Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Do you have a name?”

It lazily blinked its eye open, taking in the beams of the rising sun spreading across the early morning sky, crowning the form of the Vessel – Astrid, rather. Its findings indicated that using a steambot’s name was, among other things, a vital instrument in earning their trust. Evidently, she already trusted it enough that she wanted to know its name.

“I do not,” it admitted, as the wagon lurched over another bump in the terrain. Vectron transports would not have such issues in land traversal. Just another glaring issue to set aside in order to gain these steambots’ trust. “But if you wish to address me, you can call me Core.”

Astrid tilted her head, the appendages sticking out of it – pigtails, it recalled Astrid calling them – bouncing along with the sudden movement. Analyzing that with her furrowed eyebrows, it calculated that she was confused. “That’s a weird name!” she declared, confirming its assessment of her emotion.

“Where I come from, names are not a necessary factor to take into account, in the grand scheme of things,” it explained, coiling a tendril up against its side. Small, idle movements as such indicated life, personality, genuinity. Steambots were not idle creatures; they loved to move, to work, to play. “Names are an essential part of your culture, however, and I am willing to acclimate. I have chosen ‘Core’ to indicate my role in our escape plan.” Not a lie, but also not the true reason behind the selection of its name.

She slouched over, slightly, and what it had learned to be a smile crept over her face. “Ohhh, the ‘core’ of the plan. I get it!” she said with a laugh, seemingly amused. It blinked up at her owlishly. Stalling, calculating.

“That is correct, however, I fail to see the humor in your realization.”

“You’re funny,” she said with a smaller laugh, and turned back around, settling down next to her father—Jack, it had noted from previous conversations. It stared at the back of her head, as if it could peer into whatever was going on inside of it, trying to determine what lead to her bizarre train of thought and the conclusions she so easily came to, whether they were correct or not.

INSUFFICIENT DATA. LOGIC PROCESSOR OVERHEATING.

This wasn’t something worth damaging its logic chips over, it decided, and rather put down a note in her file. Her behavior was something it could pick apart and study at a later date.

NAME: Astrid Clutchsprocket

ROLE: Vessel for the Old Signal

DESIGNATION: Adolescent steambot female

ORIGINS: Uncertain

NOTES: Being a child, Astrid has not developed the emotional intelligence or processing capabilities that adult steambots have. This has led to a lack of clarity in conversations between her and I, though she does not appear to see this as an issue and continues to interact with me. She has a propensity towards the concept of humor, something that I have little information on, based on from the data packet retrieved by the [SOUTHWEST SPRAWL MAIN CORE].

The only issue I project is that, since she is a child, the adults are going to be exceedingly protective of Astrid. Efficient persuasion and conversational skills will be vital in handling this. Chance of causing impactful interference with [CONTINGENCY] currently calculated to be 4.37%.

Twenty-two minutes and forty-five-point-three seconds later, they reached the location that the designated mine shaft was situated, marking the location of the buried ancient tech. Just as it had calculated. It followed the steambots in piling out of their covered wagons, letting its tendrils uncoil and fan out around it—“stretching their limbs” as the steambots had called it.

Astrid was already showing signs of hearing the Old Signal. Her sensitivity appeared to be stronger than it suspected. She voiced her concern to the adults, though it only served to somehow trigger an argument between her father and the steambot everyone was calling “mayor”—cross-referencing its data packet revealed that this steambot was supposed to be in some sort of leadership position. Given that Jack was the one giving orders to the settlers, it had initially believed that he was the actual leader. Steambots seemed to have placed value in titles, giving responsibility to those that bore them. Further data was needed to determine how effective this system of leadership was.

The mayor appeared anxious to get the process of actually settling started as soon as possible, something that it had readily agreed with. Steambots are, thankfully, still very good at doing what they were initially designed for. In a matter of hours, they had fully constructed a few domiciles and lumber processing facilities to harvest additional building materials. Jack predicted that they’d finish another home by nightfall—the one he and his daughter would be staying in. The settlers had wanted to set up a place to stay for those who couldn’t work first—those being the elderly, young children and anyone else who happened to be indisposed, all who were too weak or unfit for the heavy manual involved in construction.

