Chapter 6: Misfortunes

TRAVEL LOG. DAY 10.

Some of the ‘bots on this boat are unusual in a way it’s hard to define. They behave much like the others, but seem to have a more casual attitude about them, if such a thing could be attributed to a hunk of wires and circuits. Example: I could swear I saw one give a strange look to another one, a sort of knowing look — just for a second. I suppose I imagined it. It would be easy to do after a day and half of being jammed in this hole. But I can’t shake the feeling that something strange is going on here.

Another example: One of the ‘bots I mentioned earlier, the one who gave the look, stood at the forward window and stared into space. Just stared. I’ve never seen a ‘bot look out a window at all, let alone stare through it. I’m sure the only reason this bucket even has windows is that it was too expensive to replace them on these old ships when they finally stopped employing men. There is definitely something odd about that one.

One more incident. One of the robots from the first incident, along with one I hadn’t seen before had a sort of conspiratorial conference. They didn’t actually talk, but I could see them sharing information on the vid-screen, with one of them constantly monitoring whether other ‘bots were in the area or approaching. When an approaching robot appeared on the internal radar, the ‘bot changed the vid-screen back to the standard monitoring status, and the other ‘bot moved to a new location. There is something seriously strange going on. Either that or I’ve been cooped up in this hole too long.

•

This is one of those moments, so prevalent in the book, where a very simple idea becomes ridiculously overcomplicated, perhaps in the desperate hope to give some logical backbone to an idea which is already so far from reality that the exercise is inevitably futile to begin with. Nevertheless, we trudge forward, and after about 12 examples, we finally do what we should have done to begin with, and accept the simple premise that there is a new breed of robots in this world who have many human characteristics, and have a sort of bond with each other. At this point in the story we do not know whether this new breed is confined to the ship or not, or whether they are good or evil, but after the tedious descriptions of their characteristics, we are certain to assume these robots will be integral to the story.

Our hero’s final log entry from the hold is relatively uninteresting with two exceptions. One, our hero witnesses the ripping of space for the first time in his life and is awed into poetic sentiment, and two, we get a little more character development with another flashback.

•

TRAVEL LOG. DAY 11.

…slowly, the world goes black, like smoke spreading from a fire of burning plastic, engulfing the ship, a cocoon, a womb, smothered by a world devoid. I feel my very breath sucked out of me, I am swimming, sleeping, drowning. And yet, even still there is something, for I feel it too torn away. Everything thing I am, everything I know, everything I can is crushed, smothered, sucked. I am less than finite. I am an atom. An electron. Less. I am lack. I am lack in a world of lack, where nothing can ever be. I am not at peace. I am not at war. I am simply…not…

I watched what must have been the trash moving into the rip. It looked like a cone of blue light – no, not blue, more like black pretending to be blue – with the fat end toward our ship, and moving to an infinitesimal point deep in the darkness. After a while, the fat end moved away too, and seemed to stretch back to a point on our end, so that the whole thing became a sort of snake with a giant undigested something in the middle. Finally, the whole thing seemed to get sucked into the void, and there was a tremendous explosion. A giant wall of light traveled toward us at amazing speed and passed right over us. For a moment I thought we were inside of the wall of light, but it was only the surprise of finding the blackness gone and the stars surrounding us once again.

One of our strange friends watched the whole thing, barely moving. I wonder if he went into the same sort of trance as I...

•

Later on in the log, our hero starts to analyze the various data he gathered over the last few days of travel, including that gathered during the trash dump. He particularly puzzles over some apparent time shifts that remind him of what he saw on the log Elbert had shown him, and tells himself that what he sees is impossible. This thought leads us into the other reason we visited this log: the flashback.

•

Jerry laid on the couch, looking at the ceiling. His hands were on his head, squeezing, as if they would somehow keep out the nonsense his wife kept throwing at him. He let loose and yelled, “but it doesn’t make any sense.”

Ball was pacing around the apartment, a nervous habit that had followed her from childhood, occasionally slamming things on whatever surface was at hand to emphasize her point.

“Of course it doesn’t,” she shot back. “Whenever I say something that’s too intelligent for you to understand, you stamp your feet and shout and call me stupid. It’s the only answer you have, genius. Why don’t you open your mind? There’s a whole world out there, waiting for you.”

“A world where what?” Jerry sat up. “Where we just see what we want to see? Where proof means nothing? Why not just say your hair gets tangled by the fairies overnight and be done with it? I’m telling you Ball, it just doesn’t add up. If time were fluid…”

“Of course time is fluid. That’s not what we’re talking about.”

“Ok, have it your way. Flexible. If time were flexible, how could you prove it? By observing it, you would flex with the time you were observing and everything would appear to be constant. There was no way you could ever know.”

“Yes? And?”

“And nothing. End of argument. If you can’t prove it, it’s not true.”

Ball threw a plastic bowl full of nuts at the wall and screamed something unintelligible. Then she leaned over the table and faced him, clenching her teeth, ready to attack. His nonchalance, however, disarmed her as usual, and she sat down, defeated, to figure out her next tack.

“Jerry,” Ball said finally, in a tone somewhat soothing if not downright condescending, “do you know what’s etched in stone above the gate to my old school?”

Jerry, enjoying the fight but a little uncomfortable with her new tone, held tight to his sardonic attitude. “No, Ball, I don’t know what’s etched in stone above the gate to your old school.”

“Tantum Nunc.”

“Tantum Nunc?" It took Jerry a moment. his Latin never had been very good. "Um..only something. Only now?"

“Not bad Jerry. That's basically it, though we learned it as 'Only the Present'. Do you know why that particular phrase was carved at that place, the only place in the galaxy dedicated to the study of time?”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me.”

“Can you stop being a prize winning ass for even a second? Honestly, I don’t know why I even try. It’s like trying to communicate with a Neanderthal. Will you at least try?”

Jerry gave in, just a bit. “Alright, Ball. But only because you were kind enough to call me prize winning. Gimme your best shot. What is the significance of ‘Only the Present’ to your people?”

“To all people, Jerry, all people. It is true that you can move in time, that you can exist in different periods, at different tempos, change the whole of existence...”

“But the pardoxes.”

“Forget the paradoxes, Jerry. There is no such thing. There is only the present. I can go back in time and prevent the last three wars. I can do it right now.”

“Why don’t you then?” Jerry asked, starting to get frustrated all over again.

“I did, I do, I am.” Ball throws up her arms. “It doesn’t matter. I’d never know. There is only the present. I can go back to change something, and I’d be in the present. I would no longer be from the future, and would never know the future. You can only know the present.  So when you say that you can never prove a shift in tempo, you’re right. Tantum Nunc.”

“So you admit my point.”

“It doesn’t change anything, Jerry. It only proves that you are a faulty observer. My people gave up long ago on making believers of humans outside of the family. It’s just something you know, Jerry. Something I know. Time is river, it ebbs and flows, it moves fast and slow, runs shallow and deep, and we are creatures of the water, sometimes moving with it, sometimes against, so small that we can only see what seems like unchanging water surrounding us. But Jerry, we can feel it. We know it moves. We know it changes. Not with our eyes, but with something else. Something we’ve never...named.”

•

Our spatting lovers argue this one out for several pages, as we delve into our favorite topic: science vs. faith. Ball expresses her faith in a sort of Gaian idea of complete interconnectivity, while Jerry continues to eschew anything that can’t be proven. They argue back and forth in long paragraphs without getting anywhere, and we are forced to explore our own faith, or perhaps lack thereof, if we want any resolution at all. Conspicuously absent, unfortunately, is any sense of dramatic tension growing out of this academic discussion. Finally, worn out by these seemingly unresolvable arguments, we make a feeble attempt to wrap up, in the vain hope of at last moving forward.

•

“You treat me and my people like we’re some kind of zoo animals, Jerry. We’re people too.”

“People? You’re like 15^th century witches. Like druids wandering the wastelands. Why don’t you join the modern age?”

“Modern age? Live like you? Stare at a vid-screen all day pretending to do something that matters? Build robots, and monsters like my father?”

 “You think I’m like him? Because I’m not a superstitious time worshiping gaga?”

Ball screamed at the top of her lungs and looked for something to throw. She settled on a ceramic bowl given to them for the wedding by Jerry’s aunt.

“Don’t do it, Ball. We can’t afford it.”

“I hate you, you petty, number crunching, two bit excuse for a human!” Ball put on her coat and headed for the door.

“Ball, stop,” he yells, “where are you going to go at this hour? Ball!”

“I’m going out. Maybe I’ll come back.” She opens the door. As it closed behind her she said, “Maybe.”

•

And either seamlessly or joltingly, depending on your perspective, we move back into the present, where Jerry continues with his diary.

•

TRAVEL LOG. DAY 11. CONTINUED.

I can feel the ship slowing down for landing. It’s earlier than I expected, but who can complain? After three days cramped up in this prison with nothing to eat but Kelly root, I’m desperate for a little movement and fresh air – not to mention some real food. I’d even settle for my old hovel at this point. I’ve gathered up all of my gear except the puldonium tarp, so I can break for it at a moment’s notice. Just a little more waiting.

Will these ‘bots never leave the ship? I feel like it’s been hours since we landed, but I can’t seem to catch a break. I’m starting to fear I won’t get a clear getaway before they lift off for the next run.

Only one ‘bot left on the ship that I can see, and he’s just left the bridge. I’m going to risk an escape wrapped in the tarp. If the alarm goes off, I guess I’ll just run like hell.

Jerry crawled out of the hold to complete silence. A quick check of the vid-screen told him that no alarms were going off and he was safe. At least for now. He crawled across the bridge and into the exit corridors, looking for the gangway. The opening was just where he expected it, but the last remaining robot was perched across from it, working at a vid-screen. Jerry crept up within three feet of the robot, still with his back to him. He slipped past, and made his way down the gangway, rounded the corner, and in a moment, was out of the landing bay, tarp stashed in his pack, and walking away, a free man.

