding from the beam of light. From the moment I felt the first of these sounds drive a spike into my processor, I knew I wouldn't be able to stand it for long. Still, I managed as long as I could, long minutes standing and watching, but eventually I was forced to apologize to the party and retire away to recover. Unsure of where else to go, I sat by the gate of the poison garden, hearing the cracks as distant, faded sounds, my battery three quarters drained and my processes grinding like a stripped gear.

This was the lowest point so far, and one that directly interfered with my duties. I lamented my distraction last night, for it impaired me, and therefore inconvenienced Miss Polestar. How could I leave her to the wiles of Lieutenant Risewell like that? Even with his sister, Marnie, and Patrick in attendance.

I resolved that I should need to get repaired as soon as possible. I'm writing this partially as a reminder to myself to do so, in all honesty.

I returned once I had my wits about me and explained my absence. Lieutenant Risewell revealed then that the weapons had a low-powered silent mode, but it was less amusing without the sound. Despite my protests, they switched it over, and soon I was able to stand it again. Patrick even invited us to give it a try as the group was packing up: Marnie was an old hand at it, often carrying Mrs. Hutchinson's rifle for her on trips, but it was new to me. It was a most unpleasant experience.

We headed back to the train and Lieutenant Risewell invited us to the estate for dinner, and with my miss safely under the care of the house staff I allowed myself a few minutes to relax and try to conserve my remaining power, staying in the room nearest to await her needs. As the evening fell, Miss Polestar and the Lieutenant went out onto the heated balcony together, and Mrs Hutchinson stopped me from following, saying they needed a moment.

I thought I understood, just from the air of the whole thing. He meant to propose, clearly. I couldn't quite hear it, but I did my best to imagine this happy moment. I'm so glad Miss Polestar has somebody she loves so dearly.


---

You don't love Lieutenant Risewell.
To be clear, there is nothing objectionable about him. He is respectful, brave, charming, and funny. Yet you feel no spark, no draw to him beyond friendship, and you aren't sure why. You've read enough books to know how you are supposed to feel by now, but you simply don't.
You don't want to sit in colonial garrisons or at home while he goes on adventures. You don't want to hear about fantastic places, you want to see them. He can't offer you that. He has other duties than you. Perhaps if you were madly in love, you could overlook this. Perhaps if he were less occupied, you could trust that continued closeness would bring you love in time. But with neither, you are at sea.
What did you say?
[] Surprised, you declined immediately. He immediately swore that he would tell no-one he asked in the first place to preserve my reputation. He is a wonderful man. He just isn't your man.​
[] You told him you needed time to think. Surely you can find it in yourself to care for him when you have sorted through your feelings? You just need time to convince yourself to say yes.​
[] Overwhelmed, you said nothing, and simply fled. How can you make this choice? No matter what you say, you will cause such pain. You hope he understands, and can find it in himself to forgive you.​
 
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VIII - Midnight Snack
I should have suspected the tears I saw were not of joy. I was too optimistic, anticipating too greatly happiness for my miss, and I made the mistake of taking her at her word when she said she was alright and refused most help before bed. I thought her just excited, and my exhaustion surely contributed, the sweet, intoxicating song of my charging cable called.

Instead, I learned of it when she knocked on my door at two in the morning. Groggy and half charged, I opened it to see her there, bleary eyed, tears streaking her cheeks, utter despair on her face. It was clear she had not thought much farther than knocking on my door, so, still in my nightgown, I turned on a candle and sat her down, and ordered tea and something sugary delivered post haste from whoever was awake. This was, I feared, going to be messy.

"Now, tell me what happened." I asked, and she gave me a look of such complete hopelessness that it tore at my soul.

"I said no." she replied, her voice already hoarse from crying. "I couldn't. I'm such an idiot."

"You are not. Don't start saying things like that, or you won't be able to stop." I said, as sternly as I could manage. "Now tell me, why did you refuse?"

"Because I'm s-stupid, Marie. Oh God, I-I'm so stupid, I must be." she mumbled. I shifted around the table a ways, hoping to offer comfort, and she took it by hugging me tight, face buried in my shoulder, the tears once again flowing.

Hesitantly, I put my arms around her.

