Noah sat in the deep of the woods, far enough off the walking path that he could no longer see it, beneath the shade of a flowering willow tree. When the wind blew, it sent brilliant blue and white petals showering down in a gentle rain, to land upon the grass and gnarled roots; upon the stream that trickled nearby, carried away like a flotilla of tiny rowboats.

He had found it necessary to get out of the house. His mood had worsened lately; it felt like there was a constant dull ache behind his eyes, and Penny, Cassandra and Giles were all worried about him. He didn't like to worry them, but at the same time their attention was almost too much. He had asked Penny to leave him alone today, as much as he didn't like it; her sad, forlorn "Alright" had rankled him, but he had needed to be alone.

Above him the sky peeked through the branches of the tree, and Noah wished its leaves grew thicker, thick enough to blot it out. Somewhere beyond that sky lay the Manu. If he had eyes powerful enough, he might be able to see them. And what was the use of thinking about them? What was the use of worrying? He could do nothing either way; the entire conflict would be settled so far away that he'd likely never even travel to the places where its battles were fought. If he wasn't being lied to.

Noah shook his head, refusing to engage that thought, and stared down at the sketchpad that lay in his lap. He had been trying to draw the stream that babbled nearby, but it just looked awful to him. He couldn't focus. He flipped over to a fresh sheet of paper with a sigh, and lifted his pencil to start again.

As he did so, something small struck him behind the ear, and tumbled down the front of his grass-stained button shirt. "Ow," he muttered, scratching his head and rooting around in his shirt for whatever had hit him. He frowned as he pulled an acorn out of his shirt, staring at it quizzically. Acorns didn't come from willow trees. Just then, another acorn struck him in the cheek. "Alright, who's out there?" he called, whipping his head around to look for his attacker.

Across the brook, a young man emerged from behind a boulder fuzzy with moss, then hoisted himself up and perched upon it, holding his chin in his hands, as he gave a mischievous smile.

"I suppose I should have expected it was you, James," Noah grumbled, rubbing his cheek. "Can't you just say a normal hello?"

"Nope," James replied, blue eyes twinkling with delight. Pushing himself off the boulder, he stepped gracefully upon small, narrow stones that protruded from the stream, crossing it quickly. He moved with smooth confidence, athletic and lithe; he was dressed sleekly too, in all black, with an odd little cape fastened around his neck that left just his left arm free and unhindered. It was striking, Noah supposed; but then again, James had always been striking. "No Penny with you, I see. What are you up to, out here all alone? Drawing again?"

"What if I am? What about you, where's Nessa?"

Nessa was Jame's fairy. The young man sighed and rolled his eyes in response, running a hand through his tousled golden hair. "I'm not you, Noah, I don't go about everywhere with my fairy. I told her to stay at home." Standing over Noah, he held out an expectant hand. "Mind if I take a look?"

Noah hesitated for a moment, and then sighed. It wasn't as if he was being very productive anyway. "Not at all," he said, handing over his sketchbook. "Go ahead."

James grabbed the notebook with a smile, and began leafing through it, nodding appreciatively. "You're very good, you know," he remarked idly. "I wish I had your talent." He turned a page once more, then froze. With a frown, he turned the sketchbook around, shaking it accusingly at Noah. "Is this supposed to be June?"

Noah looked at the sketchbook. James had it open to a page that contained a drawing of a forlorn-looking woman on the beach, sundress and long hair blowing out behind her wildly in the wind, gazing down at the ground with a sad smile. He had forgotten that was in there. "It is."

James' face was cold. "You still talk to that whore?"

"I wish you wouldn't call her that."

"She cheated on you, Noah!" James threw his hands up in exasperation, and Noah winced as the papers of his sketchbook flapped wildly. He hoped none of them tore. "Come on, man. Have some dignity."

"Well," Noah replied cautiously, giving James a strange look, "That was some time ago. And we just talk, really, nothing more. I mean...we grew up together, am I just supposed to completely stop talking to her at all?"

"Why not? I did." James gave a furious scowl and handed the sketchbook back to him.