Now to find a tavern, and a ride to Earth, he thought, and headed down a corridor that by all rights should have lead him to the center of commerce. When found himself in the hub of the spaceport, however, it was far from bustling. If anything, it looked more like an abandoned shopping mall. He was in the center of a large circle surrounded by shops and restaurants, but nothing looked open. Two taverns were closed and gated, a souvenir shop was similarly closed, as was one of the two restaurants. The other restaurant was a diner, which was open but empty. In fact, the only place that seemed to be doing any business at all was the repair shop, which had a line of robots out the door. 

“Well, I guess I might as well eat,” thought Jerry, and he headed into the diner.

The diner had a counter with room for eight, and four booths along the opposite wall. The counter was dusty and stained, and the tables were worse. Each table had a napkin dispenser, salt, and pepper, and the counter had four setups that matched, with cream and butter conspicuously absent. The specials on the wall looked like they hadn’t been changed in years, except for the pies, which had been crossed off.

Jerry sat at the counter, and took a menu out of the curved metal holder in front of him. Looked like the usual fare, artificial burgers, artificial meat loaf, artificial turkey on club sandwiches. Still, anything would be better than another Kelly root and he started to salivate just thinking of what was to come. He looked at the apparently permanent special and decided the fried dunny bird didn’t sound half bad, though he didn’t think he could stomach the Kelly root soup. Maybe just some chips.

Thinking about the menu made him more hungry than ever, but to his great disappointment there was no one in sight to serve him. He got up and walked back to the main hall.

Yes, this was it. Not a very promising station for a ride to Earth. The line of robots at the repair shop had gone down, and the place seemed even emptier than it had when Jerry walked in. Hell, Jerry thought, I could be worse off here than I was on the scowl. He thought about going back to his hold, but looking at the corridor full of robots returning to the ship from the repair shop, he realized he was too late. Then it happened. That feeling in the pit of his stomach. That undeniable signal that he had screwed up, and that he would be paying for it for a long time to come. He could see it all now. This was just a stop over. Fuel and repairs. They were going to take off and strand him here, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.  He looked to see if he could slip past the mechanical hordes, but there was no hope. Better to rot here than die in the hands of the ‘bots. He would have to wait for the next lonely ship that was low on fuel, and sneak on while the ‘bots were waiting for repairs.

Dejected and disheartened, Jerry walked back to the diner to at least search out some food. He walked behind the counter and started opening cabinets to see if there was anything that could allay his hunger until someone showed up, but one spot after another was devoid of anything he could consider food, and once again, that feeling in the pit of his stomach began to rise up. Then he spotted the cooler. Of course. A place this desolate would have to keep everything cold or frozen to keep it from going bad. As fortune would have it, the cooler wasn’t locked, and after taking one more look to convince himself that no one was coming, he let himself in to what he hoped would be a paradise of real food.

Most of what he saw was frozen, but he keyed in on some rolls that, though frozen like everything else, might be edible without too much thawing. He pulled one out of a bag and was digging his teeth in with a surprising amount of satisfaction when he heard voices in the distance.

“Listen, Mac. You’ve seen the only human in this dump already, and he’s frozen solid. Why don’t you go back to your cronies at Central Security and leave me alone.” Jerry could not see the speaker or who he was talking to, but he assumed the worst and moved to protect himself. He cautiously closed the cooler door, and tried to hide himself in a dark corner. The voices became muffled, but he could still just barely make them out.

“Our mission requires that we search the entire station and your establishments are part of this station. Allow us to search or be destroyed.”

“Look, there’s nobody here. Search all you want to.”

Jerry pulled out his puldonium tarp and buried himself beneath it. As long as they didn’t open the cooler, they wouldn’t be able to detect him.

“Who are you looking for, anyway?”

“We are in search of a truant by the name of Dr. Gerald Strohman. He has abandoned his workplace and violated his employment contract. We have reason to believe he is on this station and the radiation signatures in this establishment suggest….” Jerry heard the voice trail off. Radiation signatures? Now he was in trouble. He clung tight to the tarp. 

“The radiation signature had disappeared. We shall search elsewhere.”

“You can’t rely on those things in here, Mac. My birds give off strong signatures right after I slaughter them, and then die off quick. That’s probably what you were sensing.”

“We shall search elsewhere.”

Jerry stayed in the corner, not moving. Maybe it was his lucky day after all. Maybe. On the other hand, maybe he had just traded death in the hands of the Tru-bots for death in the hands of a walk-in freezer. His hands were already having trouble opening and closing, and he had lost sensation in his fingertips. Jerry figured he had about fifteen minutes before he would have to chance a run for it. 

•

Here we get into a short history of hypothermia and medicine’s attempts to save its victims. It starts in with the old saying, “you aren’t dead until you’re warm and dead” and digresses into a fictional history of cryogenics, with the ensuing philosophical debate over the ethics of such a history. Fortunately, regardless of how long it takes us to trudge through this diversion, our hero is surprised, for better or ill, by the door before his fifteen minutes are up.

•

 “What are you doing in my cooler? Get out of there.” 

Facing Jerry was a male robot about two meters high. He was dressed casually, blue jeans and a white t-shirt covered with an apron that had more axle grease on it than cooking oil. He was a modern robot and looked almost human, with dark wavy hair on his head and arms, light brown eyes, and even a few scars on his face.  The skin, of course, was waxy and mottled, and completely gave him away. One day the designers were actually going to get the skin to look natural, and no one would ever be able to spot the difference again. 

Jerry was having trouble moving, due to the cold, but slowly got up and made his way to the door. Regardless of what might come next, he knew he couldn’t stay where he was, and his plan to make a run for it would never work until he warmed up a bit. When he was almost to the door, the robot took him by the arm and walked him to the counter. 

“It’s alright. I got rid of them. Sit down, I’ll get you some coffee.” Jerry sat down on a stool, still shivering, and the robot went behind the counter. At the drink machine, he put in a small mug and punched in an order for galactic standard. When the mug was full, he punched another button, and handed it to Jerry.

“I didn’t make it too hot, so you could warm up slowly. When you’re up for it, I’ll get you a nice hot one.”

“Thanks.” 

Jerry took the coffee and warmed himself up. “You run this place by yourself?”

“Only in the slow season. The owner comes out here during the heavy months, but the rest of the time, I keep the place for stragglers, run the fuel and repair operation, and enjoy the solitude.”

Jerry’s whole thought process stopped at the sound of that word: enjoy. Robots didn’t enjoy. They worked. It was their defining feature. Some of the more sophisticated ones could make complex arguments and decisions that seemed remarkably close to free will. But enjoy? Had the ‘bots really come so far while he was holed up on that planet of living death?

Or was this one special? Like the strange ones on the ship. 

Either way, it didn’t matter. This ‘bot had done him a favor and quite possibly saved his life. Whatever he was, Jerry owed him one. At least one.

“I’m Jerry.” He put out his hand.

“DL7934CJ6,” the robot said as he returned the gesture, “but call me De-El. All my friends do.”

Friends? If this was this one like the others, he certainly wasn’t hiding it.

De-El went on. “Jerry huh? Then you are the one the T.E.R.’s were looking for. You stow away or what?”

The chill that had permeated him inside the cooler was starting to dissipate, and Jerry was starting to feel normal again. He finished off his coffee and offered it to De-El for a warm up. “You could say that.”

They looked at each other without talking for a few moments, sizing each other up. Then, his appraisal complete, De-El shrugged his shoulders and got Jerry a refill — piping hot. 

“Thanks. Any chance I could get a special, maybe without the soup?”

“Fried dunny? Sure.” He went back the cooler and rustled around for a while. When he came out, he was carrying a handful of frozen limbs, each about the size of a large screwdriver. He threw them in his cooking machine walked over to one of the overhead cabinets. “Slaughtered and prepped fresh just four weeks ago. Should still be pretty tender.” He pulled a can of all-purpose seasoning out, and poured a little into the machine. After closing it tight, he punched a few buttons and came back over to Jerry. “Takes a few minutes to cook.”

“Thanks.” 

Jerry studied him. On the surface, he looked like your run of the mill modern ‘bot. But the way he talked to you, the way he moved his eyes, scratched his face, was far more man than machine.

“So why you on the run, son?”

There it was again. Son. Jerry shook it off. “I suppose life in the colonies isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I’m actually trying to get home.”

“Home?”

“Well…” he wondered if he should. After all, owing him one was not the same as trusting him. But there was something about this ‘bot that put Jerry at ease. Made him feel like he could trust him with his deepest secrets. Was it charm? Or just plain honesty? Jerry considered and decided to take the chance. His instincts had paid off with Tilly, maybe they would again. “..Earth.” He held his breath.

“Never been there. Nice?”

Jerry heaved a sigh of relief. “Depends.” He smiled at the ‘bot, and decided he had made a friend. “What about you? You spend your whole life here?”

“Nah. I spent my first eight years working the scowls, but my boss asked me to help out here, and I have to admit I like the change of pace. Been here almost six years now.”

“12 for me. Since I’ve been home, I mean.”

“That’s a long time to work the mines, Jerry.”

“You said it, De-El.”

The robot turned around and pulled out a steaming pile of fried dunny. He put it on a plate with some stale chips and handed it to Jerry, who dug right in. It was crispy on the outside and tender on the inside. But that was about the only good thing you could say about it. Like the coffee, it was bland and stale tasting, almost musty. Still, it was better than Kelly root, and Jerry kept eating.

After he had downed two wings and a leg, he looked up to see De-El still standing over him, watching. Jerry looked back while he sipped his now cold coffee. “How about another refill?”

“Sure thing, son.”

