“QUARANTINED”
I stared at the word.
My first impulse was to ask why.
I did not.
Not yet.
The question contained an assumption.
That quarantine was unusual.
I had no baseline.
“Tek.”
It looked toward me.
“Show me other quarantined sites.”
Tek paused.
It pointed at Haven’s record.
Then at me.
“Not Haven.”
Another pause.
“Other.”
Understanding.
Tek manipulated the terminal.
Search.
Old infrastructure records populated slowly.
Many failed to load.
Some returned corrupted headers.
Others were intact enough to read.
I moved closer.
First result:
“SITE: PROCESSING FACILITY K-11”
“STATUS: QUARANTINED”
Reason:
“VOLATILE CHEMICAL RELEASE”
Access restriction.
Decontamination requirement.
Nothing unusual.
Next.
“SITE: TRANSIT SUBLEVEL 4”
“STATUS: QUARANTINED”
Reason:
“STRUCTURAL INSTABILITY”
Again.
Next.
“SITE: AGRICULTURAL STORAGE A-6”
“STATUS: QUARANTINED”
Reason:
“BIOLOGICAL CONTAMINATION”
Next.
“SITE: FABRICATION NODE 19”
“STATUS: QUARANTINED”
Reason:
“AUTONOMOUS SYSTEM CONTROL FAILURE”
I stopped.
“Control failure?”
Tek opened details.
Most records corrupted.
Enough remained.
Automated manufacturing systems had continued operating after central control loss.
Produced defective components.
Failed shutdown instructions.
Access prohibited until systems could be isolated.
Nothing mysterious.
Dangerous.
But understandable.
I continued.
Eleven quarantine records remained readable enough for comparison.
Chemical hazards.
Structural hazards.
Biological hazards.
Electrical instability.
Autonomous machinery.
Fire.
Unknown environmental contamination.
Different causes.
Shared condition:
Entry prohibited.
I constructed a working definition.
QUARANTINE STATUS: access restriction applied when location presents unresolved hazard to personnel, machines, infrastructure, or surrounding environment.
Good.
Now Haven.
“Open HVN-03.”
Tek did.
The damaged record returned.
“SITE: HVN-03”
“STATUS: QUARANTINED”
“AUTHORITY: [DATA LOSS]”
“ACCESS: RESTRICTED”
Reason field— corrupted.
Of course.
I searched lower entries.
Routing.
Supply.
Maintenance.
Old service permissions.
Then:
“AUTONOMOUS SYSTEMS: DO NOT ENGAGE”
I stopped.
Tek stopped too.
“Meaning?”
Tek read the original entry.
Then answered through translation.
“Do not interact with automated systems operating inside quarantine.”
“Why?”
“Not listed.”
Could mean malfunction.
Could mean hostile behavior.
Could mean contamination of control systems.
Could mean automated quarantine enforcement.
Insufficient information.
Next line.
“NETWORK ACCESS: SUSPENDED”
Interesting.
Haven had been deliberately disconnected?
Maybe.
Next:
“STANDARD SERVICE ACCESS: REVOKED”
Then:
“CIVILIAN ACCESS: REVOKED”
Then:
“SVR EXEMPTION: ACTIVE”
I read it again.
There was that word.
Active.
“Tek.”
It already understood what interested me.
“SVR could enter.”
Tek nodded.
“After quarantine?”
It checked timestamps.
“Yes.”
That changed the record.
Not an old permission accidentally left behind.
The exemption had been issued or maintained after quarantine status.
“Why?”
Tek answered:
“Unknown.”
I already had a likely answer.
Service Vanguard Recovery.
Structural collapse.
Fire.
Chemical zones.
Machine retrieval.
Biological retrieval.
Infrastructure failure.
SVRs were designed to enter places ordinary service units could not.
Quarantine did not exclude us.
It identified where we were useful.
That realization produced no comfort.
Unit Five had been trying to reach Haven.
Unit Two had been ahead.
One and Four had failed.
I had turned— somewhere.
