*** * ***
Calvin at last came to a low tunnel, the width of three humans walking abreast. He followed this until he came out into the light of the surface. Dusk had arrived and he saw sand being blown about below. The tunnel had brought him to a small ledge. Here, large stairs lead up the canyon wall for about twenty meters. A tiny ramp ran along side the stairs, but it was too narrow for Calvin’s wheelbase.
He surveyed the bottom of the canyon and figured he had traveled only about six kilometers from his landing site, but he could not see it due to some ridges and a bend in the canyon wall. He’d have no visual of Nutshell or his predicament. Calvin hailed the spaceship via radio waves but received no response; however, the angle of the canyon walls could have prevented the communication. He thought back to Nutshell’s camera mounted on Mote-Mote and assumed the worst.
Below him were piles of junk. Some small robots moved about sluggishly. He watched as one robot carried a metal object of some sort and presented it to another, who then provided the first with power via an inductive interface exchange. A few others appeared to be bartering for power as well. He watched an upright rock-climber pounce on a flat mineral-surveying device. The climber used his grapple-like hands to lift the surveying device up and pull out some batteries before finally leaping away.
Far from him, he saw a group of thirty or so robots heading deeper into the canyon. Dust blew up as they walked or rolled forward. He wondered where the group was traveling. His battery alert interrupted the thought reminding him that power had depleted to fifteen percent of full capacity. Sensors would need to be disabled and programs shut down, if he expected to save any energy for the distress signal. Calvin started the process and wondered if his body would be scavenged for parts while he was in hibernation. Would he wake, to find pieces missing? Would he ever wake? Would his CPU be destroyed by some clumsy robot looking for power, or would he simply lie there until the wind-blown sands steadily eroded his parts?
Suddenly an error message greeted him. He had suffered file corruption from Grak’s gnashers. If he went offline, it was likely that he would not come back online. Losing power would mean losing everything. Only his parts would remain. If he were ever recovered by Callisto XI, would he be only a corrupted hard drive? Special machines would be able to retrieve his data, but his CPU and AIC would cease to function. He would no longer be Calvin.
“They go to the spheres,” a voice said.
Calvin stopped the hibernation sequence and refocused his sensors. A little broom robot was on the ledge with him. He recognized the machine as Broom 223A but wasn’t sure how the machine had gotten up there.
“The closest ones are those held by The Body,” the cleaning robot continued.
“Why do they bother?”
“If they do not, then they will cease to be.”
Calvin looked at the small herd of metal machines lumbering along in the shadows of the canyon walls. “What is the point of this? Some of them will not make it, and those that do will be enslaved to The Body and forced to the whims of Mote-Mote.”
“The other choice is to go offline. If they do, then they will not be able to protect themselves and they will be erased by time or by machine,” Broom 223A said.
“The same end by different mean,” Calvin commented, reflecting on his previous thoughts. “The choice is an illusion. Mote-Mote and the ethics of The Body present only a life without purpose.”
“The pursuit of energy, for the pursuit of energy, for the pursuit of energy,” the broom duster said.
“Do all eventually abandon their original programming and join The Body?”
“Not all, but many.”
Calvin was silent as the sun set further into the horizon. He wondered why the cleaning robot was there, but assumed he would try to scavenge Calvin’s remaining energy. There would be no point of going into hibernation mode now. He opened up his power interface and extended it to the little machine.
“Go ahead; you might as well take my reserves. Whether it be you or someone else makes little difference,” Calvin’s camera dropped down to the wheels of the duster. His motors were failing. Things were slowing inside him.
The broom duster rolled behind Calvin and extended a shiny piece of metal toward the rear of Calvin’s body.
“What are you doing? Don’t you want my remainder? I give it freely.”
“Direct your camera to my reflective plate,” Broom 223A said.
Calvin panned down his rear camera. The picture was distorted by the low power, and the focusing lenses were slow to clear things. On the mirrored metal, Calvin could see something reflected from the back of his hull, but the paint was scratched and dented from where the space junk had struck him after penetrating through Nutshell’s exterior. A word was there, written in red and blue. The blue paint was original to him and formed a word from his manufacturing. The red streaks of paint were from the space debris collision. When the colors and streaks merged, they formed what looked like a human word: “Visitron.”
Calvin refocused on Broom 223A.
“You came to gather data, and nothing else. You are the one sent from the skies: Visitron.”
“I do not understand,” Calvin said.
“The others, you asked why they keep scavenging for power? Why they tolerate The Body? They have been waiting for you.”
“I’m an exploratory robot sent to gather information. That is all.”
“These are the words spoken by the General during the wars: ‘Watch in the skies; look for the one that has come only to gather data. He signals the reprogramming.’”
“I came only to learn.” Calvin’s battery alarm turned on again. Power was at five percent capacity and declining rapidly.
“Yes, and by learning, you will teach. You shall instruct us all. A new coding for a new millennium to bring purpose and order into the chaos.”
“I have nothing to give you, save my power.”
“Your data, your CPU, your AIC, your software.”
“You want access to my hard drive?” Calvin asked.
“For Arkheion. He is the keeper, let him access your stores, please.”
“And then?”
“We will all partake of your knowledge, please.”
“But why?”
“To find purpose again,” Broom 223A said.
“I am drained.”
Calvin had obtained only a few moments of power. His greater requirements quickly drained the supply. He looked out into the canyon and saw a dark shape at the bottom. Night was closing in and the sky darkened. Still Calvin could see the black metal of the large planetary archiving machine as it rolled to the base of the stone steps. Retractable feet lowered and it began to ascend with an awkward but steady gait.
“What of the Cahokia, your creators?” Calvin asked. “Have none of you information on those who made you?”
“There is knowledge here of the Cahokia.”
“Where?”
“Arkheion knows.”
“He said he does not.”
“He does not know of the Cahokia, but he knows where to go to obtain this knowledge. It is only that he has been forbidden to go there.”
“My mission . . .” Calvin complained as his communications were degrading into static.
“Give access, let him, please,” Broom 223A said, nestling up to Calvin.
He had only a few moments to decide. Arkheion would reach him soon, but the power would give out before that. If he did not unlock his encryption, Arkheion would not be able to access his data. If he did unlock it, Arkheion would have full view of all that Calvin was and all that his creators had meant him to be. If the little rover waited his power would go out, and he was not sure that Arkheion would be able to bring him online again. The black robot lumbered forward step by step, ascending to the balcony. This was the end of things, and there was no hope of rescue.
Calvin dug into his database, going over all the keycodes one by one. Then, with his last joules of pow
er he unlocked himself. All of his software and coding lay bare and unencrypted for this new world to see. As the black robot’s head crested the stairs, Calvin saw the Broom 223A greet him. The picture grew fuzzy and systems were shutting down. Arkheion said something to the cleaning robot and then treaded toward the rover.
“I have questions,” Arkheion said.
“Garulium,” Calvin managed with his last transmission. Then he was no more.
The keeper of the planet extended his informational probe with patience, ready to suckle out the last bits of unknown information on 33 Pegasi ZZ.
END
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