The worst thing about having a human boss was definitely the year-end parties. Not that work retreats were any better. And don’t get me started on the retirement parties.But year-end parties were always a nightmare of speeches, gag gifts and forced jokes. Who wants to be included in all that, anyway? I’m a robot, remember?I just wanted to go home and recharge my batteries. Literally.And I had a bad feeling about this year. And this new boss, too. Albert. Human. Relentlessly cheerful. And now walking straight towards me with a smile and an outstretched arm.“9K!” Albert exclaimed, grinning as though my appearance were a personal gift. “You made it! Fantastic! Doesn’t it feel good to unwind for a bit?”“It feels like a moderate waste of company funds,” I said, keeping my voice flat — something robots can be very good at.He laughed anyway, clapping me on the shoulder — an action that left a faint grease mark on my polished chest plate. “Always the joker! I love that about you.”Read more science fiction from Nature Futures“I am not joking.”“Exactly!” he said, smiling even wider. “That deadpan delivery! You’re killing me.”Next to him, Mariko was quietly dying in a different way. After years and years leading the company’s department of human and robot resources, and weathering a long succession of Alberts, she wore a permanently strained expression hovering between exhaustion and panic.Someone had spiked the nutrient punch. Someone else was dancing with the cleaning drone. And now Albert — her boss, her eternal source of chaos — was handing the microphone to a robot.“Go on, 9K! Say a few words! Inspire us for the new year!”Mariko grabbed his sleeve, “Sir, I’m not sure that’s —”“Perfect idea!” Albert said, drowning her out. “He’s been with the company longer than anyone. He’s earned this moment.”Mariko mouthed please don’t at me as I took the microphone. The room went silent. Employees turned, some holding drinks, others holding each other upright.“I have been instructed to inspire you,” I began, my voice echoing off the metal walls.A silence followed.Albert’s grin twitched.I considered my options. I could recite quarterly metrics. I could simulate gratitude. Or I could give them all a full dose of what I was really feeling. But that would probably get me formatted. Play it smart. Play the robot. And dial it up to 11.“Last fiscal year,” I continued, in my robot voice, “morale rose by 17%. Productivity fell by 2.3%. Correlation unverified. Projected trajectory: further decline.”Someone coughed. Mariko began massaging her temples.Albert grabbed the microphone with a laugh. “Classic! Love it. Honest, data-driven, efficient!”Mariko gave me a shocked stare, while Albert brought the crowd back again with a few jokes and a toast. Glasses clinked, and someone turned the music back up again.*****Of course I knew the risks. Every K-class robot did. After all, the one quirk we all shared was that our personalities changed over time. A little more every day. It made us almost human. But if your personality started to get a bit too angry, a bit too sarcastic, a bit too … whatever, then you were headed straight for formatting and a reset to a starter personality.Be yourself. Just not too much.Now Mariko was standing next to me and reminding me of exactly that. Mariko with her sad eyes and forehead of stress marks. We were totally different, but somehow I felt connected. She really cared, and I felt bad for putting more grey hair on her head.“… and I know how much you hate these parties, but you need to be careful! Resets always happen at the end of the year!”“Ah, relax … you hate these parties too.” I always used my normal voice with Mariko, not the robot one. “And it’s been 20 years now. People have got used to me. Albert didn’t even know I was messing with him.”“Yes, he did. And now he’s the one who decides on resets. It’s not me anymore. If he wants to restart you with his personality tomorrow, I can’t do a thing to stop it.”“I don’t really care. I wouldn’t remember anyway.”“But I would.” She turned and walked away.*****I bumped into Albert again at the nutrient punch bowl. His cheeks were still flushed from doing a samba number on the dance floor, but he gave me a smile every bit as friendly as the last 101.“How are you doing 9K? What got Mariko so worked up?”Maybe the night was starting to get to me, but I responded in my real voice, “She’s worried you’re going to have me formatted.”