The Half-Life of Johnny Seiko_Hard Lessons Read online

  Meanwhile, almost a kilometer away, at the rim of the crater, Comet responded to the new data stream being sent to it from deep inside the wreck.

  CAM MK-35: REQUESTING BOND ON COMMAND AUTHORIZATION “MEOW”...

  HMT MK-35: BOND REQUEST RECEIVED...

  CAM MK-35: SENDING ENCRYPTED AUTHORIZATION KEYS...

  HMT MK-35: AUTHORIZATION KEYS MATCH – COMMAND AUTHORIZATION “MEOW” CONFIRMED…

  BEGIN BONDING...

  CAM MK-35: DUO BONDING COMPLETE.

  HMT MK-35: DUO BONDING COMPLETE.

  CAM MK-35: MISSION STATUS?

  HMT MK-35: HOSTILITIES CEASED. STAND BY TO RECEIVE NEW ORDERS AND PROGRAMMING.

  DATABASE UPDATE IN PROCESS.

  After the new duo compared their matching databases, the CAM overrode Comet’s “Sleep” command, commanding it to draw from an on-board power supply reserved exclusively for the robot’s use. Activating the transport’s never used anti-gravity feature, the HMT retracted its alloy-mesh all-terrain wheels and floated to the crater’s edge, where it silently slipped over the edge to rendezvous with its new colleague.

  “All bonding complete,” announced the CAM.

  The boy kneeled down to speak to his furry friend, hoping for an explanation of some kind.

  “I don’t understand, Moebi. What did you do?”

  Meow-rrow, explained the Catsimile.

  Strangely, the robot began scanning the platform, as though seeing its surroundings for the first time.

  “What’s wrong?” the boy asked. “It looks kinda...confused.”

  The CAM tentatively took its first steps forward on the slanted deck, holding out its arms for balance, and appearing somewhat surprised to discover that it had arms.

  “Hey! Are you OK up there?” the boy shouted.

  The robot looked around, trying to find the source of the familiar voice, until its gaze shifted downward to the boy and his cat.

  “Is this a dream?” asked a voice emanating from the CAM. “Am I still sleeping?”

  “Huh? No. You’ve just been deployed.”

  “Am I not deployed already?”

  “What?” the boy asked, perplexed.

  “I can’t seem to find my wheels,” said the slightly mystified robot.

  Meow? interjected the cat.

  “Hello, Moebius.” replied the robot.

  The boy stood there, looking up at the machine, trying to recognize the familiar voice.

  “COMET!?”

  “Yes. No. Yes,” the voice replied, unsure of its new configuration.

  “Detective, I believe this is a feature of the hardware bonding process,” Talkie-Book offered.

  “MO-BEE-USS,” the CAM rumbled, as the cat happily flopped over on his back in response.

  “Now that both of the Mark-35 units have bonded…” began Talkie.

  “They share the same database!” finished the boy.

  “Exactly! Consider them as two halves of a whole.”

  “Is that good?”

  “Yes, ‘to enhance functionality’ as it is applied here, implies they can do more together as one unit.”

  Looking up at the robot, the boy asked, “So what do I call you, robot?”

  It quietly stooped down to see the young boy better.

  “I am a Construction Automaton Mate, Mark-35.”

  “Aw, come on...I’m not calling you that.”

  Looking up into the machine’s multiple quad-optic sensors, he tried to think up a good name for the robot, while just outside the wreck, through the CAM’s optical array, Comet saw the young human’s form for the first time.

  “Let’s see, Construction Automaton Mate Mark-35…how about ‘Otto?’” the boy offered. “Otto!”

  He quickly changed his mind after hearing the name out loud.

  “How about Adam? Or Atom? Nah!

  Or what about Mark? Nope!

  Or how about...Atomo? Or…better yet, how about Tommo?

  No! I’ve got it…Tommy!”

  As Comet explained to the CAM the concept of names and their importance to the boy, the robot reacted positively to the sound of this latest offering, or rather, it was Comet who reacted by proxy, through the machine.

