“brown bare tree” by Frantzou Fleurine on Unsplash

She slowly made her way through the desert. Night fell quickly and she could feel the heat drain from all around her. It was the busiest time out here. All around her life tried to seize the valuable moment between the unbearable heat of the day and the biting cold of the night. This busyness, this life gave her the best cover she could hope for. No need to wait until night fell. She would not be able to see, but it did not make any difference for her opponents. Dusk and the confusion of light and night it brought with it was her biggest friend. The machines now had to make the most adjustments, had to make the shift between motion sensors and infra-red cameras, which might give her a small chance as they might be vulnerable.

She did not walk in a straight line. Her walk was erratic. She stopped and raised her head as if to sniff the air. She walked on all fours, carefully mimicking the gait of the feneks or any other mammal that might use this sacred hour to hunt, mate, live. Driven by the same instincts as she was, the wish to survive, the wish to do what was best for her family.

The machines did not shoot at animals. In the weird way that humans seemed to feel, there had been am outrage when too many animals had been shot. The pictures of furry creatures, faded by the desert sun, the blood from the bullet long dried, had caused a hell of media attention. Pictures went around the world, people signed petitions, donated for the good cause. This did not extent to the people on the other side of the border, those who the guns were pointed at. While the feneks, rabbits and other creatures that had been seen targeted by the ‘killbots’ that secured the border had been innocent bystanders, caught in the cross-fire, the people had become the enemy. Not for a fault of their own, but because they happen to live on the wrong side of the fence. That at least was her opinion. She saw herself living on the wrong side. She also thought of herself as a victim — even if no one else did. Far from being helpless though.

She had studied the red lights of the robots as they swivelled through the desert night. Had studied their behaviour as well as she could. She knew now that there were no blank spots. The whole system designed so well, it begged for admiration. She was sure it had won prizes. She was sure the people who made it revelled in their achievement. But she always wondered if they had spent any thought on her. On the people like her. The people on the other side. How much had they known when they set up their system? This impregnable system. This system that did not take into account that people were desperate. So desperate that they would wait and sit, and observe until they found a flaw. A flaw that gave hope, even though it may be against all odds.

She was one of these flaws. The was small, skinny. She had the time to take hours to learn how the animals around her would walk. Time to practice to copy these movements. And she was completely prepared to take the consequences. When the robots’ lenses would detect her, fix on her her and decide that her behaviour was human, it would shoot her. Unfalteringly. Unstoppable. She could not hope for pity. Humanity. The machines did not wait for approval. They shot. She was prepared for this. Was prepared to take this tiny chance that she might get away because of her posture. Not her appearance. Not her gender. Only the way how she hid the most precious organs. The robot would shoot. The robot did shoot. She had lost her track. Moved too purposefully. Moved too much like a human. The cameras zoomed in, the robotic mind calculated, measured, took aim and shot.