At seventy-seven, Hank Arthurs was Rivers Corp’s oldest retiree, a feat for any employee, never mind a manual labourer. To mark his years of service, the company threw a retirement party. There was cake, fizz, and a card signed by his colleagues—human and automated alike. Awkward chatter and office gossip made the rounds in hushed voices and subdued laughter. “Heard he turned down the Retirement Plus option,” Hank’s coworker whispered as he passed, underestimating his still perfectly functional hearing. He ignored the comment and forced a smile as the bosses and execs welcomed him. They were all forced handshakes and empty smiles; a feeble attempt at the appreciation he deserved. Not that he expected anything more from them.

The exec was a young up-and-comer, who’d likely only read his name on a form an hour before. He cleared his throat. “Let us celebrate the valuable and productive working life of Hank Arthurs. Fifty years and how many orders packed? Thousands, no doubt.”

Millions would be closer, but Hank didn’t want to admit it, hardly even to himself, so he just nodded, gracious. As the exec’s speech continued, veering into an update on the company’s latest advances, Hank tuned out and thought only about how he’d soon be joining Ida in retirement.

“It’s not perfect, but it’s better than nothing,” Ida had said when he’d first taken the job, a step down from his previous exec role. “That’s all we can hope for with things as they are.”

“The hours are long,” he’d said. “We’ll hardly see each other.”

“We’ll have weekends. And this way we’ll have a chance at a comfortable retirement. Then we’ll have plenty of time together. You’ll probably get sick of me.”

“I never would,” he said.

Ida only managed to work long enough for the Standard Retirement Plan, and though he’d been offered a Plus Plan, he didn’t want to retire on his own. He’d join Ida with the Standard one with a few extra perks that they both could use, earned from his years of service. Then they could make up for all the long hours, all the lost time.

“So Hank, any parting words?” the exec asked at the end of his speech.

“Enjoy the fizz,” he said simply, and his gathered colleagues raised their glasses, clapped, then mingled. Even the automatons held glasses and plates, despite lacking a digestive system. No need for breaks made for better workers. Social occasions like this were the exception, creating the illusion that they were equals. The automatons were indeed getting more realistic, almost blending in with the human workers – except their expressions were always slightly off: permanent fixed smiles, and eyes that looked both alive and dead, depending on the angle. He wondered if they ever had moments of clarity while in Work-Mode, thoughts of their own.

Ida might be present in any one of them, not that he’d know. She’d not be able to communicate with him in Work-Mode. Though, at least during non-working hours, she’d have some time in her own brain space—the retirement he’d been waiting years to join her in.

He looked now to the corner behind the fancy cake. The chair, prepared with needles and wires, where he’d take his last “living” breath. Best to get it over with quickly. He’d had enough of the party anyway.

He walked to his retirement chair head held high. The room fell silent. Watching, waiting. An assigned automaton took care with every step of preparation, binding him in place, inserting wires. He’d been told his body was still healthy enough to be stripped for parts, for use in the newest hybrid automatons. It would earn him some longer Work-Mode-free retirement time. Meanwhile, his eyes, lungs, heart, and even fingers, would be installed into the latest models. Hands newly wired, to never stop working. Never stop packing those damned boxes. He clenched his hands now as the automaton inserted the IV. As the fluid drip-drip-drip began, cheerful conversation filled the room again. Someone popped a champagne bottle.

An ebb of euphoria seeped in, and his skin felt suddenly soft, like jelly. The automaton positioned itself in front of him, face-to-face. Up close, it looked almost familiar, with its wide brown eyes. Human eyes. They blinked rapidly, and the face changed, no longer dead stares and sharp expressions. It was softer. A smile at the corner of its lips. One he recognised.

“Hank?” The automaton’s voice was gentle.

He blinked to keep the face in focus, head already foggy. “Ida. . .”

The automaton that might be Ida glanced behind, then moved closer. He could feel her breath: stale, metallic, mechanical. “We don’t have long,” she whispered. “I can only control it for a few minutes.” She placed her hands—not Ida’s, someone else’s narrow hardened fingers—around his, and positioned herself to hide him from view. Though no one was even watching anymore. They’d resumed laughter and chatter, champagne flutes clinking.

“What’s going on?”

She didn’t answer, but something was tugging at his arms, his scalp. A pressure pulsed around his head. The wires, removed. The upload interrupted, along with his dream of joining Ida. But the toxins in his body were still working their way into his bloodstream. He was dying. And there’d be no retirement, after everything. He tried to sit up, but the automaton pushed him down. 

“Ida, stop,” he croaked. “I want to be with you.”

 The automaton wore a sad smile, eyes with non-existent tears. “I know, Hank, I’m sorry, but I can’t let you,” she said. “I won’t.”

“Why?” he croaked.

“This kind of retirement, they lied to us. It’s no existence at all. It’s worse than death.”

“I. . . I don’t care. Please. . . Ida.”

“We’ll meet again, my love, in another life,” she said. “This will all have to end eventually. Then we’ll have forever.”

“You’d get sick of me in forever.”

“I never would.”

She held his hand, then, massaged it gently as his vision faded. Somewhere in the room, music was playing. A song he recognised. One he and Ida had danced to once, at an office event. Three years into working life, laughing, invincible, in love. Now that he thought about it, it might even have been at a retirement party. 

"Retirement Party" appears alongside over twenty other short stories in Lyndsey Croal's forthcoming debut collection, Limelight and Other Stories, out September 3rd in hardcover, paperback, and eBook.