Syn shook her head and jabbed a finger toward the unmoving bot next to her. “But then where did it come from?” She had wanted to say, and why have you been lying to me? But she wasn’t certain, and the possibility of driving Blip away frightened her. That had always been a real fear. The only other living thing. The only other thing on the ship with a voice. He wasn’t human, but he talked. He was her friend. And she was always scared of losing him. If he was gone, then she’d be alone.
“I don’t know. Maybe there’s a storage bay in one of the towers. I’ll start looking. I’ll tell you if I find anything.”
“Please…” she started.
He sighed—a sound she hated.
Syn paused before she retorted. Perhaps he was telling the truth. She so wanted him to be telling the truth. And if so, this had to be affecting him as well. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to discover an exact copy of yourself after thinking you were the only one. She patted Blip’s shell, “That’s fine. Take your time.”
He would get to the bottom of it, she knew that. He was the fastest thing in the ship. He could solve anything—access anything. If there was a secret on the ship, he’d figure it out. Syn nodded, sighed in relief, and then rubbed Eku behind her ears, running her fingers through the cat’s thick fur.
She tapped its shell. Another living voice like Blip. Another friend. Syn allowed a small smile at the hope. “Can we fix him?” Syn asked.
“Get a mover bot. Take it somewhere I can analyze it.”
Syn nodded. “The garage?” The garage was her own personal workshop. There she could do some of her own analysis.
“Fine,” Blip said.
Give him time, she thought. Trust him. And at the same time, far back in her mind, why are you trying so hard to convince yourself?
She held up her hand with the resting red eye-bot. “Okay, little one. Let’s get you fixed up.” With an eye on Blip’s fallen twin, she thought, and let’s figure you out.
2
THE WORKBENCH
“Once you grow past Mommy and Daddy coming running when you’re hurt, you’re really on your own. You’re alone, and there’s no one to help you.”
The large garage door slid back into the ceiling, and the lights in the workshop flickered on to reveal a large metallic room with benches all around. Broken bots, components, and wires cluttered every space. In the center of the workroom, a large canvas lay draped over a vehicle, hiding it from view and elements.
Syn sauntered in, kicking at piles in her way until she reached the back counter and plunked the red eye-bot down. “Give me a second.”
Behind her, Blip motioned at the various worker bots following him, and the silver spheres lifted the quiet shell of the fallen companion bot onto one of the wider workbenches near the entrance.
Syn gripped the screwdriver closest to her and hissed through tight teeth, “My ship. My Olorun.” Her own words startled her—had she spoken aloud? She checked herself—Blip’s hearing was powerful.
She tapped the screwdriver against the tabletop. How could there be another companion bot anywhere on this ship? Especially from the needle? She had played up there over and over and over! They had explored every nook possible. If it was her world, it was coming unraveled, and she was scared as to what might fall loose from the seams.
The other bots assisting settled the white shell of Blip’s twin on the metal workbench as Syn nodded and whispered, “Thanks.”
Blip dared, still confused, “I don’t think he’ll work again.”
Again, she insisted, “I want answers.” She dusted the bot’s surface. A chunk of grime resisted, and she leaned in, scrubbing at the spot with a dirty towel. A pang of empathy tugged at her. How must Blip be feeling? How bizarre this must be for him? To encounter his twin? Syn wondered how she would react if she woke up to discover an exact duplicate of herself. She shivered at the thought and pushed it from her mind.
“I’m trying to find them,” he muttered. “I’m resilient, but I don’t think I could survive a deadfall drop like what he experienced. He’s not damaged on the outside, much, but if we can break open his shell, I suspect he’ll be scrambled.”
“Why do you assume it’s a ‘he?’” Syn narrowed her eyes and looked sideways at him.
He seemed oblivious to her questions and continued, “I’m surprised he wasn’t flattened.”
“You’re a horrible detective,” Syn said. There was the tone of teasing—her mock insults were part of their usual banter—but this time, she meant it.
“Syn,” Blip said, pulling back toward the entrance of the garage. He raised his eyebrows, feigning shock.
Syn smiled. “You’re not Sherlock Holmes.”
“But you could be Watson.”
She snagged a wrench from the table and chucked it at him, but he deftly dodged it.
Syn turned back and ran a finger along the white companion bot. The shell was dented in several places. A large, oblong indentation ran up its spine. A star field of smaller dents, many of them pea-sized, littered the rest of the casing. Syn held the flat edge screwdriver above the plate and began to pry against the loose panel. Blip shirked back—a slight movement but still obvious. Did Blip feel pain? Could this new one feel pain? The bot on the table didn’t stir, so she pushed further.
Thin smears of dirt covered the inert shell. Dingy and drab stains occluded any hint of its former pristine nature. Syn glanced over to Blip. Blip stood in contrast: gleaming white, shining to a perfect polish.
Syn whispered to the broken bot on the workbench, “Wake up.” She ran a line across the dents, hoping for a seam, a hint of a crack that she could wedge the screwdriver into so she could work on the bot’s brain. All other bots were easily disassembled, reassembled, and repaired. Not this one. And thus, not Blip.
“Can you help?”
“It’s clean.”
Syn waved a hand over the carcass. “Clean?” Anything but.
“Clean. The brain is empty.”
“You know that? It talked to you?”
“No. It didn’t talk. That’s the point. I can’t find anything. I keep scanning its neural-net, and there’s not a single response. The core is clean.”
“Then can we at least open it up. Maybe the memory core is intact.”
Blip made no move.
Syn raised an eyebrow. “You guys have a memory core, right? Like the others?”
“You guys?” Blip coughed.
“You and your twin here.” She tapped the shell with her screwdriver.
Blip continued to circle around him, scanning. “I don’t know if he’s anything like me.”
“You’ve been scanning him for a bit now—you and I both know he’s nearly identical.”
Blip narrowed his eyes but said nothing.
Syn stepped back and leaned against the workbench, taking the chaos of the garage in. Years before, she and Blip had made their way through the homes and the garages on the third and fourth tiers just south of the jungle. The man who lived in this one had been named Alileen. And he’d loved to make things. His house was filled with different tools and half-finished projects. Countertops were littered with opened bots, their guts spread open to be resembled. On first glance, they can look like an odd array of noodles and plastic pieces. Wires peppered the tables and discarded plastic bits had been smashed into the floor from constant trodding. If it could be opened up, he had done so and then left it laying around. Appliances, bots, anything that he could tinker with was there. Syn had felt a quiet bond with the man whose space was a memorial to curiosity and ingenuity. Crack things open. Find out how they work. Get them back going again.