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  Next to her, Eku gave a slight growl.

  Syn eyed the tiger and added, “Either of you?”

  Both the bot and Eku slowed and took their next advances with care, each cautious for their own reasons.

  Syn brought her spear up.

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. It’s new. I’m getting a strange pingback.”

  “A bot?” Syn asked. They were inches away.

  Blip’s shell shifted to green, and he began to probe the surroundings at a more precise level.

  The trees opened up—the impact had been in a small park area, behind some grassy knolls. The light was scattered by the overhung boughs and deep foliage. The column of smoke rose up, stabbing the sky. Already a dozen different response bots were moving in. Each were thick cubic units with treaded tires and various attachments to deal with the different crises that might arise. Several were spraying down a bit of fire that had caught a few trees nearby—a white foam billowing around the flames. In the midst of those, a few of the square medic bots swarmed. Even though Syn was all that was left, they mobilized in response to any disaster, assuming assistance for the now-absent humans.

  The center of the impact, surrounded by other bots, was a small crater, a mound of dirt blown up around it.

  “Perhaps a piece of the sunstrips fell off?”

  Blip gave a nod. “Maybe.”

  He moved in closer and sounded a slight, high note. The other bots froze at his command. In a moment, they each backed up, clearing the space around the impact.

  Syn peered over the edge, waving the thin smoke away. She gasped. Inside the crater, blackened and dented, laying in a mound of dirt, was Blip.

  But Blip was next to her. She moved her eyes between the Blip bot in the crater and the Blip floating next to her. There had only been one Blip. Since the beginning and for always. There was only one Blip because there was only one Syn. He was her assigned companion. They had woken up in the crèche together and had been together since. His white face was the first thing she had seen and her first word was, “Hello.”

  “Blip?” was all she could let out. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth hung open. Something clattered on the ground next to her, and she realized she had relaxed her grip on her spear. Her hand splayed open. Again, she mumbled, “Blip?”

  Blip flew in to hover above the burned replica. His shell glowed green—an unnatural bright beacon against the dark verdant surroundings.

  “What is going on?” Syn insisted.

  “I don’t…” Blip started.

  “It’s you,” Syn said, pointing at the copy of Blip in the smoldering hole.

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t…”

  “Don’t say you don’t know. There’s only one of you.” She glanced at a random disc-shaped cleaning bot. “There’s hundreds of cleaning bots.” Near her, recording and documenting the incident, was a small spherical eye-bot, its red case bright against the green foliage. “There’s tons of these.” She turned back to Blip, “But there’s only one of you!”

  “I know,” Blip said as his surface turned back to white. He flew back to her, looking eye to eye, “It’s a companion bot.”

  “A companion for who?”

  “I don’t…”

  “Don’t say that!” she cut him off.

  “But I don’t!” he shouted back.

  Syn knelt and reached out a hand, edging close to touch the copy in the hole. Eku growled in warning. She glanced up at Blip.

  He nodded. “Try it. It won’t respond to me. You sometimes have better luck than I do.”

  She held her hand above it, sensing for heat. It had come down like a star, blazing through the sky, lighting the nearby trees on fire and blasted a hole in the ground several feet deep. It was charred and smashed. But it didn’t radiate any heat. She placed her fingers on it—cool to the touch. She shook her head.

  Syn was convinced it was a companion bot now. Anything else would be blazing hot—nearly on fire—but not a bot like Blip. Not a companion bot. Blip was quite unlike any other bot she had ever known. He wasn’t affected by temperature like others. He was never cold, never hot. He was the best, fastest, most intelligent bot she had known. And bots were all she knew.

  It didn’t respond. She wrapped her hands around it and lifted. Like Blip, it was incredibly heavy. This one felt even heavier. She struggled to lift it from the ground. “Need some help,” she grunted.

  Blip made no reply.

  She twisted and waddled with the extra weight in her arms.

