Page 2 of Garbage

Why?

He didn’t understand humans.

He didn’t understand himself.

But this little flower… all it had asked for was a bit of sunlight. The runoff from the dirty city rain, finding its way into the narrow cracks. Was it too much to ask for it to be allowed to grow and flourish? It was a weed, but didn’t it deserve to open its yellow face to the sun?

He sat down heavily on the bench.

His chest pistons cycled as usual, gearing down as his activity decreased. But they seemed louder now, like his insides were hollow.

That was meaningless, of course. He could check the capacity of each internal canister. Water, 96%. Sanitizing fluid, 98%. Collection Bin 1, 0%. Collection Bin 2, 17%, from the assorted litter he’d picked up on the way here.

Everything was working according to specifications.

He watched the sky, pale blue slipping into pinks and golds and purples, until it was all swept up into a blanket of indigo.

The streetlights kept him from seeing most of the stars, but at least he could still see a few, and the moon rose in a graceful crescent.

For years, he’d watched the moon grow wide and full before fading back to a sliver. A never-ending cycle with its own beauty.

No one could take the moon away from him.

Chapter 1

Evan

Evan wandered down the familiar block, half his attention on the warm spring weather and blooming flowers in his neighbor’s yards, and half devoted to the emails he was flicking through on his phone.

He didn’t register much of the angry words off to his left until he was almost upon the scene.

“You like a big cock down your throat? Pile of rusty wires like you ought to be honored to touch a real man.”

Another voice joined in. “I’ll hold him. You really think he’s a spark?”

Evan walked a little faster. He was just a guy—a pale, skinny, dweeb of a guy whose idea of a workout was a walk to the vending machine—but he still couldn’t let this happen.

He wasn’t anybody brave, but he’d been to trainings on this. He knew what to do and… it looked like he would be the one doing it today. There wasn’t anybody else around.

“Cachu!” he swore. Shit! He wasn’t fluent in Welsh, since he didn’t speak it with anybody but his grandparents, but it slipped out sometimes when he was most stressed.

His fingers shook as he pressed a few buttons on his phone before shoving it back in his front pocket. Now his watch and glasses would be recording and live streaming everything while he waited for the call to connect to the cops.

The day was disarmingly gorgeous, all blue skies and fluffy white clouds on the tree-lined streets just a few blocks from his apartment. A garbage truck idled in the street while cars wove around it, oblivious to the trauma taking place a few feet away.

“Of course he’s a spark,” the first voice bellowed. “Here, Sparky. You think you can take our jobs? Recite some poetry for us.”

There was a long pause, followed by a robotic voice, punctuated with odd gaps and a rising pitch. “’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the…”

“Aw, that’s just that stupid poem all the Orbit models are programmed with. Shut up, robot.”

“Yeah, but he hesitated. Did you hear him? He took too long, and his voice got all weird. He’s scared of us.” The first voice said it like it was something to be proud of.

Evan was only a few steps away, and more than grateful when the call connected. The AI greeted him and started going through a spiel about options he could choose, but Evan knew he could just start talking. Something would eventually have to trigger a response.

He drew in a breath and spoke loudly, letting his voice carry down the alley that he’d almost reached. “Reporting an assault on Hazel Crest between Twenty-Third and Twenty-Fourth. Recording and live streaming.”

It was a clean alley, more like a narrow street, planted with backyard gardens. He’d never felt unsafe walking down it. Homeowners parked their cars there and kids played basketball.