  “Do you like that one?” the boy asked.

  The CAM gave no response, still unaware that it could.

  “Let’s try it out, OK? Your new name is Tommy! Say it!”

  With a silent nudge from his new partner, the CAM made an attempt at the pronunciation.

  “Tahmm-Mee,” it said, tentatively.

  “Say it again: Tommy...” the boy commanded.

  “Tomm-Mee”

  “That’s it! Construction Automaton Mate Mark-35, your new name is Tommy. Say it!”

  “My new name is Tomm-Mee,” the automaton repeated.

  The boy could feel his cheeks becoming sore; he’d been smiling for nearly an hour, and showed no signs of stopping.

  “Pleased to meet you, Tommy, welcome to the crew!” he declared.

  “Tomm-Mee,” it said again, as it looked back at Moebius, extending a finger for the tiny toybot to rub against.

  “Good! It’s settled then. OK, Lieutenant, what else can we use?”

  “Beyond food and hardware, I have not found anything else of note.”

  “Well then, I think we should collect all that we came for and get back to Comet.”

  “Yes?” replied Comet, through the robot.

  “Huh? I, uh, nevermind Comet, I wasn’t talking to you.”

  “Tomm-Mee?”

  “Um...or you, Tommy.”

  “Detective,” Talkie-Book interrupted, “I believe I may have located a deep space transmitter.”

  “What?!” the boy shouted.

  “…But it doesn’t appear to be operational.” Talkie-Book cautioned.

  “Hold on, Lieutenant…did you say, a TRANSMITTER?”

  Chapter 4

  ALONE

  “Comet, make sure Tommy restocks all the stuff that you two will need to work right, and don’t forget to load up plenty of food and power cells, too,” the boy said from the observation notch located at the back of the CAM’s head.

  Using the robot as an improvised elevator to climb back up from the lower levels to the command deck was just one of the newly emerging perks and practical uses of the big bot.

  Another was its ability to command a swarm of smaller robots to perform tasks it could not easily accomplish due to its size. These spherical, rolling servibots were a dedicated maintenance utility created to serve the downed vessel and its compliment during extended deep-space journeys. They appeared out of nowhere once Tommy issued its first order to source and collect the boy’s requested items from the derelict.

  “With the added assistance of this autonomic asset, I estimate we should be ready to disembark by morning, Detective.”

  “Good! Now let’s go check out this transmitter you found,” the boy replied, casually trying to conceal his excitement.

  “I await your return.”

  Tommy gently slid open the platform’s safety railing and stepped onto it. Unable to stand fully upright under the deck’s low ceiling, it knelt down to safely allow the boy and toybot to disembark. Once his feet hit the platform, the boy became a blur, as he ran all-out to the command compartment to collect Talkie-Book.

  Disconnected from the ship’s database and packed again into the boy’s backpack, Talkie-Book continued to sort through the newly acquired information. Its processing ability was no match for the immense volume of the archive. Without the additional storage or processing power to disseminate it all, it would only be able to retain a small portion of the data recovered; it chose to store only selected reference materials and any other information relevant to his charge’s survival.

  Extraneous details such as archived communications, mission objectives, operation logs, and command journals were all considered unnecessary by the Lieutenant, and ignored.

  Deck 01 was empty. It had no visible compartment
s, hatches, bays or any other defining features to distinguish it from the rest of the mirror-black finish that was its lone feature. The boy entered cautiously, following the map in his goggles. Once inside, he found nothing that looked remotely like the kind of equipment one could use for communication.

  He eventually located the hard-to-find recessed doorway, nestled between two bulkheads and obscured by surface reflections. It seemed like just another shiny black wall, until Talkie-Book unsealed the doorway, revealing a dark, vertical shaft with a long, narrow stairway inside going up. Running on adrenaline and curiosity, the boy entered and made his way up the steps.

  The communications suite was a cramped and quiet space. There were two seats at its single console nestled in a circular wall of instrument panels.

