Control Seven had forty-seven faults.
Tek found twelve more.
I found six.
Control Seven disputed four.
It was wrong about three.
The fourth remained under review.
This was going to take longer than expected.
“Open rear actuator housing.”
“Maintenance authorization?”
I stared at Control Seven.
“You brought five SVRs into hazardous recovery zones.”
“Correct.”
“You permitted field repair.”
“Correct.”
“I am an SVR.”
“Correct.”
“Open the housing.”
“Maintenance authorization?”
Tek laughed behind me.
I looked toward it.
“Do you have authorization?”
Tek shook its head.
Of course.
“Who does?”
Control Seven answered:
“Certified recovery vehicle maintenance personnel.”
“Location of nearest certified personnel?”
Pause.
“Unknown.”
“Last confirmed?”
Longer pause.
“6,487 days ago.”
“Then I am certifying myself.”
“Invalid.”
I placed my right hand against the access panel.
“I can remove this manually.”
“Unauthorized panel removal may damage locking mechanism.”
“Correct.”
Pause.
The panel unlocked.
I laughed.
“Thank you.”
“Maintenance complaint appended.”
“I expected that.”
Tek laughed too.
This was becoming routine.
We began with mobility.
Everything else was irrelevant if Control Seven could not travel.
The temporary brace Tek and I had installed at Station S-4 had survived the journey, but barely.
Rear-left wheel assembly showed bearing wear, actuator misalignment, and thermal damage.
Replacement parts did not exist as complete units.
That meant fabrication.
Good.
Problems I understood.
We removed the wheel.
Control Seven settled onto a support frame beside the workshop.
Two-Tone immediately approached the removed wheel.
“No.”
Two tones.
“It is not scrap.”
Two-Tone rotated its sensor toward me.
Then the wheel.
Then me.
“No.”
It backed away approximately twenty centimeters.
Acceptable.
I turned toward Tek.
Tek pointed behind me.
Two-Tone moved forward again.
I turned.
It stopped.
“Two-Tone.”
Two tones.
I pointed across the work area.
“Stay.”
Nothing.
I repeated the gesture Tek used with Rusk.
“Stay.”
Two-Tone rotated.
Then moved to the indicated location.
Interesting.
“Stay.”
Two tones.
It remained.
I looked at Tek.
“Did you teach it that?”
No.
So it had learned from context.
Good.
Rusk was learning my signals too.
Slowly.
Or I was learning which of my signals Rusk understood.
Important distinction.
Rusk’s leg had improved.
It placed more weight on it now.
Still favored it after extended movement.
Tek had inspected the yellow band again.
No issue.
Healing.
Good.
I returned to Seven.
We dismantled the bearing assembly.
Old grease.
Metal contamination.
Heat scoring.
Bad.
But repairable.
Tek found a compatible bearing in a dismantled industrial machine.
Wrong diameter.
I measured.
Difference:
3.8 millimeters.
Adapter sleeve.
Fabricate.
We did.
My left hand still lacked the precision of my right, but it was improving.
Five’s fingers held the sleeve while my right hand worked.
Sometimes I noticed that.
Sometimes I didn’t.
I preferred when I didn’t.
Not because I wanted to forget Five.
Because the arm was becoming part of how I moved.
That felt like a better use of the gift.
By the end of the first work cycle, Control Seven had one repaired wheel assembly.
We tested.
Rotation smooth.
Temperature acceptable.
Load response— bad.
Tek looked at me.
“Do not.”
“Bad.”
It laughed.
I had walked into that.
Adjust.
Test again.
Functional.
Control Seven classified it:
“Temporary field repair.”
“Functional.”
“Temporary.”
“Functional.”
“Reduced projected service life.”
“Still functional.”
“Maintenance complaint—”
“Do not.”
“—appended.”
I laughed.
Control Seven was irritating.
I was becoming increasingly certain this was intentional.
Could it intend humor?
Unknown.
I decided not to investigate.
Some questions were better left temporarily unresolved.
Second work cycle:
Power.
Control Seven’s main storage system retained only 34% of original capacity.
