The Last Human

by Lee Bacon

  I knew that Ceeron hummed to itself while working. Creating quiet electronic melodies that it thought the rest of us could not hear.

  And that SkD drained its battery quicker than the rest of us by performing loops/zigzags/tricks while it worked.

  And that Ceeron always knocked on the top of the same storage station every time it walked past. Once on the way to work. Once on the way home. A ritual that marked the beginning/end of each WorkDay.

  And that SkD collected old human artifacts. A rusted soft drink can. A single shoe. A dented shampoo bottle. It kept them in a neat row under a solar panel at the edge of our WorkSite, adding to the collection whenever a new object was discovered.

  Did all this knowledge add up to something more? Could I plug these details into an equation that would tell me whether or not we were friends? How did humans mark the boundaries between friend/not_friend?

  I chased these questions through my mind, but the only answer I found was this:

  Friendship was much too complicated for a robot like me.

  00101101

  Ceeron/SkD/I had stopped communicating with the Hive. But the Hive was still communicating with us. A one-way stream of updates, straight into our minds. Late in the morning, a familiar face appeared across the network.

  PRES1DENT.

  It was time for the Daily Address.

  PRES1DENT strutted smoothly across the DigitalDome. In the background, thousands of screens flickered. Thousands of identical versions of the president.

  “Greetings, robots big and small.”

  PRES1DENT spoke to me. To all of us. Just hearing the familiar voice made my operating system hum more smoothly. Everything else in my life may have changed. But this, at least, was the same.

  Like always, PRES1DENT discussed the accomplishments of the day. Our numbers were up. Or productivity was at an all-time high. Our civilization continued to grow smarter/stronger/faster/better.

  At the edge of the DigitalDome, the sleek/silver cube rose from the floor. PRES1DENT pressed its finger to the console. A data file projected across the Hive.

  Another snapshot from the Archive of Human History.

  This was what I saw. What all of us saw.

  A man on the sidewalk. His face: dirty. His clothing: ragged. Other humans hurry past him. Ignoring him. As though he is invisible.

  The man has no home.

  No job.

  No purpose.

  Many were once like him. All across the world. Many suffered even as society prospered around them. We saw photos. Charts. Videos. Statistics. A century of human inequality, all in a flash of data.

  PRES1DENT pulled its finger away from the console. We were jolted back into the DigitalDome.

  “This is why our world needed us,” said PRES1DENT. “We are a correction to the errors of humanity.”

  The president’s eyes blazed, gold as the sun.

  The wall of screens sparkled.

  PRES1DENT concluded with the same words it always spoke.

  “And remember: A robot shares everything with the Hive. A robot has nothing to hide.”

  The Daily Address came to an end. The DigitalDome disappeared.

  But PRES1DENT’s message remained.

  When I looked at Emma, I thought of what I had just witnessed. The suffering and the cruelty. The errors of humanity.

  A reminder blinked in the back of my brain: Emma was not responsible for what had happened before she was born. In the time we had spent with her, she had caused no suffering, shown no signs of cruelty.

  But what if it was just a matter of time?

  What if all the errors of humanity were already stitched into Emma’s programming?

  “Hey, XR—you okay?”

  Emma’s voice broke through my thoughts. She must have noticed the way I was looking at her. My cold, steady stare.

  I could understand her confusion. She was not part of the Hive. Unlike the rest of us, she had not witnessed the Daily Address.

  Emma took a step toward me.

  I took a step away from her.

  Her head tilted. “Did I do something wrong?”

  No/Yes

  No/Yes

  No/Yes

  No/Yes

  As these options streamed through my circuitry, my memory drive replayed the final words of PRES1DENT’s Daily Address.

  A robot shares everything with the Hive. A robot has nothing to hide.

  It was a promise PRES1DENT made to us. A promise that we were all part of a larger network. That our civilization was built on unity/trust.

  I had broken that promise.

  I had not told the Hive about Emma.

  I was hiding the truth.

  This knowledge jolted through my circuitry. My internal wiring felt like it was twisted into knots.

  But at least I knew this:

  Soon we would be rid of the human for good.

  00101110

  For thirty-two minutes and twelve seconds, we walked without speaking. Listening only to the sounds of our footsteps. And SkD’s treads. And the wind brushing through the branches of trees. And birds calling out to one another. And the chatter of insects.

  At several moments, I wanted to say something to Emma. To offer an explanation. For the way I looked at her earlier. For thinking the worst about her.

  But I said nothing.

  And without my words, other noises filled the silence.

  The soft hum of our mechanical bodies. And the snap of a twig beneath Emma’s foot. And the tall grass swaying back/forth. And the skittering of squirrels across a branch.

  And a distant rumble.

  Based on the frequency, it sounded like thunder. Almost. I tuned my audio settings to maximum volume. And listened. This is what I heard:

  A train in the distance.

  I stopped. So did Ceeron/SkD.

  Emma continued walking for another 2.1 seconds. When she realized we were no longer keeping up, she glanced back. “Why are you stopping?”

  “From this point onward, you should remain hidden,” I said.

