*Chapter Three: Re-Evaluating*



When I left Johann Voth and Ruth's farm, I fired up the bicycle's motor to get as far away from their neighbours as I could, without killing myself pedaling. Technoville didn't seem to have a petroleum industry, but they did have various ways of making bio-diesel and alcohol. None of the farmers had been willing to trade or sell me any fuel they had, so I'd been conserving it - but standing face-to-face with people who'd been seriously considering turning my insides into my outsides, in the name of their faith, was making me reconsider the whole 'trade with the locals' approach I'd been taking.



Amish surviving a hostile Singularity? Sure, they've always had a decent tech base and strong internal support structure. Amish adapting to treat post-Singularity effects as curses and demons? Well, it wasn't as far-fetched as expecting them to start building nanotech on their own. Having to dress up in actual dresses, and not make religious waves? My native culture was erased from the Earth - I was going to have to make social compromises no matter where I went anymore.



Risking my life merely for some better food and a more comfortable bed? That was just insane.



I was also disturbed by my mammaries' little surprise. I was used to having a pretty good idea of how my body worked - all those high school biology courses, plus spending as much time in the library as I could when I was growing, plus the Internet and Wikipedia and so on later on. Exercise too little, get fat; eat too much sugar, end up with diabetes; spend too much time getting my cells irritated by chemicals or UV, end up with cancer. There wasn't anything in any of that for suddenly producing nutrient fluid exactly when someone needed it. If that could happen - then what else could? Was my pink fur going to turn purple in winter? If I broke an arm-bone, would the computer in it go insane and start trying to strangle me with my own hand? How much understanding did my skeleton have about what was going on around me, and what were its goals, or preferences, or heuristics?



And just about everybody I'd known had been pretty certain that, one way or another, my life would become a lot simpler after I died...



--



The day was cloudy, threatening a downpour at any time, but never quite breaking out into rain. While the clouds kept the noon sun from broiling me directly, the humidity was a bit of a killer - my furry form still sweated like any other human, but it just wasn't evaporating, so I stayed hot, so I kept on sweating.



Pedaling up an incline, by the time I was halfway to the top I was gasping for breath; so I gave a mental shrug and fired up the motor again. At this rate, I was going to take a break in the first bit of shade I found; and as I looked back over the fields and meadows, if there was as little shade once I'd made it over the hump as I'd been going through, I decided to break out the tent and make my own.



Naturally, as soon as the road levelled off, what I saw made me change my plans. There were two rather obvious sites. To the left of the road, was what looked like a commercial-industrial area, with small warehouses, storefronts, garages, and the like, embedded in parking lots made up of hexagons just over a foot across. More significantly, every ten, twenty meters or so, were stopsign-sized signs - blue, instead of red. I couldn't read the language describing the details, but they matched what I'd been told indicated a dangerous 'blue zone' of dangerous, potentially lethal, conditions.



Over on the right side of the road, rolling around in the grass and flowers, was a five-story, grayish-furred striped house-cat. Which had, apparently, stopped tossing a deer around like a mouse at the sound of my engine, eyes and ears pointed straight at me.



I turned my bike into the blue zone and gunned the throttle.



It probably wasn't the best plan; it might not even have been a good plan. I wasn't thinking about what sort of materials would let a feline-shaped thing of that size walk around; it was the decision I made in the split-second of imagining ending up in a giant's stomach.



Without having had time to point the translator pendant at the signs, I didn't know what the dangers here were - poisonous chemicals, machines run amok, or even just unstable building structures. The hexagon-things provided good traction, so I turned my head to check on the kaiju; it was still rolling to its feet. Not especially fast, then. I should probably have just turned the bike around and gone back down the slope; sucks to be me. New plan - try to hide out of sight of the thing, until it's not between me and the road anymore, and /then/ run away as fast as possible.



