Marigold stood over Maxwell and looked down at him.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

Maxwell could hear the words, but none of them made any sense. He was not sure how the consonants and vowels connected into syllables, or how the syllables came to form words. He could only vaguely make sense of who he was and where he was. The world was disjointed and came back to him in pieces.

“She said, are you alright?” IT asked, speaking very slowly and clearly, not to mention loudly.

“What?” Maxwell said.

He looked off into the distance at the water. It was calming to stare at the water, much better than looking at the giant frog, robot, and demon, who kept interrupting the quiet with confusing jumbles of words. They continued to talk at him for a while, but he stopped answering. He remembered that words always led to more words, and he did not need that right now.

“How about some food?” Walter said. “Remember how much you humans like food?”

He retrieved the last of the uneaten sandwiches from the day before and set it down on the ground in its opened wrapper. It was stale and crumpled and all the leafy bits had wilted, but food was food. Maxwell reached down, tore off a piece of the paper wrapper, and stuffed it in his mouth.

“Right, well, that’s a start,” Walter said, as Maxwell swallowed the paper and reached for more.

Marigold reached into her bag withdrew a small jar of ointment and rubbed some under Maxwell’s nose. Almost immediately, he felt calmer. A warmth spread through his body. Everyone’s talking suddenly didn’t seem so bad. Nothing felt bad. The thought that bad things could happen suddenly seemed distant and impossible.

“What did you just do?” Walter asked.

“Just straightened him out a bit.”

“Is that a good idea? I mean, his mind already seems fragile, as it is.”

Marigold shrugged. “Well, he’s eating the actual sandwich now.” She reached into her bag, produced a thermos of water, and sat down next to Maxwell. Walter and IT joined them on either side.

Maxwell’s first coherent thought was to wonder why one of the terrible robots from the Spa was currently traveling with his friends.

“Is the robot here to kill me?” Maxwell asked.

“Of course not. It’s me IT.”

“Oh, OK,” Maxwell said. This didn’t exactly make sense, but in his current state, Maxwell did not need any further explanation. He was just glad to have the robot back at his side, no matter what form it took.

“What were the new things trying to eat me?” Maxwell asked, gesturing wildly at the water.

“Mnemophages,” Walter replied. “They gather anywhere there are human memories. I imagine they don’t get fresh food very often.”

“Maybe they’d like some of the sandwiches,” Maxwell said. He held a bit of lunch meat out at the water.

Walter looked over at Marigold with concern.

“He should be OK in a minute,” Marigold said. “The memories won’t stay with him for long.”

“I don’t enjoy swimming here,” Maxwell said. “The water is cold and there are too many other people thinking in it.”

“Lost memories,” Marigold said. “This is a storage facility for the parts of people’s lives that can’t be used in the temporal recycling process. All the distracted, forgotten parts. I expect you were more receptive to them because of what the Scholar did.”

“I’m already forgetting.”

“They were never yours to remember,” she said.

“But I can still feel something there, like a dream that’s gone.”

“Perhaps because your mind mixed with them. You have the memory of remembering, but not the memory itself,” Walter said.

Maxwell giggled. “What?”

Walter said nothing further. He tore off a piece of the sandwich and shoved it in his mouth.

Maxwell sat back in a daze for a while. The swim through recycled memories had left him exhausted, as he struggled to compose himself. His whereabouts and the task at hand were returning to him though.

“Do we have to leave here? I’m guessing we’re not staying.”

Walter and Marigold explained about the visit to the Slaughter Market, the map, and what had happened to Thales. IT added in the bits about the Scholar and robot invasion.

“So, we head back and keep heading down,” Maxwell said.

Marigold nodded. “That’s the general plan.”

“Do we have to keep walking?”

“No,” IT replied. “We fly now.”

“That sounds nice.”

It moved his entire frame up and down in an approximation of a nod. “It does, doesn’t it? Best of all, we’re back together again.”

Maxwell laughed and hugged the robot. It hugged him back, with its new arms and laughed as well.

“I guess we are,” Walter said, looking over at Marigold. “That’s something, I suppose.”