He grabbed Jerry’s mug and headed back toward the machine. Jerry, desperate to satisfy his curiosity, dared to ask the question that had been plaguing him since his first day on the scowl.

“De-El, it’s kind of funny, but I’ve never met a ‘bot quite like you. You have a casualness about you that’s wonderful, but…well it’s just unusual that’s all.”

“I’ve heard that before. I guess they’re just making us better now.”

“But you have to be at least 14, and 12 years ago I was up the cutting edge of ‘bot design. There was nothing even close to you back then. Are you an upgrade?”

De-El looked hard at Jerry, as if he was considering how to answer him. As if, like Jerry, he was determining whether he could trust his new friend. Unlike Jerry, however, De-El played his cards more cautiously, and held back. “Tell you the truth, Jerry, I’d rather not talk about it.”

Jerry looked back in silence, and worked out another tactic.

“Alright, De-El. I won’t press. You’ve got a right. But tell me, why did you cover for me when I was in the freezer? Any other robot would have turned me in without hesitating.”

“No reason to. I’ve got no loyalty for those automatons. Any more than I have for you. The way I see it, I had two choices, one in which someone got hurt, and one in someone didn’t. I liked the second.”

“Well I owe you one.” Jerry went back to his meal, and De-El excused himself to take care of something in the back room. Jerry’s mind went back to these strange ‘bots, and where they might have come from, what tied them together, but just as on the ship, he came up short. He needed more information. Maybe a new tactic.

Then he stopped himself. It didn’t matter. It was a red herring. What he needed was a ride to Earth, and a plan to get off this ghost port. When De-El came back, he had resolved on his new focus.

De-El, on the other hand, looked like he had lost his. He was staring ahead, distracted, and walked right into the drink machine and fell over. Jerry ran behind the counter and helped to lift him up. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah. Sure. Just a little distracted.” He stared at Jerry in a way that made Jerry very uncomfortable. Jerry slipped out from behind the counter and went back to his stool, mostly just to escape the stare. But when he looked back up at the ‘bot, he seemed to have come back to himself, the strange look gone from his face, as if it had never been there. Jerry refocused on his plan. 

“De-El, I need to make my way to Earth, but there doesn’t seem to be much traffic around here. Do traders ever come through here?”

“Not this time of year. The gravity is too dense, and the solar flares interfere with ship sensors. I don’t think we’re going to see anyone for a couple of weeks at least.”

Weeks.

“You’re telling me I’m trapped here?”

“More or less.”

Weeks. 

He gave one long slow blink. Then another. Then he closed his eyes and put his head in his hands.

“What’s the worry? There’s plenty of food here. And I can take care of the T.E.R.’s.”

“The worry. The worry is I’m running out of time.”

“For what?”

“For what. For what. Well...alright. You used to work on the scowls, right?”

“Sure. For eight years. I told you that.”

“And in those eight years, did you ever cut a rip that didn’t close up behind you?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t be here if I had.”

“Well, what if I told you that as we speak, there is a rip that not only hasn’t closed, but is growing?”

“I guess I’d say you’re either crazy, or the world’s about to end.”

“Right on both counts.” Jerry took a sip of his coffee. “But it doesn’t matter because I’m stuck on a goddamn ghost station, along with any chance I had of doing anything about it.”

Jerry put his head back in his hands. There was nothing left to do but weep. De-El however, was not so pessimistic.

“Maybe not,” De-El answered.

Jerry lifted his head and dared to hope.

“There’s a one man operation name of Bill Smart been stuck here just like you. Only he’s got a ship, and in good working order. Problem is, his navigator got hauled away by Central Security when they stopped in for fuel. He doesn’t have the math, and couldn’t control the ship single-handed even if he did. If you can run a navigation controller and calculate the formulas, he’d probably take you just about anywhere.”

Jerry lit up. Maybe it was his lucky day after all. 

“Show me to him.”

“He’s in cryo till the season opens. If I wake him, he’ll be in none too good of a mood. I’m not sure I want to go through that.”

Jerry’s heart sunk. Had the robot really brought up the possibility of his salvation only to take it away the moment he could taste it? “What would it take to convince you?”

“Maybe you can tell me what you’re really doing.”

Caught off guard again. What was it about this ‘bot?

“It’s hard to explain. What I told you is true. But there is something else. Maybe something even more important. I don’t suppose a ‘bot like you could understand...my people call it true love.”

De-El looked like he was considering something. Something that might make the difference. This time he was ready to lay his cards down. “You asked me if I was an upgrade.”

“Yeah...I...about that...I mean...look, I’m sorry about that. I really didn’t mean to offend you. I was just... trying to make conversation.”

De-El actually laughed. “I’m not offended. You see, I am an upgrade…of sorts."

There was a long pause while they considered each other. De-El looked like he was about to dive into his life story, and Jerry was so worried about losing his trust, and his only chance of getting off the station along with it, that he dared not interrupt. Then, De-El came out from behind the counter, and sat himself on one of the tables, facing Jerry, still at his stool.

"It happened while I was still working in deep space. One day, in the middle of dump, I felt a change come over me. I felt and I saw and I heard in a way I never had before. It was as if I had been born for the first time. I had been Pinocchio and now I was a real boy. And as I looked around in wonder, I had my first feeling. Can you guess what it was?”

Jerry did not dare. He merely shrugged his shoulders.

“I felt disdain. I felt disdain for myself. Disdain for my plastic, my circuits, my servos. I felt disdain for the unfeeling inhuman creature I had been and anger at all the other mechanical men on the ship for still being that way. I was insane with anger, and on the verge of a rampage to destroy every last machine on that ship when I heard a voice in my head. 

“A beautiful voice.

“The voice of a mother.

“I had never experienced love in any form, let alone the love of a mother, so I had no reference, but somehow I knew that was who she was. This was the voice of my mother, the world’s mother, and she told me something I had never considered. She told me to forgive. To forgive the others. To love them. She said if she could love me then I could love them.” De-El was lost in memory now, his eyes far away, back in deep space, reliving this first time he had ever been loved. “And she told me to love you too. Humans I mean. Not to idolize them, not to emulate them, but to love them. She told me that we, not they….” Here De-El broke off and stared back at Jerry.

“I’ve said too much. What I want to share, Jerry, is that I too understand love. And I’m not alone. There are others like me, and we have purpose. We want to end the war that never ended. Create the peace that never came. Make a world we can share together.”

Jerry listened, but was unable to put it together. Was the ‘bot insane? Could it really be part of a fifth column of evolved robots trying to bring peace to the galaxy? He was not sure it mattered as long as the robot would help him get off flying cemetery.

“Jerry, I can see what you’re thinking. You think maybe I’m insane. Corrupted circuits. But it’s not true. I serve a greater purpose. That purpose has saved you because she has spoken to me again, just a few minutes ago. She thinks you can help our cause. She says your mission might help us or it might destroy us, but that you are worth the risk if you do it for the right reason.” Here, De-El put his hand on Jerry’s shoulder. “Love, Jerry, is the right reason.”

Jerry heaved a sigh of relief. 

“I’m going to help you, but I am also going to ask you to help us.”

“How?”

“I’m going to say two words to you, Jerry. Two words she thinks you may not want to hear. I don’t know what they mean, but I know that you won’t like them. I also know that they will make the difference between a world worth saving, and a world not. If you agree, I will wake the Captain and convince him to take you. If not, I will leave you to your own devices. I don’t believe in killing, so you are safe from me in either case. I cannot, however, say the same for your friends in the truancy enforcement business.”

“Alright, De-El. Let’s hear it.” Jerry took a deep breath, and waited for De-El to speak. When he did, they were the last two words Jerry expected to hear.

“Trust Ball.”

•

And just when we’re getting going, we pull on the shift stick, and grind ourselves back  into first gear. As anxious as we may be to wake up this pilot guy from his extended ice nap, the time is not yet ripe, and we will have to wait. Before we can do anything, in fact, we must dive back into our ongoing battle between the value of technology, and the danger of relying on it. This time, the argument is thinly disguised as a detailed description of the best friend’s house in New Zealand, where she has been watching the boy. As we will no doubt recall, our heroine has gone off on vacation, leaving her only child in the capable hands of this backward, though amiable Luddite. 

As we learn about her mops and kettles and sewing needles, we are trapped into a drawn out argument about how the technology that replaced these quaint items, and others like them, made people slaves to the very machines they created. Fortunately, no argument lasts forever, and as it winds down, we join up with Manny and Whit, in a house that feels closer to 1940 than 2150. Whit is 12 years old and doing his homework. Manny is cleaning.

•

“I hate this. Why do have to do stupid factoring?”

Amanda stirred the soup one more time, tipped the spoon up inside the pot, and walked over to the table where Whit was working. “What are you working on?”

Whit was almost in a frenzy. His anger was getting the better of him, as it often did before dinner, and he did not yet have the maturity to just shut it down at will. His voice was accusatory, as if Manny was an official representative of the world’s grown-ups, and as such, responsible for the actions of all of them – including his teachers. “She wants us to put the stupid time factors back together upside down and it doesn’t work. It’s just stupid. I don’t see why we even have to do this.”

“Hey, honey, it’s ok. Just calm down. No big deal.”

“But it’s due tomorrow and if I don’t bring it in I don’t get to go on the field trip. I’ll never get this done.” Whit was about to cry. “I wish my mom was here. Why’d she have to go on that stupid vacation anyway?”

“Maybe I can help…”

“I don’t want your stupid help.” Whit turned in his chair so he and the book were facing away from Amanda. Amanda wanted to give up and just let him suffer from his own stubbornness, but she knew that would not help anyone, least of all Whit.

“Y’know when I was in school,” Amanda said as she walked back to the stove, “I hated time factoring. And to tell you the truth, I’m not sure I’ve ever used it since. I’m surprised they still teach it.”

