Chapter 7: Carrier

"Have a seat." the assembler gestured to his cluttered workbench as he clicked through his tablet. Tracer moved over to the bench. He sat upright while the assembler rummaged for some yet-elusive tool.

"Here it is!" uttered the assembler. He walked over to Tracer as he fiddled with some dials on the new device, keeping his eyes fixed on its tiny display. "So many new patients to learn. Hmm… minor damage to superstructure; particle-debris embedded in plating… you look like you've had a rough day. Where would you like to start?"

"Just my hand for now." Tracer said, raising the stump where his right hand used to be. "I've got somewhere I need to be. And we have met before."

"Really? Let's have a look in the journal…" He drew his tablet up from his hip. Awkwardly clicking through multiple entries while still holding the scanner in his other hand. "I stared keeping a record of all my patients and anything else I need to remember. It seems I have something of a short memory." He came to Tracer's side and ran the scanner back and forth over his left hand "How has this hand been malfunctioning?"

"No. Not that one. My right hand."

Without looking up, the assembler continued looking through his journal. "And how has it been malfunctioning?"

Tracer blinked, looked at his wrist. "Oh… Heh—well it doesn't pick up anything, I also can't add any numbers higher than five, and I think it might have something to do with when it got—well, y'know—totally vaporized! Do you have a spare?"

"Let's have a look…" The assembler put down his devices and looked inside Tracer's open wrist. He chirped in surprise "You're still running off four-way wire harnesses?"

"Is that bad? I haven't noticed any problems…"

The assembler clicked through his tablet "I had orders last cycle to make sure every patient had the new twelve-pin adapters. They're meant to phase out the previous NK2 system and I don't see four-ways at all except in the scrap piles from more than a week ago. The new connectors will need to be implemented through your entire motor-circuitry."

"Well is there any way we can skip all that today? I'm starting my new assignment and I don't want to be late."

"I can't give you a new working hand. All the new components are twelve-pin."

"Don't you have any old parts around? Just make a quick fix and I'll come back after my shift for the new one."

"Not today. The retainers in your wrist rotor are melted. I can't give you a new one without taking out the frame all the way to your elbow. And I can't build an arm today if I'll be making it all over again next week. You had to come in on one of my busy days—from what my journal says anyways—well it's busier than yesterday. I got about fifteen other patients that need to get back to their duties. I sure could use an assistant. Even just someone to help make sense of this glitchfoudned journal! I keep typing my notes in this minimalistic notation and now I can't remember what any of these mean!"

"Minimuh… oh, you mean like shorthand?"

"Yeah. I think I saw you yesterday, I removed a pin in your hip and replaced it with… uh… limful-lamp? Hmm. Oh, heh. Limb-fully-amputated! No, that couldn't have been you. Ugh, it's still better than some of these other acronyms… CFM6312? What is that supposed to mean? Ugh! At any rate I'll build you a new matching set and have them ready for the new upgrades. But I'll have to work on them in between patients. I can give you a quick replacement for now, but it may be a little buggy and I'll have to graft it right on your rotor."

"Hey, as long as it works, apparently I need two hands for this job."

The assembler brought out the hand. Apart from having a somewhat flat, tarnished finish it matched his left pretty well. The assembler lit a torch and welded the new piece onto his wrist. He started connecting wires and periodically glanced back at his tablet.

"These notes again! What did I mean with FDTS? Maybe forearm-dorsal-tangential-supination? Hehah. No. No, that's not it. Wiggle your pinky finger… Maybe fragmentation-damage-to-superstructure… figurative-deflection-through-substrate maybe? No. No, I said you're pinky finger!"

"I am!"

"Can you feel this? Can you feel me poking you?"

"No…"

"Hmm… Oh wait, I know! It stands for first digit tactile stimulus! I REALLY need an assistant, I could be here all day just reviewing these. Like this one: AMTF…"

"Maybe it means arm-moving uh, toward… front?"

"No. That's not it. I'm almost finished anyways. There. That's the best I can do until we upgrade your wiring system along with the software updates next week."

