Mr. Souya, you’re using that stake all wrong. And you should line up the tent posts more evenly—and neatly. See? It’s all crooked. Take that one about five centimeters to the right. Also, please separate the container with ammunition from the one with food and medical supplies. Is that north? Or south? Kindly reset the gyroscope, please. If you discover any physical damage on me, please call my manufacturer at—”
“Shut up, you piece of junk!”
I’d found a nice little river, so I’d repacked all the supplies into the unbroken containers and spent four hours lugging them over to it. I couldn’t exactly set up camp in the middle of an exposed field. Every moment brought a new problem. Half of the containers had literally been cut in half, as if someone had taken a water blade and sliced them straight down the middle. Whatever they’d carried had also disappeared somewhere.
Thankfully, there were still plenty of munitions left; the food and medicinal supplies had noticeably diminished, but there had originally been enough packed in there for six people to make it through a full year. Now that it was just for me, I’d have some left over. My biggest problem, though, was this artificial unintelligence.
All three of the machina units had been damaged. It looked like someone had gouged out holes all over their cylindrical tanks with a spoon. Only one of them had made it through with their most important part, the aqueous cerebrum, intact. They were simple to service, though, so it hadn’t been too hard to salvage usable parts from among their fallen comrades to bring one back to functionality, even for a complete amateur like me.
But this one has to be still broken somewhere, right?
“Mr. Souya, I’m hungry.”
“Huh?”
The battery-signal light bulb at the top of the robot’s tank started blinking.
“I’m hungry.”
“Wait, what do you even eat?” I asked.
“Please fill this designated cup with three hundred milliliters of water mixed with three percent sugar,” she instructed.
Machina’s torso opened up; her multifunctional arm pulled out the cup inside and handed it to me. As annoying as she was, this machine was also my lifeline. I found the sugar among the food provisions and threw together some simple syrup. Good thing I’d already gotten a potful of water from the river and boiled it. I poured some now lukewarm water into the cup, shook in a bit of sugar, mixed it up with my finger, and handed the cup back to Machina. She unfurled a straw and slurped up the sugar water. A happy face meaning Yum! flashed on the monitor installed in the top portion of her tank.
“Mr. Souya.”
“Hmm?”
“I’m hungry.”
“Huh?!” It can’t be, I thought as I took the lid off the robot and checked her most vital part, the aqueous cerebrum. What looked at first glance like a simple globe filled with plain water was actually a device teeming with specially developed neurons almost on par with those at work in a human brain. Humanity had produced more of these gizmos than it knew what to do with. They cycled through periods of widespread popularity and decline every decade or so, leading some to argue they would soon fall entirely out of use. Still, even after several rounds of restrictions limiting their functions, these household appliances had wormed their way deep into the hearts of modern society. They say AI is man’s best friend, second only to dogs.
And my new best friend’s heart……was cracked and leaking fluids.
“Aaaaah! Duct tape! Where’s the duct tape?! Machina?!”
“It is in the yellow-striped container within compartment A-3. I’m hungry.”
Before anything else, I threw some more sugar in the pot of water and handed it to Machina. I kicked the yellow-striped container over onto its side and tore through it for the duct tape.
“Found it!”
I grabbed a towel as well and wiped down the glass globe, then stuck some tape over the leaky cracks. These triage measures out of the way, I found the machina unit’s repair manual and flipped to the section on their aqueous brains.
There was almost nothing to read.
“Be careful not to touch the wires directly. Protect the surface with a bonding material, tape, or a waterproof bag. If any functional damage arises, please call the manufacturer’s customer support center at—”
The end.
I rummaged around for superglue, peeled off the duct tape for a second, and slathered the glue over the cracks in Machina’s brain. Then I taped it up once more, wound some plastic wrap around the whole globe, and plastered liquid hardener over everything.
That should do it. Please let that be enough.
“Mmm, yummy!” Machina said, a satisfied look on her screen after draining the pot of syrup. I thumbed through the manual and began giving her an oral command.
“AIJ006 Machina Odd-Eye V166S6 Multiple Personality Control Model: Special Mission Unit Three, Code 330, begin self-evaluation,” I ordered.
“Error. Incorrect model number,” she retorted.
“Machina, tell me your model number.”
“This unit does not have the capacity to determine its own model number.”
“Just hurry up and run a check on yourself!”
“Roger,” replied Machina, who then began humming as Tetris-like puzzle pieces appeared on her screen.
That task out of the way, I sighed. Then a violent wave of anxiety came over me.
She’s a mess. You’re telling me the sidekick who holds my life in her hands is being kept alive by some superglue and duct tape? Nope. This has to be some sick joke.
“Self-evaluation complete. No errors detected,” reported Machina. But broken appliances never really could tell when they were busted, could they? I pretty much gave up hope on her then and there. Worst-case scenario, I’d go alone.
“Haah,” I sighed. Might as well make something to eat. A full stomach would probably help me take my mind off all this.
I got to cooking in the simple kitchen made of nothing but the bit of firewood I’d gathered. I scooped up some more water from the river and set it over the fire again. Earlier, I’d run it through a water-testing kit; it was safe to drink once boiled.
I dropped a few dried sardines in the pot to make a stock, then turned off the heat just before it started bubbling. With the sardines still inside, I stirred in a bit of miso until it dissolved. Next, I very nervously nibbled the ends of some seaweed-like plant I’d found growing in the river. It had a slightly bitter and peppery taste. The tip of my tongue didn’t get numb, so I figured it was probably safe to eat. I cut it up with a pair of scissors and added it to the pot.
My Other Dimensional Seaweed Miso Soup was complete.
“Thank you for the meal,” I said, bringing my hands together, then took a sip of the soup. Not bad. It was loads tastier than the Chinese food drowning in oil that I’d had once before in the Middle East and a hundred times better than a meal of carrion coated with spices, random-ass pickled vegetables, or the flour and water concoctions I used to throw together and fry when I was totally broke. The aroma of the fermented miso calmed my nerves until I felt like myself again.
“Activating secondary personality, Wide Area Combat Program Isolla. Requesting cooperation from project participant,” announced Machina out of nowhere. I put my chopsticks down and turned my attention toward her.