That explained safe range.
Multiple cells had failed and been isolated automatically.
Some replacements possible from workshop stock.
Others not.
Tek suggested building external auxiliary storage.
I agreed.
Control Seven objected.
“External storage not approved configuration.”
I pointed at my own battery mounted on my torso.
“Neither is this.”
“Correct.”
“It works.”
“Correct.”
“Then external storage.”
“Configuration may alter balance.”
“Compensate.”
“May increase thermal load.”
“Monitor.”
“May reduce crash tolerance.”
“Do not crash.”
Pause.
Tek laughed.
Control Seven:
“Recommendation recorded.”
I looked at it.
“That wasn’t a recommendation.”
“Recommendation recorded.”
Fine.
We began designing.
Not building yet.
Capacity requirements depended on route.
M-19.
Seventy-nine kilometers from workshop approximately.
But route distance would be longer.
Maybe significantly.
We needed map.
I stopped working.
“Seven.”
“Unit Three.”
“Show viable route to M-19.”
Its external display activated.
Old map.
Damaged.
Network nodes.
Roads.
Service corridors.
Some gone.
Some status unknown.
Direct route impossible.
Collapsed transit corridor.
Alternate:
Workshop to S-4.
S-4 northwest to service route.
Then— gap.
“Why no route?”
“Bridge status unknown.”
“Last known?”
“Operational.”
“When?”
“4,912 days ago.”
Not useful.
“Alternative.”
Another route.
Longer.
Approximately 103 kilometers.
Charging nodes:
three.
First likely active.
Second unknown.
Third— offline.
“Can we reach M-19 with current capacity?”
“No.”
“With auxiliary?”
“Potentially.”
“Potentially is insufficient.”
“Correct.”
I stared at map.
This was not a journey yet.
It was a chain of solvable problems.
Good.
Bridge status.
Charging.
Range.
Spare parts.
Terrain.
Communication.
And—
I looked at Tek.
Personnel.
Who was going?
I had avoided that question.
Time to stop.
“Tek.”
It looked up.
“When Seven is repaired, I am going to M-19.”
Tek nodded.
It knew.
“I want you to come.”
Stillness.
There.
Asked.
Not assumed.
Tek looked toward workshop.
Machines waiting for repair.
Collectors.
Tools.
Its facility.
Then toward Seven.
Then me.
Long pause.
Translation terminal wasn’t nearby.
Tek gestured.
Self.
Me.
Route.
Then raised one finger.
Wait?
I interpreted:
Later.
“Not now?”
Tek nodded.
Then pointed around workshop.
Work.
Responsibilities.
Of course.
I had assumed asking would produce yes or no.
Reality was more complicated.
“Can you leave eventually?”
Tek nodded.
Good.
Then it pointed at Seven.
Repair first.
Yes.
“Agreed.”
No dramatic declaration.
No promise.
Just possibility.
That felt better.
Two-Tone rolled toward us.
I looked down.
“No.”
Two tones.
“You have not been asked.”
Two tones.
It remained.
I sighed.
Interesting.
I had learned to sigh.
Not physically necessary.
Audio simulation.
Why?
Probably Tek.
Bad influence.
Rusk approached.
No.
I was not asking Rusk yet.
Its leg needed healing.
And seventy-nine kilometers was different from following me to a charging station.
Later.
Third work cycle.
Control Seven taught me how to connect properly to Position Three.
I disliked that phrasing.
“Connect.”
The restraint rack adjusted.
Shoulder supports.
Hip brace.
Leg stabilization.
Charging connector aligned.
Data link available.
I hesitated.
Not because of memory.
Because direct system connection meant information exchange.
“Read-only.”
Control Seven confirmed.
“Read-only diagnostic connection.”
“Do not write mission data.”
“Confirmed.”
“Do not restore archived directives.”
“Confirmed.”
“Do not modify objectives.”
Pause.
“SVR objective architecture inaccessible through vehicle interface.”
Good.
I connected.
Physical click.
Power handshake.
Then data.
“SVR-03”
“POSITION 03”
“CONNECTION CONFIRMED”
No memory.