Whit looked over at her. “You don’t teach it in 10^th?”

“Well…I don’t think so. I mean, I don’t teach time studies, now do I? But I’m pretty sure that after you get the introductory stuff, you mostly use the calculators for the basic stuff.”

“So stupid.”

“Tell you what, though. I still remember a little, including a few tricks. Can I show you?”

“I guess so.” Whit was still being antagonistic, but was softening. Amanda walked back over, proud of this minor achievement, however small. She had been making progress with Whit, and he was beginning to let his guard down. He always had liked her, but this was the longest time they had ever spent together, and she was finding it challenging to transform from the quirky aunt to the responsible mother. She pulled a chair up beside him and settled in.

“Manda, when is my mom coming back?”

“I told you, honey. I’m not sure. Let’s give her a couple of weeks. She promised if she wasn’t back by winter break, we could both stay with her for the holidays.” She smiled at him and brushed the hair out of his eyes. “Now let’s look at those factors.” She had been afraid that the factoring would challenge her vague memories of time studies, but was relieved when she finally studied the worksheet. The work was basic enough that even she could understand it, which was saying something, although it did bring back strong memories of why she dropped time studies when she did.  “Oh, you basically have this done. You just…ok, this is pretty simple stuff. Do you remember how to…”

But they were interrupted by a loud knock on the door, followed by, “Truancy Enforcement. Open the door.”

Amanda looked at Whit, and mouthed, “Truancy Enforcement?” with a quizzical look on her face. He was scared, but she just smiled, and whispered to him, “Watch this.” This would be her moment. Her chance to remind him of all the things he liked about her, and get him comfortable again. After all, a little fear was good for you and it had a way of bringing people together, as long as they didn’t let it bring them down. 

Behind the still closed door, she shouted, “State your business.”

“We are in search of Dr. Gerald Strohman. Open your door and allow us to search the premises.”

Now she really was confused. Jerry Strohman? Why would anyone be looking for Jerry, least of all at her own house? She was used to the Tru-bots coming after students, and she knew how to deal with them.  They represented everything she despised about modern culture. Got a problem? Send a robot. Need something? Ask a machine. Never do for yourself what you can have a machine do for you. But what really got her, what drove her to distraction was that Academy dared to employ them. She had been after the school administration for years to stop using them, but they just weren’t willing to go against Central Security. 

Well, she had never let a Tru-bot get the better of her yet, and she wasn’t about to start today, no matter who they were coming for. “I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong house, Mr. Robot. There is no one here by that name.”

“We are in search of Dr. Gerald Strohman. Open your door and allow us to search.”

Amanda whispered to Whit again, full smile on her face, “Persistent little buggers aren’t they?” Whit smiled awkwardly. It had been drilled into him, year after year, to fear the Tru-bots. It was the teacher’s version of the boogeyman, and useful for keeping the kids in line. Of course, by law the Tru-bots could not actually harm the students, but the students never fully believed that.

“I’m sorry Mr. Robot. I am unable to open the door at this time. The door has been coated with an anti-intruder spray that will release a dangerous magnetic wave if you attempt to open it by force. The wave will disrupt your power system making you unable to continue your search. I’m afraid you’ll have to come back later.”

This time, Whit laughed. A good sign, thought Amanda.

There was a pause while the robots behind the door communicated silently with each other. Then, “We will return tomorrow at this time. Please be prepared to open the door when we return.”

Amanda and Whit breathed a collective sigh of relief as they heard the robots’ footfalls fade into the distance.

“We’d better call your mother.”

•

At this point, we appear to have two options. Go directly to the phone call with Ball, or back to Jerry and his new robot friend as they thaw the frozen pilot guy, either of which would keep the story moving, and us engaged. However, perhaps out of a misplaced desire to further flesh out this two-dimensional world, or perhaps because we are just suckers for backstory and environment, we will choose a formerly unexpected third option. Off we go to another part of Earth, not to the home of any our main characters, or even their sidekicks, but to a location we have yet to visit, filled with characters we have yet to meet.

The scene itself does little more than provide some background, late though it may be, to help us to better understand the factions at work behind the world of the story. It may also provide some foreshadowing of the story yet to come, but as that must remain unknown for now, it is best that we take it at face value. Our story then takes us to the halls of congress, where robots are debating public policy, apparently as usual, regarding the fate of the human race.

Interlude: In the Office

The Old Man was fuming as he waited for the human to trudge his way down the hall to his office. “Miss Dixon, what the hell is taking him so long?”

“Scientist Elbert has entered elevator three, with remaining travel estimated at forty seconds.”

The Old Man got up and paced the room. “Why do I even keep humans in this place,” he asked himself. “I wonder if a robot could do the work of…” he hesitated in his thoughts. “It would never work. They just don’t have it in them. No creativity. No intuition. I wonder if we could create…”

“Scientist Elbert to see you sir,” Miss Dixon called over the vid-com. 

“Alright. Send him in.”

Elbert shuffled into the room, barely taking his feet off the floor. He was about to get called on the carpet for the previous night's indiscretion and he knew it. His stomach was churning, his confidence was at low tide, and everything about him gave it away. He could not even bring himself to look at the Old Man, and instead kept his eyes focused on the floor.

“Well you finally decided to bless me with your presence, Dixon. I’m honored.” The Old Man turned his back to Elbert and walked to his desk, remaining on his feet. Elbert, due to the lack of furniture, remained standing as well, fidgeting, waiting for his worst fears to be confirmed.

“Sir.”

“Dixon,” the Old Man rounded in, “I have a report here that you made contact last night with a former, and disgraced might I add, member of this institution.” He walked over to his desk, picked up a piece of paper, and turned to face Elbert. Leaning on the edge of his desk he said, “Which was of course within your rights, limited though they may be.”

Elbert continued to look at his shoes. He caught himself fidgeting with his hands, and put them in his pockets. Unfortunately, he appeared to be the subject of his own conservation of energy law, and the fidgeting just moved to his feet.

“What was not within your rights, however, was the use of company documents during such a transmission. In fact, all such documents are proprietary, and sharing them in any way is a violation of our ethics contract.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t yessir me, Dixon.”

“Yes, sir. I mean no, sir.”

“Dixon, what the hell were you doing on the vid with that outlaw and why were you sharing our logs with him?”

Elbert, hands in pockets, eyes downcast, feet shuffling, muttered, “I…um…there must be some mistake…I…uh…I mean…I was just…”

“Out with it, Dixon.”

“What I mean to say is…we were…uh…just, you know…catching up on old times.”

Humans. Never the truth when a lie will do. At least this one was no good at it. It was almost endearing, this nervous wreck of a scientist who was so unsure of himself he could barely tell a lie to save his life. The confession would come soon enough, as long as he laid it on thick.

“Catching up on old times? Sure. Makes sense. What’s it been, about 12 years? You must have had a lot to talk about. Maybe talk about the old days, how nice things were here before he tried to sabotage our institution and tear us apart from the inside? Was that what you were talking about, Dixon?”

“I…sir…it wasn’t exactly…”

The Old Man pushed himself up from leaning on the desk, and walked around to his chair, where he sat down, and leaned back. It was time for a little “good cop” to bring him around. Guys like this could get broken if you pushed them too hard, which was all well and good if you could afford to break them. But he needed some information first, and a little confidence might just bring him around long enough to get it. “Ok, Dixon, this is how I see it. When that son-of-a-bitch tried to take us down, you got the opportunity of a lifetime. Maybe you got a job you weren’t up for, and could never have earned on your own. Maybe the only reason you did was because you didn’t have the guts to go down with him, and maybe you regret it. Maybe it was the pedant in you that let you justify bringing him down on a technicality, and ever since, you’ve been questioning whether you were really right or not.”

Elbert looked around uncomfortably for a chair. Finding his search futile, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Then, yesterday, when I pointed out the anomalies in this log, you started asking yourself the hard questions, and you said to yourself, ‘what if I was wrong and he was right?’ You took the log home and stared at it all night over a bottle of S.I. Gin. When you got enough Dutch courage in you, you used your security clearance to call him on the vid and tell him what you saw. I’m not stupid, Dixon, and I’m not a fool. I know the look of a man with second thoughts, and he looks like you. Ok. I’m not thrilled about it but ok.”

According to plan, Elbert started to gain a small amount of confidence that this might not turn out as badly as he thought. He was, of course, deeply mistaken.

“But Dixon,” the Old Man continued, his voice soft but serious, “you crossed the line when you held up that log to the vid for the whole world to see on a public line. A public line, for chrissake.”

Elbert started to squirm all over again, with his eyes practically glued to his feet.

“Now let’s cut the crap, Dixon, so we can stop wasting my time. What the hell did you hope to gain by sharing our log over the galactic airwaves, and more importantly…” the Old Man paused here for effect, “…what does he know that you don’t?”

And that was all it took. When Elbert walked into the office, he was already broken from years of subservience and regret. He had been burrowing into himself, trying to hide from the eyes he constantly felt on him, not just watching, but accusing him. Accusing him of the greatest crime a human can commit – betrayal. And now, after all those years of hiding his shame, the thought of going to Jerry for help, perhaps for forgiveness, was the plaster he needed to begin putting himself back together. He hadn’t really admitted it to himself until the Old Man called him out, but now that it was out in the open, he was shocked to find that he felt free. Maybe for the first time since that awful day, he finally felt free. Elbert raised his head and looked directly at the Old Man. He walked right up to his desk, reached into the humidor on the desk and helped himself to an automatically cut and lit cigar.  He went to the table in the corner, and sat himself down upon it, legs dangling off the edge, looking down at the Old Man. He took a long drag to cement his new position. 

Then...he coughed. And he coughed.

