"What we want
is never simple.
We move among the things
we thought we wanted:
a face, a room, an open book
and these things bear our names -
now they want us.
But what we want appears
in dreams, wearing disguises.
We fall past,
holding out our arms
and in the morning
our arms ache.
We don't remember the dream,
but the dream remembers us.
It is there all day
as an animal is there
under the table
as the stars are there."
- Linda Pastan
"Sixty seven bottles of beer on the wall, sixty seven bottles of beer…"
Robot never imagined that walking on sand dunes would be so exhausting.
But he was an artificial being, and while he didn't feel pain, he did feel himself approaching the wall of his limits. Weighing over two hundred pounds, every step through the finely grained rocks was an act of labor. He knew it was draining on his already low battery, and that was in turn was making it harder to walk. But without signs of civilization for miles, there wasn't anything he could do about it. He willed away his body's pleas for rest, and a fine-tuned cleaning job, so that he could focus.
The more tightly packed sand near the city was easier to walk on. Almost like sand at the beach. Some steps were tricky, and he nearly tripped by being overconfident a few times, but it was manageable. However, the further out he got into the wild, the less pliable the sand became, and the less progress he made by the hour.
He didn't have any maps of this region, mental or otherwise-only verbal instructions for where to find the next American military base. And though he felt sure he was heading in the direction he was told, he was growing anxious about the accuracy of the location.
CAIN had brought him to the middle east, practically shoving him off of the plane, and into the arms of relatively new army recruits before vanishing. At Fort Bradley, where Robot had been abandoned, an intense hour-long investigation was held by the recruits, wherein they concluded that he should be free to go. The two young, and very confused soldiers let him leave, just as reluctant in trying to keep this imposing Robot man as he was in staying. Whether or not he ended up here as part of what was technically a kidnapping, he wasn't leaving this place empty-handed. Somewhere in this country was the love of his life. And he wasn't going home without her.
And with any luck, his daughter was out here, too.
Though a vehicle, or at least a ride would've come in handy, the fort hadn't had any such thing to spare. The privates themselves were left stranded at the camp until their own superiors returned, and Robot couldn't risk them coming back and deciding to detain him.
Still, they hadn't left Robot totally on his own. There, he'd exchanged his flannel jacket for a heavy, beige, combat-grade one. One that could better keep out the sand from ruining his internal workings, as well as a pair of matching pants. He'd never worn military clothes before, never needed to, and he felt treacherous in them. Even if he could somehow expect to be treated like any other man who willingly enlisted to fight for their country, he wouldn't dream of it. Not until every Type B had the expectation of being treated the same.
The journey was becoming increasingly hellish. As his power drained further, his footing felt less certain-every motion to pull them out of three feet of sand was a struggle. It was like trudging through packed snow, but at least if it were that, Robot could melt a shoddy, narrow path forward with his lasers. He didn't dare try to burn the sand he stood upon, lest he accidentally light his own ass on fire. And besides, he had no idea where solid ground began. This far out into sandy oblivion, he thought it might as well run to the core of the earth.
I'm becoming delirious. This is not good.
To both entertain and motivate himself, at some point (that he couldn't recall), he began singing "Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall." He and Shannon used to sing it in the car on long rides for kids. And while toddler Moza would fold her arms and turn away with a look of disgust, Robot fondly remembered that Trixie had chimed in once or twice.
His head felt hotter and heavier as the brutal desert sun heated his metal exterior, the heavy clothes boiling his insides. Flashbacks of times spent with Shannon spun through his head and made him feel just light enough to keep moving. This is what you're fighting for. This is why it matters, why the struggle now will be worth it.
But as he got closer to the end of the road trip song, inklings of despair began to set in. Eventually, sunset relieved the land of its heat, but Robot felt the whiplash of the rapid drop in temperature. It was so hard to think. He shooed away his body's desperation for plugging into an outlet for the mental picture of his woman. Every time her image surfaced, it gave him another boost-thrusting his sinking foot out of the sand with a clean sweep.
"Nineteen bottles of beer on the wall… Nineteen bottles of beer…" He took long pauses in between verses now, hoping it would stretch the song out-though at this point, he wasn't entirely sure he hadn't repeated a few of the verses. How many times had he said "nineteen bottles"? The heavy jacket and pants, which were his only protection from the computer-damaging sand, were making his movements stiffer. More robotic. As he slipped in and out of delirium, he felt less and less like a machine, and more like a man. A desperate man, bound by the constraints of an artificial form, and a limited power supply. He cursed everything. If he were a man, he could push through the limitations, push until he died. But he wasn't.
"Six… Six bottles…"
His entire body came to a standstill, and not because of the sand-littered wind. A silent, yet harsh message from within the depths of his brain nearly made him tumble forward.
Battery power at less than five percent. Initializing Emergency Sleep Mode.
No… it's gonna put me to sleep. No, stop, override, override! No, no, NO! FUCK!
Never in his life had he completely run out of power. He'd assumed he would have more time, that he could keep moving until every last microscopic drop of energy was used up. He cursed himself for never posing this question to Darvick years ago, even just as a hypothetical. It was about his safety, his health. Three and a half decades old, and he was still learning new things about himself. His operating abilities, and limitations.
And this one was going to leave him stranded in the desert, slumbering into certain death.
"Ruined. It's all ruined…"
He moved his right leg, but it gave out, and he started to fall. His body was refusing to stay upright, there wasn't enough power anymore. He had just enough will left to make himself land on his knees, instead of kissing the sand like a lifeless plank. He fell with his hands burying into the sand, his lips nearly touching the grains. With his last bit of control, he flipped himself over onto his back, to prevent sand from entering his mouth. But when another gust of wind swept overhead, he heard the grains entering, and he closed his lips tight.
Ruined, and it's all my fault. Instead of finding Shannon, I took myself away from Moza and Robbie. I'm going to die, leaving them all in the most dangerous positions they could be in.
He took in the magnificent blue velvet expanse above, and the twinkling stars. Even though they weren't at risk for damage, he closed his eyes, too. Tightly.
This is the end.
I don't deserve this family. I couldn't protect it.
I didn't even get to see Shannon's face, one last time. Maybe I don't deserve to.
As he gave in to the automatic shut down, he tried to finish the song, but the words wouldn't come anymore. He'd lost his ability to speak. With his last ounce of consciousness, he wondered if the sand would bury him completely. If he'd ever be found, or if he'd just become a metallic shell in the desert. He wondered if Moza, Robbie, and Shannon could ever forgive him for this. His beautiful bullheaded beloved floated behind his eyes. Could she ever come to terms with his abandonment? She would have to understand why he did it. She just had to.
I'm sorry, Shannon.
He shut down, expecting the sand to be his grave. However, not an hour passed before a tall figure came up the dune and discovered his lifeless form. Its star-lit shadow cast right over Robot's face, analyzing. He had no idea that he was about to be rescued, or by whom.
In its thick sand-littered cargo jacket and pants, the figure didn't appear as thin as it actually was. Despite this, it examined Robot for weapons without hesitation before picking up the robot man, and carrying him off into the night.
