Page 9

Chapter nine

Simon

Simon helped Nora as she filled several containers with water to the top, opening a spigot at the bottom of a rain catch where it collected from gutters above. As he watched her lift the heavy jugs, he had to admit Nora was strong. She has to be. After her evasion of answering how far away others were, he deduced that she really was doing everything on her own.

He stepped in line and handed the filled jugs to her. I can’t just let her do all the work. Then he pulled the little cart for her, before she could grab the handle, as they walked back from the garden area. “I’ll take that.”

Nora blinked rapidly. “Oh. Alright. Just this way back to the front of the house.”

Each new thing he saw in this new world led to new questions. “Do they not have running water anymore?”

Nora shook her head, walking next to him. “Like what the pipes used to be for? No. The town still has some. We pay for water there if we can’t get enough out here, but no services this far out.”

She pointed to the roofline of the house. “Luckily only ran out during a drought a year or so ago. I put extra gutters on after that to collect and haven’t had a problem since.”

After they were close to the front of the house, Nora got out a plastic washtub. “After we wash up I’ll use the water and put it in the garden. We waste nothing here.”

Simon watched Nora, again, lift the heavy jugs. The water ran from the small tanks through a siphon and a small black box up high before it poured in the tub, a much clearer color than it started. He watched the water come down in wonder. Life is so much harder now than it was before. His vision clouded as he tried picturing his old mistress doing any of these tasks. A dark exhale forced itself out. She would rather die. A scornful expression came across his lips.

Nora was breathing heavy from carrying the water. “This box here filters it a bit. The rain has junk in it. I’d usually run it through a few times and then boil it if we were drinking it, but for a bath and the plants this is good enough.”

Tilly came up, holding a little basket with eggs close to her chest. Her jaw jutted out. “Mama, I’m hungry.”

Nora turned away from the hose. “Oh right. I forgot. This can wait. I’ll make you some food now.”

She started to put the hose down but Simon reached for it, taking it gently from her hands. “I will continue this for you.”

A sharp intake of breath came from Nora. “Oh, that’s great, thanks. But won’t water hurt you . . . ?”

He shook his head, amused at her concern. “My critical components are waterproof, and that casing is still intact.”

Nora beamed. “Well that’s great then. Just great.”

Simon shifted his gaze away from the sight, not understanding why the sight of her face grinning like that made him feel so uncomfortable.

Nora and Tilly walked into the house and Simon stayed there, with his thoughts and the dust, as he continued purifying and filling up the small washtub.

He ran the water through the filter a second time, despite Nora saying it looked fine, unhappy that it was still cloudy. Helping like this was such a small thing to make her so happy. How was she living her life before that even these small acts warranted such thanks? She is struggling. Simon shifted his feet in the dust.

They are struggling. The thought sobered him. They are not . . . A frown crossed his face. His old mistress would have sneered in disdain and refused to even step one foot in this yard, let alone do any of the tasks Nora had shown him that she did for her daily chores.

He reached out to examine the water. Maybe that’s why I liked Nora’s little tour. His hands clenched tighter on the hose as he banished his old mistress’s hated image from his mind. I have no master now.

He could hear the two females talking from the kitchen inside. “How many eggs?” Came Nora’s soft drawl.

“I got three.”

“Okay, go get a few potatoes and we’ll have real food this morning instead of the bars.”

Simon turned back to the water and put his fingers in while Tilly skipped out of the house and to the garden. It is just simple water . His sensors calibrated even further, fine-tuning to the sensation as he ran his fingers through it, watching it drip off his hand and onto the still wet dirt below.

He stooped down to the ground and picked up a handful of earth, running the dirt through his fingers, assessing it carefully. Simon was not programmed for an in-depth analysis, not in actuality, but there were enough sensors in his fingers to test components of materials so that he could get a vague idea. This function was originally meant to make him more adept at repairing machinery.

He also examined the ground, bending down. In addition to the worms, trying their best, there still were bugs here and there. Ants ran underfoot. He moved the clay soil with his silicone booted shoe and rolled a bit of mud in his palm. There are traces of radioactive decay. He tilted his head toward the ground, thinking, brow furrowed in concentration. There must have been some fallout that landed here long ago. Nothing was within dangerous levels, however, but it would explain the lack of vegetation in the area. It took time for the land to recover from things like that.

