Onliest

by J Daniel Batt

  Syn’s fingers ran across a metal grate along the base of the floor. A vent! It wasn’t large. It was quite small. Her fingers traced out the border. It wasn’t that small, though. And Syn was thin.

  The bookcase crashed to the ground, and Arquella spoke, “Where are you?” Other muffled voices followed after. Other bots.

  Syn pressed her fingers into the edges of the grate. I have to get this off! Syn tasted salt and realized she was crying. The grate wasn’t budging. It was flat against the wall. She pulled, and her fingers snapped back as one of her nails ripped. “Blast!”

  Arquella said, “What are you doing? Why are so scared?”

  Syn chastised herself for speaking. She pulled on the grate again, trying from another angle. It budged, only slightly, but it did move.

  “The closet.” The deduction was followed by a sharp smash as something slammed against the closet door. Syn jumped, panic coursing through her.

  Frightened, Syn pulled once more, her fear blocking out all other thoughts, all other emotions. The grate gave, and she jerked back, smacking against the wall as her own leverage worked against her. Blip, I need you!

  Syn slid into the hole and the ductwork with a surprising bit of room on both sides. A burly wouldn’t make it. Arquella definitely wouldn’t. But Syn was made for this.

  The door smashed open, slamming forward and blocking Arquella’s view of Syn’s bare feet sliding into the small hole in the wall.

  “Where are you? Where are you?” The desperate, confused words of the bot echoed. “Please. Don’t leave. Don’t run! We won’t hurt you! We promise.” Other bots, their voices jumbled, echoed the girl’s.

  As Syn crawled, she heard another voice from far behind—a deep rumble that she had already connected with trust. “Blip will be fine. He’s okay now. You don’t have to run.” It came from the Barlgharel.

  Syn froze in the passage, her hands against the cold metal.

  Behind her, the Barlgharel spoke again, “Don’t be scared. Please. We won’t keep you here. You can go for your friend. You don’t have to run. Just rest. We can help you.”

  Syn breathed out a deep sigh. She spoke back, “I have to get to him.”

  He replied, “I know. He’s okay.”

  “How do you know Blip is safe?”

  The Barlgharel rumbled, “I didn’t say he was safe. I said he’s okay. My friend told me, and she’s usually right.”

  “A friend?”

  “Blip has been taken by the Crimson Queen,” the Barlgharel said, “We’ll show you where she lives. You’re safe amongst us.”

  “Who? Why would she take him?” Syn stammered.

  “Come out and we’ll talk.”

  Syn slammed her fist on the ground. Should she go back? Why had she panicked? Was she that scared of being locked up? Had she lived so long on her own that others scared her? She had wanted to be around others—to know other voices besides Blip’s and her own. She hadn’t expected them to be bots, but still… When she had her opportunity, she freaked out. She ran.

  Syn whispered, “You promise?” And inside, something older chattered, It’s not safe. It’s not safe.

  It was Arquella who answered, “Yes. I said that.”

  Syn shouted back, “I want the Barlgharel to promise.”

  His deep voice spoke, “I promise.”

  21

  The Blessing of the Journey

  "In attempting to construct such machines, . . .

  we are, in either case, instruments of His will providing mansions for the souls that He creates."

  —Alan Turing

  The Barlgharel’s luminescent green and daunting worm-like form stood peering from the hallway through the splintered door. He motioned for Syn to follow, and although apprehensive of the fanatic and excited Arquella floating behind him, Syn accepted his invitation. Syn inched out to stand before him.

  The Barlgharel escorted her down the stairs—although each stair creaked and moaned under his tremendous weight— and out of the house. Syn kept her hand on her spear, the point of the blade tipped forward, if ever-so-slightly. From time to time, her own shaking hand would telegraph through the spear, and the point would wobble until she would catch the movement out of the corner of her eye, then steady herself, willing her shaking to stop. If only Blip were here. He’d just start counting, and… But that was no use. Blip wasn’t here, and she was.