Robot had collapsed only three miles from his destination, just in the eyeshot of the ring where this private did their nightly rounds. Just close enough.
The jolt of waking from an emergency sleep mode was unpleasant, to say the least. Robot felt every inch of his body seize as he came to, and it wasn't until he had three percent of his power back that his limbs relaxed, and the realization occurred:
I'm alive. I'm charging. But... how?
As if the sand outside had glued them shut-though it could've been his exhaustion-Robot had to force his eyes open. Gone was the serene, starlit sky that went on for miles and miles, and in its place was a small, darkened room. Gone were the sand dunes and the overwhelming mountains-to-cross on the horizon, and in their place were two underwhelming rows of neatly-folded bunk beds, two on his side of the room, three on the opposite.
The desert had disappeared. His mental clock caught up for time lost during the shutdown, and he realized it had only been an hour since he had blacked out in the dunes. And true to the clock, on his left was a curtainless window, cut from the ceiling, halfway down to the floor, pitch black.
Far be it for him to take miracles for granted, Robot still had many questions.
Especially concerning the fact that his arms couldn't move.
There was a thick rope tied across his chest. It bound his arms to his side, and his entire body to the left-side post of the third bunk bed on the left of the room. His body was propped up in a sitting position, backside to the floor. The outlet must've been under this bed, because his charging cord only extended so long from his body.
Before he finished observing his indoors refuge, the sound of even footsteps brought Robot's attention to the doorway. There, a shadowy figure appeared, darker than the darkest part of the hallway behind it. His savior-or captor, now-had returned.
The automaton didn't know whether to be gracious, or horrified.
"You…" Robot started. "Who are…?"
Without looking for the light switch, the figure crossed the room. Its body was covered head to toe in camouflage fatigues, with a distinct brown scarf wrapped around its neck and most of its face. A... shemagh? Robot's vocabulary was quite large, but his head was bleary as he tried to pinpoint what it was called. Not unlike pictures of GIs he'd seen before, atop its head was a similarly colored combat cap. And despite the time of night, a pair of black rimmed sunglasses sat over its eyes. It had a hefty appearance, between all the clothes, but walked so softly and quietly. Almost… ladylike.
Robot could feel it gaze daggers at him. His body re-tensed with every step it took closer. What did it want with him?
At last, it stood over him, and Robot prepared himself to take a defensive pose. But it was at this distance, only by the light reflecting off of his eyes, that Robot noticed the color of its skin, between the glasses and the shemagh.
"You're a robot." His voice was strained, and it cracked uttering that last word. It had been so long since he needed oil this badly; his joints felt so stiff and dry.
The figure tilted its head to the side, like the stalled observation was cute. Whatever it was thinking, it knew Robot was awake now. But still, it said nothing.
Until.
"As are you."
Robot remained stagnant, but his mind was picking up its pace. That voice. It was cold, it was calculating. It was… familiar.
I'm still delirious. I've-I've died. This isn't happening. That voice. It sounds like…
As if on cue, the masked captor began removing its face coverings. With both hands raised, it took off the baseball cap in one, and the sunglasses with the other. Exposed became a smooth, metal cranium and two bright, yellow eyes, scorching brightly in the dark room. Then it began tugging the shemagh beneath its chin, but the robotic man had already seen enough.
With her whole face exposed, Robot gaped at her. At her.
"Trixie," he whispered.
He didn't know what he was expecting. A pause of question. A flicker of a memory. An emotional reunion. But it wasn't this: She reached for the waist of her cargo pants and brandished a large handheld gun, pointing it square in Robot's face.
The sudden threat made him jerk back with a yelp. "Wait! Don't-What are you doing?!"
"You are not a military robot."
Robot blinked. "Come again?"
"You wander up to the tip of my camp, in a private's fatigues, and you expect me not to question? I've done a background check on you. You are not a listed military unit." Her eyes narrowed, and her voice lowered. "And what I want to know is, how did you acquire those clothes? Is there a body that needs to be recovered?"
Robot's pupils shrank. "What on-?"
"Do I not speak English well enough for you?" the robotic soldier demanded. "I asked if you killed someone in order to obtain that uniform."
"Of course not!" Robot shouted. "T-they were a gift from privates from Fort Bradley-maybe even just a loan, actually. It's a long story-Trixie, listen to me! I don't know what your training is dealing with strangers," as he spoke, his eyes kept flitting from her face, back to the gun, back to her face. "But you've totally misunderstood the situation-"
"My name is not 'Trixie'," the soldier said, flatly, both metal hands wrapped firmly on the weapon. "And I haven't misunderstood anything. You are the stranger in my camp and it is you who will answer my questions."
Robot opened his mouth to protest in the middle of her reply, but clammed up, upon the instant that the words sank in. Repeating her name didn't change anything. She continued to bare down at him harshly. "But... you are Trixie! That is your name!"
The servicebot's suspicion of Robot Jones began to slip from her face, and in its place was puzzled annoyance. "I don't know who you think I am. But I do not identify with such a directive." She looked like she had so much more to say, but brushed it off and looked away from him.
Robot's face took on despair. "You mean… you don't remember?"
This close to her, by the light of both pairs of their luminous eyes, he noticed just how similar their clothes were. The difference was that the uniform copy he was given, dusted with sand, could still be worse for wear. Her fatigues, on the other hand, were battered from years on the battlefield. There were stains on the cloth that Robot hoped were anything other than dried blood. And he only now observed the pair of dog tags hanging from her neck. But whatever name was on them was illegible in the dark.
Worst of all was the look on her face. Even though the military appeared to have done some sort of overhaul on her design-made her taller, leaner, and her features sharper-her eyes were definitely Trixie's eyes. There was not a shadow of doubt in Robot's mind that he was looking at his daughter. But the coldness of her gaze, the massive distrust, that was oh-so-wrong.
He had come all the way here on a chase for his beloved, who only came here in search for Trixie. And he now realized that his hopes for finding that daughter had been destroyed long, long ago. In her place was the soldier that was scrutinizing him this very moment.
His voice was hollow. "What have they done to you?"
Her arms lowering, gunpoint slowly leaving its target, she narrowed her eyes again. The words seemed to be turning gears in her head, but she wouldn't reveal what she was thinking. She bent down to his eye level and gave him an intense stare as she spoke. Her voice, though, had become softer. "I suppose you'd care to know why I brought you back here, after you potentially murdered one of my comrades."
"Actually," Robot spoke up awkwardly, looking left and right at his bound arms. "I'd more or less like to know why you have tied me down."
She moved the gun to her right hand, and loosened the shemagh around her neck with the other, so that it hung like a heavy scarf. It looked like a gesture someone would use if they were attempting to become comfortable, and it was at that moment that Robot realized this place-this barrack-was probably her home. Her tense affect made sense: Looking around, the room was spotless. Not a grain of sand anywhere to be seen-he couldn't imagine how hard it had to be to keep it out. "If I decide that you are trustworthy, I'll consider letting you loose. But for now, you should concentrate on charging-"
"What have we here?"
