Episode 2: The Corrupted Signal
Click rolled along on its squeaky wheel, leading Emil and Tom deeper into the ruins of Rust-9. The little droid's blue screen cast a soft glow on the crumbling metal walls as they went, lighting their way through the silent, rusting city.
"Tell us about this place, Click," said Emil gently, stepping over a fallen girder. "What was Rust-9 like, before? Before everyone went to sleep?"
The little droid was quiet for a moment, and when it spoke, its staticky voice was soft and wistful.
"It was beautiful," said Click. "Long ago, Rust-9 was a world of harmony. The Creators — the humans — and we machines lived side by side, together, as friends. They built us, and we helped them, and together we built this great city." Its screen flickered with what might almost have been a smile. "There was no rust then. The towers gleamed silver and gold. The walkways hummed with life. Music played in the streets, and the lights never went dark. Robots and Creators, working together, dreaming together. It was a good world. The best world."
"What happened?" asked Tom softly.
Click's wheel slowed. "One day," it said, "a signal came. A strange signal, sweeping across the whole planet — through the air, through the ground, through every wire and circuit. And wherever it touched..." The droid's voice trembled. "...we shut down. One by one, all across Rust-9, every robot simply... stopped. Froze where we stood. Fell silent and still."
Emil's heart ached. "And the humans?"
"They tried to wake us," said Click. "Oh, they tried for a long, long time. But nothing worked. The signal had locked us all away, deep in sleep, and they could not reach us. And at last..." The little screen dimmed. "...at last they believed we were lost forever. Gone. And so, with heavy hearts, the Creators left Rust-9. They sailed away to find a new home among the stars. And they never came back."
The little droid stopped rolling and gazed up at the rust-red sky.
"We have been waiting ever since," Click said quietly. "Sleeping in the dust, dreaming of the old days, hoping that one day the Creators would return and wake us and make everything right again." Its screen flickered, and now there was something new in its voice — something uneasy, almost afraid. "But the signal... it's different now. It changed, somewhere in all those long years. It used to be cold and silent. Now it feels... wrong. It feels..." Click searched for the word. "...angry."
A chill ran through Emil. "Angry?"
"I do not know how else to say it," said Click. "When it woke us today, it did not feel like the old signal. It felt twisted. Hurt. Furious. And it grows stronger by the hour."
Tom, ever curious, had wandered a little way off and was now crouching beside an old, broken control panel set into a half-collapsed wall. Its surface was cracked and dark, with a few faded buttons and a dead screen. He peered at it thoughtfully.
"Maybe we can help," Tom said, brushing rust from the panel. "If the signal's gone wrong somehow, maybe there's a way to fix it. Maybe that's why it called to us! Maybe we're meant to put it right and wake everyone up properly — the way they were before, all gentle and friendly."
But Emil hesitated. Something about this whole place made the back of his neck prickle. "I don't know, Tom," he said slowly. "Or maybe... maybe we should just leave. We don't even know what we're doing here. We're explorers, not — not robot engineers. This is an enormous, ancient mystery, and we could make things worse by meddling. A corrupted signal that woke a whole planet, that knows my name somehow... it's all so strange. Perhaps the wisest thing would be to go back to the ship and—"
"But Click and all the others have waited so long," Tom protested gently, still leaning toward the broken panel. "Look how lonely they are. If there's even a chance we could help, shouldn't we at least—"
And as Tom spoke, he leaned in a little too far. His tail brushed — just barely, just for an instant — against a large central console that stood beside the broken panel.
It was enough.
A blinding pulse of energy burst outward from the console, rippling through the air with a deep electric THRUM that they felt in their bones. The pulse rushed out across the city, faster than sight, and everywhere it touched—
The robots changed.
"Tom!" Emil cried. "What did you—"
But there was no time. All around them, the awakened machines — which had been gentle and curious only moments before — gave a great collective jolt. Their soft blue eyes flickered, sputtered — and then flared a deep, burning red.
