Page 41 of Dustwalker

All bots had lost something in the Blackout, had lost parts of themselves that couldn’t be replaced. It was damage that couldn’t be repaired at places like this, damage that could wreak subtle havoc on a bot’s core programming.

Wasn’t that similar to the mental fragility of humans? Ronin had seen it firsthand in the Dust; humans, especially in stressful situations, often shattered.

What hidden damage had Lara suffered? What internal scars did she carry?

The chamber door closed, sealing Ronin inside. It was utterly silent until the synthesizer’s motors engaged, moving the scanning arms on either side of him. Their lights flickered on. Their blue glow, a welcome change from the harsh white dominating this place, reminded him of Lara’s eyes as the arms encircled him.

Though both bots and humans were products of the Creators, their differences were many. So why did synths, when fully repaired and maintained, look and move so much like humans? Was it simply an aesthetic that appealed to the eye of their makers?

Or did their similarities actually extend far beyond their appearances?

The scanners retracted, replaced by numerous fabrication arms. The synthesizer shifted to full operation, emitting a high whine. The small arms soldered delicate wires into the neural network on his casing, while the large ones, moving slowly, knitted synthetic skin over the wiring.

Though perfection was impossible, synths seemed the closest to it of all intelligent beings. Why, then, was a human so interesting to him? Why were her flaws more alluring, her imperfections more enticing?

Ronin closed his eyes, reducing his vision to the faint, brown-red glow filtering through his eyelids. His true programming seemed simultaneously so close and so terribly far away. Pushing aside his sensory inputs, he delved into his memory core, searching for the missing piece that would unlock what he’d lost.

When he stumbled upon the memory of a shack on the edge of the road with a red-haired woman dancing within, he stopped.

And he played it over and over again.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The afternoon dragged on for Lara. She was accustomed to toiling from dawn to dusk on most days; this idleness was torture.

She took another hot shower, scrubbing her hair, body, and teeth. Then, despite Ronin having told her not to be wasteful, she stood under the falling water for at least fifteen minutes, letting it melt away her aches. How would she ever be able to return to quick washes with frigid water from the pump again?

After stepping out of the tub and drying off, she dressed in her own clothes. Their smell reminded her of her old life, which was familiar even if it hadn’t been good. And that familiarity grounded her. She didn’t know if she’d ever feel like she belonged in Ronin’s world.

Returning to her room, she placed Ronin’s shirt in the dresser’s top drawer, wondering if he’d been joking about people filling these things with clothing. Why would someone need so many clothes?

Lara explored the other upstairs rooms. They were similar to hers, with beds and dressers but no decorations. The room closest to hers had pale blue walls instead of the white in rest of the house. It was the little differences, like the way her bedding was crumpled and the trinkets atop the dresser, that made her bedroom feel inviting. Everything else felt too bare, too untouched, too…cold.

She stopped in the doorway of Ronin’s room and stared inside, oddly hesitant to enter.

If he didn’t want you to go in, he would’ve closed the door.

Besides, he was a bot, so it wasn’t like he cared about privacy, right?

Lara crossed the threshold and swept her gaze around the room. His bed was perfectly made, with squared corners and not so much as a wrinkle in sight.

That made sense. Ronin didn’t sleep.

But did he ever sit or lie down on the bed? He’d been sitting in a chair while he’d repaired her boot this morning. Surely, he didn’t just stand stiff as a board every moment he spent in this room.

What did he do to keep himself occupied? Did he just stare blankly at the walls, or did he think about…

No. Not going there right now.

After the space he’d given her last night, after his apology, it felt wrong to come in here without his permission…

But what could he possibly have that he wouldn’t want her to see, anyway? It wasn’t like bots kept things for sentimental value. Hell, many humans didn’t even do that. Most people only cared about things relating to survival—food and drink, tools, warmth and shelter. Though their specific needs were different, bots operated the same way.

Her attention settled on a large chest sitting at the foot of the bed, with several tools, brushes, and narrow rods laid atop it. Amongst those items was the gun he’d been holding when he burst into the toilet room last night after hearing her scream.

Lara stared at the dull black gun. Her heart thumped. If she’d had one that night…

I could have…