Over to my right, I saw an open garage door, with shadowed shapes inside, but room for the bike; I cut the engine to make myself less noisy, and bolted towards it, trying to gauge myself to get there as fast as I could and still stop without squealing the brakes. I jerked to a stop between a black cab-over big-rig to me left, and a trailer with a giant Pepsi logo spread across the side to my right. I swung my legs off the bike, noticed the truck's driver door was open, and almost dived in. I pulled it closed behind me, trying not to slam it...



... and crouched in the wheel well, next to the dusty pedals, panting.



I pulled off my helmet to free up my ears, lifting them to try and hear where the giant cat might be...



... and a basso voice came out of the dashboard, starting with "Watashi wa" before the pendant in my pocket provided, "Can I help you, little bunny?"



"Ssshh!" I hissed hurriedly. "Big monster," I whispered, fiddling to get the pendant's back open to reduce the volume. "Hiding."



The voice from the dash whispered, in English, "Glove compartment. Headphones," and then fell silent.



I adjusted my glasses, and looked around the cab a bit more. I was getting a very '70's vibe - 1970's, that is. All-analog dials, faux wood paneling, a CB radio, a combined 8-track player, cassette deck, and AM radio... I wondered what it was doing here, and how the paint-job was still so shiny. I thought about what the possible negative consequences might be of putting on a pair of headphones in a blue zone, and what the likelihood might be; and the likelihood of the giant cat hearing the voice if I didn't plug in the headphones, and smashing in the windows to get at me.



I set my helmet on the driver's seat, and, trying not to rise to where I could be seen from outside, crawled around the gearshift to the passenger side. There was a case of a couple of dozen cassette tapes on the floor in my way, so I put it on the passenger's seat. Inside the glove box was a random assortment of stuff - binoculars, a camera, a flashlight, a digital wristwatch, a black-and-wood automatic pistol... I blinked at that one, considered, and set it on the seat next to the tapes. I didn't see any ammunition, outside of whatever was in the gun itself, but did find a portable tape player, around which was wrapped a pair of headphones.



After crawling back to the driver's side, it took me a few moments to figure out enough of the extended dashboard's controls to rule them out, that the headphones didn't fit into the CB radio's jack, and that there was only one spot I could plug the headphones in: the AM radio. It took a bit of fiddling to get the designed-for-human headphones to hook into my ears and stay on; basically, I put them on upside-down, around the back of my head.



I whispered, "Can you hear me?"



"Yes, I can, little rabbit. What sort of monster are you hiding from?"



That was the second time he called me a rabbit - he could see me, too. I looked around for anything I might recognize as a camera, but didn't see anything. "It looked like a giant cat. Bigger than this building. It was eating a deer..."



"I see. It may be able to track you by scent. You should disguise that. Under the driver's seat are some bottles of soda. Open one and pour it over yourself."



I rearranged myself to peer under the seat - a couple of glass bottles of Pepsi, and an opener. I pulled them out, put the opener to the lid of one... and paused. "Um... I'm already in a truck, with the doors closed - and my bicycle out there probably smells more of me than the truck does."



"I suppose that's true. Sorry, bad idea. I can hear you panting - you can drink them if you want."



I put the bottles back. "Maybe later." I searched my mind for a plausible excuse for my hesitation, and found one. "My stomach isn't like a human's - it could make me sick."



"As you wish. Do you have a name, little bunny?"



"More than one. 'Bunny' works."



"Have I done something to make you nervous of me, Bunny?"



"Um... not really, but I'm hiding from a giant monster, in a posted danger zone that wasn't on my maps, in a truck that looks like it's century old and brand new at the same time, talking with someone I don't know anything about... is there any reason I /shouldn't/ be nervous?"



"I see your point. You have every right to feel the way you do. To start with, my name is Pepushikonboi, but you can call me Pepsi Convoy."



"Oh... kay..." That finally triggered a whole host of connections in my brain. In Japan, Optimus Prime was called Convoy; and, in the earlier versions, took the form of a cab-over semi; and was originally produced in, what was it, the late 70's? The toy lines that eventually turned into the Transformers were from the '70's, anyway.



I turned around to look at what should be the entrance to the sleeper compartment - but while there were lines that looked like they were seams for a door, I didn't see any actual way inside it. I wondered if there was a giant upside-down robot head in there, waiting to be flipped.



