by Lee Bacon
“In the lab where my mom worked, they had a couple of cages with mice inside. Cute, fuzzy, little mice. When I was little, I loved watching them through the bars of their cage. The way they’d run around. Or nibble on food. Or sleep. Just living their little mousey lives, you know?”
SkD beeped. I glanced at its screen.
I lowered my vocal settings and replied, “I do not know why she is talking about mice.”
Emma continued: “One day, I was in the lab. I must’ve been seven or eight. And I asked my mom, ‘Why do you keep mice in the lab?’ She looked up from her microscope. I could see her thinking for a second. Then she was like, ‘Mice help scientists with their experiments.’ Of course, the first thing I imagined was mice wearing tiny lab coats, fiddling with tiny beakers.” Emma laughed. “Stupid, I know. But I was just a little kid. That’s what popped into my head.”
Her voice echoed faintly against the metal walls.
“Obviously, that’s not what my mom meant. She was just trying to make the truth sound nicer than it really was. They were experimenting on the mice. Dissecting them. Studying them. When I realized this, I started to cry. I hated the idea of innocent mice suffering and dying. All ’cause of my mom.”
“But your mother needed the mice,” I pointed out. “As test subjects.”
“That’s exactly what she said. That the mice were necessary. They could be the key to our survival. But I didn’t care. I looked through the cage at my favorite mouse. Whiskers. That’s what I named him. He had a white spot on his forehead and these cute, chubby cheeks. I decided, right then and there: I was going to rescue Whiskers.”
“Did you?”
Emma nodded. “I snuck into the lab that same night and opened the door to Whiskers’s cage.”
“And?” The glow of my eyes reflected against the metal walls of Ceeron’s backpack. “Did Whiskers get away?”
“Oh, yeah. And My. Mom. Freaked. Which—looking back now—totally makes sense. I mean, rodents and bunkers? Not the best combination.” Emma chuckled. “Mom and I searched everywhere. Eventually, we gave up. We figured Whiskers would turn up again at some point. And sure enough, a few days later, he did. In the last place we ever expected.”
“Where?”
“In his cage,” she said.
I repeated Emma’s words in my memory drive a few dozen times. “I do not comprehend,” I replied. “I thought you said Whiskers escaped.”
“He did. Then he came back.”
“To his cage?”
“Yep.” A strange smile formed on Emma’s face. “Whiskers got a taste of freedom. But in the end, he decided he liked the cage better.”
I stared at Emma.
Her arms wrapped around her knees.
Unmoving.
Curled up in Ceeron’s backpack.
As if inside a narrow, metal cave.
Or cage.
And at last, I understood why she was telling us all of this.
“You feel like the mouse,” I said. “The bunker was your cage. You spent your entire life there—”
“And now that I’m out, I just wanna go back.” The words trembled as they left Emma’s mouth. “I miss my home.”
I searched my programming for something to say. Something that would make Emma feel better.
Zero results.
“Sorry for being all human and emotional.” Emma exhaled a slow breath. “It’s just . . . Life was a lot simpler in the bunker.”
“Perhaps things will be easier when you reach your destination.” I thought about the hand-drawn point on her map. The red dot. “Perhaps there you will feel at home. Eventually.”
“Maybe so.”
With these words, Emma let go of her knees. Leaning forward, she crawled out of Ceeron’s backpack and hopped onto the ground.
The four of us started moving again.
A few minutes later, I turned to Emma. “What happened to Whiskers?”
She squinted up at me. “Hmm?”
“After he returned to his cage,” I said. “What happened to him?”
A smile spread across Emma’s face. “Whiskers lived happily ever after.”
“Really?”
Emma nodded. “After my rescue attempt, Mom took pity on Whiskers. She let me keep him. I had his cage right next to my bed. Made our whole room smell like mouse poop, but I didn’t care.”
“I hope someday you have what Whiskers had.”
“Mouse poop?”
I shook my head. “A happy ending.”
As we traveled, the mountains rose up in front of us. Bigger than I had ever seen them and getting closer with every step.
00111011
My brain is full of numbers. At all times, an ocean of digital figures swirls beneath the surface of my smooth metal skull. Right then, one particular piece of data took hold of my attention:
Battery Remaining
As the day stretched deeper into afternoon, I watched my battery creep lower/lower/lower.
It held steady for a dozen minutes at 52 percent. And then, just as I knew it would, the number dropped.
Down to 51 percent.
A bright warning beam flashed across my circuitry. I was nearly at 50 percent.
The halfway point.
The point of no return.
I started off each day at 100 percent. As long as I remained above 50 percent, I still had enough battery to turn around and make it back home.
But as soon as I hit the halfway point, there was no going back. Not all the way. I would have to find another charging dock. Somewhere that was not home.
We were headed south. Toward the hand-drawn dot on Emma’s map, still many kilometers away. Till then, without discussing it, my coworkers and I had reached a silent agreement. We would accompany Emma.
But how far?
If we remained with her for the entire journey, the human’s chances of survival grew much higher.
And ours fell much lower.
