by Lee Bacon
01000111
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound came from above. Drops of water against the solar panels. Rain.
We were protected under the panels. But not entirely. The pitter/patter tempo of raindrops increased. Water gathered on top and trickled over the sides, falling in straight lines.
Down/Down/Down.
Tiny waterfalls everywhere.
“It’s beautiful.” Emma’s voice mingled with the steady tapping of rain. She had woken up again. Half-buried in her sleeping bag, she lifted herself onto one elbow. “I’ve never seen rain before.”
Of course. She had spent her entire life underground. Inside the bunker, rain was never on the weather forecast.
Emma continued. “I mean, I knew about rain. Obviously. But only from books. Or from grown-ups talking about it.” She stared at the curtains of rain. “It’s kind of amazing.”
“And dangerous,” I added.
She glanced at me. “Huh?”
“Robots and water do not go well together. It is one of our only flaws. Moisture causes our metal to rust. If it invades our circuitry, it can end our lives.”
“Oh.”
Emma regarded the pools that were forming at the bottom of the tiny waterfalls. Spreading in all directions. Creeping closer/closer/closer to SkD and Ceeron. Their unmoving bodies were next to other charging stations, plugged in, frozen in sleep mode.
“We should probably wake them up, huh?” she said.
“That would be wise.”
Emma climbed out of her sleeping bag and scrambled toward SkD. Pulling its plug caused the small robot to shudder to life. As soon as its screen flickered on, symbols appeared.
It took me 0.3 seconds to recognize the meaning of these images. SkD was referencing an old human expression.
It is raining cats and dogs.
I unplugged myself. Getting to my feet, I did the same for Ceeron. As soon as the power cable was removed from its back, the light returned to its eyes.
Ceeron looked at me. And spoke its first words in many hours. “What are you wearing?”
A memory blinked in my programming. Last night. Bermuda Bob’s.
I found the nearest unbroken window. My reflection appeared in the glass. I looked familiar/unfamiliar at the same time. I was still wearing the clothing from last night. The wide-brimmed hat and flower-print shirt.
A word blinked in my vocabulary drive. Silly. That summed up how I looked.
It is a good thing robots are not programmed to feel embarrassment.
01001000
We went inside the mall to escape the rain.
Eventually, the storm moved on. So did we.
The world outside glistened with fresh rain. The sun reflected in every puddle. Water clung to the trees, to the ruined buildings, to the streets. It increased the intensity of every color. The greens were greener. The browns were browner.
Inside Ceeron’s backpack were the things that Emma had gathered in the mall. Extra clothing, blankets, supplies.
We followed the path of an old human road. We kept to the pavement, avoiding the treacherous/wet/muddy ground.
The mountains rose all around us. I gazed up at them. I had looked at this mountain range every day of my life. Not once had I thought of walking through it.
Five minutes later, a message arrived from my FamilyUnit.
XR_935:
Where are you?
You did not return home last night. Or this morning.
The Hive is concerned. So are we.
Please send a message indicating your whereabouts immediately.
I stopped walking. I reread the message 2,857 times. Their worried words echoed through my operating system.
But how should I respond?
I have said already: Robots are terrible at secrets. Ever since setting out on this journey, the number of secrets in my life had multiplied. I could not tell my FamilyUnit where I was. Or who I was with. Or what we were doing.
I reread the message another thousand times.
I did not wish to lie.
I could not tell the truth.
So I composed a message that skimmed the narrow space between the two.
Parent_1, Parent_2:
I am okay.
I hope to return home soon. To see you again.
Please do not be concerned.
I am doing what I must do.
It is as simple/complicated as that.
01001001
I increased my velocity to catch up with the others. I thought about the tattered map in Emma’s backpack. The red dot. Our destination.
What would we find when we got there?
I stacked possibilities and probabilities in my head. I ranked them, rearranged them. But I was still no closer to finding an answer.
We continued our forward progress.
Sixteen kilometers to go.
Fifteen.
Fourteen.
We journeyed deeper into the mountains. Along a winding road, weaving between abandoned cars. When we reached a collapsed tunnel, we detoured up a hill and slowly climbed the steep/rocky terrain.
Eventually, we discovered an old human hiking trail. Over the years, nature and weather had worn away most of the trail. But not all of it. We could still find traces of the path.
Over streams and under fallen trees.
Through clusters of branches and around boulders.
Emma walked alongside us. When the sun was shining down, she used the umbrella from the mall to keep from getting a sunburn. When she grew tired, she climbed inside Ceeron’s backpack.
We traveled for a while in silence.
Then Ceeron spoke. Our conversation went like this:
Ceeron: Knock knock.
Me: Pardon?
Ceeron: Knock knock.
Me: Why do you keep saying that?
Ceeron: It is the beginning of a human joke. You must reply, “Who is there?”
Me: But I already know it is you.
Ceeron: You must say it anyway.
Me: Why?
Ceeron: That is part of the joke’s formula.
Me: Very well. Who is there?
