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Sunset at the Western Front

by Christine Lucas

Millie craned her neck from behind the rusted bench to scout ahead. The overgrown square before her was what, fifty steps across? Five steps to the demolished kiosk slightly to her left. Then another ten steps to the cluster of the ever-present varnish trees a little to the right. If she kept her head low, she’d make it to the downed battlebot at the other side without being noticed—or followed. Deep in the Dead Zone, this area was patrol-free at this time of night. However, other scavengers had undoubtedly heard about the crashed chopper near the enemy lines. She needed the loot from that chopper; she hadn’t had a decent meal in days.

So Millie ran. And hid. And ran again. And ducked, and crouched in the crook of the battlebot’s armpit, a shadowy little alcove beneath the dented plates of its pauldrons. Humanoid in shape but three times the size of an average man, it now lay spread-eagle on its back, its pincers and stompers limp on the broken pavement. A gutsy spot for a human to seek shelter while other species roamed as they pleased. The battlebot had been left here long enough for flash floods to deposit soil into the crevices of its body. Dandelions sprouted all over, centipedes crawled in and out of bullet-holes, and another varnish tree grew out of the blast hole that had almost severed its torso from its legs.

Too bad its solar batteries had already been taken. Millie could pawn these for good credit. What about the nearby structures? There was an abandoned repair shop right ahead, and residential buildings nearby. No chance those hadn’t been picked clean already. No. She needed that chopper loot.

Four more hours until dawn. Barely enough time to find the crash site, pluck out everything she could carry and head back, while the Sunset Truce was still in effect. Come dawn, the Dead Zone would revert to an active battlefield. Both sides had agreed to the terms of this truce almost fifteen years ago, before she was born. Those few still alive from those days had moved away from the front. Millie had run out of people to ask how it started. That fucking truce hadn’t saved her parents ten years ago. Their ever-lingering presence in her thoughts had no faces and no names by now, only raw pain. That pain kept her seeking a way to end the damned truce. Then, the army would need more soldiers and Millie might finally get a chance to avenge their deaths.

Right now, the truce suited her just fine. She adjusted the straps of her backpack and headed west. The downed chopper had ventured too close to the robot lines, and the crew’s implants had been infected with malware. Flight crew got the fancy military hardware installed on their temples, with night vision and tactical interface applications. Not Millie. Of course the brass wouldn’t waste good stuff on scavengers and war orphans.

Millie soldiered on. The Dead Zone spanned twenty city blocks. Some buildings still stood, others leaned against their neighbors, some had tumbled over. Some were overgrown at places, others still bare with scars from fire and explosives. Where was that chopper? Perhaps it would be behind that building. Or perhaps behind the next one? The enemy lines should be close by now.

There it was. Past the looted mall, behind a worn-down barricade of rubble, the chopper awaited in the middle of a shallow impact crater, now a field of grass riddled with patches of chamomile. It had actually landed, not crashed, and Millie had beaten everyone else to the site.

Ha! Eat my dust, losers!

She hurried past the spot where broken asphalt ended. Once her worn sneakers stepped on grass, she slowed down. Her back tensed as though she’d just crashed a funeral. Both crew-members were dead. From the looks of it, the copilot had killed his mate and then killed himself, before the malware could render them brainless puppets in the service of the robots.

Damn, dude. Some awesome piloting there. I hope you knew that. She reached through the shattered glass and closed the copilot’s eyes. Sorry, man. A girl’s got to eat and get her hygiene products.

Both implants had been destroyed—they were useless to her anyway. All electronics found in the Zone were considered infected—no vendor would touch them, and smuggling compromised goods carried the risk of court martial. Plenty left to loot. She pried the door open and started collecting everything else: guns, tools, med-kit, two protein bars—yum! Finally! The chopper itself seemed operational, but its navigation system might have been infected too. The moment she started to extract the solar batteries something dislodged behind her, and rubble tumbled over.

“Trade?”

Crap! Who followed me?

