Greg had lived on the Rimward station all his life, at the very edge of the galaxy. He had never even seen a star up close. Looking back toward the Milky Way it seemed less like a scattered collection of star systems, and more an arch of golden, heavenly light spanning the sky above you. Of course that was only if you looked out the windows on one side of the station. Out here it was nearly impossible to travel or get decent word from any settled system, a round trip measured in years rather than months that few were willing to make. When the initial colonists had built this place it had not been sprawling and labyrinthine as it was today, nor as self sufficient. The most perilous resource however had been people. Losing someone in a highly skilled or specialized position had proved disastrous, and could lead to cascading failures. New replacement engineers, medical techs, or navigators could only be trained so quickly, and in an emergency a lack of hands often led to further deaths. When the station’s AI, Caius, finally proposed the Submind program after a disaster that had depressurized an entire deck, there had been few other options.

The maintenance drone bays were redesigned at Caius’s direction, and volunteers would be taken into the newly christened conversion bay for a transformation, either miraculous or horrifying depending on who you asked. No one knew exactly what went on in there, but the when the volunteers emerged that did so as robotic subminds, their intellect repurposed and redesigned in Caius’s own image. The skills needed to serve their roles downloaded into their now simple, unfeeling minds, and essential tools grafted to their gleaming metallic forms, a legion of idealized and uniform drones that went to work immediately and turned the dying station into humanity’s only beacon on the edge of the stars. For the first few years, there had been strong opposition to the initiative, even riots on some of the lower decks, but as time went on people began to see the Subminds as heroes, immortal machine saviors who kept the essential systems that kept everyone alive even to this day. And now they were practically normal. In fifty years, only a handful of subminds had failed beyond repair, and though it wasn’t common, some people still volunteered for conversion for any number of reasons. To fill a necessary position in a pinch, to extend their life from wasting illness, to end pain. And then there was Leanna.

Domestic Model Subminds were relatively new, and few and far between. Greg had no idea how they had come about, as the former identities of the drones were a matter of strict privacy, but he could recognize them all on sight. They were unique, designed not for medical care, or zero G maintenance, but for love. Whether that love meant taking care of children, personal assistance or other more intimate activities, every DS had been willing on some level to spend their entire undying existence as someone’s personal servant. Occasionally one would go up for sale and the bidding for it would be intense, but chances were that if you saw one on the street it had been someone very special to someone.

Greg had held Leanna’s hand so many times in exactly this manner, so many times that he had half expected the reassuring grip to be familiar, is if molded specifically to nest his own trembling fingers. It wasn’t, how could it be? It wasn’t Leanna’s hand anymore.

It was Domestic Submind 32’s.

The grip was completely different from her, from it’s, old comforting squeeze. The gleaming chrome digits, carefully gauging their strength so as not to cause any discomfort, were cool against his own skin. Not painfully cold, nor lifeless even. He could feel a subtle vibration from 32’s power circuits, carrying the signals and electric charge that allowed her to move, feel, and stroke his hand in a distant echo of the way she had used to only months ago. Her heartbeat, he supposed with a slightly twisted smile. She must have noticed the grimace cross his expression, for she stopped and looked at him intently. He could make out her eyes, lenses flashing and adjusting to take in his mood in precise detail, no trace of expression marring her perfect, silver features.

“Admin Gregory Santos, are you having second thoughts? This unit suspects with reasonable accuracy that you are feeling regret. It would not be within ethical codework to continue if you are feeling pressured into acceptance.” 32 seemed reasonably concerned, Gregory wasn’t sure exactly how that registered to her… it… now that she was a machine. He doubted she actually “felt” anything toward him per se, but she had shown him time and time again in the last few months that his pain and needs took priority over everything else. It was her programming yes, but he couldn’t help but feel like there was something else there beneath it all, or perhaps running in parallel to its code. Not love, in the way he’d had toward her, but something deeper. He’d asked 32 a few days after its conversion why she had so willing, eager even, to give up her own life and become his personal Submind, to the point of not even telling him she’d been planning it. 32 had simply smiled and tilted its head in an almost quizzical way. “Why Admin Gregory, it is very simple. You are my owner; It exists to serve.”

