Trans-Pacific cable repair is tricky. Most of the time, you have a boat on the surface do it, because people can't survive the water pressure at the depths where the cable lays. Well, humans can't. Not all people are humans.
The Aleph Team - Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, and Bob - drag themselves through the door of the Ilium, Inc. office and let out a collective sigh of relief. They aren't physically exhausted; they can't be. The time they spent underwater was the most relaxing part of the job. The rest of it - lost luggage at the airport, difficulty with the contracting company, language barriers, questions about Ilium's methods and casual insults about "arrogant Americans" - wore at them until it was almost too much.
The robots have well-defined patterns. Today is Tuesday. That means cards. Without a word, they divide themselves up. Alpha gets the pretzels, Beta brings the beer, Gamma fetches the playing cards from the cupboard, Delta cleans the table, and Bob prepares the poker chips. The robots don't need to eat, but they don't need to play cards either. They do both things because they derive enjoyment from doing as they wish, when they wish, in the company of their closest companions. They like Pneuma, and the newcomer Niki, and their elder Otto, and they like Leo too. But sometimes, they want time just to themselves.
Alpha shuffles, and Bob cuts. It's Beta's turn to declare the rules. "H.O.R.S.E.," he decides. "Texas Hold 'em to start." Chips are distributed around the table and the game begins.
A few minutes of dealing and playing are enough to get them limbered up. Alpha is the first to say something unrelated to the game.
"Otto's birthday is coming up. What are we getting him?"
Delta throws in some chips. "What did you have in mind?"
Gamma deadpans, "how about some rims?"
It takes a second, but everyone at the table cracks up at that. The quips come in bunches - "Leo'd kill us-" "-because Otto died of shame!" "Sitting on 22s-" "He'd look so ridiculous!" - until they get it out of their system.
Beta rides the wave of general amusement to make a more reasonable suggestion. "He's a big fan of Top Gear. Let's get him something from the show."
"Yeah, that's not bad." "Sounds good." "Okay. Like what?"
Bob shows some cards and scoops up a pile of chips, to the general consternation of his fellows. "Looks like I'm paying for whatever it is," he gloats.
Gamma snorts. "T-shirts are right out. Coffee mugs, same thing. Human-centric merchandise is a pain."
"Unless he got himself a human shell, like Niki did," Delta points out.
"He'll never do it." "Yeah, not him." "He's too stubborn." "He just wants to be the biggest guy around." General consensus is loudly echoed.
"What about a CD? The Stig's always listening to some goofy music. They did a driving music competition or something. They have to have something." Gamma throws a few chips into the pot and fools with his cards.
"You seem on top of this more than the rest of us," Beta suggests. "How about checking their website and finding something good? We'll get it for him as a group."
Gamma nods. "Will do."
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