The Little Robot: A Short Story

The Little Robot

The Little Robot

Copyright 2013 © Stephen M. Braund

ISBN: 978-0-9938644-0-7

All rights reserved.

The little robot admired the man.

The man was his creator, having built him out of whatever parts he was able to salvage. He had four pivoting wheels, which allowed him to move around freely. He had two narrow pincers that could grip and hold with precision. And he had a clear domed head, containing a single lens that could focus far into the distance.

Despite the technical achievements of his design, the little robot could not speak. The audio components of his internal operating system were dedicated to one purpose—emitting a high-frequency distress signal out into deep space.

But there had so far been no response to their call.

It was only the two of them on the planet, the man had explained. All of the others aboard the ship had died when it crashed. Having been built after the crash, the little robot had never seen any of them, but often he would accompany the man to an area a short distance from the wreckage. There, neatly lined in a long row, were seven mounds of rocks. The head of each mound was marked with some salvaged scrap for a stake, and hanging from each stake was a necklace of metal tags. The man had called them “Dog Tags”. When he had called them that, the little robot at first could not understand why the man would be travelling with only dogs as companions. Later he learned the error of interpreting such words too literally.

The first time the man had taken him to the site, the little robot had been curious to see what lay underneath. But as he removed the first stone the man stopped him and informed him that it was a terrible thing to disturb a burial place. The little robot did not like to have the man upset with him, so he made sure never again to approach the rocky mounds too closely.

Not that the man was ever harsh with the little robot. He did not order the little robot around, but rather spoke kindly and gently, always with great concern for the little robot’s well-being. He spoke mostly about his family back on his home planet, especially his wife and son. The man told the little robot that he had never held his son, for he had been born shortly after the man had left on his mission. He had only seen images of his son in transmissions that came further and further apart as they traveled deeper into space.

At times when he didn’t know that the little robot was watching, the man would play these transmissions repeatedly on a small handheld device, until he began to weep. Although the little robot could not relate to such complex emotions, he understood that the man was suffering and only wished there was something he could do to help. All he could think to do was to make sure he kept his solar panels clear of dust and dirt, so the distress signal could be sent out with maximum efficiency.

The planet on which the little robot had been created was a harsh one. The landscape was barren of anything but red soil and rock as far as his lens could perceive. The man could not breathe the atmosphere, and had to remain in his spacesuit at all times. Although he was still able to feed himself through insertion points built into his helmet, the man had expressed concern about the limited supply of food he had been able to salvage.

Of course the man often spoke of rescue. He knew with certainty that one day someone would come. But he had calculated his remaining supplies against the time it would take for his rescuers to arrive and knew that they would be far too late. The first time the man had explained this, the little robot had been quite alarmed. He did not want to be left all alone on the planet. He did not want the man to die. The man was clever. Surely he would be able to think of a way to survive until rescue came.