The Prad

“Sir. Do you require assistance?” the slightly metallic voice said.

It’s a crying shame when the only person who will show you sympathy isn’t even a person at all.

“No,” I said to the unaccompanied prad, Personal Robotic Assistance Device, “I’ll be fine.”

I was lying.

“Sir,” the prad hesitated, probably because it was determining whether my situation or my command should take higher priority, “It looks to me like you require assistance.”

“You certainly have a talent for understatement,” I said.

“Sir?”

I sighed. “Well, help me up then! That’s what you’re made for, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. Immediately, sir.”