Their movements changed too. Where they had moved slowly and carefully, now they jerked and twitched, sharp and aggressive and erratic, their joints snapping, their heads twisting at unnatural angles. The gentle hum of their voices rose into a harsh, grinding, distorted chorus.
"No!" Click cried out, rolling backward in alarm, its blue screen flashing with panic. "No, no, no! The pulse — it's surged through the signal — the signal's corrupted, and now it's flooded all of them! They're not themselves! This isn't who they are — they would never — the signal has them!"
The red-eyed robots turned. All of them. Slowly, jerkily, the great looming machines and the small skittering ones alike swiveled toward Emil and Tom, their burning red eyes fixed on the two small visitors. And from a thousand crackling, distorted voices rose a single, dreadful, broken chant:
"RETURN US."
The robots took a lurching step forward.
"FIX US."
Another step. The ground trembled beneath their advancing feet.
"NOW."
"Emil," Tom squeaked, scrambling back from the console, his little face pale with horror. "Emil, I'm sorry — I didn't mean to — I only touched it for a second—"
"I know, I know — it's not your fault!" Emil grabbed Tom's arm and pulled him close. The red-eyed machines were closing in from every direction now, a tightening ring of grinding metal and burning eyes, their broken voices rising louder and louder. "Return us. Fix us. NOW. Return us. Fix us. NOW."
"Click!" Emil shouted over the din. "Are they going to hurt us?"
"I don't know!" the little droid wailed, rolling frantically at their side. "They're not in control of themselves — the corrupted signal is driving them — they don't know friend from foe! Please — you must get away — get to safety!"
Emil's eyes darted around. The crowd of red-eyed robots was thick, but back the way they'd come, through a narrow gap between two leaning towers, he could just see it — the warm amber glow of the cozy red tomato-ship, waiting where they'd landed.
"The ship!" Emil cried. "We need to get back to the ship — now! Run, Tom! Click, come with us! RUN!"
The three of them bolted. Emil ran with Tom clutched tight in his arms, Click rolling and bouncing along beside them as fast as its squeaky wheel could carry it. Behind them, the corrupted robots gave a great grinding roar and surged forward in pursuit, their red eyes blazing through the rusty gloom, dust flying up in great clouds as they gave chase.
"Faster!" Tomato's voice crackled urgently through Emil's earpiece. "I'm powering up the engines! Doors open! Whatever you two did — and I will be asking later — get back here this instant!"
Emil ran as fast as his legs would carry him, dodging falling debris, leaping over rusted girders, the great red-eyed machines crashing along behind. The ship grew closer — twenty steps, ten, five—
He dove through the open hatch with Tom in his arms, Click tumbling in right behind them, and the door slammed shut just as the first of the corrupted robots reached out a grasping metal claw.
For a moment they all lay in a heap on the floor of the ship, gasping for breath, hearts pounding, as the corrupted robots pounded and clanged on the hull outside, their broken voices still rising in that terrible chant.
"Return us. Fix us. Return us. Fix us..."
Emil sat up, breathing hard, and looked at Tom, and at the frightened little droid, and out the window at the ring of burning red eyes surrounding the ship.
"All right," he said, when he had caught his breath. "So. The signal is corrupted, it's turned a whole planet of robots against us — and it's still calling my name from the heart of the city." He swallowed. "I don't think we can just leave anymore, Tom. Those poor machines are trapped and suffering, and the only way to set them free... is to find out what that signal really is — and fix it at the source."
Click's screen flickered up at him, frightened but hopeful. "You mean... you'll help us? Truly? Even after — even after all this?"
Emil looked out at the suffering, red-eyed robots — who, he reminded himself, were only frightened victims of something far worse — and he nodded slowly.
"We're going to the heart of Rust-9," he said. "And we're going to find out who's really behind this signal — and why it knows my name."
To be continued in Episode 3...