A one page sci-fi short...

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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.