Episode 3: Click's Choice
There was no time to rest. The corrupted robots were still pounding on the hull, and Emil knew the ship couldn't take off safely while they swarmed so close. They would have to make a break for it — out of the ship, across the open ground, and aboard again at a clearer spot beyond the ridge where Tomato could lift off without the machines clinging to the hull.
"On my count," Emil said, gathering Tom close and nodding to Click. "We run for the ridge. Tomato — meet us there. Ready? Go!"
The hatch hissed open and the three of them burst out into the rust-red gloom, sprinting for all they were worth. Around them, the city had become a storm of grinding metal. Great mechanical arms swung down out of the haze, and they had to duck and dodge and weave. Scattered bursts of old laser fire crackled overhead, scorching the dust at their feet.
"This way!" Click cried, zipping ahead on its squeaky wheel, its blue screen flickering like a beacon through the chaos. "This way — the ship can lift off just beyond the ridge! Keep close to me! Mind the falling beams!"
They leapt over rubble and ducked under swinging claws, following the little droid's bobbing light. The ridge was close now — so close — and beyond it, open ground where the ship could rise free.
But then, with a thunderous CRASH, something enormous dropped down right in front of them, blocking the path.
It was a massive spider-like robot — eight great rusted legs, a hulking body, and a cluster of burning red eyes. It loomed over them, and when it spoke, its voice boomed out, deep and distorted and terrible.
"YOU WILL NOT LEAVE," it thundered. "YOU WILL REPAIR US."
The friends skidded to a halt, trapped between the giant spider-robot ahead and the swarm closing in behind.
"Tomato!" Tom cried, fumbling desperately with the ship's remote control in his little hands. "Tomato, start the engines! Start the engines!"
"On it!" came Tomato's voice, crackling and urgent. "Engines firing up! Although—" even now, the little AI could not resist "—I would just like to formally point out, for the record, that this entire situation is your fault, you do realize that—"
"Not now, Tomato!" Emil shouted.
The giant spider-robot reared up, its great legs lifting, ready to slam down and block them forever. Emil's eyes darted around — and landed on a long, loose metal beam lying half-buried in the rust nearby. Without a second's hesitation, he seized it, hauled it up with all his strength, and hurled it as hard as he could — straight at the spider-robot's cluster of glowing eyes.
CLAAANG!
The beam struck home. The great robot reeled back, its red eyes flickering and sputtering, confused and distracted, its huge legs flailing as it tried to recover.
"NOW!" Emil bellowed. "Run! Run, run, RUN!"
They shot past the staggering robot, scrambled over the ridge, and there was the cozy red tomato-ship, engines glowing, ramp down and waiting. They dove inside — Emil, then Tom, then Click rolling in right behind — and the ramp slammed shut just as the spider-robot's great claw came scraping down the side of the hull with a horrible screech of metal on metal.
"GO, Tomato!" Emil yelled. "Take us up!"
The engines roared, and the ship leapt upward off the surface of Rust-9.
But the danger wasn't over. As they climbed, the corrupted robots below opened fire, and the whole ship shuddered and shook with the impacts, rattling the friends in their seats.
"Hold on!" Tomato called. "It's going to be a bumpy climb! Punching through the atmosphere!"
And it was then, in the middle of the shaking and the roaring, that Click rolled slowly across the cabin to the round viewport, and pressed its cracked little screen to the glass, looking down at the burning red city falling away below.
The little droid was very quiet. And when it spoke at last, its voice was soft, and sad, and certain.
"I can't leave them like this," Click said.
Emil turned. "What?"
Click did not look away from the window. "All of them. My friends. My family. They're trapped — lost in the corrupted signal, not themselves, frightened and angry and alone. They need someone. Someone to stay. Someone to guide them back to who they really are." The little screen flickered. "And I think... I think that someone has to be me."
Emil's heart clenched. He crossed the shaking cabin and knelt beside the little droid. "Click... you're saying you want us to take you back down there? You're staying? On Rust-9? With all of them like... like that?"
Click turned its round body to face him, and its blue screen glowed steady and brave. "I have to," it said simply. "I was a messenger unit, Emil. Carrying messages, connecting one robot to another — that was always my purpose. Maybe... maybe I can reach them. Maybe I can find the corrupted signal and fix it. Maybe, in time, I can bring them all back to who they were — gentle, and kind, and good — the way Rust-9 used to be." Its voice softened. "Someone has to try. And I would rather try, and stay with my family, than fly away safe and leave them lost forever."
For a long moment, no one spoke. Even Tomato was silent.
Then Tom rolled forward and looked at the little droid with shining eyes. "You're braver than we are, Click," he said quietly. "Far braver. You're going to stay behind, all alone, to help everyone — even when it's frightening, even when it's hard."
Click's cracked screen brightened, warm and glowing. "And you," it said, "are kinder than most Creators ever were. You didn't have to help us. You didn't have to care. But you did." It rolled a little closer. "Thank you, Emil. Thank you, Tom. Thank you... for waking us up. For reminding us that someone out there is still kind. I'll carry that with me, down there in the dark. It'll keep me going."
Emil felt a lump in his throat. Gently, he reached out and rested a hand on the little droid's dented head. "You're a hero, Click," he said. "A real one. And we'll never forget you. We promise — one day, we'll come back to Rust-9. And when we do, I know we'll find the city shining again, and all your friends gentle and blue-eyed and happy, and you right in the middle of it all, having brought them home."
"I'll be waiting," said Click. "Now — set me down at the edge of the city, somewhere quiet, away from the swarm. And then go, before they damage your beautiful ship."
So they did. Emil brought the ship low over a quiet corner of Rust-9, far from the burning red eyes, and gently set the brave little droid down upon the rusty ground. Click rolled a few paces away, then turned and lifted one small dented arm in farewell, its blue screen glowing steady and bright against the gloom.
Emil and Tom pressed their hands to the window and waved until the little light was lost from view.
"Goodbye, Click," Emil whispered. "Good luck."
The cozy red tomato-ship climbed up, and up, and at last broke free of Rust-9's rust-red atmosphere, bursting out into the clean, glittering black of open space. The shaking stopped. The roaring faded. And all was peaceful once more.
For a little while, the two friends sat quietly, thinking of the brave little droid they'd left behind. But Emil knew that the best way to honor a friend like Click was to keep doing exactly what they did best: exploring, helping, and finding wonder wherever they went.
So he reached over and flipped open the great glowing book of the nameless traveler, and let the pages flutter until a new destination shimmered up from the parchment.
"The Floating Market of Kael-5," he read aloud, and at once the gloom lifted from his heart.
Tom perked up immediately, his little face breaking into a grin. "A market?" he said. "Oh, now that sounds like fun! Shops and stalls and treats and treasures — and not a corrupted robot in sight!"
"At last," sighed Tomato, with enormous relief. "A nice, normal, peaceful destination. A market! What could possibly go wrong at a market?" A pause. "...Famous last words. But at least there won't be any angry robots this time. Probably. Probably."
Emil laughed, the warmth returning to his chest, and settled comfortably into the pilot's seat. He set the course for Kael-5, and the navigation screen lit up with a fresh glowing line stretching off toward the stars.
"No promises," he said, grinning.
And with a happy bloop and a flash of light, the cozy red tomato-ship leapt forward into the glittering galaxy — leaving Rust-9, and brave little Click, behind — two friends (and one grumbly ship) sailing onward, ready for whatever the book, and the whole wide universe, had waiting for them next.
The End.