By David C. Daoust
The old man’s legs were much longer than Hamlin’s. The fiery little bot had to run just to keep up. He felt a bit foolish in his three foot frame. ‘Might even gripe, if he was not fully aware why Wilford was in such a hurry; there was no way for them to know how long until the Sandcrawler might start turning recklessly about through the sand dunes of Twin Crown again, which would put those in the cargo hold below, in even more jeopardy. And, ultimately, the children in the lower hold could be injured, already.
Hamlin also knew why Wilford insisted that he be the one to head down. Common knowledge among bot-kind: Newly acquainted bots, experience a bit of feedback when they are in proximity of each other. This buzz tended to alert them of each other’s presence, no matter what form they may take. The low buzz in the Wayward Aspirant’s ear, told Hamlin something, something which those currently strapped safely within the Sandcrawler’s bridge, probably did not know: Wilford was no man at all, he was a bot.
This fact actually posed a few questions in Hamlin’s mind. He thought now may be the best time to get some answers.
“Are we going to address the buzz?” Hamlin asked as they continued, hurriedly, on their way.
“Do we need to?” Wilford asked with a grimace. “I’m a bot. You’re a bot. Does it matter?”
“Maybe,” Hamlin stated. “That woman you’re with —surely, is no bot.”
“Olivia, my wife- She knows what I am,” Wilford explained, then added wryly, “I’m fairly certain she’s okay with it.”
“And the rest of them?”
“Again, does it matter?” the spry, yet seemingly ‘old’ man said as he reached the metal grated stairs that would lead them down into the lower portion of the massive roving vehicle. Wilford’s feet clanked down as he hurried ahead, dropping two steps at a time, while Hamlin allowed him to take the lead.
“Your choice of form… would appear that of a disguise…” Hamlin posed from behind.
Wilford let out a ‘hah!’
“I see,” Wilford said with a nod. “No, only my wife knows the full truth.” Wilford cast back a gaze, as though to measure how much he wanted to share, before he explained, haltingly, “We’ve found our lives a bit more pleasant… without being such a… focal point of peculiarity.”
Hamlin decided that sounded good, it all added up. He jumped up on the rail that lined the stairwell, both feet planted firmly. “Interesting,” was all Hamlin added as he slid past, effectively beating Wilford to the cargo hold.
A new buzz entered the mix as the two bots entered the hold. Hamlin pinpointed its source to find a strange contraption hovering a few feet off the ground. It was like a massive blue bucket, with these oversized mechanical arms attached to either side. It was a bot! Hamlin could only call it a ‘junkbot’.
This seemed to be the day for unusual bots. The poor thing had no neck! Hamlin thought he had it bad with his invisible neck. At least he could look around without moving his entire frame. Yet, at the same time, he thought, –the junkbot’s head wasn’t perpetually on fire.
“Uhg, okay! I’m okay,” a little girl standing in the middle of the room called Hamlin’s attention away from the strange bot as she announced from under a game visor, “I only crashed down into a sand dune- didn’t do any damage.”
“I’m keeping pace with Chance,” another girl said from the floor, “Hurry and catch up!”
“I’m on my way!” the first girl announced, “Chats going nuts! It’s like everyone heard about it at the same time!”
“I hear it,” the other girl answered.
Clearly, they were playing around in the hub, but Hamlin could only guess what was going on.
“Is everyone okay?” Wilford asked the room populated by two distracted little girls and the junkbot.
One of the girls only nodded, with barely a glance and an ‘uh-huh’, unable to pull her attention from the small screen she held before her. The other suddenly flipped back her visor, almost surprised to find company. More so, when she realized it was the old man. She slapped back down the visor without saying anything, and made kind of a whoopsy face as she steadied the controls in her hands.
“No, everyone’s not okay,” the junkbot answered sadly in a little girl’s tone of voice as she hovered towards them, “The bunny got damaged.”
The tiny buzz told Hamlin there was a datasphere within, though by the form presented, it must be of incredibly low caliber. Most anyone else would dismiss such a thing as a stupid little toy that may just as well be tossed in the corner, especially during their current situation. The two bots, Hamlin and Wilford, however, allowed their attention to be pulled to it, worried.
Margo passed the small doll to Wilford.
Hamlin gazed up at the doll in Wilford’s human hands. It was scorched pretty badly, made him think something may have happened to the datasphere within. A crushed datasphere was death to a bot.
Hamlin was never a fan of the Onions mistreatment of the lower caliber dataspheres. Humans just tossed them about, unprotected, flipping them from form to form. It was not like this among the Arkroy, Aspirants were always embedded within a small probe-like vehicle. The probe could detach from any given Aspirant form, and load itself into another, without help from others, without the datasphere being exposed to possible dangers. Hamlin found himself worried about this tiny bunny.
“Is it conscious?” Wilford asked Hamlin’s very question.
“Hi,” the bunny said.
“Hello,” Hamlin piped up, in answer.
“Something’s wrong. I need more information,” the small voice stated. “I never needed more information before. I just– can’t make sense of it anymore.”
“Can you move?” Hamlin asked.
“Oh, he could never move,” Margo inserted, the whole contraption shifted back and forth as the junkbot tried to shake its head.
Hamlin witnessed Wilford’s grimace as the bot in the old man form weighed the whole situation.
“We have to take the girls above,” Wilford said as he looked around at the disheveled cargo hold; tipped crates and boxes, power tools strewn all about, haphazardly, “It’s not safe for them down here.”
“We’re a little busy,” Dicey protested from under her visor. “We have to try and get this guy to stop driving us around all crazy!”
“There will be time for games later,” Wilford insisted, sternly.
“It’s okay,” Margo interrupted as it hovered over to the girl, “Dicey, just hop back inside me.”
“Okay,” Dicey conceded, she raised her chin to see under the visor without missing what was going on in her game and moved closer to the workbench, “Get over here quick, or I’ll crash back down.”
Hamlin watched as the small girl boosted herself onto the workbench, lifted her visor ever so briefly to open the top of the bucket like a trash can lid, and then let herself drop into the bucket, and slapped the visor back in place. Seemed to Hamlin, they’d be safe in there, even if they did start being flung about again.
“Can you breathe in there?” Wilford asked skeptically.
Hamlin felt like a dunce for a moment– little girls got to breath.
“Why’s everyone always asking me that?” Dicey asked somewhat exasperated, then listed, “There’s vents on the side, and slits in the top, and the bottom has pretty big holes where the thrusters jut out.”
“Alright, alright- just making sure,” Wilford retreated.
“Come on Grace,” Dicey said, the lid rested on her head as she spoke from under the ever present visor, “You can fit too, I think.”
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