Transit Authority: Dock 11
Walter was about as unsure of this visit as he was about everything else in life. His hands rub each other red in his lap as their ship locks into port and off-loading instructions begin. Swallowing hard, he glances out the window at the grey sky that's tinged with just a hint of blue and the giant gaseous planet in the distance that was keeping this rock in orbit. He closes his eyes, trying to control his breathing and wipes the ginger curls from his forehead. If he couldn't take this one trip, he definitely couldn't be a space explorer and that was his goal.
It was a laughable goal, or so he'd been told by friends, but it was his. Sure, everyone was pretty much a space traveler these days in the new human race, with settlements as far as they could fly, but Walter was going to see things no one had ever seen before. He planned to chart the unknown and prove the universe had an edge, an end point, where the newness was so new he could watch it form before his eyes. His lips perk into a small smile as he daydreams about the darkness and vastness spread out before him, but the joy is short-lived as he's backhanded roughly in the chest.
"Oy, space man, let's get a move on!"
The broken voice comes from his mate Chuckie, and he finds himself looking up into large bright green eyes and a playful crooked grin. The other boy nods his head towards the front of the ship and Walter glances ahead, seeing the other students departing to the small moon's surface.
"We won't need suits, will we?" Walter asks apprehensively, feeling foolish as soon as he does; he knows they don't, he'd read it on the websites.
He receives an eye roll and another thwap. "Come on, chubby, it's your first moon landin'."
With a less than reassured laugh, Walter takes the backpack his friend hands him and shifts out of the seat, making his way down the aisle behind the other boy, who is moving swiftly towards the exit. Walter wants to document it all, the way the air smells, the way the ground feels under his feet, the kinds of people that live there, and the kinds of food they eat. The anticipation pounds in his chest as he hands his identification and trip pass to the guardsmen at the front of the ship and again to the ones in the decompression chamber hooked to their ship.
He finds himself in a room with Chuckie, and the doors behind him slide shut as they move down a level and then they are released into the rush of the main hub of the docking station. There are windows to the ground level outside and he peers out through squinted eyes, seeing the slippery metal surfaces of the ground and the tall spires of shining buildings towering over everything in the distance.
"Remember to breathe," Chuckie teases, grabbing him by his jacket and yanking him past the other students from their class. "Honestly, dad said this trip was rubbish. Said we'd get more culture out of Akhetan, but I bet he doesn't realize our school's a pile of rubbish built on a giant rubbish heap."
Walter huffs a laugh and struggles to keep up with Chuckie as he weaves around people and garbage cans, or maybe they were… Walter turns and catches a glimpse of a pair of eyes searching into his and he slams into a large hard object that made a hollow clunk when he'd hit it. Stumbling back, he apologizes, but when he looks forward, he finds himself staring up at a robot nearly the size of a man, frozen in place. Walter adjusts the backpack on his shoulders and sniffles lightly, putting a hand to his chest where he'd hit the thing. He pokes a finger into the main body of the robot, jerking back slightly as he waits for a response, but it remains still, looking out over the crowd.
Like a statue.
One that makes him afraid to turn away.
"It's just an old Automan B721, probably dead," Chuckie assures, ripping him away from it and moving towards a set of doors that lead to the outside world. "Figure we got about a half hour before they start looking for us. Maybe we can find something more interesting to write about than the museum of junked parts we're here to see."
"It's an Historical Monument to Robotronics Advancement," Walter corrects as they step forward, standing in the whoosh of air that enters when the doors swoop open. The fear of what he knew they were doing squelches any excitement he might have had for the moment, and what met him made him thankful he couldn't be more disappointed. The air was thick, smelling of sulfur and over-chlorinated water and it burned his nostrils and throat as he took in his first full breath.
"Bloody hell," Chuckie spits, moving forward. Coughing, Walter keeps a hand up to his face as they walk out into the street.
Everything is a different shade of metal, and his breath is sour in his lungs, but the people walking about seem strangely oblivious to it. He observes them, looking for some sign that they were wearing discrete air purifiers, but they simply seem... at home.
Walter can see the monorail above them where the rest of the class was presumably riding off to the museum they'd visited the moon to see. Eyes falling back to his bleak surroundings, he shivers in the dampness of the streets and looks over the shiny blotches of warped rainbows worn into the building walls from years of heat and moisture. He watches the water drip down their sides, puddling on the black asphalt beneath their feet.
Chuckie clears his throat, expelling a wad of gunk on the ground and snorts, "It's a junk yard," sounding more disappointed than disgusted.
Walter glances up, seeing the top of a sparkling building so far away. According to his technology teacher, it is the database of all artificial life has known for as far as it could travel. They were going to take a tour of one of the signal receiver rooms. He sighs, wishing he were there. "The city was founded by advanced robotic technology, the greatest in artificial intelligence…"
"Stop spewin' the brochure at me, monkey boy. It's a junk yard full of spare parts."
Pointing upward, Walter tells him brightly, "We could catch the next monorail to the museum; just tell them we got lost and see the history we're supposed to be seeing… you know, to write the report for class?"