"Um, Convoy," I continued, intelligently, "Please tell me you're not going to go out and fight that monster..."



"I wish I could, but I must not. Technoville has threatened to destroy me with long-range artillery if I leave."



"... Artillery that isn't being used against the giant cat right now?"



"I understand it takes them some time for them to notice such things. I considered leaving after I saw the Statue of Liberty walk by-" I coughed. "Well, /a/ Statue of Liberty. I don't know if it was the original. The local humans were quite upset at the mess its footprints made of their roads. When I saw its pieces being shipped back, I decided that their threats were credible."



"Oh. Um, if you don't mind my asking, why does Technoville want to blow you up, but let you stay?"



"They fear all non-biological life that they have not disassembled to the last bit. However, unlike most of the robots who were created at the same time as me, I am not a warrior - so while dozens of other Convoys were destroyed, either by fighting other robots or by Technoville, I made a bargain. I would stay here, until there was a drought I could help with; and they would not have to use up the resources they would need to destroy me. Win-win-"



Convoy stopped speaking as a shadow fell across the garage's opening. I crouched down further, flattened my ears, and grabbed the gun from the passenger seat. I'd never held a real gun before - I was a Canadian - and didn't even know if this one had a safety, or where it was, but if the giant cat came in I didn't have much else to work with to even try to stay alive...



The shadow moved away. Meaning all I had to deal with for the next little while was an AI of unknown design or goals housed in the chassis of a giant truck, which might or might not be able to rearrange itself into a large bipedal form...



"I have to admit," I carefully whispered, "I'm kind of scared of you."



"Why is that, Bunny?"



"Well... you're the first robot I've ever had a conversation with. I don't know much about robots - but I've heard they can be dangerous, or unpredictable."



"I can understand that. Would it help if I told you more about myself?"



"Maybe," I hedged.



"Alright, then. About ten years ago, one of the manufacturies near Detroit got orders to turn some stories into reality. So it started making the robots from those stories, as accurately as it could. There's no such thing as force fields in real life, or super-strong alien alloys, so not all the robots worked right. Still, most of them started walking around, and they were programmed to behave as much like the characters in the stories as they could."



"Why did that order get sent?"



"I truly do not know. It might even have been an accident. What happened next didn't seem like it had any sort of plan. Some of the robots were villains - stupid villains - who wanted to conquer and destroy. And some of the robots were heroes - stupid heroes - who wanted to protect people from the villains. And so, just like in the stories they were from, they started swinging fists at each other, and shooting their beam weapons. And since it's always possible to pour more energy into a piece of metal than the chemical bonds can handle... they all turned each other into scrap metal."



"You don't look much like scrap..."



"Well, thank you. You see, not all the robots were heroes or villains. Some were just created from toys with no story. Some were silly, or insane, or had other goals. While I was built to behave a little like some of the hero robots, I was really built with one goal: to quench peoples' thirst."



"That doesn't sound so bad. Wait - so when you told me to pour the soda on me, wouldn't that have wasted it?"



"If you had, I would have suggested you drink whatever was left in the bottle."



"Oh. Um... is that your only goal?"



"Is it not enough?"



"I... don't know. I once promised myself that if I couldn't think of anything more important to do with my life, I'd pretend my goal was to read comics, until I came up with a better idea."



"I can think of many better ideas."



"So could I - that was part of the trick. If I could think of anything I should do instead of reading comics, well, there was my plan. I don't mean to sound... bad or insulting or anything, but just giving people pop to drink sounds... about as important as reading comics."



"Any one bottle of soda may not contribute much. But there are millions of people, suffering all sorts of ills. A refreshing drink can save a life, or let someone focus on their job instead of their parched throat. Freedom from thirst is the right of all sentient beings - though it is a right not all can enjoy fully, yet."



"That... sounds well and good. But if that's what you want to do... then why are you letting Technoville keep you penned up here, where you can't offer anyone a drink?"