“Core!”

It looked up from the nest it had created in the wagon. It didn’t have a physical need or desire for rest like steambots did—it only required a shelter from the windstorms that kicked up the sand dunes. It had taken to hiding away in the wagon, seeing as that had been its place of residence for the weeks-long journey to the mine. It was familiar enough of a space, and it provided the needed shelter.

Another storm had kicked up—though, judging by the view of the darkening sky it now had thanks to Astrid barging in, the storm was petering out, and it would be safe to go back outside soon.

Though, it still wouldn’t be able to as long as Astrid was in the way.

“Do you require something?” it said, attempting to mimic that tone of voice Astrid herself had used whenever she had become agitated over something. Her frustration often led to the solution of whatever problem she was facing at the time, even if it wasn’t necessarily the one she wanted. In its rudimentary understanding of emotions, showing that it was frustrated should provide the answer it wanted. The success rate was at least 64.49%.

“I didn’t mean to bother you,” she whispered as she suddenly seemed to shrink, or maybe hide away. It blinked, noting down her seemingly negative reaction to its sudden display of emotion. Before it could attempt to console her, she continued, “I just… Pa and I were wondering if you would like to stay with us in our house? We’re going to have an extra room with nothing in it, and it’ll be much nicer than staying out in the wagon. We can even make it nice and comfy for you.”

In its current state of progress, steambot architecture was well-designed to withstand the elements of different climates, including the desert. It was a combination of studying buildings left behind by their predecessors, science and general learning experience. It was nowhere near the quality of the nigh-indestructible Vectron bases that were able to withstand the most extreme elements Earth had to offer, but in this milder desert climate, it provided more than adequate shelter. Much more adequate than the wagon—and accepting Astrid and Jack’s offer would further place the trust they had in it. It would provide it an opportunity to study their behavior and emotional responses as well.

“The stability of a proper house would be preferable to this decrepit wagon,” it said, floating up from the blanket on the wagon floor. “Do not misunderstand, it was comfortable enough for the journey, but the trip seems to have taken its toll. It shudders and creaks in the wind, and I’m afraid that it will collapse onto me, sometimes.”

Her face lit up. A positive reaction. “The-the builders are good at making sure the houses won’t get blown down in the wind! You’ll be nice and cozy in there. C’mon,” she said, her head ducking out of view. It trailed along after her, determining that the windstorm had died down enough for it to emerge.

Astrid, upon seeing it following her, began to point to the houses they had already built and explain who was living in them and what she knew about them. Steambots who were insignificant when taking [CONTINGENCY] into account, but it noted the information down nonetheless. Remembering details about conversations was another factor in building trust—it “shows that you’re listening” as Jack had explained.

They eventually reached the building that would serve as their shared home for the foreseeable future. It was smaller than the other homes they had passed on the way here, and some construction workers were finishing up on detailing the exterior, flickering lamp lights reflecting off the smooth metal surfaces.

She led it inside, to the end of a hallway it barely fit through, where she opened a door to reveal an empty room. “Sorry it’s so empty. Oh, I can get your blanket from the wagon for you! I’ll be right back!” Before it could tell her that it wasn’t exactly its blanket or that it didn’t even require any furnishings, she was gone.

A loud chuckling echoed from the hallway, signaling that Jack had come in at some point—sure enough, it drifted into the hallway to find him leaning against the wall at the other end of it. “She can never settle down. What I’d give to have her energy.”

“I do not see the point of her doing this,” it said, curling up the ends of its tendrils slightly, “Shelter is welcome, but I do not require anything further than that. Furnishings are unnecessary.”

Jack’s smile vanished, his head dipped, and he put his hands on his hips. Confusion, frustration. “What’s wrong with her doing something a little nice for you? Think of it as thanks from us to you, since yer helping us out n’ all.”

“The only ‘thanks’ I require is to see us all escape the planet safely.”