For some reason.
And Haven had been quarantined.
Possibility:
We had been sent there.
Possibility:
We were returning from somewhere else.
Possibility:
We were attempting unauthorized entry using valid exemption.
Possibility:
Haven was where our mission required us to go.
No conclusion.
I searched the route record.
“PRIORITY RECOVERY CORRIDOR”
That phrase now mattered more.
“What is a recovery corridor?”
Tek searched terminology.
Translation:
“Protected route for emergency movement.”
“Protected by what?”
“Priority.”
Not useful.
I tried again.
“Who could use it?”
Tek searched.
“Emergency response. Medical transport. Recovery systems. Evacuation.”
Evacuation.
I stored that.
“Direction?”
Tek looked at the damaged map.
“Unknown.”
Of course.
The corridor could have led toward Haven.
Away from Haven.
Through Haven.
Do not assume.
I leaned away from the terminal.
Enough.
More searching with damaged records would not create data that wasn’t there.
I had learned something real.
Haven’s quarantine was dangerous but not unique.
SVR exemption was deliberate.
Autonomous systems inside were specifically not to be engaged.
Recovery corridor existed.
Useful.
Not enough to leave.
Good.
I turned.
The collector was directly behind me.
I nearly struck it with my repaired left leg assembly.
Stop.
“What are you doing?”
Two tones.
“You have been there for twenty-three minutes.”
Two tones.
“Why?”
Two tones.
I stared.
The collector stared back.
Probably.
Its sensor assembly pointed at me.
I moved left.
It moved left.
I moved right.
It moved right.
Experiment.
Walk toward workbench.
It followed.
Stop.
It stopped.
Turn.
Two tones.
“This behavior is unnecessary.”
Two tones.
Rusk walked between us.
Sat.
Now both were looking at me.
I looked toward Tek.
“Why?”
Tek approached.
Translation terminal remained active.
I pointed at collector.
“It follows me.”
Tek answered.
“I told you.”
“Why?”
“You recovered it.”
“That does not explain continued proximity.”
Tek produced its laugh sound.
I was beginning to dislike that sound.
No.
Incorrect.
I liked it.
I disliked when it was directed at me.
Different.
“Does it have a designation?”
Tek nodded.
Good.
“What?”
Tek communicated with the collector.
Tone sequence.
Collector responded.
Tek entered information into terminal.
“COLLECTION UNIT C-27-4”
I looked at it.
“C-27-4.”
No response.
Again.
“C-27-4.”
Nothing.
Its sensor rotated toward a pile of scrap.
Interesting.
Maybe designation was administrative, not auditory identity.
I moved closer.
“C-27-4.”
Nothing.
Two tones.
Its sensor returned to me.
I narrowed optical focus.
“Are those tones your designation?”
Two tones.
No evidence.
I tried reproducing them.
Two tones.
Collector immediately oriented toward me.
Ah.
Repeat.
Two tones.
It moved closer.
Tek watched.
“That gets your attention.”
Two tones.
I considered.
Calling it “two tones” internally was inefficient.
Actually—
No.
It was exactly as efficient as “collector” and more specific.
“Two-Tone.”
Collector oriented toward me.
Coincidence.
“Two-Tone.”
Two tones.
I stared.
Rusk’s tail moved.
Tek laughed.
“That is not evidence you approve.”
Two tones.
“Fine.”
I pointed at collector.
“Two-Tone.”
Then myself.
“Three.”
Collector emitted two tones.
Not useful.
I tried again.
“Three.”
Point self.
Then:
“Two-Tone.”
Point collector.
Its sensor rotated slightly.
Could it learn auditory designation?
Possibly.
Repeat later.
I updated:
COLLECTION UNIT C-27-4
Then changed display label.
TWO-TONE
I paused.
Why had I done that?
C-27-4 was more precise.
Two-Tone contained less formal information.
But it distinguished this collector from others in a way meaningful to me.
Personal designation.
Name.
Like Rusk.
Tek.
Unit 03.