Maxwell inched over and hugged Walter, too. His torso was pointy and hard. It wasn’t as pleasant as hugging the robot, and instead of returning the gesture, the demon froze.

“Yes, very good,” he said, tapping a single talon against Maxwell’s back.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

Maxwell looked over at Marigold, but she shook her head and held out her hands. “I’m good.”

“Typical,” IT said.

“No.” Maxwell turned to IT and spoke with an intensity that caused the robot to pause. “Marigold has kept us together and kept us going. When I was alone out there, I thought about what Marigold would do, and I tried to do it, even when I didn’t want to, and I hoped she would find me, and she found me, and she’s very good at kicking, and she’s cold and mean sometimes, but she’s also jumping, and you and Walter are amazing too, but Marigold’s the one who’s kept me alive, so she doesn’t have to hug me if she doesn’t want to, but if she does, that’s OK too, and she should be nicer to you, but you should be nicer to her, too.”

“Geez, alright. Sorry, frog,” IT said.

Maxwell sat back down again and put a piece of wilted lettuce in his mouth. He nodded too deeply and looked over at Marigold expectantly.

“That’s very nice, Maxwell, but no hug,” she said.

*

Maxwell’s thoughts were still muddy as he slid into the small flying vehicle. He was sandwiched between Marigold and Walter in the backseat. IT was driving. Why was IT driving? He had heard an argument minutes ago. Marigold wanted to drive, but IT was going on about fleshy reflexes and the narrow confines of the Hollows. Maxwell didn’t remember a winner, but here they were, IT was in the driver's seat and Marigold was plugging something under the dashboard into IT’s new display.

For several minutes they floated peacefully through white skies. There was nothing to see but the distant ground below and the golden carrot of the Core growing larger in front of them.

“Wanna see something new I can do?” IT asked.

“We’re almost there,” Marigold replied. “Just be quiet.”

Loud country music flooded the car. It was twangy and folksy and made Maxwell think of dusty plains, dark forests, and heartbreak. It reminded him of something, just at the edge of his mind.

“Is this music from the Backend?” Maxwell asked.

“Of course,” IT said. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“They have country music here?”

“We have all kinds of music here. Want to hear?”

IT cycled through several stations and gave Maxwell a tour of the Backend’s radio waves. Maxwell did not like the sound of yodeling snarl-beasts crooning over some a randomly arranged collection of beeps and chirps, but it was infinitely preferable to the horrifying ancestral music of the gilligeese. Their piercing honks shattered Maxwell’s artificially tranquilized demeanor.

“Maybe, just the country music,” Maxwell said at last.

“No, no more music,” Marigold said. “Put on the news.”

“Fine,” IT replied.

The radio took a second to click over to the right station.

“. . . lead story tonight, the Central Administrative Authority in conjunction with the Æthereal Ænforcement Ægency are continuing to mobilize robots around the Backend to track down the missing human and restore order following yesterday’s outage. The robots, along with Ægency officers, have set up checkpoints along major transit lines and are being deployed throughout major population centers from the Junction to the Terminus. Functions of the System continue to come back online, but blackouts remain a problem and the Authority has cited growing unrest as yet another reason for the mobilization. In response to criticisms that the appearance of the robots is further encroachment on civil liberties and a draconian intensification of security measures, a spokesperson for the Authority issued the following statement: ‘There is no reason to fear the robots. They are simple autonomous machines designed to enforce rules that have long been in place. They are helping ensure an orderly resumption of disrupted services, and anyone already following the rules should think of them as friendly, lethal reminders to carry on as usual.”

IT turned off the radio. The news had been a bad idea, and everyone grew quiet.

As Maxwell’s head cleared of both Marigold’s medicine and the residual memories of the Intermittent Sea, he couldn’t decide if the panic once again gnawing at his insides owed more to the news he had just heard or his suddenly remembered fear of flying.

*

IT burned bright with electric certainty. Doubt was clouding the minds of the organics, but IT knew they were going to make it. How could they not? They were together again and the creature that hunted them was slow, clumsy, and stretched far too thin. Best of all, they had almost reached the final stretch. IT looked up at the scribble of a map on the dashboard in front of it. It didn’t look like it would be too hard to reach their destination, assuming that the squiggle on the bottom was a left turn and not the letter J.

