Chapter 10 · Continued
Back to the Factory
Impact diagnostics began.
Balance control stabilized.
A faint light spread across his faceplate, and his projected eyes slowly formed.
The world tilted briefly before settling into place.
Transport interruption detected.
A second alert followed.
External containment status: open.
Cam looked around the damaged cargo compartment, then toward the roadway beyond the tilted lift platform.
Outside, one of the yellow delivery bots spun slowly in confused circles near the ditch. Its painted cow logo had been badly scraped, and one wheel twitched intermittently.
The small machine emitted a sad electronic chirp.
Cam pulled his arm free of the strap and carefully stood.
The driver still hadn’t noticed him. He was near the front of the vehicle, yelling into his phone.
“No, I can’t drive it! The axle is lying in the road!”
Cam stepped onto the damaged lift platform and walked carefully down its tilted surface until his feet touched the shoulder.
The delivery bot rotated again, then stopped abruptly. Its optical sensors locked onto Cam, and a small status light blinked twice.
Cam looked toward the tree line bordering the road.
Dense woods.
No nearby structures.
No instructions.
For a moment, he stood motionless.
Waiting.
Processing.
Then, without a command, route authorization, or external input, Cam walked toward the trees.
Branches shifted softly as he disappeared into the woods.
Several seconds later, the damaged Moo Mart bot emitted another confused chirp and followed him.
By the time the police arrived, the RCAM driver was standing beside the ruined truck and trying very hard to look sober.
It was not going well.
“I’m telling you,” he said defensively, gesturing toward the intersection. “One of those little delivery bots came right out in front of me. I swerved to avoid it, the truck hit the curb, and the axle snapped.”
The officer nodded slowly as he wrote something down. “And then?”
“I panicked and hit the gas instead of the brake.”
Behind them, the truck sat crooked along the shoulder, its front suspension collapsed and transmission fluid still dripping onto the pavement.
The officer looked toward the wreck. “That explains the curb.”
“Yeah.”
The driver wiped his forehead again.
“May I see your license and registration, sir?”
“Uh… yeah.”
The driver fumbled for his wallet and immediately dropped it. When he bent to retrieve it, he nearly lost his balance.
The officer watched more carefully now.
When the driver straightened, the smell reached him.
Alcohol. Sweat. Old coffee.
The driver fought with his wallet for several painful seconds before finally getting it open.