by Lee Bacon
Ceeron let out a low hum of uncertainty. “I do not know.”
More question marks filled SkD’s screen.
Time ticked away. We were down to twenty-eight seconds.
My system was overwhelmed by flashing lights/blaring alarms/warning messages. My internal drives were overheating. Too much was happening at once.
I disabled all the alerts. The distractions vanished. I returned my attention to the sealed container. My focus zoomed closer/closer/closer.
The locked door . . .
. . . slides on a metal track . . .
. . . that is attached by twenty screws.
I knew what to do.
I pointed to the metal track. “This is the weakest point. If I remove these screws, we might be able to loosen the door.”
SkD spun with excitement.
“Great idea!” Ceeron said.
I began at once. The tip of my finger swiveled downward and a screwdriver emerged. I adjusted the settings. Instead of spinning clockwise, the screwdriver spun counterclockwise.
VRRRRP! The screw rotated rapidly—out/out/out—until I had removed it completely. It clattered to the ground.
One down. Nineteen to go.
I removed the next screw. And the one after that. A process I had performed millions of times before. All those converter boxes I had attached to solar panels over the years—this was the same action. Only in reverse. Instead of inserting screws, removing them.
But not quickly enough.
“We are running out of time.” I glanced at the metal claw. It would reach the container in nineteen seconds. I needed twice that amount of time to remove the rest of the screws. “We have to think of something else. Something more.”
SkD chirped. A bright symbol appeared on its screen.
The robot extended its mechanical arms. Flames sparked from its claws. Sharp/Bright/Red. On the solar farm, SkD used heat to solder wires together. But the fire was hot enough to serve another purpose.
To slice through steel.
Ceeron picked up the smaller robot, holding it up to the track. Flames hissed and sparked from SkD’s hands, turning the metal a bright orange/red color, cutting through the track.
I went back to my own task, removing screws. One after another. Time ticked away.
Fourteen seconds.
Thirteen seconds.
Twelve seconds.
The squeal of my screwdriver mixed with the sizzle of SkD’s torches. Our movements flowed together, forming a rhythm of their own. Three robots working toward a single goal.
It was like being back on the solar farm.
And it was also completely different.
Eight.
Seven.
We kept going, each of us performing our own unique/essential job. I started to remove the final screw when a sound echoed through my audio ports.
CLANK!
The noise was unmistakable. A giant claw grasping on to metal walls. Before I could disconnect the final screw, the container jolted into motion.
Up/Up/Up.
And out of my reach.
00110011
I watched the container lurch into the sky, carrying Emma with it. There was nothing I could do.
Ceeron, on the other hand . . .
The massive bot dropped SkD to the ground. An instant later, it leapt into the air.
Surprise buzzed through my circuitry. For such a heavy machine, Ceeron’s jumping skills were impressive. It launched off the ground, extending its long arms, grabbing hold of the container.
The shift in weight caused the huge metal box to swing from side to side. But Ceeron did not let go. It scaled the side of the container until it could grasp the spot where the door met the track. The row of missing screws and scorched steel. The weakest point.
Ceeron’s grip tightened. And then it pulled.
The final screw popped out.
The track burst loose.
Metal groaned.
So did Ceeron.
The door bent downward, little by little, forming an opening in the container.
I surprised myself by letting out a high electronic whoop. SkD spun excited circles around my ankles.
When the gap was wide enough, Emma poked her head out of the mangled doorway. Wind whipped her hair in every direction. She looked down, her eyes wide. I analyzed her facial patterns. Her expression was a strange mixture of relief and fear.
Relief because: She was no longer trapped inside the container.
Fear because: The container was far above the ground. And rising higher every millisecond.
“Emma!” Ceeron called out. “Climb onto me!”
She looked uncertain. “But how will we get down?”
“Do not worry! I will keep you safe.”
Emma’s gaze moved from Ceeron to the ground far below. “But who will keep you safe?”
I could barely hear their voices. They were drifting higher, farther away. The sound of the crane was louder than Ceeron’s voice. My audio ports were only able to detect two words.
“Trust me.”
Emma nodded once. Then she climbed out the opening, sliding onto the surface of bent metal.
Alarms blared through my mind. Every time I muted one, two more sounded.
Ceeron reached up with its free hand, grabbing hold of Emma, carefully pulling her from the container.
The large robot clutched the small human against its chest.
Then it let go of the container.
And the two of them began to fall.
00110100
My visual settings switched to slow-motion. Staring upward, I had plenty of time to watch the disaster unfold.
And no way to stop it.
Ceeron tumbled.
Down/Down/Down.
Emma was clutched between its arm and its chest.
As Ceeron fell, its entire body seemed to fold around Emma, surrounding the human with a protective layer, shielding her.
I knew what was going to happen.
The collision was coming.
00110101
Thunder.
That is what it sounded like when Ceeron hit the ground. Thunder during a heavy storm.
Metal boomed against concrete.
The ground trembled.