They reached the entrance to the Hollows, only to discover a dozen robots standing guard. They all had crooked smiles on their display, signaling they were under the control of the Scholar.

“It looks like the gates are open,” Walter said, leaning over the seat. “Do we just push through?”

“That’s the plan. How many of these things do you think I can hit on my way down?” IT said.

“The robots?” Marigold said, “Don’t hit any.”

It was too late.

The ship accelerated quickly. Too quick for the robots to prepare. Six of the twelve turned toward the sound and IT sent them hurtling against the stone walls of the Hollows. The remaining six scrambled for cover.

“Die,” IT said. The ship smashed one of the slower robots into a mass of broken plastic.

“What is wrong with you?” Marigold said.

“They’re just shells housing the Scholar. Pretenders get what’s coming to them.”

IT rocketed into the cave, taking lefts and rights, rising suddenly, and careening down at almost acute angles. This was what IT had meant when it explained that the caves of the Hollows were far too narrow for Marigold to navigate. Only the robot’s keen reflexes could handle these tight spaces.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Marigold asked.

“Of course, I know where we’re going. Down. Now, sit back and enjoy the ride.”

The ship moved through a narrow stretch of tunnel and emerged into a wider marketplace. Fortunately, it was almost completely vacant. IT assumed that the appearance of the robots had sent everyone running for cover. Only a few of the more belligerent monsters were still out, and even these unhappy few were hiding in darkened corners, which meant IT didn’t have to worry about hitting anything that couldn’t be fixed.

He swerved around a food cart and slammed on the brakes. The tunnel it had aimed for was too small. IT peered in the rearview mirror and saw Walter and Marigold crash into the seats in front of them. The demon looked like it was going to be sick. Maxwell, sandwiched between the two larger creatures, looked mildly worried, but the effects of the tranquilizer still lingered in his system, leaving him glassy-eyed and sedate.

“Sorry, sorry,” IT said. It backed up the ship and sent it tearing back through the market at full speed.

“I like this, “IT said. “Speed is good. It’s not trees, but it’s close.”

“Slow down, you almost hit that vendor’s stall,” Marigold said.

“I did not. I had inches of room on either side.”

“You’re going too fast.”

“Would you rather I let the robots catch up?”

“I’m going to be sick,” Walter said.

Maxwell reached over and patted him on the back.

With a creaking shriek, the ship took a hard right and exited the inhabited part of the Hollows. They plunged into its lower regions. IT flicked on the ship's headlights, piercing the pitch-black tunnels.

As they corkscrewed into a sheer vertical fall, IT could feel everyone tense up. Why couldn’t they just relax? If only IT could show them how simple this all was, if only it could make them feel the ease with which its circuits assessed and navigated space, they wouldn’t be nervous. IT was ablaze with purpose and joy as it raced through the dark. Left, down, up, left, a quick swerve over a fallen boulder, down, down, down. It was all so much fun. In minutes, they had traversed tunnels that would have taken them hours on foot.

Through ancient stone pathways, IT barreled toward the bottom of the Core. In the darkness, it ceased to feel like moving at all. They were at all points along their journey at once, a straight light through the dark. The ship and IT were one, united by purpose and electricity. They had achieved a perfect, radiant velocity.

“This is it,” Walter said. “We’ve entered the labyrinth. Stop.”

IT glanced up at the map. It was difficult to tell where the labyrinth began, but that pesky left turn/J mark was coming up on the map.

“I don’t think so,” IT said. “It just looks like more corridor. There should be a turn, I think.”

“No,” Walter cried out. “Slow down. It’s not that kind of—”

But Walter did not get to finish the sentence. As IT shot down the stone corridor in front of the ship, a wall that had not been there a moment ago appeared out of nowhere, and there was not even time for IT’s finely tuned reflexes to prepare. With a bang and a crash, the ship came to a final cataclysmic stop.

The mark on the map had been a J. The guesteater had not explained the symbol to Elvie, so she could not impart the information to Walter and Marigold. It stood for jumble.