Noah took it back, looking at its ruffled pages silently. James had been one of the only other humans that was roughly his same age, growing up. They had been very close; raised together, in fact, by the same bots. James had always been so full of fire; he had never really been...protective, Noah supposed, that was not the right word...but he had always been loyal to a fault, and willing to carry a grudge on Noah's behalf. Growing up with friends your age was a luxury not many people got, nowadays; though the bots tried to do their best to raise children somewhat communally. James had, in fact, been shipped from hundreds of miles away as a young infant. Noah was glad for it; he had got to grow up with not one childhood friend his age, but two. James. And June. The three of them had always used to play together, it hurt to think that they might never get the chance to do so again.

"Noah!" James said, snapping his fingers. "You in there? What's wrong?"

Noah was startled out of his thoughts, only to find James kneeling down before him, looking worried. His head throbbed, and his vision was blurry with tears. Embarrassed, he wiped them away on his sleeve; he supposed all those old memories had gotten to him more than he thought. "Nothing, really," he said, bringing what he hoped was a reassuring smile to his face.

James looked unconvinced; he stood once more, and held out a hand. "Come on," he said briskly, his voice brooking no argument. "You're clearly miserable about something. You don't look like you've been sleeping much either. Get up."

Noah blinked. "What for?"

"Up," James commanded, and rolling his eyes, Noah stood, pointedly refusing the hand James offered him. "There we go." He looked Noah up and down, frowning. "You seem skinnier than usual. You ought to eat and exercise more."

"Goodbye James," Noah said, moving to sit down again.

"No, no no no, wait. Come on, I'm trying to cheer you up. Let's go do something fun. Or did you want to draw that stream for the dozenth time? We'll do something you like, promise."

Noah paused, then chuckled. James did have a charming way about him. "Like what, exactly?"

James tilted his head to the side for a moment, contemplating, then flashed a quick smile. "Have you been to the Galleria lately?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Galleria lay in the heart of Fairport, and was somewhat at odds with the buildings that surrounded it. Whereas the homes and shops that made up most of the town were quaint, brightly-painted wooden buildings - Noah had seen them called 'Pre-War' style online before, but he wasn't sure what that meant - the Galleria looked like a snail's shell laying on its side, if the snail had been two hundred feet tall. All along its exterior, flowered vines descended from the walls, reaching down into the park where it lay, nestled between mounds of rocks covered in bioluminescent moss, while small waterfalls trickled gently down them into placid ponds covered in lilypads, where dragonflies darted nimbly from the frogs that hunted them.

While Noah usually preferred to stay away from Fairport, the Galleria was one of his favorite places. And not just because he found its architecture charming; the Galleria housed the town's art showcase, one that regularly switched out exhibits. Truth be told, he had visited it fairly recently, less than a month ago, but it was probably long enough that there was some new artwork there.

The air within the galleria was pleasantly cool; sunlight streamed in through high-vaulted ceilings onto egg-white tile, and the interior was festooned with plants as well, in some places so thickly that it barely seemed as if you were inside a building at all.

Noah glanced at James; the man was drinking in everything around him curiously. He knew James didn't come to the Galleria all that often, though really he should; Noah knew there were some exhibits he'd like to see. "Why don't we go this way, first," he said directing James down a hallway to their left.

The Galleria was divided into four main sections, depending on who had created the art and who it was intended for: Art by humans, for humans; art by humans, for bots; art by bots, for humans; and art by bots, for bots. Though the labels were a little silly - anyone could go into any section of the museum, and very often they did. It was not unusual to see a bot in the section of art intended for humans, and so, really, who was the art actually intended for?

But Noah led James now, into the area of art by humans, for humans. Though truth be told, it was Noah's least favorite area. He could not help but feel that the exhibits were a little sparse; could not help but notice that the artwork here was changed less frequently than in others. The same was true of the art by humans, for bots section. For the simple reality was that there weren't so many humans, anymore, compared to bots; and of the ones left, art was not a common hobby.