With wide eyes, the trooper girl spun around, and faced the new figure in the doorway. Her left hand flew to her forehead in a salutation, but it quickly faltered, as if she only then realized it was not one of her superiors who had walked in, but an equal. "Jamison," she said quietly. Did Robot detect embarrassment in her voice? "You're back."
The human-at-arms that entered was fairly tall and wide-chested, with short, curly black hair and bronze skin. Despite her formality, his milk chocolate gaze rested kindly on the robotic girl. "Glad to see you again, too. The rest of the guys will be back tomorrow night. Looks like your rounds were eventful tonight," he noted, in a rich, warm voice. He peered at the weapon resting at her side, and became serious. "Glock away, soldier."
With an annoyed expression, the robot girl complied, lifting her jacket and slipping the gun back into her waistband. "You're not going to report me for having this one," she asked, sounding as guilty as a child with her hand in the cookie jar. "Are you?"
"Just don't be stupid about it, and your secret's safe with me."
"Uh," Robot interrupted, "Am I to suspect that you are not going to release me either?"
The human kept an air of coolness, even as he gave Robot a cautious look over. "Hm, depends on what made this private tie you up like that in the first place." Satisfied with his finding, he winked at Robot. "Buuuut, I think we can clear things up pretty quickly."
The robot man gaped at the two privates before him. "I am… so confused." He looked down at the floor helplessly, like an earthling kidnapped by martians and having no way of communicating.
But just as his despair reached its peak, yet another figure appeared in the doorway-this one holding a lantern, and all of Robot's hope. "...What did you say about the battery, Jamison?"
The lantern lit up the front of the room, and illuminated the face of the person Robot adored most in the entire world "Shannon?!"
"Ro-" The woman heard the voice, and did a double take before her eyes landed on the automaton man tied up across the room. "ROBOT?!" She nearly dropped the battery powered lantern and ran to the side of her lover, right past the two soldiers, and dropped to her knees, throwing her arms around him. Robot was barraged, not with bullets, but with kisses, all over his face, neck and chest. And he returned as many as he could manage.
Private Jamison chuckled and scratched his head. "I was just going to ask you if he was the robot, Shannon. But it's pretty clear to me we found him."
"Found me?" Robot asked. He did a double take as Shannon pulled away, looking from the man to the woman. "You were expecting me? What-what the hell is going on?"
"Expecting you?" Shannon said. "I thought you were still at home watching the kids!"
"Jack and Sheldon are taking care of them-Cord sent me here."
"Jack and Sheldon? Are you kidding me?!"
"Look, it wasn't my idea. It's a long story-but the kids aren't in the worst of hands. They're safe. I came here to find you!" He looked at Jamison. "But how did you know I was coming?"
"I didn't," Jamison said, shrugging.
"What I think he means is," Shannon clarified. "He was going to ask me if you were the robot I've been talking about-the same one," she paused, looked at the female robot, and spoke gently, "that she remembers."
Robot's eyes widened, as a spark of hope warmed his chest. He looked at his daughter fondly. "You do remember me."
Alas, the other robot shook her head. "No…" she said, uncertainly. "I don't remember anything-if there is even anything to remember." She looked at Shannon with a cautious glare. "This woman-Shannon-seems to think I should remember having a father who was a robot-not a technician father figure, like I've heard some robots have back in the States."
Jamison spoke up. "That story does match up with what little we were told about where Sparrow came from-that she was built by a robot, not a lab. Knowing this," he gestured to Shannon, "I knew I could trust this little lady was telling me the truth."
Robot only looked more baffled. "Sparrow?"
The GI rolled his eyes playfully. "Obviously that's not the name you picked out for her."
"These two keep trying to call me 'Trixie'," the robot calling herself 'Sparrow' said, shaking her head. "But that name means nothing to me."
"But if you remember us," Shannon said, carefully, moving a bit closer to her. "Can't you try and believe that what we're saying is the truth?"
"I told you, I don't remember you!" Sparrow shouted back, frustratedly. "The only things I can remember are blurry images of a tall robot man who looked…" she grimaced, and turned towards Robot. "... not unlike you."
The robot man became stone silent, even willing his internal mechanisms to be quiet. His gaze was fixed to hers, cautiously hoping.
But Shannon frowned at her lover, pityingly. "I'm so sorry, Robot," she said to him softly. "I don't know what they did to her."
"Probably a total wipe," Jamison chimed in. "I've heard of it being done to units enlisting as part of the Robotic Rehabilitation project."
The room became quiet as the weight of his words dawned on everyone, specifically Robot.
"Rehabilitation," the automaton man repeated, feeling utterly helpless. "My baby. They wiped my baby's memory and threw her on the front lines, and claimed it was rehabilitation."
The robot girl in question's brows were furrowed, suggesting to Robot that she was willing to consider the possibility that she was wronged.
Sparrow pushed past her epiphany, turning back to Shannon, but her words were directed at Robot. "Ever since she got here, this woman's chewed my ear off, telling me stories about a life she insists I left behind when I came here. About a father who made me, and loved me. About what life is like back in the States."
"But Private Sparrow's not exactly buying it," Jamison said..
Sparrow shot him a quick glare. "I can speak for myself, thank you."
The well-built soldier stuffed his hands in his pockets, confirming Robot's feeling that the lanky, female robot was somehow quite intimidating. "Alright! Alright…"
Sparrow turned to Robot again. "It's not that I don't… It's not that I don't believe it. But I have no reason to. And it's not logical to trust where there's no proof."
"No proof?" Robot said, hurtfully. "Not even the fact that you look like me? Not even the fact that both the love of my life and myself came thousands of miles, across the ocean in a plane, and nearly got buried alive in sand? Not even the fact-!" He shook his head, letting out a small cuss, trying to think, but he was still exhausted. He really did need sleep. "-That given the opportunity, I could list off all of your internal workings from memory-the serial numbers of all your parts, as proof that I made you-assuming the military hasn't gutted your insides along with your outsides? Is that not enough proof for you?!"
"Robot, calm down!" Shannon told him. "I've talked to her nonstop since I got here! I told her that given the chance she could meet you, that you could prove that you're her father."
Robot glared at the floor. "Anything to jog your memory, huh?" He looked at his daughter, this time not pleading, but demanding. "Untie me, now. I can prove it."
Sparrow hesitated before coming forward, bending down, and loosening the ropes wrapped around his chest. He could have almost sighed at the relief of having his arms stretch and his shoulders relax. Once the ropes fell away, Sparrow wrapped them around her own arms neatly.
With his arms free, Robot unbuttoned his jacket, and pulled out the door before his abdominal cavity.
"What are you showing me?" Sparrow asked. "That we have similar parts? Because many units could be made with similar parts."
"No, it's not that," Robot said. "I have something that nobody, man or machine, should have a copy of."
He pulled out a tiny, metal chain bracelet, with a dozen hand crafted, intricately designed charms dangling from the loops.
