Jasper, Nevada, United States, Present Day
To most people, it would appear as though Miko were simply drawing a bad caricature of a blue motorcycle that was parked not far from the front steps. But to a select few—none of which were in any position to observe her—it would be obvious what she was really doing.
Miko was collecting data.
While her hands absently sketched the motorcycle, her mind took careful note of every bolt and panel of its frame. She built a mental blueprint, labeling every detail she could see and making educated guesses on those she could not. She wanted to know the precise dimensions of its engine, its exact acceleration rate, how each piece worked together, and so on and so forth.
Above all, she wanted to know what it was doing at the high school.
Miko had been out on the front steps this morning. No motorcycle.
And during lunch she had glanced out the window several times. Still no motorcycle.
Now here she was sitting on the steps after school. Motorcycle.
Miko's eyes traveled over its frame for the umpteenth time, and she noticed that one of the rearview mirrors had shifted position. A thread of confusion ran through her mind. Had someone moved it while she was lost in thought?
"Hey, Nakadai!" called an especially irritating voice from behind her. Miko turned around to see Vince, a mean-spirited but not particularly bright bully, exit the school. "Whatcha starin' at that bike for?"
"'Whatcha' is not a word. You mean to say, 'What are you'. And it is staring, not starin'. Furthermore, it is a motorcycle, not a bike. But to answer your question, there were ninety-four vehicles in the student lot this morning. This motorcycle was not one of them." All of this was just a part of what she wanted to say, but Miko restrained herself.
American youth can hardly speak English, let alone properly. If you ever meet any, do not bother to correct them. They will not listen, Professor Maksim had told her one day. So far, this seemed to hold true. The Americans Miko had talked to, even the adults, spoke their own language so poorly it made her want to scream. She had learned early on that trying to correct them, no matter how politely it was done, just made them angry.
"It's a sweet bike," she said, internally cringing over the intentional misuse of the word 'sweet.'
The motorcycle is not made of sugar or honey, Professor Maksim would scold, his eyebrows drawn together at having to chastise her.
But Professor Maksim was not here.
Vince, however, gave a noise of disapproval, not due to her word choice, but because he didn't like the motorcycle. "Whatever," he scoffed, moving past her towards his car. "See you later, loser."
"If you refuse to be sincere, do not say anything," Miko muttered once he pulled away. She turned her attention back to the motorcycle, ready to return to analyzing it.
To her surprise, it was gone.
Well, not entirely gone. It was suddenly by the curb next to a yellow Camaro with black racing stripes. And hesitating in front of the vehicles were two other students, only one of whom Miko recognized.
The younger boy, who appeared to be a few years too young for high school, said something to Jack before getting into the Camaro.
Jack lingered for a few more moments, but got onto the motorcycle.
He sped off down the road, but Miko quickly realized they couldn't have gone more than a block. The growl-esque purr of the engine had ceased less than a minute after it began. She sprang to her feet, making sure to snag her backpack, and ran in the direction he had disappeared.
When she arrived, she was careful not to immediately jump into plain sight. She pressed herself up against the wall, peering around the corner as inconspicuously as she could.
The motorcycle was gone, and in its place was a massive blue robot. Jack appeared to be in the middle of arguing with it. The robot snapped right back at him, then collected itself and asked him to go with it to a base of some sort.
Miko felt her core heat up in excitement. A robot. A giant blue robot that thought on its own. Not fifteen feet from her. Already there were thousands of questions swirling around in her mind, making her forget the mental blueprint she had built not long ago.
Who built it? Where was it from? What was its primary function? Were there any more like it? Why was it here, out in the open?
Miko simply had to know. She needed the data. So she did the only logical thing.
"Dude, what are you waiting for? Go with!"
Moscow, Russia, Three Years Ago
In his crisp black shirt, brown slacks, and lab coat, the man was the image of professionalism. He tapped in the code for the door he stood in front of into the keypad, waiting as it slid open. There was girl wearing a set of white scrubs waiting for him in a plush recliner once he entered.