Tracer sat up and looked at his new hand. Holding it up, he rotated it at the wrist. 180 degrees clockwise. 360 degrees counter clockwise. Forming a fist. Counting 1… 2… 3… 4… 5. "Hey, not bad." Tracer felt a twitch, and watched his new hand contract and fold down inside his wrist with a mechanical 'Shkezrit' sound. "WHAT THE…"

"Oh now it makes sense! AMTF stand for alternate-mode-trans—"

"What in the pits just happened? Fix it!"

"Relax. It's only the hand's former storage-mode. Like I was saying: you're running off some really old parts. I can make the connections but without the upgrades your programming is going to mix up its conscious and unconscious reflexes. You might also have to consciously think about blinking. Torture, I know."

[Shkezrit]

"See, you should be able to change it back if it ever converts on you. Just stay calm and concentrate."

[Shkezrit-Shkezrit] "Ugh, well I hope the new ones are ready soon. I can already tell this might cause some problems."

"Alright well, I've got other patients waiting. I'll try to work on your hands for next week, I just have to remember to check my journal. If I'm still having trouble next time you see me, maybe see if I can get an assistant."

"I'll try to remind you." Although Tracer knew he was talking to a drone, he wanted to express his gratitude. "Well, thank you… assembler." Somehow it didn't sound right.

"Your gratitude is acknowledged, but not necessary. I'm only following my programming." The assembler went about his peculiar methods and reviewed more of his journal. Tracer stepped off the bench and headed out the door.

A Lodex Gamma was waiting outside. He knew there were a few of them, but they were so similar it always felt there really was only one. Tracer didn't like how much all the Gamma recorders looked alike. He didn't like how much they all reminded him of Beta. They have the same face, but without any empathy. They have the same voice, but without fascination. Deep inside they're all encyclopedias of protocols and calculations, but the current models all have a bitter, patronizing manner when addressing protoforms, especially Tracer.

Lodex Gamma checked the time as soon as Tracer stepped out. "The Quintessons consider you exceptional, one would wonder why that is."

Tracer walked past Gamma. "Well if you can't figure it out, it's something you drones probably couldn't understand in the first place."

"Unlikely. Can you understand the word 'punctual'? Or is that file missing from your data tracks? I have been ordered to bring you to your assignment. They anticipate you will not locate it."

Tracer turned and looked the drone in the optics. "Then you better check my ID again, recorder. The name's Tracer, locating the target is my secondary function! So getting lost is probably yours." Tracer had learned that the best way to cope with their attitude is to throw some of his right back at them.

Lodex Gamma entered a note into his tablet. He seemed grateful he no longer had to endure Tracer's company and marched on with his next assignment for the day. He counted a couple items down the list and said "We will see…" before leaving.

Tracer stepped out into the streets and went on his way to a storage depot two sectors over. Tracer turned the last corner into the loading bay of a large depot. Against a nearby wall, a protoform leaned and turned to look at him.

"Y'sure took yer sweet tam get'n here!" the protoform's jaw swung side to side as he groaned. He pushed himself off the wall and turned his body toward Tracer. Tracer saw the robot was only a little taller than him, but his chest and arms belonged on a much larger frame. His torso was thick with heavy metal and his forearms scraped the floor as they swung to his front. Both arms ended in heavy clamps that opened and shut as Tracer stepped toward him. He cocked his head and opened one optic wide while squinting with the other as he looked Tracer over.

"I'm s-sorry I'm late, my name's…"

The protoform heaved his voice up. "Tractor or something, I dun care. Mute that-there face 'o yers and git own o'er here!" He swung his arm around, turned and walked toward a storage container inside the depot. Tracer walked fast to keep up. This protoform seemed to have his vocal level stuck on 'outdoor mode'.

"He'yup! Whole city-here just has to keep own growing. They're off building whole new sectors faster than we're fix'n up the old'ns. Northeast district got gen-a-ray-tors but no fact-rees. Southwest district got 'emselves a stowing complex but ain't got no gen-a-ray-tor. Own top 'o that they're building some new pro-ject right near the city centre—we'll be head'n there first—some'n a-biggins with heavy steel. Good news fer us, we got so many deliveries to make they sent us down this-here transport to haul bigger loads in less tam." He gestured to the container, which Tracer could see now has wheels and a pilot console at the front.