Sparrow, on the other hand, cocked her head to the side. "A… piece of jewelry?"
"Not just any jewelry," Robot said, confidently. "This is the charm bracelet that you and I spent a weekend making together in the basement with my tools. You wore it to school every day for a month. Right up until the day you put it on your best friend, Serina Martinez, and left it with her. She gave it back to me after-" his voice caught, and he looked away, trying to be manly and will back the tremors in his voice. "-you went missing."
Shannon's eyes watered. "Oh my god…"
Sparrow gaped at the bracelet, watching its charms twinkle in the light of the lantern. A star and a pig, a guitar and a music note, a monkey and a heart. Abnormal choices made by a not-so-normal seven year old. She fixed her gaze back on him.
"Do you remember now?" he asked.
"No…" Sparrow announced, finally, her voice soft again. "But… it-it doesn't make sense. To-to come all this way. Fabricate this absurd lie… short of being insane… it-it's not logical."
"Because it happened!" Robot told her. "Trixie, I'm your father. The one in your memories is me."
The robotic warrior's toughness was faltering. "But if I was to be totally wiped…" she finally managed to say, turning to Shannon for help, "... why do I have these blurry images of him?"
"They might've botched it a little," Jamison piped up. "I doubt the government knows exactly what they're doing when it comes to screwing with a robot's head-if they even care. Hate to think it, but they could've scrambled your brains entirely."
Robot looked queasy. "I-I think I'm going to be sick…"
"Hey-wait until I get the bucket, man, I just cleaned around here, and Lieutenant's gonna have my ass-" Jamison shouted, running to the closet and flinging the door open.
Shannon opened her mouth to explain that Robot was just being expressive and wasn't capable of vomiting, but closed it, and sighed. She looked at the man she loved, stretching her hand out to help him stand up from the floor-though he only took it out of obligation. Even with his joints stiff and caked with sand, he got off the floor fine by his own strength, and wouldn't dare try using Shannon to help him up, lest he cause her to fall forward.
"This isn't the way I expected things to go," the woman said, tiredly. It was late, and there were premature lines under her eyes that would probably go away with a good night's sleep. "But at least we're together," she shrugged. "And we..."
"We found her," Robot said, nodding. "After all this time. Well, you found her. Technically."
Shannon beamed triumphantly. "Just like I said I would."
"What did you tell her to get her to untie you?" Robot asked.
"She never tied me up," Shannon said, with a raised eyebrow.
Robot gaped, then turned to Sparrow. "So you trusted her, but you didn't trust me?"
"She came here with papers and an explanation," Sparrow said to Robot. "Even if I didn't believe it. I found you passed out on the perimeter of my camp. Besides, she's a human, and with a quick scan, I could tell she wasn't wielding any weapons-only a metallic prosthetic. I have no way of knowing what weapons are inside of you."
Her father 'humphed'. "Fair enough." He looked at Shannon. "All that matters now is getting back and saving the kids from thinking we've abandoned them." Robot wrapped his arm around the woman's shoulder and pulled her close, turning to Sparrow with a smile. "And we finally get to bring you home."
"What are you talking about?" the female robot asked.
Robot exchanged confused frowns with Shannon, dropping his arm back to his side. "Uh, don't you recall what we just spoke about? You know… the thing about having been kidnapped and held against your will?"
Sparrow looked at the floor and made a half-shrug. "It's possible that that is how I ended up here." She gave a knowing look to Jamison. "I am aware that the majority of Type B automatons that wind up on the front lines did not volunteer for the job." She looked at Robot sternly. "It's a crime and a pity. But whether or not this is true in my case, it's irrelevant. This is my home now. This is my directive-to serve and protect."
"You can't be serious-" Robot became so frustrated, he started stammering. "-a-af-ter everything you just heard, after hearing how they've stolen your childhood, you still want to serve these people?!" He sighed. "No offense," in Jamison's direction.
"None taken," the private replied.
"It doesn't matter now," Sparrow said, her gentle voice becoming firmer in the wake of an argument. "Whatever's been done is done. I don't have a memory of a civilian life now-I barely remember you. It doesn't make sense to go back. Not when I could be making the best of a bad situation. When I could be saving the innocent and dispatching terrorists."
"Would you listen to yourself?! You sound just like you've been brainwashed!" Robot exploded. "I've shown you the evidence, and you have Shannon to testify as a witness! You're not some military unit named 'Sparrow'-" Though he had wanted to be polite, he couldn't say her new name without disgust. "-You're Beautrix Jones, one of a kind, school-attending, happy child, belonging to me. And if you think that I'm going back to the United States without you, then you've got another thing coming, young lady!"
"Then you'll have to live out the rest of your years in the desert!" Sparrow shouted back at him. "Because I am not leaving my post for anybody! And I've got access to more weapons and years of combat training, so don't think for a second you can take me by force! I am a proud defender of my troops and the lives of the innocent here in this country, and how dare you attempt to end that for selfish reasons! The child you're looking for," Sparrow said, coldly, "is dead. And you'll have to get over it."
Without another word, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the room and into the hallway.
The three adults in the room stood in silence, Jamison still holding the empty bucket he'd pulled out of the closet.
"I can't… I can't believe it," Shannon murmured. "I can't believe she's being this way."
"Mm, Sparrow's always been like that," Jamison said, putting the bucket down and kicking it gently under one of the beds. "At least as long as I've known her. Stubborn as a mule."
"You could say," said Shannon. despite the frustration of the situation. "Bullheaded?"
"By design," Robot said winked at her.
"Pretty much," the young man replied. "She is a teenager, too."
Robot looked surprised. "Wait, you knew that?"
"We got a portfolio about her when she got assigned to us, so we'd know what we were dealing with. Can't say I approve of putting robots in the military when they're not even of legal age to fight. But I don't make the rules. And I don't rank high enough to share my opinion on the subject to anyone who could do anything about it." He went on, rubbing his chin. "A lot of the text was choppy-you could tell most of the information about her had been redacted. But it gave away that she was manufactured as a personal project."
"So you knew that she had a father," Shannon said, sighing warmly.
"Between that, and her confiding in me about having these vague memories of a robot man, it was just a matter of putting the pieces together. Not that I could've done anything about it. I didn't even know where in the US she came from."
Robot listened to all of this, impressed. "You know a lot about her."
The young man shrugged with a grin. "Well, it helps that she confides in me. I don't know why or what I did for that to happen, either. I was only deployed two years ago. She was already here. I guess before that, nobody tried to talk to her much."
"Why did you?" asked Shannon. "I mean-if you don't mind me asking."
Jamison undid the pocket on the right side of his chest, and pulled out a flat wallet, and showed Robot and Shannon pictures of him and a young woman, just a month or two shy of giving birth. "Like a lot of these guys, I got a wife back home. A daughter, too. But when I realized Sparrow might have parents of her own, I started to see beneath that hardened exterior for the kid she really is."
"She's been lucky to have you, then," Shannon smiled at him.