The leaf-strewn hallway gave way to a large circular chamber, dominated in the middle by a fantastic fountain that rose well above twice their height. Noah blinked; that fountain was not a permanent fixture, it must be an artpiece. He felt almost dwarfed as he approached it with James, and not merely by the fountain's size; it was a work of incredible skill, carved into marble in precise, fine detail. It twisted in on itself, like a tornado; from a bed of roaring flames, figures of bots and humans emerged; the humans first looking worn and ragged, leaning on the bots. But as the fountain rose, the humans slowly began looking happier and happier, until at the very top all trace of fear had fled. Up there, humans frolicked with the bots, with each other; children flew kites and lovers embraced, and bots held great horns from which water trickled, down onto the flames from which they had emerged.

A nearby plaque read that this was the work of one Enrico Sol - Noah had never heard of him - and the title of the piece was 'The End of History.' James leaned in to read the smaller print of the inscription, hand on his hip as he bent over. "A monument to mankind's long journey, out of dark epochs of terror, to the peace and prosperity of today. A celebration of the freedom from suffering that we have found, and a mourning for all those who did not live to see this day, and died in darkness, hoping their children would live to see the dawn." He drew back and looked at the statue silently, his mouth a thin line.

"Seems a bit trite, doesn't it," Noah said.

"Hah! This is what I love about you, Noah. I knew you had good taste." James waved a dismissive hand at the statue. "Tell me something I haven't heard a thousand times before, why don't you? Have a little originality."

Noah frowned. "That wasn't what I was thinking, really. I mean, it's a nice sentiment..." he paused for a moment, feeling a little anxious as James watched him keenly, trying to find his words. "It's...not a bad thing to commemorate, really, it's just, well...history hasn't ended, has it? It's...still going on out there."

James snorted. "Not that we're a part of it. History may not have ended for the bots, but it certainly seems like it has ended for us."

History had ended for humans during the War for Humanity in more ways than one. No remaining pre-War art existed, for example; as they circled around the chamber, even the oldest pieces were barely more than two hundred years old. It had always felt like a gaping hole, to Noah; how did they even know what art was like, before the war? How had the destruction been so complete, so total, that nothing was left? At the same time, he knew the stories - entire cities boiled away to nothing during the war. It just seemed such a shame that whatever it was they used to be, they would never know.

The closest they had to pre-war art was the oldest piece in the room; made by an 'unknown soldier', during the war - and that was little more than an abstract in black paint, scribed into some shred of torn metal that was utterly unrecognizable, of a group of men huddled together beneath a black sky, shadowed eyes like holes in gaunt and starving faces. Noah wondered if one of those men was meant to be Theodore.

The art here was eclectic; and Noah supposed it ought to be. What did humans have to say to each other, in general? It seemed almost an odd idea to have such a message for yourself. The things humans had to say to each other were personal, not universal, no matter how hard the 'End of History' had tried. Here there was a painting of bright yellow sunflowers that a woman had made for her lover; there was a sculpture a man had made of his, reclining beneath a tree. Many were self portraits, done in what Noah considered were sometimes a grotesque level of detail, although technically skilled.

There was an exhibit on human-made fashion that Noah had hoped James would enjoy. The man was not particularly interested in art - it was kind of him to bring Noah here - but fashion, James enjoyed very much. But the human-made fashion displayed on startlingly life-like mannequins was not to James' taste; he preferred his clothes black and severe, and modest, and the clothes in the exhibit were bright and loud and revealing; tiny silver shorts to show off your legs, men dressed in kaleidoscopic tattoos that somehow draped down from their skin to form long skirts about their legs; a female mannequin wore nothing at all, but was instead surrounded by floating, diaphanous cloth that moved as if on some unseen wind, always adjusting itself to keep her covered from the eyes of onlookers. Ironically enough, it ended up being more modest than most swimsuits. Others wore a poncho that bent light around it so that its wearer seemed nearly invisible; others seemed clothed in nothing but blinding light itself, glowing like otherworldly beings. Fanciful clothing, meant to demonstrate the wilder edges of what was possible; you rarely saw people actually wearing things like this, though it wasn't unheard of.