  Angry at the moment, angry at Blip’s stupid choice to be captured, angry at herself for insisting on going through the gate, she didn’t speak. That didn’t stop the Ecology. Around her, they all whispered. Eye-bots, cleaning bots, medics. The entire array of bots flowed out from the various buildings to stand around them.

  The pathway opened up from just the standard walkway in the residential areas. Planter boxes and cement seating areas littered the ever-expanding spaces. Common areas that had once been filled with running children and couples having lunch under the sunstrips were now littered with the muddied bobbing shells of the growing throng of bots. The staggered creaking and mechanical grinding of the assorted bots’ legs as they moved created its own white noise.

  As the bots flooded in, as the crowds grew larger, the scenery changed. Scattered in the darkness, new bright panels overlaid the soot-covered walls of the world that had come before. It was a gradual transition. No precise border existed. Instead, each meter or so, something else was added until not long after, the new world enveloped them. Scrubbed white panels, as bright as chalk and sunlight, covered every surface. Across the bleached flats, paint flowed—an array of geometric designs overlaying strange interpretations of trees and animals. A starscape across the ceiling and floor, lit with neon colors, erupted. Some paint fell flat and others glowed as if luminescent—perhaps it was, shining its own light upon Syn. She smiled briefly, awash in the spectacle, her own dark skin reflecting the orange and blue array around them.

  “Where are we?” Syn allowed the words to escape.

  The Barlgharel’s deep voice replied, “The Cradle. We have crafted this into a home.”

  She lit up the world wherever she walked, but none of the light she brought to this dark world could illuminate it more than what the bots had crafted here. Her own light paled.

  Under the multi-spectral lights, bot after bot, some tall and some short, clambered to see the new visitor. Several of the bots that were the size of large animals supported on thin legs ambled by, their hides painted an odd blue—she had seen nothing like them on her Disc. Syn jerkily stepped between their legs. Around the other bots, several that were shattered and showing signs of disrepair came into view. Most of these had damaged shells ranging from small cracks to entire plates missing. One bot, a thin beast with a clear glass shell that had been used to transport plants from one garden to another, wobbled into the pathway. Its left-hand side had been completely removed—wires dangled back and forth. Syn was unsure how he managed to stay mobile. Is that one alive like Arquella? What’s he feeling right now? Maybe I could... The sight of him and the rush of compassion caused her to falter in her steps.

  Before her, layered in the bright lights of this new world the bots had made, the Barlgharel spoke, “Why are you so scared of us?”

  Syn struggled to answer. She wanted to shout, “I’m not!” But in fact, she was scared. These bots were so different than her own. If they were alive, she couldn’t predict what they’d do. They were—she searched for the word—wild.

  She didn’t answer. The thought echoed once more: wild. These things were more alive than anything she had ever encountered. She, Blip, and Eku were all that made up her world. Here was something raw, untainted, and untamed. So she spoke that. “Wild.”

  The Barlgharel gave a simple “Hmmm,” and continued moving ahead.

  They moved through the bright corridors of what she assumed were the upper settlements. Syn felt the lightness in her steps from the lesser gravity. It was a small difference, but it reminded her that they were several levels up on the Rise.
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  The bots that had streamed out to meet them now followed behind several meters back. There were other bots along the corridor’s edges, although now the crimson light seemed far less than before. In the neon world, several bots were huddled against each other on the ground. Their shells were far more battered than most of the other bots. In the center of this new group was an eye-bot. Rather than zipping through the air like most eye-bots, this black-painted one was simply rolling across the ground as Syn passed. She turned her head to watch him as she walked past.

  After a moment, Syn said, “She scared me.”

  The Barlgharel said, “Arquella?”

  Syn nodded.

  They turned a corner and made their way up a ramp to another level. After a moment, the Barlgharel said, “She comes on a bit strong. She just wants a friend.”

  Syn nodded again. She understood that.