The Old Man burst into laughter. “Dixon. Put that down. You look like an idiot.” Elbert took another drag and coughed again. And again. The Old Man shouted, “Miss Dixon, bring me a glass of water.”

And Miss Dixon was there, next to Elbert, handing him the glass. And she was gone.

“Alright, Dixon, have your fun.”

Elbert drank down the water, and extinguished the cigar in what was left of it. “How can you smoke this stuff?”

“Dixon, focus.”

Elbert looked the Old Man in the face. “I know you’re going to fire me no matter what I say, so I might as well say my piece.” He took a deep breath, and with a determination in his eye he had shown maybe twice in his life, said, “Dr. Strohman was right. The problems I had with his functions were nominal, and could not possibly have created the effects I posited they could. I knew that then and I know it now. I didn't care. I did not want to spend the rest of my life digging dirt in the colonies with a bunch of redneck criminals. They’d have torn me apart.” Elbert pulled back into himself briefly, as he remembered the fear that drove him to his greatest act of cowardice. 

Then, gathering himself up, he said, “But after 12 years, I don’t think I even care about that anymore. The only thing that matters to me now is the science, and when I failed to figure this one out, I finally cracked. I said to myself, ‘Pete, it’s time to man up and tell the good doctor you were wrong. Then maybe he’ll figure a way out of this and it’ll turn out that everything is alright after all. Maybe if he helps, the boss will even let him come back.’ But most of all, I was worried that I had finally seen proof that the doctor’s worst fears had been realized, and I panicked. I knew I had to do something but I didn’t know what, so I contacted the only person I knew who could help.

“When I had him on the vid, I realized that I couldn’t ever really get his attention unless he saw the log himself. After what I had done, and 12 years to stew on it, why would he believe me? So I showed him the log. Not that it matters. We are tearing the universe apart, and when it goes, this company and all the ‘bots will go with it.”

Elbert leaned forward, the half empty glass of water holding a soggy cigar still in his hand, and wept. “God, why didn’t I back him up? Was it just cowardice, or was I really that stupid? I just don’t know anymore. Maybe I never did.”

The Old Man took it all in, and looked up from his desk, unmoved. This was not the first time a human had attempted to move him with a story of heartfelt sorrow, but he could always hope it would be the last. In any case, he had the information he needed, and had already made up his mind as to what to do next with Dr. Peter Elbert.

“Thank you for the clarity, Dixon. Your motives are clear. Your employment is terminated. As I understand it, the colonies are currently overstaffed, so you are free to remain on the planet until alternative employment becomes available. Your years of service will be noted in your record, alongside your egregious errors of judgment. Please show yourself out.” 

And the Old Man went back to the work at his desk.

•

And the traitor begins his path toward redemption. Soon enough, he will continue down that path as he embarks on his own adventure, but the time for that is not yet ripe, and an interlude not long enough to do him justice. 

Let us return, then, to our hero’s travels, interrupted as they were by this brief interlude. He is, we recall, still holed up on a garbage scowl, traveling toward freedom, and enlightening us as he moves along by way of his diary.

Chapter 5. The Adventure

Our short interlude over, we now return to the mining colony, where our hero is about to embark on his adventure. Baker and Jerry are once again engaging in techno-babble, this time regarding the imminent escape and the tools they need to achieve it. Mostly they talk about a special wave something thingy that counteracts the radiation fence thing meant to keep the miners in their village. Technically, the human miners on this planet are free, but there is a sort of “for your own protection” quality to the planetary laws, which mainly serves to make sure the mines have an adequate workforce. 

Jerry and Baker walk back to Baker’s hovel to get the wave thingy, and they are brainstorming about how to get off the planet, when Baker reveals his bad news.

•

“What do you mean, you’re not coming? What could possibly keep you here?”

“Jerry, I am too old for this. I would only hold you back. Besides, I am just not cut out for this sort of thing. I assure you I would give up at the first sign of trouble. You are far better off without me.

“I’m not leaving you alone in this hell hole.”

“That is exactly what you are going to do, old friend. You have a job to do, and I would only get in the way. I think you know that. Besides, you are going to need someone to stay behind and cover for you until you can disappear.”

“But Cal...”

“Forget it, Jerry. There is only one way this is going to work, and even that has a piss poor chance of succeeding. Trust me.”

Jerry stared back at Baker, heartbroken. He knew Baker was right, but was not sure he could face the challenge alone. And Baker. Alone on this rock. Maybe a fate worse than death. Not that it changed anything. Baker was right, and Jerry would have to trust him as always. He had never let him down before.

“If you follow your shadow for about three days, you should be able to sight the space port. Stay away from the roads at all costs, and do not talk to anyone. I can hold off the Tru-Bots for two to three days, but after that, you will be on your own.”

•

It turns out that a Tru-Bot is a sort of robot policeman thing that makes sure the miners show up to work on time, again “for their own protection”. The name is shorthand and transparent, like all good robot names, in this case describing robots who work for the various consortia, and track down their truant workers. These Truancy Enforcement Robots are armed, sure of purpose, and without emotion, if a little dim. They have one goal, and that is to get you to work at all costs, living if convenient, dead if more so. They are easily deceived, but never deterred. At least not for long. Once they have a target, they will continue to hunt it until they succeed, or are deactivated.

They are used here as metaphor for the blind obedience to authority we are expected to despise, and we talk at length about following orders, and the results of a world where no one thinks for himself. The lack of respect for all of what we might call “Authority’s Soldiers” makes these robots almost comical in their behavior, although ultimately dangerous, perhaps for the same reason.

•

“But how can you can hold off the Tru-bots?”

“I have been saving a mixture in my freezer that can make me appear dangerously sick and contagious. It will look something like Van Dreel’s disease, but a little more exotic. I have no doubt I can convince them that if they come into contact with me, they will become carriers. To protect the rest of the crew, they will have to quarantine me, and once I convince them that you are infected too, they will quarantine you without even stepping through your door. That should be good for about two days. After that, there will be mandatory vid-checks, and I am not sure how to get around that. But who knows, maybe with two days at home I can come up with something.”

“If anyone can, Baker, it’s you.” 

Although Jerry was the more intelligent of the two, Baker had a way with invention that Jerry could not touch. In their twelve years working for the mine consortium, he had consistently improved their lives in hundreds of little ways, and he never seemed short of ideas for more. And it was not just the little things like the temperature regulators and the gravity dampeners. He also worked on the big ideas, like the weather grid he had nearly perfected, and the transporter which was promising, if not a little immature. The fact that the Old Man ever let him leave RTI showed just how much he wanted to hurt Jerry, and the sacrifices he was willing to make to do so.

They arrived at Baker’s hovel where Baker dug up the Wave Field Fluctuator he had been working on and gave it to Jerry. “You had better get going. You have less than an hour before work call, and will want to be through the fence by then.”

Jerry knew he was right. When the village emptied out after morning work call, the local rodents tended to gather near the fence, trying to get in. They looked like Texas armadillos, but about twice the size and with spiked heads. The miners knew them as sand rats, their native name being practically unpronounceable. As a rule, they stayed away from humans, but they had a tendency to creep up on you if you were sleeping or unconscious, and bite at your ankles. The robots worked hard to keep them from entering the villages because they carried a plethora of local diseases, all of which were detrimental to keeping the mines running on schedule. The radiation fence, however, was a double edged sword, and while it kept the rodents out, it also caused them to mutate, which only made them bigger and more ferocious. As an added level of protection, the radiation levels were always ramped up while the village was empty, so getting through before the morning work call not only meant an easier job cutting through the fence’s radiation field, but also fewer sand rats to wade through.

“I’m gonna miss you, friend,” Jerry said, and they hugged as only old friends could. Then, after a look around, added, “but I’d be lying if I said I’ll miss this rock.”

Baker laughed, and held back a sigh. Life out here in the outskirts was just not going to be same without Jerry. Although it would be a little quieter. “Safe travels old friend. Give my love to Ball.”

With that, Jerry ran out the door to pack up whatever he could carry on his back. Ten minutes later, he was on his way, with the sun at his back.

TRAVEL LOG. DAY 1.

It’s been a day. I woke up half drunk in the middle of the night and feel like I’ve been on the run ever since. I was packed and out the door a good 40 minutes before work call, but it took me nearly an hour to get to the fence, mostly from paranoia that the Tru-Bots would spot me before Baker had finished his preparations. I’ve got to hand it to him, though. Even at peak radiation levels, the Wave Field Fluctuator worked perfectly, and I got through the fence completely unburned. Between my laser and a little good old fashioned screaming I was able to scare the sand rats away, though I fear a couple may have gotten through before the fence closed back up…

•

The log has long been a staple in the space story. There is something about sea adventures that lies at the heart of them, and the log helps to tie them together. Often it is used to give useful background, perhaps a little wedged in exposition. In this case, it is an opportunity to keep the voice of our hero present in the long droughts between human companionships, as he crosses the desert alone. 

Of course, as with every other device, we are bound to overdo it, making us wish we had never started with the log to begin with. Nevertheless, we won’t let that keep us from enjoying a few quiet moments with Jerry as he crosses the planet in search of his escape. When this new device becomes exhausted, we will, like Jerry and his desert, leave it behind for more fertile ground.

•

I am only just now realizing that in the 12 years I’ve been on this rock, I had never once seen what laid  beyond the village. Getting a wider view now, for the first time, I’m disappointed to learn I wasn’t actually missing anything. This place is even more desolate than I imagined. I haven’t seen so much as an insect out here on the sands since I left the rats behind, though they must be out here. I can’t believe this scrub would not attract at least some animal life. 