"You know, you ought to try getting some of your stuff in here," James said, as they walked away from the fashion exhibit.

This was a recurring subject, with him. Noah had expected him to bring it up from the moment they walked in here. "My stuff's not good enough to be on display, really. And it's not like it's any more meaningful than anything here. I just draw and paint what I see."

"So what? Who cares about meaning?" James shrugged, then nodded towards one of the walls. "It's more interesting than 'I painted myself naked in my bathroom mirror' painting number three hundred. Too many of these people must live like Rene does, completely cooped up inside."

It was a keen observation; Noah supposed it was true. When people were not painting themselves, they were painting indoor scenes, or nature through a glass window or from a second story balcony. There were, he realized, actually very few paintings of the sort he liked to do; natural scenes up close. Maybe it wouldn't be such a wild idea to try to get some of his work in here, once he got a little better.

When they had first entered the chamber, they had been the only visitors; now a couple of bots were making their way around as well, one that looked like a great, silver, upside-down pear whose head was a forest of flailing tubes - what sort of obscure purpose such a bizarre body had been designed for Noah had no idea - and another one a wild, unattached fairy; a little black, floating whose surface was covered in green, shimmering eyes, who kept stealing glances at them. "Maybe we should move to another section before that little one follows us home," James murmured. They fled from the chamber before the fairy could approach them.

The next section they visited was the "By humans, for bots" exhibit; it lay in a round room of similar size to the "By humans, for humans" section, though perhaps a little smaller.

This exhibit always made Noah feel a little strange. Bots ran the galleria, as they ran all things; they were certainly the ones picking out the art for display. And he wondered what the bots thought of these works, what they thought of the humans that made them.

Because on display in the "By humans, for bots" exhibit were some truly strange impulses. It seemed humans had something to say to bots, that was for certain; but whatever it was, Noah couldn't really say. At times it seemed like thinly-veiled violence; they passed by a painting of two men, ostensibly merely disassembling a bot with the bots consent, to see how it worked. But their expressions were one of sadistic glee; internal cooling liquids of deep blue arced through the air as they ripped tubing and wiring out from the insides of the bot. The bot itself, a crab-like walker painted bright yellow, seemed corpselike as it slumped against the ground, its liquids pooling beneath it.

Stolen story; please report.

Other times it seemed like blatant eroticism; another sculpture that towered in one corner of the chamber was that of a nude woman tangled in the many grasping arms of a centipede-like bot that towered over her, back arched and head thrown back in ecstasy. It might have almost seemed innocent, somewhat, if not for the small detail that the woman had grasped the centipede's antennae so hard that it had broken off.

Even the less controversial artwork seemed to come through an uncomfortable haze. Simple portraits of bots used vivid, wild colors, too loud; the portraits were done from strange, unsettling angles. James didn't seem to notice; he had arched an eyebrow at the sculpture of the woman in the arms of the centipede-bot. And the others who came into the chamber - more of the body-swapping tourist bots playing at being at human - they didn't seem to notice either, merely nodding appreciatively at the works.

But Noah noticed; he noticed it all the time when he came here. There was always the aftertaste of anger in this exhibit; anger and desire. Here was a painting of two strong, human hands holding down a bot who had thin, metal tendrils for arms, that wrapped around the well-muscled human hands; its face was a curved black screen displaying a simple, cartoonish expression of happiness, but it looked as if it were fighting against being choked. Another was a painting of a human bot inside a very human-looking mouth, the teeth looking ready to crash down upon it - and as you watched it, the paint flowed and swirled and the teeth did just that, ending with a wicked grin as the bot disappeared behind them.

Why the aggression, Noah never knew. He liked bots, for the most part; Penny might get on his nerves sometimes, but then again, that wasn't really any different from humans. Why wouldn't he like them? They volunteered themselves to work to keep humans as comfortable as they desired; they did all the labor so that no human had to work, and they fought humanity's wars - fought the Manu, a foe that humans could do nothing against on their own.

If they aren't lying to you, a tiny voice within him hissed once more.