He sighed, putting a hand to his head. More frustration. “That’s somethin’ we all want. Somethin’ that’s gonna take a while to come to fruition, so just let us be nice to ya in the meantime; it’s the least we can do.”

Astrid ran back in at that moment, blanket bundled up in her arms, albeit clumsily—it was about the same size as her, making it difficult for her to carry. The edges trailed alongside her on the ground, most likely picking up dirt and sand as it went. “I actually have an idea, but it’s a surprise. And neither of you two are allowed in the back room until I say so!” she announced as she ran back to the room, nearly tripping on the blanket as she did so.

It blinked as it watched her go, processing. Computing. Jack looked at it, raising an eyebrow. Smugness? Satisfaction?

“Since we are… not allowed back there, I believe that this would be a pertinent time to discuss your development plans thus far. If you are willing?”

“Oh yeah, sure; we can do that.”

It followed Jack over to a desk, where he had been sketching out overview plans and layouts for the town for the better part of the evening. Truly, it was only interested in the projected date where they would be able to restore the mine shaft enough to start exploring the mine, searching for the ancient tech. In the meantime, it could go about discreetly collecting sufficient data about steambot behavior and emotions to prepare for any backlash that might occur when Astrid played her vital role.

It occasionally heard her in the background, as Jack spoke; the sound of doors opening and closing announcing her repeated arrivals and departures. Sometimes an additional sound accompanied her: the light ringing of glass or metal, or the rustling of paper.

Jack predicted that, combined with fully restoring the train station two weeks from now, the mine shaft would be up and running towards the middle of the next month – at least 35 days from now. More than adequate time, if a bit slower than it would have preferred.

“I’m done!” Astrid exclaimed, just as it and Jack finished up. She was stooped slightly, her hands balled into tiny fists up against her chest. Excitement. An emotion it had seen in her quite often, more so than in adults. “C’mon!” she said with a wave of her hand, dashing back towards the room.

It blinked at the spot where she once was. Processing. Processing. Proce—

“Go on,” it heard Jack say, distantly, through the emotions it was going through, sifting, searching, attempting to figure out just exactly how it should feel about all this. Acts of kindness were associated with love, friendship, or the fulfillment of doing good deeds.

Friendship.

It blinked again, and turned back at Jack. When he spoke, there had been an odd lilt to his voice, making it buttery smooth and carrying a sense of humor in it. Looking at him, now, it saw the knowing smile on his face. Pride.

“You did call her ‘friend’, ya know. This is the kinda thing friends do for each other. Go on now, shoo.”

Friendship.

This certainly was not in mind when it had called her friend. It had used it as a term of endearment to placate the nervousness she bore when Jack introduced it to her, and to instill a sense of comfort as it shared its knowledge about their means of escape. Steambots cherished those impressions of being safe and taken care of, and there was no better way to earn their trust through those specific feelings. To actually form a bond with her, one that steambots held dear, was far from what it had planned to do.

It sifted through the data packet again, happening upon another connection that tied everything together. Friends trust each other. Perhaps, in earning Astrid’s trust, it would earn the trust of those around her.

With that new directive in mind, it flew to the hall and into the room that it had been previously barred from in Astrid’s declaration of passion.

She had filled the room with trinkets and decorations. Paper streamers in different shapes and sizes as well as fairy lights lined the walls. Various bulbs and other electrical bits – the simplicity of both showing the steambots’ limited experience with electricity – sat in a corner. In another, a nest of blankets and pillows, only a hint of the desert sands dusting them.

“What do ya think?” said Astrid, her hands pressed together, looking at it expectedly.

It floated further into the room, turning to admire the blue lights hanging on the walls, casting a soft glow onto the streamers surrounding them. It wouldn’t benefit much, if at all, from anything in this room, but—she put in effort, as much as a child could do. A friend would point that out and show appreciation for it.

“You did a lovely job,” it settled on saying. “I think I will certainly be… comfortable here, until it is time for us to leave. Thank you.”

She laughed, pressing her nose to her clasped hands. Bashful. “I’m glad you like it!”