The vibration rattled my entire system.
As the thunderous crash faded away, my audio settings filtered out all the other noises. The clanging/chugging/rumbling of a bustling train depot. I listened only to Ceeron.
The robot remained perfectly still where it had collided with the ground. Its knees and arms were folded around Emma. It did not move. Did not speak. Neither did Emma.
The only sound was silence.
00110110
“Ceeron! Emma! Are you okay?”
For 1.2 seconds, there was no reply. Then I heard a soft human voice, muffled by metal.
“I’m all right,” Emma said. I could see part of her face peering out of the gap between Ceeron’s arm and midsection. “Just a little banged up. That’s all.”
SkD squealed as its screen flashed.
“You saved me, Ceeron!” Emma said. “You were amazing! You were—”
Her voice faltered. Her hands tightened over the big robot’s arm.
“Ceeron?”
The question went unanswered.
I could see only a fraction of Emma’s face, but the worry in her expression was obvious. “Ceeron? C’mon, big guy. I know you’re okay. Just say something.”
Ceeron remained silent. Its eyes usually glowed white. Now they were blank/dark/powerless.
My memory drive replayed a moment from earlier in the day. I think you guys are friends, Emma had said. You just don’t know it.
Was she correct? At the time, I was unsure. There is no advanced algorithm that can tell you whether someone is your friend. It is something we must each decide for ourselves.
And I had just decided.
I stared at Ceeron. A lifeless mass of steel and circuitry that I had
known since Day[1]. That I had worked beside for over twelve years. That sacrificed itself to save a smuggled human.
I made up my mind. I chose, without calculating or measuring.
I just . . . knew.
Ceeron was my friend.
I wondered whether I would ever get the chance to tell it so.
Emma’s small fists clanged Ceeron’s arm from inside the shell of its large metal body. She murmured in a quiet/sad/desperate voice. “C’mon, Ceeron. I know you can hear me. Please just wake up, okay? Please.”
Beneath the audio of her voice/fists, I could hear other sounds.
An electric pulse.
A steady computerized buzz.
A deep thrum of voltage surging through millions of circuits.
I updated my drives with the new information.
Ceeron was not dead after all.
It was rebooting.
00110111
Ceeron’s eyes flickered. Their white glow returned. When it spoke, static clung to its deep voice, like a long electronic moan.
“Oooohhh.” Its vocal settings adjusted into words. “I am not peeling well.”
It took 0.6 seconds for my mind to catch up with Ceeron’s statement. My memory drive pinged with recognition. The joke it told yesterday. Why did the banana go to the hospital?
“Perhaps you need a banambulance,” I suggested.
Emma looked very confused. “Um, what?”
“It is”—Ceeron’s vocal settings adjusted again—“an inside joke.”
A relieved smile formed on Emma’s face. “You robots are so weird.”
Kneeling closer to Ceeron, I searched my mental drives for what to say next. Thousands of possibilities blinked through my hardware. It was impossible to choose between them.
I started to bring a hand down on the larger robot’s shoulder. At the last millisecond, I changed my mind.
“I am . . .” My circuitry hummed with uncertainty. “I am pleased to discover that you survived. It would be unfortunate to lose such a . . . valuable coworker.”
A word flashed through my brain. Friend. I discarded it. Ceeron’s system was still recovering. No reason to add extra confusion.
Ceeron’s metal body unfolded. Joints creaked as arms/legs straightened, clearing more space for Emma.
“There you go.” It peered at the human. “Now you can move again.”
But Emma did not go anywhere. Instead, she remained on top of Ceeron’s broad chest, holding tight, as if frightened the two of them might be flung through the air again.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“You are welcome,” Ceeron replied.
The human slid down from Ceeron’s chest. “Can you stand up?”
“We shall find out.”
The large robot slowly managed to climb to its feet, groaning the entire way. When it turned around, my attention landed on its backpack. The part of its body that hit the ground first. A jagged crack zigzagged across the metal surface. A mark that had definitely not been there before the fall.
Emma noticed it, too. She sucked in her breath. “Ouch.”
“What?” Ceeron’s head spun 180 degrees, but it was unable to see the outside of its own backpack. “Is something wrong?”
I hesitated 0.3 seconds. After what it had just been through, I did not want to add another shock to Ceeron’s system. Perhaps it was better to break the news lightly.
“You have a . . .” Huge crack. These words blinked in my vocabulary drive. I revised them. “Slight scratch. On the outside of your backpack.”
Emma examined the damage. “It’s like a scar.”
SkD chirped, displaying a question.
Ceeron shook its head. “No, it does not hurt. It does not feel like anything.”
“I think it’s kinda cool,” Emma said. “Makes you look tough. Maybe you should get a tattoo while you’re at it.”
I still had difficulty understanding when the human was joking. I hoped this was one of those times.
Our conversation came to a stop when SkD’s screen started blinking.
The message was clear. There was still a security alert in the Hive. We were surrounded by hostile machines.