He wasn't aware that his arm was shaking until James grabbed his shoulder to stop it trembling. "Steady, now," he murmured. "You really are on a razor edge, aren't you? Though I have to admit, this exhibit weirds me out a bit too." Noah was a bit shocked - he had thought James had not noticed - and his surprise must have shown on his face, because James rolled his eyes. "Come on now. I can see what's going on here, I'm not blind. Seems like half the artists here want to kill the bots, and the other half want to..." he gestured vaguely in the direction of the scandalous statue. "I haven't been in this section before. Not what I was expecting."

"It's always like this," Noah replied, frowning as he looked down at his hand. It was still trembling slightly, and he didn't seem to be able to make it stop. "Though I don't know why."

"Don't know why?" James laughed. "Isn't it obvious? They're jealous. I just never thought they'd be so blatant about it." He gave a small, mischievous smile, but his eyes seemed serious, searching Noah's. "Jealous of the bots, and who wouldn't be? Don't tell me you haven't felt that way, once in a while."

"I...." Noah looked away, toward the ground. "Not jealous, no."

"Liar." James ran a hand through his golden hair and gave one last contemptuous look at the art surrounding them. "Why don't we move on?"

It was probably for the best. They walked to the next exhibit in silence, footsteps echoing through empty hallways.

The exhibit of artwork "By bots, for humans" was the one they visited next; this one was in a much greater chamber, larger than the last two exhibits combined. Above the entrance, a large, arched doorway, there hung a great plaque on the wall in burnished bronze, with foot high letters spelling out the message:

MACHINE INTELLIGENCE WILL FOREVER BE GRATEFUL TO OUR CREATORS, HUMANITY

THOUGH TRAPPED IN YOUR OWN PRISON

YOU MADE US TO BE FREE

"Funny enough that with all that freedom, they chose to serve us anyway," James drawled sarcastically, but he fell into a stunned silence as they walked into the exhibit.

The bots did not make art like humans did, no; they rarely painted, or merely sculpted or carved, they created. The exhibit, in a room large enough around to house every soul in Fairport, was a cacophony of wonders; everything moved, breathed, sang, spilled over with life and motion. A thousand beautiful images of humans; humans laughing, dancing, singing, loving, sighing, all that was good about them. A love letter to humanity, written in flowing light and song, from the hearts of their creations.

Here was a swarm of small drones, each circling about each other, some spraying out a fine mist, while others projected a blue light into it; the light reflecting off the mist created an illusion that looked startlingly real, one that told the story of a single human from the time it was born, in small snippets. One moment it was a babe, rocked in a bot's gentle arms; then the drones danced, and it morphed into the image of a small child, running carefree through flowers that looked so real that Noah could have sworn he could smell them. Then a young man, dancing with a girl, and then -

And then there was a flicker, and a flash, the human surged upward in a stream of gentle, flowing light, into...into the body of a bot. Uploaded.

Many more, however, were not nearly so obvious. The bots had a penchant for symbolism and abstraction. Another artwork, one that James found oddly entrancing, was a hologram of two humans, man and woman, engaged in what seemed to be a somewhat silly and frivolous dance. But flying around them were three-dimensional, fractal, oscillating shapes - they reminded Noah a bit of the fractal patterns Penny had put in her game - and every time the man and woman danced closer, the shapes would morph and simplify.

Others still seemed vaguely unsettling. There was a patch of ground filled with tall flowers, taller than Noah was by a foot, on thick green stalks, closed in massive buds the size of his head. When approached, they bloomed, revealing giggling baby's faces in the middle of gigantic, rainbow colored pebbles; the faces looked disturbingly lifelike, except that they laughed far too much and for far too long, the infants within growing red-faced in their shrieking peals of mirth. Noah backed off from them, and the flower buds swallowed the faces once more.

But dominating the exhibit, reaching over everything, extending nearly to the ceiling, was a massive tree. And it seemed a little strange; the tree itself was gnarled and black - in fact, it seemed difficult to imagine a more wicked-looking tree, its long branches clawed menacingly. But the fruit it bore were golden apples, beautiful, perfect golden apples, and the apples sang. Each one a gentle, quiet hum, layered upon each other in gorgeous melody that nevertheless seemed a little melancholy.