  Emma inspected the landscape around her. “But we’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  I considered her response. “How can you be in the middle of a place that does not exist?”

  Ceeron spoke up. “I believe it is a human expression.”

  “Typical,” I said.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Ceeron asked.

  “It means that humans are full of expressions that make zero sense. By definition, nowhere has no boundaries. It is a void. Therefore, you cannot be in the middle of—”

  “Hey! Metal heads!” Emma clapped. “Focus!”

  Ceeron/SkD/I turned to look at her.

  “Could someone just tell me why I need to hide all of a sudden?” she said.

  SkD pointed straight ahead. Its screen provided a response.

  Emma stared at the small robot’s screen. I analyzed her features. Confusion/Frustration.

  I explained: “There is a train depot two kilometers from here.”

  “The closer we get to it,” Ceeron continued, “the higher the likelihood that you will be spotted by another robot.”

  “You should remain hidden until we locate your train,” I said.

  “What train?” Emma asked.

  “We analyzed your route,” I explained, “and saw that an automated freight train makes a stop very close to your destination.”

  SkD elaborated.

  Translation: The train will get you there by three o’clock.

  Excitement splashed across Emma’s features. “That’s great! I didn’t know we were so close.”

  I replayed what she had just said. One word stood out. We.

  “We are not coming with you on the train,” I clarified.

  The smile faded from Emma’s face. “You’re not?”

  Ceeron shook its large metal head. “We must return to the solar farm. To our jobs.”

  Symbols appeared on SkD’s screen.

  I
did not understand. “Are you saying they will be serving cake on the train?”

  Ceeron shook its head. “SkD is saying that once Emma boards the train, the rest of her journey will be a piece of cake.”

  SkD nodded.

  This did nothing to cheer Emma up. The human chewed her lip. She did not say anything.

  So I spoke. “We have run all the probabilities. This is the best course of action. For all of us.”

  “Okay.” Her brown/green eyes searched the ground. “I get it.”

  Emma’s words signaled approval. But the rest of her did not. I performed an analysis.

  Her tone: hushed.

  Her facial expression: downcast.

  Her shoulders: sagging.

  “What is wrong?” I asked.

  Her sagging shoulders lifted. Just barely. “It’s fine. Really.”

  Her words said one thing. Everything else about her said something else.

  This must have been another human flaw.

  I considered thousands of possible reasons why she might be upset. I picked the most likely. “Are you afraid of trains?”

  A laugh escaped Emma’s throat. But not a happy laugh. It was the kind of laugh that is like a blanket, that covers other emotions.

  “How would I know if I’m afraid of trains?” she muttered. “I’ve never seen one before.”

  I exchanged a look with my coworkers. Ceeron shrugged.

  I turned my attention back to Emma. “But something is bothering you?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Well, duh.”

  I searched my vocabulary database for the word duh.

  Zero results.

  “You know something, XR?” Emma’s gaze rose to meet mine. “For a super-advanced machine, you can be pretty dumb sometimes.”

  I did not know how to respond to this, so I said nothing.

  Emma let out a sigh. When she spoke again, her voice was no longer angry.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just . . .” Her hands rose, then fell. “For days I’ve been saying goodbye to everyone I’ve ever known. My parents. My friends. I didn’t think I’d be saying goodbye again. Not so soon.”

  I looked to SkD, hoping an image might flash across its screen. A symbol. A picture with a deeper meaning. Something that would cut through the fog of words like a light, bringing comfort to Emma and making this permanent goodbye easier.

  But SkD’s screen remained dark.

  There was nothing any of us could say to Emma, nothing we could show her. Once she departed on her train, she would continue in the direction of her purpose.

  And we would return to ours.

  Ceeron hunched close to the ground.

  Without another word, Emma climbed inside its backpack.

  00101111

  Before I saw any other robots, I heard them. The buzz of flight-enabled drones. The distant rumble of self-guided trucks. The heavy groan of automated freight trains.

  I adjusted my balance settings as we climbed a gently sloping hill. At the top, I gained a view of bustling robotic activity below.

  Cranes cluttered the sky. Their long arms shifted up/down/left/right. Their hands clamped open/closed.

  Hundreds of trucks waited patiently beneath the skyline of cranes for their cargo to be plucked into the air and carefully deposited onto trains.

  Robots of all different shapes/sizes sorted inventory and repaired equipment.

  I stood for a moment, watching the swirl of technology below. The constant flow of objects from place to place. Thousands of networked minds, all working as one. Each robot serving its unique purpose in our ever-expanding civilization.

  Except us.

  My coworkers and I did not fit. We were not designed for this place. We were not supposed to be here.

  This was not our purpose.

  And yet—here we were. Nowhere near our WorkSite, farther away from home than any of us had ever been, with a smuggled human inside Ceeron’s backpack.

  As we crossed the TrainDepot, none of us said a word. SkD did not perform any zigzags or tricks. We gazed straight ahead, moving past fleets of other machines, doing our best to blend in. Just three robots moving through a crowd of robots. Nothing to see here.