It was time to leave.
But before any of us could make a move, I heard a sound. Wheels rolling over concrete. I ran an audio analysis.
The result: RetrievalBots. Several of them.
Headed straight for us.
00111000
ESCAPE/ESCAPE/ESCAPE
Warnings raced through my wiring. I could hear the RetrievalBots getting closer. We needed to run/flee/hide.
But where?
I searched our surroundings, but my attention was pulled away by a sound. A rumbling hiss. An instant later, I saw what was making the racket. A cargo train was exiting the depot.
Equations took shape. Velocity. Acceleration. Distance.
The result: We had just enough time to cross the track. If we could get to the other side in time, the speeding train would create a wall between us (on one side of the track) and the RetrievalBots (on the other).
But we had to move now.
I pointed. “We have to get across that track.”
Emma crossed first. Then SkD. In the corner of my visual port, I could see the cargo train chugging forward. Picking up speed. Getting closer with every moment.
I stepped onto the track.
But when I tried to keep moving, my foot would not budge. I looked down. Understanding spread through my circuitry.
My ankle was stuck in the track.
I yanked my foot. Jostled it. Rotated it.
Nothing worked.
I was unable to move forward.
Or back.
The oncoming train barreled toward me. I did not need complex calculations. Or sophisticated programming. I did not need algorithms or probabilities or advanced technology to understand what was about to happen.
The train was going to hit me.
00111001
KA-BOOOM!
The impact knocked me off my feet. Into the air. Obliterating my settings. Overwhelming my sensors.
The world was a wild blur.
Noise/Motion/Spinning/Chaos/Flinging/Falling/Crashing.
I hit the ground hard. I could hear the sound of metal scraping concrete as I skidded sideways. And somehow, throughout all this—
I remained alive.
And in one piece.
How was that possible? The train was far too big/powerful/fast. I ran 1,745 hypothetical impact scenarios. I survived in zero of them. And yet—I felt the train slam into me. Felt it knock me into the air.
I lay on the ground for another second, confused. Then, experimentally, I raised my arm. My leg. I wiggled my toes. My fingers. Everything seemed to work just fine.
But . . . how?
The question rattled around like a marble inside my brain.
I lifted my head and looked around. That is when I saw Ceeron. Crouched next to me. And all at once, I understood.
I was not hit by a train.
I was hit by a Ceeron.
The massive robot must have slammed into me. Knocking my foot loose. Sending me flying. Crashing hard against the concrete.
Climbing to my knees, I placed a hand on Ceeron’s shoulder. “You saved me!” I had to speak at maximum volume to make myself heard over the howling train. “Thank you . . .”
Friend
There was that word again. Echoing in my mind. But I could not bring myself to say it out loud.
“It was a close shaving.” I could barely hear Ceeron’s voice above the sound of the train. “I am glad you are okay!”
“So are we!” Emma said.
SkD skidded to a halt beside her, chirping and poking me with its clawed hand as images appeared on its screen.
I nodded. “Yes, I am okay. But we should get moving. We do not want to be here when the train passes.”
Emma climbed into Ceeron’s backpack and we set off again. Moving quickly betw
een tracks and shipping containers, trains and blinking machinery, we watched/listened for any sign of other robots.
When we reached the edge of the depot, we kept moving.
When the rumble of machinery faded away, we kept moving.
When every sign of robotic civilization was replaced by wilderness, we kept moving.
00111010
“This should be far enough.” I gazed back. The TrainDepot was nothing more than a pale dot in the distance. “Emma will be safe here.”
Ceeron crouched low. “Did you hear that, Emma? You can come out now.”
We waited for the human to climb from Ceeron’s backpack.
But she did not come out.
A second went by. And another.
And still no Emma.
Worry buzzed across my wiring. Emma had seemed fine when she entered Ceeron’s backpack. But what if . . . ?
What if she had been hurt in the fall?
Or during our escape?
What if there was something wrong with her and we did not even know it?
“Emma?” Peering inside Ceeron’s backpack, I spotted her, curled up inside the narrow space, her hands clenching her knees. “What is wrong? Are you injured?”
She shook her head.
“We made it out of the TrainDepot,” I said. “We are safe now. You can leave the backpack.”
But she still did not move.
SkD rolled up beside me. Question marks blinked on its screen. All I could do was shrug.
I turned my attention back to Emma. Her arms were still hugging her knees in the darkness of Ceeron’s backpack.
Like she was hiding inside a metal cave.
When she spoke, her voice was quieter than usual. “Did I tell you about my mom’s job back in the bunker?”
I searched my memory drive. An instant later, I shook my head.
“She was a scientist,” Emma said. “She was always experimenting with ways to make life better in the bunker. New sources of food. Better ways to recycle oxygen and water. That kind of thing.”
I had so many questions. To be exact, 42,285. And at the top of that list:
Why?
Why was she telling me this?
But before I could ask, Emma spoke again.
