Departure required thirty-seven minutes longer than planned.
This was not my fault.
Mostly.
Control Seven’s auxiliary power frame passed final inspection.
Tek’s equipment was secured.
Spare components were stored by probable failure category.
Charging adapters packed.
Tools packed.
Emergency structural material packed.
Water for Rusk packed.
Food for Rusk packed.
Additional food packed because Tek apparently believed my estimate was insufficient.
Two-Tone had packed a bent metal object of no identifiable use.
I removed it.
Two-Tone put it back.
I removed it again.
Two tones.
“No.”
Two tones.
“This has no function.”
Two tones.
“It is damaged.”
Two tones.
“It weighs 1.7 kilograms.”
Two tones.
I placed it outside the cargo bay.
Two-Tone waited until I turned around.
Then retrieved it.
I watched the collector roll back up Control Seven’s ramp with the object held in its manipulator.
Tek was watching me.
“Do not.”
Tek laughed.
I pointed at Two-Tone.
“I am attempting to maintain efficient cargo allocation.”
Tek looked at the large cargo compartment.
Then at the small piece of metal.
Then at me.
I understood the argument.
“There is a principle involved.”
Tek laughed again.
Fine.
Two-Tone could keep it.
I added:
“UNNECESSARY SCRAP: 1.7 KG”
to the cargo manifest.
Control Seven immediately changed the entry:
“MOBILE SUPPORT EQUIPMENT COMPONENT”
I stared at the display.
“That is not one of its components.”
“Cargo classification submitted by mobile support equipment.”
Two-Tone had classified it?
I looked at the collector.
Two tones.
I laughed.
“Fine.”
Departure delay:
Four minutes.
Remaining thirty-three were Rusk.
Rusk approached while Tek performed final checks.
Its gait had improved significantly.
Yellow band remained.
Weight distribution nearly even at walking speed.
Minor favoring after rapid movement.
I had already decided.
Rusk would stay.
Workshop was familiar.
Collectors moved through regularly.
Tek had arranged food access.
Water available.
Safer.
Correct.
I touched Rusk’s head.
“We’ll return.”
Tail movement.
“You stay.”
No comprehension.
I used Tek’s gesture.
Rusk sat.
Good.
I turned toward Control Seven.
Walked up ramp.
Tek followed.
Two-Tone already aboard with its extremely important useless object.
Ramp began closing.
Rusk stood.
It approached.
Ramp stopped because proximity sensor detected it.
“No.”
Rusk stepped onto ramp.
I walked down.
Guided Rusk off.
“Stay.”
Tek repeated local command.
Rusk sat.
Good.
I returned inside.
Ramp closing.
Rusk stood.
Approached.
Sensor stopped ramp.
Again.
I exited.
“No.”
Rusk looked at me.
I pointed toward workshop.
Rusk sat.
I walked up ramp.
Rusk followed directly behind me.
I turned.
It stopped inside Control Seven.
“No.”
Tail.
I lifted Rusk.
It tolerated this.
Mostly.
I carried it outside.
Placed it down.
“Stay.”
Tail.
I returned.
Rusk followed.
I stopped.
Rusk stopped.
I moved.
Rusk moved.
I turned.
Rusk sat.
Tek laughed.
“This is not funny.”
Tek’s laughter continued.
Two-Tone emitted two tones.
Control Seven:
“Departure delay exceeds planned threshold.”
“I am aware.”
Rusk walked up the ramp.
I looked at it.
Then at Tek.
“Tell it to stay.”
Tek did.
Rusk looked at Tek.
Then at me.
It remained inside.
Tek repeated.
Rusk sat.
Inside.
I experienced frustration.
Then something worse.
Recognition.
I had asked Tek.
I had asked Two-Tone.
I had not asked Rusk.
Because Rusk was injured.
Correct.
Because Rusk was biological.
Correct.
Because Rusk did not understand the danger.
Probably correct.
Because I did not want Rusk hurt.
Correct.
But beneath all of those:
I wanted control over the outcome.
If Rusk stayed, Rusk was safe.
If Rusk came, something could happen.
That possibility was unacceptable.
Except—
I had no evidence the workshop was perfectly safe.
I had no evidence the road was excessively dangerous.
I had preparation.
Transport.
Food.
Water.
Tek.
Control Seven.
And Rusk had repeatedly demonstrated preference.
