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Flora Burnside watched her breath cloud and rise, swept away by the November breeze, and shuffled deeper into her coat. The forest clearing was crowded, team members nervously whispering, middle-management executives from the RUMOR Labs office in Port Salish checking their phones and muttering among themselves, ready to head back to their warm cars as soon as possible.
Flora blew into her hands to warm them. The anxiety in the air had a smell. Something sharp, like wet pennies. Through the trees, the blocky, windowless buildings of the RUMOR Labs compound were visible, crowded against a short bluff, hidden deep within thousands of acres of woods. Beyond them, the sea, shrouded in November fog.
Dr. Ernie Hawkins, the Project Lead, stood apart from the rest, holding a tablet under his arm. His white tufts of hair were even more unruly than usual, his eyes two sizes too large behind thick glasses. And beside him was Druid.
The robot was about the size of a large dog. In its standby state, it rested on its four articulated legs, the two front mandible grasping-arms drooping from its white-painted steel thorax—emblazoned with the RUMOR dragonfly logo—its wide, rounded “head” cocked to one side, the triangle of eye-like lenses that took up most of its face were dark and dilated. The robot looked remarkably alien in the softness of the woods.
Dr. Hawkins checked his watch, nodded, and said, “Well, then, I think we’re ready to begin. Welcome, one and all, to our latest official test of the Druid Translation Project. I am Dr. Ernest Hawkins, Project Lead. This project has been conducted with collaboration from RUMOR robotics, communications, environmental sciences—” here, Dr. Hawkins indicated Flora with a wave of his hand, a sweet gesture—“and is intended to make forestry initiatives more successful and accessible long-term, both on Ferris Island and worldwide.”
A smattering of polite applause, and Dr. Hawkins smiled. “Thank you. What you are going to see today is a demonstration of Druid’s highly-tuned translation program. It is designed to scan chemical, electrical, and mycorrhizal signals underneath our feet and within the xylem of the tree itself and modify those signals into words that we can understand. This translation program has been extremely successful under laboratory testing, and we are confident that real-world trials will be highly exciting to watch.”
And worth continued funding, Flora thought grimly, knowing it was what all of the rest of the team were thinking, too.
Dr. Hawkins raised the tablet from under his arm, tapped the screen. Druid woke, the mandible-hands flexing, the three lenses focusing and refocusing, and the head lifting upright, scanning the clearing, as though taking in the staring faces gathered there, reading their expressions.
Flora had seen Druid in action many times in the laboratory, but there was something so fascinating about finally seeing it in the wild setting where it would do the bulk of what it was designed to do. Druid had been tested on a few different trees under controlled variables, but never in the woods. As the team’s only botanist, Flora had always felt like a little bit of an odd one out among the incredibly brilliant robotics researchers, programmers, linguists, and technicians who had created the robot. But here, under the spreading arms of the trees, Flora finally felt as though the work she had done was indispensable. Druid’s job was to talk to trees, and she had taught it how trees talk.
Dr. Hawkins addressed the crowd one last time. “The test will commence in three phases. We have marked out three different trees for Druid to connect with and translate for us. The three trees are flagged, as you can see: that young alder, that pine over on the edge, and that big oak tree right there. Druid will approach each tree in turn, initialize his translation sequence, disengage, and then return to us.”
A few more taps on the tablet screen, and then Dr. Hawkins said, “Okay, Druid. Are you ready?”
The robot swiveled its head to look up at Dr. Hawkins, and a soft, deep, but clear voice rang out from the gap under its triangle of eyes.
“Ready, Dr. Hawkins.”
The executives liked that. Flora knew they would; it was a pointless bit of programming to make the robot seem more alive. It had a few cute, canned phrases like that. People like to feel as though they’re talking to something that they can relate to, no matter what job the thing is supposed to do. Dr. Hawkins went so far as to call Druid “he” during development, and other team members followed his example. Flora couldn’t quite go that far.
“Initialize testing,” Dr. Hawkins said.