The protoform walked past the pilot's console and gestured Tracer to get in. "He'yup! Only problem is you need yourself some dainty li'l fingers to drav it." He lifted one arm and waved it about. "These-here clamps can lift up two tons and twist steel bars into a braid, I'd pull that-there steering wheel clean out before we made it out of the depot." Tracer climbed in and sat in the driver's seat while the protoform walked around to enter from the other side "Should be basic for a youngins like you: left foot's clutch, that-there's yer reverse, don't touch the red button and keep the RPCs under four K—I ain't kidd'n around! Bah, you'll figure it out as we go. We're all loaded up so let's make tracks!"

After a few minutes Tracer was gaining confidence with his driving skills. His mentor slouched on the seat with one leg hanging far off the side of the transport. He pointed to the road ahead.

"Now we're gon' head straight own through up here, but take the tunnel up ahead and we're gon swing 'round and come back from this-here way . Give yerself lots 'o room and take these-here turns nice and wide."

Tracer chuckled as he looked around. "This is so cool. I never knew how big the city really was. I never knew that right there was a—[Shkezrit] Ah, frag! Hold on… I just gotta [Shkezrit] There. Ugh… sorry about that." The protoform gave him a very odd look, Tracer wanted to change the subject fast. "Hey… What happens if I go over four K RPCs?" Tracer was reminded of his first memories, being educated by Kaetor as they travelled into the wastes.

"This-here is one of them newer, bigger transport units. We used to have us a smaller one, held about a quarter the load. When they first dropped them off the recorder overseeing the delivery told me very politely not to go over four K. 'An one day I was running behind so I gunned it up to four and a half."

"What happened?"

"I got caught." The protoform rolled his head back "An enforcer pulled—and I'm talking with his own hands—grabbed the transport and PULLED me over. He'yup! He wanted to make sure I learned my lesson that day. I polished up my best sorry-speech but I think he didn't bother answering in words what was easier said by pulling both my arms off. But I go after to see the assembler—better for talking, but sometams it's in one audio receptor and out the other—well he had parts from an old trash compacter and well…" He held his arms up and flashed Tracer a smile.

"Wow… And what does the red button do?"

"Now that-there's something new they just added own these new units. Recorder who dropped them off told me never to press the red button… and he did not say it politely." He hovered one clamp over the button "You want to try 'an see what it does?"

"NOPE! I'm pretty sure I don't!" the protoform lightly whacked Tracer on the arm while he laughed hard.

"He'yup. Niiice and eeeeasy… a little o'er to the—thaaaaat's it… There!" The protoform hopped out the transport. "I'll unload, you take the tablet o'er to Theta-D9." He turned and jogged off before Tracer could make any sense of who he meant. He grabbed the tablet from the console and walked off. He saw an open window where a protoform was busy typing at a cluttered workstation. Tracer walked over while looking the place over. 'This is where the old generator used to be. The one that was destroyed.'

"You got my fifteen beams, Lug?" the protoform with a big "D9" stamped on his shoulder said without taking his eyes off his screen.

"Uh, what?"

The bot turned, looked Tracer over. Squinted for a moment. "You're the new-guy right? Where's Lug? He unloading my fifteens?"

"I guess so. That's his name, Lug? The bot with the arms right?"

"Everybody else has arms, rookie. Lug's got landing-gear or something. Anyway yeah, so they're fifteens right?"

"I dunno, they should be." Tracer held up the tablet and looked over the packing list. As he skimmed over the columns of numbers. Theta-D9 leaned and adjusted his vision to see out the window.

"Cause those look to me like thirteens. We need grade fifteen alloy beams to lock into the thirteen T-brackets we put in this morning."

"Um, well maybe it make sense for thirteen beams to fit with thirteen T-brackets?"

Theta gave Tracer a look like he was completely useless. He pointed out across the construction site. "See those brackets spaced along the anchors? Count them, there's thirteen! A thirteen tee bracket isn't a thing! Support beams come in different grades based on temperature tolerance. I told him! If those are thirteen beams I'm going to—"

"There y'are!" Lug blurted out approaching the window. "Taking yer sweet tam yet again. Hurry it up we got four other stops to make!"

"Hey, Lug. Why are you wasting my time dropping off thirteens when I ordered fifteens?"

"You better get those pretty li'l optics 'o yers checked, Theta." Lug reached in, put his heavy arm around the protoform and pointed to the neat stack of beams. "See those-there red bars at the end o' all them beams.? Two red bars: they're Fifteens partner. Check my list."