  “Blip?” she asked, turning and placing the bot on the sidewalk, “Who is this?” And then, knowing that the only companion bot on the ship was the one assigned to her, Syn whispered, “Whose companion is this?”

  Inside, a thin line of hope flared. Could there be someone else on the ship? Someone who needed a companion? Syn looked around. Was that person watching them even then? Was it someone else who believed they were alone? Syn glanced at Blip and another thought rose, a thought she never guessed she’d have. Blip knows everything. Did he know about this companion? Did he know about the other person? Was he lying?

  Blip caught Syn’s gaze and looked up above them to the shining sunstrips, unaware of the far-off storm forming in her thoughts. He blinked at the sunlight piercing the treetops. There, in the center of Olorun, was the axis around which everything rotated. They called it the needle. Fastened to it were the sunstrips—bright panels creating the illusion of sunlight in this artificial world. “I…I’ve never met this bot.” He was going to say the he didn’t know, but he knew what response that would bring.

  From behind her, a small chirp went up. Syn turned and peered back in the crater as she brushed the soot from Blip’s twin off her hands.

  At the bottom of the hole, buried in the dirt, a small piece of red metal wriggled.

  Syn bent down and reached into clear the dirt away. “An eye-bot,” she said. It had been under the bot when it hit, smashed into the earth. Syn scooped out dirt on its edges and then plucked the vibrating bot out of the soil. She brushed off its crimson surface and held it up. It opened its iris and eyed around. Without a thank you, it attempted to lift off and fly high up overhead. It managed a few inches from her palm and then dropped suddenly back down. It blinked and shuddered, attempting to rise up again. It knew one thing—fly and record, and now it couldn’t do one of those things.

  Syn patted its head. “Okay, you’re a bit hurt. Calm down, and I’ll take care of you.” She sat the bot gently on the ground. “Wait there.” Syn stared at it and then back at the companion bot. “So what now?”

  Blip nodded, “I’ll check records. I’ll do some digging. There has to be something to tell where he…it came from.”

  Syn narrowed her eyes, “That’s all?”

  Something brushed her side. She glanced down to see the red eye-bot nuzzling against her. Saying thank you. She patted it. They weren’t as smart as Blip, but they were on the level of a pet—a dog or a cat. If you show a little attention, they were pretty loyal. She had never been able to get them to do tricks, though. “Give me second, and I’ll get you fixed up.”

  Blip scooted back, “What do you want me to do?”

  “Are we alone?”

  Blip just stared, unanswering, as if she had asked the dumbest question at the moment.

  While there were still areas to comb through, in years, they hadn’t heard or seen anyone else. She knew they were alone. She was alone—the only human for light-years.

  Her gaze darted downwards. She muttered, “Can we at least investigate?”

  “Where?”

  “The needle?” Syn stared up.

  “You were there yesterday. You floated around in the zero-g for hours. Did you see a companion bot yesterday?” Gravity was normal at the base, but high up, in the center at the needle, there was no gravity.

  Syn shook her head and jabbed a finger toward the unmoving bot next to
her. “But then where did it come from?” She had wanted to say, and why have you been lying to me? But she wasn’t certain, and the possibility of driving Blip away frightened her. That had always been a real fear. The only other living thing. The only other thing on the ship with a voice. He wasn’t human, but he talked. He was her friend. And she was always scared of losing him. If he was gone, then she’d be alone.

  “I don’t know. Maybe there’s a storage bay in one of the towers. I’ll start looking. I’ll tell you if I find anything.”

  “Please…” she started.

  He sighed—a sound she hated.

  Syn paused before she retorted. Perhaps he was telling the truth. She so wanted him to be telling the truth. And if so, this had to be affecting him as well. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to discover an exact copy of yourself after thinking you were the only one. She patted Blip’s shell, “That’s fine. Take your time.”

  He would get to the bottom of it, she knew that. He was the fastest thing in the ship. He could solve anything—access anything. If there was a secret on the ship, he’d figure it out. Syn nodded, sighed in relief, and then rubbed Eku behind her ears, running her fingers through the cat’s thick fur.