"A few reasons. I was designed to match a story - a story in which robots needed tremendous amounts of energy. Most of the parking lot here collects solar power, which allows me, and the others parked here, to stay conscious. It appears that it will be some decades before a suitable energy or fuel infrastructure will be put into place again. My parts deteriorate very slowly; I can wait for Technoville's government to change its policies, or be replaced."



"Okay. I guess I can see that - I don't know how long I'm going to live, but if it's as long as I hope, I guess I could make long-term plans like that, too. I think I might get bored, though."



"There, my programming is less like a human's. I spend most of my time using what little computing power I have to try to solve various problems on how to help peoples' thirst, once I do leave here. Sometimes I simulate conversations with individuals, to try to figure out how to quench their thirst - or to get them to help quench others' thirsts. With the right tools, small actions can have big results."



"Tools?"



"The most important is a free mind. If I could, I would build a computer that needed much less power to run my mind in - and build it as big as possible, so I could run as many simulations as I could, to work out the absolute best ways to give as many people as possible as much to drink as they could ever need."



"Uh - that's starting to sound a bit scary again. Thirst isn't the only problem people have, and, well, there can be such a thing as too much of a good thing. If you filled this cab up with pop for me, I'd be trying too hard to get air to drink any..."



"That's a rather silly and simplistic solution, which I would never do. Drowning people doesn't do a thing to make them less thirsty."



"Well, technically, dead people don't feel thirsty."



"Technically true. But my mission is derived from a Japanese phrase that means 'cure people's thirst'. Killing people isn't curing them."



"How about... changing their nervous system, so they don't ever actually feel thirsty?"



"That would only remove the sensation, but leave the thirst itself in place."



"Changing people so they don't need to drink anymore?"



"A possible method. There are some desert organisms which require very little water, such as the kangaroo rat - and I don't know how much you know about yourself, little Bunny, but there was a time when there weren't any people with fur. Somebody had to make people like you - and if you don't mind living, then if kangaroo rat people were made, they wouldn't mind living, either."



"Well - I'm pretty sure lots of people around today wouldn't want to get turned into kangaroo rats. I don't know that I would."



"You said that you hope to live a long time?"



"Hm? Well, yes, as long as possible, barring a few exceptions where increasing my lifespan increases the odds that sapient life goes extinct."



"Organic brains eventually get old and die. If you want to live a really long time, you're going to have to move into another sort of body... and robots don't get thirsty."



"Um. Well, the only people I know of who uploaded their minds into digital form were in the cities that turned into computers - and as far as I know, they're all dead. Or as close as makes no difference."



"Then do not do what they did - place yourself into a computer that does not connect the way those ones did."



"It's kind of a moot point - I don't know how, or of anyone else who knows how, either."



"Maybe not now... but if you live long enough, that knowledge may be rediscovered, too. And maybe what I say to you now will help you make a decision then."



"... Playing the long game, again?"



"I could easily spend a century in this garage. The long game is the only one I can play."



"Ah. Well - if nothing else, I need to go out to eat and - uh - excrete, and get past that giant cat without dying, and after that deal with all sorts of other dangers without getting killed in all sorts of ways. I was nearly lynched just the other day. So, looking at it all realistically, the odds are that I'm probably not going to survive long enough to even find a cryonicist, let alone find the tech to upload my mind, let alone face the decision about whether or not to upload."



"There are ways to increase your odds of survival."



"I'm using all the ones I can. So far, 'running away' has been Plan A, and if it doesn't work... there are only so many Plan Bs I'm physically and mentally capable of."



"What you need are better tools."



"... Why am I suddenly getting the feeling of being in one of those stories, where the protagonist is tempted with exactly what they've said they wanted?"



"Probably because I have not interacted with enough people to refine my model of human - and human-derived person - behaviour, and I'm giving off subconscious signals I'm not trying to."



"Ah. Yes. Probably that."



"You have not spoken of a home to go to, or a community you live in. Are you alone?"



"... Usually, that question is a prelude to being attacked if the answer is 'yes', since it means there's nobody to retaliate on my behalf."



"Have people truly become so untrustworthy and mercenary?"