Theta skimmed over the screen "Hmm. Okay, I thought I only saw one bar. Yeah you got fifteen down in here too so I guess we're all good."

Tracer and Lug got back in the transport unit and drove off. Tracer sighed in relief. "You had me worried we brought the wrong parts. My first day on the job: that would not look good."

"He'yup! Looks worse when you've been at it for two weeks… those were definitely thirteens back there."

"What?"

"Yeah, I remembered as soon as we docked. I ran back to grab some leftover paint and put the second bar on each of them."

"Won't they notice?"

"Even if they do, I'm hoping they'll be too busy keeping their pro-ject on schedule they won't stop to fix it. Covering up yer mistakes is how a smart bot like me stays outa trouble. Sometimes one tiny little detail doesn't make a difference. I'd rather not get 'erybody all riled up over one tiny little thing. I saw when the enforcers went around hunting troublesome protoforms, bodies strewn about the streets. We gotta let the little things slide, y'hear me?"

"Yeah, I hear you." Tracer felt at ease knowing even older protoforms make mistakes. "So. You seem to have a lot of old stories. Did you ever know Armaetrus?"

"He'yup! You mean the oldins that gave you 'at pretty li'l face 'o yers?" He said pointing to his face and then Tracer's. "I knew him. And that friend 'o his. I tell ya, the 'bot couldn't keep anything to himself. 'Ery time something happen, he's standin up and given all them-there bots a piece of his hardrav. He had 'ery bot from sector D to sector R all on board fer the 'resistance' he called it."

"Were you in the resistance?"

"I'm still sitt'n here aren't I? If y'ask me, it aint worth getting broken all apart for one protoform's idea of freedom. Here I am, following the rules and still got a job to do. That's freedom in my index. Now don't get me wrong, the 'bot was brave like tar is black, but he couldn't keep quiet to save his spark: 'anats exactly what happen. He went right own in to the Quintessons' palace, said all us protoforms ain't gon to work no more. 'An them Quintessons opened him up, reached own inside, pulled out his spark and they ate it!"

Tracer stared astonished at Lug's choice of words. His optics were as far from the road ahead as they could get. He kept the vehicle straight, despite being so distracted. Lug knew he had Tracer's full attention. After Tracer focused again on the road he leaned in close and used his indoor voice. It was soft and raspy with emphasis.

"Now you listen here, 'erybody thinks that just cause you got a spark in you, means you're all a sudden smart and make all your own decisions. That ain't the case. See, when you get to be as old as me, y'learn almost none of these-here bots open their eyes to see what's right in front of them. And when you still believe everything you're told, what's the point in having a spark? We're told it makes us adapt—he'yup, that-there's a load of scrap 'er I heard. No. The only reason we hold own to them is to incubate them, until they're full and ripe and then…" Lug grabbed at the air in front of him and shoved it into his mouth; exaggerating a chewing motion and a false sense of flavour. Tracer couldn't find the words, so Lug continued.

"Now let's be real about this. We-here don't live long. Whether you live five days or five weeks you'll only understand a tiny sliver of the world around you. But by tellin the other bots 'ery thing you know, the knowledge of our co-lective experiences can survive. Let the conformist-types focus own their work; let the nonconformist-types focus own getting 'emselves killed; and let's you and me protect the knowledge that'll one day save everyone's spark."

"I think you might have a few short circuits there, Lug…" Tracer was beginning to doubt the ramblings of this old protoform.

Lug slid even closer and whispered. "Those-there Quintessons are keeping all us in the dark about everything real. I knew an old-bot from my time, and when he spoke I listened, cause he knew an old-bot from his time and he heard stories from long before this city-here was set into the bare, featureless ground. Rumors, stories, and secrets show us what's been hidden, and you need to hear all that there is to hear if you want to see the big picture. Now you… you've even been inside their palace haven't ya? That big weird-looking building in the centre of this-here city? It ain't like the other buildings is it? That's cause it's really a spaceship! They came here after wandering through 'ery single one 'o them stars." Lug pointed up out the clear dome "Each star has a planet just like this one. Look up there. There's billions of em! Each one is just like this one, and each one is full of sparks. You want proof?"

"Sure. Whatever."

