I repeated these items to myself, cycling them through my internal processing. “You are going on a journey?”

Emma nodded. “I have a lot of ground to cover.”

“Where are you going?” Ceeron inquired.

Emma reached into her backpack and removed a scrap of paper. The edges were tattered/ripped/worn. The colors were faded. I searched my image database until I identified the object.

A map.

The map was printed with human and geographic landmarks. Roads/Cities/Lakes/Rivers/Mountains. I instantly recognized the place the map represented: the surrounding region.

Someone had made two additions to the map by hand:

[1] A blue dot.

(near the top)

[2] A red dot.

(near the bottom)

Emma pointed to the red dot. “This is where I’m headed.”

“What is located there?” I asked.

“I don’t know. My parents . . .” At the mention of her FamilyUnit, Emma’s voice dropped away. She sniffed. The map crinkled in her fingers. After another 2.5 seconds, she managed to find words again. “My parents gave me the map. They were already sick by then. They knew things were bad. And getting worse. They said if I needed to leave the bunker, I should go here.”

Emma touched her fingertip to the map.

The red dot.

“They did not tell you what you would find once you got there?” Ceeron asked.

Emma shook her head. “They were born aboveground. Lived up here when they were kids. I wonder if, maybe, it’s something they remember from that time. Something that’ll help me survive.”

A distant memory from a distant time. Marked on a map with a single red dot. I referenced the point against my internal navigation. “This is 47.2 kilometers away.”

“A long distance for a small human,” observed Ceeron.

Emma traced a finger through her hair. “I have to go there. I can’t let my parents down.”

I pointed at the other dot. The blue one near the top. “And this? Does it represent the bunker you came from?”

Remarkable how quickly a human face can change. As soon as I asked my question, her features tightened. Her eyebrows lowered. Her lips pressed together into a thin line.

I did not know much about reading human expressions, but I had a strong suspicion my question had upset Emma.

“Please don’t tell anyone about the bunker,” she said.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because that was my home. Even if everyone there is . . .” She hesitated. “Even if they’re gone, it’s still important to me. And I really don’t want a bunch of robots tearing it apart.”

I glanced at my coworkers. SkD and Ceeron nodded. I shifted my attention back to Emma.

“Very well,” I said. “We will not tell any other robots about your bunker.”