Without hesitation, Druid started its testing program, moving forward quickly but carefully. Its four articulated legs allowed it to pick its way over the uneven ground in a gait that looked almost natural, until it reached the first tree in the test, the young alder. Druid planted itself beside the tree, mandible arms reaching forward to touch the trunk and the sensors in its feet scanning downwards into the root system.
Flora felt a thrill run through her.
It’s happening. It’s actually working.
Three years. Three years on this project, a botanist among robotics experts, shunted to the corner cubicle in the tiny corner lab of the entire compound. Three years of driving past the big labs on her way to Lab 16, looking up wistfully at the offices where the really amazing stuff was happening at RUMOR. The top secret, confidential, interesting stuff. The stuff you needed crazy security clearance for. RUMOR had a massive environmental sciences department overflowing with top researchers, space for extraordinary projects, funding beyond her wildest dreams. The possibility for collaboration, for becoming a highly-regarded expert in the field, was off the charts.
The Druid Project was nothing. In the grand scheme of RUMOR, Druid was a tiny, niche project with a micro-budget. There was so much more that Flora wanted to do. She could almost taste it.
After a minute or two of scanning, Druid began to rattle off a few words. “Light. Water. Share. Share. Food. Share. Water.”
Dr. Hawkins told the group, “Druid is now turning the signals it has found into basic human words. Here, on the screen, I can now see displayed the tree’s moisture levels, nourishment needs, early detection of any pathological problems in the health of the tree, as well as the surrounding trees that this one is most closely associated with. Alders are, as a rule, fairly interconnected, and this one is quite the social butterfly!”
A chuckle among the executives.
“Druid, disengage,” said Dr. Hawkins.
The robot obeyed, moving on to the next tree, the pine. The atmosphere in the clearing had relaxed significantly as the project team members felt, perhaps, that the Druid prototype was a full-on success. The executives looked on, clearly calculating in their heads how much money they could make back on this investment through national or even worldwide adoption of this technology.
At the pine tree, Druid planted its feet and extended its hands. Within minutes, a bit quicker this time, it said, “Drought. Need. Share. Ill. Help. Drought.”
“Ah,” said Dr. Hawkins, “as you can hear, this tree is struggling to maintain its water needs, and is asking its neighbors for support. Over time, with Druid’s help, forestry workers would be able to track whether a tree’s calls for aid are heeded and, if not, decide whether this tree would be safer to remove, rather than allow it to die naturally and fall in a hazardous place.
“Druid, disengage. Initialize the final target.”
Druid obeyed, heading for the big oak at the top of the clearing. Part of the way there the robot paused, its head swiveling upward—as if taking in the entire height of the big tree—before continuing on. At the trunk it stopped, planted its four feet, and extended its hands against the gnarled bark.
Silence. Everyone waited. Minutes passed.
Dr. Hawkins furrowed his brow as he stared at the tablet, tapping insistently on the screen. Flora went cold; something was wrong.
“Druid, status report,” said Dr. Hawkins.
But the robot did not respond. Did not move.
“Druid, status report. Now.”
Nothing.
The executives began to shuffle their feet. The tension had returned to the shoulders of the robotics team members. Flora felt like she had cotton on her tongue.
“I apologize for the delay, everyone,” Dr. Hawkins said to the group. “These glitches do happen.”
Then, turning to Druid once more, Dr. Hawkins said, “Druid, report translation.”
There was a pause. Then, the robot said one word:
“Mother.”
It was clear as a bell. The team members gaped, wide-eyed. Dr. Hawkins stepped back from the robot, an involuntary motion. “Druid, repeat.”
But the robot did not repeat the word. It was silent and still, feet planted firmly on the earth and mechanical hands resting against the trunk of the big oak tree.
“Well, everyone, I believe that’s the test concluded. Are there any questions?” said Dr. Hawkins, as one of the robotics team members strode forward to turn Druid off using the failsafe on the back of its thorax.
“No questions,” said one of the executives, clearly the head of something. “But we would like a word with you, Dr. Hawkins. The rest of the team may go back to the lab. Thank you.”
