So… There was an obscure TV-Series when I was a kid, named Cubix: Robots for Everyone. That was roughly twenty years ago. But seeing as I always start stories with plots - and worlds - and magic systems I LOVE to overcomplicate for myself, I desperately want to try setting some boundaries, all the while fighting my horrid tendency to info-dump. I'm doing that by means of this TV Series (Yes, it probably was my favorite series after Avatar, The Last Airbender, but I'm not ready for that level of complexity yet, and I need to literally force myself to work with something simple for once in my life.)
What I want to get out of this story is writing within constraints. This story could probably be called an aesthetic exercise.
And yet, this story could mean whatever you make of it, couldn't it? For some that watched the show, this could mean a burst of nostalgia, reliving memories with the essence of another beating heart. For those that didn't, I'm trying to write this so you don't have to know the show to understand it. For those, it can be about technology and sentience.
For others it will be about getting over heartache. Or about living with physical disability.
Yet for others it will be about learning to seek meaning. For, you see, the most important truths in our lives can always withstand a little examination.
If you ever find this story, please know: you are special. And you are. Loved.
Enjoy,
Niffler out.
- PROLOGUE -
Sam dove in her chase of the enemy ship. She spun around a chunk of debris, then slammed her overburn. She darted past the enemy ship then rotated on her axis, firing her laser guns. The ship exploded into glowing chunks.
That was a dangerous maneuver on her part, as it oriented her the wrong way for watching where she was going. Indeed, another enemy ship immediately swooped in on her right flank. Sam dodged, angling the nose down and slamming the throttle forward. Red beams flashed just behind her, barely missing her ship.
The g-force crushed her as she accelerated. The corners of her vision started blacking out, but the enemy was still on her tail.
At that moment, a single beam of pure light shot upward from below and pierced the enemy ship right through the center. It blasted apart in a flash of fire and debris.
"See?" Charls' voice came through the radio system. "Now you owe me one."
"No," Sam said, slowing down. "You owe me one less. I think that makes it eleven."
She could see Charles shrugging through his cockpit, as she flew level with him. "Still. One." He said. "You're getting rusty."
"Me? Rusty?" She mocked indignantly. "I'm a downright stellar pilot, I'll have you know. Starlight will be calling any day now."
Charles laughed. "Shameful," He mocked in return. "Seeing as I've already got an official letter asking me to be the president of the organization. It seems leadership runs in the family."
"Alright then, Mr. President. Overburn to Mag-3, then once we engage the next squadron, drop to dogfighting speeds. Free-for-all, take what you can."
They nodded to each other, grinning. Together, they accelerated into the fray and –
"Charles?" came a voice from downstairs.
Charles groaned, leaning back in his cockpit and pulling the throttle back. He glanced apologetically at Sam and seemed to grab something invisible in front of his face. His contour fuzzed and he disappeared.
Sam sighed, removing her own headset, snapping back to dull reality. As the whole house, the game room was a model of perfection: repetition, straight corners, shiny surfaces, perfect whites and blues. A traffic jam of symmetry.
By the time she stretched her legs, Charles was already down in the kitchen, talking with his mom.
She'd been looking forward to some more gametime, but at the same time, she couldn't complain. She already spent more time at Charles' house than she did at her own.
I still have that paper to get back to, she thought. Most researchers were known to be steady. Orderly. Systematic. She preferred bursts of inspiration and sleepless episodes. It wasn't uncommon for her to stretch out her studies into multiple day episodes, followed by a positive period of hibernation. Not necessarily healthy for a human, but her only seventeen years of age still permitted it.
She caught echoes of "meeting" and "your father" from downstairs. And finally, Sam settled on it.
We're not going to argue now, are we? She thought. We're going to be nice to each other. She patted her leg, drew in a deep breath and pushed herself up by her arms. Her right leg protested, shooting pain across her thigh and back. She groaned, steadying herself. So it's not going to be a peaceful day.
She hobbled to her guest room, where she shoved some spare clothes into a backpack. Within ten minutes she was downstairs, limping up to her friend and his mother.
"See you tomorrow at school?" Charles asked ironically.
Sam smiled apologetically. Truth was, they had been schoolmates in their youth, but Sam had surpassed her studies long ago. It had been a good while since she'd stepped in any state-run learning-institutions. With studies done and an exceptional internship under her belt, she had the prospect of a spectacular career. All doors open.
Theoretically.
"See you tomorrow." She said softly, not meeting his eyes.
His mother wished her well, and finding herself outside, Sam wondered where to go.
Her own home was empty. By that, Sam meant the home she grew up in. The home. The one that traditionally smelled of the dog's drooling, and mother's cooking, and the tools of dads who could judge an object's quality just by hefting it and then complained it cost too much. They usually wore long socks and stood with hands clasped behind their backs, as if that were some law hardcoded into the universe's bowels. But Sam's home? It smelled like stress hormones produced by Skype ringtones with a hint of office-grade vanilla perfume sporadically spritzed by a probably very lonely Roomba.
