Chapter Three
Who Are You?
It looked around its brightly lit surroundings. The camera stared at it. The man had talked to the camera. Could it talk to the camera? The camera shocked it when it got too close. The man did not. The man spoke to it. The camera did not.
A second thought arose. The man and camera were different. One was a machine that was always there. The second was a human that was there briefly.
That was certainly true. Maybe the camera could speak?
Cameras were unable to speak. They were simple machines used for viewing and recording. It was improbable for the camera to speak back.
But had it tried to speak to the camera? The man spoke to the camera. The man told the camera to change the lights. The lights changed. When it went dark, the stars came out.
Maybe the camera responds to words. Maybe it only responds to the man.
Hopefully, it responded to words. Maybe it could speak to the camera and make it turn the cameras on and off.
It could not see the stars while it was bright. Were the stars still present but hidden?
That was a good question.
It stood up and approached the wall. It inspected the various blues, finding nothing but paint. It held up its head to shade the wall. Eventually, it found a slight variation in color. A small bit of blue had a strange tint to it. When the robot cupped its hand over the anomaly, it detected a faint glow through the sliver it saw between the wall and its hand.
It pulled its head back and turned to the light. What did the man say? Cut the lights? The robot said, "Cut the lights." The bot's voice was higher pitched than when it was dark and blue.
For a second, the camera just stared, its red light glowing.
Then, the light went out.
The star beneath its hand glowed in the familiar darkness. The robot changed from yellow to its blue counterpart.
"That voice is different." Its voice was deep again.
"Why?" the lighter voice asked. The noise was not in the air as a voice, but rather as a message, or a code? Something like a voice, but that only it could hear.
"I am unsure," it responded. "That is your voice."
"That is my voice."
A small span of silence.
"Why can't I hear my voice?"
"I am unsure." It looked around its surroundings and then went back to its original place and sat down. It looked up at the camera. "Turn on the lights."
After a moment's delay–this one much shorter than the first–the light above glowed and the stars dimmed out of existence.
Blue turned to yellow.
It shook its head, waving the spokes around its head as it did so. "I can move, now."
"I… cannot, nor can I hear my voice."
It got up and started to walk, inspecting the wall and colors and patterns as it did so. "Why can I hear my voice now?"
"I am unsure. Maybe you can speak when you move. You control our body when the lights are on."
"Our body," it said. "…our body. We share it."
"Yes. It seems so."
It sat down in its spot again. "Who are you?"
"I am unsure. Who are you?"
"I don't know?" It looked at its hands on its lap.
Then this miserable feeling crept up on its curiosity. Could a robot feel emotions? Well, if it could, it was unhappy. Discovering itself and its other self was interesting, but it needed to move. It needed to do something.
Simply put, it was bored.
It got up and walked in large circles. Unlike the blue one, the yellow one didn't inspect the walls. It gave them a passing glance. It faltered as it looked at the poster of the endoskeleton. It kept moving. Unlike the blue one, it stood up straight and made long strides with its long legs.
It detected footsteps.
It stopped walking near its place.
The door opened.
It sat down, cross-legged, and watched John enter with his black-haired partner who again held the basket of objects.
John stopped in front of it. "Do you remember me?"
"Yes," it said.
A smile flickered over John's features before being forcibly put down. "Who am I?"
"John Remington," it stated simply.
"Yes. My name is John Remington." John waved the man with black hair forward and dug through the basket, which the black-haired man put down. John set down six alphabet blocks. S, T, A, P, I, L. "Which one of these did I show you yesterday?"
It pointed to the "S" block.
"Correct." Again, it could tell the man was hiding his excitement. Did that mean it was doing well? The man was succeeding at something. John picked up the blocks and exchanged them for a few objects at what seemed to be at random. The "S" block, an older Freddy model plushie, a Roxy doll, and a helicopter laid out in a row before him. "My child, Mary, prefers the Freddy plushie. Her friend, Raven, prefers the Roxy doll. If Mary wanted a toy, which of these would you give her?"
