“It is the most advanced society in the history of the world,” I replied.

“Really?” Emma raised an eyebrow. “If it’s so great, how come you’re threatened by one little girl?”

This question cut through my thought processes like a dagger. I did not have an immediate answer.

For 0.6 seconds, I considered her premise.

I had been preprogrammed with the knowledge that robots were vastly superior to humans. Smarter/Stronger/Faster/Better. Growing up near the ruins of humanity, I was reminded each day of their downfall. And of our greatness. Our glory rising from the ashes of their collapse.

That was the truth.

The only truth.

And yet . . .

Another formula sparked in my mind.

I am targeting Emma.

Therefore:

She is a threat.

This created a chain reaction. New formulas cascaded down my mental circuitry.

Our society is threatened by a single human child.

Therefore:

Our society is weak.

Therefore:

Robots are not superior to humans after all.

Therefore:

Our entire civilization is a lie.

No. This could not be true. There had to be an alternative.

I removed my finger from the trigger and lowered the tracking device.

A new formula blinked into existence.

I am not targeting Emma.

Therefore:

The human child is not a threat.

Therefore:

Robots are superior to humans.

This new formula made much more sense. It had to be the truth. No other explanation was possible.

“Your logic is surprisingly convincing,” I said to Emma. “For a human.”

Her eyes landed on the tracking device. “D-does that mean you’re not going to shoot me with that thing?”

I reattached the device to my waist. “As you cannot possibly threaten our society, I see no reason to threaten you.”

Emma breathed a sigh. “Thank you!”

“You are welcome. But I still do not understand. If you are a human, then how are you alive?”

“Um. Well.” Emma dug her heel into the dirt. “It’s kind of a long story.”

SkD’s screen flashed with its response.

Ceeron offered a translation. “SkD is asking if you will tell your story.”

Emma chewed her bottom lip. “It doesn’t have a happy ending.”

“We would still like to hear it,” I replied.

SkD jolted forward/back/forward/back—its way of nodding in agreement.

“Okay,” Emma said.

She took a deep breath. Then she told us her story.

00010100

Beginning. Middle. End.

This is the formula of a story. A straight line from start to finish.

Robots cannot claim credit for this formula. Humans invented it. Just like they invented us. They had thousands of years to perfect this formula. Around campfires. On stages. In the pages of books and on the screens of cinemas. They told stories to themselves. And those stories almost always followed this same formula.

Beginning. Middle. End.

But not Emma’s story. In an unsteady voice, she told a tale that skipped from end to beginning to middle, with several detours in between.