With the tub now full, Simon stiffly walked away to circle the house. He poked his head in the kitchen, through the cracked open front door, observing Nora and Tilly splitting the meal. “The water is done. I will be cleaning myself on the other side of the house while you bathe so you have privacy.”

Nora had a forkful of egg in her hand. “Oh, okay. Thanks Simon.”

Simon gently closed the door and walked around the house until he settled down in a patch of sunlight to inspect himself carefully. He placed a large tub of water to his side that he’d carried with him.

All his internal inspection and calibrations were done, but this was the first time he was able to visually assess his body and the damage to his silicone skin exterior. After peeling off the shirt he wore, and his external jumpsuit, he inspected his whole body in the sunlight.

The sun, now out and rapidly drying the rain puddles still left, reflected off his metal parts. Everything looks relatively intact. He was both impressed and relieved. His entire body was in remarkably good shape, but then again, he was a state of the art model when he was put together. Even plastic after a few hundred years still appeared relatively the same, so he shouldn’t be surprised at his condition.

Simon smiled. But still, I am. It was one thing to know that he was well made, another to see that time had not destroyed him as much as he feared.

Simon examined his hands in wonder. They were covered in plastic when he held his manual all those years, and as a result the silicone there was pristine. Humans made me. Futuristic technology of its time. Across the yard stood half-burned buildings that surrounded Nora’s relatively intact home. And now, over one hundred years later, they’re back to no running water and . . . poverty.

He cleaned out a few of his joints, peeling back the silicone covering and scraping out the old oils. It was easier now in the daylight to see what he had missed in the lantern light. He could also see the areas on his connections that Nora had tried to clean. She was a bit too abrasive in spots, truth be told, and a few connectors were scratched where she’d tried to get the rust off the wiring. No matter. It is all still functional. Simon was pleased. I’m in better shape than I could have hoped for, considering the circumstances.

His appearance aside, this whole day was full of surprises for him. When had his tasks ever been to hunt for worms? Or weeding? Such mundane and random tasks. The last time he remembered handling any plants was when his old mistress ordered him to go buy flowers to present her with every week, and those were pre-cut roses with the thorns scraped off.

Simon frowned as he resealed his joints. I don’t want to think about her anymore. His thoughts unwillingly kept returning to her as he made comparisons with how Nora lived now. She truly doesn’t matter. Besides, if Nora had the dates accurate, his old mistress had probably been dead for over one hundred years now. He found himself getting agitated and closed his eyes in the desert sun, reaching for calm. Good riddance .

Simon leaned back against the broken stucco siding. One hundred and fifty years . . . He closed his eyes and breathed in, pollution on his tongue. The air was clearer today than when he first awakened, the rain helping to temper the swirling dust.

He narrowed his eyes. I wonder . . . Here, outside and alone, he tried again to uplink to any electrical signals. He was hopeful for a connection now that it was no longer raining.

Even after straining his senses until his processor became overheated, everything still came up mostly blank. He closed his eyes again as his internals cooled off. Nothing anywhere. This world makes no sense. He shook his head. There might be some activity, far away, but nowhere in range.

A little tickle also played at the edge of his receptors, a vague sense of something flying overhead. But the sky above, other than being a more muted blue due to the dust circling, was empty. Even that little bit he felt could be a mirage made from hope, or remnant static charges from the recent storm.

He stopped trying so hard, resting those circuits as he moved on to finish inspecting his skin. This is what I have to work with right now. He slowly closed his fists. It will have to do.

The bit of missing silicone on his neck was easily covered by that bandana Nora had made him. That, plus the shirt, meant none of his circuitry would be exposed. He could pass for one of them. One of the humans. Oh, the irony. A sardonic smile came to his lips. In these times I can blend in with them . He had enough practice mimicking their breathing patterns and small movements, instead of standing perfectly still. I can pretend to be one of them.

He shook his head and grinned out into the desert as he also felt for and reconfirmed that he had his free will . Not only pretend to be one of them—I can truly do anything.