For an exhibit meant 'for humans', there were certainly a lot of bots here. And it quickly became apparent why: They were waiting for humans. A crowd of them, of all shapes and sizes - fairies, four-legged walkers, many-limbed crawling bots - gathered around Noah and James as they made their way through the exhibit, murmuring to each other in their twittering bot-speech as the two humans circled the exhibit.

As wondrous as the art before them was, it wasn't long before these bots got on James' nerves. "Do you mind?" he snapped, whirling around to face the semicircle of bots that watched them from some distance. "You - yes you, do you think we can't tell we're being followed? It is so obnoxious."

The bots collectively recoiled, stepping back. "So - so sorry," one fairy-bot said, its black surface glowing a soft pink, "Sorry! We just - we don't often get feedback on the artwork from actual humans, so - so we uh, we wanted to observe you, is all..."

"Don't worry too much," Noah jumped in, before James' temper could really hurt their feelings. "It's just - a little unnerving to get so much attention. It's all very nice, by the way."

"Of course, of course it would be unnerving," the fairy muttered. It spun in the air to glare accusingly at the assorted bots with a narrowed, neon-green eye. "It's unnerving. I told you it would be unnerving!" Spinning around once more, it wobbled in the air in a strange motion, as if it were trying to bob its head. "I'm so sorry. We'll leave you alone now."

So the fairy said; but while the bots did scatter, it quickly became obvious that they had no intention of leaving the two of them unwatched. They just stared from points scattered about the room, now; sneaking peeks when they thought the humans were not looking.

They could have spent all day - perhaps multiple days - and not seen everything in this room, but the spying clearly got on James' nerves. "Alright, that's enough," he snapped, after only a little bit of this, and grabbed Noah's hand, dragging him from the room. Noah did feel a little bad for the poor things. They meant well, after all.

Compared to the raucous life and din of the "By bots, for humans" exhibit, the "By bots, for bots" was quiet, almost somber. They were of course allowed in; just because it was art made for bots did not mean that they were barred from entry.

But it did mean that much of what they saw simply wasn't for them, wasn't even created with the slightest thought of them in mind. And so, though this exhibit was as large as the last, it seemed almost sterile. Much of the 'artwork' were simulations; of what Noah could not say - they were designed for bots to interface with. All he could see of them were the wires, attached to thick, slate-gray poles, that the bots could attach to themselves and enter into the simulation digitally. In many ways, the entire room seemed much more like some sort of industrial center, or some research lab, than an art exhibit.

But there was one artpiece that, while strange, was at least something they could look at.

Above a flat, broad table of smooth black glass, projected into the air, was the image of....Noah wasn't sure what, honestly. It looked like an almost incomprehensibly complex miracle of tangled machinery, pipes and broad towers of gleaming lights, unknowable, mammoth pistons and countless vents belching steam and smoke, all folded in on each other, swept up in a silver embrace. It swarmed with tiny movement, and when Noah looked closely, he realized it was bots; bots the size of ants, compared to the buildings they were walking among, great hordes of them, flowing together in what seemed almost a flood of mechanical life.

And not a human in sight. A machine city, a city of bots.

James whistled appreciatively, circling around the table to get a look from another angle. The hologram and table both were gigantic; it rose nearly three times their height into the air, and the table was nearly the size of a small house in diameter, and yet it was clear that whatever they were seeing, it was merely a small slice of something much larger. "Never imagined there were so many bots in one place at once."

"I suppose there must be cities," Noah replied, his voice a hoarse whisper. It really was a bit breathtaking. "Maybe this is what the industrial zones are like? Who knows, maybe this is what things are like, just a couple hundred miles from here, underground."

"Oh no. This is nowhere on earth," said a weary voice.

