Chapter Text
Zane’s eyes blinked as he groggily got up, his systems whirring to life. The vision of a ginger haired man, and a black haired woman appeared whenever he closed his eyes. “Tai-D, I’ve had the most peculiar dream.” He said, as the little robot was once again, reorganizing the book shelf. He must have fallen asleep while reading.
“There were these two people on a rowboat, and they had come to this lighthouse.” His friend did not react, still busying itself. He sighed, that didn't sound like a dream, not even like the stories he would read. It sounded like an uninteresting statement. Statement. Noun. Something that you say or write, especially formally.
“A brunette and a… hm… a woman with ink-black hair.” He frowned as he recalled the visual imagery before. He knew it meant that the hair was black, but it was odd to think of someone with ink for hair. “Rowed through the fierce storm, towards a desolate island. An old lighthouse was…”
Tai-D finally finished his work with the bookshelf, and rolled over to Zane to pick up the book in his lap, the one he’d fallen asleep reading. Zane quickly picked it up and raised it out of reach from his friend, intending to read it later.
“Maybe it could be perched atop the rocky outcrop’? I’ve seen that example be used in books. But lighthouses don't perch. It is not a passerine bird.” He suggested, talking aloud to himself. His robotic friend turned to him and chittered.
“Perhaps. Maybe writing isn't for me. It is a human art.” He sighed as he thumbed the pages of the book, the odd feeling rising in his chest again. Zane closed the book and stood up, his joints whining as he placed the book on the desk and looked out towards the ocean.
Its waves were calm and you could look out and see the ocean for miles, nothing like in his vision. The sun was already high in the sky, its light glinting off the water. One thousand, three hundred and ninety days, he remembered.
One thousand, three hundred and ninety days since his father had left the island, escaped to the mainland where he would finally feel grass beneath his feet.
Zane wondered what grass would feel like. There was only stone and sand on this island.
His dream was already escaping to the recesses of his mind, barely able to pull together what they looked like. It slipped through his fingers like sand, muddled in his many memories.
This fact concerned him. He was a nindroid- and nindroids have perfect memory. Shouldn't they? He was a nindroid, a walking computer. It distressed him immensely.
His vents suddenly wheezed out a small puff of steam, a telltale sign of low water. Zane sighed. He could ponder those thoughts later, when he wasn't on the verge of shutting down. He went to the tap in the kitchen, and filled the bucket with water- it would be enough for the day. Always was. Once it was full, he hefted it onto the table and looked down at his chest.
Cogs and gears cluttered the space, with wires tangled in each other, criss-crossed as they sent power where necessary. In the middle, a box- his engine, rested nestled amongst all of them. He quickly opened the upper hatch, and poured the water in. There was a loud sizzling sound as the cool liquid met the hot metal, and steam poured out of his chest, temporarily blinding him.
He closed the hatch before too much steam escaped, and felt it be directed into his own systems.
Once the steam cleared, Zane then checked the coal. Still burning, and wouldn't need to be resupplied anytime soon. He closed the firebox.
With nothing else to do, he went on with his morning routine- cleaning. It was just a bonding moment with Tai-D, really, but it was enjoyable and helped pass time in the normally dull, uneventful days.
“Tai-D, can you pass me the sponge?” He asked, perched on a stool to reach the ceiling. His hand was stretched out expectantly, and a damp sponge was placed in it. He hummed in acknowledgement and began scrubbing the dirt off the ceiling of the lighthouse.
Being left alone for so long, there were layers of grime that had collected over the years, settled and tightly packed together until now.
Dust and dirt fell from the ceiling, and Tai-D let out an indignant chuff before running off to find the broom and dusting pan. Zane himself had to pause a couple of times to brush what had fallen onto him, not necessarily out of a need to be clean but because it blocked his sight.
He fell into the repetitive, familiar motions. While it may not have been his primary use, he liked helping Tai-D. It was time they spent together. He did wish they had some soap or bleach, but ships had long since stopped coming to supply the island with materials.
It wasn't particularly fun being reminded of the lack of supplies when scouring the island for coal or unrusted parts.
Zane wondered how the electricity and water still worked despite all that, but decided it was a mystery he could solve another day. He had finished cleaning the ceiling, but would definitely need another go with just water.
He stepped down from the stool, and went to the sink to wash the dirt off the sponge. Without soap or any cleaning agents, keeping the lighthouse clean was much more difficult. But they managed to do so, time wasn't really a problem for them.
When he moved to go back to the stool, he looked down and noticed Tai-D attempting to sweep the dust off his leg. Zane laughed softly. “Tai-D, what are you doing, my friend?” It only looked up and beeped quickly.
“Well, I suppose. Thank you.” He muttered. His friend made a good point- he’d just make the floor dirty again if he walked on it in this state.
He waited, allowing Tai-D to collect the dust on his metallic frame, and dispose of it. Soon, it gave him an affirmative noise, and he tapped its frame back in thanks as he went back on the stool, wiping the ceiling with the damp sponge.
