Episode 1: The Awakening of Rust-9
The cozy red tomato-ship dropped slowly through the thick, swirling, rust-red clouds of a planet the ancient book had called Rust-9. Its engines hummed softly, and the whole ship glowed a deep amber in the strange coppery light.
Emil pressed his face against the round viewport, his breath fogging the glass. Below, the surface of the planet was coming into view — and it was unlike anything he had ever seen. A vast, silent landscape stretched out beneath them: crumbling metal towers leaning against the rusty sky, frozen walkways winding between them, and everywhere — everywhere — robots. Hundreds of them, thousands of them, motionless and half-buried in the red dust, like statues forgotten by time.
"It's enormous," Emil murmured. "A whole world... made of machines."
Tom leaned back in his seat, his explorer's cap tilted thoughtfully, and looked out at the desolate scene. "This place looks like a graveyard for machines," he said with a little shiver. "Everything's so still. So quiet. Doesn't it give you the creeps, Emil?"
From the ship's softly glowing control panel, a cheerful electronic voice piped up. It was Tomato, the ship's clever AI, who never missed a chance to share an opinion.
"And yet, here we are," said Tomato dryly, "visiting the galaxy's most depressing tourist spot. Crumbling towers! Endless dust! Not a single gift shop! Five stars — would not recommend." A little pause. "Honestly, you two have the strangest taste in holiday destinations."
Emil chuckled. "Where's your sense of adventure, Tomato? The book said Rust-9 was a Planet of Robots — a whole civilization of machines. I want to see it. Aren't you the least bit curious what happened here?"
"Curious? Me?" said Tomato. "I'm a toaster with opinions, Emil. But fine. Setting down now. Try not to get rusted."
With a gentle shudder, the cozy red ship settled onto the dusty ground. A great cloud of rust-colored powder billowed up around them and slowly drifted back down.
Emil and Tom pulled on their boots and stepped out onto the surface of Rust-9. The moment their feet touched the ground, soft clouds of rust puffed up around their ankles. The air was still and cold and smelled faintly of old metal. All around them loomed the silent, motionless robots — some no taller than Tom, others as huge as the crumbling towers themselves, their great heads lost in the rusty haze far above.
"It really is like a graveyard," Tom whispered, creeping close to Emil's side. "Hello?" he called out timidly, his small voice echoing across the empty plain. "Is... is anybody here?"
Nothing answered. Only silence, and the soft sigh of rust-wind.
And then — the ground shuddered.
It was a low, deep tremble, rising up through their boots. Emil and Tom froze. Somewhere far off in the dusty distance, a faint blue light flickered to life — just a tiny spark in the gloom.
Then another, a little closer. Flicker.
Then another. Flicker, flicker.
"Emil," Tom breathed, his voice very small. "Did we just... did we just wake something up?"
All around them, the ancient robots began to stir.
It started slowly. A great rusted joint creaked, loud as a groan, somewhere off to their left. Then a towering machine shuddered, shaking decades of dust from its shoulders. One by one, all across the vast rusty plain, the motionless robots began to move — joints grinding, gears turning, long-dark eyes flickering and glowing into life. The faint blue lights multiplied until there were hundreds of them, then thousands, glowing softly in the dusty haze like stars coming out at dusk. Crackling, staticky voices began to murmur and hum, rising from every direction.
A massive robot the size of a building turned its great glowing head slowly toward the two tiny visitors. A spider-like machine unfolded its long rusted legs. A cluster of small flying droids buzzed and wobbled up into the air, their lights blinking.
"Oh," squeaked Tom, pressing himself flat against Emil's leg. "Oh, that's — that's a lot of robots. That's an awful lot of robots, Emil."
"Stay calm," Emil whispered, though his own heart was hammering. "They don't seem... angry. Just... waking up. As if they've been asleep for a very, very long time."
The robots turned toward them — all of them — their thousands of glowing blue eyes fixed on the two small explorers standing in the middle of the ancient plain. For a long, breathless moment, nobody moved. Emil swallowed hard. Tom held his breath.
And then, through the gathering crowd of looming, glowing machines, something small came rolling forward.
It was a little droid — round and dented, no bigger than a dog, rolling along on a single squeaky wheel. Its face was a cracked and chipped glowing screen, flickering with soft blue light. It rolled right up to Emil and Tom, stopped, and looked up at them. When it spoke, its voice was warm and gentle, though it crackled and buzzed with static and age.
"Creators?" it said, with something like hope trembling in its staticky voice. "You've... you've returned to us? After all this time?"
Emil blinked down at the little droid. It looked so small, and so hopeful, and so terribly, achingly lonely, that his heart went out to it at once. He knelt down gently so that he was at eye level with the cracked little screen.
"I'm sorry," Emil said kindly. "But we're not your creators. My name is Emil, and this is my friend Tom. We're not from Rust-9 at all. We're just... explorers. We came in a spaceship, from very far away. We didn't mean to disturb anyone."
The little droid was quiet for a moment. Its cracked screen flickered, the soft hope in its glow dimming just a little. It tilted its round head to one side, studying them.
"Explorers," it repeated slowly, as if turning the word over and over. "Not the Creators. Just... explorers." It paused. "My designation is Click. I am — I was — a messenger unit. I have waited a very long time. We all have." It gestured with a small dented arm at the vast crowd of glowing machines all around. "We have been asleep for so long, dreaming in the dust, waiting for the Creators to return and... and tell us what to do. What we are for."
Emil felt a pang of sadness. "What happened to your Creators?" he asked softly.
"Gone," said Click simply. "Long, long ago. They left, and they never came back, and one by one, we powered down to wait. We have waited and waited..." The little droid's screen flickered. "And then — today — something changed. A signal woke us. A signal that called out across the whole planet, that pulled us all up out of our long sleep." Click rolled a little closer, peering up at Emil with its glowing, curious gaze, and asked the question that hung in the air over all of them.
"If you are not the Creators," said Click, "then explorers — why does the signal call to you?"
Emil and Tom looked at each other.
"A signal?" said Emil. "What signal? We haven't sent any signal. We only just arrived."
"You did not send it," said Click. "But it answers to you. The moment your ship touched the ground, the signal grew stronger — brighter — louder than it has been in a thousand years. It pulses from the heart of the planet, from the Old Core, deep beneath the city. And ever since you landed..." The little droid's screen brightened. "...it has been calling your name."
A cold, curious tingle ran down Emil's spine. He looked around at the thousands of waiting robots, all watching, all silent, all hoping. He looked at the crumbling towers, and the rust-red sky, and the little dented droid gazing up at him with such trust.
"Our name," Emil murmured. "But that's impossible. We've never been here before. How could a signal on a planet at the edge of the galaxy possibly know who we are?"
"That," said Click, turning its round body toward the distant heart of the ruined city, where — now that Emil looked — a faint, deep, pulsing blue glow could just be seen throbbing beneath the towers, "is exactly what I hoped you might tell us."
From the ship behind them, Tomato's voice crackled quietly through Emil's earpiece.
"Okay," said the little AI. "I take it back. This might be slightly more interesting than a gift shop after all."
Emil straightened up, gazing toward the pulsing glow at the city's heart. Whatever that signal was, it had woken a whole sleeping world — and somehow, impossibly, it was calling him.
"Well, Tom," he said quietly. "It looks like Rust-9 has a mystery for us. And I have a feeling the answer is waiting right at the center of all this." He looked down at the hopeful little droid. "Click — can you take us to the signal? To the heart of the city?"
Click's cracked screen lit up with the brightest, happiest glow yet.
"Oh, yes," said the little droid. "Follow me. And mind the rust."
To be continued in Episode 2...