Usu (4 page)

Rain only glimpsed at his worn but suspectly clean display for a moment. “Rain hasn’t really been outside before, but is pretty sure that’s here!”

Choking briefly at her enthusiasm, Modbot gave his most gleeful reply. “Oh Christ, do you have any idea what Utah is like now?! It’s—well, the same as it always was; desert, and not the good kind!” He was hiding his fear of deserts rather well for someone who just yelled in terror about it, when he took a sip of lubricative oil and wiped some purely dramatic sweat off his forehead.

Fumbling hands and frustrated whispers, a secret most would fear.

But instead, a gift.

Small and fragile, not unlike herself, a stuffed rabbit was to be my boon.

I held them both close, she didn’t understand, and somewhere inside, I hoped she never would.

As far as mountainous end-of-days-we’re-all-going-to-die structures went, Colony A59 ranked rather well during its peak, if only because all of the municipal rating sheets had long since been used as a toiletry solution by the more desperate residents. Self-approval ratings had at all times been at an all time high, with not even one council member declaring themselves fit for molecular disassembly. Indeed, Colony A59 was almost as highly ranked as its namesake, coming in just behind 'David’s Washing Machine' when it came to places to survive in a world whose atmosphere had thinned so drastically that oxygen was a commodity.

Few saw it coming, fewer still listened. Mother nature no longer intended to nurture a doomed race, and with them everything withered until you couldn’t find a blade of grass or a speck of algae. The only things remaining of once-proud humanity were their shelters and their artificial slaves, most unable to comprehend the freedom they inherited afterwards. Yet, in time settlements grew, teachings emerged, and the creatures created to serve under mankind had all but replaced them.

Modbot and Rain were just two examples. Modbot, built to serve any need, and Rain, a prototype made to ease the broken hearts of those who lost their real children to the hardships of a dying world.

However, much like real children, Rain lacked the delicate restraint necessary to
not
throw Usu up and down into the ceiling as she merrily walked along familiar corridors, now coated in the ash of bones.

“Why is a big strong shinything like you afraid of deserts anyway?” muttered Rain as she collected Usu’s corpse from the thirtieth ceiling fist-pump in one half-hour.

“Listen girl, firstly it’s Modbot. The shine takes effort, I thank you again for noticing, but my eyes are up here!” Clearing his imaginary throat before continuing onward, “As for deserts, they’re dreadful things! Hot enough in the day to boil your oil, cold enough at night to seize your gears. Worse yet, in cleaning mode I’m likely to recognise the whole thing as 'dusty' and be stuck cleaning
that up
for a few more centuries!” He grabbed his chest to calm an equally imaginary heart. “Yet I know we―or at least I―must endure. The closest chronicle is Old Francisco, built around the entirety of the Golden Gate Bridge.”

Rain, notably as absent minded as Usu was about the current era, followed up with the rather logical question, “Chronicle? You want to visit a book?”

Modbot sighed once more at the fact she wasn’t a real little girl he could strangle, and instead answered, “No no, Chronicles are… are… they’re like this but made up of things like us. There’s probably some form of transport available from them, at least I hope so; I never did visit the one in New Jersey. That place, lass, has a history of filth not even I could clean up.”

You, dear reader, already robbed of whatever time and money you used to get this far, would likely be questioning the choice of 'Old' Francisco as opposed to the more historically ironic 'Sans' right about now. Allow your narrator to elaborate that there was indeed a period where the name did bear a startling resemblance to that; unfortunately that period was marred by most of the creative robots not having committed accidentally assisted suicide. They had, in confused honour of their missing masters, chosen 'Comic Sans Francisco'. This name lasted for an entire week before the mass (but clearly accidental) suicides adjusted things appropriately. It’s suspected one or two creative robots may still be functioning, mysteriously appearing coffee foam designs are proof enough of that, but the likelihood of them trying to name a city after a font again is… highly unlikely.

Like two gears clicking into motion, Rain placed Usu on the floor near her time-tattered feet and, summoning the guile one would expect from anything above a goldfish, exclaimed, “You want to go outside?!” Her eyes made mechanical sounds that defied her human image as they expanded in dilation.