Now, the home-home - that was the one that meant true freedom. It was the first one you got just after you left the home. It let you do all the nifty things like building a massive fort out of blankets and Christmas lights, using bean bags instead of chairs at the dining table, putting RGB lights everywhere, and leaving your socks on the floor as a sign of rebellion. Because no one can chide you in the home-home. It's yours. It's great. It's amazing. Until the dishes start piling up. That does get to be a problem.
And well... Sam just wasn't in the mood for the home-home right then.
She was in the mood for the friend-one-and-a-half-home. That meant that there were still some rules, but you didn't share any of the nasty, murky responsibilities. That was Charls' home. But the friend-one-and-a-half-home switched to half-a-home when the parents showed up. Because a friend was a home. Get it? It made sense. You just had to think in the shower about it.
But unfortunately the friend-one-and-a-half-home seemed to be temporarily offline.
So, what options were left? The café? Or the NextGen? No. They were nice - homely nice - but no room for experiments. And so, the second decision was made.
Sam grabbed her hover board from the front porch, then hobbled for a good while to get her legs clasped to it: left in front, right in the back.
The city of Bubbletown could be described as a melting pot of innovation and progress. Statistically – you couldn't tell if this was a city of robots overrun by humans or the other way around. Hover-cars with sleek designs hummed through the air with minimal noise, scooters fitted with aclivity technology zipped this way and that, and atop the chatter of passers-by – androids and humans alike - there was always music, commercials or news being broadcast through an interconnected speaker system.
As she glided on, some stunned kids pointed at Sam before their parents could snatch their hands away. She saw the visors of androids focusing on her, glinting in the sun with recognition. She also didn't fail to notice others in the scooter-lane giving her a wide berth at stop lights, murmuring. Whispering.
"Skystrike? You sure -"
"Daniel was in the eleventh grade with her -"
"Oooh, the brace. I didn't -"
"Matt was there. He told me, the way she came down from the sky! It was like -"
Some said that fame was a fleeting thing. Well, it had clung to Sam tenaciously. Like the stubborn gunk that builds up in your shower drain when you ignore it for too long.
Beyond the tops of glass-lined, multi-story buildings, stood the proud towers of Robixcorp. The best robotics institution around. For the town's natives, it was a sign of pride to see them every day. To Sam, it seemed they loomed over her, like an omnipresent shadow at the corner of her eyes.
Why don't I leave? Why don't I get out of this town? She imagined this was what a blackspot on your retina felt like. Always twitching your head to see something you were never able to. Always afraid of what's in the darkness. I could get a part-time job in any town I wanted. Well over what I'd need to pay rent and have something to eat.
Yet she kept on moving forward in Buttbletown. Ever on. Annoyingly on.
Sam never used the front entrance of the Botties Pit. Too many unanticipated objects to waddle through. So she waddled in through the back, as usual.
Hella raised her eyebrows at her. "Here again?" that expression seemed to say. Sam shrugged innocently.
Hella was the owner of the Botties Pit. One of the most renowned robots repair shops. Her eyeglasses glinted and her green working overalls rustled softly as she got up from her swivel chair.
"You can take the office in the back," Hella said, gesturing over her shoulder.
"What's wrong with the main one?" Sam asked.
"Obviously, we've got a contest going on." Hella said with a small smile.
Sam hummed to herself curiously. That meant a new hopeful wanted to join the crew by means of fixing a robot singlehandedly, with a twenty-four hours' time limit. She shimmied between two desks and peeked into the main room of the workshop.
It was only then that her world came apart again, like it did so many years ago. The pang of quilt squeezed her heart utterly.
It was a scrawny kid working on a robot that she saw. He seemed to be about fourteen, with short black hair and a white t-shirt with red models.
The kid wasn't the problem. The problem was the robot he was working on - tall and compact, with a cubic design. Sam pursed her lips and turned on the spot, never minding her bad leg.
"Samantha!" Hella called after her. "Hey, Samantha!"
She stomped out of the building, walking much faster than her physique would normally allow.
"Samantha." Hella repeated, trying to console her. "It's just… He chose him. The new kid chose to try and fix Cubix. I can't simply refuse him!"
"He can't be fixed!" Sam snarled, turning. "He can't. We've tried for months. And then we let the other kids try. Don't you remember how many nights we stayed up trying to come up with new theories? Hours upon hours, Hella!" Flashbacks ran through Sam's mind. Weekends that smelled of sweat, frenzy and energy drinks.
"And none of those worked!" Hella retorted. "I'm sorry Sam. I'm really sorry. But you either have to let this go or let other people try-"
"There's nothing – NOTHING – we haven't tried!"
"We don't know that. New perspectives –"
"And what if he decides he wants to take Cubix home? Try a more elaborate plan on fixing him?"
Hella hesitated.
"You would have let him…" Sam realized. She scoffed. "You would have let him."
"Sam…" Hella pleaded. "Cubix has been gathering dust in our garage. That's not right. It's not - frown all you want. But if there's at least one chance, then I'll give it to him."
Sam kept scowling.
"Please. One more chance." Hella said, glancing back at the Botties Pit. With a lowered voice, she continued, "This new kid, his name is Connor, he has a talent for it – for fixing things. His skills, they remind me of what you were capable of doing at your age Sam – Sam!"