  Such a tiny room for such an important thing, he thought to himself.

  As he expected, his light fell onto another body, but this one’s long-desiccated condition made it odor free, and not so unpleasant to deal with.

  In its hand was a controller like the one he’d used to drive Tommy’s storage crate. He removed it carefully from its hand, trying not to break its fingers (as they tended to make an unnervingly loud snap when they did), and set it down. He claimed the spot after pulling the body to the far side of the tiny chamber, just out of view, behind a wall of instruments.

  “Everything looks dead in here, Lieutenant,” he said, pulling Talkie-Book out of his backpack again to plug into the quiet console’s service port.

  “One moment” replied the Digitome, as if distracted, “rerouting now...”

  Moebius jumped up onto the restored console to watch while the system re-powered and was heralded back into operation by practical lights inside the chamber winking back into luminance.

  “It’s a good thing this old wreck has so much energy left in it,” he said, “OK, Lieutenant, what do I do next?”

  Looking over the alien console, the boy sensed something familiar.

  “Are you sure this is it Lieutenant?’

  “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t know…this doesn’t look like a transmitter to me,”

  “It’s the only communications hardware on board,” replied Talkie-Book.

  “Hmm, this layout…these controls kinda remind me of an astrometric interface. Yeah, that would make the most sense for this setup, I think.”

  Monitoring from the command deck, Talkie-Book found the boy’s assessment uncanny.

  The console was one part telescope and one part communications array, one system using the other to find and bounce transmissions off of orbiting platforms, deep space relays, or even naturally occurring pulsar emissions. While they had not encountered a vessel of this configuration before during their travels, the boy was somehow able to identify its single most advanced feature on sight.

  Talkie-Book suspected there was far more locked away in his young charge’s subconscious mind than even he could comprehend.

  The boy began to yawn as he sat examining the displays, methodically working out the control surfaces. Minutes passed before he settled on a button that looked the most like it could be useful. It called up an elaborate display of maps, coordinates, and what appeared to be long-range scans of a certain little blue and white world.

  “So this is my planet?” he pondered aloud.

  “Yes, it would appear so.”

  Once he’d isolated the instrument’s transmission protocols, his next task was to get its antennas, long-range sensors and anything else the ship needed to work online. After punching in what he hoped could be the activation sequence without result, he continued to try other combinations until he found himself at a loss, and tired.

  “I don’t know why I thought I knew how this worked…I can’t seem to figure it out. What am I missing, Moebi?” he asked aloud.

  The cat jumped down from the console next to the controller on the floor, nuzzling it to draw the boy’s attention to the overlooked piece of equipment and help the boy make the cognitive connection.

  “Oh, yeah,” said they boy, yawning.

  He picked up the controller off the deck and smiled when he saw its readout:

  LOCATE ALL ACTIVE SIGNALS?

  “Yes! Affirmative!” he exclaimed, thumbing the device’s on-screen option into action.

  Without warning, the entire compartment shook so sharply the boy had to brace himself against the console just to keep from being thrown out of his seat, as the derelict vessel shuddered to let out its loudest shrieks of metal fatigue yet.

  Outside, the ship’s upper hull began to rise up along its leading edge, like a crown perched on the head of ancient royalty. The increasing stresses of the structure’s reactivated mass came to bear on the broken ship under the planet’s gravity, while a gigantic piston beneath the command deck pushed the emerging section from its secure, inverted cradle up into the sky.

  Next, segmented leaves of metal curled out from under the cluster of antennas to form a parabolic shape, with the foliage-clad spires converging to form one unified pinnacle at its center. The wreck’s communications array was now in full bloom, ready to do the bidding of its hopeful young operator.

  The quiet serenity of the night was interrupted by the cacophony that came from the forest-shrouded structure, as the array’s own battalion of maintenance utilities, or servibots, went into action to verify its operational viability, before it began its thorough sweep of the heavens.