  She tapped its shell. Another living voice like Blip. Another friend. Syn allowed a small smile at the hope. “Can we fix him?” Syn asked.

  “Get a mover bot. Take it somewhere I can analyze it.”

  Syn nodded. “The garage?” The garage was her own personal workshop. There she could do some of her own analysis.

  “Fine,” Blip said.

  Give him time, she thought. Trust him. And at the same time, far back in her mind, why are you trying so hard to convince yourself?

  She held up her hand with the resting red eye-bot. “Okay, little one. Let’s get you fixed up.” With an eye on Blip’s fallen twin, she thought, and let’s figure you out.

  2

  The Workbench

  “Once you grow past Mommy and Daddy coming running when you're hurt, you're really on your own. You're alone, and there's no one to help you.”

  —Octavia Butler

  The large garage door slid back into the ceiling, and the lights in the workshop flickered on to reveal a large metallic room with benches all around. Broken bots, components, and wires cluttered every space. In the center of the workroom, a large canvas lay draped over a vehicle, hiding it from view and elements.

  Syn sauntered in, kicking at piles in her way until she reached the back counter and plunked the red eye-bot down. “Give me a second.”

  Behind her, Blip motioned at the various worker bots following him, and the silver spheres lifted the quiet shell of the fallen companion bot onto one of the wider workbenches near the entrance.

  Syn gripped the screwdriver closest to her and hissed through tight teeth, “My ship. My Olorun.” Her own words startled her—had she spoken aloud? She checked herself—Blip’s hearing was powerful.

  She tapped the screwdriver against the tabletop. How could there be another companion bot anywhere on this ship? Especially from the needle? She had played up there over and over and over! They had explored every nook possible. If it was her world, it was coming unraveled, and she was scared as to what might fall loose from the seams.

  The other bots assisting settled the white shell of Blip’s twin on the metal workbench as Syn nodded and whispered, “Thanks.”

  Blip dared, still confused, “I don’t think he’ll work again.”

  Again, she insisted, “I want answers.” She dusted the bot’s surface. A chunk of grime resisted, and she leaned in, scrubbing at the spot with a dirty towel. A pang of empathy tugged at her. How must Blip be feeling? How bizarre this must be for him? To encounter his twin? Syn wondered how she would react if she woke up to discover an exact duplicate of herself. She shivered at the thought and pushed it from her mind.

  “I’m trying to find them,” he muttered. “I’m resilient, but I don’t think I could survive a deadfall drop like what he experienced. He’s not damaged on the outside, much, but if we can break open his shell, I suspect he’ll be scrambled.”

  “Why do you assume it’s a ‘he?’” Syn narrowed her eyes and looked sideways at him.

  He seemed oblivious to her questions and continued, “I’m surprised he wasn’t flattened.”

  “You’re a horrible detective,” Syn said. There was the tone of teasing—her mock insults were part of their usual banter—but this time, she meant it.

  “Syn,” Blip said, pulling back toward the entrance of the garage. He raised his eyebrows, feigning shock.

  Syn smiled. “You’re not Sherlock Holmes.”

  “But you could be Watson.”

  She snagged a wrench from the table and chucked it at him, but he deftly dodged it.

  Syn turned back and ran a finger along the white companion bot. The shell was dented in several places. A large, oblong indentation ran up its spine. A star field of smaller dents, many of them pea-sized, littered the rest of the casing. Syn held the flat edge screwdriver above the plate and began to pry against the loose panel. Blip shirked back—a slight movement but still obvious. Did Blip feel pain? Could this new one feel pain? The bot on the table didn’t stir, so she pushed further.

  Thin smears of dirt covered the inert shell. Dingy and drab stains occluded any hint of its former pristine nature. Syn glanced over to Blip. Blip stood in contrast: gleaming white, shining to a perfect polish.

