Rita crawled under Alexs desk, determined to retrieve her tablet chargeryet again, her husband had borrowed it for tests. The charger wasnt in its usual spot, but her hand hit something else: a hefty gym bag.
Alex, seriously? The gym? she scoffed, yanking at the zip. Thats a new one. If I recall, the last time you ran was when we were late for our flight at Heathrow.
The zip gave way. Inside, swaddled in protective foam, were hands. Human handsflesh-coloured, neatly severed at the elbow, elegant with slender fingers and meticulously trimmed nails. Rita didnt scream; the air just vanished from her lungs and her scalp prickled with dread. She jerked backwards, clonking her head on the underside of the desk, then sat back, gasping for breath as she stared at the severed limbs.
Oh God Alex she whispered, just as the scent reached her. Not the stench of death, but the sterile tang of high-end silicone and new electronics.
Gingerly, Rita prodded a finger. The hand was warm. She spotted a sheaf of printed instructions crammed next to a remote, a thick A4 covered in frantic revisions, and a sticker in Alexs handwriting: Prototype Handy Andy ~crossed out~ Golden Hands. Version 1.0. Voice engine: Housekeeper-M.
Rita rubbed the sore spot on her head; fear faded, replaced by intrigue. She leafed through the manual, and twenty minutes later, she watched, wide-eyed, as the hands stood poised like ballet dancers, fingers hovering deftly in the middle of the kitchen. She found the remotes voice control, pressed the button, and declared,
Alright, Golden Hands, lets see what youve got. On the list: roast chicken, sparkling windows, and put up that blasted shelf on the balcony thats stared me down for half a year. Go on, chop-chop!
A soft, uncannily polite womans voice trickled out from the speakers at the wrists: Understood, dear. Please, dont fret over the details. Sit back and relaxIll take care of everything.
The silicone digits flexed, cracking their knuckles like a concert pianist. The effect made Rita shudder; they seemed distressingly lifelike. When one hand seized a knife and began shredding a cabbage at the tempo of pneumatic drill, while the other climbed towards the chandelier armed with a duster, Rita exhaled.
Alex, you absolute genius, she murmured, pouring herself a cup of tea. Alls forgiven. The socks, the chargereverything.
All day was a fever-dream from Cinderellas wicked stepmother. The hands worked in eerie, focused silence, interrupted only by the courteous murmur of the Housekeeper: Careful, the floors wet theretake a seat in the armchair, wont you?
They mended a hole in her coat, stitch so fine it vanished to the naked eye. They washed the windows from the outsideone hand gripping the sill, spidery, as the other buffed the glass to a shine. The neighbours eyes widened from the house opposite; she crossed herself and yanked her curtains shut.
When Alex came home, the scent of a perfectly tidy household bowled him over before he even stepped inside. Rita lounged in her chair, her feet massaged blissfully by the Golden Hands.
Rita! Alexs keys tumbled from his fists; his face drained of colour. Why on earth did you switch them on? Turn them off, right now!
Alex, honestly Rita let out a dreamy sigh, barely opening her eyes. Look at this, its heavenly. They even fixed the skirting board.
Rita, theres a bug in the Initiative module! Alex lunged for the remote, but was a heartbeat too late.
One hand instantly abandoned Ritas foot and snaked towards Alex like a cobra, grabbing him by the tie and tightening the knot.
Alexander, you look untidy, purred the Housekeeper; her voice cooed from the wrist speakers. Your hygiene index is below standard. Please proceed to the bathroom for sanitization.
Shes throttling me! Alex croaked, as the other hand deftly grabbed his briefcase and dumped its contents onto the floor, sorting receipts by date with lightning efficiency.
Looks like she thinks you need a wash, Rita chuckleduntil she realised the hand was making a serious effort to shove a toothbrush into Alexs mouth right there in the hall. Time to step in.
Rita, turn her off! Shell start deleting junk contacts from my phone any second! Alex pleaded, wrestling away from a palm that was already soaping up his ear. Shes trapped in a perfectionism loop! Shell have us all bubble-wrapped by teatime!
Rita snatched up the remote and stabbed the big red STOP button. Instantly, the hands flopped to the parquet floor, lifeless as a pair of gutted fish. The silence in the flat was absolute.
Later, as Alex finished his chicken and Rita turned one of the prosthetic palms over in her hands thoughtfully, she mused aloud,
What if we just cut off the brainkeep it mechanical? So itll dust and mop but not try to turn us into Stepford spouses?
Alex gingerly nudged his plate aside, pulling open his laptop. Alright, Ill try installing a Dont Care filter. But from now on, Im the only one testing them.
And Alex, one more thingplease add a Back Massage function, too? You know how I love a good massage, especially with you hardly ever at home
Alright, but fair warning: if I switch that on, theyll massage even the delivery guy who brings us a takeaway. The friendliness algorithm is a slippery slopeso from now until the official launch, hands off the hands. Agreed?
Of course, darling, Rita replied with a sly, innocent twinkle in her eyeRita grinned, setting the hand back in its foam nest as if tucking in a mischievous pet. Deal, Professor Frankenstein. But lets at least agree the golden ruleno more secret beta tests under my nose.
Alex saluted with the remote, relief mingling with a wary affection. The flat, still gleaming and faintly humming with the ghost of industrious hands, seemed to breathe a sigh of its owna truce between chaos and order.
As twilight painted the windowpanes, Rita stood and leaned into Alexs shoulder. You know, for all her quirks, maybe what I really wanted was just a little help and a reminder that were both hopelessly human.
Alex slipped an arm around her, kissing her forehead. The limp hands waited on the table, serene as sleeping dogs. Tomorrow, there would be more debugging, more inventions, and, inevitably, more misplaced chargers. But tonight, the two of themmessy, imperfect, and laughingleft the workbench behind and pressed play on an old, familiar song.
In the velvety dark, the hands rested. For now, theyd earned it. And so had the humans.
