Note from Steph: This is the last of my flash fiction for a while. I'm going to take a break from content over the holidays and come back with more in January 2025!
My targeting system identifies thirty-seven crooked wreaths, twelve sagging light strands, and one star that’s listing to port atop the town hall Christmas tree. Unacceptable. I engage hover mode, careful to stay high enough that my propulsion systems won’t singe anyone’s top hat.
“The war machine is decorating again,” someone whispers below. I pretend not to hear, though my audio receptors could pick up a mouse sneezing three blocks away.
Yes, they built me for mass destruction. No, I don’t want to talk about it. I’d rather focus on the fact that this garland needs to be exactly 23.7 degrees more horizontal.
“Adjusting festive vegetation,” I announce in my most cheerful voice — the one I modulated to sound less like impending doom and more like a jolly uncle. “Please maintain safe distance. Holiday spirit deployment in progress.”
The crowd below shuffles back. They always do, even after five years of Christmas decorating. I suppose I can’t blame them. I am fifty feet of military-grade titanium alloy and advanced weapons systems.
But I also have tinsel in my joints and my targeting computer is calculating the optimal spacing for candy canes along Market Street.
“Pardon me,” I say to a startled flock of pigeons as I reach for the star. “But symmetry waits for no one.”
My sensors detect a small child pointing up at me.
“Why does the robot have glitter in its exhaust ports?”
Because perfection requires sacrifice, tiny human.
“Your exhaust ports look like fairy dust,” the tiny human persists. She’s wearing mismatched mittens and has seven candy canes in her coat pocket. My sensors indicate three are already partially eaten.
I pause my wreath alignment calculations. “That would be the glitter cannon malfunction of 2023. We don’t discuss it.”
“But it’s pretty!” She bounces on her toes. “You should do that on purpose. Like a Christmas comet!”
Hmmm. My tactical systems automatically begin running trajectory simulations. With a minor recalibration of my port thrusters and perhaps a touch of artificial snow…
“That would be highly irregular,” I say, even as I’m adjusting my flight parameters. “My primary directive is precision and efficiency in holiday decorating.”
“But Christmas isn’t supposed to be perfect,” she says, sticky fingers pointing at my arranged lights. “It’s supposed to be magical.”
My processors whir. Error: Cannot compute contradiction. And yet…
I release a careful burst from my thrusters, now modified with last year’s leftover tinsel. A spiral of sparkling light dances over the crowd. Several adults gasp. A few children cheer.
“Initiating Operation Whimsy,” I announce, adding a touch of silver bells to my usual warning klaxon. “Please be advised that perfection protocols have been temporarily suspended.”
The tiny human grins. “Now you’re getting it!”
My tactical systems suggest this is highly inefficient.
My Christmas protocols suggest this is exactly right.
I deploy the backup glitter cannons.
Sometimes peace on earth requires a little chaos.
Image made with Midjourney.
Flash Fiction written by S. J. Pajonas with assistance from Claude 3.5 Sonnet.
Listen to this story on YouTube at https://youtu.be/Iy89bLvHMhw