"Yeah," Robot said, softly. But he felt himself starting to become a little jealous. He was glad to hear someone here gave half a shit about his child, when she was far from his care. But he wasn't particularly grateful that she knew and respected this man more than himself.
"So, what do we do now?" asked Shannon, ending Robot's jealous thoughts. "If they dropped you here to find me, that means CAIN will be coming back for both of us any day. Unless… this is their way of cutting ties with the both of us."
"That's a pleasant thought," Robot said, both sarcastically and grimly. "But somehow, I don't think so. They might not care about us anymore, but they were hellbent on using Trixie as a catalyst for a robotic rights upheaval. And if we told them we actually managed to find her, they'll zip back here."
"And what are they going to do when she says she's not coming back?" Shannon asked.
"Oh, she's coming back," Robot said, narrowing his eyes and watching the doorway. "You can count on it."
"I see that you are busy. But, do you think you could spare a moment?"
Sparrow spun around, almost dropping her pistol and the cloth she was using to clean it. She was sitting on top of the roof, with her legs dangling off the side. The sky was turning from navy to royal blue, with just a hint of pink on the horizon.
It was morning now, though ridiculously early, and Shannon and Jamison had both taken a respective bunk in the otherwise empty room, and tried to get some sleep. Robot wasn't keen on leaving his hopefully bride-to-be-someday alone with a strange man (whom he himself couldn't help but admit was oddly charming). However, he swallowed his jealousy, and put his faith in the young man's wedding band to keep them apart.
He himself desperately needed rest, too. But with a nearly full charge from the wall socket, he could push through another few hours. He wanted to get this taken care of.
Robot stood on the ladder on Sparrow's right, cautious to not let her notice that he was studying her military upgrade. He could've gulped seeing the weapon in her hands, but at this point, he was confident that she wouldn't point it in his direction again, no matter what she'd said earlier.
"You can talk all you want," she told him. "But it's not going to change my mind."
"Hey, hey," Robot said, crawling up the ladder and resting on his knees, but keeping three feet back. "Can I at least try to apologize for snapping earlier?"
She looked at her gun, and thrust it back into her waistband. "Go on."
"It was wrong of me to yell at you. I somehow assumed because you're my daughter-that you were my daughter-that I could just swoop in and take control of your life. But I see now that I have been ignorant to the way the war has changed you. I have no idea what you've been through since they took you from me. I imagine that you have stories that you plan on keeping to your grave."
"Well, I appreciate that," she said, quietly, not looking him in the eyes.
A long silence dragged between them as Robot worked up his nerve, and took a seat beside her on the roof, his legs off the side, too. They watched the sky and the sandy hills that stretched for miles to come, reminding Robot of the last thing he'd seen before nearly dying no more than two hours ago. He almost found the smooth desert landscape and the presence of the late Trixie Jones relaxing, until the resurfacing thought of the gun in her waistband pulled him out of his brief contentment.
He chanced a glance at her. "You know, I never in a million years could have imagined that someday, I'd be held at gunpoint by my own daughter."
"I can't fathom what you were expecting," Sparrow told him unsympathetically. "This is a war zone. We don't take risks here."
"I can see that now," Robot said. "I guess I'm just in shock. Maybe part of it is that you're taking this all in strides."
"What else could I do?" Sparrow asked, her tone still far from warm, but genuine, nevertheless. "Even if your story is true, that means that I've never been allowed to know anything else-at least, not that I remember."
"It does not have to stay that way," Robot told her. "If you had to start life all over again once, you can do it again-this time, without a memory wipe. So you can look back on this and take the experiences with you."
She turned away from him and, in the most teenage gesture he'd seen her do thus far, pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her arms on them. "Sometimes I watch the Iraqi girls head off to school in their veils, in groups of twos and threes. Sometimes skipping, sometimes laughing. It's peculiar-I've been told their education is so limited, so oppressive. But they still seem so… happy. To just go somewhere to learn. To socialize. To be with people their own age. To be a part of something bigger." Her voice lowered a bit. "'What we want is never simple. We move among the things we thought we wanted: a face, a room, an open book, and these things bear our names-now they want us.'"
Robot's head spun so fast, it nearly completed a full turn. "You read poetry?" he asked. He didn't read any himself, but he knew enough about the structure of a poem to recognize one when he heard it.
Sparrow looked mildly offended. "What do you think I do all day? Stare at a wall? Clean the latrines? I love books, though... I do prefer stories. I just came across that poem once and it spoke to me, I guess."
Good to know she loves something, Robot thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "No television then, I suppose?" he asked, hoping to find a common interest between them.
"Sometimes the troop gets together to watch movies," she told him. "And a few of them brought with them laptops to watch DVDs on. But I never enjoyed movies as much as reading. It's so much easier to escape in a novel."
Robot peered her way, suspiciously. "Escape?"
Immediately realizing her mistake, Sparrow glared at him. "Don't read into my words. You know precisely what I meant."
"Even the richest man on earth could lose himself to ten hours of music," the older robot explained. "That doesn't mean he is happy."
After a moment of trying to compose a clever retort, she failed and looked away from him. "You think you're so wise. Try speaking like that after you've been in my shoes."
"Hey, just because I haven't seen the worst humanity has to offer firsthand, doesn't mean I'm an idiot. I'm over twice your age, and I've been through things I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy. You think because you're a hardened soldier that there's nothing I could possibly have to offer you. But you're pushing away a world of experiences you yourself admit you don't remember." He sighed. "Which is precisely why I have come to a decision regarding your future. But it all depends on you."
"You're giving me an ultimatum?" she asked, as if daring him to threaten her.
"I am giving you a choice," Robot clarified. "Come back to the United States with Shannon and me. Live in my house, use the house's power on my bill, and I'll give you as much coddling or as much independence as you desire. You may read everything and anything you want, with no interruptions-hazardous ones, anyway," Robot added, rubbing the back of his neck. "I can't exactly guarantee quietness with Moza and Robbie around. But, you can be a teenager-have all the experiences that being a teen has that you've always wondered about. And when you turn eighteen, then you can decide if the front lines are where you belong. You will be the age of majority anyway, so if you really believe fighting is what you were meant to do with your life, you can go back. I will not put up a single word of protest about it."
Sparrow gave him a suspicious look. "What's in it for you?"
"I'm your father," Robot said, annoyed that he had to explain this. "I'm the one who brought you into this world to begin with. It's my job to see to it that you are cared for." He scowled and looked away. "However, if you are asking what it is I expect of you under these conditions, I can tell you right now that I only have two requests of you, if you decide to resume life as my child."
"And those would be…?"
"One:" he said, pointing a finger up firmly. "You are going to go to school to attempt to integrate as best as you can, just as I had to. You've missed many years of education, but if you can prove your academic prowess with some tests, and with proper explaining to the staff, I'm sure you can be placed in the grade you would be in right now, if you hadn't been taken away. Whatever you decide to do for the rest of your life, I want you to at least have a high school diploma." He lowered his finger and, with the same hand, twisted his ear dial, concentrating. "If I recall correctly, you should've been able to start your freshman year this upcoming fall."