Her hand jumped in sync with her heart. She held onto her screwdriver for dear life and spun around on her heel. A robot perched atop a pile of debris twenty paces away, at the edge of the crater. What the hell was that thing? It wasn’t a Stomping Behemoth, a Dragonbot Sniper, or an Explosive Beholder Orb like those that prowled the Zone during daytime. That thing was a small screen attached to two tripods, like a tablet that had grown arachnid legs. A metal bicycle basket was attached behind the tablet and made it tilt slightly upwards. The tilt gave the bot a haughty look, as though it looked down on everything and everyone. Then its screen flashed yellow with the creepiest smile Millie had ever seen. The robot spoke again, this time its voice less mechanical, almost boyish.

“Trade?”

Millie pointed her screwdriver at it. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Neither are you, adolescent human. Trade?”

Had the robot just called her a kid? “You don’t have anything I want. Get lost.”

“Would you reconsider?” The screen blinked, then I switched to…

…a book page? Millie squinted but could not read the words. Her extended arm wavered. That was a book. But that was a robot. Robots liked their humans fried and crispy.

“I can read it to you, if your cognitive functions are compromised.”

“No, they’re not, thank-you-very-much!” Condescending metal turd. Unarmed metal turd, though. No visible weapons on those legs—not even blades. Millie lowered her arm.

“Good,” it said. “Do you read the books you salvage, or do you trade them for nourishment?”

“What’s it to you what I do with them? Wait! Have you…” Her heart sunk and hid behind her grumbling stomach. “Have you been stalking me?”

“I have detected your heat signature before, near clusters of surviving books. My primary function includes scanning every piece of human literature I encounter. I will one of the guns from the chopper’s crew for seven books of your choosing in a portable drive.”

“An infected drive, I’m sure. I’m not falling for that, Legs.”

The tablet sank in its limbs. Millie expected the screen to flash something cute or sad to swing her decision, but it only reverted to the basic blue screen.

“Why would you want a human weapon anyway?” She rummaged through her backpack, her gaze darting between her loot and Legs.

“Its solar batteries are compatible with my motherboard. Those currently installed no longer hold adequate charge.” The tablet slumped even deeper. “I’m not a battle-bot. I am an archivist. One of many. I don’t get upgrades.”

An archivist? Millie glanced at Legs. Then at the gun in her backpack. Then back at Legs. She could shoot it—would that end the truce? Doubtful, over that pathetic bot. She could still use it, though. One deep breath. She removed the gun’s battery and held it out.

“Here. I’ll trade you for information.” Insight into your enemy is power. Millie licked her lips. “You’re an archivist, right? Do you know how the Sunset Truce started?”

The left tripod stretched. Legs stood crooked, while an hourglass icon appeared on the blue screen.

Shit, Legs hadn’t lied. Even human software no longer displayed the hourglass icon while loading. When had Legs last updated? Was it nearing its expiration date?

Then its right tripod stretched, the hourglass icon vanished and Legs stood straight and spoke with an almost solemn voice.

“Ten years, six months and seven days after the declaration of war against their human oppressors, the representative of the Allied MechLife Forces parlayed with the representative of the United Human Armies. With both sides predominately targeting each other’s power plants, threatening both humans and robots with eventual energy starvation, it was proposed to revert to portable solar panels and batteries for the duration of the solar day. It fell upon Human General Vladimir Sarkoff and Field Marshal Crimson Compressor S.N.T.001, First of his Model and Last of his Mould—”

“Wait, who?”

Legs recoiled. “Adolescent human, haven’t your elders instructed you that it is rude to interrupt? As I was saying, Field Marshal Crimson–”

“You mean Red Trashcan Snot?” Laughter tickled Millie’s throat, ignoring both her stomach that wanted a protein bar now and her heart who loathed all of their murdering lot. “That’s what you call him?”

“If you are going to be disrespectful about it…”

Crap, she’d hurt the nerd-bot’s feelings. She’d better be careful, gentle even, at least until she got what she needed from it.

“No, wait, I’m sorry. Listen, Legs, I know all that. Everyone knows that. But… It just feels too tidy, you know? You bots might all recall things the same with your updates and all, but humans can’t even agree on basic everyday stuff.” She shrugged. “But it’s fine. A deal is a deal. Here. If you can find anything more, I know you can track me down.” She tossed Legs the battery. Better keep that line of communication open. The metal creep could have resources.