"Good morning, Reboot," said the man, taking a seat in a chair opposite the girl.
"Good morning, Doctor Andrei," Reboot replied. Her voice was too level, too mature for her appearance. "Do you have another spectrogram for me?"
Dr. Andrei shook his head with a laugh. "Not today," he said, and he penned a brief note to himself on the clipboard he had brought with him. "Today I am going to take you to see Professor Burdin. He will teach you English."
Reboot made a face. "What is wrong with Russian?" Her hands were busy with a three-dimensional puzzle as she spoke. She did not glance down at it.
"Nothing. Mr. Dombrowsky just wants you to learn English."
"He has no other motive, then?"
"No, little one, he does not." Dr. Andrei penned another note to himself, this one considerably longer than the last.
"My apologies, Doctor, but that is unlikely." Reboot finally looked at the puzzle in her lap, as if hoping that breaking eye contact would change Dr. Andrei's opinion of what she was about to say. "Mr. Dombrowsky speaks no English himself, and I cannot imagine a scenario—based on the data you have provided me with—where I would come into contact with an English-speaker. Therefore, it is unnecessary for me to learn the language." Upon finishing, she looked back up at the doctor. His lips were tight, his brow furrowed, and his chin lowered subtly. Reboot concluded from this that something she had said upset him, but she had no idea how to—or even if she could—take it back.
Silence grew heavy in the room. Dr. Andrei took his glasses off, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. "Some representatives from our American branch are coming here in a little less than a year," he explained wearily. "Mr. Dombrowsky thinks it vital that you be able to communicate with them, especially considering the origin of your predecessor."
Reboot's face took on an unnatural grimness. She twisted a piece of the puzzle into place a little too hard, and it broke off in her hand. She gave a startled exclamation, lifting her head to look at Dr. Andrei. "I broke the puzzle, Doctor," she said as she held out the two pieces, her voice suddenly losing all of its maturity.
"It's alright, Reboot, I'll get you another."
"Thank you." Reboot bowed her head again, staring at the broken puzzle. "And I understand. I will learn English."
Dr. Andrei nodded and penned another note. He stood, signaling for her to follow. They left the room, Reboot still grasping her puzzle and Dr. Andrei holding his clipboard under one arm.
As they headed down the hallways, they passed dozens of workers, each of whom took a moment to pause and call out, "Good morning, Reboot!"
One of the workers, who was wearing a tight black turtleneck and matching jeans, ran up behind Reboot and picked her up, spinning her in a circle. "I've missed you, little one!" he exclaimed.
"You were only gone for four days, Luka." Reboot dusted off her clothes once she was set back down. "How was your leave?"
"Bah, nothing like my tour days, but it was better than I thought it would be." Luka patted her head and nodded a greeting to Dr. Andrei. The group resumed walking. "I will tell you all about it later. I hear you're having your first English lesson today."
"Yes, with Professor Maksim Burdin."
"He's a good man; you'll like him," said Luka. He fell in behind Dr. Andrei, calmly offering to take the clipboard from him. He was handed both it and the pen.
They came upon a door marked with the Linguistics expert's name. Luka reached past the older man and opened it.
Inside was a middle-aged man with thinning, pale hair, his white shirt and beige slacks slightly rumpled. He looked up from the thick book he was reading, gesturing to the empty chair next to him. "Good morning, all," he said. "Now, Reboot, are you ready?"
The girl nodded stiffly and put the broken pieces of her puzzle on a nearby table. "I am," she replied.
Dr. Maksim scribbled down a few sentences on a clipboard of his own as he nodded in reply. "Dr. Trupp, Mr. Konstantinov, you may go. I'll have Mr. Melnikoff bring her back to R and D after the lesson."
AN: To make things a little clearer on the part of the workers I've introduced, here's a key of those you've met so far.
Dr. Andrei Trupp
Luka Konstantinov
Prof. Maksim Burdin
Pavel Melnikoff