"There there, miss. You aren't stupid. I am sure you had good reasons, but even so this is a difficult thing. Just hold on, okay?"

At that moment the door cracked open, and the twin orange headlamps of Amber's eyes peered around the edge. She was hastily dressed and looked equally out of sorts, and this wasn't her job, she was just awake first, I suppose. There was concern on her face as she saw Miss Polestar's state.

My miss pulled away a moment, shuffling awkwardly.

"I have tea and some of the biscuits Pierre made yesterday… wha-?"

"Just leave them on the table, please." I said. As lady's maid, technically only Mark outranked me in the hierarchy, though it rarely came up. Amber shuffled across the room to drop it off, and as she did she leaned close to you to whisper.

"If you need somebody to talk to after this, come on downstairs, okay?"

Then she backed out swiftly. I poured my Miss a cup while she grabbed a biscuit with two hands, nibbling weakly. I did not have the heart to enforce etiquette at this table.

She took her first sip of the tea, curled up upon herself, and began to speak again.

"I'm never going to find a man as good as he again, I know it. I'm such a fool, I should've… should've…" she muttered, seeming to run out of words before just leaning against me. Not an embrace, more like a wounded man needing support.

"If you said no, then he obviously wasn't the man you needed, was he?"

"I w-want somebody who'll be with me a-and travel with me. I d-don't want to get painted up pretty and, and, wait for him to come with stories. I don't love him enough to put up with it. But it's stupid. I'm no adventuress, I'm just an i-idiot girl who's read too many books." she said, slowly, great effort behind each word.

"Is there any reason you can't take this ship and strike out to adventure, then come back and find a man who'll be dazzled by you then?" you asked. Maybe she could go to school for xenoarchaeology or something as well.

She shook her head sadly.

"Just before you, I came out here from my coming out ball, and… my sister…"

Ah. Yes, that would do it. If Miss Polestar had a younger sister, she was on the clock, so to speak. It wouldn't do for her to come out while her sister was still unwed, lest they interfere in each other's chances.

"Alright, I understand." I said. She nodded weakly, then made to get up.

"Can you help me get dressed… I should go b-back, I need to… apologize. Maybe he will overlook it, maybe I can..."

Though it was quite improper of me, desperate times call for desperate measures. I held her by her wrist to prevent her from leaving.

"Miss Polestar, you have given a perfectly adequate reason for refusing, and you were very brave to do so." I explained, "It is your right to refuse a proposal, you have done nothing wrong."

She collapsed back into her chair, looking in utter agony.

"He is such a good man… why didn't I fall for him? Am I broken?" she asked. Considering my own musings… I will depart from my usual style and simply write 'oof'.

"No, you simply have standards which he did not meet, which is perfectly alright. It is a big galaxy, miss, and a fair number of its inhabitants are eligible young men. One of them will make you happy, we just need to find him." I said. "If I must, I will go out with stun pistol and net in hand and drag him to you myself,"

There we go, a smile, even if pained. It brought light to the room like a window thrown open onto morning.

"I'm so sorry, Marie, you're right. I still have plenty of time, and I do not lack for invitations. Perhaps the next one."

"And we can count out military men, for now, as I imagine they will share the same issues. That narrows things down." I said. "But let's wait until morning for a choice. Don't make decisions sleep deprived."

She finished her tea and crawled into bed, and I returned to my room. Tomorrow, I'll help her choose. I hope she is alright now, I can only imagine she still has much to think about as she lies in bed, but I can help her no further tonight.

Poor dear.


—-

You have a variety of invitations here from young men at the city of New Atlantis, which orbits above the beautiful tropical paradise of Atalanta Six. They are all associated with the very famous university there. Which of these fine young men are you going to meet?
[ ] Thomas Archer is a recent graduate, having studied literature and poetry. You have heard he is extremely charming, a great dancer, and very handsome.​
[ ] Parker Fullmore II is a graduate student pursuing academia, in the field of history. Sounds a bit stuffy, sure, but everyone says he's brilliant and a great conversationalist. And cute, apparently.​
[ ] Malcolm Remmington is a football player who is on the cusp of the professional leagues. The youngest of your suitors thus far (and the first to be younger than you), you have heard he is confident, gracious, and unbelievably attractive. The art students keep having him model for Greek heroes, or so they say.​
 
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