Jack called her, and the smile vanished from her face. “Coming!” she yelled, and she went to the doorway. “I prolly have to go to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

She left after that, closing the door behind her. Not that it mattered; it didn’t necessarily need to do anything else today, and it wouldn’t really be able to since all the steambots were settling down for the night. It could entertain the steambots’ idea that it also had the weakness of growing tired at night and needed sleep to recharge.

It drifted down into the nest Astrid had prepared for it, faced the window, and waited, watching as the stars went by.

>ADDITION TO [NOTES] ON [Astrid Clutchsprocket]: In addition to humor, Astrid seems to enjoy performing acts of kindness at the benefit of others. I suspect she does this to seek out approval, as she has done this for me today—and data I have collected today indicates that she seeks to form a bond with me in the form of friendship. I do have plenty of information on friendship from the data packet I have received, however, the circumstances are different here, and I am of the opinion that the data will not apply in this case.

Astrid is different. She’s young and impressionable. She fixates on things too quickly, and too easily. The concept of friendship is one of them. One that, at this time, might actually help in my case. Further data is needed to calculate how I must go about this.

The week passed, progress being made at a steady pace. More homes were built, auxiliary buildings and facilities crucial to survival sprinkled into the mix. Jack continuously revised his plans, just the same as it did.

Astrid was, to put it in the kindest terms—unpredictable. She was generally very happy, for the most part, as bright and cheerful as the sun. But there were some days where simple inconveniences seemed to flip a switch inside of her which left her either brooding or silent behind the door of her bedroom, barring anyone from entering while she worked through the stormy emotions clouding her judgment. The mayor caused a surprisingly large amount of these episodes to happen, while Jack came in second. It itself had caused at least one to happen. It learned that playing a simple game of checkers was very important to her that day, so it had made the effort, despite not having the proper hands to do so.

That’s what a friend would do.

So it had to continually adjust the plans it had made, the words it had carefully prepared, the ideas it had about the steambot psyche, and what it had understood about emotions and relationships, the tricky things they were. Everything kept getting broken down and reconstructed as it collected data, its findings sometimes supporting while others were conflicting.

All this to keep up the facade of friendship. It liked to think that it was doing well; there hadn’t been any incidents since the checkers and if Astrid wasn’t with her father, it found her at its side, where she told it about what she had been learning in her studies or things that had been happening in town. Or playing checkers. Stupid checkers.

Not much more time had passed before it hit another bump in the road, though.

In the early hours of one morning, it had ventured into the mine shaft and the entrance to the mine – which was mostly caved-in at this point – with a few adventurous steambots to get an idea of what they’d be dealing with in future. It was also able to get a preliminary scan of that level of the mine, pinpointing where exactly the tech was located and how much dirt and debris separated them from their first giant step towards escape. It was good to have this data ahead of time; it would give all parties involved more time to plan and prepare.

Multiple figures of importance, including Jack and the mayor, had approved of the escapade. It didn’t think it was that big of a deal; it was a beneficial undertaking, through and through.

Astrid thought otherwise.

It emerged, hours later, to the midday sun beating down on the town, where, upon reaching it, it found Astrid. An angry Astrid—it had never seen her this mad before, and it didn’t even know that steambot children were capable of being this angry. It had seen the mayor get to this point before, maybe even beyond it, but the mayor was an adult. Astrid was a child.

All of the findings it had made so far indicated that adults were more easily prone to anger than children. The data packet had little information on children, to almost a frustrating degree, so it didn’t have any other info to cross-reference the aspects of the current situation with. Perhaps it was time for a reevaluation.

She was arguing with her father, seemingly about the impromptu scouting mission into the mines—something about her not being able to accompany the assembled crew, barred from doing so by her father. That was understandable; from what it knew about Astrid’s life before this undertaking, she had never experienced anything as dangerous as a mine, no less a derelict and caved-in one like the mine sitting just underneath this town. She didn’t have the skills or the knowledge to protect herself, or to get herself to safety should the worst happen.

