Scrap opened his eyes and sat up with a start.
“That’s better,” said a voice. “I knew you were in there somewhere. Tell me, is this the first time you’ve died?”
“Died…?” Scrap muttered. He immediately glanced at the place where his left arm used to be.
He had a new one. This red appendage, though clearly second-hand, was clean and oiled. It was, however, even spindlier than the last, with an unwieldy-looking three-pronged claw in place of a hand.
“Well, you were technically very-slightly-less-than-dead – but that’s still pretty dead, robo-medically speaking. That junk case of yours hides quite the core…” the voice said. Scrap turned to see a robot hovering at eye level. She was free-floating, with a triangular body, a single eye, long arms and probes galore. She waved one at Scrap. “How’s the arm? I’m afraid it’s the best I could do at short notice.”
“Who -zk- are you?” asked Scrap. “Where am I?”
“Welcome to the Outskirts,” the robot replied. “I’m Dr Buckle – I run the surgery here at Bad Knees Outpost.”
“Bad -zk- Knees?” repeated Scrap. He realized he was on a gurney in a rundown hospital ward. A flickering light barely illuminated the room. Tools of all shapes and sizes lay on wheeled trolleys or dangled from hooks on the ceiling. Scrap rubbed his head with his new arm.
“Does it feel OK?” the doctor asked. “I know it doesn’t really go with your case, but you’re clearly not fussy about your appearance – no offence.”
“None -zk- taken,” replied Scrap, although he wasn’t sure he meant it.
“Also, I’m pretty sure that arm has a built-in grappling hook – be careful where you point it, or you might have someone’s eye out…”
“How’d I -zk- get it?”
The doctor prodded the arm with a probe and tilted backwards in the air by way of a shrug. “Here at Bad Knees, we repair ’bots with big problems and small wallets. The Piles provide. Which one are you from?”
“Which what?” asked Scrap, inspecting his arm.
“Pile – which Pile?” The doctor pointed to a large, round portal window on the far wall. Scrap peered out. The first thing he noticed were the one and a half suns, low on the horizon. Not setting, he thought, but rising. It was dawn. The days and nights were short on Somewhere 513 but Scrap knew that meant he’d been here for several hours. Before he could try to piece together what had happened, he noticed something else. Dotted around the otherwise barren wasteland were dozens of junk piles, each at least twice the size of his own. Scrap’s jaw creaked open, aghast.
“Piles,” he gasped. “They go on forever…”
“Twenty-one and counting,” said the doctor, a little sadly. “You can thank Pile Thirteen for your new arm. Upgrades cost serious charge – here in the Outskirts we have to make the best of the old cases that get sent here from the city. Whole hovertrains full of ’em. Most of them have barely been used.”
“I – I don’t understand,” Scrap said. “All those Piles are -zk- old cases? Why are the ’bots upgradin’ so much? Who’s upgradin’ them?”
The doctor laughed, until she noted Scrap’s baffled expression. “Wait, you’re serious? Where have you been for the last ten years?”
“I … keepin’ myself to -zk- myself,” Scrap replied, keen not to give too much away. With a shrug he added, “An’ not keepin’ up, apparently.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll be delighted to hear that the ’bots of Somewhere Five One Three upgrade themselves – and have been doing so for more than a decade,” the doctor explained. “After the Difference of Opinion, the citizens of this proud Somewhere took control of their own cases and their own destinies – and that meant upgrading. It wasn’t long before the Piles started to grow. Demand for skilled upgraders is at an all-time high – I doubt there’s a robot on Five One Three who’s not been through dozens if not hundreds of upgrades … present company excepted.”
“Hundreds…?” Scrap murmured. “Why?”
The doctor paused.
“I’ve wondered that myself, on occasion,” she said. “I suppose because we are free to … I suppose because we can.”
“Hmph,” Scrap grunted, wondering with some envy what the robots of Somewhere 513 might look like after a decade of upgrades. Then he looked back at his arm. “How’d I get here? How did I get off the— I mean, my Pile?”
“Your friends brought you in. Paid for that arm too.”
“Friends?” Scrap blurted. “What friends? I don’t -zk- have any.”
“Try telling that to those two ’bots out there.”
