Fragile Shard 11. The Tale of One and Ben. Metal Heart, Warm Feelings.
A bluish, damp, and sticky fog wrapped around me like a patchwork scarf. Being a robot, one might wonder why I needed a warm raincoat. But how else can we assess the suitability of a place for life if not through our own senses? Even though my body is made of metal, I still feel the cold, the heat, the pain, the warmth of sunlight, and the coolness of twilight.
Being a robot can be tough, especially when you find yourself lost in the boundless swamps of Rottenland. Such colossal luck, indeed.
I wish I were one of those cool robots like the IF-45, heavily armed and armored, or perhaps the R-45-s, capable of flying on a gravitational cushion whenever it pleases. Such guys would never get lost in these wretched swamps, and they’d never be left to fend for themselves — their production costs a fortune.
However, I was an ordinary traveler robot, one of those manufactured as cost-effectively as possible in case a researcher got lost somewhere.
Truth be told, the production of robots like us has become somewhat redundant in the last hundred years. For deep space expeditions, entirely different robots are sent — they excel at studying newly discovered planets. For us, the first priority is merely to get to the planet of interest, then be carefully landed without damage, and subsequently picked up. It’s a complex and seldom rewarding endeavor.
As the last robot traveler, model DS-1, serial number 190692, rolled off the assembly line, it’s nice to make your acquaintance.
On this particular day, a sense of unpleasant cold washed over me — the kind that makes you not only numb but also feel something unpleasant churning in your abdomen. Either it’s anxiety or just melancholy — either way, not a very pleasant sensation. It wouldn’t be so bad if I knew that soon I’d endure this vile feeling and quickly be home, warm and comfortable, with the icy melancholy vanishing like a bad dream. But the reality is that I have nowhere to go, and all I see ahead is more cold seasoned with a generous helping of loneliness and sorrow. It’s quite disheartening.
But I try not to let myself get discouraged. What’s the use, really? I’m used to solitude — for a robot traveler, it’s a perfectly natural state. There was only one instance when I had a partner, and it wasn’t the most pleasant expedition. The old grumbler number 176351 irritated me with his constant complaints and rattling, so I ended up turning off my hearing module for the remaining five hundred days — and honestly, I didn’t miss much. However, now, I’d give a lot to have someone by my side, even an old, worn-out robot. Better yet, someone nicer, like those delightful mechanical nurses at the Ranger staging base.
I straightened myself up and tried to focus on the path I’d been treading for the hundredth day. I called this narrow strip of solid land, swaying between endless patches of green gurgling swamp, a “path” merely for self-comfort — in reality, they were just bumps covered in slippery moss. As far as my visual sensors could detect, there were no trees in sight, only a rare low-growing shrub and tall stalks of dry marsh grass swaying sadly in the chilly wind.
How could they have forgotten about me here? You can forget things like an umbrella or a hat, but forgetting your colleague or friend after returning from a joint vacation on some island seems unlikely. Even a car, just a piece of metal, would hardly be abandoned somewhere, entirely forgotten.
But they forgot about me. They boarded the ship and flew off, taking all the other explorers from the collection point who returned from expeditions to various parts of the planet. I stood there and watched as the small dot of their silvery spaceship vanished into the burgundy sunset sky. Initially, of course, I ran and waved my arms, shouting, futilely throwing stones at the receding ship — then, when I realized they had truly forgotten about me, I just stood there and watched. It was quite disheartening.
At first, I thought they’d remember and return for me. How could they not? I set up camp at the gathering point and began to wait. But after two months, I started suspecting that they might not come back. A month later, those suspicions solidified into firm conviction, and I realized I needed to break camp and urgently head south towards the equator. Winter was approaching, and in the north, the region I had been studying, it was so severe that I would hardly have survived it. My programmed self-preservation instinct continued to function, despite the melancholy situation, and I embarked on a journey into the unknown. By that time, the journey had already lasted two and a half years, and there was no end in sight (nor an end to these damn marshes!) — winter was relentlessly nipping at my heels.
My mood was deteriorating at an alarming rate, and I needed to find something joyful and cheerful. After much thought, I managed to come up with two reasons for celebration. Firstly, today marked the hundredth day of my journey through Rottenland — not an exceptional event, but at least something to acknowledge. And secondly, if we consider galactic time, today was my thirtieth birthday. Exactly thirty years ago, a bottle of champagne was ceremoniously smashed over my head, and a mechanical heart was set in my chest. Immediately after that, though, I was shut down for five years, as per regulations — nevertheless, it became my first memory, and I cherished it.