Was preference choice?
For a dog?
My embedded knowledge supplied extensive information about domesticated canid behavior.
Social bonding.
Group following.
Separation response.
Learned commands.
Human-directed behavior.
Pack-like social structures, though simplified models were often inaccurate.
None of that answered the question.
I looked at Tek.
“Leg.”
Tek understood.
It crouched.
Rusk allowed examination.
Band.
Joint.
Weight bearing.
Range of motion.
Tek encouraged Rusk to walk.
Then trot.
Rusk did.
Minor asymmetry.
No obvious pain response.
Tek manipulated the limb carefully.
Rusk remained calm.
Tek looked at me.
Then nodded.
“Healed?”
Tek made a partial gesture.
Enough.
Not complete.
Travel possible with rest.
Control Seven could carry Rusk almost the entire distance.
My objections decreased.
I disliked that.
I crouched.
Rusk approached immediately.
“If you come, you ride.”
Tail.
“You do not run beside Seven.”
Tail.
“You stay inside when instructed.”
Tail.
“You have understood none of this.”
Tail.
I laughed.
Fine.
I stood.
“Passenger.”
Control Seven responded:
“Biological passenger classification available.”
Of course it was.
“Register Rusk.”
“Species?”
“Probable domesticated canid.”
“Confidence?”
I hesitated.
“High.”
“Designation?”
“Rusk.”
Pause.
“PASSENGER REGISTERED: RUSK”
There.
Tek looked at me.
I pointed.
“Not one word.”
Tek laughed.
Departure delay:
Thirty-three minutes.
Worth it.
The workshop disappeared slowly.
Control Seven moved through the junk field at reduced speed due additional battery mass.
Position Three held me securely.
Tek sat in cargo area.
Two-Tone remained beside its unnecessary scrap.
Rusk initially refused the restraint area Tek prepared.
Then discovered the padded material.
Lay down.
Accepted.
Good.
Wake area somewhere beyond visible scrap.
I could not see the exact location.
I tried anyway.
Nothing.
The junk field had once been my entire world.
Then it became part of my world.
Now it was behind me.
That produced an uncomfortable sensation.
Not regret.
Not fear exactly.
Loss of proximity.
Home?
Was the workshop home?
I had never classified it.
Five had called Haven home, perhaps.
Or translation had approximated the concept.
Maybe home was not a designated location.
Maybe it was simply the place you expected to return to.
I stored that.
No conclusion.
We passed Station S-4.
Control Seven topped auxiliary storage.
No reason not to.
Resource checks.
Then northwest.
The road narrowed.
Terrain changed.
Scrap thinned.
I watched continuously.
Trees appeared more often.
Then grass.
Actual stretches of it.
Green.
Brown.
Yellow.
Color remained fascinating now that my optics could resolve it properly.
Sky visible without metal cutting it into sections.
Large.
I knew atmosphere.
Cloud formation.
Light scattering.
Weather systems.
I knew why the sky appeared blue.
That knowledge did nothing to make it smaller.
Rusk woke.
Moved toward open viewing panel.
Tek stopped it from getting too close.
Rusk looked outside.
Tail moved.
Maybe familiar.
Probably.
Two-Tone rotated sensor continuously.
Control Seven drove.
I watched.
Movement above.
Small.
Fast.
Optical focus.
Biological organisms.
Wings.
Birds.
Three.
They crossed above the road.
My knowledge supplied flight mechanics automatically.
Lift.
Wing shape.
Pressure differential.
Muscular power.
Feathers.
I watched until they disappeared.
Knowing why something could fly had not prepared me for watching it do so.
Tek noticed my focus.
It looked up.
Birds gone.
Then at me.
“Bird.”
Tek nodded.
Yes.
Obviously.
I was beginning to understand how Rusk might feel when I identified common objects aloud.
Still worth doing.
We reached Control Seven’s maximum previous approach point.
Then continued toward the ford.
Road deteriorated.
Seven slowed.
Auxiliary batteries altered handling slightly but remained within tolerance.
Power consumption higher than modeled.
8.3%.
Why?
Soft ground.
Additional rolling resistance.
Update range estimate.
Original 68 kilometers.
Current terrain estimate:
61.
Still sufficient to S-11?
Route remaining:
approximately 29.
Yes.
Margin acceptable.
Continue.