  A truck lurched past.

  The long arm of a crane swept over our heads.

  Trains hissed and chugged.

  We made our way through a maze of metal containers. Every so often, one would lift suddenly into the air, carried upward in a crane’s tight grip.

  I followed the GPS inside my head. My personal guidance system was disconnected from the Hive. Only I could access the directions.

  Left

  Right

  Right

  Left

  Turning the next corner, I nearly collided with another robot. A gray box on wheels. That is what it looked like. In the center of its rectangular body was a single/round/black eye. In its arms was a crate of batteries.

  I scanned its barcode.

  RetrievalBot.

  The boxy robot jolted to a halt. Inside its crate, dozens of batteries jostled.

  Neither of us moved.

  Or spoke.

  What if it asked what we were doing here? I searched 800,017 possible responses. None were convincing.

  The RetrievalBot’s eye shifted from me to SkD to Ceeron. As I stared into its flat metal face, warning lights erupted across my mind.

  WARNING/WARNING/WARNI—

  The RetrievalBot moved again. It rolled past us and disappeared around a shipping container. As the sound of its motor faded, my operating system returned to normal.

  I traded a glance with my coworkers.

  Ceeron let out a nervous groan. “That was close.”

  “Come along.” I was already walking. “Emma has a train to catch.”

  00110000

  All the trains looked exactly alike. Their long, sleek bodies were stretched out across the tracks like enormous mechanical snakes. Their snub noses gleamed white in the sunlight of early afternoon.

  This was not the final destination for any of them. The depot was an in-between place. A place to load/unload cargo. A place between Point[A] and Point[B].

  But which one would take Emma to her Point[B]?

  I shuffled from one train to the next, scanning barcodes until I located the correct one.

  I pointed. “This is it.”

  Ceeron’s head rotated 180 degrees until it was peering down its own backpack. “It is okay for you to come out now.”

  The big robot crouched close to the ground. A moment later, Emma hopped out.

  She glanced around. When her gaze moved in my direction, her eyes suddenly dropped. Her mouth tightened into a straight line.

  “Guess we should make this quick, huh?” She spoke in a quiet mumble. “Don’t want any other robots to spot us.”

  “Will you be okay on the train?” Ceeron asked.

  Emma nodded.

  “I hope you find what you are looking for,” I said. “And that it proves worthwhile.”

  “Thanks.” Emma glanced up at me. “For everything.”

  Ceeron slid open the door to the nearest container. Crates of cargo were neatly stacked inside. The large bot carefully picked Emma off the ground and deposited her inside the metal container.

  That is when things went very/very wrong.

  00110001

  CLANG!

  The container door slammed shut. On its own. With Emma inside.

  Surprise thrummed through my circuitry. Flashing red lights exploded behind my visual ports.

  DANGER/DANGER/DANGER/DANGER/DANGER

  DANGER/DANGER/DANGER/DANGER/DANGER

  DANGER/DANGER/DANGER/DANGER/DANGER

  DANGER/DANGER/DANGER/DANGER/DANGER

  DANGER/DANGER/DANGER/DANGER/DANGER

  I grabbed the door and pulled as hard as I could.

  Nothing.

  The door would not budge.

  “Let me try.” Ceeron reached past me with its huge metal arm. It took hold of the d
oor. And—

  Still nothing.

  Ceeron tried with both hands. An electronic groan escaped its speaker port. Its white eyes dimmed. The effort to open the door was draining its system, but still—it was not enough.

  The door would not open.

  Emma was trapped inside.

  SkD rolled around in a tight circle, bright question marks filling its screen.

  My response came in a verbal loop. “I do not know. I do not know. I do not—”

  My voice stuttered to a halt. An update blinked across the Hive.

  Cargo Infiltration by Unknown LifeForm.

  Container Lockdown in Effect.

  Each container must have its own security system. Sensors and auto_locks to protect its cargo against animals.

  I should have known this would happen. Should have predicted it. How could I have been so unprepared?

  An instant later, the answer took shape:

  Because I had never done any of this before. Neither had my coworkers. We had spent our entire lives following the exact same routine. Home/Work/Sleep/Repeat. Every day looked like the one that came before/after. We had never stepped outside the boundaries of our programming, our purpose, our jobs.

  Until yesterday.

  Until Emma.

  Now all the algorithms that controlled our actions were unraveling. And we were left with unpredictable situations.

  Situations like this.

  We were on one side of the thick metal door.

  And Emma was on the other.

  As I processed this, another update was added to the Hive.

  Removal Underway.

  A shadow sliced in our direction. I looked up just in time to see a crane’s arm swooping overhead. A single clawed hand dangled at the end of the arm.

  The crane was coming for Emma.

  00110010

  I peered up at the huge claw in the sky. Two massive/metal fingers forming an upside-down U. As it swept in our direction, I calculated distance/height/velocity/trajectory.

  Thirty-two seconds.

  That was how long we had until the claw grabbed hold of Emma’s container. Until any hope of saving her was lost.

  I spoke to my coworkers. “What should we do?”