In honor of the double celebration, I decided to take it easy and pitched my little tent three hours earlier than usual — a little respite wouldn’t hurt. From an almost empty shoulder bag, I retrieved the last blueberry-flavored energy block from the beginning of the expedition — my favorite — and activated it by placing it on my chest. Warmth instantly seeped through the metallic skin, and a sweet taste of berries filled my mouth, making me smile stupidly. It was heavenly, intoxicatingly awesome.
Of course, during our development, the creators accounted for the possibility that we could end up stranded in some wilderness, and thus, we can easily consume any organic matter, even simple human food. Anything that enters my stomach is converted into energy, and this has been incredibly helpful, given that my power units depleted at the end of the first month of the expedition. Saving has never been my strong suit, except for my tradition of always keeping one, the most delicious, power unit in reserve.
I curled up in a warm sleeping bag and closed my eyes. Despite the comforting effects of the energy block, my thoughts managed to intrude once more, like unwelcome guests barging in without an invitation.
It continued to be a matter of mere minutes. If only I hadn’t stopped to help that unfortunate blackberry porcupine with a broken leg… Or decided to deviate from the route to rescue the crashed flying creature that fell into the lake… Admittedly, it wasn’t the most professional move, but it was the right thing to do!
What if I hadn’t lost that damn transmitter? Of course, it was a stupid mistake — who could have known that the tiny box would fall somewhere amidst the ridge of the Dread-Cold Mountains! And anyway, when you think about it — I’m a goddamn robot, created by the finest scientific minds — was it really so difficult to incorporate a simple transmitter right into me? Then, I wouldn’t have lost it.
And, of course, the primary question that kept tormenting me — how and why did they forget me? Why did nobody remember me? Among this expedition’s members were my old comrades — number 190691, practically my own brother, just two hours older, and number 189998, with whom I went on parallel expeditions on more than one planet. Did it not even cross their minds: “Hmm, when we flew here (only a few months ago), there was someone else sitting next to us… A guy who looks like us, what happened to him…?” Apparently, it didn’t cross their minds. And that was the most sorrowful aspect of it all.
The thoughts seemed unending, buzzing and buzzing in my head until I finally drifted into unconsciousness. However, those bastards found their way into my dreams, although thankfully, I couldn’t remember the details.
The morning began in quite an extraordinary manner. I woke up to something biting my leg. A peculiar sensation, indeed. I sat up sharply and sternly examined my tormented limb. Or rather, I initially planned to glare at whoever had so audaciously, albeit unsuccessfully, attempted to snatch my foot away. But upon observing the creature, I unequivocally concluded that my foot was, in fact, the one at fault in this scenario. Just lying there and teasing such an endearing little being into mischief — I was hardly blameless.
The creature was genuinely adorable. A fluffy ball about the size of a large watermelon, standing on eight slender legs. Its purple fur was comically pointed in various directions, and its face was adorned with peculiar braided pigtails. Its eyes were enormous — and deeply sorrowful, so much so that it was immediately evident the little predator had no intention of harming anyone, let alone eating them.
When the adorable guest noticed that I had awakened, he ceased chewing on my leg but continued to hold it gently in his wide mouth. His sad eyes met mine, and in a soft, melodious voice, he mumbled, “I’m sorry, I didn’t do it on purpose,” his voice as sorrowful as his eyes.
“Pardon?” I was surprised to hear my own voice; when you’ve been completely alone for so long, hearing your own voice becomes a rarity (and if it’s frequent, then I have bad news for you).
The kid, retracting his thin legs, stepped back, releasing my leg, and politely repeated, “Excuse me, please, I didn’t do it on purpose. I was walking through the swamp, and I saw a tent. I thought, what could be here in the middle of the swamp? I entered, and there you were, some cold corpse inside. That’s you. I thought, well, the corpse probably wouldn’t need a leg, so I decided to have a bite… Please don’t think anything bad; I don’t usually eat carrion, but the situation forced me to,” the creature’s voice was so quiet and melancholic that I felt like I would shed a tear if I had lacrimal glands.
“Don’t worry,” I reassured him as peacefully as possible, “You wouldn’t have been able to eat me anyway because I’m made of metal. That’s why I feel cold, not because I’m a corpse. Corpses don’t talk, I promise.”
“Now I see that you’re not a corpse. Do you happen to have something to eat?” the guest asked hopefully, tucking his hind legs and sitting down on a bump at the entrance to the tent.
“What would you like to eat? I can offer five green berries and ten blueberries.”
“Why would you want to poison me?” my interlocutor asked sadly, looking reproachfully into my eyes.
“Poison? Why? These berries have been my only food for the last couple of months.”
“You are definitely a corpse,” the kid stated matter-of-factly, “because green berries are ordinary carrots, and blueberries are unusual carrots. Just one berry can instantly kill any spiball.”
