Robots Don't Know Where I've Been!
...and other shenanigans
Greetings, awesome humans (and robots)!
Apparently, I’m not done being inspired by the Red Hot Chili Pepper’s song “Go Robot.”
But before we get into all that… I need to do my usual plug for all the books and stories I have out there, with their links:
Links: Lunar Logic | Robot Galaxy Series | Final Orbit | Objective Reality
…and the new books:
Links: T is for Time Travel | Annotated Robot Galaxy Series #CC3333 or #00B3B3
Also… Are you on/around Long Island, NY? If so… make sure you come see me, my BIG Sci-Fi Podcast co-hosts and a bunch of Trek stars and fellow Trekkies at Trek Long Island next weekend (June 12-14th, 2026)!
Last month I wrote a little flash fiction story titled and based around a line from the song “Go Robot.” I really appreciated and enjoyed the response folks had to “Robots Are My Next of Kin.”
Usually, writing one story like that gets the song obsession out of my head.
But not this time.
There’s another line in the song: robots don’t care where I’ve been.
At first, early in the month, I had no plan to use it to write a story. I was going down a different path. I was recently made aware of a substance called Ambergris… it’s essentially sperm whale poop that was one used or sought after for perfume.
Please DO NOT ask about the conversations that led to learning about it…
But you might remember how much I love Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home… aka “the one with the whales.” So anytime ANYTHING whale-related pops up, that’s where my brain goes.
So I was wondering… what if the probe in STIV was looking for… whale poop? I was really hoping I could find something similar that humpback whales produced. But no dice. Originally, I wanted to write a little semi-tie-in story about how the probe was looking for the poop or ambergris…
…but the line robots don’t care where I’ve been… kept haunting me.
The story you’re about to read is the result of me trying to force-fit the two concepts together.
I hope I was successful.
So far, only my not-quite-16-year-old has read it. He liked it. But he’s biased to like stuff I wrote so… I’d love to know what y’all think! (Remember there is a little poll and commenting buttons and such right after the story!)
Don’t forget to read past the story, too… there’s stuff from other Indie Authors, recent BIG Sci-Fi Podcast episode links, and of course my bonus picture!
Robots Don’t Know Where I’ve Been
The message with my location went ignored by my assistant.
Other people who had a robot assistant might be concerned, but this was standard behavior for my BUD.
BUD did not ignore me because he was broken or malfunctioning. BUD ignored me because he had his own priorities, and apparently my survival had never made the top ten.
Although, given the danger I was about to enter, I wish he would pay attention. At least a little. I thought about hacking in and implanting my coordinates right into his simulated neo-cortex, but I didn’t have time.
The boat was about to leave and, while I was just a passenger, I needed to start prepping my equipment.
Two drones. One chemical sniffer. One waterproof sample case. And three vomit bags, because while I was optimistic about my relationship with the ocean my entire life, I was also wrong about said relationship.
I sent BUD another message.
Boarding now. If I die, delete my browser history and tell my mother I never liked her beef stew but didn’t have the guts to say it was always too salty.
Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.
Then BUD replied:
Ambergis collection remains statistically inefficient.
“That’s not the point,” I muttered.
The woman coiling rope beside me glanced over. “You talking to somebody?”
“My assistant.”
“Human?”
“I wish.”
She nodded as if this explained everything.
The ambergris wasn’t for perfume. It wasn’t for money, either, though money would have made the next several hours—or days—feel less stupid. Somewhere beyond lunar orbit, the old Dawn 9 probe was limping home after five decades in interstellar drift, carrying the first confirmed signal from an artificial object that had not been built by humans.
Unfortunately, Dawn 9 no longer believed in Earth.
Its primary star tracker was fried. Root cause unknown. Its comm array had been reduced to simplex comms since the transponder could only process signals in one direction at a time. And its onboard biosphere authentication system had not just fallen back to a safe mode, it created one of its own that involved pre-launch ocean chemistry.
The engineers responsible for Dawn 9 were highly motivated to get the probe out of safe mode and into a state where it would let them download the data from its primary recorder. Because Dawn 9 threatened to erase all the data if it wasn’t given proof that this was Earth. And that data was the first real evidence of extraterrestrial life. Much more valuable than the ambergris we were searching for.
Why ambergris? The engineers responsible for that biosphere authentication system decided that the only thing that would works was to present Dawn with an aged marine biological compound with a molecular profile too messy to fake cleanly. One that contained salt, had clearly spent time in the sun. One that had squid beaks embedded in it.
They needed ambergris.
Real, actual ambergris. Lab-created ambergris wouldn’t do.
And because sperm whales were protected, endangered, and generally unavailable to help, the only legal option was to find a piece already floating loose in the ocean.
Which is how I ended up on a boat named Silver Skin, wearing borrowed rain gear and trying not to think about how many important moments in human history had begun with someone saying, “But it’s technically legal.”
My wrist buzzed again.
Your mother has been notified of your distaste for her beef stew. I suggested a more modest salt application.
I stared at the message.
I was thinking in my head and about to type “BUD, I swear to every obsolete god in the cloud compute, if you actually messaged my mother—”
But before I could get it all out, my wrist buzzed once more.
Correction: I told her you were on a boat.
“That is not better, BUD.”
She replied with twelve concern emojis and one anchor.
The engine came alive beneath my feet and the shoreline began to slide away.
And somewhere out past the horizon, the only thing standing between humanity and the most important discovery in history was a lump of whale digestive wax that had been marinating in seawater since before I was born.
BUD sent one more message.
I have updated your file.
“What file?”
Places you have been.
My throat tightened before I could stop it.
Then another message arrived.
It remains irrelevant to your current probability of success.
I laughed, because there was nothing else to do.
Robots don’t care where I’ve been.
But they keep track, anyway.
[THE END]
What do you think…?
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And of course we do group promos where you can check out a whole bunch of writings from authors you don’t yet know! This first summer reads one? Yeah, I organized that one!!
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And did I mention that you can catch the 4 of us at Trek Long Island next weekend…???
What’s next?
All. The. Things.
Seriously.
I am simply going to leave you today with a picture of my cat (Ruby) who knows exactly what she did to this chess board… all acting like she owns it and such…
Until next month… be good, be kind, be well!
-Adeena
I liked it very much! Short and vivid.
Another vignette that I want to see more of the story that come after!