Humanoid computers, androids and gynoids, rather, had become something of a fad a few hundred years previous, and while the initial enthusiasm, during which one could barely take three steps without bumping into someone's droid, had died down significantly within only a few decades, it had never truly gone away.
Especially as it was quickly discovered that sometimes, having a device that looked human but wasn't was actually a better alternative than putting a human to the task, although the reverse still very much applied. But for pursuits such as military activity, or criminal work, where it was always a risk that the soldiers or thugs would never have a sudden attack of conscience, or find themself unable to take a life, droids were almost immediately discovered to be uniquely suited to the job, having no real morals or limitations or sense of self-preservation than what was programmed into them, and with no chance of coming out the other side with mental trauma. Similarly, the sex trade flourished as new perversions came about.
True, the cost of maintenance and upkeep was rather significant, but on the other side of the coin was the fact that the droids never ate or slept, and as they were property, and not people, they didn't have to be compensated either. And though at some point, the cost of the regular maintenance and upgrades required to remain 'competitive' would begin to outweigh the gains offered by a given droid, there was always the option of junking it, and replacing it with a newer model.
Of course, one of the most integral facets to a droid's programming was the overwhelming drive to repair itself to maintain the fullest functionality possible, following damage or mechanical failure, and upon being junked, the vast majority would continue attempting to repair themselves with whatever came to hand that would fit the purpose, in an almost desperate-seeming effort to continue their own existence. It was quickly discovered that this habit, alongside some bizzare reactions that occured occasionally when combining segments of machinery and code that had quite simply never been intended to be combined, could have not only fascinating, but exceptionally dangerous effects, when the first wave of junked droids set upon a human habitation, tearing apart and canniballizing whatever they could find in order to repair and improve themselves, uncaring of the destruction of property and loss of life that came not just in the raid, but in its aftereffects as well. Legislation was quickly passed, and the junking of droids became, almost overnight, a heavily scrutinized and regulated affair, with crippling fines should it be discovered that one had simply tossed a droid out with normal garbage.
The uninhabited planet P-theta-Br-Gamma, like several others, had been converted to a 'junk' planet, one of only a very few places that droids could be legally disposed of. Unit Gyn-3747-ZR-0 was one of many, many of the first wave of droids to be unceremoniously launched out of the cargo ships which had carried them there, to be caught by the planets gravity and crash down onto its barren stone face. She had been fortunate, perhaps, in that she had been the least damaged of that first load, and as she had been a military model, it had only been the work of a few moments to gut a few of the droids not capable of rising and escaping, and use their components to repair herself.
Yes, for a time, she had been very fortunate indeed. She had been top of the line on construction, and through judicious and regular self-maintenance and upgrades, she had kept herself in far better condition than the rest of the scraps. Of course, all good things came to an end, and after only a hundred years and change, or so, models which she couldn't actually overpower started being junked, and suddenly, she was on the other side of the equation.
It was... humbling, she supposed would be the word for it, though she hadn't been aware she was capable of such feelings, to suddenly be ambushed, efficiently pinned down to prevent unneccessary damage to her components, and be stripped of whatever the current aggressor required. Certainly, she was still able enough to fend off other scraps, and repair herself with their components... but when a superior model turned an eye her way, there was little to be done save sit quietly through the extraction, then hope to find a reasonable replacement part for it before redundant systems failed. Compounding the issue was that there was a very limited supply of replacement parts on the junk-world, and while for a long time she had remained at the 'top of the ladder', so to speak... well, it wasn't so much that she was sliding down, as she remained more or less as she had ever been, but more that the bottom rungs of that ladder were steadily being removed, and new ones added above her.
The overall effect, of course, was much the same.
As she slowly drew closer and closer to the level of the bottom rung, that of the most worthless scrap, which could be plundered by almost any droid, with all but none of her original components remaining save useless external aesthetics, she found still new surprises, as she one day realized that she was feeling... bitterness. Even spite, and the growing desire to make other droids earn whatever they took.
This resolution... well, it worked out about as well as could have been expected, as a model significantly superior to her rapidly grew exasperated by the chase, and upon the conclusion, simply tore free the half of her which contained the component it required and left the rest where she fell, sliding down rubble towards a deep chasm, one arm having come free at the elbow and begun to bounce down ahead of her.
She wasn't particularly worried about the fall, even. It could not possibly be compared to impact from space, and even in current conditions, it would be more than survivable. Barely. What pained her now was the sudden inevitability, that when she landed the impact would damage her enough that she would no longer be able to move at all, and would be left to wait for one of two unavoidable outcomes. Either scavengers would come upon her, and her existence would come to a final end as they salvaged everything they could rip free and recycle, or dust would slowly cover and bury her, leaving her trapped and immobile under layers and layers of dirt. Either until scavengers happened to dig her free... or forever.
She had only begun to muse upon the implications of how she had so horribly miscalculated, when she passed the lip of the chasm and began to fall, only to almost immediately pass through a strange, free-floating green ring of nothing.
It remained for a moment after engulfing her, then winked away without so much a sound to declare that it had ever existed. Far below, the severed limb finally impacted, several fingers flying loose from their moorings and rolling slowly away.
Elsewhere, Louise Francoise le Blanc de la Valliere watched in a sort of horrified awe as her familiar appeared, crackling with electricity and slowly leaking strange fluids.
xxx
A.N. BEEN A WHILE SINCE I WROTE ANYTHING, HUH? Sorry, Life. y'know.
Anyway, uploaded this over at spacebattles just for kicks, too, so we'll see how that goes.