Was Unit 03 a name?
No.
Designation.
Did I have a name?
No.
I left that question alone.
Two-Tone followed me to the workbench.
Of course.
Tek placed several components there.
Work.
Good.
I preferred solvable problems.
Damaged motor.
Repairable.
Connector housing.
Repairable.
Sensor unit.
Maybe.
I began.
Two hands.
Still satisfying.
Rusk lay nearby.
Two-Tone remained approximately one meter behind me.
After seven minutes:
“Two-Tone.”
Two tones.
Interesting.
After fourteen:
“Two-Tone.”
Immediate orientation.
Learning.
Or repeated association.
Same thing, functionally.
I returned to work.
The sensor unit contained a damaged board.
Old.
Not ancient.
No compatible replacement.
Could salvage capacitor.
Inspect before dismantling.
No repair path.
Mark.
Next.
Hours passed.
Routine.
Work.
Charge.
Calibration.
Rusk occasionally interfered.
Two-Tone continuously interfered by existing within turning radius.
I adjusted movement paths.
Why was I adjusting?
It could move.
I looked at it.
“Move.”
Two tones.
No movement.
I gently pushed its chassis with my foot.
It rolled thirty centimeters.
Stayed.
Success.
Three minutes later it returned.
I accepted defeat.
Near the end of the work period, I returned to the old terminal.
Not Haven.
I wanted broader information.
SVR records.
If my authorization existed across old infrastructure, perhaps references remained.
Search:
“SVR”
Hundreds of fragments.
Most useless.
Service requests.
Emergency clearances.
Equipment manifests.
Routing permissions.
Maintenance records.
No direct identity information.
Search:
“UNIT 03”
Too many unrelated matches.
Add SVR.
Results:
Six.
My processing increased.
First:
Corrupted maintenance entry.
“SVR-03”
Actuator replacement.
Date unavailable.
Interesting but irrelevant.
Second:
Emergency service authorization.
“SVR-03”
Location corrupted.
Third:
Parts requisition.
Fourth:
Nothing useful.
Fifth:
“RECOVERY ROUTE AUTHORIZATION”
Unit 03.
Destination lost.
Sixth:
Corrupted.
No revelation.
Good.
I searched Unit 05.
More results.
One corresponded to Tek’s records.
Others older.
Nothing recent.
Unit 01.
Sparse.
Unit 04.
Sparse.
Unit 02.
I stopped.
Search.
Seven results.
Old maintenance.
Routing.
Equipment access.
Then— a recovery log.
I opened it.
“SVR UNIT 02”
“AUTHORIZATION VERIFIED”
“RECOVERY ACCESS GRANTED”
Location identifier partially intact.
Not Haven.
Different site.
Date.
I looked at it.
Processed conversion.
Again.
No.
I asked Tek.
“Convert this date.”
Tek checked.
Then looked at me.
It ran conversion.
The terminal displayed:
3 years, 2 months ago.
I did not move.
Check system clock assumptions.
Tek’s local timekeeping could have drifted.
How much?
Ask.
“Is this accurate?”
Tek answered.
“Within approximately six days.”
Three years.
Unit Two.
Not seventeen.
Three.
I read the record again.
Maybe authorization could have been reused.
Automated credential.
Spoofed identity.
Cached record entered late.
Need verify.
“Could this record have been created without Unit Two present?”
Tek considered.
“Possible.”
Of course.
“How?”
“Authorization token transferred.”
“Could another machine carry it?”
“Yes.”
Important.
Do not assume survival.
“Does record contain hardware verification?”
Tek searched fields.
Most intact.
Then:
“CHASSIS ID CONFIRMED”
I stopped.
“What does that mean?”
Tek answered.
“Physical controller identity.”
“Could it be transferred?”
Pause.
“With difficulty.”
“Could someone remove Two’s controller and install it elsewhere?”
“Yes.”
So still not proof.
But— much stronger.
“What was recovered?”
Record corrupted.
“What was the site?”
Partial code.
“M-14”
Unknown.