*******
The email came through within an hour, as RUMOR had no reputation for wasting time.
The Druid Project had been scrapped, all funding revoked. The team had been given a week to clear out Lab 16 to prepare for a new project to move. Druid was set for immediate termination, and the entire team would be reassigned to new projects.
That was that.
In the evening, Flora was the last one in Lab 16, packing the materials from her cubicle into boxes that the RUMOR facilities department had provided. The rest of the team had all left early; they were going to need the entire week to dismantle their work. But Flora was just the botanist. All of her work would fit handily into a handful of boxes, since most of the paperwork she had created for Druid would be removed by RUMOR anyway. She decided to go ahead and get it done as soon as possible. Close this chapter of her life, hope that her next project was something even better, something with an even higher profile.
Soon enough the boxes were full of the materials she had brought from home, her own books and research papers from her time at Western, the box of granola bars she kept stashed in her desk drawer, some creepy graphic novel with a long-armed creature on the cover called The Suff she had borrowed from a colleague in an effort to bond. Urban legend stuff, not her usual genre. Too spooky to read in this compound surrounded by acres of thick forest.
But there was one book missing, a botany textbook she had been using as a reference. And she had left that in the main workroom after the team’s last meeting in there, down a short hallway from the office area.
Flora hesitated. In three years on this project she had never gone into the main workroom on her own. As a botanist, she had no reason to. That was where Druid was stored.
But that book belonged to her, and she wasn’t about to leave it to be donated or thrown away. So she left the packed boxes near the lab door to make them easier to take out to her car, and then headed down the short hall to the main workroom. She scanned her keycard, took a deep breath—not sure why she was so nervous—and entered.
The automatic motion lights flickered on, illuminating the space, which was about the size of a typical suburban garage. It was lined with tables covered with interrupted workflows, whiteboards on the walls containing instructions and goal lists that might as well be gibberish to Flora, multiple computer stations, shelves of spare parts, drawers and lockers. And there, on a plinth in the center of the room, was Druid.
It was in standby, its head tilted back, lenses staring sightlessly at the ceiling. The robot’s various ports were connected to a nearby computer station; someone on robotics had been running diagnostics, probably desperate to figure out what had gone wrong with the final test. One of its mandible arms and one leg had been disconnected. These were sitting on a work table nearby, in pieces; a team member had obviously been trying to figure out if the problem was in the robot’s sensors.
Druid looked almost pathetic, sitting there tangled in wires, missing two limbs. If it wasn’t a machine, Flora would almost feel sorry for it. Within the week, it would be completely stripped for parts, recycled into other projects. It occurred to Flora for the first time that Druid, itself, was likely the sum of various RUMOR projects, a patchwork quilt of failed concepts. Who knew how many other ideas had found their graveyard in this one robotic creation?
Quickly, Flora skirted a wide berth around the plinth to the table in the back where her book sat alongside other meeting flotsam and jetsam. She grabbed it and then headed for the door.
But before she reached it, an electrical hum filled the air. Flora looked over her shoulder and startled. Druid was gazing right at her.
Flora stared at the triangle of lenses, now directly facing her. The one remaining mandible arm flexed gently, the thorax swiveling toward her.
“Help,” said Druid, in that deep, soft, artificial voice.
Flora held the book against her chest, her heartbeat pounding against it. She couldn’t move, but she wasn’t sure what she was really afraid of. The robot wasn’t moving toward her; it was too tangled in wires to move.
Perhaps it wasn’t fear she was feeling. Perhaps it was pity.
“Help,” Druid said, again. “Home. Family. Mother……Help.”
The memory of the test came back to her, then. Druid, connected to the oak tree, saying the word Mother.
Flora was relatively certain that the linguistics team had never programmed Druid to say that. She had sat in on countless meetings, dry as a bone, talking about the vocabulary that Druid would use. “Mother” had never come up. Where the hell had it learned that?