  “But it's not easy to know how to make a friend. Especially if you’ve never had practice,” the Barlgharel said. “Don’t feel shame. You are new to this world.”

  “It’s so…” She searched for the word. Bright. Odd. Weird. New. Around her, odd geometric designs were crafted in neon colors. The art of robots. Their dreams in a cacophony of color and explosion. Syn settled for, “Wonderful.”

  “You have something new here if you want it.”

  Syn glanced up to him. She squinted, uncertain as to what he meant.

  “Friends. You have only had one friend your entire life. So, it’s okay to be scared of the very thing you need most.”

  Syn stopped walking. “How did you know that?”

  The Barlgharel chuckled but did not stop himself. “I had a conversation with a friend. She filled me in on some details.”

  “Who?” Syn found herself several steps behind and jogging to catch back up. The mass of bots following them was still off-putting to her. She had never seen so many in one place before. She had never seen bots not doing their jobs. They crowded along the stairs, between railings. Some buzzed about. The larger ones pushed through. It was a mass of activity. And with each step, the world lit up brighter, and she saw even more as the strips along the walkway illuminated them.

  So many bots. All focused on her.

  The Barlgharel chuckled, “I suspect you’ll meet her someday.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You are tired. You are injured. You need food. You need replenishment for both body and soul. All living things need energy.”

  Before them, a pair of familiar doors loomed under a violet series of lights. Syn cocked her head, trying to place them. The doors looked so familiar, but this whole place was different.

  “I heard you healed Arquella,” the Barlgharel explained. “The word of your miracle has spread. They are so anxious to meet you, to see the magic that I sensed inside you when we first encountered each other. You have a great power and a great purpose.”

  Syn shrunk back from the Barlgharel’s words. She fixed bots. For her, it was as easy as tying her shoes. Nothing miraculous about it.

  She was about to protest when her uncertain familiarity with their location coalesced. The doors opened to the Theater! The Barlgharel was taking her to the Theater! The very place that she and Blip and Eku spent their evenings, where she had watched thousands of movies. Her favorite place to just lose herself. The Theater—this Disc’s Theater.

  “We are going to introduce you to the Ecology.”

  “But I’ve met the Ecology.”

  “Not all of them.” With that, the Barlgharel pushed through the open doors and entered the massive film theater from the side entrance. Syn followed. The room, like the outside, was lit in a dazzling array of multi-colored lights but strobed and moved with life. A wave of magenta poured over the crowd followed by a gleaming purple chased by a vibrant orange. A thousand points of light from a thousand sources across the room.

  Rising up before them were the rows of the Theater. Behind them was the screen itself. Something was playing on the screen, but Syn couldn’t understand it—the mass of bots were looking straight up and they distracted her. Their surfaces reflected the dazzling array of light moving in and out like a sea of kaleidoscopes. She thought at the counsel she had observed a lot of bots, but that had been a small setting. Gathered across the theater were hundreds upon hundreds of bots.

  She saw small eye-bots with their crimson or blue or black shells darting around the room, the disc-shaped cleaning bots, lumbering forest bots (although these were only small versions of the giant tree movers that always frightened her), water workers floating like jellyfish, smaller versions of the air cleaners with their iridescent limbs flowing around, farm worker, crop maintenance, square, blue-hued medics, repair. There were cubes and triangles and spheres, and long tubes, and every shape imaginable. It was a room of talking and moving plastic and metal.

  How do they fit in here? Then Syn realized what this Theater was missing. Chairs. All of the chairs had been removed. Syn nodded. Makes sense.

  The room was abuzz with chirps and voices and random lights. “Oh,” Syn said. This is a party, she thought. She had never been to a party! She had seen them in movies, but she had never been to one. Her smile grew wide as she drew in.

  She gripped her spear tight, yet found herself taking a few steps forward, away from the Barlgharel, to place herself closer to the roar of the crowd.

  Someone laughed, and Syn turned to see several bots shaking in laughter. One of them had told a joke, and she heard the punchline being repeated, “That’s not my handle!”

