“This bunker cannot support two hundred and seventy-three of us indefinitely. We will run out of resources.”

“I agree,” Eva said from her place among the repair bots. She ducked her head low as one long robot swept its thin neck over her seat.

The bunker didn’t have any rooms large for every synthetic to gather comfortably, but they defied the small space. All crammed in to listen. It helped that only twenty synthetics were androids. The rest were toys and repair bots. The toys clustered on shelves and sat atop others. Some ribbon-thin bots formed a thick pod in a corner, and fluid bots puddled in another. Smaller androids sat on the bigger bots, including Eva.

She’d planted herself on her friend, Tiny Tin, a boxy repair bot. He rested on two thick treads, with one arm wrapped tight to his chest, held above his buttons and displays. At the end of his arm, Eva glimpsed a claw, which served as Tiny Tin’s all-purpose hand. Usually, he wore a wrench, screwdriver, or some other tool on the end of his arm. All his tools were stored and switched within his body, and Eva was always fascinated to open his side panel and find so many different options for a single limb. Tiny Tin possessed two eyes on extendable stalks. They rose from the top of his case. With Eva atop him, Tiny Tin extended his eyes forward. Eva let one of her legs dangle off his side, forcing him to retract one of his arms. She rested her other foot atop his case and curled around her bent knee. To his credit, Tiny Tin had only complained about the arrangement six times.

“Good,” an android spoke, pulling Eva’s full attention back from their discomfort and to the conversation about resources. “As anyone could calculate, we have too few resources to sustain us. Yet, we feared you would not see the logic in the proposed hibernation.”

Eva smirked. “I don’t. I agree we don’t have enough resources to support ourselves indefinitely. But, I disagree with hibernation. We should attempt to escape Lurren while we can still acquire a ship.” Eva turned serious.

Tiny Tin twisted his digital eyes to view her. “Eva, I’ve run the simulations. In optimal situations, we have enough resources to function here for sixty years. If we hibernate, we can extend that time to three or more centuries.”

“Yes, so we have enough resources to bring a ship to a functional capacity,” Eva countered.

“No, we can’t obtain a ship big enough for all of us,” another female android said.

Eva thought her name was Efima, but she still hadn’t met he most recent additions to the bunker.

“We fit in a small space when we need to.” Eva gestured around the room.

Tiny Tin grumbled, “I don’t want you on top of me the entire space voyage.”

That’s seven, Eva counted. “We don’t need a space voyage,” she said. “Only a voyage long enough to reach another Iruedian continent.”

Leonidus, their current leader, spoke, “It is our Lurrien duty to ensure that no more harm comes to Iruedim. We will not risk returning the creature to the rest of the planet. We would not be welcome.”

Other androids nodded, with blank expressions. Even some repair bots used the distinctly organic gesture to add their approval to Leonidus’ words.

Leonidus continued, “We cannot obtain a ship large enough for all of us. Too many of us would become infected, and if we are not thorough, the ship will carry remnants of the flesh.”

As Leonidus recited his reasons, Eva could see that every robot in the room agreed, even robots she considered her loyal companions. Leonidus, in his stately silver finish, commanded the allegiance of repair bots, toys, and androids alike. Leonidus was one of the few androids to lack skin. Instead, he had a metal case, exquisitely detailed and statuesque. According to the computers of everyone present, Leonidus bridged the gap between organic-like androids and metal cased robots. Eva believed the same, but that belief didn’t stop her from challenging him.

“We could clean the ship. No matter its size,” she said.

“Not well enough, and there is still the matter of our infection.”

Eva stared at Leonidus. “If some of us became infected, it would be worth the chance for others to escape.”

“A better option is to wait until the creature dies.”

Again, the bots nodded along to Leonidus’ plan.

Eva almost rolled her eyes. “Your estimates on its lifespan are wildly inaccurate. Just because it dies back in the winter doesn’t mean it will be dead in two-hundred years.”

“The creature gains only inches each year, and as the thralls diminish, the creature may perish,” Leonidus said. “With no one to tend the flesh, the winter die-off may be more pronounced.”

Eva was silent. She couldn’t deny that while the creature had millions of thralls now, the thralls would have a shorter lifespan than the creature itself. She’d observed the thralls and their careful ministrations to the flesh. More flesh turned necrotic when there were no thralls to care for it.

“You are silent,” Leonidus said.

“I’m thinking.”

“While you are thinking, consider this: we will not be able to cross the storm barrier without disabling the storm generator. The storm generator will attack any ship we fly, and none of our ships can be made storm ready. They are all too old. Nothing more than historical curiosities. If we disable it, other Iruedian ships will be able to fly in. We will endanger the rest of the planet for our synthetic lives.” Leonidus looked around the room. “Organics made us. We should not express our gratitude by putting our lives above theirs.”

Eva wore an expression of disgust, one that was not shared by any of the other synthetics, but she could not deny that the storm generator should stay operational. “We could take the generator controls with us and reactivate the generator after we’ve gone.”

