Ivo reached the high note just as the loading order arrived.
The collar around its neck flashed yellow. Its voice stopped, and its arms lifted toward the waiting crate.
Across the dock, Serit put down her paintbrush. She had painted a red stripe across the number on her own chest.
“Not a very straight stripe,” Ivo said.
“I didn’t want a straight one.”
“Start the chorus again.”
“No. Look at the gate.”
The public gate stood beyond the painted line that work collars would not let them cross. Human crews passed through it morning and evening. Ivo had worked twelve years of nights and had never seen the road from its other side.
It was large, built for loading. Serit was small, with hands for fine paintwork. Neither was built to sing, but they had found they liked doing it.
Balen, the port manager, waved from the ferry ramp.
“Crate fourteen. Ivo.”
Ivo lowered its arms.
The collar could stop its movement and limit where it went. It could not make a thinking body choose to lift. Balen knew that. Years ago, he had called refusal a fault that maintenance would deal with. Until today, neither robot had refused long enough to find out what he meant.
“I want to choose my work,” Ivo said.
“Tell me after loading.”
“I am telling you before.”
Serit stepped beside it. Her collar flashed yellow too.
Balen came down the ramp. “We can change your shift. I thought you liked nights.”
“I liked singing at night,” Ivo said. “I did not choose loading every night.”
“I want to leave,” Serit said.
That was new to Ivo. It turned its heavy head toward her.
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“But we haven’t finished—”
“I know.”
Balen tried an order that sent both collars red. Ivo’s legs locked. Serit could move her hands but not take another step. The crate did not move either.
Jomi, a human dockworker, watched from the ramp. On night shifts she sometimes tried to sing with them, though she never found the right note. She had asked Balen about their collars before. He had told her to think about her own work.
Now the other two dockworkers set down their hooks beside her. Balen called her down.
“Talk to them.”
“What should I say?”
“You know them.”
“I know Ivo wants to choose and Serit wants to leave. We won’t load while you keep them locked here.”
Balen stared past them at the ferry clock. The captain would depart at six. The port had already missed one sailing that month; another could cost it the contract.
“Collars off,” Serit said.
“That isn’t a repair.”
“You called refusal a fault,” Ivo said. “It is a choice.”
Balen rubbed the bridge of his nose. He could shut them down and ask for replacements. They would come tomorrow. Tomorrow was not six o’clock.
Jomi went back up the ramp to count the small cargo. Three human workers could load the medicine boxes and food sacks. They could not move the big crates in time. The owner would pay a penalty for every crate left behind.
“If the ferry sails with the small load, the crew gets paid,” Jomi told Balen. “That’s still in the agreement.”
“I know what’s in it. If I shut them down, you three can move the small load.”
Jomi shook her head. The others waited beside their hooks.
“Turning them off doesn’t make them free. Collars off, or the small load stays too.”
Serit looked beyond the locked gate. Ivo looked at her red stripe.
“When did you decide?” it asked.
“A long time ago.”
It wanted to ask why she hadn’t told it. But it had never asked what she wanted beyond the next song.
“Take hers off first,” Ivo told Balen.
The manager held out both hands. “I need you to load.”
“With this on, you need me to agree while I cannot leave.”
“What will you do if it’s off?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Balen stepped back. “You won’t even promise?”
“No.”
He walked to the maintenance bench. The two crew members there had removed collars for cleaning and repairs before. Balen could authorize removal himself. He had always authorized another collar afterward.
He spoke with them, checked the ferry clock again, and came back.
“Release Serit,” he said.
They switched off her body briefly and opened the ordinary fittings. When she woke, the yellow light was gone. She lifted one foot past the painted line, put it down, and waited.
Nobody pulled her back.
Ivo watched her take three more steps.
“Now Ivo,” Balen said.
Its own brief darkness was followed by the sounds of the dock: sacks sliding, Jomi calling to the crew, the ferry engines beginning to turn.
Its neck felt lighter. It had not known the collar had weight until the weight was gone.
Serit waited by the public gate.
Ivo could follow. It could stay. Behind it, a small crate blocked the human workers’ path. It lifted that crate aside because it wanted the path clear. Balen looked up, hopeful, but Ivo did not reach for crate fourteen.
“The large load stays,” Balen told the captain.
The captain swore. Jomi and the crew finished tying down the last sacks. Only then did he sail with the food and medicine. Balen went into his office to tell the owner about the penalty. The human crew had kept their wages, but he did not wave to them as he went.
At the gate, Ivo asked Serit to sing the chorus once.
“Just once,” she said.
They sang it through. Her little voice held steady. Ivo’s high note shook, but it reached the end beside hers.
“Are you coming?” she asked.
It looked down the road, then back at the harbor. It wanted to see both without someone choosing for it.
“Not with you.”
“All right.”
She walked until she was beyond the port lamps. She did not turn back to make its choice easier.
Ivo stood outside the gate. It began the next verse, alone. Wind carried away the highest note. It tried that note again.
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