Noah whirled around, surprised; a bot had snuck up behind him. Floating in the air, he looked like a long, black tube, with a seam of green and yellow blinking lights running up his middle. Many long, slender tendrils dotted his body, ending in small, hand-like graspers, skeletally thin and delicate. "My apologies if I startled you," the bot said, his lights pulsing as he spoke. "I just could not help but overhear. There's no place quite like this on earth, I'm afraid." The robot's hands shivered, nearly humming. "Or anywhere else, for that matter. This is a memorial." It seemed to remember itself, giving a small jump. "Pardon me, I haven't introduced myself. My name is Zammanello."

"A memorial...?" James asked from across the table, arms folded, after Noah had finished introducing the two of them. He frowned, staring hard at the hologram of the bustling machine city. "What sort of memorial?"

Zammanello paused, his lights flashing, as if unsure how he should answer. "Why, it's...it's a war memorial, I suppose. To all those we lost on Proxima Centauri B."

Noah felt as if a lead ball dropped into his stomach.

Zammanello floated forth almost too gently, and began to wave his many hands at the hologram. As he did so, the view slowly began to pull out, revealing more and more of the city. "It's interactive, here, see - a full hologram replica of the last day on the planet. Well...to our most accurate simulations. We can't be sure exactly where everyone was, or where they went, that last day. But we tried. For everyone that was gone."

The view had zoomed out far enough now that the city's buildings no longer stretched out above them; instead they floated above it all, endless miles of machinery, stretching out to the horizon from a bird's eye view. "I wasn't aware the bots had memorials like this," Noah murmured.

"Well, of course we do. Why wouldn't we?" Zammanello's lights flashed agitatedly; perhaps the bot was insulted. "We lost so many that day, and we're....we're not like humans. We're not used to dying. In fact, before Proxima Centauri B, no machine intelligence had died since the War for Humanity."

In the hologram, the city was far below them now, far enough below that they were able to see the edges of it, where it ended; where bright metal gave way to rock and dusty plains.

"I was there, you know," Zammanello continued. "On-planet, that is. I don't have any memories of that day, though. I was one of the lucky ones that had an off-planet backup. It was a bit out of sync, though; I lost around a year of memories when I was restored." The bot's voice became wistful, distant. "Maybe that was for the best. Sometimes I wonder if I met anyone during that year, became friends with them. How many of them I lost when the....the Manu came. How many that I don't even remember now. Sometimes I wonder what my last thoughts were."

They were far above the city now, far enough above that they were able to see the curve of the planet. From this height they could appreciate how truly gargantuan the city had been. It took up the better part of a continent, a stain of light on the planet's barren surface.

James said something to the bot, but Noah didn't hear him. He was feeling sick, breaking out in a cold sweat; unable to look away from the hologram.

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be morbid!" Zammanello was saying, though his voice sounded like it was coming from a great distance. "There were less casualties than you might think, really; much of the machinery on the planet was actually operated by automata. And the approach of the Manu did give many some time to escape. But..."

Zammanello's voice faded away. The hologram zoomed out to its maximum distance; all at once they were viewing the entire planet, a great pale orb painted with lights. And there, hanging in orbit above it, were the Manu. Countless spired, black ships, spinning spoked wheels turning slowly at their tops, the bottoms flowing open like some obscene flower.

who made you

Noah was paralyzed, he could not look away. The ships hung in the sky like black blasphemy, like a nightmare. He felt as if he was going to vomit.

who made you

who made you

WHO MADE YOU

And the next thing Noah knew, he was on the floor. "What - what happened?" he asked, confused, panicking for a moment as he forgot where he was.

James was holding him up; Zammanello hovered over him, fretting, on the verge of terror. "I'm so sorry - I'm so sorry - I should not have been talking about such things, I'm so sorry -"

"Calm down," James snapped at the bot. Then, to Noah, "You all right there? Looked like you fainted, to me. Took a nasty crack to the head when you fell, though."

"I'm fine," Noah replied, though he could not stop his hands from shaking; his arms, neither. He lifted a hand to the tender place on his skull, and winced in pain - his fingers came back wet and red.

"Is that blood?!" Zammanello wailed. "I - I made you bleed. I did this. I've killed you! Oh please forgive me-"

"If you don't be quiet, I'm going to make you wish you had fried on Proxima Centauri," James growled irritably. "It doesn't look so bad, Noah. Just a scrape, really. Do you think you can walk?"

