The Great Disassembly:
T–Minus Four Days
“Be honest. Are you going to slaughter me?” asked Code.
With Brutus and Darla in close pursuit, Code and Gary had hurried through the countryside and away from the crystalline castle. Eventually, the booms of the robot giants firing their guns had died away. The mechanical woofs of hunting quadrupeds had also trailed off. Now that they had stopped running and begun to walk, Code felt it was time to ask the question.
“Nope,” said Gary in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Good, because you aren’t allowed to,” said Code.
Gary’s word was good enough for Code. It would have to be, since he couldn’t outrun Gary even if he tried. Also, Peep seemed to be happy. She flickered ahead through the tall grass, always on a beeline for the Beamstalk that stretched like a thread on the horizon. Who knows, thought Code. An atomic slaughterbot might make a good ally.
“So, if you’re a human, who is the little one?” asked Gary.
“I call her Peep,” said Code. And then, just to be sure, he added, “And she’s off-limits, too.”
“You got it,” replied Gary.
Peep flew up and landed on Gary’s shoulder. She trundled around in little circles, inspecting him. Gary managed to crane his neck and focus on her.
“Where did you find her?”
“In my world. She led me here.”
“She is very small. You should protect her.”
“I will,” said Code solemnly.
The lumbering robot and small boy walked together into the dusk, through metallic blades of grass and over rolling hills. The journey reminded Code of the hikes he and his grandfather used to take through the woods back home—just the sound of footsteps, the feel of sweat evaporating from his forehead, the smell of the woods.
As they walked, they talked.
“Gary?”
“Yeah, Code?”
“Where did you come from?”
“From the fabrication tank.”
“But how?”
“From your schematics.”
“That was just a drawing I made up.”
“It must have been a pretty great drawing, if I do say so myself. You’re an excellent artist, for a human.” Gary flexed his arm pistons and chuckled. Then, in a more serious tone, he added, “Imagination is valuable, Code. The trick is to turn it into reality.”
The tinny sound of crickets permeated the dense grass. Code followed the screep, screep sound to a thicket. He pulled a patch of grass aside, but found only a small green speaker. It broadcast the cricket noise over and over again.
This place is totally unpredictable, thought Code. I need all the help I can get.
As they marched onward, Code wondered aloud, “Gary? Why are you coming with Peep and me?”
“Well, Code, I don’t want to sound mean, but you and Peep seem very … flimsy. And you aren’t very big at all. Since I’ve got to be disassembled anyway, I might as well help you follow the great exodus to Disassembly Point. King’s orders, you know. Even a newborn robot like me is programmed to know that much.”
“Why would the king order that?” asked Code. “Won’t he be disassembled like everyone else?”
“Nope,” replied Gary. “Only robots can be disassembled. The king and his adviser will survive. Which is too bad for you humans. Once the experiment of Mekhos is over, the rifts will open. Immortalis will be able to go to your world. And it doesn’t seem like a very nice robot. All those … tentacles.”
Gary shivered.
“Oh, no,” muttered Code. “Why would Immortalis want to go to Earth?”
“I hope you don’t have to find out, Code,” replied Gary. “But the rifts to your world won’t open until there are no more robots left in Mekhos. They’re built that way to protect the human world from us. Immortalis can’t leave until after the Disassembly, and it can’t leave without the human king.”
Code could only imagine that murderous monster bursting out of Mek Mound and attacking people with its razor-sharp tentacles. Who knew what kind of mayhem Immortalis would cause in the real world?
“You’re not really going to be disassembled, though, are you?” asked Code, a little afraid.
Gary’s only response was to shrug and say, “I’m a robot. Deactivation is just another part of programming.”
Code looked at his thin arms and clenched his fists. For the first time ever, he had friends. Sure, they were robots. One of them was the size of a grasshopper and the other was as big as a house. They’re weird, he thought. But then again, so am I.
It didn’t matter. They were his friends.
Code patted the massive slaughterbot on one plate-covered leg. “Don’t worry, Gary. I’m going to find the Robonomicon and save Mekhos.”
