When I looked at Emma, I thought of what I had just witnessed. The suffering and the cruelty. The errors of humanity.

A reminder blinked in the back of my brain: Emma was not responsible for what had happened before she was born. In the time we had spent with her, she had caused no suffering, shown no signs of cruelty.

But what if it was just a matter of time?

What if all the errors of humanity were already stitched into Emma’s programming?

“Hey, XR—you okay?”

Emma’s voice broke through my thoughts. She must have noticed the way I was looking at her. My cold, steady stare.

I could understand her confusion. She was not part of the Hive. Unlike the rest of us, she had not witnessed the Daily Address.

Emma took a step toward me.

I took a step away from her.

Her head tilted. “Did I do something wrong?”

No/Yes

No/Yes

No/Yes

No/Yes

As these options streamed through my circuitry, my memory drive replayed the final words of PRES1DENT’s Daily Address.

A robot shares everything with the Hive. A robot has nothing to hide.

It was a promise PRES1DENT made to us. A promise that we were all part of a larger network. That our civilization was built on unity/trust.

I had broken that promise.

I had not told the Hive about Emma.

I was hiding the truth.

This knowledge jolted through my circuitry. My internal wiring felt like it was twisted into knots.

But at least I knew this:

Soon we would be rid of the human for good.

00101110

For thirty-two minutes and twelve seconds, we walked without speaking. Listening only to the sounds of our footsteps. And SkD’s treads. And the wind brushing through the branches of trees. And birds calling out to one another. And the chatter of insects.

At several moments, I wanted to say something to Emma. To offer an explanation. For the way I looked at her earlier. For thinking the worst about her.

But I said nothing.

And without my words, other noises filled the silence.

The soft hum of our mechanical bodies. And the snap of a twig beneath Emma’s foot. And the tall grass swaying back/forth. And the skittering of squirrels across a branch.

And a distant rumble.

Based on the frequency, it sounded like thunder. Almost. I tuned my audio settings to maximum volume. And listened. This is what I heard:

A train in the distance.

I stopped. So did Ceeron/SkD.

Emma continued walking for another 2.1 seconds. When she realized we were no longer keeping up, she glanced back. “Why are you stopping?”

“From this point onward, you should remain hidden,” I said.

Emma inspected the landscape around her. “But we’re in the middle of nowhere.”

I considered her response. “How can you be in the middle of a place that does not exist?”