With every step I took, the sea of digital numbers churned inside my processors. But only one really mattered. And just then, it ticked down to 50 percent . . .
And I kept walking.
00111100
Whump-whump.
Vrmmmmm.
Skiff-skiff.
I listened to the sounds of our forward progress. Ceeron/SkD/Me. Our movements formed a familiar rhythm.
Steady/Predictable.
I tried to sync Emma’s footsteps with the noises we made, but it was impossible. There was no pattern. She would walk a few meters, and then—out of nowhere—lean down to examine a beetle on the ground. Or kick a pile of leaves. Or come to a stop, turn her gaze to the sky, and watch the clouds with a look on her face that I could not interpret.
Sometimes her stride was long. Sometimes it was short.
Her movements were human in that way.
Unsteady/Unpredictable.
Soon we arrived at the remains of an old farm. A crumbling barn tilted crookedly, like a sinking ship. I recognized an orchard, but time and neglect had caused the trees to grow wild and unruly.
Emma wandered through the overgrown rows, ducking beneath branches that sagged with the weight of too much fruit.
She plucked a small, round object and held it out for me to see. “What is it?”
I scanned the object, referencing it against my internal database. “An apple.”
“Apple.” She repeated the word like she had never heard it before. “Can I eat it?”
I nodded. “Apples are edible.”
She took a small bite, then made a face. “Yuck! People used to eat these things?”
I searched my files for additional information about apples. “Human farmers used to tend their fields. They pruned the trees and trimmed the branches. They did not pick the fruit until it was the ideal size and ripeness. This improved quality and taste.”
Emma examined her apple. It was small and green. “So you’re saying I picked a bad one?”
“It would seem that w
ay.”
She tossed the fruit, sent it clattering through a thick cluster of branches. “They didn’t have apples in the bunker. How’m I supposed to know what a good one looks like?”
SkD offered its suggestion.
Unlike the small/green apple that Emma had picked, the image on SkD’s screen had a red blush. I scanned the branches until I found one that matched. But when I grabbed the apple—
SQUELCH!
The fruit splattered in my hand. Juice ran down my metal skin.
I identified another apple and tried again. On Attempt[2], I was careful not to squeeze the fruit too firmly as I pulled it from the branch.
I held it up for Emma to see. “I believe this specimen has reached the ideal ripeness.”
“Can I try?” she asked.
I handed the apple to Emma.
This time, when she took a bite, she did not make a disgusted face. Instead, she bit into the apple again, smiling faintly as she chewed.
Emma swallowed, wiping juice from her chin. “Okay, wow. That’s officially one of the best things I’ve ever eaten.”
She pressed her eyes shut. A sound came from deep inside her throat. “Mmmmmm.”
I had always been grateful that robots do not need to eat. All that chewing/swallowing/digesting—meal after meal, day after day. And for what? To store up a bit of energy? It is far easier to plug yourself into a charging dock at night.
Eating was another human flaw. That was what I had always thought. Right up until the moment I saw Emma and her apple.
Now I was not so sure.
I could measure the sugar and acidity of an apple, chart the size and firmness. But I would never know what it was like to sink my teeth into brand-new food, to feel a completely unexpected taste explode in my mouth.
Maybe eating was not a flaw after all.
00111101
Evening was beginning to invade the afternoon. Our shadows stretched out beside us, growing longer/longer/longer as the sun dipped lower/lower/lower. Daylight faded. And so did our batteries.
SkD got our attention with an electronic chirp. I examined the images on its screen.
Ceeron nodded. “My battery is also below twenty percent.”
“Same here,” I said.
SkD’s screen displayed a question.
“Do not worry,” I replied. “I am sure we will find a place to recharge soon.”
“And if we do not?” Ceeron asked.
The question hung over us like a cloud. I knew perfectly well what would happen if we did not find a place to recharge. Our batteries would continue depleting, the percentage slowly/steadily tumbling downward, until eventually . . .
Zero percent.
At that point, the electric power that flows through our circuitry would trickle to a halt. All our vital functions would stop working, one by one. Our bodies would shut down. And so would our minds.
We were so far from robot civilization, other machines were unlikely to find us. Not for a long time. Maybe not ever.
We had disabled our location tracking. No other robot on Earth knew where we were. Not even our FamilyUnits.
A visual projected across my circuitry: I saw my own lifeless body sprawled across the ground. I saw time sweeping over me. Hours/Days/Weeks/Months/Years. Rust blooming across my metal skin. Plants growing all around me.
Until any trace of me was gone.
I deleted these images from my data files. No point visualizing scenarios that had not materialized. And no reason to upset my coworkers with the worst-case scenario.
“We will figure out a solution,” I said, carefully moderating my tone to sound more confident than I actually felt. “All we need is a source of electricity so we can recharge.”
I continued walking.
My battery fell to 18 percent.
00111110
At the base of the mountain was a town where the signs of humanity were in the slow process of being erased by nature. Homes had sunk into the earth, clutched by the ropy tentacles of vines. Cars were half-buried in mud, choked by weeds and covered in rust.
A place that was utterly dead.