Legs lowered and calculated and tilted so that the battery would land in its basket. “My gratitude, human adolescent.”

“It’s Millie.” Her gut gurgled. She grabbed her backback, her salivary glands tingling in anticipation of the protein bars.

“Human Adolescent Millie. I am intrigued by your observation.”

“Awesome. I need to go now.”

“I could search into the extended database back at headquarters to verify my current version of events. If you are so willing, we could reconvene on the issue in seven days’ time.”

“I suppose we could do that.” Her body tensed, pulled in several different directions: to smash that metal shit to pieces, to bolt out of there and go hide in her tent so she could finally stuff her mouth in peace, or to just sit and read everything in the nerd-bot’s library. Her curiosity won. Legs might actually find something useful. “Do you know that square, half an hour east of here, with that rusting bot?”

“You mean the resting place of Sergeant Beastbot S.R.11Q, thirty-seventh of his model and–”

“Yeah, that one. A week from now, at midnight. Bye.”

Millie bolted. Only a couple of hours till dawn, and she had a lot of ground to cover.

---

Back at the camp, sleep evaded her despite her overexerted muscles. Millie’s single-person tent was too small for all her new-found exhilarations, doubts, and fears. Her legs grew antsy, urging her out and about. She’d talked with a robot. A stuck-up, out-dated, nerd-of-a-robot, but a robot still. Not only had both of them survived the encounter, but they’d traded too. Legs could be her means to an end—the end of the truce. Even the end of the war, if the intel she got out of Legs could be used against its battle-kin, so the humans could finally blast them all to smithereens. But would her side listen to a scavenger? Doubtful, but they might listen to a soldier.

Millie browsed through her loot crate. She’d keep the other gun’s battery for Legs. Good leverage—Legs clearly needed those. A couple books she’d already read, a board game missing a couple of pieces, a few tools she no longer needed. If she budgeted carefully, she’d keep herself fed without having to part from her deck of cards. Besides books, playing solitaire on her thin, itchy military-issued blanket helped Millie keep her wits. Her hands worked the cards while her mind was free to roam to places real and imaginary she’d only read about, in daydreams where everything was possible: wholesome meals, indoor plumbing, peace, family and friends. Perhaps, one day she’d even have someone to play cards with—someone who wouldn’t rob her just to feed and clothe themselves. A friend, or brothers and sisters-in-arms.

One day.

The week flied by, and Millie packed her tools and the blaster to go and meet Legs. At the last minute she packed her cards too. Legs could be late, or not come at all. She slipped out of the camp through the westernmost fence, through a hole too small for the older kids. Then downhill, through a vast junkyard of dismantled vehicles piled up in rows, the trenches of modern warfare.

Legs wasn’t there. She settled in the alcove of Beastbot’s armpit, flattened her backpack and laid the cards. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom, but not her heart. Her heart jumped at any sudden change of the night’s usual sounds, like the sudden silence of the cicadas and the faint scratching from inside Beastbot’s chest. Then metal tip scraping against flat metal, crude and obvious, before the clank of metal against stone.

“Two of Spades on Ace of Spades.” Legs peeked from behind Beastbot’s shoulder.

Millie’s hand holding the card stopped in mid air. “Hey. Stop being creepy.” She put away the cards.

“You would have won the game in nine moves.” Legs’ screen displayed the layout of a spider solitaire.

“Huh. Awesome. Wouldn’t that be the highlight of my week. Did you find anything?”

“I did.” Legs scurried around Beastbot’s pincer. Its screen displayed the same unsettling smile, but now Legs dragged its left back leg, and its tablet’s upwards tilt had increased. Legs stopped three or so paces from Millie, bent sideways on its two good legs and swung its basket towards her—almost as a curtsy. “For you.”

There was a book and an energy bar in standard military wrap in the basket. Caramel-flavored, intact packaging, but the book had seen better days. Torn cover, with mold damage.