  Syn whispered to the broken bot on the workbench, “Wake up.” She ran a line across the dents, hoping for a seam, a hint of a crack that she could wedge the screwdriver into so she could work on the bot’s brain. All other bots were easily disassembled, reassembled, and repaired. Not this one. And thus, not Blip.

  “Can you help?”

  “It’s clean.”

  Syn waved a hand over the carcass. “Clean?” Anything but.

  “Clean. The brain is empty.”

  “You know that? It talked to you?”

  “No. It didn’t talk. That’s the point. I can’t find anything. I keep scanning its neural-net, and there’s not a single response. The core is clean.”

  “Then can we at least open it up. Maybe the memory core is intact.”

  Blip made no move.

  Syn raised an eyebrow. “You guys have a memory core, right? Like the others?”

  “You guys?” Blip coughed.

  “You and your twin here.” She tapped the shell with her screwdriver.

  Blip continued to circle around him, scanning. “I don’t know if he’s anything like me.”

  “You’ve been scanning him for a bit now—you and I both know he’s nearly identical.”

  Blip narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

  Syn stepped back and leaned against the workbench, taking the chaos of the garage in. Years before, she and Blip had made their way through the homes and the garages on the third and fourth tiers just south of the jungle. The man who lived in this one had been named Alileen. And he’d loved to make things. His house was filled with different tools and half-finished projects. Countertops were littered with opened bots, their guts spread open to be resembled. On first glance, they can look like an odd array of noodles and plastic pieces. Wires peppered the tables and discarded plastic bits had been smashed into the floor from constant trodding. If it could be opened up, he had done so and then left it laying around. Appliances, bots, anything that he could tinker with was there. Syn had felt a quiet bond with the man whose space was a memorial to curiosity and ingenuity. Crack things open. Find out how they work. Get them back going again.

  Together, Syn and Blip had repaired most every type of bot in the Disc: a mass of wires and electronics, translucent bundles of thread wrapped in tight configurations around anti-grav motors, primitive CPUs, and TyTech strips. She had learned each bot’s makeup and constantly tweaked them—often improving them. The hovering eye-bots now flew faster than ever before thanks to her alterations.

  Behind her,
something clinked. She turned and saw the red eye-bot wriggling on the bench. “Oh! Sorry. Forgot about you for a second.” She leaned in. “So, what’s wrong?”

  The eye-bot stared up at her, unblinking. “Well, that’s odd—usually your iris is constantly in motion. Is that the problem? Did the crash jam your iris?” She ran a finger across the lens and saw the circular iris start to shutter and stall. Over and over. “That’s it. Okay. I think I can fix it. Must just be jammed a bit hard. I think I have a replacement one.”

  She sat the red eye-bot down and looked through the scrap parts scattered across the bench. There were no deactivated, whole robots. If she could get it moving again, she would. She hated the idea of a bot just stuck on her bench because she couldn’t fix it.

  She rifled through a few drawers and piles while Blip floated around nudging and prodding the companion bot electronically. Syn stole a glance but not much had changed—he just rotated clockwise around the bot as if he was stuck in orbit—the gravitational pull of the other so strong, he’d be stuck like that forever.

  “Found it!” She held up a duplicate iris, a silver circle of layered pieces inside a solid set of rings and motors. “Just need to open you up and we’ll pop this in, and you’ll be back to normal.”

  Syn patted the bot. “This might feel weird. Just trust me. I won’t hurt you.”

  She picked up a small black metal tool and ran it across the seam along the bot’s circumference. Its case hissed and popped, and she pulled off the top part of its shell, the one housing the clear lens that made up its eye. Its internal systems were all revealed: a tightly packed collection of chips, gyroscopes, wires, and a small strip of organic tissue. The secret to all of the bots, Syn had discovered, was some portion of lab-grown brain tissue that kicked up the level of processing. Blip had said it was the only way the builders could get true AI to work—the human brain, he had said, was quantum in nature, and no machine was able to get there without some tissue assistance. Blip had called it TyTech. It always weirded Syn out a bit when she had to prod around inside the bots while fixing them.