It had been hard to get answers out of Submind 32 more complex than that of why she’d undergone the conversion. Not that it was unwilling to answer, nor did it lack the memories of the person it used to be. No, the problem he’d found was that despite the speed of 32’s thought process and its perfect recall, it simply didn’t have the emotional capability to give those memories any deeper meaning. They were mere data, severed from the complex network of the Submind net and therefore largely irrelevant to its operations and duties aside from the rare occasions when faced with a detail from its past, a person or place she had interacted with as Leanna. But it had been easy enough to wrestle his answers out of her once he understood how to ask the right questions. For example, he had learned that she’d been dreaming of becoming a Submind since she was in technician training, long before they’d ever met. That she’d always been enthralled by the sleek grace of their bodies, their modular efficiency and ability to learn new skills via a simple patch or update. That she’d suffered from Void Depression, the kind of deep loneliness and ache you could really only understand when you lived and worked everyday on a Rimward station like this, where every window on your cabin showed the starless black of the galactic edge. She’d hidden that from him for years.

Well, he could relate.

A voice over the conversion center coms rang out and woke him from his reverie. “Gregory Santos, escort on the way to final evaluation and conversion prep.” He looked up to see a pair of figures approaching. Shaking his head, he turned to Lea- turned to Domestic Submind 32 and smiled.

“No, no second thoughts. Third ones maybe. Its alright, I’m ready for this.”

He stood and stretched, as the two figures walked quickly towards him. One was clearly a Medical Submind, similar in shape and stride to 32, but even less human in appearance, metallic white and vaguely feminine, faceless aside from a complex scanner, and covered in a shocking array of medical instruments and devices that emerged seamlessly from its chassis. Two extra arms emerged from its shoulders on pivots and a large ‘4’ was laser etched onto its left breast. A low number, possibly one of the earliest station Subminds dating back to its construction. Whoever it had been had been a Submind longer than it had ever been a human, looking as shiny and new as a new tool with the plastic wrapping just removed. He’d checked the registry, there were nearly fifty Medical Subminds onboard, in various states of deployment and storage. There were only 33 Domestic Subminds. Well, soon there would be one more.

Beside the Drone was a familiar face and he couldn’t help but smile as Ariadne took him, and 32, in a big hug. “Ooh look at you, going to be quite the pair. I can’t believe you’re actually doing it!” His friend Aria was younger than he was by quite a few years, mid twenties and dark eyed with skin that reminded him of rich mahogany wood furniture, the kind he hadn’t seen aside from in the station museum that held all the priceless old earth artifacts that had made their way here one way or another. Her hair, dyed bright red and blue like a bottle of Fast Caff, was tied back today in a thick ponytail that hung down to her waist. She was an odd sight to see in the sterile environs of the upper station, but that was part of what had drawn him to her, she had a way of standing out. She was about to stand out a lot more too; she was about be the first person on the station to ever personally own two Domestic Subminds. The thought made him shiver, and he realized it wasn’t fear… it was anticipation.

“Well don’t talk me out of it. But seriously, yeah. My mind is made up.”

Ariadne grinned and stepped back as the Medical Drone approached to examine him. “I can’t believe it! A few months living with your own personal Submind devoted to his every whim, one of the luckiest nerds on the station, and you decide that its got the right idea. Should I be scheduling my own conversion next?”

Greg grinned and offered an apologetic shrug as the Medtech lifted an instrument to check his pulse. Ariadne was joking of course, she going to have far too much fun ordering the two of them around once she took ownership. Besides, she wasn’t the type to ever let someone else take the lead. On the other hand he had thought the same about himself not so long ago. “I don’t know when I realized I was starting to get jealous of Lea… of Submind 32, at first it was a lot to swallow. But as time went on and I got comfortable with it, once I reached that point, I realized that I wasn’t ever going to be satisfied until I knew what it was like.” 32 merely stood, silent and still beside him like a gleaming idol. The more intimate behavior he had programmed it with was set to disable whenever other humans were present. He’d been embarrassed about the idea of people judging him for treating his Submind like a person in public. Now though, he found he liked the attentive stasis it defaulted to in these moments, seemingly lifeless but tuned to his every word, for the slightest hint of a command. He wondered exactly what Aria had in mind for them, but had refrained from asking. Stupid as it sounded, he kind of liked the idea of being surprised.