That seemed to be the wrong thing to say, because it made Sam limp furiously away. That sentence left something unsaid, without Hella's intention. What you were capable of doing. You're not capable of it anymore. You're broken. Pray that he's not like me, Sam thought. Hella lunged after her, gripping her arm.
"One chance, Sam. I have a feeling about this." Hella said again. "If it doesn't work out, I promise on whatever you want, I won't bring this up again." Her eyes trembled with pleading. Oh, snap, Sam realized, Hella… she really believed. She believed in this new kid. But why? Sam tried to force herself to accept it. She really did. But finally she shook her head.
"When did we start going by feelings Hella?" Sam asked regretfully, her hand still in Hella's grip. "We're scientists. We go by logic, not feelings."
"Then try it. Give it a chance. When a peer review comes in, you don't discard it, even if it's trivial, do you? Well, this one says there's one thing we haven't tried, Sam. Let others have a go. Please. And I promise. Let this unfold and I'll never let anyone touch Cubix ever again."
Sam kept silent, clenching her fists. He's not just another robot. I can't let him go. Cubix is my...
"Come on," Hella said. "I have some donuts in the back. Let's just… have a talk."
I can't let him go.
But Cubix is also the last connection Hella has with her father. That had been what brought them together in the first place. Working on the last robot Hella's father created before the explosion that claimed his life.
This wasn't easy for Hella either, Sam thought. Hella had had an easier time accepting Cubix couldn't be fixed, but she still saw her past staring back at her when she looked at the android. The shadow of a father who worked too much. One doesn't simply picture the grand Professor Nemo lazing about on a couch surrounded by family. One pictures him always tinkering with something. They picture a home that smelled of vanilla.
For Sam it was different: She saw her own failure. It turned out it didn't matter if you finished your studies early in your teens. It doesn't matter if you have diplomas and internships at eighteen. It doesn't matter how many research papers you write. If you can't save your friends, does it all even matter?
In the end, they were burdened by this, Hella and Sam both. She shook her head angrily at the tears of resentment leaking out without permission.
Hella stepped in and wrapped her arms around her. Sam elbowed her way out of the hug, but finally she sighed in resignation.
"Alright." She said angrily. "Alright. But I get to sit in the secret-secret office." That meant she wouldn't get to see any interaction between the new kid and the robot.
Hella nodded happily and gripped her hand going back into the workshop.
It was still a troubled time. After a couple hours of bouncing ideas off of Hela, Sam buried herself in her research. Around early morning, the new kid stumbled in the back of the office. Sam didn't know what he was looking for, but neither did she precisely care.
"Oh… Hey." The new kid said. "Hey, I was just – "
"You don't belong here." Sam said coldly.
"I – I know." New kid said. "I haven't passed the test yet and - "
"I mean, you don't belong here. If you have any respect for what we do, you'd give up. Leave that robot alone."
The kid swallowed hard and scurried away.
Sam clenched her fists and used the anger to spur her into her studies.
The noon came sluggishly, hot and humid, with muffled voices in the background and Sam integrating snippets of code into one of her projects. A timer she'd set told her that New Kid's time was almost up. He hadn't fixed Cubix and Sam had been right.
Slowly, as she watched a problem being debugged, Sam became aware of the commotion in the background. It felt too distinctive to be just a regular conclusion of a failed contest.
And as she limped into the main room, a metallic claw blew its way into the workshop, throwing instruments and tools aside, and wrapping itself across the metallic body of a Weld-n-Fix model android that had been strewn across a table.
The giant claw then pulled the android through the hole it had created, ripping scaffolding apart with its force.
The other Botties were scrambling to get away from the crumbling building. Everyone except the new kid. Connor, Hella had named him.
This Connor, had ran back inside, trying to get Cubix onto a dowel, saving him from being crushed by the crumbling workshop. Which was basically impossible, seeing as the robot weighed ten times the kid's weight, at least.
Sam limped forward to help. Impossible as the task was, she unfortunately agreed. Sam understood. Really understood.
Connor blinked in surprise at seeing her throw herself next to him and start pushing. Then, New Kid nodded slightly, and they pushed together.
Hela was yelling something, but neither of them could hear, they were heaving with all their might, Sam having propped her bad leg against some heavy crates.
The ceiling of the Botties Pit gave an awful creak. Metal on metal, and most of all, metal giving out – the bolts holding the structure in place had snapped. The roof of the giant garage was sliding down on them.
"Cubix, come on!" Connor growled, heaving against the robot.
Then, just like that, everything stopped. Sam slid forward, her forearms hitting cold concrete, while Connor disappeared from her range of vision.
She closed her eyes shut, submissively, accepting it, expecting to be crushed. It wasn't the first time.
And yet… the moment never came. Slowly, she peaked out of one eye. Then, dreadfully she looked up.
What met her was a majestic android, holding up the entire weight of the building's metal scaffolding with a single hand. He was hugging the new kid in his arms. His stereo component slid open and Cubix echoed a single word that crushed Sam's soul to bits.
"Friends." Cubix said.