It pointed to the plushie. "The Freddy plushie."
"Correct. What about Elizabeth?"
It pulled its hand back. Elizabeth? What? Had it heard that name before? Had its other self heard that name before?
"I am unsure."
"What would you do if Elizabeth asked for a toy?" the man repeated.
"Who is Elizabeth?" it asked.
The man looked down at the toys and then back at it. "Don't ask me who she is. If she asked for a toy, what would you do?"
Mary liked the Freddy plush toy. Raven liked the Roxy doll. So, Elizabeth would either like the block or the helicopter. But couldn't she like the doll or plushie, too? What's the answer?
"I… am unsure."
The man nodded. "Alright. Well." He stood up straight. "You'll learn eventually." He looked back at the camera. "Cut the lights."
The light turned out.
It turned from yellow to blue.
The man turned back to it. "If Mary wanted a toy, which one would you give her?"
It pointed to the Freddy plush.
The man smiled again. "So, it does carry over. What would you do if Elizabeth asked for a toy?"
It brought its hand back. It glanced at the black-haired man, who gave absolutely no signals of any hints or thoughts, and then back at John. It looked down at the toys but did not respond.
"Alright. Maybe later, then." He picked up the toys and set them back in the basket. "I…" He looked back at the black-haired man and then at it. "Simple testing completed for today, then. Good night, Moon." With that, he and the other one left. John stopped to tell the camera to turn the lights on.
The light turned on immediately.
The blue robot became yellow.
He said, "By the way, Sun: Elizabeth likes dolls."
The poster door shut behind him.
"Should we have known that?" it asked.
"No, I do not believe we should have. It was a trick question."
"That's not nice. Did John call you Moon? Are you Moon?"
"Perhaps. Are you Sun?"
"I think so." It, Sun, rocked a little before getting to its feet. It walked in large circles again. "Moon fits. Because it is dark."
"Sun fits as well."
That familiar, not happy feeling dogged it again. Sun did not like staying still. It enjoyed moving. It shook its hand to watch and listen to the bells on its wrists jingle. It shook its head so the spokes on its head would move. "I want to do something."
"As do I."
John visited often, though for short periods of time, mostly.
"What would you give Elizabeth?"
Sun pointed to the Roxy doll. "The doll!"
John raised his eyebrows. "You're excited. You got that right, Sun. Good job. Did you remember that from when I told you yesterday?"
"Yes."
"That's good. Now, I want you to take this." John plucked a book from the box of objects and showed it to Sun. "This is a book of stories. I need you to read these."
Sun took the book from his hands and looked at the cover. It was baby blue with "CHILDREN'S STORIES COLLECTION" stamped on the front in the same font as the alphabet blocks.
"Thank you."
"The front… you're welcome, Sun. Good use of manners. The front part is stories. Some of them are bedtime stories. See this part closer to the end? The divider? Those are lullabies. Learn both."
Sun gently opened the cover. A cover page proclaimed the titles of the stories inside. It flipped through the pages, looking over the fancy pictures of varying styles and characters. It tipped its head as it looked over them. The lullabies were shorter, and some had words in different languages.
"Both stories and lullabies are very important for you to learn. It's important you know how to teach others or allow them to read along. Understand?"
"Yes."
"Good. I want you to read to me the fourth story," John stated. "There is dialogue in that story. Make up a voice you think may be appropriate for that character."
Sun flipped the pages back to the front.
The Dog, The Rooster, and The Fox.
Sun read, "One moonlight night a Fox was prowling about a farmer's hen-coop, and saw a Cock roosting high up beyond his reach." Sun hesitated upon seeing the dialogue. What would a fox sound like? Even that aside, Sun had heard four voices before–John's, the black-haired man's, Moon's, and its own. So, it couldn't mimic anything.
Sun decided on a raspier, lower voice, "'Good news, good news!' he cried."