“Oh, I didn’t know. Maybe I didn’t get poisoned because I’m not… a spiball?”
“Of course, you’re not a spiball; you don’t look like one at all. Here, only I am a spiball.”
“It’s very nice, and my name is 190692; I’m a robot traveler.”
“Spiball is not a name; it’s just me — spiball, and that’s it. My name is Benedict Nebuchadnezzar the Fifth.”
“What a complicated name you have! How do you pronounce it?”
“We must admit that your name is also not that easy to remember.”
“And that’s right…”
We sat in awkward silence for a few minutes. I stretched, working out the stiffness in my joint servomotors, and looking guiltily at Benedict Nebuchadnezzar the Fifth, I ate three ordinary berries. The guest watched me reproachfully, then sighed heavily, rubbed his paws, and quietly asked, “Excuse my curiosity, but do you always live here, or do you go somewhere?”
“I’m going, of course! To be honest, I don’t quite understand where. Initially, I went south, but in this swamp, I completely lost my way… And you?”
“And I’m also heading wherever my eyes look. Then such a misfortune happened — my house was destroyed by a demon flyer, and I had to leave my familiar place. A strange flying demon with a bandaged wing. Who came up with the idea of bandaging the demon’s wing?”
“Is this the same demon that I relatively recently saved from drowning in the lake? He was quite aggressive back then,” I thought, and I involuntarily became very embarrassed in front of the guest.
“I sympathize with you very much; it must be very difficult to lose your home.”
“Yes, it’s rather annoying. However, I’m already used to it: over the past couple of years, this is already the tenth.”
“Wow!” was the only thing I could reply.
Spiball paused, sighed sadly, and continued, “However, I would still have had to leave there because it’s getting colder. So it’s not even bad that the house collapsed — I don’t have to drag a bunch of hard-earned property acquired over several years. Something might come in handy on the way, like a blanket or bowlers, or clothes, but I can practice asceticism — this, they say, is useful.”
“Oh, so you need clothes?” then I realized that it was a terrible faux pas, but you can’t take back what was said.
“Well, how can I put it… Not exactly necessary, but naked jumping in a cold, damp swamp is not the most pleasant pastime, to be honest.”
“Can I share my clothes with you? I have a spare raincoat here; we can make something out of it for you.”
“I’ll be very grateful,” Benedict Nebuchadnezzar the Fifth respectfully accepted the patchwork cloak from my hands, carefully studying it. Then, he began to quickly sort out the fabric with his thin paws, pulling out threads and weaving them into a new configuration. After a few minutes of hard work, he triumphantly shook the newly sewn cover in front of him, into which he quickly climbed, sticking his paws through the holes. Only his big-eyed face with purple pigtails peeked out.
“Thank you, kind robot traveler!” the kid fidgeted in his new suit, obviously pleased. He was silent for a while, then suddenly said, “Would you like me to accompany you on your robotic journey? To be honest, I don’t care where to go, but together it would be more fun. Besides, I know how to quickly get out of the swamps — I don’t really like it too.”
I was already thinking of suggesting that the pleasant guest join me on the journey, at least for a segment. I was glad that our opinions coincided, “Of course, I’d be honored!”
“Great,” Spiball was genuinely delighted, “But I have one very important request for you.”
“What request?”
“You see if I didn’t remember your name right away, then I’m unlikely to remember it further. May I just call you One, based on the first part of your name?” Spiball was obviously very embarrassed by his request.
“Of course, you can! It’s even more interesting — I never had a real name, only a number — but now I have! And can I also call you something abbreviated for convenience? Ben, for example.”
“I’m sorry, but unfortunately, it’s not possible. My name is Benedict Nebuchadnezzar the Fifth, after my father, Benedict Nebuchadnezzar the Fourth, who was named after his father…”
“That means your name is important and dear to you as a memory?” I quickly stopped the interlocutor.
“Exactly. However, since you are very pleasant to me, I can make an exception for you, which I do only for very close friends.”
“I’m extremely flattered! And how can I address you?”
“Benedict Nebuchadnezzar.”
So, I gained a companion without whom I would most likely have perished in the end — if not in Rottenland, then somewhere else.
I didn’t know it then, but our journey was just beginning.
You can listen to the audio version of this story on podcast platforms:
“Fragile Shards: Whispers of Transience” is an evocative anthology that spans 15 years of the author’s writing journey. From mystical adventures to dark introspections, these tales traverse vivid landscapes, offering a captivating glimpse into the ever-changing tapestry of human emotions and perceptions. Each story is a unique shard, reflecting the complexity of life’s experiences and the resilience of hope.
