I turned to see a small robot rapidly approaching on a pair of rubber treads. A cloud of dust swirled in its wake.

At the end of its extendable arms, metal claws clicked open/closed. A screen on the front of its blocky body displayed a digital image.

The waving hand seemed to have multiple meanings.

Hello.

How are you?

Run for your life!

The robot swerved at the last possible millisecond. Veering off the concrete path, it sprayed me with pebbles and squealed to a stop.

The hand continued to wave its greeting/warning.

I wiped away the dust. “Nice to see you, too, SkD.”

SkD had its own unique way of “talking.” One that can be described with an old human expression.

A picture is worth one thousand words.

When I first accessed this expression, I did not understand its meaning. How do you measure the value of a picture? Is it a calculation?

1 picture = 1,000 words

It seemed like typical human nonsense.

Over time, I came to understand: The expression was never meant literally. It expressed how much meaning can be packed into a single image.

For many thousands of years, humans used pictures to communicate their deepest emotions/fears/values. During the prehistoric era, they painted on the walls of caves. In later years, they framed their paintings and hung them in museums. They used pictures to tell stories, to entertain, to educate, to advertise.

Eventually, humans discovered their most effective method of communicating through pictures:

The emoji.

Humans loved emojis. All across the world, they shared these simple images with one another. Millions every day. Screen to screen, human to human.

Now, even after humans were extinct, their strange method of communication lived on through SkD. Rather than using a vocal port to talk, it “spoke” through the images on its screen.

By reducing language to its most essential form, each statement achieved maximum efficiency.

And sometimes maximum confusion.

I gazed down at SkD, the waving hand still flashing on its screen. “Are you trying to say hello? Or to caution me?”

SkD’s screen blinked with new images.

Translation: Yes to both.

SkD and I had been coworkers since Day[1]. We were both headed in the same direction, but we had very different ways of getting there. While I walked steadily along the concrete route, SkD veered on/off/on/off the path, spinning/circling/bouncing toward the solar farm.

When we arrived, we found Ceeron waiting for us.

Ceeron was my other coworker. The hulking bot was almost exactly twice my height, with a pair of glowing white eyes in the center of its cube-shaped head. Attached to its shoulders was a metal backpack.

It called out to us in a deep voice that rumbled like thunder. “Hello, XR! Hello, SkD!”

“Greetings,” I said.

SkD replied with another waving emoji.

A fact about Ceeron: The large robot had a fondness for the old rituals of humanity. The peculiar habits. The unusual sayings.