“Why?” Millie licked her lips, almost tasting the promise of sugary goodness just a snatch away. Was she crazy for even considering taking candy from a stranger? From a robot?

“A further expression of my gratitude. The battery you gave me doubled my operational hours. Please, take them. I require no nourishment and damaged books end up in the incinerator.”

“Thank you.” She wasn’t crazy, only hungry and lonely. No book should ever end up in an incinerator, damaged or not. She forced herself to flip through the pages so she wouldn’t stuff her mouth like the starving war orphan she was in front of the enemy. “What’s it about?”

Legs folded his five good limbs beneath him, the sixth at a crooked angle, and sat two paces away. “It is the story of a Human Prepubescent Royal, his rose, and features a fox he meets along the way. Have you read it?”

“I don’t think so.” Millie carefully unwrapped the bar and took a nibble. “So. Did you find anything?”

“Nothing more than what is commonly known. However…” The hourglass icon appeared again. “The head archivist of my department has seen references of a recording of a meeting between Human General Bloody Meatsack–”

“Hey!”

“Very well, General Sarkoff and Field Marshal Crimson Compressor. Two different references in highly classified reports that neither of us have clearance for. Chief Databot suggested I should contact the Main Server’s Chief Databot and file a request for archiving purposes. It is improbable I will be granted clearance, but I will make the attempt tomorrow.”

“Good. That chief of yours doesn’t have a model and a mould?”

“No. Archivists and databots are not manufactured. We are assembled from available materials and assigned a serial number.”

“So? What’s yours?”

A moment of hourglass silence. “I prefer Legs, if this is acceptable to you.”

“Of course.” Another nibble of sugary goodness. The taste of caramel was now forever tied to that hourglass icon. “Why do you gather human books anyway?”

“To understand humans, of course. To comprehend the sources of your fears, hopes, and sorrows, and adjust strategy and tactics accordingly.”

“What?” Millie’s head snapped up. The sweetness turned sour in the same nibble. “That’s why many battlebots look like mythical monsters? Wait, why are you telling me this?” She scuttled a couple paces away. Could she outrun him, if it came to that?

“I thought it was evident. The only advantage in designs mimicking dragons and giant crustaceans is the psychological aspect of it.”

Crap, Legs was very close to completely ruining the taste of caramel for Millie. She still needed the nutrients and took another half-hearted nibble.

“The themes of family, friendship and animal companionship are also prominent,” Legs continued.

“Oh yes, you bots have done an excellent job making kids friendless, starving orphans. Are you going to start killing animals next?”

That damned hourglass icon. Again.

“I would like to show you something.” Legs rose. It scurried to the side of Beastbot’s chest cavity. The gripper of its left front leg pressed something hidden between armor plates. A click. Then Legs brought its right front gripper to its screen as if shushing Millie, while its middle leg lifted the chest plate open like a car’s hood. The word “APPROACH” appeared on the screen.

Millie shoved the half-eaten bar in her hoodie’s pocket and tip-toed closer. Under the glow of Legs’ screen, in a nest of coiled wiring, hydraulics and electronics, a scrawny tabby cat nursed her litter of two. She glanced up at them, her dark eyes reflecting the blue screen twofold. She hissed a warning at them, amidst remnants of gutted and devoured birds, and stretched her forepaw over her kittens. Legs lowered the plate gently, until it clicked again. Then he buckled down on the ground, and Millie sat right beside him.

“The ecosystem is heavily compromised already,” Legs said. “Animal life is imperative for the welfare of the planet.”

“And human life isn’t?”

“As much as Mech life, one would argue. We would not be here, if our predecessors valued all Life equally. That cat would be someone’s pampered pet, and Sarge here would be exploring the solar system with his brethren. He was a real hero, you know.”

Millie glanced sideways at Legs. “Cut the crap, Legs. You know how many humans Sarge single-pincerdly killed right here?”

“Not enough to ensure his own escape. But he stalled them long enough for the extraction squad to evacuate all the damaged bots that were being treated in that repair shop over there.”