The triangle of eyes stared at her, the head tilted just slightly to one side, almost like a dog might do. Against her better judgment, Flora stepped forward, only a step or two.
“Druid, how…how can I help you?” she asked.
“Home,” said Druid, its digital voice crackling. “Go. Home. Family. Mother.”
Flora blinked. Could it be that the robot actually wanted to go back to the woods? That it actually wanted anything at all was too far beyond what she could imagine. Can robots want? Can they desire?
“Help,” Druid said. “Help. Flora. Burnside.”
In her shock, Flora nearly dropped the book. She knew Druid had been programmed to identify members of the team. She knew, on some level, that Druid knew her name. But to use it to, what…to plead with her?
Flora looked around the room, as though the answer might be sitting on a desk, or tucked onto a shelf.
“Druid,” she said, “who is your family?”
The robot’s response was quick. “Trees. Family.”
“Who told you that?”
The robot’s gaze was unwavering.
“Mother,” it said.
It would be easier to believe that it was only a broken machine, parroting back nonsense. But somehow, Flora didn’t think so. And within the week, it would be destroyed, the mystery lost in the scrap piles of RUMOR robotics, a stray bit of code floating in the ether, ready to land in another digital brain in another project.
Could she ever forgive herself, if she thought—by inaction—she was causing the doom of something with even the slightest spark of life within it?
Flora had studied environmental sciences because, cliche as it was, she wanted to make a difference. When she had been hired by RUMOR just out of college, she felt closer to that goal than ever before. After all, their mission was in their name: Research, Understanding, Manufacture, Observation, Restoration. A company devoted to connecting humans and the natural world.
What did it all mean, then, if she was willing to walk away from something asking directly for her help?
Before she could change her mind, Flora moved quickly, setting the book down on the table closest to the workroom door. Druid watched her as she approached, gently unplugging the wires from the various ports all over his steel structure, untangling him from what held him in place. There was no way that Flora could reattach his missing limbs, and time was of the essence, here. If she wanted her best shot at avoiding blame and making this look accidental, she would need to avoid the unnecessary.
Finally, Flora grabbed a box of spare parts from a table and shoved it into the workroom doorframe to hold the door open, so it could not lock.
She picked up her book, looked over her shoulder.
“Druid,” she said, “go home. Quickly.”
And then she left the workroom, making sure that the door rested gently on the box, unlatched, as she went.
Flora did not look back as she packed her own boxes of materials into her car, parked just outside of Lab 16. The night was dark and cold, frosty, the security lights all over the compound still lit, but there were few other employees around. The coast was clear. It would be now or never.
She climbed into the driver’s seat and peered into the rearview mirror, where she could see the dimly-lit doorway of Lab 16. She waited, holding her breath, for several minutes.
Then, she saw it. The door pushed open, just slightly, then closed. As if being tested. As if being worked out.
After another moment or two, the door opened and Druid—limping, off-balance, but making it work on three legs—emerged from Lab 16.
He stood still for a moment, as though thinking, and Flora was suddenly filled with the urge to wrap her arms around the mechanical thing, to give him advice.
Go deep into the woods, where they can’t find you.
Be careful. Be careful. Be careful.
But instead, she sat still and watched as the triangular gaze of the robot’s eyes rested on her car, met her own in the rearview mirror for the briefest of moments.
She smiled, in spite of herself.
Go home, Druid.
Then, Druid limped away from Lab 16 and into the darkness, swallowed by the embrace of the surrounding trees.
END
Author’s Note:
This story was inspired by a desire to challenge myself to foray into science fiction, a genre I have never been comfortable in. While I think my effort here is certainly on the softer side of the genre, I hope it counts! :)
Reference to “The Suff” is a nod to the work of
and the fiction folks on Substack Notes, who started recording “The Suff” urban legend as it spread, this week. The lore is already vast, but check out and for more!
That was an excellent dip into sci-fi, and I love the shout out to The Suff.
Sally this was a delight to read, and definitely feels like sci-fi to me! So fun to see a different “side” of Ferris Island!