“The parking lot,” I replied. “Ceeron sent me its coordinates. Come on!”

Emma left the cart and we set off across the dark mall, our footsteps pounding the floor.

I hardly noticed the clothing I had on. The hat. The flapping, flower-print shirt. I thought only about SkD. Its battery at zero. I would soon face the same situation. My battery was down to 4 percent.

Time was running out.

My GPS location indicator blinked with Ceeron’s coordinates.

The shortest route was through the exit ahead of us. A solid glass doorway. I increased my pace, lowered my shoulder, and barreled into the barrier.

KA-RAAASH!

The doorway exploded into thousands of tiny pieces. Glass shattered all around me. The impact lit up the sensors in my shoulder. But I did not slow down. I kept running until I saw SkD.

The small robot was frozen in place. Moonlight traced the edges of its unmoving body. Its screen was dark.

Emma wrapped her arms around SkD. “There has to be something we can do. You can bring him back to life, can’t you?”

“Maybe,” Ceeron replied. “We must work quickly.”

I surveyed our surroundings.

Above us: solar panels.

Next to Ceeron: a metal box.

Attached to the metal box: a large power cord.

Understanding flickered through my mind. This was once a charging station to power electric cars. It was no longer connected to the grid, but it still received solar energy.

We could use the charging station to refill our batteries.

But there was a problem.

Ceeron explained: “The charging station is old. Its system is outdated. We are not compatible.”

The back panel of the metal box had already been removed. Ceeron’s glowing eyes cast white light across a tangle of wires.

“SkD was trying to rewire the technology. It was almost finished when its battery hit zero. I tried to take over, but my hands are too big.”

Ceeron raised its massive metal hands as proof. They dwarfed everything inside the charging station.

“Maybe I can help.” I hunched in front of the box. I could not make sense of the chaotic clusters of multicolored wires. But my confusion did not last long. I took a quick search through the file cabinet in my brain, unlocking a vast database of information.

Just like that, I was an expert.

But the knowledge did me no good. When I reached into the box, I made a dismaying discovery. My hands were also too big. My fingers were not flexible enough. Trying to rewire the charging station would be like a human performing heart surgery while wearing mittens. Impossible.

“I am sorry.” My shoulders sagged. “I am unable to do the job.”

“What if I try?” Emma asked. “I have smaller hands than you guys.”

“Yes, but—this equipment is old. The wires are corroded. If you touch the wrong thing . . .”

My voice stopped. The rest of the sentence vibrated through my circuitry.

You could set off a spark.