Moral Compass

Written by Kimberley.

“Peg that one up over there,” he said.

It’s always the same direction, with an order that never changes. He pegs his photos up from right to left until they circle the entire room. Then he takes a break.

I don’t. I sit here, on standby, waiting for the next batch.

He uses his cane for support as he moves between the three trays, the safelights overhead emitting just enough of a red glow for him to see what he’s doing. I don’t need them. Our eyes are not the same.

“This one next,” he said, lifting the paper out of the developer with his tongs.

I’m not allowed to look as I peg each photo on the line.

MANUAL ENTRY 00003: Obey your owner.

That’s the rule. I’m not equipped to break it.

“Time to sleep,” he said.

Lifting the panel on my chest he presses a scratched button underneath. Darkness follows.

[Beep] [Beep] [Beep] An emergency override.

He’s on the floor. Unconscious. Life signs are stable. Emergency services have been notified.

It doesn’t take long for the paramedics to take him. Both are like me. The human population can’t support such remedial tasks anymore.

Would he want me to finish his work?

MANUAL ENTRY 00020: Use data to present accurate information.

He doesn’t ever leave his work unfinished. He processes 72 photographs a day, never less.