"And the second?"
"Two: If and when the need arises, I require that you stand in court, and testify against the people who put you here to begin with. Maybe you've made a new life here, but that doesn't make it right. And if you're concerned with protecting the innocent, you should care that this never happens to a child ever again."
Sparrow nodded, thinking it over. "You're not wrong," she said. She turned and looked at him dead in the eye. "But if I refuse?"
She expected him to start yelling again. But to her surprise, Robot just shrugged. "Then… that's it. You stay here. But I can't. I have two other children to help raise. And while it'll break my heart that you will not be among them, you said it yourself-I can't force you to come with me. Lest I want my neck joint broken. So, I'll leave it up to you. But I must warn you: Once I go back, I can guarantee you that I won't return. And I don't think CAIN will be taking any trips back here for a long time-if we can even get them to pick us up. So if you change your mind, I won't be able to help you-not from here. But if you come with me-come home-I can give you the choice. You can experience both worlds and then decide what it is that you want to do."
Sparrow took a while to respond. Eventually, she found the words to articulate her thoughts. "It would be illogical to turn down a choice to choose, when my only other choice is to not."
Robot's eyes wobbled. He waited in anticipation for her to elaborate. But Sparrow didn't. Ten beats later, and it was obvious she was going to leave it at that.
Robot shifted his legs, feeling one of his knees crunch with bits of sand still trapped inside. He couldn't wait to get home and get rid of the debris in his joints. "You… do realize," he said, slowly, "that an industrial unit such as myself could've broken free of those ropes you tied me with, no struggle whatsoever."
"Then why didn't you?" she asked back, unable to contain her smirk.
"Well," Robot said, feeling heat rise to his face, "I could have, but it seemed like an unwise thing to do, given your suspicion of me to begin with."
"Unwise?" Sparrow asked, finger pointed to the sky, "Or you didn't consider this until just now?"
"Am I not allowed to have considered respecting your suspicion of me?" Robot shook his head wearily. "Nevermind. I'm going to get some sleep."
He turned away, with the automatons not saying so much as a 'goodnight' to each other. The air was the chilliest it had been, with at least another hour until sunrise, and it made the end of their conversation seem all the colder.
Robot helped himself down the ladder and back around the front of the building, weaving through a narrow hallway to the bunk room. He had the strongest desire of finding Shannon's bunk and curling up at her side, however best he could, without waking her-if only to soothe his jealousy of the other man in the room, and his ache for weeks to lay beside her.
But as he reached the doorway, he noticed the leaner of the two human figures sitting up in bed, clicking away at her laptop. "I thought you were sleeping," Robot said, quietly, minding the sleeping person in the bed, far across the room.
"I tried, I did," Shannon told him. "I think I dozed off for about an hour. But there's too much on my mind."
The automaton came and sat down on the bottom bunk, next to her. "I can't blame you. Today's been a shock for everybody."
She looked at him with tired eyes. "Did you convince her?"
"I think I managed to get the gears turning," Robot told her. "I think. But only time will tell."
Never afraid to be frank, Shannon 'humphed'. "Well, we don't have a lot of time," she turned back to the monitor. "I'm not sure when Cord plans on sending another jet, but we have to be ready if and when he does."
Robot winced. "You're right." He leaned over to see the screen. "What are you checking for?"
"A text, a video, anything," Shannon said, pointing to the blank web page that read 'This page cannot be loaded'. She kept refreshing the page, trying to load her email address, the way she'd done occasionally throughout the day since she arrived weeks ago. Her email was connected to her phone number, so while using her old phone overseas would be ridiculously expensive, she could receive any incoming texts in her email. But both the internet and cellular reception this far out in the desert was wildly inconsistent. "Any sign that they don't plan on keeping us here. But I haven't been able to get the page to load for more than a few seconds since I arrived-the damn sand storms must be blocking the signal from the nearest router. Even though Jamison's logged me onto the network, I can't get through. For all I know, CAIN's been trying to contact us this whole time."
"So that's why you didn't respond to any of my messages," Robot said, peering at the screen, embarrassed that he hadn't thought about that. The internet was such a reliable tool where they were from. But it wasn't the same all over the world. Even some parts of the United States had connection issues. "Don't I feel foolish..."
Shannon leaned in close and kissed his cheek. "I know, I would've been just as worried if the situation was reversed."
Robot smiled at her, lovingly. "The best part is that I believe you."
With a tired sigh, the woman leaned against his shoulder, her loose hair crushed against his sleeve. Robot wrapped his arm around her, feeling his body hum contently, passing a glance over at Jamison and feeling even more foolish for questioning Shannon's loyalty.
They were only like that for a few minutes-at least it only felt that long-Robot's eyes getting heavy, when he noticed the internet icon at the bottom of the laptop no longer had a red strikethrough. Curiously, he tapped the 'refresh' button. Like miracle work, the email began to load. And as the signal gained strength, more features of the web page began to appear, until it looked as if the email was back to normal. "Shannon?"
The woman opened her eyes. "Hmm?" But as soon as her eyes rested on the screen, she sat up, wide awake. "Oh god, it's back!" she said, almost forgetting not to yell.
Both of them skimmed the titles of the unread messages-forty or more from Robot himself. A few spam. But not a single one from any CAIN operatives.
Except for one. Robot peered at the top line of the email. "It's-Jack."
The couple looked at each other with question. "What does he want?"
"I don't know," Robot said, reaching for his pocket. But his phone had been reduced to an expensive flashlight pocket weight as soon as he crossed the seas, the service suspended. Had anybody tried to call him, including Jack, he wouldn't know. "What did he say?"
"He just said to call him…" Shannon said, furrowing her brow. "I don't even know if the signal's strong enough for that, but I'm afraid to email him and have the wifi go dead again before I get a response. Do you know his Skype?"
"Hand me the computer," Robot said, taking it from Shannon's outstretched hands. Though he only had two fingers on each hand, he typed about as fast as she did with her five. Within seconds, he had Skype loaded, and dialed Jack's number. Robot and Shannon left the bunk room to avoid disturbing the sleeping GI across the room, carrying the computer far out into the hallway, near the entrance.
The call did go though. And it was answered promptly.
"Oh-shi-Hi… Robot…." said the voice of their deputy friend and fellow bot. Staring into the phone's camera, all Robot and Shannon could see was his head. Much like Robot's eyes, which flashed as he spoke, the line in the middle of Jack's eye screen danced erratically, as a substitute for mouth movement. "Hey Shannon. I-I was afraid you weren't gonna get my message."
"R-R-R-Robot is on the line?" said another voice. Jack pulled the horizontal-facing phone away from his face and angled it to to the left, and revealed yet another robot to his side, this one three feet tall, yellow and wheelbound. "Hi Robot! And Shannon, looking as l-lovely as ever," he smoozed, despite his stammering.
"Looks like you two found each other-that-that's great," Jack said, chuckling awkwardly.