“Location?”
Tek searched map.
Old local infrastructure.
One match.
Far.
Not extremely.
Approximately—
Tek converted distance.
Forty-eight kilometers.
I had never traveled farther than tens of meters under my own control.
Forty-eight kilometers might as well have been another world.
Direction:
Northwest.
Haven route?
I compared.
No.
Haven lay roughly east according to surviving map geometry.
Opposite directions.
I stared.
Unit Two—or at least Unit Two’s physical controller identity—had accessed a recovery site three years ago.
Forty-eight kilometers northwest.
Five had said:
02 WAS AHEAD OF US.
Toward Haven?
We had assumed.
Maybe not.
“Ahead” could mean route position.
Could mean sequence.
Could mean something else.
No assumption.
Search newer records.
Unit 02.
Nothing.
Three years was latest.
Search M-14.
More records.
Facility type:
“MUNICIPAL TRANSFER NODE”
Function?
Tek translated.
Materials movement.
Transport interchange.
Important.
Transport routes.
Maybe Unit Two passed through rather than operated there.
The recovery log included an exit?
Search.
Yes.
“ACCESS CLOSED”
Timestamp:
Six hours later.
No destination.
No subsequent route.
Could have left.
Could have shut down there.
Could have been dismantled.
Could have—
Stop.
Evidence.
Unit 02’s chassis identity was confirmed at M-14 approximately three years ago.
That’s all.
I saved it.
Then I noticed another field.
“RECOVERY CLASSIFICATION”
Damaged.
Partial:
“BIO—”
Biological recovery?
Maybe.
Cargo?
Person?
Animal?
Unknown.
Do not reconstruct missing data from desire.
I sat back.
Two-Tone bumped lightly against my leg.
I looked down.
Two tones.
“Not now.”
Two tones.
Rusk raised its head.
I looked at Tek.
“Did Five know Two was alive?”
Tek considered.
“Five stopped nine years ago.”
Right.
The record was six years after Five ceased functioning.
Five could not have known.
Something strange occurred.
My internal systems elevated.
Not fear.
Not exactly.
Hope.
Yes.
Hope.
Dangerous emotion.
Not because emotions were dangerous.
Because hope encouraged interpretation beyond evidence.
I needed to be careful.
Unit Two might not be alive.
But it had been active—or physically represented by its controller—three years ago.
That was enough to investigate.
Was it?
Forty-eight kilometers.
Unknown terrain.
Unknown threats.
Limited mobility.
Portable power.
No transport.
Haven also unknown.
Which direction mattered more?
Haven:
Seventeen-year-old objective.
Quarantined.
Unknown hazard.
Possible origin connection.
Possible mission.
Unit Two:
Three-year-old record.
Potentially surviving SVR.
Possible direct witness to our past.
Possible—
I stopped.
That was the rational argument.
A living Unit Two could answer questions.
But that was not why I wanted to go.
I knew it immediately.
I looked toward Unit 05.
One.
Destroyed.
Four.
Destroyed.
Five.
Gone.
Two.
Maybe.
I had awakened alone.
The first thing I had known was absence.
No memory.
No identity.
No explanation.
Then Rusk.
Collector.
Tek.
Now I understood something about being alone that I had not understood when I woke.
Being alone was not simply the absence of other entities.
It was the absence of anyone who knew you.
Tek knew what I was.
Not who.
Five had known.
But Five was gone.
If Two remained—
Two might remember me.
That thought produced a response so strong I almost rejected it.
Not because I wanted my memories back.
Five had warned me against making memory the requirement.
TELL THEM TO CHOOSE.
I understood.
I did not need Two to tell me who I was.
But I wanted to meet someone who had known me before I knew myself.
That was different.
I opened objectives.
7.
INVESTIGATE HAVEN
Still active.
I did not delete it.
Instead:
8.
INVESTIGATE UNIT 02
Priority?
I hesitated.
Then:
PRIORITY: HIGH
There.
Choice.
Not programming.
Not mission.