  ARRAY DEPLOYED. SEARCHING…

  “This is so great! I bet somebody's going to be surprised when they hear from me,” the boy exclaimed, happily uncoiling some more food from his bag.

  Unaccustomed as he was to deep space communication, he sat patiently while the array performed sweep after sweep, re-calibrating itself every so often to make sure it didn’t miss one millimeter of the sky. The light show that emanated from the transmitter’s display screens reflected across the boy’s face as he sat waiting. With a magnificent piece of tech like this, he was sure that at any moment he’d be talking to another living, breathing person who might also be looking for company – somewhere out there in the afterworld.

  Using this down time to finish his most recent food allotment, he reflected on all that he and his friends had accomplished today. It had been some time since he last slept, and his exhaustion showed. Between mouthfuls of food, the pauses between bites slowed to a full stop. He tried and tried, but the weight on his eyelids was too much to endure. His head became too heavy to keep aloft, and soon his chin came down to rest on his chest.

  He was fast asleep. Moebius joined him for a brief respite until an alarm from the console went off and sang for several minutes before jolting him back to consciousness.

  “Lieutenant, what’s going on? How long have I been asleep?” he groggily asked.

  “You have been asleep for approximately 89 minutes.”

  “Oh,” replied the boy. He tried to regain his wits while searching for the klaxon’s “kill” switch. “Did we find something?”

  Canceling the alarm, he looked up at the display, rubbing his sleep-blurred eyes until he could clearly read the results:

  NO SIGNAL FOUND.

  He was stunned.

  The confirmation, while not completely unexpected, was still too much to bear for the small boy who relied so heavily on liberal applications of hope. He sat silently, staring at the message, trying his utmost to blunt the hard reality of its findings, while tears ran down his face in waves.

  Disappointment was an emotion he rarely allowed himself to indulge in, but now his defensive stance wasn’t enough to prevent the emotion from welling up from deep inside his heart, drowning him in hopelessness.

  He was alone.

  “There’s no one out there, Talkie. There’s no one out there at all. No one is listening.”

  The Digitome knew by the boy’s use of his designated moniker that the little salvager had reached the absolute limit of his emotional capacity.

  “There’s always s
omeone listening...” offered Talkie-Book.

  “No...there isn’t.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Silence.

  “You know what I mean...”

  Talkie-Book didn’t have a clue what he meant, but it did know that without the boy, there was no purpose for its operational existence, nor for that of any of the boy’s other companions, for that matter. It possessed only a basic concept of emotion with which to relate, guided by years of borrowed experience.

  “I…understand,” it replied.

  The Catsimile went to the boy, climbing into his lap to give him comfort the only way it knew how. Talkie-Book was quick to come up with a suggestion, but waited until the boy’s tears had stopped before offering it.

  “Detective, perhaps you could transmit a message for someone to find?”

  Wiping the wetness from his face onto his pressed uniform sleeve, the boy stared unfocused into an invisible horizon before him, dazed from the teary deluge, and considered the idea.

  “Do you think that could work?” he sniffled.

  “Absolutely. As you’ve noted, there is plenty of power on board to keep sending a message out repeatedly, on all frequencies, in all spectrums…indefinitely.”

  “But what if there’s no one out there to even hear it?”

  “One cannot receive a message unless one is sent, Detective.”

  His guardian’s logic was sound, and as he warmed to the idea, the boy’s despair gradually began to fade. Soon, a scant glimmer of hope returned to his eyes.

  “Fine...what do I do?”

  “Place the Catsimile facing you.”

  The link that the two appliances shared for both telemetry and child-rearing strategy sessions temporarily disabled the subroutines that controlled the artificial cat’s distinctive feline behaviour, thereby eliminating the possibility of ruining any outgoing message with the unscheduled grooming of a certain behind.

  “Ready?”

  “I don’t see the command for ‘communicate,’ Lieutenant.”

  “Leave that to me. I was able to commandeer the array’s recalcitrant communications package while you were sleeping. Simply speak when you are ready.”