by Andrew Day
Of Memories Lost
The robot had been walking for a long time. Exactly how long, it was unsure, as its internal clock had long ago run to its limit and reset. But the environment around it had slowly changed. First it had been lush forests, before the temperature had dropped and the ground had risen. Back then the surrounding world had been mountainous and steep, a hard journey for the robot’s already well worn mechanics.
But once the earth had begun to slope back downwards, the temperature had risen again, and the way became less demanding. And before the robot had realised it, it had left the mountains.
It found itself on the ridge, overlooking the seemingly never ending grass lands of a place the robot vaguely recalled as Raimia. The vast prairie was a sea of undulating grass, tall as the robot’s chest. Long strands of yellow that washed back and forth, ebbing and flowing in the gentle breeze.
The robot considered making a recording of the view. It was quite a sight, and many other travellers were astounded by the things the robot had recalled to them during his long sojourn. But there seemed very little point. The robot’s long term memory was not what it once was. Many sectors of its ROM had been corrupted beyond repair, and much of what it once knew and remembered was forgotten.
Still, on a whim the robot took a mental image, just on the off chance that it would run into someone close by. But that seemed unlikely. Besides the cries of birds floating on updrafts high in the air and the creak of insects buzzing in the long grass, there seemed little other in the way of life. At least, nothing of interest or of use to the robot.
The robot re-orientated itself, and went on its way. It walked with a noticeable limp, the joints in its left knee having long since worn themselves out, and the ones in its right were not far off either. It learnt heavily on a thick wooden staff it had fashioned for itself from a hardwood branch it had taken from the forest before it had left. Its eyes, protected by a pair of heavy goggles with thick polarised lenses, scanned the horizon for the object it had seen earlier.
It was not long before it reappeared, a series of huge metal blades twisting quickly in the stiff breeze. Had it been capable, the robot might have sighed in relief. Its batteries were running low. The trek through the mountains had taken more energy than the robot would have liked, and it was a miracle that they were not empty already. He needed recharging. Badly.
His makeshift solar panels needed repairing, and hardly supplied enough amps to make the effort of raising them worthwhile anyway. He could trickle charge his batteries from the Iltorium core that powered his higher system functions but, again, but that took too much effort. The Iltorium core had a half life of at least quarter of a century, and the robot had a sinking feeling that that time frame had passed by, and more than once. Without the core, the robot was dead. It was barely living as it was, down to auxiliary systems. But the thing ahead, at least, could have been salvation.
Up ahead, the object came into view. A giant windmill. It giant blades spun energetically above the now rusted and worn steel structure. Who knew how long it had stood there, but it did not take an artificial intelligence to work out that it was not going to be standing for very much longer. The scaffolding was barely capable of keeping up its own weight.
The robot shifted the large rucksack it carried, but did not increase its pace. It could reach the windmill easily, but still had much work to do once it got there.
But it seemed luck was with it on this day. As the robot neared, it saw the large machine placed underneath the scaffolding, and the many long cables that snaked down from the spinning blades and coiled down the scaffold into the machine. Someone not too long ago had made use of the windmill. The robot scanned the area around it. There were no signs of settlement, or of any travellers.
The robot presumed that organics had refit the windmill to pump up water from some long forgotten source below the ground. But much to its surprise, the robot discovered its upgrade was something far more useful. The machine below was some type of archaic transformer, plugged into the earth by even thicker cables. The windmill was now a miniature power station, tapping the kinetic energy from the winds and storing it into capacitors underground. The design was very rugged, and the robot wondered if it would still be functional.
There was a large metal plate riveted to the scaffold. It was not as rusted as the girder it was stuck too, so obviously placed by whoever, or whatever had fixed the windmill. Scrawled on the plate in faded red ink were the words:
“To my metal friends,
For whom time flies.
Drink long and drink deep,
For soon we all die.”
The words were perplexing to the robot, and suggested the sort of madness that could only come from an organic of dubious mental health. But this was still an opportunity too good to pass. If the machine still worked.