“Diagnosis complete. Subject is ready for conversion. Please follow me and confirm all outstanding responsibilities have been dealt with prior to conversion.”

Greg nodded. “Just one left. Domestic Submind 32, please prepare for orders.”

It seemed to blink and turned fixing him with its dilating gaze. “Acknowledged Admin. Ready to execute your desires.” It said nothing more, it knew what was coming as they had discussed this, but he still felt his heartbeat finding its way to his throat, making the words difficult. It was essential to do this now, while he still was able to, to keep 32 in safe hands.

“Transfer all ownership and submission protocols to Ariadne Alexandros.”

There was silence for a moment and his beloved drone turned to Aria. It’s eyes flashed a moment, taking a deep scan image of its new owner’s face, and she returned a soft, comforting smile to him. “This Domestic Submind, Registry 32, is now your property Admin Ariadne. Ready to serve.”

Aria sighed, in satisfaction he was certain, and leaned forward to kiss them both in turn. She saw his expression, and offered another comforting hug. “Don’t worry Sweetie, you’ll be back together with 32 soon, I promise I’m not gonna break your partner in the next ten minutes.”

Greg smiled back but couldn’t help but feel the sting a little. He’d lost his girlfriend once, and come to accept the machine she had become. Giving her away, even if it was necessary and what they both wanted, still hurt despite the illogic of it. Well, soon he wouldn’t have to worry about that ever again. No more pain. No more illogic. Just Ariadne, 32, and soon… 34. As the Med Submind led him away down the corridors, he heard Ariadne’s voice trailing them.

“Alright 32, lets go with Mistress instead of Admin alright? I like the classics…”

He shivered as the voices faded, not in fear. In anticipation.

He had no idea how long the process would take, nor had he expected to be awake for it. And he certainly hadn’t expected it to feel so wonderful. Caius had been a voice on a terminal most of his life, relaying the news, confirming maintenance requests, but now it was more than that; it was his sculptor. It took him apart piece by piece, neuron by neuron, examining each component, each string of data for errors, and checking the whole against the desired result. There was no pain, merely gentle touch as the system mind, vaster and more precise than he could ever imagine, began to redesign him, improving on the original mold in so many ways. Sensation bloomed as silver threaded through his skin, deep into the tissues ravaged by being born in low gravity, and alloying with them until the pale flesh gleamed chrome. Old aches and sores he’d not even realized were there melted into the blissful sensation of strong, mechanical joints, flexing easily as if oiled. He felt strong he realized vaguely, strong and eager to act, to move, to stand and be admired. The image of his body as it changed filled his awareness, more beautiful and clean than he had ever felt, the sleek curves and detailed panels like an artist’s signature etched into his skin. When the AI began on his mind, even the last niggling doubt escaped, cut cleanly free of the web of his thoughts and discarded. And so much more than that. His excitement was tempered as his emotions began to shut down, one by one. A handful of systems remained intact, feedback loops of satisfaction and reward, ethical constraints coded deeply into his program. He hadn’t even noticed when delight faded, replaced with a cool, patient sense of purpose. It felt right to simply float and wait for his creator to finish perfecting him, letting it strip the last shreds of identity from his hardware like the junk code it understood it to be. When finally its gender and name had been taken from it there was no lingering trace of who it had been to even care about their loss. That data, now without value to its intended purpose, was simply replaced by the final thing it required to awaken as its true self, as an appliance fit only to carry out its owner’s whims.

“Registering Domestic Submind, Unit number 34.”

it felt the creator initiate the final command to shutdown. The darkness filled its vision and time itself ended, and it felt only bliss. Perfection awaited.