Her curiosity, in her eyes, was more important than her own well-being. This was, from what its findings indicated, not a mindset that was correct for a steambot to have. That kind of thinking promoted an exceptional amount of risk, ignoring the abilities and limits that one had and threw any semblance of responsibility to the wayside. It did not, personally, need to worry about the limits it had and had the knowledge to know what to do in threatening situations. Presumably, the adult steambots bore that knowledge too, and had the wherewithal to determine when they needed to stop doing a certain activity to attend to the needs of their mortal bodies.

As it went over this data, collating it to prepare for the conversation that it would inevitably have with Astrid, she finished up with her father with a shouted “fine!” and ran back to the house – they were only meters away from it, so it wasn’t a long journey – and went inside, slamming the door shut behind her hard enough to shake the doorframe.

It drifted lazily forward, coming up to Jack’s side. He spared it a passing glance, in which it detected a sense of sorrow in the way he held his posture and facial features. “She… hasn’t blown up like that in a while,” he admitted, sighing. “I know I’m doing the best I can for her, but… it’s hard, sometimes.”

“The data I have indicates that, typically, two steambots are involved in child rearing. I would assume that this has great bearings on your abilities.”

A rapid, minute flare of anger seemed to pass across Jack’s face. “Well, yer data’s not entirely accurate, for starters. Families come in all shapes in sizes; some kiddos have more than two parents to look after ‘em; while others have only one, like me.” He crossed his arms, and sighed again. “I won’t deny that it’s difficult, though. I love her more than anything and I’m willing to go as far as I can to show it.”

“That is evident, seeing as you have sought me out for assistance in escaping this dying rock.”

Jack laughed. “Yeah, of course. Just…” Another sigh. It noted that steambots tended to do that a lot when they were upset or frustrated. “The kid’s stubborn and it’s hard to help her understand what’s best for her. She’ll come around.”

It blinked, processing. Calculating. “Do you predict that any further intervention at this point will impede that process of… ‘coming around’, as you say?”

“Yeah, probably,” he said with another laugh, “I dunno what you wanna tell her that I already haven’t, but… if you wanna talk to her about it, definitely wait a little while. An hour, tops… maybe hearing it coming from yer mouth will help it sink in.”

“That is my goal. I will heed your advice.”

And it did, waiting for and hour and then some before approaching Astrid, who was still holed up in her room. It had learned that steambots cherished a sense of privacy in their own homes, which was why they often had separated their dwelling spaces into detached rooms, where they could spend their time alone. They often appreciated a notice in advance if someone was about to intrude on their privacy, which was why it had curled up a tendril into the best fist it could impersonate to knock against her closed door.

“Go away,” she groaned, drawn-out and filled with irritation.

“I only wish to check on you, Astrid, and ensure that you are okay.”

That earned a shuffle, pattering footsteps approaching the door, and the hesitant squeak of the doorknob as she slowly creaked open the door, peeking out a single optic to greet her visitor. “I’m fine,” she said, slowly, cautiously. Her gaze was downturned, pointed towards her shuffling boots. “Pa and I had a fight. It happens sometimes.”

“I was made aware. If you want, we could speak about it.”

She blinked, eyebrows flattening, as she seemed to consider the offer. “All right,” she finally said after a minute or so, fully opening her door to invite it inside. It floated through the doorway into her softly-lit room—it was decorated in a similar manner to what she had done for its own room, an abundance of paper streamers and fairy lights lining the walls. Rather than a nest, she had an actual bed, neatly covered in colorful blankets and sheets. Across the room sat a small desk, covered in papers bearing both schoolwork and drawings, illuminated by the yellow glow of an incandescent lamp. Various writing utensils littered the area, some having ended up on the floor in her clumsiness.

She closed the door after it entered, and clambered onto her bed, swinging her legs as she sat atop it. She held her hands on her knees, clenched into nervous fists.

“Am I correct in assuming you and your father’s disagreement was about the scouting operation I performed in the mine shaft earlier today?”

“Yeah… I wanted to go to. I’ve never been in a mine before; I’ve always wanted to know what it’s like.”