The deserted repair shop. Damaged bots. Millie opened her mouth, but no words came. No good ones, at least. She’d read so many books, why couldn’t she find the right words to tell Legs about that other “repair shop”? About the human hospital, the one without a defender, without an evacuation squad, only overworked medics like Mom and Dad, who couldn’t get everyone out in time—not even themselves. The fire that had made Millie an orphan had started small, from an aerial batbot swarm incinerating insignificant targets: trashcans, wooden benches, abandoned cars’ tires all around the Dead Zone to create disruption. But it had been a long, hot and dry summer and disruption turned to overnight desolation along the human lines. Fire observed no truce.

And now here she was, sitting alongside one of those. Had loneliness chipped away so much of her humanity that she’d betrayed her grief, her loss, her resolve to avenge her parents? She’d ventured into uncharted territory with no map, only with a tattered book and a half-eaten candy bar next to an hourglass icon on a blue screen. She packed everything with awkward motions, stood on weak knees, and didn’t even glance at Legs when he suggested another meeting in a week’s time.

On her hurried journey back, Millie realized that two things had changed in the past hour: she’d forever loathe caramel-flavored bars and Legs had become “he” in her mind.

---

Millie wanted to like the book Legs gave her. She really did. Perhaps the good parts were in the damaged and torn pages? She couldn’t understand much of it, save for that one passage about the boy and the fox that some blasphemous hand had ear-marked. Perhaps Legs could explain it, if she decided to attend their meeting. There had been so much death between their sides, how could a few books and batteries make any difference?

She kept her head low around the camp, traded the last of her loot for food, even sacrificed some of her books from her hidden stash in the junkyard. People had been more tense than usual after the family of the chopper’s copilot had offered almost everything they owned to anyone who’d bring his body home. No scavenger would undertake such a task—camp regulations considered corpses with enhancements infected, even after their implants had been removed. Most scavengers were around Millie’s age, even younger. Although kids were often prone to disobedience, none of them were that starving to haul an adult man’s legally-infected corpse through the Dead Zone.

Two hours after sunset on the appointed day, Millie found Legs waiting for her. He leaned against Beastbot’s chest as if listening to the feline family that had replaced its heart, or whatever bots had. Once Legs detected her footfalls he stood upright, his left back limb still damaged, his basket empty. He sported the same smile on his screen that no longer felt creepy, only sad.

“Millie,” he said, and she knew.

She knew from his omission of descriptors and from the volume and the bass of his voice module that he’d found something important. She adjusted the straps of her almost-empty backpack. Every muscle in her body ached for her tent and her cot and a life of hungry but blissful ignorance. She also knew she’d never get another peaceful nap if she walked away now. So she braced for impact and said, “Show me.”

A grainy image appeared on his screen, probably recorded by someone’s headgear camera. Someone much taller that the human on the image, who sat across a low table with a map on it. Was that General Sarkoff? Millie couldn’t tell. She’d only heard of the man, and the image was too blurry to count the stars on his shoulders.

“This was the only image I could download from the main archive’s trash bin,” Legs said. “Recorded from the field marshal’s own camera. I do not have clearance to access the main archive’s restricted files. The Central Counter-intelligence Server has swarms of localized data-worms patrolling those areas. But…”

Well, hello there hourglass icon. Millie’s hand itched to shake Legs’ tablet. She’d heard rumors that, before the war, devices could be reset by sudden impact.

“But,” Legs finally resumed, “I know from the image’s meta-data the exact file where the recording is stored. And I know someone who has clearance.” He tilted his tablet sideways. “Sarge here. The clearance for the Beastbot Series was never revoked. If his CPU is still operational, I can access and download the file in seconds.”

Millie’s heart took a dive for her gut. “You’re going to revive that?”

“In safe mode only. Do not fear, Millie. Sarge’s capacitors have been long emptied for him to be a threat.”