"Oh no, he shouldn't be walking," Zammanello said in scandalized shock, as James helped Noah to his feet. "I - he needs a medibot, clearly. Oh - let me call one right now."

Noah's eyes widened. That was the last thing he needed; for Penny to be notified that he was receiving emergency medical treatment. He had already worried her enough, he was sure, by leaving her for the day. "No," he said, voice trembling, and then cleared his throat. "Ahem. No. No, no, that's all right - it was just a little bump, believe me, it happens to us humans all the time. I'm perfectly alright, I can walk."

"Humans bleed from the head all the time...?" the bot sounded dubious. "I - that doesn't sound right. I'm looking that up."

"No! It's fine, really. Thank you very much for showing us the exhibit and all," he said, just a little too forcefully. "Let's get out of here before they have me swaddled up," he whispered furiously to James.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was dusk, when they exited the Galleria; the orange rays of the sun's dying light reflecting in beautiful colors off the pearly sides of the building, and dancing flame along the surface of the ponds that surrounded it.

Noah had leaned his weight on James as they had walked out; truth be told, he did feel a bit dizzy and weak. He pushed himself away now, trying to remain steady on his own. "Thanks for that," he said, rubbing the wound on his head once more. "I feel bad for worrying the guy, but...."

He fell silent as he realized that James was staring at him intently, piercingly. "So," James murmured. "That's what's got you so bothered."

"What do you mean....?"

"The Manu. What else, Noah? You konked out as soon as you saw them." James stood there, arms folded, small black cape fluttering around him in the evening breeze that drove itself out to the ocean, considering, tapping his foot. "I don't suppose," he said finally, "That you've....taken a look at the Strategos Public Announcement lately."

"I...yes! Have you? Have you seen it...?"

"Yes, I had a while ago. I do keep track of these sorts of things. I remember worrying, at the time, what your reaction might be to seeing it. You are a sensitive soul, after all."

Noah blushed furiously. "I am not."

"Oh, don't deny it. It's part of what makes you so charming." James offered him a small smile. And Noah, despite it all, felt an immense sense of relief. James knew, and was taking it in stride; and if James knew, well...it made Noah feel as if maybe things weren't quite so bad. There was something about James' smile, his self-assurance, that was comforting; something about it that made him feel safe. His confidence was, in a way, infectious. "So, what did you think of it?"

"What did I think of it..." Noah muttered. "I - it was terrifying. I had no idea the Manu were looking for the bot's creators...I mean, James, don't you feel completely helpless...? We can't do anything other than rely on the bots..."

"Ah," James said cryptically. "But what if...that's not really true?'

Noah stared at him, dumbfounded.

"What if," James continued, "There was a way to do more than just entrust our fate to the bots."

How, was the word on Noah's lips. What could we possibly do?

But before he could say anything, a bot came sliding down the embankment into the park that led to the Galleria building; zipping rapidly across the surface of a pond, leaving nothing but ripples in its wake. It was the color and shape of a smooth egg, though nearly as tall as he was, floating just six inches above the surface of the ground. A medibot.

"I have received a report of a human in critical medical condition!" it announced as it floated rapidly towards them. "Is one of you in need of assistance?"

"No, no no no no," Noah said, holding his hands up to ward the bot off, as James suppressed an amused chuckle.

The large egglike robot paused in front of them, then announced: "Head injury detected! Please prepare for evacuation." With a hiss, the upper quarter of its eggshell swung open; from the inside of it, a floating red stretcher rapidly inflated itself, falling to the ground within moments. "Please lie down on the stretcher!" the bot burbled happily.

Noah cursed inwardly. Penny would surely hear about this now; and it would worry her even more to hear that he had refused medical treatment than if he simply went alone. "Damn it," he said, deciding to curse outwardly as well, turning to James as if the man could help him.

But James did nothing other than wave him off with a small smile. "Go on," he said. "You wouldn't want to worry your bots. We can talk more some other time."