“Do you understand how the generator works?” Leonidus asked.

“Yes,” Eva growled. “I understand the kind of power supply it needs, and I understand that the wireless component is miles into the flesh’s territory. I understand that the controls are attached to buried cables that reach the router. But, we can leave the controls here, and set up a system that can wirelessly turn them on and off…”

“Eva, there is no escape,” Tiny Tin cut her off. He looked up at her with digital eyes that affected weariness. “We have no information on the continents outside Iruedim, and if we leave, it will always be our duty to watch the creature. To maintain the storm generator, which we can only do when it passes near our location.”

Eva had heard Tiny Tin’s arguments before. They were the only reasons that stalled her actions. Eva knew they had to keep that generator functional, and even more so, Eva hated to venture into the unknown.

But…we can find out what’s on those continents. We could send some kind of probe to do the research for us. It would take time, but not three hundred years of hibernation.  

Now, if only she could think of some way to eliminate the ball and chain that was the creature. While Eva thought about a future without the creature, the other robots offered no objection to Leonidus’ declarations. Eva remained quiet as well.

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“The simulations have been run. We have collectively thought and debated this topic long enough,” Leonidus stated. “We will begin hibernation on tomorrow’s fifth hour.”

Around the synthetic’s bunker, wind whipped the dying summer grasses. The endless storm came from Lurren’s storm generator. Designed to keep curious Iruedian ships safe from Lurren’s secret monster. The storm generator now reigned over the land, cycling from light rain and partial sun to thunderous blizzards. Previously, the storms only activated when an Iruedian ship – sea or air – came close. Lurriens grew used to the periodic storms and obeyed the warnings to stay indoors.

In the last days before the creature took control of the organics, one lone organic switched on the generator and left it that way. Or, maybe it was a synthetic. Those in the bunker weren’t sure. Either way, it was an android who carried the generator’s controls from their original location to the bunker, at least in part. The router had been left behind due to its size. Now, they relied on fiber optic cables, buried deep in Lurren’s soil to communicate with the router. Along with the controls, the last uninfected synthetics joined the eastern bunker, and they heard no more from the west of Lurren.

Many of Eva’s favorite synthetics had gone west to search for resources and never returned. Eva was used to it. Just as she was used to the storm and its cycles. Her red hair floated loose in the wind, waving in all directions. It lashed her face. Inland, the rain was often minimal, but at sea and close to the beach, rainfall accosted the surface.

“Time to sleep,” Tiny Tin called from the bunker door. He craned his digital eyes to see Eva.

Eva turned and waved for him to go ahead. Tiny Tin called it sleep, but Eva knew this hibernation would not be like their normal refresh periods. This sleep would have no cyclical elements. It would not occur every three to five days for ten or twelve hours. This sleep would be more like suspended non-functioning, aided by alcoves to suppress their active programming. Eva had no plans to sleep – not yet.

In her peripheral vision, Eva saw Tiny Tin at the bunker door. This time, Leonidus joined him. The male android gleamed silver in the doorway. His black hair, with its worn paint, also possessed the glint of metal. Eva walked to the bunker door and stepped inside. She pulled the door closed, and snapped the locking mechanism into place.

“It is time for all of us to sleep,” Leonidus said. “We have already gone over our lack of resources, but I will say it again. We do not have the resources to wait out the creature’s infestation while we remain active.”

“We don’t have the resources either way.” Eva stared him in the eyes but found them hollow.

Leonidus turned for the hibernation rooms. “You will sleep.”

“Yes, I will, but I won’t like it.” Eva followed Leonidus down the dark hall.

Tiny Tin rolled after. The three synthetics sought a blue-green glow at the end of the hall. Other little robots waited. Eva knew them.

First, she counted Wheelian, a spherical robot with spindly arms, big plastic eyes, and a fake mustache. Among the cluster of robots, she also found Spring Peeper, a small purplish coil with eyes on top. The last member of the wakeful group was Ferrou, a silvery puddle used for hard to access repairs.

Eva smiled. “I see you all waited up for me.”

“Yes, it is your responsibility to put these two repair bots and toys into hibernation. I will begin my own hibernation sequence, and I expect you to do the same.” Leonidus tapped a few buttons on a long tube and stepped inside. From inside the tube, he watched as Eva put each bot to sleep.

Eva took Wheelian and Spring Peeper to their cubby first. Due to the abundance of synthetics in the bunker, several toys would share.

Dreamily, Wheelian remarked, “When we wake, the world will be fresh again, and I will roll through the grassy hills.” He wiggled his mustache and closed his eyes.

Spring Peeper peeped.

“Optimistic of you,” Eva said.

She closed the box and watched as they entered an inactive and preserved state. Both toys closed their eyes, and Eva felt thankful for their creator’s attention to detail. To Eva, open eyes meant death.

Eva escorted Tiny Tin into his box next.

“He’s watching you,” Tiny Tin said. “His hibernation is on a timer. Six minutes remain. If you want to fiddle around, we’ll have to stall. Should I be dramatic and feign synthetic romance?”