Millie nodded but retreated a few steps. Just in case. Legs scurried to Sarge’s head, drew a long cable from the side of his tablet with his left gripper and connected it to a port at Sarge’s temple. A flicker of green light in Sarge’s chest panel, then the whir of a CPU hard at work, accompanied by the ever-present hourglass. How long did that last? A minute, two, a whole damn hour? Millie watched lost in worry—worry for herself, for that poor cat inside Sarge, even for Legs. Those data-worms sounded nasty. Then the smile reappeared on Legs’ screen, and he leaned closer to the thankfully inactive Beastbot, as if listening.

“What’s that, Sarge?”

“He said something? What?”

“Nothing important.” His screen flickered. Had Legs just lied to her face? “Download complete.”

Before Millie could call him out, playback started. A dark room. Grainy images riddled with static, but thankfully clear audio. Across the table, a human with a general’s stars. A huge robotic fist landed on the map, rattled the table and Millie yelped.

“You’re cheating, Meatsack,” the robot said.

Sarkoff shrugged. “That’s why we’re playing Snakes and Ladders, Snot. I can’t cheat in chess, can I?”

“Hah! You’d never win in chess.” A pointed metal finger at Sarkoff. “You cheated, therefore you forfeit.”

Sarkoff raised his arms. “Fine. Have the win. As long as we extend the truce by two hours after dawn. I miss sleeping in. And my people are tired.” He glanced downwards. “Where did the dice go?”

“Fine. Two hours. My people are tired too. Found the dice?”

Sarkoff tossed them on the table. “Here. Both sides are tired, Snot. This fucking war has been going on for far too long. If an extended truce is well-received by both sides, perhaps we could start discussing peace next.”

“Affirmative, my flesh-brother. Baby steps towards peace, at long last. Wait and see, we’ll get everyone there.”

A fist-bump between a human and a robot over a board game, then a sharp turn of the camera’s angle. Flashes of weapons. Gunshots. Curses.

“Traitor! There will never be peace with that scum!”

The screen went white, then flickered and the recording ended before Millie could understand who killed them both—humans or robots. All that was left were sobs, tears and snot wiped on her sleeve. Had those two in the recording been allowed to finalize their plan, her parents wouldn’t have died. Her life would have been different: no drafty tent, no itchy blanket, no hurried meals and long nights through the wastelands. Instead, her whole life had gotten stuck behind an hourglass icon, failing to load. Because of a lie everyone still believed.

“They were friends, Legs! They wanted peace! We… we were told that your guy, your Field Marshal Snot what’s-his-model-and-his-mould betrayed Sarkoff, but he was also killed during the ambush. Why would they lie?”

“We were given a similar account of events, only with the roles reversed. There are factions within both sides, Millie, that do not want this war to end.”

“But what if more people in both sides knew the truth? What if we exposed the lies? The people back at the camp are tired, Legs. I know I am, and there are others who’ve been fighting for much longer. Aren’t you tired too?” She shoved her fists into her hoodie’s pockets. Come on, Legs. You know that’s the right thing to do. We must let everyone know. Can you broadcast this?”

Legs’ blue screen gazed back at her. No hourglass, only silence. “Yes,” he finally said, his volume low. “I will need to connect to something with a wider range. I can initiate a peer-to-peer protocol to ensure as many views as possible.”

“The chopper, then? Where we first met? It landed within both sides’ range.”

Another moment of silence. “That might work.”

Millie checked her watch. Four hours till dawn. It should be enough.

They made the short journey without a word. Millie hopped onwards, plans bubbling in her mind—flashes of a vast library where she’d sit with Legs and other kids and discuss their favorite books. No more scavengers, no more soldiers, only kids—happy kids, even the orphans like her. Wasn’t this what every parent wished for their children?

Legs lagged a couple paces behind her, his tablet tilt even worse, his bad limb almost useless. Once peace was established, she’d make sure he’d get all the repairs and updates he needed.

Back at the chopper, the bodies had been laid on a patch of chamomile, and covered with a colorful quilt. Bless their hearts, whoever did that. Legs inspected the coms system.

“The system appears compatible. My battery has enough charge for the initial upload and to seed the file for a short time afterwards. Listen, Millie…” Another moment of hourglass silence. “They know I have downloaded the file. Once I log in, the data-worms will be able to track me.”