"Every single day they have to go make a big show of how much they know about how we think, but how much do we know about them? Now run this through them shiny-new processors 'o yours: A-drones got a computer inside 'em, right? They follow protocols so close I bet they gotta formula just to know which foot to step with first." He then shrugged looked out in front of the transport "Now enforcers may act a little different, but they still got just one computer inside 'em too. They're programed to apply force to keep us-workers in line. But they can't think for themselves. They'll freeze up when directives clash and the way out isn't a matter of brute force. Each drone's basically good for just one task, but very bad at most others."

"Now us-protoforms have sparks all inside us, we can think for ourselves—well, some of us can—but what's inside these Quintessons? Are they machines like the drones? No, can't be. Computers take up room, the more you want to know—the bigger computer you need. Quintessons build and program drones, enforcers, assemblers and protoforms. That's a lot of information they need to understand us. I've heard they're big, but I don't think they're that big. Now a spark contains way more information. It may not be as precise as a computer, but it has a level of complexity that you just can't match arti-fish-allee. Yet they somehow know enough about how we think to keep us in line… they think like us because they have sparks inside them too! Why do they tell us we don't live very long? The only way to feed their own spark is to consume ours. They can take their tam, too. There's plenty of sparks to go around for now."

Tracer rolled his eyes as he watched the road. He remembered Kaetor telling him sparks were only from this planet. "I have to stop you right there! I'm not believing any of this. So if sparks aren't all that special—if they're found on all these other planets, why did they come here?"

"Just before your tam, we finished building a big sensor array. It wasn't for scanning the sky... it's for scanning the planet. They're looking for something down here that's trying to be found. It's another ship! They call it, the Traveller: a weapon so powerful they loaded up and flew farther than ever to retrieve it. That's why everything here is new. They built everything from scratch after they arrived because when you travel far, you travel light. Once they find what they're looking for, they'll plunder whatever it is for everything of value, feast own all the sparks they have left and take to the stars one again."

Tracer slammed on the brakes. "I've heard enough! You can't seriously believe all of that… You have a spark—and you think one day you're just going to be… eaten up like some kind of… I don't even know! If you knew all this you should have helped the resistance! [Shkezrit] ARGH! Lousy piece of… ugh! So what? You didn't think they stood a chance so you played it safe and just kept on doing your job? Keeping secrets doesn't make you a hero! You just stood by while other protoforms got killed. You can save your self-righteous conspiracy theories for someone else, because I'm having none of it!" Tracer drew in the cool air, trying hard to calm his furiously-pulsing spark. [Shkezrit]

Lug sank into his seat and closed his eyes. "Well it ain't up to you to decide how the world is. All you can do is carry this-here knowledge to the next youngins that asks you. And tell 'em I had nickel-plating—I always wanted that. Shiny…"

"Whatever, let's get these deliveries done." Tracer revved up the engine and wished he was all alone.

Tracer and Lug had returned from their last drop-off. Tracer ignored Lug for most of the afternoon. The transport unit was hooked up to recharge by morning. Tracer checked off all the orders that will be going out. Loading them into the tablet before checking all the systems were ready for shut-down. When everything was finished, he closed the door and stepped out into the streets.

A digital voice filled the air: [-BLIP- Division zeta through iota, proceed to stowing sector three for recharge phase.]

The awkward duo trekked down the street to the stowing complex. Protoforms were filing in. They slowly marched into the structure and onto the platform where an odd-looking drone stood ready to transport fifty-or-so workers at a time to their regeneration chambers.

"Hey, you did not bad fer yer first day, Tracer." Lug flashed a smile and a wink at Tracer. Protoforms stood waiting for the platform to take off. Lug looked at the drone at the controls "Hey, what's the hold-up? Let's get a move-own!"

"Drone, step away from the platform controls!" a stern voice shouted from behind the crowd. Tracer knew the voice. It was Lodex Gamma. "Unit Lug, the Quintessons have sent us to retrieve you. Come with us, immediately."

Lug, a protoform taller than most didn't need to step forward to be seen. Protoforms stepped aside to give the wanted protoform room to give himself up. Lug stood high and clenched his clamps, "That a fact, now?"

"It is the word of the Quintessons: their word is truth. Undeniable." Three enforcers emerged from behind Gamma. Fanning outward slowly as they prepared to close in on their prey.