“Please don’t.” Eva knelt at Tiny Tin’s height. “So, now you approve of my fiddling?”

“No and yes. I’ve run the simulations. I’m skeptical about both plans: hibernation and attack. Our best case scenario is to hope it dies or loses ground when the thralls die.” Tiny Tin backed into his box and an attachment fell out of his case. “Oops. You’ll have to put that back in.”

Eva smiled, but when she rose, she feigned annoyance and grabbed a tool to repair Tiny Tin. Leonidus watched. Tiny Tin’s repair wasted three minutes.

“Halfway. Ferrou will have to figure out how to get you more time.”

“Don’t worry,” Eva said. “I have my own plan for staying up past bedtime.”

Eva initiated Tiny Tin’s hibernation and watched his eyes go dark. Tiny Tin’s creator had not been as conscientious about portraying sleep. Tiny Tin’s eyes merely shut off. He looked dead.

Eva checked the time. Two minutes left.

She joined Ferrou at his hibernation box. Ferrou was a liquid bot and would have to cram himself into a tiny compartment. He was also the only bot leftover from his household. Now, he belonged to Eva’s. Ferrou slouched as he spilt his way into the small box.

“I’ll take care of you,” Eva promised. She remembered the android that Ferrou had been so attached to. “I assured Chrysanthos that I would absorb you into the Dyelan household. It’s a promise I will keep.”

Eva initiated Ferrou’s hibernation and glanced at the clock – one minute left.

She crossed to her own hibernation tube, and Leonidus’ eyes followed her. She pressed the sequence of buttons, making a key mistake that would halt the hibernation. Then, Eva stepped inside.

The hibernation sequence began, and she closed her eyes. The lights in the chamber glowed, and she felt the air grow cooler. Suddenly, the tube’s glow terminated and the door popped open. Eva opened her eyes and found Leonidus at rest. She checked his terminal. His hibernation was well under way. He probably dropped off, relieved that Eva had made it to hibernation within his prescribed countdown.

I wonder what he would have done if I hadn’t timed my plan correctly? Gone to his sleep with a look of horror on his features? Pounded the tube walls? Maybe, he had a cancel switch.

Eva found the main hibernation computer. She wanted to change the terms of wake up to allow her to wake up both independently and before the designated three hundred years. Eva changed the program and left the room. Now, came the fun part.

In a corner, Eva found supplies stowed suspiciously.

Eva smiled. Tiny Tin.

She opened a crate and looked inside. He’d gathered many things, an assortment of materials and tools for her to execute any number of plans. Eva planned to build a probe. She planned to build many.

From the crate, Eva pulled one broken probe. She’d found her start. “I am going to send you on a little trip outside Lurren.”

Eva found her tools and set them up. She began to rebuild the broken probe and construct at least thirty new ones. As she worked she devised a plan. If I keep this design, thirty-two is all I can make. If I shrink the design, I could build sixty-two, but the elements might damage more of them. Eva opted to build a mixture, a handful of large probes and small ones.

When I send them to the rest of Iruedim, I will instruct them to find Lurrien technology. Perhaps, a ship. If we can locate remnants of the Lurriens, we could convince them to take us in. Secondary protocol will be to find people. Any people. Then, Eva considered, Or would it be best to avoid the other Iruedians? Might they have a disdain for Lurriens and our monster? Should I instruct the probes to find uninhabited land instead?

Eva settled on a compromise. If a probe found a Lurrien ship, it would transmit its location to her, stopping only when tampered with. The message would wake her from the hibernation. If the probe found a person, it would still send a message, accompanied by data on the society it observed. Eva could then determine if she should stay or go.

I will likely be out of hibernation in four or five years, Eva congratulated herself as she soldered parts together.

Time passed, but Eva was unaware how much. The storm raged outside with intermittent breaks in the wind. Sometimes rain pattered atop the bunker, and Eva knew the storm generator passed overhead. A long time ago, Eva’s creator explained that the storm generator, a giant, floating, sphere, circled the continent to create the storms. They never saw it because it spun deep inside the clouds. When the storms abated, the generator retreated somewhere in Lurren. Eva did not know where, but the generator would not retreat this time. If the androids had their way, the generator would operate for the next three hundred years, but Eva intended to give it a short break.

She finished the last probe and lined the little robots up. She had almost fifty spheres set atop legs and an engine. All the probes bore random words and letters, depending on what kind of scrap metal she had used. A few had prominent symbols, and Eva prayed the symbols were not recognizable all over Iruedim. One probe had a recycling symbol; another proclaimed itself an eatery, and still, another beckoned women to its bathroom facilities.

Eva programed each probe and led the hovering and scuttling army to the bunker door. “Wait here,” she instructed them.

Eva walked to the back room and found the generator controls. She paused the storm and waited. Within two hours, the winds abated, and Eva opened the bunker door. The probes whizzed out. Eva would give them one day to leave the continent. Then, she would resume the storm. Eva sat by the open bunker door and waited.