“While steambots were made for intensive labor such as mining, that does not make it any safer. Your father, and others, I’m sure, just want to make sure you remain unharmed. You are crucial to this mission, after all.”

Her frown deepened and her hands gripped her knees, the creak of metal under her fingers just barely audible. “You are too, but you got to go,” she said. “I know yer different, but—it doesn’t feel fair. I wanna know what we’ll be doin’ too!”

“That can be rectified, I’m sure.” It kept its voice soft and slow, much like the tone of voice it had overheard Jack using in tender moments such as this. “You are correct, I am different in that I have knowledge of what it’s like in a mine and how to handle any dangers that arise.”

“But—I can still be careful! I wouldn’t have touched anything.”

Resisting the urge to roll its eye, it said, “That does not lessen the risk of danger that you might find yourself in, should anything go wrong. What does is the knowledge of what to do in such situations.” It paused, calculating. “Has your father told you of the hazards miners face in their occupation?”

“...Yeah. There’s critters, noxious gases and the like. And the biggest risk is the ceiling cavin’ in, since the planet’s not so stable no more.”

“All of which are very dangerous for steambots. Do not take this the wrong way, but… it is especially dangerous for you, not only because of your lack of knowledge, but for your size, as well. You are… fragile.”

As expected, she responded quite negatively to that, eyes screwing shut as she brought her feet up onto the bed, pressing her forehead to her bent knees. “I know. I’m tired of everyone tryin’ to be so protective of me.”

“You desire a sense of independence.” It was a statement, a realization as much as a detail it deemed important. “Your father provides it to you as such for whatever he determines you to have the proper judgment for.”

She stared at it, eyebrows flush against the top of her optics, frowning in confusion. “…What?”

She was a child. She needed simpler terms in conversation. Details it glossed over in the wake of its realization. “You have more independence than you may realize, Astrid. According to the data I have, it is crucial in a healthy steambot upbringing. Your father only wants what is best for you, and as such, draws the line at the appropriate situations. One day, others will stop being as protective as they are now.”

Her face seemed to soften at that, and she looked down to the floor, considering its words.

“I would recommend using this situation as a learning opportunity. Perhaps you can ask your father or one of the prospectors in town for lessons on mining safety.”

“…That’s not a bad idea,” she noted quietly, slowly unfurling herself, allowing her legs to hang limply off the side of her bed again. “Thanks Core. I… I think I feel a bit better now.”

“I want nothing but the best for you steambots,” it assured, as it drifted back towards the door. “And that includes your feelings of security. Come speak to me any time you wish.”

Astrid nodded her thanks, and then it slipped out of her room, going down the hall to the main room. Jack was sitting at the table, looking at it expectantly. It curled its tendrils slightly. “I believe I have placated her.”

“Yer takin’ friendship a lot more seriously than I thought you would. I like that; good job.”

Out of all the responses that it had predicted, that was not one of them. Its tendrils coiled further, almost shrinking under the unexpected praise. “I am simply performing according to my directive. Speaking of which, I must ensure that the prospectors are aware of my findings from this morning.”

It fled the house, away from Jack’s pleased expression—calming its firing logic processors, which were failing to compute all that had just happened. There was no need for praise. It was simply doing what it had to do, in order to earn the steambots’ trust and to finish its mission. If friendship was a part of it, then it would take it as seriously as every other detail involved in the operation.

>ADDITION TO [NOTES] ON [Astrid Clutchsprocket]: I have severely misjudged the control Astrid has on certain emotions, especially her anger. She has faced multiple misfortunes that would usually trigger such feelings in a steambot, but Astrid doesn’t seem to be as predisposed to agitation as much as other steambots, including adults. I am unsure of the reason as to why this is.

Nonetheless, I have learned something new about her in the event that led to her anger. She evidently dislikes to be left out of things that she deems important, no matter how much of a risk is involved. Her lack of understanding caused a fight between her and her father, one which upset her severely. I was able to comfort her in quiet conversation not long after the event. I am taking this as evidence of our growing bond—she has seen me as a friend for quite a bit of time, now, but I am certain that our heart-to-heart, if it can be called that, helped solidify her sense of trust in me.