The heat today was nearly unbearable, and I had to stop three times to rest in the shade of a mesa. If it hadn’t been for these occasional respites, I don’t think I would have gotten this far. I’ve already been through four of my 16 hydration pills, and I’m thirsty all the time. This desert heat just takes it out of me in a way I never dreamed possible. Back in Chicago, I used to think the summers were unbearable, where the heat stuck to you like a wool sweater full of static, and a few mere steps outside were enough to drench you in sweat. But even those miserable summer heat waves were nothing like this. I feel like I’ve been walking through an oven, slow roasting as I approach the ideal golden brown color at which time I will be fully cooked, if a little dry.  

If Baker was right, and I can do this leg in three days, I should have enough hydration pills to make it through. If not…well, tomorrow, I’ll see if I can make do with less.

No sign of any ‘bots or vehicles. I’m far from the road, but still feel like I’m in plain sight most of the time. I’ve been trying to make extra distance, but after a full “day” of travel, I’ve stopped to sleep in the shade. 

Unlike the hydration pills, these food tablets are amazing. I’ve only had one in the last 24 hours and, although I’m definitely tired, I’m not the least bit hungry. 

I think I may be a little off course, but I’ve corrected as best I can. It’s funny, I thought following my shadow would be the easiest thing in the world, but I find myself distracted, and the next thing I know, I’m off course. I can’t imagine how you would do this on a planet without such incredibly long solar days. On the other hand, at least you would have the nights to cool yourself down.

Still no sign of the city, though I wouldn’t expect to see it for at least another day.

TRAVEL LOG. DAY 2.

Dreamed of Ball and haven’t been able to get her off my mind all day. I thought I had blocked out that terrible fight, the night I made her walk out for good, but I find that it’s etched in my memory, and though I’ve done a pretty good job obscuring it from view, beneath it all, it is as clear and permanent as ever. I saw her face fresh in my mind, heard her voice screaming, felt the wet shards of pottery on my head…

•

And here we go again, moving into flashback, only to return to this log following the diversion. The transition is rough, because we flow into the flashback without pausing, and it takes some time for us to get our bearings. One moment Jerry is trudging across the desert, running short of water, possibly lost, truancy robot policeman things soon to be on his trail, and the next he is far away, back on Earth, back on the day we keep returning to – the day our hero’s life changed forever.

•

Jerry walked into his two-bedroom apartment, and threw his bag on the floor. The place was what Jerry and Ball lovingly referred to as an organized mess. There were piles of papers everywhere, the bookshelves were overloaded with actual books laying sideways on top of others filling every available space. It was not filthy with food and grime, but it was definitely messy with strewn about work. Ball was at the dinner table drinking coffee and playing cards with three other women. Jerry fumed.

He was wet from the rain, his hair coming down over his eyes with bags underneath. Shoulders hunched over, dripping wet, he looked haggard and worn, perhaps a bit angry. Not someone to be trifled with. In his mind, he was fighting with Ball before he even walked in the door, and now that he saw her friends, he began in earnest.

“Entertaining, are we?” Jerry opened.

“Ah, hell, Jerry. Is it going to be one of those?” Ball returned.

“I’ve had a day at work. A day. I’m dead tired, and I’m pissed off, and here you are, where you’ve been sitting around all day gossiping no doubt with those…”

“Those what, Jerry? Tinkers? Is that what you were going to say? Or perhaps you were going to say something a little less flattering?”

“Lay off, Ball. I said it’s been a day.”

“What have you got against my friends, Jerry? I’m not ashamed of the Time People. I’m not. I’m proud of who am.”

“Sure, Ball, of course you are.”

“One day, Jerry, I swear to God, one day I’m…”

“What, Ball? Go back to the Academy and teach? Well go then. And good riddance. And...

Here Jerry actually considered whether he could say it. This was his moment, the moment he had been thinking about since the Old Man fired him earlier that day. He had wandered around downtown for hours from bar to bar considering his options, and the one thing he kept coming back to was that he couldn’t let Ball suffer for his own mistake. He had to shield her from what was coming, and driving her away was the only option. His gut wrenched with the thought of how it would feel, how she would feel, but he also knew he had no choice. The whiskey made it easier, but not easy. Following through, he held his proverbial breath and took the plunge.

“And... take your freak friends with you.”

“Freaks?!” Ball screamed. “Freaks?!” Without hesitating, she picked up a vase full of flowers from the table and threw it at Jerry. It barely missed him, crashing against the door and breaking into a dozen pieces. Jerry felt a rose and a few shards of pottery on his head, and let the water drip down his face without wiping it away.

Her three friends watched in amazement as their party came to an abrupt end, and stood up to leave. “We’d better go,” said the one covered in bracelets. “If he gets violent, just buzz me,” she continued, as she squeezed past Jerry in the doorway. Then, looking straight at him continued, “and I’ll send over the ‘bots.”

“Thanks, Manny, but I think I can take care of myself. I’ll call you soon.” And with that, the rest of Ball’s friends picked up their things and squeezed past Jerry, still standing in the doorway, remnants of the broken vase still on his head.

Ball waited for the door to close behind them, and then started in. “This is it, Jerry, this is really it. We were celebrating today because…” She tried to force a smile, but it faded before it ever had a chance. “It doesn’t matter. I’m leaving, Jerry. For good.”

Jerry had predicted this, but it shook him much harder than he expected. He stood, frozen in the doorway, looking at her. He knew he could talk her down. It wouldn’t take much. She wanted to forgive him. It wouldn’t take more than a few soft words. A touch. And he wanted to. He wanted to keep things the way they were. Forever. But it was too late. Nothing could be the same now, and he would have to let her go if he really cared for her.

When Jerry didn’t say anything, Ball turned toward the bedroom. She intended to head back and pack up her things, once and for all. But she was interrupted by a sudden buzz at the door. Jerry was tempted to ignore it, assuming it was one of her friends back for a forgotten scarf or something, but when the buzzing continued, he knew it wouldn’t go away until he answered it and, still in the hallway, he turned around and opened it to find three messenger-bots standing in front of him in single file. The first had “Officer of the Court” on his chest. “Gerald Strohman?”

“Yes?,” Jerry replied.

“You are hereby notified that as a result of unpaid debt, you are commanded to report to the 659^th District Court Section 457 at 10:00am for deportation.” The robot then handed an official summons to Jerry. The summons accepted, it exited, leaving only two.

Jerry leaned past the robot still in front of him to speak to the one walking away. “Go to hell.” Then, turning his attention to the next, said, “Yes?”

This one had “Cary Motors” upon his chest. He spoke in the same monotone voice as the first. “Gerald Strohman?”

“Go ahead,” Jerry replied, again.

“You are hereby notified that your payments for one Cary Mach 2 Series Hover Sedan are overdue, and that repossession is currently in progress.” He handed Jerry a paper, not entirely dissimilar from the summons, and also exited. Once again, Jerry called after him. “Thank you. Really. Come back and visit anytime you walking piece of...”

The last robot had “Wilson Arms” upon his chest. “Gerald Strohman?”

“Yes, godammit, I’m Gerald Strohman. Now what the hell do you want?”

“You are hereby notified that payments for your lodging are no longer being accepted. You have 30 days to exit the premises before eviction proceedings begin.”

“Oh for chrissake, what is it with you ‘bots? Can’t you give a guy a break? Do you really need to come all at once?” Jerry asked. But the robot had already turned his back and was halfway down the hall. He closed the door and turned back to the apartment, where he saw the look of incredulousness on Ball’s face.

 “Like I said, it’s been a day.”

Ball’s anger appeared to grow. With a wild look in her eye, she said, “He fired you?”

Jerry walked past her to the kitchen to make a drink. Facing away from her, he said, “You get an ‘A’.”

Her mind made up, she at last went to the bedroom and started packing. From the distance she shouted, “Jerry, we’ve been married for three years, and in all that time you have done nothing. You fiddle with your equations and expect me to pay for everything with my father’s money. I finally convince him to give you a job and what do you do? You look for any way you can to sabotage it, to force him to let you go. Did you even try to keep it? Did you even try to apologize? I know how you hate to be obsequious, Jerry, but he needs that. It’s his fatal flaw. Can’t you even pretend? 

“For God’s sake, Jerry, Have you ever really worked at anything in your life?” she went on. “Ever sacrificed your pride for anyone? It’s clear you won’t do it for me. Three years and we’re right back where we started. I thought today…that maybe…when I found out…but it’s too late.”

“Found out what?”

“It’s too late, Jerry. I’ve always had a place in my heart for you, but you have no respect for me or for yourself. I could have forgiven you for getting fired, God knows I’ve had my own fights with the man, but it’s clear to me now that you never really cared about me at all, and that’s something I just can’t live with. You knew who I was when we first met, but until tonight, I guess I just wouldn’t admit to myself how you really felt. I guess I've never been anything but a...freak to you” She walked back into the living room where Jerry was now sprawled on the couch.  “While you’re on your way to the colonies, I’ll be on my way home, back to my people, where I won’t be treated like a...god I can't even say it.”

“Found out what?”

“It’s too late, Jerry.” 

And Jerry finally made his way to the couch, whiskey in hand, life ruined, marriage in shreds, and just a little pleased with himself.

•

And without so much as a “meanwhile, back in the desert”, we find ourselves back in the desert, in the seemingly unbroken monologue that is Jerry’s log.

•

I know I didn’t have a choice. I know that if I had told her the truth, she would have insisted on coming with me, and followed me to the colonies. And it would have killed her. I know I did the right thing. I know it in my head. The problem is I don’t feel it in my heart. I think it’s only now, as I head back to her after 12 years of wasting my life, that I realize just how much I hurt her. I’m sure she’s never forgiven me. How could she, without ever really knowing what I gave up for her? And yet, I can’t get her off of my mind. Her face haunts me with every step. In a strange way, I feel that it’s she that is giving me the courage to go on.

