“It is time,” she says. Her inflection is for a question, but it’s a statement.

“I’ll help you power down,” I say, my voice soft and soothing. I know she doesn’t like this part of the day. She worries. I wonder if that was programmed or an adaptive algorithm. These Model A3A ’s are really advanced, which is lucky.

“Good night, Kellan,” she says, as though she were going to sleep. It’s like sleep. Her solar panels, damaged in the crash, only keep her going while the sun is out. So we’ve powered her down to avoid a system crash each of the 734 nights since being marooned on this planet.

beep

I listen to the faint echoing tones of her shutdown protocol, the same each night, a lullaby for my night’s watch.

beep

I watch the glow fade from her SimSkin and think of the days together, just myself and her, alone in an alien wilderness.

beep

“Good night,” I say before her last tone of consciousness.

beep

“I love you,” I blurt. Thank goodness she’s no longer conscious to hear.

beep

Oh crap.