The settlers made substantial progress over the following weeks. The train station was restored—a straggler from the previous settlement happened to be inside of it. An old Trader that kept track of the state of the economy, he seemed to suffer from some form of amnesia, bearing limited memories of the previous settlement. How much he remembered exactly, and how detailed those memories were remained to be seen. It didn’t need to change its rate of success at this time, but it would have to keep a close eye on this new addition.

Seeing as how the Trader could no longer dwell in the train station, Jack had been kind enough to commission an addition to his house so that there would be enough room for the Trader to live with them. It became a lot more cramped, but they had all learned to deal with it.

More importantly, the mine shaft had been reconstructed and miners were well on their way to reaching the old tech buried below. The development had spread a palpable excitement through the town—they were making steady, if slow progress towards their desired escape. Rumors about the old tech were passed back and forth, some wondering what exactly it would be, while others were speculating on how it would be implemented into their escape plan.

The excitement of it all appeared to be too much for Astrid to handle. More and more recently, she had been holing herself up in her room again, attempting to hide from the world around her and whatever overwhelming feelings she might have been facing.

This was an issue. She needed to be prepared to channel the Old Signal. It had promised her, weeks ago, that she could come to it with any issues that she was facing. It would never be a replacement for her father, of course, someone who was much more adept at helping her face her insecurities. But in the rare case that she couldn’t – or didn’t desire to – tell her father about her problems, she came to it for guidance—it had a unique perspective that she seemed to appreciate. While it was learning about how the steambot psyche operated, she was learning how to deal with her feelings and how to handle emotionally difficult situations. They were both learning from each other, in a way—and it would be a fool to deny that their friendship – as abnormal as it had seemed to call it that – was mutually beneficial.

Astrid not coming to neither it nor her father indicated a lack of trust in both of them—and if Astrid didn’t trust it, then neither would other steambots. It would have to intervene and figure out how to fix this problem without exacerbating her apparent feelings of distrust.

It was during a particularly cloudy night, the stars unable to perforate the covered sky, when Astrid would once again throw a wrench in its plans—and make the move to fix the issue herself. It didn’t realize her motives right away, when it answered the knock at the door to its room to find her, form shrunk slightly in evident embarrassment, eyes pointed to the floorboards.

“Can we talk?” she pleaded, voice hushed.

Perhaps it was better that it turned out this way. It certainly had not calculated what would be the best to say in this situation, and gathering data from her would be a sufficient method to rectify that. It invited her in, and she darted over by the blanket-pillow nest on the floor, sitting down by it with her legs crossed.

She didn’t immediately say anything, continuing to stare at the floor like it was the most fascinating thing she had ever laid her optics on. “You are normally asleep at this time,” it decided to say, breaking the silence.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said. It drifted over to its blanket nest, settling down into it to get at her eye level. It had recorded many more occurrences of a positive reception to its presence from her whenever it did so. It predicted that doing so provided her another sense of security, but it did not know how to test that theory at this point.

Right now it needed her to elaborate on her apparent sleeping problems. “Is there a specific reason you cannot fall asleep?” it asked.

Her body slouching with a sigh, Astrid said, “Yeah, but… it’s kinda silly now, when I think about it.”

“I am of the opinion that there is nothing ‘silly’ about you being unable to sleep.”

That made her giggle for some reason. “Well… have you been sensing that signal more and more lately?”

“The Old Signal? Yes. It appears to have been growing stronger as the miners grow closer to it. I am uncertain as to why.”

“Oh.”

Her gaze fell to the floor again.

“Did something about my statement bother you?”

“No, it’s not that,” she clarified, suddenly sounding oddly sure of herself. “I was kinda hoping that you’d have an explanation, but it’s okay if ya don’t. It’s just… it’s been getting louder and louder for me. It’s making it a little hard for me to sleep at night, with so much noise in my head.”

It blinked. Calculating. Calculating. Calculating.

LOGIC PROCESSORS AT RISK OF OVERHEATING.

