Twilight Time
The hardest thing about living in space was figuring out what time it was. After all, in space no one can hear you tapping your Swatch, trying to remember if it's noon or midnight. Joel had developed a simple solution to this problem over time; before he'd made the 'Bots, he did as his body requested of him; afterward he, like most single parents, would sleep when the kids slept. But unlike most new parents, he'd programmed twelve hour sleep cycles into his 'children's' hard wiring, which allowed him a vainglorious amount of sleep if he needed it, not that the Bots let him take advantage of it.
This night was an exception to the rule. Tom and Crow had gotten into Gypsy's supply of chocolate-dipped RAM chips and were literally bouncing off the walls, demanding stories and videos and midnight snacks.
"You've been watching too many Leave it to Beaver reruns," he chastised them gently, prying Crow from an overhanging pipe.
Tom demanded Noel Coward, and Crow requested Grimms Fairytales; Joel compromised with some Truman Capote. Halfway through Joel's retelling of 'Breakfast at Tiffanys,' they both began to drift off, and Joel was careful to finish it before carrying them off to their rooms.
Crow's was, predictably, a mess of manuscript pages and sunglasses; a typewriter sat near the doorway, the walls were scribbled on, pasted with color glossies of Kim Cattrall and Estelle Winwood, and his bed was a tangle of blue and gray blankets. He didn't make much of a protest as Joel tucked him in and carried Tom off to his own room. Crow rolled once, troubled then peaceful.
Tom's room was a mishmash of underwear and old sheet music from various Broadway scores; it was infinitely more organized than Crow's messy space, and filled with old star charts and books Joel had managed to get from the Mads in various trades. He barely made a sound as Joel placed a blanket loosely over his hoverskirt. Tom slept on, oblivious to the weight of the space they travelled through.
Joel took that as an excuse to go visit Gypsy.
The soft beep of the autopilot could be heard from the control room; soft red and green lights illuminated Gypsy's head as the ship glided through the inky black of the permanent night of space outside the satellite. He knew that she slept - though in shorter intervals than Tom and Crow – but Gyps was such a go-get-'em gal that the sight of her doing so actually startled him. She made a soft snuffling sound as she stirred but didn't awaken, lying with her daiods draped over the steering wheel of the ship. Joel petted her head gently, draping a blanket over her coils before returning to the bridge for one last check.
He found Cambot still running. "You too, mister," Joel murmured, as he pressed the shut-off button on the robot's back. The little camera robot, the only one without an automatic power-down sequencer, made a soft beeping noise as he finally came to rest.
Joel surveyed the scene before him. Other parents would be satisfied with the sudden, complete quiet, but he felt as if something were missing – the sound of Crow and Tom arguing, of Gypsy's off-key singing and Magic Voice's soft, sweet tone calling for commercial sign. That was what made ice-cold zero gravity showers, Styrofoam like food and endless cycle of long-ago beamed into the stratosphere Silver Spoons reruns all worthwhile.
And Magic Voice was the last one he heard from as he entered his private quarters. "Goodnight Joel," she said, as he pressed a button to shut her off for the next twelve hours.
"G'night," Joel said. He realized suddenly that if he had been alone up there on the SOL, he would be one depressed inventor.
Instead, because of his 'Bots, he was having the time of his life.