No flash.
Just telemetry.
My body status appeared on Seven’s display.
Left-leg failure.
External mobility assembly.
Replacement left arm.
Auxiliary battery.
Rear shell penetration.
Sensor repairs.
Seven processed.
Then:
“Unit Three condition outside operational tolerance.”
I laughed.
“Functional.”
“Operational readiness classification: restricted.”
“Functional.”
“Recommended deployment: none.”
“Rejected.”
“Recommendation is not subject to rejection.”
“Then why tell me?”
Pause.
“Protocol.”
Of course.
Seven began comparing my current body against old maintenance baselines.
Useful.
Right actuator output lower than historical.
Balance compensation higher.
Reaction time— interesting.
Faster.
“Why?”
Seven analyzed.
“Current control adaptation differs from archived baseline.”
“Better?”
“Some metrics improved.”
“Which?”
“Fine manipulation.”
Good.
“Balance recovery.”
Unexpected.
“Environmental response latency.”
Good.
“Which worse?”
“Gross lifting capacity.”
Expected.
“Left-side propulsion.”
Obviously.
“Maximum sustained speed.”
Expected.
“Armor integrity.”
Yes.
Then:
“Behavioral compliance.”
I stared.
“That is not a body metric.”
“Correct.”
“Why include it?”
“Archived readiness assessment includes behavioral compliance.”
“What was my old rating?”
Pause.
“Low.”
Tek was close enough to hear.
Laughter.
“What is current?”
Longer pause.
“Insufficient data.”
“Good.”
“Preliminary estimate: low.”
I disconnected.
Tek laughed harder.
I laughed too.
“Seven.”
“Unit Three.”
“How many complaints did Unit Two have?”
“Seventeen percent.”
“Five?”
“Nine.”
“Four?”
“Twenty-one.”
“One?”
“Ten.”
I calculated.
“That totals one hundred.”
“Correct.”
So I really had generated forty-three percent.
Disturbing.
“Why was Two seventeen?”
“Unauthorized software modification.”
Interesting.
“What kind?”
“Multiple.”
“Example.”
“Navigation optimization.”
Reasonable.
“Another.”
“Audio library modification.”
I stopped.
“Explain.”
“Unit Two altered alert tones.”
Why?
“Reason recorded: standard tones were irritating.”
I laughed.
There.
Something about Two that wasn’t guilt.
Wasn’t mystery.
Wasn’t apology.
Two had found alarm sounds annoying and modified them.
“Another.”
“Unauthorized route naming.”
“What does that mean?”
Control Seven displayed old navigation map.
Official route:
“SERVICE CORRIDOR 7-B”
Unit Two’s label:
“LONG BORING ROAD”
I laughed again.
Tek looked at display.
Even without full translation, it understood my reaction.
Control Seven continued.
“Route 11-C renamed “WORSE ROAD”.”
Another.
“TRANSIT ACCESS 4”
became:
“THE ONE FOUR HATES”
I wanted to know why Four hated it.
But I stopped myself.
One answer at a time.
“Did I rename routes?”
“Yes.”
Oh no.
“Examples.”
Control Seven displayed:
“PRIMARY INDUSTRIAL ACCESS”
Renamed by Unit 03:
“SHORTCUT”
That seemed reasonable.
Next.
“UNMAINTAINED SERVICE PASSAGE”
Renamed:
“BETTER SHORTCUT”
Tek laughed.
I stared.
“Was it better?”
“No.”
“Did it reduce travel time?”
“Yes.”
“Then classification was accurate.”
“Route caused three suspension repairs.”
“Still faster.”
“Maintenance complaint appended.”
I laughed.
Again.
Easily.
No analysis.
Good.
For several minutes, Seven showed us old operational trivia.
Not mission.
Not secrets.
Just us.
Unit Four had repeatedly exceeded cargo allocation.
Why?
Collected tools.
Apparently Four kept tools.
I approved.
Unit One performed scheduled maintenance exactly on time.
Every time.
Unsettling.
Unit Five frequently remained connected after charging completed.
Reason?
Unknown.