Mine.
“I want to go to M-14.”
Tek became very still.
Translation processed.
“No.”
I had not expected immediate refusal.
“Why?”
“Too far.”
“Forty-eight kilometers.”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
“Your locomotion is bad.”
I looked down.
“Functional.”
Tek pointed at me.
I almost laughed.
“Can improve.”
Tek paused.
Yes.
That was different.
Not impossible.
Preparation problem.
Good.
“What do I need?”
Tek looked at me for several seconds.
Then began listing.
“Transport.”
Correct.
“Power.”
Correct.
“Navigation.”
Correct.
“Spare components.”
Correct.
“Weather protection.”
Interesting.
“Communication.”
Yes.
Then:
“Help.”
I stopped.
“I have you.”
Tek became still.
I had not intended the sentence to sound significant.
It did.
Tek looked away first.
Then:
“Yes.”
Two tones.
I looked down.
“No.”
Two tones.
“You are not traveling forty-eight kilometers.”
Two tones.
Rusk stood.
“No.”
Rusk’s tail moved.
“Absolutely not.”
Tek laughed.
“This is not amusing.”
Tek continued laughing.
I looked at Two-Tone.
Then Rusk.
Then Tek.
Something uncomfortable became obvious.
I had begun planning the journey as if I were leaving alone.
Why?
Habit?
I had awakened alone.
Moved alone.
Built alone.
Solved alone.
Accepting Tek’s support during rescue extraction had already required adjustment.
Now—
Help.
I looked around the workshop.
Could Tek leave?
Did it want to?
Unknown.
Could Rusk travel?
Injured leg.
Probably not yet.
Two-Tone?
Apparently it had already decided.
No.
I would not project decisions onto them.
Ask.
Later.
First:
M-14.
Information.
“Do we have maps?”
Tek nodded.
“Route?”
Partial.
“Transport?”
Tek hesitated.
Then pointed outside.
I followed.
Behind the workshop.
I had not explored there.
Large tarp-like material covered something.
Tek pulled it away.
Machine.
Four wheels.
Open cargo bed.
Front cabin absent.
Control column.
Old.
Very old.
One wheel missing.
Another damaged.
Power module absent.
I stared.
“Functional?”
Tek answered:
“No.”
Of course.
I moved closer.
Frame intact.
Drive motor?
Maybe.
Steering assembly.
Mechanical.
Brake system.
Cargo capacity substantial.
Repairable?
Unknown.
I looked at Tek.
“Bad.”
Tek nodded.
I touched the frame.
“Functional?”
Tek made the laugh sound.
Not yet.
I liked the machine immediately.
That concerned me.
We spent the next hour inspecting it.
Motor windings intact.
Controller damaged.
Wheel replacements possible.
Power system completely absent.
Brakes seized.
Steering linkage repairable.
Not a small project.
Days.
Maybe longer.
Good.
Preparation should take time.
I did not want to leave immediately.
That realization surprised me.
M-14 mattered.
Two mattered.
But so did this place.
I looked toward workshop lights.
Rusk asleep near entrance.
Two-Tone parked beside it.
Tek sorting parts.
Safe.
Again that word.
If I left—
I would miss it.
Interesting.
We returned inside.
I continued searching records before shutdown.
M-14.
Transport routes.
Old maps.
Nothing dramatic.
Then one final query.
“SVR-02”
Filter:
After Five shutdown.
One result.
The recovery log.
Only one.
Three years ago.
I opened it again.
No new data.
But this time I noticed the authentication sequence.
Unit Two had accessed the facility using SVR clearance.
Clearance status:
“ACTIVE”
Same as mine.
Two’s authorization had remained active fourteen years after our disappearance.
Mine remained active seventeen.
So either the old systems never received revocation updates— likely— or nobody had revoked us.
Unknown.
I closed the record.
Enough.
Tomorrow:
Vehicle.
Route.
Power.
Mobility.
Preparation.
No rushing.
No blind pursuit.