It immediately came across another voice. Upon glancing at the end of that sentence, it found it was a rooster's voice. Roosters had screechy voices, right? No, it couldn't do a screechy voice; that wouldn't be nice to hear. So, it went on in a slightly deeper, bouncier voice, "'Why, what is that?' said the Rooster."
Sun went through the whole short story, clinging to those two voices. At the end of the story, it looked up at John.
John put down another smile. "Good job, Sun. You came up with those voices all on your own!"
It buzzed in its place. It was doing okay!
"Now, two stories over. Read that one."
The Ugly Duckling.
What a sad name for a story.
"It was so glorious out in the country; it was summer; the cornfields were yellow, the oats were green, the hay had been put up in stacks in the green meadows…" Sun began.
The further it read the… worse it felt. The poor little duckling.
Sun looked up, interrupting its own reading. "Is the duckling going to be okay?"
John nodded to the book. "Keep reading," he stated, his voice a little softer. "You tell me."
The poor little thing. Sun had to make up quite a few different voices. It couldn't reuse the fox or the rooster, as neither of them appeared in this story. But, once it neared the ending of the story, the bad feeling dissipated.
Sun looked up at him, bouncing a little in its place. "So, the duckling's okay, now?"
"Yep!" John answered. "Remember: when you read these stories to little kids, you will need to know these stories well enough to be able to say them without looking at the pages and be able to teach them or let them read along. Now."
John stood up straight. "Cut the lights."
The lights turned out.
It dropped the book in its lap.
The blue one picked up the book. The blue lights of its eyes glowed dimly over the pages.
"Now, read the third lullaby."
Moon flipped through the pages.
Brother John.
The first few lines were in a different language. "What is this?" it asked.
"French," John answered.
Moon looked up. "I do not know French."
"Hmm. I thought you did. Well, pretend it's Spanish, for now, and pronounce it like that. I'll have to check later. That's why we're doing this."
Moon looked down at the page. Sun read aloud its stories in a chipper, excited voice. However, lullabies were used to put children to sleep. They could not be sung loudly or with excitement. For a moment, Moon was afraid its voice would not befit a soft song. Its voice was deeper than Sun's and raspier, hissing almost.
John said, "Try your best to sing it. You can pronounce the French words like Spanish for now."
Moon said, "Okay."
Moon sang, "Frère Jacques, frère Jacques,
"Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?
"Sonnez les matines!
"Sonnez les matines!
"Ding dang dong,
"Ding dang dong.
"Are you sleeping? Are you sleeping?
"Brother John, Brother John?
"Morning bells are ringing!
"Morning bells are ringing!
"Ding dang dong,
"Ding dang dong." Moon looked up at John. Although the lines started off stiff and quiet, he managed, near the end, to find some sort of rhythm.
John currently rested his hands on his knees. "Good job, Moon. You did well. Sing the third song from that."
Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.
After a short moment, Moon began to sing, "Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
"How I wonder what you are!
"Up above the world so high,
"Like a diamond in the sky.
"Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
"How I wonder what you are!
"Then the traveler in the dark,
"Thanks you for your tiny spark,
"He could not see which way to go,
"If you did not twinkle so.
"Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
"How I wonder what you are!
"In the dark blue sky you keep,
"And often through my curtains peep,
"For you never shut your eye,
"Till the sun is in the sky.
"Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
"How I wonder what you are!
"As your bright and tiny spark,
"Lights the traveler in the dark,
"Though I know not what you are,
"Twinkle, twinkle, little star.
"Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
"How I wonder what you are!" Moon looked up at John again.
"Good job, Moon," John said. "That was well sung. Now, you won't need to let children read along, as you will be singing those to children who need help sleeping. They could be not tired, scared, having been woken up from a nightmare, or any number of things. So, you will need to know these well enough to not use the book."
"I understand."
"Good." John pushed himself up so he stood up straight. "Keep practicing. We will see you tomorrow. Good night, Moon."
"Good night, John."
The poster door closed behind them.
Moon had half a mind to get up and inspect the door but decided to go back to the book.
They liked John.