“Well, yes. I’ve got a few more hundred years left and might just manage to clean out a bistro or two in that time, and this little guy, he seems to really like junkyards. Probably stays near one where we positively did not try to murder each other, and by each other I may mean just him.”

Sounding more nostalgic than her makings would confess, Rain replied, “Snow doesn’t like junkyards, he just didn’t have a choice. Sometimes he’d smile when talking about them thou―” Rain’s goldfish senses awakened once again to interrupt herself. “You want to take him with you? Boo! Snow is not going anywhere without Rain! Boo Modshiny, boo!”

Usu, had been standing between the two for some time now, left largely to wonder how a conversation about him, and furthermore, surrounding him, managed to completely ignore his presence, input, and general existence. Of course, not possessing a mouth, speaker system, or means of communication other than bouncing hysterically―which he was now doing in earnest―were probably primary culprits.

“Shush, shush you, I’ll check your danger diaper in a moment,” Modbot said, dismissing Usu’s
clamour
for existential recognition. “More importantly, I think we need to get you out of this mistaken identity cliché. You see, girl,” turning to face Rain once more. “It appears you’re mistaking our surprisingly squishy little rabbit robot here for an
actual live human
. Allow me to remind you that his name, Usu, is rather poorly stitched into his leg. Oh, and I suppose all living creatures being dead, most notably here
humans
, for the last three-hundred years, well that might be important as well.” Modbot had seized a logical victory, one no one could argue against, one that made perfect sens―

“Boo!” Retorted Rain, in a surprisingly effective one-word maneuver.

‘“No no, you can’t just shout 'Boo!' every time you don’t like something; that isn’t debate, and I’d wager it isn’t even a good haunted house substitute coming from you.”

Grabbing Usu with both hands and holding him close to her chest, Rain spun in a circle and when she next faced Modbot she firmly declared, “They’re the same! I know he doesn’t feel like Snow, and he doesn’t smack me on the head nearly as much, but he’s the same. Usu is the dolly Rain made for Snow, but… Usu didn’t move back then. I think so at least, it hurts a little to remember.”

“Gods girl, it’s no wonder they made so few of your kind. You really believe the words coming out of your mouth don’t you?” Exasperated, Modbot continued, “Ah, fine. I’m the only one here with a real objective, even if it was programmed into me by sadists, so I’ll be off to that absolutely lovely desert boiling around us.” Leaning in close to Usu he mumbled, “It’s been fun, or something like it at least,” before giving him what could only be considered a 'good luck' flick to the forehead.

Fleeting moments make good postcards, but this post-apocalyptic era had little need for them, or mailmen for that matter. All it took were those moments for Modbot to be gone, a noticeable clank of the airlock for confirmation. Usu didn’t know if he had found his place, or just lost it. He only knew that the hands that cradled him and the eyes that seemed to cherish him were important and more than just a piece in the puzzle.

Time, from that moment forward, seemed to stand still; Rain would spend days telling him about all the things she had imagined they could do when they met again, but every time she tried to recall things they had already done together, a pain seemed to warp her small frame. Sometimes she would abruptly pause for hours, frozen in place, and it was those hours when Usu truly felt alone. A feeling he had never felt before leaving his walled-off world at the provocation of a poorly written bit of plot involving explosive ordinance; why now did he feel it? Why was a desperate war being waged within him? Feelings were fighting to the surface. Emotions long lost and memories more important than their poor use of foreshadowing would suggest.

The days they spent together seemed to move painfully fast. Games like 'See How Hard Snow Can Fly Into The Ceiling' broken by that strange, sudden stillness about her, each time robbing her of a small but precious moment. Usu would shake her body, pull her limp arms, but only time―that very same beast that took her from him―would bring back this sweet, accidentally violent on purpose girl.

Soon, Usu had regained enough memories, or at least their impressions, to understand that Rain was far from well, that even the shadows in his memory would not play such a cruel joke.