Chuckie glances back at him and laughs, "And miss the chance to pinch somethin' here that'll fetch us a few quid back home?"
"No one's gonna pay for this stuff," Walter tells him, kicking at an odd object on the ground that sings sharply as it bounces hard along the street.
"Sirs, how may I be of assistance?" A robotic voice askes nearby, startling them both.
Walter glances at the small round bronze robot. Its body has a tubby cylinder shape that was colored the same as his hair and it wore a domed head out of which two bright white beams watch them. He examines it for any markings to denote where it's from or what it even is, but they've been scratched off with age. Even so, he knows, they need to get back to their class and the moon was notorious for its helpful bots.
"We need directions on how to get onto the monorail," Walter starts, but Chuckie interrupts.
"Take us to see something spectacular," he stares, wide-eyed and waiting, as though the robot were going to open its chest to display diamonds and the sight of his friend almost makes him laugh.
The robot shakes slightly as mechanical parts whir about inside of it. It moves forward and Chuckie begins to turn, but Walter knows what it's doing. He'd read about it. A blueish beam shoots out from its eyes and warms a spot at the tops of their heads before quickly flickering down over their bodies.
Walter jerks back slightly, shouting, "What are you scanning us for?"
"Physical specifications necessary for queried recommendations."
"What?" Chuckie askes it.
"Just tell us how to get to the monorail," Walter tells it bluntly.
But Chuckie shoves him, "No, you can take the stinkin' monorail – sign's right there, go follow it like a good little dog. I'll be finding something shiny and expensive." He turns to the robot. "Take me somewhere I can find a scrap of gold."
"That's just a story," Walter warns. He'd heard it a thousand times, people coming to the moon to look for supposed gold treasure and getting lost outside of the city. No one looks for those who leave the city, it's not even worth their time, or their lives.
Chuckie shrugs, "What if it's not, Walt? Every story has some truth, right? This place is full of all kinds of crap – why not gold. It'd mean nothing to this heap of metal." He waves at the robot still perched in front of them. "You there, gold, come on," he hisses.
After a moment of hesitation, the robot responds brightly, "Affirmative, sirs," and rolls along the street and then turns onto another.
Chuckie laughs, voice cracking, and he jogs to catch up while Walter looks between another monorail train slipping away in the direction of the central city, and the back of the boy who is turning a corner behind the small robot. With a breath of resignation, Walter takes off after his friend, turning the same corner and catching a glimpse of the other boy's jacket and he rushes forward, taking a turn, and then another, trying to follow the whirring sounds of the robot's wheels and the splashes of feet through puddles.
But he's easily lost amongst the unfamiliar back alleys. He stops, looking up at the grey sky through the dark buildings around him and shouts out to Chuckie, waiting for a response. He backtracks, trying to find his way back to the station, but he knows he was only putting himself further into the labyrinth. Walter pushes a hand into his pocket and removes his portable phone, searching for a signal and curses under his breath when he realizes there was simply too much interference from the robotics around him.
"Sir, how may I be of assistance?"
The voice makes him jump and he lookes down at the robot that waited, a few feet away for a response and then he considers it – shouldn't it remember him? Maybe it did and that was its standard response? Could it be a different robot? "I'm lost," he tells it with an air of annoyance.
"Sir, how may I be of assistance?" It repeats.
He releases a frustrated breath and asks, "How can I get back to the monorail?"
The robot approaches him, the white of its eyes expanding. "There are much more interesting things, sir," it tells him.
"I'm not looking for… just tell me how to get to the monorail!" He shouts, feeling his chest shaking with anger as he watches the robot roll forward another foot in his direction.
A small set of antennae shot up from its head suddenly and Walter shifts backwards, finding himself pressed against the cold wet metal behind him as the robot approached. He'd never seen a set of scanners like the ones this robot had, but he'd heard of something else – something sinister.
Something that no robot should have.
"There are much more interesting things," the robot repeats, and the antennae began to spark with electricity.
Chuckie turnes another corner and stops, kicking at the wall beside him and then wincing in pain. Everything on the moon was made of metal, he reminds himself, biting his lip through the pain before limping lightly back onto a main street.
"Walter!" He shouts, hands cupped against his face to amplify his voice in the stiff air.
Movement catches his eye and he let out an angry chuckle, approaching the robot that was wheeling its way quickly towards him. Knowing it was going to sting, he lands a rough kick to its copper shell and then turns away as to not let the thing see his pain. Then he turned back.
"Fat lot of good you are!" He shrieks, then asks, "Where's Walter?"
"Walter," the robot tells him.
"Ya, tin head, my friend. Where is he?"
"Walter," the robot repeats.
Waving his hands at the thing, Chuckie shakes his head and begins walking away. The robot starts to follow, repeating his friend's name until he breaks into a run, escaping its eerie chant. Watching the boy make his way towards the monorail station, the robot tries its hardest to catch up, but its wheels were rusting and its motor was burning out.
"Walter." The robot repeats, struggling and shaking as it remains alone in the street, water dripping down from the buildings and onto its domed bronze hood. The droplets circle its eye sockets and flowed downwards like tear drops as it gargled out words, over and over.
"Walter. I. Am. Walter."