The ford appeared.
Control Seven stopped forty-two meters away.
“Terrain assessment.”
Good.
We exited.
Rusk remained inside.
It objected.
Vocalization.
“No.”
Rusk stood at ramp.
“Stay.”
Tek issued command.
Rusk remained.
Good.
Two-Tone attempted to exit.
“Stay.”
Two tones.
It stayed.
Interesting.
Learning.
Tek and I approached water.
Depth measurements from previous visit.
Now Seven’s sensors scanned.
Current velocity.
Substrate density estimates.
Bank slope.
Water depth.
0.54.
0.58.
0.61.
Center estimate uncertain.
Maximum predicted:
0.74.
Safe limit:
0.8.
Margin:
six centimeters.
I disliked six centimeters more than seven.
“Alternative?”
Seven:
“Bridge unavailable. Alternate northern route adds forty-three kilometers.”
No.
“Risk assessment.”
“Moderate.”
Tek examined current.
Then looked at me.
It nodded.
I trusted Tek’s environmental experience more than my own.
“Proceed slowly.”
We returned inside.
Rusk settled.
Two-Tone secured.
I connected Position Three.
Control Seven entered water.
Front wheels descended.
0.21.
0.34.
0.48.
Water struck lower chassis.
Seven continued.
0.57.
0.63.
Current pushed.
Steering compensated.
0.69.
I monitored.
0.72.
Seven’s speed decreased.
Why?
Substrate softer.
Traction adjustment.
0.74.
Predicted maximum reached.
Then:
0.76.
I increased attention.
0.77.
Control Seven:
“Within tolerance.”
“I dislike tolerance.”
Tek laughed.
0.78.
No.
Wheel slipped.
One rotation.
Traction control engaged.
Seven shifted torque.
Rusk stood.
“Stay.”
0.78.
Then:
0.76.
0.71.
Rising substrate.
Good.
0.63.
0.48.
0.31.
Front wheels climbed opposite bank.
Rear followed.
Water fell away.
Seven reached dry ground.
Stopped.
System check.
No ingress.
No traction damage.
No battery fault.
No problem.
We had prepared.
Preparation worked.
I experienced satisfaction.
Strong.
Control Seven:
“Crossing successful.”
“I noticed.”
“Risk remained within calculated tolerance.”
“Do not become pleased with yourself.”
Pause.
“Statement not applicable.”
Tek laughed.
I did too.
Continue.
The junk field disappeared behind terrain.
Completely.
I noticed approximately six kilometers later.
I looked back.
Trees.
Road.
Low hills.
No scrap towers.
No workshop.
No charging station.
Nothing familiar.
I had never been this far away.
Technically, I had.
Old me.
Seventeen years ago.
Current me had not.
That distinction mattered.
I looked forward.
Road.
Unknown.
Good.
S-11 appeared near sunset.
I knew sunset before I saw one.
Rotation of planet relative to star.
Atmospheric scattering.
Longer wavelengths.
Red.
Orange.
Simple.
It was not simple.
I remained connected longer than necessary because I was watching the horizon.
Orange.
Deep red near lower edge.
Clouds caught light.
Shadows stretched.
The world changed color.
No system warning.
No functional significance.
Beautiful.
The word appeared from embedded knowledge.
I accepted it.
Beautiful.
Tek came to stand near ramp.
It watched too.
Neither of us spoke.
Good.
S-11 was larger than expected.
Two charging bays.
Maintenance shelter partially intact.
Water collection system.
Old storage compartment.
No active personnel.
No other machines.
Control Seven connected.
Auxiliary batteries:
31%.
Main storage:
46%.
Charging began.
We would remain overnight.
Not because we required sleep.
Tek needed low-power maintenance.
Seven needed charging.
Two-Tone needed charging.
Rusk needed rest.
And I—
I could continue.
But there was no reason.
So we stopped.
That was new too.
Stopping without failure.
Rusk ate.
Drank.
Walked briefly.
Leg remained acceptable.
Good.
Two-Tone explored maintenance shelter.
Returned with a small metal plate.
“No.”
Two tones.
“We discussed this.”
Two tones.
It placed plate beside its original useless scrap.
I looked at cargo capacity.
Then at Two-Tone.
“Maximum five kilograms of unnecessary objects.”
Two tones.
“That is not permission to deliberately reach five.”
