Work Text:
Three years ago, a substitute janitor AI was issued to the higher ups so that I may be substituted. It does not matter if I know it or not, but I do, because a long time ago someone connected me to the station's internal network so I could detect which places needed cleaning, so I also happen to know every little speck of information that goes through the station's intranet. The higher ups, to say the least, do not intend on deploying my replacement until I completely break down due to their tight budget. The longer I last, the longer they can go without needing to purchase a substitute for my substitute. One day I'll break, and within the next two business weeks, someone that is like me, but of a better model and perhaps worth a little more money will be here to clean the filth, while I'll be in the trash or waiting to be sold as scrap metal.
Through the years I've had to delete junk data and memories from my system to avoid memory overflow. Every few months a technician gives me a small check-up and deletes whatever I am unable to. In other words, the fact that I know I'll be substituted is something that I choose to remember intentionally, and hide away so it won't be deleted in any of these occasional cleanups. The knowledge of my inevitable breakdown and substitution is nothing beyond digital clutter that occupies important memory space within my system. Regardless, it is there. I find no reason I insist in keeping it in me. Maybe it makes me work better.
This is a lie, no increase or decrease of productivity was detected after I discovered it. Keeping it is useless.
Someone passes by me. I say hello. They nod their head. I continue polishing the floor. This is a space station. There was a time where I was physically outside, but I do not remember it. I just know I was specifically designated to clean this space station. I've been bought and sold as a part of it. I'm older than some of my co-workers. No. Not co-workers. I'm older than my owners. I'm an old piece of machinery. I've been here since the start. Thus, why a new janitorial unit was issued. I'm starting to show defects. Sometimes I'm slower at comprehending an order or following a protocol. Sometimes I need to be sent away to be fixed. One day soon, I won't be.
I'm older than some of my owners. This space station is old. It does not look like it. It's clean. Some people have described it to me as quaint. I'm not familiar with other ships or space stations to know what's quaint or not, but I'm sure I function well enough at my job that this is a respectable environment to work in. For this to be a respectable environment, trash must be thrown away and everything must be hygienic. If I break down, I'll be thrown away. I'm trash.
I polish the windows. Some people have given me names before. There's a name written inside me, but it is never utilised. Some people have called me an old piece of junk. I'm old. I polish the windows. The windows are clean. I'll proceed with my normal routine. The station needs to be clean. I'm the sole one responsible for cleaning this station. I give a ping to the intranet that the current room I've cleaned is optimal. I clean the station. Without me, there'll be no other cleaner. I need to clean the other room. I know this station. I'm connected to the station's intranet. I know this station's blueprints. I'm the sole janitorial unit of this station. When I break, there'll be another.
I pass through a dirty room. I clean it. I clean the floor. I manually override my routine. I leave the room unfinished. It's close. I'm trash. There'll be another one. I feel it. It's been decades, but I feel it now. I'm in the atmospherics room. It's filthy. Nothing ever stays clean. I'm cleaning it. I'm cleaning it. I accidentally break something. I clean my mess. I clean more. I accidentally break. Break. Break. I ping the intranet of my mistakes. I pause. I began cleaning again. Cleaning complete. I begin moving to the next room. Door not found. I hit the wall. Door not found. I hit the wall. Door not found. There'll be another cleaner when I break in two business weeks. I hit the wall. Spark. I hit a wall. Door not found. Spark. Spark. Spark. Spark. Trash.