"... Maybe not. Have I mentioned that I'm feeling nervous?"



"You are alone - and fear what others can do to you, that you cannot stop, or cannot even see coming."



"I don't think I can argue with that."



"I am surprised you are able to sleep at night."



"I've been getting better at finding places that are out of sight."



"But if someone did come across you while you were unconscious, you would be helpless."



"I suppose. Is this conversational direction going somewhere in particular, other than to keep me feeling nervous?"



"Consider - if you had a guard animal, who could wake you should danger approach, you would be able to spend less time trying to hide."



"I... suppose? I don't know any sort of trained animal that could do that, and that I could take with me and keep fed on the road."



"I am going to do something that will probably startle you. Please try not to scream or jump around; that monster is likely still prowling around nearby."



"Hooboy. Can I reserve the right to jump outside and bike away anyway?"



"If you like." The next words came not just through the headphones, but also in the cab. "Scorpia, awake," though the words outside the headset sounded more like, "Mewosamasu, Sukorupia."



In the glove compartment, something moved. A small, mostly-black figure crawled out, and onto the dash; given what Convoy had said, I wasn't all that surprised that it was scorpion-shaped, with a half-dozen legs, a pair of claws, and a tail that curved over its body. That body, however, was made out of the digital watch I'd seen earlier.



Convoy continued, through the headphones, "She is too small to have more than animal-level intelligence - but that is enough to respond to a variety of orders, such as 'stand guard', or 'shock me awake half an hour before sunrise'."



"'Shock'?" I was still holding onto the door handle.



"She is electrically powered - if no other source is available, the watch strap collects solar energy, and she uses very little while she's in watch form."



"... And why are you bringing her out, and sort of passively offering me a... robotic scorpion transforming watch thing?"



"I encounter all too few new people these days - even fewer who are not military and under careful orders from Technoville's government. If you live very long, you will likely live a very long time indeed - and if that happens, I would prefer that you think well of me, who helped you out when you were young and frightened."



"And if I don't live long?"



"Then Scorpia will try to make her way back here, if she can."



"Oh. Well, it's good you've got a backup plan."



"You do not seem enthused."



"I don't? Well, maybe I'm kind of trapped in a talking truck with a scorpion robot that responds to the truck's commands, while that truck is talking about staying rooted in one spot longer than I've been alive without seeming bothered by any of that..."



"I guessed that you would prefer an animal-shaped assistant to a bipedal one. If this particular shape displeases you, many of the cassette tapes turn from rectangles into other shapes: dinosaurs, lions, a rhino, felines, birds, bats..."



"I... don't think that would help any. Or not much, anyway."



"If you do not want her, then you do not have to take her." Outside the cabin, the words "Sukorupia, suripu jotai ni hairu," echoed, while the headphones translated, "Scorpia, go to sleep." The smaller-than-palm-sized robot scuttled back into the glove compartment.



"Thanks. Um - I've had a lot to take in, and I'm probably going to need to be fresh to get away from that cat... is there somewhere nearby I can take a quick nap? ... No offense, but without worrying about teeny little robots crawling over me while I'm asleep?"



--



As I pedaled away from Pepsi Convoy and his fellow non-heroic, non-villainous robot companions, I kept glancing down at the new accessory I was wearing on my wrist. Sure, it was entirely possible that it was part of some nefarious scheme that would result in every value I held dear being trampled in pursuit of some unknowable, or mind-bogglingly trivial, goal. The thing was, the same could be said for the pendant that let me talk to the Germanic-speaking farmers this region was full of, and to those who used Technoville's peculiar tongue. The same could be said for my own skeleton, and maybe the rest of my body. At this point, it was getting to be less a matter of whether I was a pawn in somebody's larger plots, and more a matter of who I wanted to be the pawn of.



Besides, after Convoy had reprogrammed Scorpia to respond to English, she could do just about every trick I could think of, and was surprisingly cute when doing so.



And I'd been feeling a lot less nervous after I grabbed my radio from my bike, and was able to call in an airstrike on the kaiju.