And completely alive at the same time.
The humans who had once called it home were long gone. But the town was teeming with other kinds of life.
A squirrel nosed into a pile of twigs in search of an acorn. Bushes shuffled their leaves in the breeze. A carpet of moss covered a fire hydrant. White/Green/Black mold clung to a broken gutter. A cat watched us from the curb. An orderly line of ants marched across a cracked sidewalk.
Life was everywhere.
Emma’s gaze passed across this scene. “People used to live here?”
“They did,” Ceeron said. “Many years ago.”
“Don’t you think it’s sad?” A frown sketched its way across her face. “All these people were wiped out.”
“It was necessary,” I said. “Humans were a threat to the planet.”
“Not all humans,” Emma said.
“Perhaps not all. But enough. Earth was sliding toward destruction. All because of humans.”
“What about the people who lived here?” Emma pointed to a one-story house. The roof had caved in. A tree branch reached through a shattered window.
“You’re telling me the people who lived here were a threat?” she asked.
I tried to visualize what kind of humans had once inhabited this home. Maybe they went to nail salons and cinemas. Maybe they wasted money on clothes they did not need. Maybe one of them worked at a company that polluted Earth.
Or maybe one of them was like Emma. A child who had done nothing to threaten our world.
I could not know.
Humans had always seemed so simple before I actually knew one.
Emma went on speaking. “They were probably just normal people. Just living their lives. And then . . .”
Her voice faded. Other noises filled the silence. The twittering of birds, the chirping of insects, the rustle of animals in the leaves. All the many lives around us that were not human.
00111111
We arrived at a large cluster of interconnected buildings. As the sun set, my focus narrowed on a sign attached to the outside. Some of the letters had completely vanished. Others were so faded, I could barely read them.
This is what I saw:
MO NTA N PA S M L
I plugged this mysterious scattering of letters into a text recognition algorithm.
Most likely result: Mountain Pass Mall.
When I reported this to Emma, her face scrunched with confusion. “What’s a mall?”
Apparently, this concept was not explained in her bunker.
I referenced the definition in my vocabulary database. “Mall. Noun. A building or group of buildings where humans once shopped for a wide variety of goods.”
“Maybe we can get supplies there!” Emma said.
“Perhaps so,” I replied.
SkD beeped loudly, trying to get our attention.
“What is it?” I asked.
The robot pointed excitedly to the mall’s parking lot. A section was covered with flat panels. Each angled slightly, reflecting the last rays of sunlight off their glassy surface.
Solar panels.
SkD beeped again. Images flashed across its screen.
“Great idea!” I said to SkD. “If we can find where the solar energy is being channeled, we can use it to recharge.”
Since it was most efficient to split up, Ceeron and SkD scouted the covered parking lot for charging ports, while Emma and I entered the mall to search for supplies.
The front entrance doors had been smashed open. Shattered glass crunched beneath my feet.
Emma and I wandered deeper into the mall. The darkness thickened around us.
Nature was reclaiming the building. A section of the ceiling had collapsed. The wreckage spilled across the corridor. Vegetation sprouted from the twisting carcass of broken metal. Trees/Bushes/Grass/Moss. Ivy hung from the hole in the roof,
gently swaying above our heads.
Emma stayed close to me. My glowing eyes illuminated the way forward, shining a light on the shops, the merchandise inside. Everywhere, I saw more/more/more. So many things to buy. So many objects that humans thought they needed.
Clothing/Perfume/Sunglasses/Jewelry/Furniture/Phones.
The choices went on/on/on.
Emma stopped. Her gaze slowly passed from one store to the next. Her head tilted upward. On the second floor were even more shops.
“There’s so much of everything,” she said. I analyzed her tone. I detected an odd mixture of amazement and sadness, wonder and dismay. “How could anybody ever need all this . . . stuff?”
Because humans were flawed. Because they always wanted more of everything. Because their appetites were endless.
These words flickered through my mind. Words spoken by my FamilyUnit. Words preprogrammed by the robots who came before me. Words that I had always believed, unquestioningly.
Until Emma came into my life.
Her voice stirred the silence. “I totally get why you guys thought we were so wasteful. You were right.”
“No.” My reply was louder than I expected. “We were not correct. We were quite wrong.”
Emma looked at me, surprised. She gestured to the shops. “What about all this? All these stores selling junk people didn’t need.”
I considered my response for 0.4 seconds. “Were you wasteful inside the bunker?”
She shook her head. “We couldn’t waste anything. Everything was rationed.”
“Since you left the bunker? What have you wasted?”
“Um. Nothing, I guess.”
“That is my conclusion. Some humans were wasteful. This mall is evidence of that. Others were the opposite. You are evidence of that.”
A smile pulled at the edge of Emma’s mouth. “Thanks, XR. And for the record, you’re evidence that not all robots are mean metal monsters.”
“Is that what you thought about us? That we were monsters?”
She shrugged. “Let’s just say—people in the bunker didn’t exactly have the nicest things to say about robots.”
We continued walking, the glow of my eyes guiding the way through the darkness.