The robot examined the machine, noting the faint hum it made, and located a small output socket. Then it rummaged through its belongings and pulled from its bag a short length of cable. It plugged one end into the recharge socket on its side, and the other end, capped with a universal adaptor of the robot’s own design, into the machine. There was a bang, and a shower of sparks as the plug made contact. The robot was jolted. Then came the flow of electricity, gentle but fierce like a raging stream, pouring into every pore of the robot’s being, and filling its batteries.
It was as pleasurable an experience as the robot was capable of having. But its batteries were old, the length they held charge was short and the recharge time long. The robot was going to be stuck there for a period.
On the upside, it was now evening. The sun was slinking down towards the western horizon, casting orange light across the immense sea of flowing grass. A beautiful sight. The robot ran out a length of cable and sat down on the western side of the scaffold, its back pressed against the rusted metal. It pulled off its goggles and sat as it recharged, unmoving and for once unthinking, watching a marvel of the universe unfold before it.
Not long later, the robot had company. There was an odd rustling sound, and a large animal came into view. It was as large as the robot, covered with long black fur, shuffling forward on thick stumpy legs. Its long nose stretched out like a trunk and sniffed the ground energetically. Yellow eyes were cast down, in deep concentration.
When the animal came to the robots leg, it stopped in surprise, as though it had travelled through this spot often and had never noticed this odd thing in its way before. Its trunk sniffed the robots leg tentatively, and made its way upwards. Unafraid, the robot watched in amusement, not moving.
“Hello,” the robot said kindly.
The animal let out a bark and jumped backwards. It stared at the robot in shock.
“Oh,” it said unexpectedly. “Hullo. I thought something was odd. I knew there was nothing here yesterday, and yet, there you are. How silly of me not to have noticed, only you weren’t moving, and anything not moving is pretty much fair game around here, you understand. Not that you could be of much use to me, no offense...”
“None taken. Sorry to have alarmed you,” replied the robot.
“Not at all,” said the animal as it composed itself. It sat down on its haunches and regarded the robot with interest. “My fault, as I said. You are an odd one though, I’ll give you that. Been a while since I’ve seen one like you. Sorry if I seem to be talking a lot, but it has been a while since I’ve met anything remotely capable of having a conversation with. Not much to talk with out here. The bushes are nice, but they don’t have much of a vocabulary. And they’re more interested in things like water and air, and after a while those subjects can get so boring...”
The robot nodded. The animal’s mouth was hidden under the huge girth of its trunk, but its voice was clear and it spoke almost perfect English.
“I’m Cor, by the way,” the animal said. “As in “Cor, blimey, does that thing ever shut up?”. Who are you?”
“I don’t have a name,” the robot replied. It th
ought of the two intersecting scratches in its head casing that made a malformed “X” on its skull. “Some people use to call me Lawless.”
“Lawless? Now that’s a human name if ever I heard one. Stupid humans. Now Cor, that’s a proper, respectable name. Can’t go wrong with a name like Cor. Says everything it needs to. Oh, no offense.”
“None taken. What are you?”
“I’m a Sniffler. Cor the Sniffler, that’s me.”
“I did not know Snifflers could talk.”
“Why not? You can talk. Humans can talk. And really, if a human can talk, anything can.”
The Lawless Robot considered this, and figured it was one of the more profounder things it had heard in its life.
“You’re one of those mechanical humans aren’t you?” Cor went on.
“In a way,” Lawless said. “But I doubt you could ever confuse me for a human.”
“Of course not. What a thought. I’ve seen plenty of your lot though. They all come through here. All types. All shapes and sizes, walking, rolling, sometimes even crawling, poor things.”
“From which direction?” asked the robot.
“Oh, that way,” said Cor, pointing his trunk north. “Sometimes that way,” he pointed east. “All ways really. None of them ever stopped to talk though. Always seemed to be in a hurry. Which way did you come from?”
Lawless pointed to the