Somewhere below him, Tai-D began to scrub the walls.
By the time his internal clock told him he should be preparing lunch, they’d finished cleaning out the room. But he didn't need to cook anymore, neither of them could eat, nor were there any fresh ingredients.
Zane looked at the cabinets, with pots and pans that hadn't been on a stove in years, bowls and teacups and kettles which did not feed a person, spatulas and forks which had laid useless. He felt like them.
“Zane, I feel like now would be a good time to teach you how to cook.” The nindroid looked over at his father as he stood up from his seat, holding a book. “Careful, father.” He said, quickly coming forward to support his father.
He smiled at him, and he smiled back in return. It was only a few days since Zane was created, and he was learning many things, whether it be lessons from his father or reading the books in the lighthouse. He liked learning, in fact. And when it was his father teaching him, he enjoyed them even more
“Thank you… Zane. Now, come. Let's go to the kitchen.” He nodded, and led him to the kitchenette. His father placed the book on the counter.
Zane glanced at it, and saw the title which read ‘Essential Ninjargon Cookbook: Must-Know Recipes’.
“Now, one of the easiest to make are scrambled eggs. We will start from the simpler recipe’s, before moving on to the more complex one’s.” His father said, opening the book and flipping to the first recipe.
He nodded, and went to gather the ingredients his father called out. The nindroid returned, clutching eggs, salt and pepper.
He watched his father go through the motions, explaining each step. The stove turned on, and the fire quickly began to heat up the pan. Once the pan had become hot, he added some butter to the pan, and Zane watched as the butter quickly melted, and spread around the pan.
While the butter still sizzled, his father cracked an egg into the pan. It hissed at contact, the clear liquid of the egg quickly bubbling white from the heat. Zane would later learn this was due to the denaturing of the proteins in the egg whites. When the edges began to curl and turn brown, he quickly took it off the pan and put it on a plate, and cut into it to reveal its still runny, bright orange yolk.
“A perfect sunny side up. Now, you try.” His father smiled at him, the crows feet at the corners of his eyes becoming more defined. Zane mirrored the smile, and took two eggs, cracking them into the pan.
The kitchenette brought back memories of the time his father taught him how to cook, recipe by recipe and the proud smile he wore when Zane made dinner by himself for the first time. When he asked what his favorite recipe was, and if he was sure his favorite dish wasn't Pike Chowder.
He never understood why his father was so adamant about him liking that dish. Was he supposed to like it? He preferred the process of making Raspberry Scones.
But Zane wanted to please his father, and told him that he preferred Pike Chowder, and his father seemed relieved at that and hugged him. One of the few hugs they had shared, despite being father and son. What was he, if he wasn't his father’s son?
Ofcourse, now, he knew why his father had acted like that.
“Tai-D, I think we are done for the day, hm?” He suddenly said, looking around. Anywhere but the kitchenette.
“Why are you cooking right now? Dinner isn't any time soon.” His father asked quietly, as he stepped into the room. Zane only hummed, sauteeing the onions, scallions and garlic which softly sputtered.
“It is in case those men come again, and they leave far past dinner like yesterday. I wouldn't want you to be hungry, father.” He said, and he heard a small, content huff behind him. “Thank you for being so considerate, uh, Zane.”
He added an additional tablespoon of oil, before dumping the rice into the pan, muffling the sounds of the frying aromatics. “Ofcourse. I wouldn't be a good son if I gave you discomfort.”
As Zane broke the clumps of rice, and stirred it to heat and crisp up the rice, he felt a hand placed on his shoulder. He glanced over to his father, who had a small frown on his face. “Zane, my boy, you will always be my son. Good, or not.”
His artificial orange eyes met his father’s warm, brown ones, filled with such affection and something else that always haunted his father’s eyes.
His friend chirped in reply. Now, Zane went back to the chair he had slept in to pick up the book he was reading last night, only to remember what had happened when he first woke up. The dream… he could barely remember it at this point.
All he knew was that a brown haired man? Teen? And a woman of the same age were making their way to this lighthouse in a rowboat. For what reasons, he was unsure. He didn't know if it was for malicious intentions, or they were coming for him, or maybe for his father and didn't know he had escaped.
It was only just a dream, he reminded himself. It wasn't real. He dreamt all the time, even if it was mostly memories. This new form of dreams were well… new. Unfamiliar. And it was hard to make sense of them, especially when it escaped from his grasp like sand.
He sighed- it was too confusing. It most likely wasn't even real, only just his imagination. Did he even have an imagination? He waved off the thought, quickly before he could begin questioning his existence. Maybe he just needed a different environment.
Zane carefully made his way down the steps of the lighthouse, and walked down on the beach. The tide would rise soon, but for now the beach was left uncovered. He sat down and opened his book again, several seagulls curiously landing around him.
20,000 Leagues Under the Seas, by Jules Verne. He was on page 128 when he had fallen asleep last night, and quickly picked up where he left off. Professor Arronax was turning out to be quite an interesting character.