Lug marched out, chuckling. "And you only brought these-here three enforcers with you? Awe, that's mighty adorable. I'll call you Rusted, Busted, and something that rhymes with get'n yer head pushed so far into yer chest yer gunna need a lobotomy on yer thigh!"

"Your intimidation efforts will only be seen in hindsight as futile and highly over exaggerate—"

Lug charged into the team of enforcers. He threw his arm back as he lunged and thrust it forward. It met with Rusted's ready shoulder. Bodies piled on. Tracer would hear a loud bang and see an enforcer bounce up. He could hear Lugs heavy arms rev up as he flipped one enforcer right over onto his chest. Enforcers were grunting but through all the noise Tracer could hear Lug laughing.

'I have to do something!' Tracer thought to himself. He wanted to prove something to him: that standing up for your fellow protoforms can make a difference! Tracer saw one of the thrown enforcers stand up, Tracer ran up into his blindspot and jabbed him square in the cheek. Tracer's knuckles sat on the enforcer's face for a whole click as he turned his optics, then his torso and finally swatted Tracer away with a flick of his wrist. Tracer flew back into the crowd of spectating protoforms. Robots stepped aside and expressed no urge to intervene.

"Help him! Come on!" Tracer shouted into the crowd. He looked the whole group over for someone, anyone to help. His gaze paused at one face at the back, moved, then focus on it again. 'I've seen him before…' There he was standing right next to the controls for the transport-platform. It was Delta-M6, and he looked like this whole event wasn't going easy on his circuits. Whatever he was still wasn't clear. But Tracer pushed through to confront this guilt-ridden bystander.

"We have to help him!" Tracer shouted, watching the bot nervously averting his gaze. "If you don't do something they'll kill him!" Delta strained to hold still but did not meet his eyes.

Tracer could hear Lug laughing behind the wall of spectators "He'yup! Not so tough now, are ya?" The more Tracer heard, the more he believed Lug knew he wasn't going to last much longer.

"I know you're a protoform! If we let them take him, then we're as good as dead too!" Tracer shoved the bot against the railing. The bot's optics locked with Tracer's for only a split-second. "They're going to come take you away next, and everybody's just going to stand by and watch!" Tracer spat his words and pushed himself off the protowhetever as he turned back toward the brawl.

Tracer reached the front of the crowd to see Lug throw his body behind a single punch, landing square on the jaw of Busted. Tracer saw his head ripple with the impact as his whole body tumbled back and rolled over the railing. His solid metal body could be heard ricocheting between the wall and the lattice of storage chambers as his howls echoed off through the complex.

Before Lug could turn around to brag, Rusted grappled onto one of his arms. Thrashing him around just long enough for the third enforcer to lock his hand around his other arm and pushed him face-down on the floor. Lug was pinned with his arms being twisted up behind him. There were thousands of tiny pieces scattered over the floor. The two enforcers were both on top, twisting him in so many directions Tracer thought he'd flatten out and tear like foil.

"Ugh. Hey…" Lug looked over at Tracer. His face was dented up and he sighed with exhaustion. "Stay outa trouble…" And his face shifted to express a deep and profound regret.

Gamma turned and glared at Tracer. "Unit Tracer... if any other protoform impeded my objectives they would be unsparked on the spot! Since, however, the Quintessons considered you to be exceptionally trustworthy, I feel you deserve to be let off with a very generous warning. But know that after today you are the same as every other pathetic, simple-minded protoform, and you will be disposed of equally as promptly!"

The enforcers dragged Lug out into the street. The group of protoforms filed back onto the platform and Delta-M6 threw the switch and took the platform on its way speeding down the long and high wall across from the many thousands of tiny storage chambers. Tracer looked back as he sped off. He glanced over at Delta, trying to measure if he felt any guilt at all. Tracer knew the feeling. 'Doesn't everyone?'

Gamma waited for Tracer and the crowd of protoforms to be well out of sight before, himself, turning and marching out with a look of satisfaction on his metallic face.

When he got outside he planted his feet right in front of the kneeling body of Lug. Lug coughed up fluid and a couple small chunks of metal. "What now… you gon take me so they can eat my spark too?"

Gamma looked down at him. "You delusional, old loader. The Quintessons don't want you dead. Not yet. They've got something special in mind for you."