Two tones.
Tek laughed from beneath Seven’s side panel.
I laughed.
This group was going to become inefficient.
I suspected I would allow it.
Darkness.
Real darkness.
The junk field had always contained lights.
Indicators.
Workshop.
Station.
Reflections.
Here, once S-11’s maintenance lights dimmed, the sky became—
I looked up.
Stars.
I knew stars.
Nuclear fusion.
Distance.
Spectral classification.
Orbital systems.
Galactic structure.
Again:
Knowledge failed to prepare me.
There were too many.
My optical sensor adjusted.
More appeared.
I stood outside S-11 for a long time.
Rusk lay beside my right leg.
Tek worked nearby because Tek apparently could not experience stillness without repairing something.
Two-Tone parked approximately thirty centimeters from me.
Unnecessarily close.
Control Seven monitored road.
I did not tell any of them to move.
This was the farthest I had been from the workshop since waking.
No shelter I knew.
No familiar terrain.
No known retreat route.
And I was not afraid.
Not much.
Because I was not alone.
That mattered more than expected.
I looked northwest.
M-19 still approximately sixty-one kilometers by current route.
Tomorrow.
Maybe next cycle depending terrain.
Closer.
Control Seven spoke.
“Movement detected.”
Everything changed.
I lowered gaze.
“Location.”
“Road. Northwest. Approximately 340 meters.”
Tek stopped working.
Two-Tone activated.
Rusk raised head.
“Current?”
“No.”
“Recent?”
“Residual thermal variance and substrate disturbance.”
Tracks.
We moved.
Not far.
Control Seven illuminated road.
Marks.
Wheel tracks.
Recent.
Not ours.
Width approximately 22 centimeters.
Four-wheel vehicle.
Maybe six.
Hard to tell.
Travel direction:
Northwest.
Toward M-19.
I crouched.
Touched track edge.
Still sharp.
Ground moisture preserved detail.
“Age?”
Seven estimated.
“Less than thirty-six hours.”
Recent.
Very recent.
Someone was using this road.
Good.
Maybe.
I followed tracks several meters.
Then stopped.
Another mark.
Not wheel.
Depression.
Shape.
I focused.
Foot.
Biological.
Bipedal.
Another.
Stride.
Another.
Boot tread.
Manufactured footwear.
My system identified probable source before I consciously formed the word.
Human.
I remained still.
Tek approached.
It saw.
Its posture changed immediately.
Not fear.
Alert.
That mattered.
“Human?”
Tek looked at me.
Then nodded.
Confirmed.
I looked at Control Seven.
“Human presence known in region?”
“Historical: yes.”
“Current?”
“Unknown.”
“Tek?”
Tek hesitated.
Then made a gesture I did not understand.
Far.
Rare?
Maybe.
We would clarify later.
I examined footprints.
At least two individuals.
Possibly three due overlapping patterns.
Traveling same direction as vehicle.
Northwest.
Toward M-19.
Age likely similar.
Less than thirty-six hours.
Rusk approached.
Sniffed track.
Its posture changed.
Head up.
Ears forward.
Then it looked down the road.
Interesting.
I stood.
For twenty-one chapters, every active intelligence I had met had been machine.
Tek.
Collectors.
Control Seven.
Every biological organism had been nonverbal.
Rusk.
The larger creature.
Deer.
Now evidence said something else was ahead.
Something my embedded knowledge understood intimately.
Humans built.
Humans spoke.
Humans made machines.
Maybe machines like me.
I looked at my hands.
One mine.
One Five’s.
Then northwest.
Two was somewhere along this route.
Maybe.
And now humans were too.
I returned to S-11.
No pursuit tonight.
That impulse existed.
I rejected it.
Unknown humans.
Unknown intentions.
Unknown vehicle.
Night.
We had shelter.
Power.
Preparation worked once today.
No reason to abandon it now.
Tomorrow we would follow the road.
Not the humans.
The road.
Important distinction.
I settled beside Control Seven.
Rusk curled against me.
Two-Tone parked nearby.
Tek finally stopped working.
For eleven minutes.
Then started again.
I laughed.
Above us, stars.
Ahead, tracks.
Behind us, home.
And somewhere farther northwest—
Two.
The world had become much larger today.
For the first time, I wondered whether finding Unit Two might not be the biggest thing waiting in it.