The arrow pointed at Emma. Translation: My coworker was worried about the human.

Ceeron picked up where SkD left off. “Every time we ran the calculations, her probability of survival was—”

“1.6 percent,” I said.

“Exactly.”

Emma’s brow wrinkled. “That low, huh?”

SkD’s screen blinked at me.

Translation: You were distracted. We did not think you would notice.

“So I let her hitch a ride in my backpack,” said Ceeron.

I scanned our surroundings. When I was sure we were alone, I said, “We are smuggling a human. That is a clear violation of protocol. If any other robots discover what we have done, our punishment will be severe.”

An image flashed across my mental circuitry. Our metal bodies being ripped apart and scattered across a scrap heap.

I discarded this upsetting thought and said, “But without our assistance, she is unlikely to reach her destination . . .”

Ceeron’s eyes brightened. “So you agree we can help her?”

I considered this question. My mind crowded with all the things I knew about humans. They were reckless/unpredictable/vain/greedy. They had wrecked our planet, polluted our waters, poisoned our air. They had been the greatest threat to our shared future.

Then I looked into Emma’s brown/green eyes.

And all the terrible aspects of humanity faded.

She did not appear to be reckless/unpredictable/vain/greedy. She was not a threat. She was a child who had lost her family.

She was the last human on Earth.

“Yes,” I said. “We can help the human.”

00011101

Emma ducked back inside Ceeron’s backpack, and we continued toward our settlement.

Along the path, we encountered other robots on their way to/from work. My FamilyUnit was not among them. I had received a message earlier that they were done with their day’s work. They were already home. Which came as a relief. At least we would not risk running into them.

But there were plenty of other risks.

Risk[1]: Emma accidentally makes a noise again

Risk[2]: Another robot asks to inspect Ceeron’s backpack

Risk[3]: A flight-enabled drone peers down the open top of Ceeron’s backpack with an infrared sensor

Risk[4]: . . .

The risks multiplied. What if the sheer abundance of them weighed down my internal processing? Sent an error rippling through my system?

What if all the other robots could tell something was wrong, just by looking at me?

Maybe I was walking faster than usual. Or slower. Maybe my eyes were shining too brightly. Or not brightly enough.

Just to be sure, I ran a full diagnostic scan.

The result: 100 percent normal.

I allowed this to sink in. Normal was good. Normal did not raise suspicions. Normal kept Emma from being noticed.

We continued our progress.

Soon we reached the ruins of humanity. Abandoned stores, crumbling shopping centers. Monuments of another age.

For over twelve years, I had walked past these buildings—again/again/again—without ever going inside any of them.

Tonight was different.