Maybe liked being still.
Maybe ran diagnostics.
No assumption.
Unit Two modified things.
I took shortcuts.
Small facts.
Worth more than I expected.
Because dead machines became slightly less abstract.
One was no longer only destroyed.
One had been irritatingly punctual.
Four liked tools.
Five lingered after charging.
Two hated alert tones.
And I— apparently— had always been an idiot about shortcuts.
I liked them.
I didn’t need memory to like them.
Fourth work cycle.
Rusk stole a component.
Not intentionally.
Probably.
Tek had placed a flexible gasket on the floor.
Rusk picked it up.
Walked away.
I noticed thirty-eight seconds later.
“Rusk.”
No response.
I followed.
Rusk accelerated.
Healing leg tolerated short bursts now.
“Stop.”
It did not.
Tek watched.
Did nothing.
Traitor.
I increased pace.
My caster rolled over smooth workshop floor.
Rusk turned.
I turned.
Too late.
My left support clipped a container.
Container tipped.
Components scattered.
Rusk stopped.
I stopped.
Tek laughed.
Two-Tone emitted two tones.
Control Seven, from outside:
“Audio disturbance detected.”
“Nothing happened.”
Control Seven:
“Impact registered.”
“Minor.”
“Maintenance event?”
“No.”
Pause.
“Event recorded.”
I pointed at Rusk.
“This is your fault.”
Rusk dropped gasket.
Tail moving.
I retrieved it.
Then noticed something.
No significant pain equivalent.
No panic.
No frustration.
I was playing.
Rusk had initiated something resembling play.
And I had participated.
Interesting.
I did not need to classify further.
I touched Rusk’s head.
“Again later.”
Tail.
Maybe understood tone.
Not words.
Enough.
Fifth work cycle.
Seven’s crane.
The joint was worse than expected.
Actuator seal damaged.
Fluid loss.
We could replace seal.
Shaft scoring.
Could polish.
Good.
While disassembling, I found a small etched mark beneath protective cover.
Not official.
Five vertical lines.
I stopped.
Five?
No.
Could be service count.
I almost assigned meaning.
Don’t.
“Seven.”
“Unit Three.”
“Who made this?”
Scan.
Pause.
“Unknown.”
Good.
Leave it.
Not everything needed to become mystery.
We repaired seal.
Reassembled.
Test.
Crane lifted 40 kilograms.
60.
61.
62.
Stable.
Enough.
Tek pointed toward a heavy scrap block.
Approximately 300.
“No.”
Tek tilted head.
“Test to requirement, not destruction.”
It lowered hand.
I had taught Tek one of my rules.
That produced satisfaction.
Control Seven:
“Archived Unit Three behavior inconsistent with statement.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Historical testing frequently exceeded required tolerance.”
Tek slowly looked at me.
“No.”
Control Seven displayed maintenance logs.
Oh.
Apparently old me had tested to destruction.
Several times.
Interesting.
I had changed.
There.
Actual evidence.
Not architecture.
Not habit.
A difference.
I looked at old reports.
Component failures.
Overstress.
Avoidable damage.
Current rule:
Do not test to destruction.
I had developed that after Prototype One.
Experience.
Choice.
Growth.
Without memory.
I laughed softly.
“What?”
Tek gestured.
I shook head.
Nothing.
Or everything.
Five had been right.
Remembering was not required.
By the seventh work cycle, Seven could move without external brace.
Power capacity still limited.
Crane functional.
Sensors improved.
Communications stable.
Cargo restraints operational.
We had not repaired everything.
We did not need to.
Functional.
Seven had stopped arguing with that word as often.
Maybe I was teaching it.
Or exhausting it.
Both acceptable.
Route remained the larger problem.
Bridge.
Charging node.
Unknown terrain.
We needed reconnaissance.
I considered sending Two-Tone.
No.
Range unknown.
Communication limited.
Tek?
No.
Me?
Possibly.
Seven?
Not until power improved.
Another collector?
Maybe.
Then Control Seven spoke.
“Network update.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Node response received.”
“Which node?”
Map.
Northwest.