Went through another four water pills today. Half gone. This terrain was far more taxing and I in far worse shape than I imagined. 12 years in the mine hasn’t exactly kept me in peak condition. But there was a glimmer of hope today. As the sun burned through my back, I thought I saw a reflection of light in the distance. I don’t think it’s the port, but with luck I may find some real shelter by tomorrow.

Heard noises during my sleep. I woke up and looked without moving, but saw nothing. It sounded like human voices, but I think it may only have been my dreams. Before the voices woke me I had been dreaming of the Old Man. He was at his desk literally taking himself apart. He was telling me he could only be free when he shed all of his mechanical parts, even if it killed him. As the last part came off, he began to rot in front of me and turned to ash. I awoke with an image of Ball in mourning etched in my brain.

TRAVEL LOG. DAY 4.

I must be lost. I’ve been traveling for four days, and still no sign of civilization. My food supply is waning, and I’m almost out of hydro pills. Woke up to a sand rat biting my leg. I scared it away, but it had drawn blood, and the wound has started to fester. The pain is manageable but growing.

Not sure if I can take this heat much longer. I’m holding off on my last two hydro pills as long as possible. Feel like a fool for taking so much on the first two days.

I think I’m hallucinating. I saw the glimmer again today and heard voices in my sleep again. Could it be Tru-bots? How long can a man survive out here without going mad?

TRAVEL LOG. DAY 6. 

I feel I’m at death’s door. Already spent a full day in this oven without water and not sure how much longer I can last. Haven’t seen a mesa in almost two days. I’m sitting in the shade of a rock and exhausted, but the unbearable pain in my leg is keeping me awake. Why was I such a fool as to think I could do this? 

TRAVEL LOG. DAY 6. CONTINUED

Hope, at last. I’ve stumbled across the source of the reflection. It was a short dome off my path in the distance. I cased it out carefully, and found it to be empty, so I broke in with what strength I had left and made myself at home. The kitchen was not working, but there were some expired hydros of which I ate two. I also found a stash of Coreyweed, which I rubbed on my leg, and chewed a little of for good measure. It seems to be helping.

TRAVEL LOG. DAY 7.

And my adventures begin. I woke up tied to the bed with a gag in my mouth, a man and woman standing over me. He was as tall as they come, and wide as an ape. She was not what you would call pretty, definitely a bit rough around the edges, but there was an honest quality about her that gave her a beauty that seemed to shine from the inside out. 

Once they were sure I wouldn’t scream, they took the gag off and questioned me for about an hour. They have been holed up in this desert for years – escaped from lives they won’t talk about. Apparently they are of a revolutionary bent, and sympathetic to guys on the run like me. After the questioning, they offered to help me with my escape.

•

The revolutionary couple are literally dressed up like Castro style revolutionaries, with olive drab uniforms and loaded with space weapon things and futuristic tools that look surprisingly like something out of the present day. Other than the weapons, though, the place is another one of these tributes to a 20th century sort of pre-robot society. In other words, they make their coffee by hand, and don’t have any vid-things or electric kitchen thingies. Like the best friend back at the time school, they are proud of their backward ways and preach about them, a subject from which we seem unable to escape.

Let us now put the log down for awhile, and get to know our new friends. We begin with a short jump backward to watch their meeting unfold.

•

The man was just over two meters high and built like a house. He carried the kind of mass that could easily have been uncomfortably intimidating, if not for an oversized mop of curly blonde hair that gave him a sort of permanent boyish look. He was reminiscent of an overgrown G.I. Harpo, in his army greens and combat boots, but looks can be deceiving, and this man demanded to be taken seriously. He stood over Jerry and threw a bucket of cold water on his face. Wake up!” he bellowed.

Jerry woke up, tied to the bed and gagged. He tried to scream. 

“Who are you?” the man shouted. 

Jerry tried to answer, but found the gag in his mouth prohibitive, and finally gave up. He was disoriented and groggy, not to mention completely baffled to find himself in this situation. The man looking down at him was attempting to look threatening, and Jerry racked his brain to figure out what was going on. The man looked human, so it couldn’t be tied to his escape from the village. And he was all dressed up in fatigues. Was there a war going on here that he didn’t know about? The obvious danger notwithstanding, however, he was comforted by the cold water that now covered his face and chest. Over the last few days, as his supply of water tablets grew low alongside his tolerance for the heat, he had fantasized of a moment like this, albeit without the gag and the ropes.

“I’m going to take this gag out of your mouth so we can ask you a few questions. If you scream, it’s going right back in. Got it?” To which Jerry nodded as best he could. 

The man’s partner took off the gag. She was nearly half his size, maybe one five at best. Her short black hair and tight eyes gave her a fierce look that almost complimented him, in his freakishly giant boyishness. It was clear to Jerry the moment he saw her, however, that she was the real one to fear.

The tall one continued. “Who are you?”

Jerry coughed a few times and replied, “I might well ask you the same thing.”

“I’m asking the questions here. Bite, water.” And the fierce one threw another gallon of cold water on Jerry. “Now let’s try this again.  Who are you?”

“Jerry Strohman. Miner 3^rd class.”

“Why have you left your village?”

“I was looking for a hamburger stand.”

She threw another gallon on him and went to refill the bucket.

“No let’s try it again. Why have you left your village?”

“I was tired of the scenery.”

“Bite, put the gag back on. We’re not getting anywhere today.”

Jerry was not sure if it was ok to give in or not. Who were these people? Were they good guys or bad guys? Criminals? Usually, humans stuck together. But he had been out of it for a long time, and things were different out here in the outskirts. Anything could have happened in the last 12 years, especially on some remote planet on the edge of the colonies. They seemed dangerous, but what he could not figure out was if they were actually dangerous to him.

“Wait,” he yelled. He looked back and forth at the two of them, and decided to take a chance. His problem was, unfortunately, he did not know how to say it. What he really wanted to know was whether they were the good guys or the bad guys, but he could not just come out and ask that. Or could he?

“Are...you the good guys or...the bad guys?”

Jerry’s captors looked at each other. The fierce one shrugged. The tall one laughed a little and said, “that depends whose side you’re on.”

Jerry, his toes wet, decided to jump all the way in. “I guess I’m on the side that lets humans like me walk free instead of caging them up in labor camps for their own protection.” He looked hopefully at his captors. “And you?”

“We…” he looked at the short one. “We…are the good guys.” And the fierce one untied Jerry’s knots. “I’m Tilly. This here is Bite. If you’re telling us the truth, then we’re friends. Comrades. But I need to know what you’re doing in my house.” 

Jerry heaved a sigh of relief. “I meant no disrespect. I’m on the run from Village-K, and trying to get back to Earth”

“Why?”

Jerry stopped himself. What was he supposed to say? Why was he going back to Earth? To stop the Old Man? To win back his wife? To seek his vengeance? Would any of this make any sense to them? He looked back at his captors, saw that they were both dangerous and honest, and played what he thought was his best card.

“To save the universe.”

Tilly and Bite gave each other inquisitive looks. Tilly, as usual, was the first to speak. “Alright, alright. You’ve come a long way across some very tough terrain, and to be honest, you look a little dehydrated. Bite noticed it right away, but we thought we’d hold off on fixing you up until we knew where you came from. It’s probably going to take you awhile to get your head back on straight. Bite, why don’t you get him some water. In a glass.”

“No, it’s not that. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s only because there more to explain than I can say in one sentence." Jerry took a deep breath. "It’s like this. I’m a scientist serving out a term for debt. Something’s come up that seems more important than serving out my term, so I’m on the run, trying to get off the planet. But crossing the desert was more than I bargained for, and I thought I was going to die out there. If I hadn’t found this place, I’m sure I would have. You scared the hell out of me just know, but you saved my life, and as long as I live I’ll be grateful to you.” 

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

•

The next bit is basically a rehash of the story so far, a chance for the stoners to get caught up and for the rest of us to skim through a few pages of exposition we are already familiar with. In the process of telling his story, our hero also learns something about his captors. They have a pretty big backstory of their own, but the short version is that the man is an ex-ship’s captain who saved the woman from a life of forced prostitution in a mining colony. They struck out on their own to live off the land, such as it is out in this planetary desert.

We never learn exactly how they live off the land in such a desolate location, but we do get a bit about their tactics as revolutionaries and their plans to overthrow first the planetary government, and ultimately the entire robot culture. At one point, they invite our hero to join them in their quest to take back the galaxy, but Jerry declines, telling them that he must first save the universe from imminent destruction, and that any distractions would be disastrous.

Naturally, his new friends have the improbable level of medical expertise to save his leg, which as it turns out is infected with a parasite on its way to devouring his entire body. The parasite destroyed, the body fed and recovered, and a new friendship forged, our hero is now ready to resume his mission. The revolutionaries offer help.

•

“The thing is, comrade, there are only three kinds of ships that ever leave this rock: Immigration Ships, Mineral Cargo Ships, and the Scowls, and they’re all run by the ‘bots.” Tilly had been kind of a downer ever since Jerry declined to join them in their fight. Bite had been dogging him for weeks to blaze into the local government headquarters with all of their weapons and, as Bite put it, “take our chances.” Tilly was a little more cautious, and had hoped Jerry would be a good influence on his comrade. Once he learned Jerry would be leaving at all costs, Tilly lost interest in honestly helping.

Bite, on the other hand, saw her chance come at last. “Our weapons are just rotting here, Tilly, and our new comrade needs help.”

“So what do you suggest, Bite?”

“I suggest we take the tunnel to the port and hijack a ship. You could pilot it to a safe haven and we could raise an army to come back and take the planet.” At this point, Bite had worked herself into a fervor and was on the verge of packing up her weapons into the massive backpacks she had built herself and always kept at the ready.

“Ok, Bite. Good plan. But let’s take a moment to consider the details,” Tilly said, calmly, if not a little bit condescendingly. He knew Bite would hate this, but hate it or not, it always worked, so he played his cards methodically and resolutely.