Ceeron: Wooden shoe.
Me: But you are not a wooden shoe.
Ceeron: I am aware of that.
Me: Then why are you claiming to be a wooden shoe?
Ceeron: Because that is another part of the joke’s formula.
Me: Oh.
Ceeron: Now you are supposed to reply, “Wooden shoe who?”
Me: Okay. Should I say it now?
Ceeron: Wait. Let us repeat the process from the beginning. Knock knock.
Me: Who is there?
Ceeron: Wooden shoe.
Me: Wooden shoe who?
Ceeron: Wooden shoe like to know!
Silence.
Me: What happens now?
Ceeron: Nothing. That is the joke.
Me: What is the joke?
Ceeron: Wooden shoe like to know.
More silence.
Me: I thought jokes were supposed to be funny.
Ceeron: It is funny.
Me: How? The grammar is incorrect. It is about a wooden shoe with a mind. Which is a thing that has never existed. Also, humans did not make shoes out of wood.
Ceeron: What about clogs?
Me: Okay, fine! Shoes were not made out of wood except for clogs.
Ceeron: Thank you for acknowledging that.
Me: But the joke is still confusing.
Ceeron: I believe that is the point.
Me: What is?
Ceeron: All of it. The incorrect grammar. The shoe with a mind. The fact that it is made out of wood.
Me: Oh.
Ceeron: Do you get it now?
Me: No.
At this point, SkD made a comment. Images appeared on its screen.
Ceeron: Exactly. The joke is humorous because it made humans think.
Me: It made them think about what?
Ceeron: About the strangenes
s of the world. About the strangeness of their own consciousness in an exceedingly complex and infinite universe.
Emma popped her head out of Ceeron’s backpack.
Emma: You guys should seriously think about starting a comedy group.
01001010
Ceeron pushed through a wall of branches. I stared at the view on the other side.
A highway.
Six lanes, stretching as far as I could see. Vehicles everywhere. All stuck in the exact same spot they had inhabited for decades. A thirty-year-old traffic jam.
We wove a path between abandoned cars/trucks/vans until we reached a section where every lane was buried beneath a landslide. Rocks/Mud/Plants. They had tumbled down from the steep cliffs above, crushing anything/everything in their path.
There was no way through the disaster zone. We had to go around.
I carefully stepped off the pavement. My feet squished into muddy earth. I adjusted my movement settings and continued.
Squelch! Squelch! Sq—
My muddy footsteps came to a sudden halt when I heard a new sound. Something was moving through the brush. Quickly. Crashing through leaves/branches/bushes.
The others stopped, too. The four of us remained perfectly still. Listening. I analyzed the sounds. I reached a conclusion.
Something else was out there.
Something alive.
And it was headed our way.
The unknown LifeForm seemed to be running in our direction, heedless, without any concern for the natural obstacles in its path.
I brought my body into a defensive posture. Knees: Slightly bent. Arms: In front of my chest. Hands: Curled into fists.
The sounds grew louder.
The unknown LifeForm got closer.
And closer.
And closer.
A curtain of leaves burst open and the unknown creature made itself known.
I updated my input drives: It was a deer.
The deer froze. Clearly, it was not expecting to come across three robots and a human girl.
The deer’s white tail flicked. It was smaller than average. Young. Its antlers just beginning to form. They were covered in a tiny layer of pale fuzz.
The deer stared at us with big black eyes. Unblinking. As if we were an equation it could not work out.
Behind me, Emma released her held breath. “Whoa.”
Her small feet squished softly through the mud. She appeared at my side.
“Is it a deer?” she asked quietly.
“Yes,” I replied at a low volume.
“It’s so beautiful.”
“It is an impressive creature.”
“Do you think it’ll let me pet it?”
“The probability is low.”
She tried anyway.
Emma took small cautious steps. She raised one arm. Slowly/Slowly/Slowly. The deer did not startle. It remained where it was standing. Its head shifted –7 degrees. Its big black eyes never left Emma.
I expected the deer to flee. But the animal seemed just as curious about Emma as she was about it. It had never seen a human before. In the deer’s eyes, Emma was a brand-new species. Until a moment ago, it had been totally unaware that humans still existed on this planet.
I could relate.
When she was close enough, Emma stretched out her arm and gently stroked the deer’s neck. Her fingers grazed its fur.
This was something I had not expected. According to my calculations, the chances of this happening were extremely unlikely. Emma had surprised me.
It was not the first time.
It would not be the last.
After another moment passed, the animal took a step back. So did the human. They held eye contact for another 1.4 seconds. Then the deer turned. And with impressive speed/grace/strength, it bolted into the woods.
We listened as the sounds of its movements faded away.
Emma turned. I tried to analyze the emotions in her face, but there were too many.
01001011
We were still trudging along the edge of the highway when an update flashed across the Hive. A video projected across the inside of my mind in perfect resolution. A LiveStream showing a tall/slender robot with brushed platinum skin and glowing golden eyes. I recognized it immediately.
