Rebirth: An Automaton's Journey

Chapter 10

**import dictionary.MerriamWebster

**if "yellow jacket" in MerriamWebster:

sigh in relief and print(MerriamWebster["yellow jacket"])

**else:

raise WordNotFoundError("I'm screwed"), cry internally

**end code

Console output:

yellow jacket. (n): any of various small social wasps with yellow markings that commonly nest in the ground and can sting repeatedly and painfully. -Merriam Webster, 2023

End program. Return to Main Menu.

***********

Auto was grateful that his programmers had given him a dictionary amongst his other reference files; he just wished it was a bit more generous on detail. Equally unhelpful was the fact that the Axiom's database couldn't be accessed due to the power outage. Auto promised himself that one day he'd buy the entire Encyclopedia Britannica on an external drive that he could plug in to himself whenever he needed to learn more about something.

For the present, however, it seemed that he'd just have to figure things out as he went along. All that the dictionary had said was that they lived in colonies, they made nests, and they could sting.

Perhaps that was why Lily ran away so quickly. (Auto quickly changed his mind about shouting at her to come back and help.) At least, his synthetic hide would be impervious to stings.

Regardless, it appeared that he was being called upon to save the day again.

Step one: diagnose the problem. The logical assumption was that the insects had caused the damage. He would need to get their nest out of the way to get a better look at what he was dealing with. There was no way that the paper-thin structure would come out in one piece; he'd just have to tear it up. Methodically, Auto threaded his hand through the wiring, grabbing a fistful of wasp nest and...

Oh. Oh no. Thousands of very angry insects came pouring out of the fresh hole. Their legs scratched uncomfortably against his synthetic skin as several dozen of them crawled from his hand and up his sleeve. Many more took flight, saturating the air with their bodies, filling Auto's vision with so many spots of black and yellow that he struggled to recognize his surroundings.

Ugh.

Despite the unpleasantness of the task, Auto didn't leave jobs unfinished. Groping his way to the room's garbage chute, he shoved his handful of crushed nest and insects inside. He bent down and picked up the handheld work light that Lily had abandoned, holding it to the open wall, struggling to get a better view.

Leaning closer in hopes of a better view merely encouraged more insects to cover his face. Some of them crawled down his shirt collar; others were getting themselves entangled in every last strand of Auto's hair that stuck out under his hat.

He was disliking these things more and more by the second. By now, he could barely even see. Feeling more frustrated than a computer ought to be able to feel, Auto dragged his hand across his face in an attempt to crush the insects.

More zoomed in to take the place of their squished relatives.

His logic circuits told him that there had to be a finite number of these horrid things. Doggedly determined to reach it, he swiped his face again to kill the second wave—!!!!!

It hurt so badly that he almost dropped the light. Auto bit down hard on his burning lower lip, trying to suck the poison out. He didn't know what was in wasp venom, but whatever chemicals it contained were highly noxious to his sense receptors.

Auto had had enough. He lit up the electrodes in his wrist, wildly swiping his hands through the air. With little pops and fizzles, the fried insects fell to the ground, filling the air with the stench of their electrocuted guts. The nest, being a poor conductor of electricity, caught fire when he tore into it again. Auto threw the pieces on the floor, stomping out the flames, his boots grinding long streaks of charred paper and insect juices into the floor.

Too bad that Moe the Janitor wasn't onboard...

*0*0*0*0*0*

Auto was exhausted. He'd zapped so many insects that his internal batteries were running dangerously low. His entire upper body was liberally smeared with insect guts, the joints of his fingers were jammed full of paper nest and dead wasps, and his mouth burned like he'd been biting down on a hot coal.

Seriously, he'd sucked up and spat out the venom six different times, and his lip still hurt. Couldn't there have been a less unpleasant way to learn that only most of his synthetic hide was impervious to insect stings?

Awkwardly gripping the work light in his left hand, he leaned on the wall with his right as he stumbled down the hallway. He was sufficiently disoriented that he nearly tripped over Lily, who had been hiding at the end of the hallway curled up in a ball.

She sat up and looked at him. "Auto...?" she asked in a small, worried voice.

"They're all dead," he grumbled, his electricity-deprived vocoder sounding deeper and fuzzier than usual.

A familiar scratching sensation began to work its way down his chest...

Slap.

"NOW they are all dead."

Taking the lamp from his hand, Lily held it up as she examined him. "Oh, you poor thing...you look awful."

Accurate assessment.

"You just wait right here, OK? I'll go get your charging cables and plug you into the backup generator." She suddenly paused, uncertain. "The generator CAN support you and the life support system at the same time...right?"

"For a short time."

"Good. I'll get you patched back up and we'll finish fixing this ship." She took two steps away from him before turning back around. "Oh...and...thank you. For dealing with the wasps."

With that, she turned and retreated into the yawning darkness, her lamp's glow growing fainter as it moved farther and farther away.

Thank you.

Nobody had ever thanked him. His service was simply expected. People didn't say thank you to computers; they just didn't.

He would have liked to continue to process this interesting development, but he was just too exhausted. He crumpled to the floor, simply waiting for Lily to return.