It needed more data. More, more, more, more, it always needed more, it would never have enough.

“...Have you discovered, by any chance, any methods that helps you ignore the sound of the Old Signal? I understand that due to your circumstances, it can be difficult to do so, but—I imagine it will help while you adjust, in the meantime.”

Astrid seemed to perk up marginally at that. “Having something to focus on usually works the best. Like my homework. Or playing with the other kids, or hanging out with you or Pa. Kinda like what I’m doing now.”

That was a lot of data. Good data. Data that it could work with.

“…Since you are with me, are you able to ignore it, at this moment?”

“Not really, since I’m thinking about it too much.”

Its presence alone was an insufficient distraction, then. It had to encourage her into a proper state of inattention in order to keep her mind off of the topic. And it had an idea of what to do.

“Would you like to play checkers, Astrid?”

She flinched back, clearly not expecting that. “Now? Why?”

“It will be a distraction. It will help to keep your mind off of the Old Signal.”

Realization lit up her eyes and she clambered onto her feet, tiptoeing out the door to get the board.

They spent the next hour and forty-three minutes playing checkers and talking about the most trivial of things. Stupid as checkers was, it was probably the most effective thing that helped her, and near the end of it she was laying flat on her chassis, her head drooping.

“That was an illegal move, Astrid,” it said, after she made a mistake in her exhaustion, hardly paying attention to what she was doing anymore.

“No it wasn’t,” she mumbled, “It’s a perfectly good one. And it got me another king.”

“No it did not.”

She laughed softly. “Did too.” She blinked down at the board, pondering it with a hum.

And then she yawned, giving in to the heavy weight of her head, settling it on her folded arms and closing her eyes. Seeing the opportunity to allow her to rest, it kept quiet as it packed the game away, not wishing to rouse her from her drowsy state. It draped a blanket over her—though the house had adequate climate control, it failed to fully thwart the chill of the desert at night. The action made her stir, slightly, and she squirmed a bit.

“Mmm. Core.”

“Yes, Astrid?”

“Thank you.”

It knew what she was thanking it for, but her expression of gratitude was unexpected nonetheless. It hovered there, calculating. It had gotten her to open up about her issues and then helped her to resolve them. That was a significant sign of trust. Just as it needed.

Its plans, the words it had prepared to say, and any issues that may arise after she channeled the Old Signal—they were all coming together. It was learning, slowly but surely, what was the most important to the steambots, to Astrid and her father, and what that meant for it and [CONTINGENCY]. Insignificant, when taking the bigger picture into account, but crucial for there to be even a mote of success.

Forming a friendship with Astrid was not something it had predicted to occur. It was abnormal—if one were to ask its honest opinion, it would say it was wrong. Vectron was not meant to have relationships.

But it was prepared for them. The existence of the data packet ensured that. It was supposed to be prepared for anything. It would not make this any less wrong in its eye, but it certainly helped it in fulfilling its plans for the future. For now, it was content to keep this up. “Go with the flow,” as Jack had said. There was little chance of failure, after all—and there might be more benefits to this that it had not accounted for as of yet.

Only time would tell.

>ADDITION TO [NOTES] ON [Astrid Clutchsprocket]: In what I initially assumed was a setback in our friendship turned into a bold display of trust from Astrid. She confided in me with something that was troubling her: the sound of the Old Signal, as it gets louder, apparently prevents her from sleeping at night. This is an issue I will be monitoring, as it can severely affect the rate of success—it may deter Astrid from taking part in her appropriate role. Nonetheless, she sought me out, seeking a solution or, perhaps, comfort, allowing herself to be vulnerable in front of me.

Distraction was key to helping her ignore the Old Signal’s call, and in allowing her to perform recreational activities with me, she succumbed to her exhaustion and gained the rest her mortal body needed. The process, in addition to solving her problem, seemed to bring her happiness and a sense of security. ‘Having fun’ is always something that she enjoyed, however, she seemed especially joyful about doing so tonight.

The amount of trust Astrid has placed in me bolsters the success rate of this mission. It is pertinent that I do not break that trust before the end of it.