PRES1DENT.
Another Daily Address. At first, that is what I assumed we were seeing. But as soon as PRES1DENT began speaking, I realized how wrong I was. There was a completely different purpose behind this message.
And it was about to make our lives much more difficult.
“This is a warning to each and everyone.” PRES1DENT’s voice was a clear/steady electronic purr. “Insurgent robots have abandoned their duties, their FamilyUnits, and their purpose. They infiltrated a TrainDepot and damaged a shipping container.”
My balance settings lurched, knocked off course by a realization.
PRES1DENT was speaking about us.
“These insurgents have broken protocol to give aid to an unidentified LifeForm,” it said.
Emma. The Hive knew about her. But they did not know everything. They did not know that she was a human.
Not yet, anyway.
These thoughts evaporated under the heat of PRES1DENT’s words.
“They were last spotted by a security camera at TrainDepot_ 53017. Their names are the following.”
The video feed switched. The view of PRES1DENT vanished. And in its place was a text display:
XR_935
SkD_988
Ceeron_902
The Hive President reappeared in the video feed, speaking in the same clear electronic tone.
“A computer virus may be affecting their operating systems. They are considered unpredictable, irrational, and highly dangerous. A search is underway for these three robots. If you come into contact with them, inform the Hive immediately.”
The video feed flickered to a halt.
The update ended. But it kept playing in my memory drive. Its terrible truth spread through every wire and circuit.
We were fugitives.
01001100
I was replaying PRES1DENT’s message for the 4,602nd time when a sound caught my attention. The hum of a drone in the distance. It was headed in our direction.
A search is underway. Those were PRES1DENT’s words. Which explained what a flight_enabled drone was doing so far outside robot civilization.
It was looking for three dangerous insurgent robots and one unidentified LifeForm.
It was looking for us.
I turned to the others. “We need to hide.”
My words stirred our group into action. Ceeron’s head swiveled, searching for a hiding spot. SkD buzzed back/forth/back/forth, letting out a nervous electronic whine.
“What’s going on?” Emma asked.
Her vocal patterns signaled fear and confusion. This was not surprising. She did not know about our fugitive status.
“You need to get inside Ceeron’s backpack,” I said. “Now.”
“What? Why?”
“I will explain later. For now, just do as I ask.”
I could see more questions behind the human’s features, but she kept them to herself. Ceeron kneeled close to the ground, and Emma dove into its backpack.
“Over there.” I pointed to a delivery van. The side was decorated with a faded logo for CRUNCHEE’S CORN CHIPS. “We can take cover inside that van.”
Ceeron grabbed the rusted handle of the back door and yanked it open. An avalanche of small plastic packages spilled out. Snack-sized corn chips, more than two decades past their expiration date. We shoveled them away, clearing a path into the back of the van. While we worked, I listened to the hum of the drone grow louder/closer.
SkD chirped again. I glanced quickly at its screen.
Translation: We are running out of time.
As if I did not know that already.
I jumped into the van, pushing chip packages out of my way. “Come on everyone. Get inside.”
&nbs
p; Ceeron grabbed SkD and tossed it into the back of the van. A second later, Ceeron followed. The vehicle shook wildly with the sudden addition of so much extra weight.
I scooted backward as far as I could go. Which was not very far. Plastic chip packages tumbled over my head/shoulders/arms/legs. I was half-buried. SkD parked next to my feet. Somehow, Ceeron managed to cram itself into the remaining space. Its arms/legs/neck folded in on themselves. The robot looked like a piece of gigantic metal origami.
The buzz of the drone echoed through the van’s interior. It sounded like it was directly overhead.
We waited.
We remained perfectly still.
Eventually, the sound of the drone faded into silence.
Ceeron was the first to speak again. “I think it is gone.”
Emma’s voice came from inside Ceeron’s backpack. “Is it safe to come out now?”
“Not yet,” I replied. “Just wait.”
“For what?”
I did not answer. I was too busy concentrating. I increased the volume on my audio settings as high as it would go. This is what I heard:
Click. Click. Click.
The noises were barely noises at all. They seemed to come from a great distance. I could not be sure what I was hearing. The rustle of ancient human trash? Acorns falling?
Or something else?
Click. Click. Click.
There it was again. Louder now. I ran an audio analysis. An instant later, I received the result. We were hearing a very specific sound.
The sharp impact of metal claws against concrete.
The sound of a HunterBot.
01001101
I had seen HunterBots in action many times over the years. Their sleek metal bodies stalking through the solar farm in search of prohibited LifeForms. Their ultrasensitive audio ports listening for even the slightest sound. Their sharp/silver/deadly teeth glistening.
But I never thought I would be the one they were hunting.
Click. Click. Click.
Claws stabbed the pavement. Each metallic click sent a chill vibrating through my circuitry.
I ran another audio analysis. Three HunterBots.
My memory drive flashed with the words Emma had used to describe them. Red-eyed wolf monsters. I had never thought of HunterBots that way. Until now.