Ω
by Adam Robert Hunt
A faint whirring
skimmed through the air as Serj cycled up into a sitting position in the grass.
He felt disoriented and out-of—place. It was dusk—the smoldering embers of a
fiery sunset burning out in the prairie sky. He stood up and looked around. “I
think I’ve been here before,” Serj said.
Dominating
the plain of winter brown grass growing in the benthic swells of oncoming night,
floated a factory; like a hulking ocean liner, its prow cut through the pampas
and made way for a colossal mess of girders, mercury lights, and devilish
rigging. At the very top, in the crow’s nest, was a pillar of flame, burning
into the coming night. The sun’s light sank so quickly that the factory seemed
to move away from the horizon, steaming towards God knew where.
“Where
am I?” asked Serj.
His Companion cut in, responding
amiably from the unit installed behind his ear, to its master’s query, “This is where you were made, and where you
are dying.”
“But I feel fine. Dizzy, maybe.”
Serj was confused and woozy. “What do you mean, where I was made?”
“This is the location of your
manufacture.” A pause. “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t help feeling that you find my response
insufficient.” Then a note of
constructed concern, “Sir, you seem like
you might need another rest. Why don’t you sit? I will attempt to call you an
ambus again, sir.” Companion spoke with a note of weariness.
Why don’t I sit? –groggy.
He
felt as if it were the tail-end of a much longer conversation, as though he had
just woken up in the middle of something, that he had just walked into a room and
forgotten what he was doing.
“Yes.
I think maybe that would be good. I’m going to sit while we wait,” he finally
said.
Wait for what?
he wondered.
Serj
sat heavily in the grass and stared at the lights and the steady glare of the
flame as the final dark of night arrived.
“We’re unable to make a connection
to the service, sir,” said Companion.
Serj’s
eyes closed, shuttering out the factory flame. His servos wound down with a
quiet whine in an effort to conserve just enough energy to standby until the
sun came up. Maybe his worn battery would charge tomorrow.
Companion
whispered into his ear, “Sir, I have been
crunching the numbers. Considering the falling barometric pressure, the
forecast for tomorrow will be rainy—no sun. You will not be able to obtain
adequate charge tomorrow. Without proper battery charging, your higher-order
functions will not come back online. It seems that you have reached minimal
efficiency standards to maintain functionality. I will commence permanent shut
down on your order, sir.” There was
a long pause as Companion waited for a response, and then timed-out.
Serj
was already asleep.