"Yes, it would seem like everything has worked out rather well. We even found Trixie-well, she did," said Robot, hooking a thumb at Shannon. "My daughter found me buried in the sand."
"Oh boy! That sounds like the makings for a kooky story to tell when you get back," Jack said. "Speaking of which…"
"... W-wh-when are you coming back?" finished Sheldon.
"That's what we're trying to figure out," Shannon said. "CAIN hasn't answered my calls or messages since I got here."
"Yikes," Jack replied. "Maybe I could get their attention."
"That means we have more time?" asked Sheldon.
Without warning, the taller blue robot hooked the tip of his foot into Sheldon's side, making the smaller robot jump. "Ouchie! Hey!"
"Time for what?" asked Shannnon, suspiciously.
"You talking trash can," Jack muttered in his lowest voice, before turning back to the camera. "Everything is great here, man. Yes sir-ree."
"I didn't ask you how everything was," Shannon pointed out.
"Oh…"
"Jack, you're making me nervous," Robot said, narrowing his eyes. "Put the kids on. Now."
"Ah-heh-heh-heh-heh," the taller blue robot said, rubbing the back of his neck. "No problem…" he looked to the side, pulling the camera close to his face once more. "Oh, hey! It's Robbie! Just-just woken up from his nap. Here, listen-listen:"
"Hel-lo… father," came the poorly disguised, artificial voice of the little yellow robot, pitched as high as he could make it. "It is me… Robert Elias Jones… your son and successor. I have just risen from my daily nap, a-and now I am going to play with human Moza. I love you."
"'Robbie'," Shannon said, rolling her eyes and heavily articulating every syllable. "Use a contraction."
"Aaa… he-he-he, aah," Sheldon's voice squeaked. "I… can… not."
Robot yanked the computer away from Shannon and put his face right up to the camera. "This better be some sort of joke," he said, his voice a deep, cold monotone.
Jack sighed, and turned to the automaton off-camera. "Could you have possibly done that any worse?"
"I am sorry, I panicked!" Sheldon shouted, sounding on the verge of crying.
"Boys, where are the kids?" asked Shannon, fuming.
Despite being the smaller, meeker robot, somehow it was Sheldon who found the strength to convey what Jack could not. "Well, to put the matter bluntly, weeeeeeeeeeeeee do not know," he explained, tapping his claws together nervously, his blue marble eyes looking far off into the distance because he could not say this to the parents while looking them in the eyes. "The kids are not with us… That is to say: At this current time."
"That's crushing the blow-real smooth," Jack muttered sarcastically.
"What do you mean they're not with you?" Robot shouted. "Where are they?!"
"Oh my god, my babies are lost!" Shannon cried out, leaving the camera frame and beginning to pace the floor. "I knew those two shouldn't've been in charge, I knew it! I knew it!"
"Hey, lady, it's not our fault!" Jack shouted from the computer.
The panicking mother looked at the computer screen incredulously. "It's not your fault you lost my children?!"
"We didn't lose them! They were gone before we got here!" Jack said, now getting angry himself.
"Not a trace of the girl nor the boy," Sheldon added, beginning to sound the narrator of a novel. "We have searched every nook and cranny of this house: From the crawlspace behind the shed to the very tip-top of the attic. Jack even made me pull out a wall panel and slip behind it to find the rugrats."
"Whiiiiich caused us to break one of the panels-sorry," Jack added.
"But there is nary a trace of them, anywhere!" Sheldon said, as Jack turned the phone's camera to him again. "And if you believe that we are not as concerned for their welfare as you two are, then you are very wrong! I have-ave not stopped weeping for the knowledge of their-ir-ir whereabouts," the little robot cried, wiping his eyes.
"We've searched the neighborhood, every park and youth group within a ten mile radius, but nobody has seen them!"
"Robot, what are we going to do?" Shannon asked the automaton beside her, still sitting on the bed. "We'll have to go to the police-put out an Amber alert-something!"
Robot was stone still. Just when everything was looking bright, reality came crashing back down on him. It's my fault…
"Oh, god, say something!" Shannon pleaded.
At last, he spoke. "It's my fault."
"What?"
"This is my fault, Shannon, not theirs!" Robot yelled at her, frustrated that she wasn't taking the anger out on him. "I stormed to CAIN demanding to find you, and Cord sent me away that night, with Jack and Sheldon to come babysit Robbie and Moza the next day. Nobody was watching them in the meantime! I didn't know where you were or what happened to you! But look at you-you're fine! Hell, you're better than fine-you found her without me! All I had to do was wait to hear back from you, and organize your return from home! But no-I had to swoop in, thinking I was Superman, and I put our kids in jeopardy." He sighed. "I am the worst father in history."
"There is no way you could've seen this happening!" Shannon yelled at him. "And feeling sorry for yourself isn't going to do anything."
"You're right," he murmured. He wanted to carry on the argument, but he was still exhausted. There was no more fight in him anymore, not even for self loathing.
Shannon turned back to the screen. "Jack, you have to go to the station-there are kids missing!"
"Shannon, he can't do that!" Robot insisted. "You can't go to the law for help when you're fighting against it! If the police find out the full extent of what CAIN's been up to, they could consider us accomplices and throw us both in jail. Jack and Sheldon, too."
"Exactly," Jack said. "Oh wait… yeah, thanks for pointing that out…"
"Oh my..." Sheldon said fearfully, touching his face.
"So… what are you saying?" Shannon asked Robot. "You think someone from CAIN did this?"
"I don't… I don't know," The automaton father admitted, his brain spinning to find an explanation that made sense. "Cord has an axe to grind with me, but he did send me here. He wants Trixie to testify for herself, for robot rights. He's not gonna turn on me until he gets what he wants. It doesn't make sense for it to have been him."
Shannon looked into the computer's camera scorningly. "Is there any clue where they went?"
"There's no sign of a struggle, no broken locks-everything was neat and tidy when I got here," Jack explained, exercising his pre-detective training. "Except for some dirty dishes in the sink. If I didn't know any better, it's almost as if they went willingly."
"You mean... they were lured," Shannon said, looking nauseous.
"But who would know they were all alone in less than twenty-four hours?" asked Robot.
Before Jack could respond, the call dropped without warning, making a gentle beep as the Skype window closed itself.
"Oh great, the internet," Shannon sighed, shutting the laptop and thrusting it under her arm. "There goes our detective."
Robot rubbed his steely chin. "This might be wishful thinking, but, is it possible the kids just... went somewhere."
"But where?" asked Shannon. "If they're not with one of their friends, where else could they be?"
"Everything alright?" asked a voice from behind. Bot and woman spun around and saw Jamison, rubbing his eyes. "I heard yelling. If this is some sort of lovers' spat, I'll stand clear."
"The kids are missing!" Shannon told him. "Robbie and Moza-and the ones who were supposed to watch them while Robot was gone don't have a clue, either!"
"Yikes," the soldier said. He pointed back to the bunk room. "I could phone the nearest station, get a search party going back across the seas."
