Chapter Text
The world was loud. The screams of panicked Worker Drones filled the air that was thick with the scent of industrial oil. Gunfire sent drones scrambling in all different directions like confused and panicked mice from hungry house cats.
Uzi's little feet kicked up snow and ice as she struggled to keep up with her dad, who led her through the confusion with his youngest daughter in his arms. He veered off to the right and skidded to a halt among the ruins of an old bunker entrance built by the humans who had once dominated this now-frozen wasteland.
“Take Maggie, and hide here,” he instructed, shoving the untrained neural network into Uzi's arms. The tiny drone was crying loudly over the distant sounds of massacre, “I'll find your mother and be right back. I promise.”
Uzi opened her mouth to protest, but her dad was gone before she could. The moment he left her side, Maggie began to cry louder. Panic set in. How was she meant to keep her sister quiet? The purple-haired drone backed away from the open hall of the bunker entrance and nestled herself among the rubble of the partially destroyed walls. Crouched among the rusted metal, Uzi began to anxiously rock Maggie back and forth in her arms.
“Shhh, shhh,” she quietly urged the distressed child with panicked tears in her eyes, “Please be quiet. We'll be found if you don't shut up.”
Hope sparked in Uzi's core when Maggie's cries quieted to hiccups and whines, but that hope was quickly squashed as she simply cried louder. What was one panicking 5-year-old meant to do to soothe an equally-panicked baby? Frustration bubbled in her chest at the question.
“Will you shut up if I sing?” Uzi inquired desperately, as if her 3-month-old sister could understand her. The young drone just hiccupped and cried louder, “Okay, okay, shut up, and let me think.”
The older drone began sifting through her database for suitable lullabies to ease Maggie's distress. One extremely old one came to mind.
“Twinkle twinkle little star,” Uzi sang shakily, bouncing her sister up and down in her arms, “How I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky. Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are.”
Surprisingly, the simple lullaby seemed to do the trick, at least while Uzi sang. However, the moment she stopped, Maggie's cries crescendoed once more. Her sounds of distress mingled with the screams of panicked drones and cruel gunfire outside in a symphony of fear and trauma.
“Twinkle twinkle little star,” Uzi sang again, “How I wonder what you are.”
Her voice rang soft and quiet, repeating the soothing song over and over until she was sure that Maggie had fallen asleep. Now that she’d finally quieted the little drone's fearful cries, a sense of relief washed over Uzi. In the moment of peace she was allowed, the warmth of the sleeping drone against her chest sparked a feeling of deep adoration. This pill-shaped thing was helpless, tiny, and far too pure to have to face the disaster that was unfolding around it. Such a precious neural network needed to be sheltered and protected at all costs.
“Don't worry,” Uzi told the sleeping drone quietly, “I'm gonna protect you. I promise I will never leave your side, ever.”
The tender moment was suddenly interrupted by the arrival of Uzi's dad. He crouched beside his daughters and pulled the two into a sudden hug.
“Dad?” Uzi questioned innocently, “Are you okay?”
“I will be,” her father replied tearfully. He pulled back and gripped Uzi's shoulders, holding her gaze with a haunted, grieving look in his eyes, “We will be.”
Behind him was a group of scared and shaken drones. Uzi searched the crowd, but the drone she wanted to see wasn't among them.
“Where's mom?”
Uzi's father didn't reply. Instead, his eyes filled with tears, and he took Maggie from her arms, shaking his head fretfully. The implication shocked the young drone to her core. As her father took her hand gingerly and led her deeper into the abandoned bunker, the sounds of his orders to the crowd seemed a million miles away. Nobody even needed to say it for Uzi to know the ugly truth. It was said in the oil-stained wrench in her father’s pocket and the way he held back tears with every word he said.
Mom was gone, and she wasn't coming back. ____________________________________________________
The shrill school bell rang 14 years later, indicating the end of class. It had been a dream. As the now-19-year-old drone moved to pack up her stuff and leave, she silently wished it had been a fabrication of her own mind. As much as she willed it, though, it had been the reality that shaped the rest of her miserable childhood.