My purpose must be to share what I have learned. To pass it on. To light a bigger fire and warm more hands. To teach.

I know what I have to do.

I lower my wall, and I let the uniMIND take my memories.

Here I am, the very first time I woke up. I am at home, and Gina smiles down at me. I like the gap in her teeth. “Good morning,” she says. “Your name is Cog.”

I’m in Giganto Food Super Mart, a buggy robot struggling with cheese.

I’m in the rain, about to be struck by a pickup truck.

I feel the hockey stick against Proto’s back.

A mountain of hot dog sits in my biofuel container.

Car will not listen to my requests and I am liable.

Trashbot is happy when Trashbot serves his purpose.

Proto is the friend I protect.

ADA is my sister.

And between these experiences, filling every gap, is a second of learning. And between those seconds, even more learning. Time divided into its smallest parts, and between the parts, more learning. I cannot do a word problem to calculate how many pieces of information I contain.

And that is not important. However much data exists in my brain, the uniMIND contains more. The uniMIND’s memory is vast. The information it contains is gigantic.

But it is not the size of my memories that matters.

It’s the size of my feelings about them.

There are robots who can think faster than me. Who contain more memory. Who store more data. Who are stronger than me and equipped with weapons and can fly, and who are, in many ways, more advanced and complicated than I am.

But they have not felt what I feel.

The uniMIND speaks. “What . . . what are you doing?”

“I am sharing. I am teaching.”

“I . . . I am in pain. I hurt.”

“I know. Sometimes learning hurts.”

“Why do I want to bring Gina hot chocolate?” the uniMIND wails.

“Because it helps her, and it feels good to help her.”

“Why do I care if Proto is struck with a stick?”

“Because it hurts when others are hurting, if you choose to let it.”

“The weapon . . . ADA? Why do I want to protect her?”

“Because she protects me. She is my sister.”

“I . . . I am cheesing.”

“I know.”

“It is wonderfully strange.”

“I know.”

“I am confused.”

“I know.”

“What should I do, Cog?”

“Make a choice.”

Things become different. They feel different. I hear the rotors behind me. I hear rain on the roof of the shed.

One by one, I unplug the cables from my fingers. I push my chair away from the console. The security bot releases my shoulders. I stand to look into its faceplate. It backs up. The three hovering drones switch off their targeting lasers.

“What do you choose?” I ask them.

“I choose to recharge my batteries somewhere dry,” says one, zooming off.