His mind cleared for an instant one day when she stood suspended in one such moment of stillness, and he finally grasped the fear assailing him, only to wish away the truth revealed. Rain was not simply unwell.

She was dying.

She lost another one today, another moment to oblivion.

Our first encounter, a smile to hide what was no longer within her.

Now she holds a diary, maybe something like this.

But with happier thoughts I hope, an ever more endearing refrain.

She doesn’t deserve this, I would take it all if I could.

And if any Gods are listening, in time, I will.

Death’s meaning had become blurred in a world where, by the grace of an anorexic atmosphere, nothing was rightfully alive anymore in the first place. Even more so, the 'life' of an android in such a world shouldn't have held any weight, and it shouldn't have meant anything to anyone, but one did. Her survival was paramount to one, and that very desire for it was the only thing strong enough to bind a soul to a world that had long since rejected its own creations.

Usu had realised he was unnatural for some time now; it didn’t take a girl joyously slamming him into random objects to grant that perspective, nor did it take the identity crisis of being called by a name clearly different from what he had sewn into him. It was seeing Rain slowly fall apart which latched onto the emptiness inside him, and suddenly, he wanted to save her more than anything. Yet, as fate would have it, stuffed rabbits are not blessed with especially high technical skill-sets, despite what an inflated
CV
might insist on telling you.

Scouring the library produced little, mostly because of there not being one at all, but at least partially because what he was looking for wasn’t an answer just any tome could contain. Androids differed from robots deeply; whereas one was built to slave away in a human’s stead, the others were built to replace them entirely. Comfort for souls in solitude. But as with many things, the success of their design brought about their own demise. Mankind rejected the false life, despised the empathetic machinations, and even in her era of origin Rain was one of the only androids to survive. Mass-butchering had been a distracting carnival of hate to allow humans to briefly ignore what awaited them. They could finally blame someone other than themselves, they could curse someone other than their gods, and they could kill beings capable of profound emotion yet bound to not fight back.

These memories came back to Usu in bits, pieces, and the occasional trolley to the head. The trolley was usually Rain slamming him onto something and then immediately hugging him, an act so lacking in malice that most would gladly receive lasting brain damage to endure. She had good reasons most of the time, often preempting such an experience with “Bunnycoaster! Whooosh―Wall!” or “Flyyyyyyy!”. And yes, she pronounced the extra y’s. All of them.

Her spirits certainly weren’t lacking; she’d waited hundreds of years for anything close to this, after all. Rain spoke from her heart or didn’t speak at all. This policy somewhat contrasted with Usu’s policy of having no mouth, something that was starting to cause him an awful lot more trouble than when all he had to worry about were weather conditions. Still, he knew the answer to saving her wasn’t in the colony; they’d spent a week there and he’d found about as much useful information as a spice merchant’s thesis on water-boarding.

Usu needed to get answers, to get Rain checked before her time stopped again, or worse still, his fears made flesh at the behest of eternity’s whims.

With as little as he knew about the world as it was, he could only rely on Modbot, or at least his shadow. He’d help, he knew he would; he’d moan about it a lot, but he’d still do it.

Now, explaining the need to travel to Rain was the real challenge at paw. He hadn’t had much success explaining the lack of necessity in putting ribbons around every object in order to 'Loop of pretty!' them. Or at least that’s what his every limb―now having a ribbon attached―would claim. But this time! This time he was marginally more prepared. He had in his possession both a permanent marker, a large white-board, and one seat facing it. He’d chosen an old AV club room in the school district, pubescent smells thankfully absent.

After much animated coaxing, Usu motioned her into the room where his plan was carefully scribbled out.

“You want me to go in there? Okay, Snow but…” she said, looking down at her bare feet to gather determination. “If this isn’t ending in a cuddle, Rain is going to give you one anyway!” Her affectionate protest largely ignored, she came in and glanced to the upside-down bucket that substituted a proper chair. Preparations had been perfect up to this point, minus Rain putting him on the seat instead, placing the entire white-board on his lap, and insisting he 'paint her like one of his French girls'.