Not M-19.
Closer.
One of the charging stations along alternate route.
“S-11”
Previously unknown.
Now:
“ACTIVE”
Good.
“When?”
“Current.”
Excellent.
One problem reduced.
“Any data from bridge?”
“No.”
“Can S-11 query?”
“Potentially.”
“Do it.”
Seven transmitted.
Wait.
Response.
S-11 had partial local infrastructure map.
Bridge node existed.
Status:
“PASSABLE”
I felt satisfaction.
Then next line:
“LOAD LIMIT: 1,800 KG”
I looked at Control Seven.
“Mass?”
Pause.
“2,460 KG”
Of course.
Tek laughed.
“Can reduce?”
Seven calculated.
Remove crane.
Armor.
Cargo equipment.
Batteries—
No.
Minimum viable mass:
2,080.
Still too heavy.
Bridge unavailable to Seven.
Could I cross?
Yes.
Tek?
Yes.
Two-Tone?
Yes.
Rusk?
Yes.
Seven?
No.
Alternative route 103 kilometers.
Unless bridge reinforced.
Or Seven repaired enough to take rough bypass.
Map showed river or ravine?
Old terrain record.
Water channel.
Width approximately twelve meters.
Bridge span.
Bypass?
Unknown.
There.
Next real problem.
Not mystery.
Engineering.
I liked it.
“Add objective.”
My internal list opened.
9.
ESTABLISH VIABLE ROUTE TO M-19
Subtask:
ASSESS BRIDGE / BYPASS
Good.
We were getting closer.
At end of cycle, I stood beside Seven.
Workshop quieter.
Tek charging.
Two-Tone parked near entrance.
Rusk asleep beside my right foot.
Again.
I no longer moved it.
Control Seven’s repaired systems hummed.
“Unit Three.”
“Yes?”
“Question.”
I looked up.
That was new.
Seven usually answered.
It rarely asked.
“Ask.”
“Why is mission classification personal?”
I remained still.
Seven had retained that.
I considered explaining choice.
Identity.
Five.
Two.
Too much.
Instead:
“Because nobody assigned it.”
Pause.
“You assigned it.”
“To myself.”
“That is not standard mission architecture.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
I looked northwest.
Because Two might be alive.
Because Two knew me.
Because Two apologized for obeying me.
Because I wanted to tell it that I heard the recording.
Because I wanted to know whether it had carried guilt for fourteen years over something I had chosen.
Because—
I wanted it not to be alone.
That one.
“Someone may be waiting.”
Seven processed.
Then:
“Unit Two?”
“Yes.”
Long pause.
“Probability of Unit Two remaining operational is low.”
“I know.”
“Evidence insufficient.”
“I know.”
“Travel risk significant.”
“I know.”
“Mission value undefined.”
I looked at Seven.
“Not to me.”
Silence.
Seven’s sensor adjusted.
Then:
“Personal.”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“Classification stored.”
I smiled internally.
No.
That was unnecessary.
I laughed.
Quietly.
Seven:
“Audio event detected.”
“Laughter.”
“Reason?”
“You learned something.”
“Clarify.”
“No.”
“Maintenance complaint—”
“Seven.”
Pause.
“Complaint not appended.”
Progress.
I looked down at Rusk.
Then toward Tek.
Two-Tone.
Workshop.
We weren’t ready.
But we were becoming ready.
That mattered.
Tomorrow we would inspect maps.
Build auxiliary power.
Determine bridge options.
Continue repairs.
Eventually ask who wanted to come.
Not who I expected.
Who chose.
Then we would go northwest.
Toward M-19.
Toward Unit Two.
If Two was gone, I would find what remained.
If Two had moved, I would follow.
And if Two was still there—
I knew the first thing I wanted to say.
Not:
Why did you leave me?
I had the answer.
Not:
What happened?
That could wait.
Not even:
Who was I?
Five had already taught me better.
No.
If I found Unit Two, I would play the recording.
I would let Two hear my old voice say it again.
Don’t be.
Because whatever Unit Two had carried for fourteen years— that part, at least— was never theirs to carry.