“Thanks, Code. I was only created this morning. I’m too young to be disassembled.”
Code chuckled. “You seem pretty mature for a robot who was just made,” he said.
“I’m not just any robot. I’m an atomic slaughterbot model number nine-oh-two. Randomly selected individual name for smooth human interactions: Gary.”
“But you already know how to walk and talk. That took me years to learn.”
“Walking and talking come standard as part of the Tome of Knowledge of the Well-Adjusted Robot. It’s the basic education that every Mekhosian slaughterbot comes equipped with.”
“You’re lucky. I have to go to school,” said Code.
“Oh,” said Gary. “I did a brief stint.”
“When? I’ve been with you since you were born.”
“After I landed on the fabrication pad. There was a second or two where I had to move around my arms and legs to figure out how long they were and where my elbows and knees were and how everything worked. Sure, I had a basic idea of how to do it from the Tome. But the rest I just sort of picked up along the way.”
Gary looked at his stubby finger cannons, then wiped them on his chest modestly. “Why? How long does school take? Ten microseconds? Twenty?”
“Uh. About twelve years to finish high school. Another four years for college. Another two or four or six if you want to be a doctor or lawyer or scientist.”
Gary shuddered in horror. “Twenty years of school?” He burst into laughter, startling a nest of robo-starlings into flight.
“It does seem silly,” said Code, thinking about how nice it would be to finish school in a couple of seconds. “But it can be sort of fun, sometimes,” he added, thinking of Hazel.
The sun was beginning to set on the meadow they were walking through. All around them, small, brightly colored light-emitting doodlebugs (LEDs) hopped in tight spirals, leaving light streaks on Code’s vision. Peep flitted through the air with the LEDs, flashing her own lights and showing off.
In the distance behind the happy confusion of swooping lights, the deep woods lurked, dark and deadly.
“I’m glad you’re here, Gary. We’ve got a dangerous road ahead of us,” said Code.
Gary froze. Abruptly, his right arm broke in half and a cannon slid out and locked into place. The gun cocked and a warbling hum of electricity began to build.
“Where?” whispered Gary.
“Where is what?”
“The dangerous road?”
Code smacked Gary on the leg. “Ahead of us in time, Gary! Not in front of us right now!”
“Ahead?” asked Gary, scanning the path with his cannon.
“We’ve got a dangerous road in the future,” replied Code.
Gary retracted his cannon and relaxed. “Why’d you say ‘ahead,’ then?”
Code scratched his head. “It’s just how humans talk. When something is going to happen in the future, we say it’s ‘ahead’ of us. And when something already happened in the past, we say that it’s ‘behind’ us. It’s kind of weird, now that I think about it.”
Gary reached down and lightly cupped the top of Code’s head. He turned it from side to side, inspecting it carefully. “I’ve got it. Most of your sensory organs are located right here in your head area. Your eyes and ears and that other thing in the middle of your face.”
“My nose.”
“Right. Your eyes, ears, and nose are all pointing the same direction—forward.”
“So what?”
“That must be why you humans think the future is ahead and the past is behind. Because you go through life always following your eyes and ears and noses.”
Code thought about it. “And robots don’t?”
Gary’s chest swelled with pride. As he spoke, he began to practice little karate chops in the air, positioning himself defensively in front of the tall grass. “Not really. I’ve got sensors pointed in every direction at once. I can access satellites floating in space. My range finders are pointed front and back. Maybe something’s sneaking up from behind?”
Gary jumped and spun around, midair. He swung a hefty paw and scissored a clump of grass in half with one serrated forearm. “Pow! Slaughterized!”
Code sneezed and brushed several blades of grass off his shoulders. “That’s nice, Gary. You’re a real piece of work, you know?”
Gary’s red eye visor pulsed with sudden emotion. He stopped walking and looked down at Code. In the setting sun, Gary looked to Code like a hazy building looming overhead. Light-emitting doodlebugs danced around them in the twilight and the metallic grass tinkled gently in the evening breeze.
“Thank you, Code,” said Gary. “That means a lot.”