  Syn spun to look back at the screen. A cartoon was playing—bright colors and thick outlines. She had never seen this one. On the screen, three people chatted and talked inside a green spaceship: a silver robot, a boy in a red jacket, and a one-eyed girl with purple hair. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but there were several bots in the crowd intently watching. The scene on the screen changed, and the green spaceship soared through the stars, aimed at a planet with a billboard floating in orbit: “Chapek 9.” Syn smiled at the image. She had never spent much time on cartoons. She had always wanted to see the films with real faces—other humans.

  From behind, the Barlgharel smiled, “Do you like it?”

  Syn spun. This is beyond a dream. A party. Other voices—other people talking and laughing and moving about and having fun. Who cares if it is a collection of bots? She had never dreamed she’d be a part of something like this, something so completely chaotic and uncontrollable. Syn nodded. “Yes!”

  She moved in and out of the crowd for what seemed like hours, enjoying the rush of energy. She stopped and listened to the various bots, yet she always hesitated when she thought of adding her own voice to the mix. What would they think of her? What if she said something wrong? What if they didn’t like her? She shook her head on that one. Why am I so concerned about bots liking me?

  As she moved through the crowd, she circled around one group and ran into the familiar chrome sphere of Arquella. The bot spoke up immediately, “Don’t run!”

  Syn gripped her spear out of reflex but then willed herself to relax. She frowned back at Arquella but then said, “I won’t.”

  “I told you we wouldn’t hurt you.”

  Syn said, “I needed to get my friend.”

  “I said we could help you.”

  Syn shook her head. “How?”

  Arquella motioned at the Barlgharel. “He’ll help.”

  Before Syn could answer, the music stopped suddenly, and the booming voice of the Barlgharel spoke, “It’s story time!”

  As if a machine had turned on, the bots all turned and lined up along the rows of the Theater, aimed and attentive toward the Barlgharel. When Syn turned around, Arquella had left, moving to her assigned space, several rows up behind them.

  The Barlgharel spoke again, “Tonight, we welcome to the Ecology, and to our joy, a new friend.”

  A light twirled in the space and landed on her—she was illuminated by the singular shaft of
light in the room. The Barlgharel continued, “Welcome to our friend, Syn of the Sun Above.”

  The room erupted in cheers. The disc-shaped bots bounced from side to side, rattling in a clapping motion on the ground. Others shouted and hooted and chirped. The whole mass cheered. Interspersed, she heard a word repeated, although from only a few, “Expected.” And less often, in hushed, somber tones, the word “Mother” was spoken somewhere in the great crowd.

  The applause died down, and Syn stood there, unsure of what to do. The Barlgharel shouted, “Syn, join me here. We wish to bless you tonight before you continue your great journey tomorrow. We are but just a stop on the way. We hope to be a replenishment.”

  Syn walked down the stairs, aware that all the attention of the room was on her. She had never felt so small before. She stood next to the Barlgharel and then looked out at the crowd. So many bots. She heard herself whisper, “So many.”

  “Syn, soon you will leave us to find your friend.”

  Syn looked up at the friendly face of the Barlgharel and nodded.

  “And where is your friend?”

  Syn looked back at him, unsure of how to respond. “I don’t—”

  “You said he was taken?”

  Syn nodded. A murmur from the bots filled the air.

  “Our spies have scoured for the truth. And the truth is that the Crimson Queen took him. Her servants, the Wey Wards, stole him and brought him to her. To Zondon Almighty,” the Barlgharel interjected.

  As he did, a tremor of fear rushed through the crowd. The entire room filled with nervous chirps, and she heard scattered gasps of “No!” about the room.

  The Barlgharel bellowed, “It is okay. She must go. It is her fate.”

  Then from the crowd, someone said, “Expected.” The word was picked up by another, and then another, until across the collection of bots there was a steady, growing chant of “Expected. Expected. Expected.”