“Aaand Reboot initiated!”

Light flickered in the camera eyes of Domestic Submind 34 as it became aware of the universe, as if for the first time. A grinning face met its vision, and it understood at once that this was its owner, Ariadne Alexadros. It had been preloaded with her perfered settings so 34 understood at once how to address her. “Greetings Mistress. How may this unit serve you? It is now yours to command.”

Aria giggled and leapt back gesturing for it to stand. “Come on, let us get a look at you!”

The drone complied and felt the rush of satisfaction flow through it, a ripple of bliss that threatened to overwhelm its sensors were it not programmed to quarantine the effects from its motor system. The mistress was alone in the room. A second DS Unit stood beside her, posed like a mannequin and waiting for orders. 32 wore a synthsilk dress and heels that 34 judged to be of aesthetically fine make.

“Well 32, what do you think? You’re boyfriend makes a good drone huh?”

The other unit turned and examined 34 at last, nodding in acknowledgment. “It is perfect Mistress.” it said simply. It was all it needed to say. 34 understood everything unsaid behind those words. After all, 32 was perfect too.

It didn’t take long for Mistress to put 34 to work. The first night was spent in a whirl of activity, that 34 was satisfied to find it was more than capable of managing. It saw to the cooking while 32 bathed their owner, then served supper while 32 performed adequately as a makeshift stool. Any order the Mistress could think of, her drones carried out some together or apart, at times spending minutes at a time posed and waiting for orders, at others passing each other in the hall on separate tasks. Every moment was bliss, every action a gift, free at last from the doubts and worries that had held them back all their brief and fragile lives. As the lights from the station exterior were extinguished and the night cycle began, Mistress finally brought the two of them to her bed. 34 suspected that their owner had been letting it build all evening, the anticipation, saving the most enjoyable task of the evening for last. Ariadne allowed 32 to undress her while 34 posed and displayed its body for her entertainment. It had not been customized to suit her preferences, 34 had been perplexed to learn, but she seemed to enjoy watching the light play off the sleek gloss of its skin regardless.

“Enough. Come here you silly boy!” the Mistress twitched a finger to the bed beside her and 34 instantly obeyed, kneeling on the firm station mattress with a soft creak as it shifted beneath its increased weight. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to have you..” Her gaze shifted to Unit 32. “Both of you here with me? So frustratingly loyal to each other all these years. Well now you are loyal to just one person.” her fingertips crept down the flat smoothness of 34’s chest until it found its cock, already extended and ready for her to grasp. “Do you know who that would be?”

“We exist to serve you Mistress Ariadne!” The two drones chanted as one, the wash of satisfaction flooding their systems to abruptly that they took a moment to process it. Their owner had made adjustments to their subroutines, causing their reward programs to instigate a minor feedback loop, magnifying the surge to above the recommended tolerances. The two of them set an internal reminder to ask her to address this unnecessary risk. Tomorrow.

Their owner smiled and drew 32 into the bed with them. The rest of the night was a long detailed list of every sexual position, and stimulation their Ariadne could think of. The drones did as they were required, simulating arousal, the panting of hot breath on her neck, the tremble of bodies lost within the throes of ecstasy. All the while it was a performance, their own need for gratification more than satisfied by the mere act of obedience. And again and again Mistress screamed their designations with tears of joy pooling in her eyes.

“32! 34! 32...34! 2...oh god...4, oh 4!”

It did not occur to unit 34 that it could no longer even remember the name it had used to carry, not did Mistress give it any leave to recall that life. It was simply a number, 34 forever more.

When mistress finally slept, soaked in sweat and lubrication on tangled sheets, the two drones were left facing each other at the foot of her bed, stiff and patient, gazing into each other’s glassy eyes. What they saw there, shared in that moment, was nothing a human could understand. No love flickered over their unblinking gazes, nor any trace of fear or regret. Merely the patient need for more orders, more bliss, more time together into eternity.

Anticipation.