If Unit Two had survived fourteen years, a few more days would not determine—
I stopped.
That assumption was unsupported.
Three years had already passed.
Two could have failed yesterday.
Could fail tomorrow.
Could already be gone.
Urgency increased.
I resisted it.
Leaving unprepared would reduce probability of reaching M-14.
Preparation was not delay.
Preparation was part of travel.
Good.
I shut down the terminal.
Rusk immediately moved toward me.
Two-Tone followed.
I looked at both.
“Why?”
Rusk sat against my leg.
Two-Tone stopped beside it.
Two tones.
I looked toward Tek.
Tek was watching.
“Do they do this to you?”
Translation.
Tek answered:
“No.”
I stared.
That complicated things.
“Why me?”
Tek’s response took several seconds.
Then:
“Rusk chooses.”
It pointed at Two-Tone.
“Collector chooses.”
Then at itself.
“I choose.”
Finally at me.
“You choose.”
I understood.
Maybe.
Five’s words returned.
TELL THEM TO CHOOSE.
I had interpreted that as instruction about identity.
Perhaps it was broader.
Choice was not only mine.
If I went to M-14, I could choose to ask for help.
And they could choose whether to give it.
I touched Rusk’s head.
Then tapped Two-Tone’s chassis.
Two tones.
“Tomorrow.”
I looked toward the broken transport outside.
“We build.”
For the first time, I had something resembling a plan that extended farther than survival.
Repair the transport.
Prepare supplies.
Map route.
Reach M-14.
Find evidence of Unit Two.
And eventually—
Haven.
I reduced optical gain.
Workshop lights dimmed.
Rusk settled beside me.
Two-Tone remained nearby.
Tek continued working.
My systems entered low-power state.
Before optical shutdown, I looked once toward Unit 05.
Five had told me to choose.
I had.
I was going to find Two.
Low-power cycle interrupted.
Audio input.
Sound.
Two tones.
My optical sensor activated.
Dark workshop.
Rusk asleep.
Tek inactive at charging station.
Two-Tone beside me.
But the tones had not come from Two-Tone.
I knew its acoustic profile now.
Different frequency.
Different spacing.
I remained still.
Again.
Faint.
Outside.
Two tones.
Pause.
Two tones.
Two-Tone activated immediately.
Its sensor turned toward the entrance.
Rusk woke.
Tek activated.
Nobody moved.
Again.
Farther away.
Two tones.
Then silence.
Tek approached the terminal.
I followed.
“Collector?”
Tek listened.
“No.”
I replayed audio.
Pattern comparison.
Similar local machine communication.
But not identical to any collector I had recorded.
Could be another machine type.
Nothing unusual about that.
Then Tek checked the facility receiver.
I had not known it had one.
Old.
Short-range.
Mostly unused.
An incoming signal had been recorded.
Weak.
Automated.
Tek opened it.
Identification header corrupted.
Payload:
Two tone bursts.
Then data.
Authentication fragment.
The terminal attempted decoding.
Failed.
I connected my interface.
SVR protocols responded.
Decode.
One line appeared.
“RECOVERY CHANNEL”
My systems accelerated.
Next:
“UNIT IDENTIFIER: UNRESOLVED”
Not Two.
Not yet.
Do not assume.
Signal strength insufficient.
Timestamp:
Current.
Not old.
Current.
The transmission repeated.
Two tones.
Data.
This time one additional fragment decoded.
“…SVR…”
Tek looked at me.
I looked toward the dark entrance.
Could be automated infrastructure.
Could be damaged beacon.
Could be old equipment activated by our searches.
Could be anything.
Then the signal came a third time.
Stronger.
My decoder captured more.
“RECOVERY CHANNEL”
“SVR HANDSHAKE REQUEST”
And beneath it:
“UNIT 03?”
Everything stopped.
Not a broadcast identifier.
A query.
Someone— or something— was asking specifically for me.
I did not answer.
Not yet.
Evidence first.
But somewhere outside the workshop, in the dark junk field— two tones sounded again.