“So, then one day, out of nowhere, my dad’s parents came rushing into his room. Scared. Frantic. Telling him they had to leave the house. Now. My dad didn’t know what was going on. And the stuff his parents were saying—it didn’t make any sense. Technology turning against humans? It seemed impossible. And while he was still trying to wrap his head around everything that was happening, his parents were like, ‘Get whatever you can fit in a suitcase and come with us.’ But there was only one thing Dad wanted to take into the bunker with him.”

“What was it?”

“His robot dog.”

Emma exhaled. It was a small sound. Barely a breath. But it contained many feelings. Astonishment/Laughter/Sadness.

“He was just a kid,” Emma said. “He couldn’t even imagine a world where robots were the enemy. Not yet, anyway. Machines were supposed to be our friends.”

I scooted forward. “And the robot dog?”

“Oh. They locked it in the closet.”

“How did your father react?”

“He cried.” Emma shrugged. “I mean, he was ten. The world was coming to an end and his best robotic buddy was locked in a closet. So, yeah. He cried his eyes out.”

“And then they went into the bunker?”

“Yep. And then—fast-forward thirty years—here I am. Outside a mall, having a conversation with a robot.” She chuckled. “If someone had told me last month that I’d be here, talking to you, I never would’ve believed them.”

“That makes two of us.”

Emma yawned. Then yawned again, bigger this time. “I think I need a little more sleep mode.”

“Of course.”

“Nice talking to you, XR.”

“You, too, Emma.”

She turned onto her side and closed her eyes. Before long, her breathing settled into a steady rhythm.

In/Out/In/Out.

I considered returning to sleep mode, too. Recharging is more efficient that way. But my battery was almost full, and so I remained awake, watching the sky fill with morning, listening to the regular in/out/in/out of Emma’s human breath.

01000111

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound came from above. Drops of water against the solar panels. Rain.

We were protected under the panels. But not entirely. The pitter/patter tempo of raindrops increased. Water gathered on top and trickled over the sides, falling in straight lines.

Down/Down/Down.

Tiny waterfalls everywhere.

“It’s beautiful.” Emma’s voice mingled with the steady tapping of rain. She had woken up again. Half-buried in her sleeping bag, she lifted herself onto one elbow. “I’ve never seen rain before.”

Of course. She had spent her entire life underground. Inside the bunker, rain was never on the weather forecast.

Emma continued. “I mean, I knew about rain. Obviously. But only from books. Or from grown-ups talking about it.” She stared at the curtains of rain. “It’s kind of amazing.”

“And dangerous,” I added.

She glanced at me. “Huh?”