The doctor pointed to a door on the other side of the room, with a glass panel cut into it. Scrap could see Gnat on the other side, pressed against the glass, still wearing her ridiculous robot helmet. Behind her, the other human, Paige, stuck close to her sister. She too had squeezed the shell of a robot’s head on to her own, and was desperately trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.
“They are not my -zk- friends.” Scrap let out a frustrated grunt. “They’re not even ’bots.”
The doctor turned to him, a quizzical look in her single eye. “Not robots? What are they then?”
“They’re—”
Scrap cut himself off. Surely, he thought, the easiest thing would be to blow the humans’ cover and be rid of them. Humans were outlawed on this Somewhere after all. But then he remembered the hunters, warped and core-corrupted. One had surely survived – what if he was still looking for them? What if there were others like them? He wanted rid of the humans, but was he ready to see them captured, or worse?
“They’re, uh, a pain in the backside,” Scrap said at last. “Those -zk- robots.”
“Well, don’t be too harsh on them – those two pains paid for your new arm.”
“They – they did? How?”
“Traded it for a mobile battery – home-made, but with enough charge to keep the lights on at Bad Knees for another few days. I’d say if they weren’t your friends before, they are now.”
Scrap grunted again, determined not to feel in the least bit grateful towards the humans who destroyed his home. “Thanks for the -zk- arm, doc. I need to go…”
As Scrap hopped down from the gurney, he was suddenly wrenched into the air. He landed flat on the floor, and looked up to see a handful of wires connected to an access panel on his chest. He followed them with his eyes until they connected to a control bank dominated by flickering screens, which seemed to be monitoring his progress. Scrap dragged himself to his feet. “What is all this? What are you -zk- doing to me?”
“Easy does it! My equipment’s not as hardy as that remarkable core of yours,” the doctor replied, plucking a tool from a nearby trolley and tightening the cables connected to the control bank. “How did you end up with it? I mean, you’re just a junk case – no offence.”
Scrap said nothing, his hand hovering over his chest.
“Without it, you’d be one very dead ’bot,” the doctor continued. “You do know you suffered a catastrophic systems failure, don’t you? But even when everything else failed, your core kept you alive – or it kept you less-than-dead long enough for me to patch you up. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a ’bot with quite so much … heart. I swear that thing could power a case for a thousand years.”
A thousand years.
Scrap looked down at his core, glowing brightly.
“You’re going to live forever,” Dandelion had told him.
Forever as a junk case, Scrap thought. He clenched his new clawed hand, horror and rage making him shake so much that rust flaked from his case.
“Dandelion…” he growled to himself.
The doctor’s tool fell from her hand and clattered to the ground.
“Silly me – need to oil my probes!” she said, scrabbling to pick it up. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“…Nothin’,” replied Scrap, gripping the wires in his chest. “I – I mean, I don’t remember.”
“Memory loss?” the doctor said. “You know, your core contains a backup of every experience you’ve ever had. What’s your core-code? If I can access your memories, I’m sure I could fix your—”
“No!” Scrap cried. “I don’t -zk- remember my core-code either. I’m just … Scrap.”
With a final wrench, he tore out the wires and immediately made a beeline for the exit.
“Wait, Scrap,” said the doctor, “There are more repairs I could—”
“Got to -zk- go…” grunted Scrap. He’d already reached the door when he saw the two robot-helmeted humans staring back at him through the window. He spun on his heels and hurried over to the portal window on the other side of the room. It was open, just a crack. Enough for him to squeeze through.
“Feel free to use the door next time…!” the doctor called as she watched Scrap clamber through the window, losing a cog and two bolts in the process. She looked back towards the door to see the robot’s odd-looking companions race out of the hospital. With that, the doctor tapped the side of her head and an antenna and microphone flipped out from a panel to the right of her eye.
“Domo? It’s Dr Buckle, from Bad Knees,” she began. “I need to speak to Harmony— Fine, Mayor Highshine. Yes, it’s important. Because it is, that’s why. Look, I’ve known Harmony since she was just a— Oh, forget it. Just tell her … remind her of the mystery of the missing core. Yes, exactly. Tell Harmony … tell her I think I’ve found him.” Dr Buckle stared out of the window as Scrap wandered off. “Tell her I’ve found the King of the Robots.”