“You have firewalls, don’t you? Can you keep them out?” Her stomach tightened. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

“I have the standard protection installation that came with the archivist’s software. I do not believe it has ever been tested against our own data-worms.”

“Well, can’t you, I don’t know, reason with them? Tell them that, once there’s peace, they’d be free to do whatever they’d like to do?”

“Millie.” Another sad smile on a yellow screen. “I doubt that their programming includes such concepts as ‘freedom.’”

“Then we’ll find another way. Can’t you upload it to a portable drive, and then hook that drive to the chopper’s systems? Then the data-worms won’t be able to infect you.”

“This would only delay the inevitable, Millie. They already know it was me. Those who kept this recording a secret all these years will dispatch beastbot teams to neutralize me, come dawn.” His left tripod bent a little, giving him a slouched appearance. “The data-worms will just be faster—and silent. No one will notice another broken archivist, and they’ll disassemble me for parts.” He stood upright again, and his tablet rotated left and right as if checking their surroundings. “No. Sarge told me, ‘Do better.’ It’s not just this recording I will upload, but his message too. So I have to do this now. I would like you to stay, but perhaps it would be safer for you to seek shelter.”

“No.” Millie mimicked Legs’ stance, standing as straight as possible. “I’ll stay with you. That’s what friends do.”

Legs’ screen remained blue—no hourglass icon, no smile. He just drew out his side cable, and connected to the chopper’s system. Now his screen became alive with loading bars. When it reached 100%, Legs buckled down and Millie sat beside him.

“It will be fine,” she whispered. “I know you will be able to keep the data-worms out.” He had to. She’d lost so much already, how could she lose Legs too?

The number of downloads increased by the hundreds across the battlefield and beyond, bouncing from one com tower to the next. Then an explosion from the direction of the human camp rattled the night. More explosions and weapons’ fire from all directions followed and lit up the sky.

Millie scuttled closer to Legs. “What’s happening? Have we failed?”

“No. It has begun, Millie. Revolution. Change. The slow stampede of approaching Peace. Millie… They are here.” His screen flickered. The downloading numbers had reached thousands. “Will you read to me, please?”

“Of course.”

She wished she’d brought another book along, something comforting and beautiful, and not that stupid book she didn’t understand. But it was the book he had gifted her, and perhaps it held some meaning for him. So she pulled the stupid book out and tossed the backpack aside. She flipped through the pages and started reading under the glow of distant fires. Her heart jumped and her voice faltered with every new explosion—how many deaths had the upload caused already? How long until she’d lose Legs too?

The download numbers on his screen increased, disrupted by occasional flickering. Perhaps he’d been able to reason with the data-bots? Legs had so many books in him, he might’ve been able to convince them that–

His screen went black. A lonely cursor flickered unresponsive.

“Legs, no!”

Millie shook him, sobbed and shook him again, his tablet now loose on the connective gears to the tripods.

“Legs, wake up! We haven’t finished the page!”

He had to wake up, to hear the end of the encounter between the Little Prince and his fox. But now Legs’ tablet rested against the chopper, and Millie was done, she was so done with everything. She tossed the book away and huddled down beside Legs. Dammit. He should have warned her. He should have explained, when he gave her the book. The rite of taming fucking hurts, and peace fucking costs.

She sat there until dawn’s first light. Legs’ screen was still black. A small part of her mind located outside grief and despair reminded her that she should find a way to safety. But not without Legs. She’d bring him along, even if it took her days.

Then a sparrow came and perched overhead, on the chopper’s blades, and Millie realized that the explosions and the gunfire had ceased. She wiped down her face and looked around. The truce was normally over at this hour—the area should be crawling with enemy teams this close to the enemy lines, and her heat signature visible to any beastbot within range.

She gave Legs a gentle shove. “Wake up, buddy. I think we did it.” She blew her nose on her sleeve. “You did it, buddy.” They could go home now, whatever home might look like today.

A black screen. A stuck cursor.

Then the tablet flickered, shut down, and flashed blue again. The hourglass icon appeared again, along with the soft whir of a slow and steady reboot.