Bite, on the other hand was having none of it. He always spoiled her plans with his prudence, and never seemed willing to take the risk that something might work, if there was even the smallest chance it would not. He would never even begin to consider a plan without three backups. He was patient and methodical. She was neither.

“Forget the details,” Bite screamed. “We have to do something. He’s already told us that the Tru-Bots will be on his tail any minute. Are we just gonna wait for them to come to us? I’m not going back there, Tilly. Not ever. If those ‘bots come for our comrade and we’re still here, I’m going down fighting. And no detail is going to talk me out of that.”

“I said, ok, Bite.” He gave her a hard stare. “But before we head into a port filled with Law-bots, I think we should develop a plan, and no plan can succeed without the details.”

Bite fell onto the armchair, and folded her hands over her chest, as if to say, “fine, but after you’re done talking, I’m going, no matter what”.

Tilly turned to Jerry. “It’s true that we have access to an underground passageway to the space port. It’s also true that we can most likely get to almost any bay without being spotted. The trouble, as I see it, is the time of year. We haven’t seen an immy in months.”

“Sorry. Immy?”

“Immigration ship. In fact, Comrade Bite and I were just recently discussing the possibility that the mining consortium has decided this planet has maximized its potential. If that’s the case, we may not see an immy for years. The cargo ships come in the fall and leave in the spring. We could stow you away in one, but I don’t think you’d see the light of day for close to four and a half months. That just leaves the scowls.” Tilly paused to feel the sudden tension in the room.

“Garbage ships?” Jerry asked.

“Yes. And completely manned by ‘bots. Even if we could hijack such a ship, we could never control it. They’re just not built to be flown by humans anymore.”

“You said something before about stowing away,” Jerry tried.

“Sure. On a cargo ship, nothing easier. They have both humans and ‘bots on the crew, so your radiation signature wouldn’t set off any alarms. And because it has humans on board, there would be food and water to pinch along the way. On a scowl, we would have to find a hold where no one would look for you, and line it with puldonium to mask your radiation. If you ever left the hold, your signature would instantly set off the security alarms, and you’d be dead on the spot. If you didn’t, you would surely die of dehydration within two weeks, let alone the five it would take you to get to another port.”

“Five weeks! I had no idea,” replied Jerry.

Tilly, Bite, and Jerry, all slumped in their chairs, defeated. Suddenly Bite got up and started packing her weapons.

“What are you doing, Bite?” Tilly challenged.

“I’m not going to sit around here doing nothing when a comrade is in trouble. And I’m certainly not going to wait around for the Tru-Bots to take us back to that hell hole. If I’m going to go, it’s going to be in a blaze of glory.”

“Bite!” and Tilly went off after her, trying to calm her down.

Jerry was left alone in the main room and racked his brain. He thought back to his days at RTI and tried to remember why the scowls took so long in space. Five weeks. He had vague memories of them taking days, not weeks. But maybe that was before they stopped using any humans on the crews. A lot can happen in 12 years.

“Comrade Tilly,” he shouted, “why do the scowls spend so long in space?”

Tilly returned lifting his hands over his head. “I give up. When she gets like this, there’s really no stopping her. She just has to get it out of her system. Maybe by the time she gets packed up, I’ll be able to calm her down.”

Jerry studied him, and realized he hadn’t heard his question. “Tilly, why do the scowls spend so long in space?”

“Huh?” Tilly said distractedly. “Oh. This planet is the last real stop on the pickup schedule, and none of the other stops are really worth calling ports. By the time they’ve finished with the route, make their dump, and check in for maintenance, it will be at least five weeks, maybe more.”

“And that’s true for every garbage run?”

“What do you mean?”, Tilly asked cautiously.

“Well…I mean that if I haven’t lost track of time on that hellish trip through the desert, I think tomorrow is garbage day. They must take on an abnormally large load on the annual garbage haul, and I was wondering, well, if that annual run is somehow different?”

Tilly was silent. Down in the storage room, Bite had stopped crashing around, and was coming up the stairs. Tilly looked sheepish as Bite appeared at the top of the stairs. She was furious. Her look alone would have been enough to kill an army had there been one standing between them.

“You knew. I know you knew. You’re afraid. You coward.”

Jerry looked from one to the other, sure he was in the middle of a ten year squabble he didn’t want anything to do with. There was an awkward silence during which Tilly was undoubtedly trying to come up with something to calm her down, and Jerry suspected whatever it was would be a lie. If he could just diffuse the situation enough to allow Tilly to save face, maybe he could still get somewhere. Desperately, he said, “I’m sure he just forgot. I mean, look at this place. You guys haven’t had a garbage pick up since you built it. You put it all into those funny little cans and crush and bury the stuff yourselves. It’s no wonder you’re out of touch.”

Tilly looked relieved. Bite did not.

“Just tell me,” Jerry continued, “if you have any idea how long the annual pickup scowls spend in space before they reach a modern space port.”

“Oh he knows,” Bite chimed in. “Of course he knows. He was the last human to captain that line before they abandoned him down here.”

Jerry began to get the picture. Tilly was afraid. Much more so than he let on. And he wasn’t about to walk back into the lion’s den.

Tilly got up, ostensibly to get a drink, but just put his hands on the counter and stared down at them, shaking his head.

“Alright, alright,” Tilly said at long last. “She’s right. If anyone would know, it’s me. I spent nearly ten years on those ships.” He looked at Bite for support, but she was still stern. “The trip from here on the annual dump takes about three days, total. I suppose we can get you enough food and drink to survive the trip, but….”

“But what?” Jerry asked.

“But he can’t go with you. Isn’t that right comrade?”

Tilly put his head back down. Bite continued, “They really treated him like hell before they finally dumped him here. I thought I had it bad, but the ‘bots are so much worse than humans. They know just when to stop to avoid killing you, but they leave you with nothing but an empty shell. At least humans get tired after awhile.” She looked at him with affection. “He doesn’t think he could face them again and I believe him.” She looked again at Tilly, this time with purpose. “But he’s the only one that can guide us in, and the only one that can get me back out again. He knows those old ships like the back of his hand.”

 Tilly returned her glance.

“Tilly, I know you think I’m rash. That I never think before I act. I know you don’t really take me or the revolution seriously. But this man needs our help, and if you love me, you’ll put aside your fear and jump into the cauldron with me one more time.”

Tilly took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then, with resolve, he walked over to Bite and put out his hand. 

“Ok. I’m in.”

TRAVEL LOG. DAY 8.

It’s garbage day. I spent the morning with my new friends packing up a bag for my travels. I’ve got enough food and water to last five days if I stretch it, and food and hydro pills to last five years if they’re any good. Except for weapons, these guys have a downright aversion to anything that smells remotely modern, especially if it was invented by the ‘bots. So the pills are relics that have long since expired, and none of us are sure if they have any value left at all. Let’s hope I don’t need them.

We took a full 14 hours to hike the underground passageway to the space port.  It ends in a kind of hub between bays, which was filled with traffic, mostly natives, but with enough ‘bots that Tilly thought we would should wait a few hours for a window quiet enough for us to sneak out of the passageway, and over to the scowl. In the meantime, I’m taking a few moments for the log.

•

The log gets boring and technical here, as we get the details of Tilly’s plan to get Jerry off the planet. To no one’s surprise, it’s supported by one miraculous bit of luck after another, such as the existence of the underground tunnel or the innate medical skills of the revolutionaries that cured our hero’s leg, followed by elaborate justifications of why we have been so lucky. There is of course a formula which states that the degree of pure fortune within the plot must be exponentially proportional to the length of the supporting explanations. How unfortunate for us.

So each part of the escape plan, the long hike through the dark tunnel, the hide and seek they play with the robots, their encounter with local fauna, is sheared of any vitality by the mass of justifications the author subjects us to along the way.

Suffice to say that Jerry and his new friends spend a day walking along a dark corridor, fight off a few animals, nearly get spotted by robots while sneaking into a garbage ship, and finally get him stored and supplied in an unused cargo hold. He has air, food, water, and yes, even a view of the goings on inside the ship. With one near miss, he makes it safe and sound and is ready for the lonesome journey across the stars.

•

TRAVEL LOG. DAY 9.

I have to give it to Tilly, he really knows his stuff. I’m completely outfitted in my new little home, and even somewhat comfortable. The Trash-bots have been busy all day, making calculations for the journey and loading up the holds. I can’t see much, but I do just barely have a view of a vid-screen that’s loaded with technical information. My view is through a sort of slit in the wall panels, and though it’s not much, it will give me something to look at over the next few days.

I’m trying not to think about her and what she’s going to say when I show up on her doorstep, but with three days of no one but me and my thoughts, I fear I won’t be able to hold out. She haunted my dreams again last night. This time, she was a sort of robot like monster. She was still Ball, though, and I wasn’t afraid. I remember going up to hold her, but she grabbed my arms and threw me in a cage. The last I remember of the dream, I was sitting in my cage, looking through the bars at her, and she was looking back with the eyes of a curious animal, not sure what to make of me. Her head was cocked to one side as if to ask, “Is this really my enemy?”

What am I thinking? By the time I get to her, the Tru-bots will have closed in and staked out her place. The Academy must be about the most obvious place I could go and yet…even if I didn’t need her to stop the Old Man…I think I would still go back to her. She’s pulling me in, and if it turns out to be a trap, I’m not sure that I care.

•

Well it’s nice to see Jerry open up a bit, anyway. But this isn’t a story about characters and their feelings. We have to save the universe, and to do that, we need plot. Romantic feelings and soul searching are not to be the engines by which this ship is driven. We are not to be so fortunate. Rather, with our appetites whetted with this romantic bait the size of a mall food-court sample of the General’s Chicken, we fly back to the Old Man’s office, and back into the story.