"We can't go to the police," Robot explained, exasperatedly. "Not with unclean hands. They won't help us without wanting to know the full story." He turned away defensively. "They might help us find Robbie and Moza, but when all's said and done, they'll take all the kids away from us, if they find out CAIN is a covert terrorist organization. They could very well just throw us in prison for associating with them. Even if I tell them we had no idea what they were doing behind closed doors until recently."
"Now that's a tight situation." He rubbed his chin, but looked sympathetic.
"I'm sorry. I have no idea what to do, then."
"Maybe… I can help."
All three adults turned, and saw the teenage robot in fatigues, standing in the doorway. The sunrise projected a gentle silhouette of her figure, and for the first time since Robot arrived, her presence was not intimidating.
"Plenty of Iraqi children go missing in the days of terror, and I have helped on missions to find them-sometimes with fast success." She looked at the floor, her face thoughtful. "It would be… a selfless purpose… for going with you."
Robot gaped at her. Shannon clasped her hands tightly together, to the point where her knuckles turned white. "But baby, you're just a child yourself."
"Maybe," she said, quietly. "And maybe that's why it's so important to me. That the innocent are unharmed. For as long as I can remember, I've had a drive to help other children in particular, and maybe it's subconscious, but it's not random." Her eyes wobbled as she looked up at the older automaton who still stood inches above her, even after her own war overhaul. "Robot, I believe you, now."
"You'd be willing to help us?" Robot asked with a blink.
"I would like to. But I can't just leave," Sparrow pointed out, her exhaustion showing for the first time in her voice. "It's treason. I'd be going AWOL."
Jamison shifted his weight from one foot to the other before speaking up. "I'm gonna get in big trouble for this-like unreal trouble-if I get caught. But I know of an area nearby that's littered with landmines. If we threw something into a one-anything that can create enough shrapnel-we could lie and say it was you."
"Stage my death?" Sparrow looked down at herself. "But what are we going to throw into the mine? I'll have to decide which of my arms I like the least."
"No, no, no! You will stay in one piece. We'll find a substitute-maybe a broken hunk of machinery. We could even use the remains of a Type A that died due to something else. All I'd need is your dog tags scorched up a bit, and they'll take my testimony-I've got a clean record, and they know we get along. They'll believe me."
"Do you really think that'll work?" asked Shannon. "Won't they examine the shrapnel to see if it's really her?"
"Oh, I doubt it," Jamison said. "Type As run over landmines all the time. They're practically made to be destroyed so the troops can cross the land after them. Obviously it costs a fortune, but the military would rather it be them than human lives. All the same, they probably won't think much about investigating the death of a robot. Even if she is sentient."
Robot couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Naturally."
"Then how are we going to get home?" asked Shannon. "At this rate, it doesn't sound like a safe bet to wait on CAIN."
"Well… since I'm already getting myself at risk for some mucho trouble, I have a guy in the medical corps who owes me a favor," Jamison admitted. "I can talk with him about maybe hitching a ride back to the States on a medivac. I can't say where they'll drop you off but at least you'll be in the right country."
Sparrow looked astonished. "You'd do that? Including fake my destruction? Why?"
"I don't want you to be stuck here forever," Jamison admitted. "I'm lucky-I'm a human. My tour will be over in a few months. You mean a lot to me, kid. I want you to have the chance to explore the world." He smirked. "Aaaaaand drive someone else crazy with your morning wake up calls for once."
Sparrow gave him a wry smile. "You would've found yourself in hot water a lot more often if I wasn't around to get you out of your bunk on time."
Jamison opened his arms wide, and after a moment of nervous hesitation, the robot girl thrust herself into his embrace, wrapping her arms around him.
Shannon let out a gentle sigh, while next to her, her lover glared. Robot started at the two soldiers, deep-seated envy building inside him. He should've been grateful-this man was offering up his favor for an almost surefire way to get himself, Shannon and Sparrow home. But Jamison's fondness for Sparrow made him wonder: If he and Shannon had never come here, would he have pulled some strings that would've resulted in him getting to take Sparrow home? Sure, the human had a family of his own to worry about. But he was a sympathetic individual. He might've found room in his starting family for the daughter Robot had thought he'd lost long ago. Had he really only come up with that decoy explosion plan this very minute? For a second or two, Robot almost wish Sparrow had never encountered a human so kind in the war.
He shook his head feverishly. What bitter thoughts for a bitter, old robot. There was a time and a place for thoughts like this, and this wasn't it.
Somewhere out there was a teenage girl and a little robot boy who were in peril. And while he wasn't thrilled about using his newly discovered daughter to help find them, he wasn't about to turn down the help. He deeply resented what the military had done, but he did not resent what she had become. Intense years of training, mental scarring, and a near complete memory wipe couldn't undo her capacity for affection.
Robot vowed to himself that when this was over, despite what he promised, he wasn't going to let her go so easily. Not before he convinced her she amounted to more than a weapon of war.
Trixie was in there. Somewhere.
Originally published on dA Feb. 17 2020
hErE wE gO aGain
So a couple of my friends on discord have already gotten to read this story a month or so back, but Wit and I did some edits and made a cover piece for the story, so it's ready to finally publish!
I've done some stories on Robot's kidnapped oldest daugher, Sparrow, in the past, but they were about her struggle with the transition of being home from the war, not before.
Up until a few months ago, I was really struggling to picture how her discovery in the middle east, alive and enlisted in the military, would go down. It helped to tell the story from Robot's perspective-his confusion mirroring the audience's confusion about what the hell is going on. "
Going into this, I knew 2 things for sure: That Robot was going to be hell bent on bringing her back, and that Sparrow was going to be hell bent on staying right where she was-where she felt she was needed.
It was Wit's idea that Shannon goes over to the middle east first, giving Robot a specific reason to arrive
I always had a vague idea that Sparrow would be looked after and respected by at least
one of the soldiers she works with, who in this case came out as this Jamison character. But Robot becoming jealous of him was something that only came up when writing this out. It seems right for Robot's character-he's a totally believable flawed character, particularly by his emotions, just as humans are. That's what makes him such a humanoid robot and likable character.
I tried explaining as much of the background of Sparrow's kidnapping as I could. There
is a detailed story about Sparrow/Trixie's kidnapping as a kid by me and Wit, but it's still in the works. For now, I hope this makes sense.
Comments/Critiques loved as always.
I've been working on these fanfic kids for Robot Jones U for years now and Sparrow has come a long way. I'm absolutely fucking thrilled to be doing collabs and sharing this excitement for these characters and stories with someone. I disappear into this world sometimes. Thanks to everybody who's been following the ride, it means the world to me.
Whatever happens to Robot's kidnapped daughter after she finally returns home? Can she learn to recover from all that's happened to her? Will her heart pull her back to the front lines, or can she find a place in society as a normal teenage girl?
Check out these other stories about Trixie "Sparrow" Jones in
"The Miscalculations of Robot Jones - Grown Up"
Hope you enjoy bros.
Whatever Happened to Robot Jones? © Greg Miller & Cartoon Network