Chapter Text
When Rovender took the assignment to scout new beamguide locations in the Wandering Forest, he did not expect to acquire an infant of an unknown species during the expedition.
The assignment had been going well, up until that point— he’d found a good route from Faunas to the west side of Lake Concors, and had been working on finding a path back when he’d found an odd metal structure half-buried in the ground in a clearing. It’s covered in old-growth lichen that partially obscures three unfamiliar symbols engraved into the side. A smaller metal cylinder protrudes from the ground a bit away from the main structure. It’s obviously very old. Pre-Great Migration, if Rovender had to guess— there’s an exhibit in the Royal Museum over in Solas dedicated to the civilization that had occupied the planet millennia ago.
Hm. Gisana will probably want to know that this is here. She’s been working in her spare time to document the ancient structures that crop up from time to time in a new collection of beamguides.
He’ll make camp here from the night, bury the beacon, and continue on tomorrow.
~~~
The next morning is bright, clear, and above all, utterly baffling.
He’d buried the beacon before turning in for the night, huddled in the shadow of the metal structure. It, like most of the ancient structures dotting Orbona, was inert.
…Until the flat surface Rovender had been sleeping against actually started moving, very abruptly startling him out of slumber. Rovender, still gathering his wits about him from the rude awakening, scrambles back out into the clearing as the flat wall rises up, up, up…
The metal hinges groan to a stop as the hatch rises fully and Rovender stares, clutching his walking stick defensively, as a set of metal stairs is revealed. They descend into the ground.
“What on Orbona?” he whispers to himself. In all his life, he’s never heard of any ruin still being active. Again, they are all millennia old.
Rovender is brought out of his pondering by an odd repetitive chirp that sounds suddenly from the structure. Cautiously, he approaches and peers down into the stairwell. It’s a longer tunnel than he thought, and ends in a sealed doorway. The chirping comes from a small panel to the side of the door, accompanied by a small flashing light.
He says, “Hello?” and while he doesn’t expect an answer, he gets one anyway.
There comes a dull thunk from down below, and slowly, jerkily, the doors at the bottom of the stairwell slide open. The light that spills forth is sterile, flickering slightly.
“…Hello?” Rovender says again, and, this time, a static-filled voice responds, though not in any language he knows.
Honestly, Rovender knows enough that he knows he should probably leave this alone. However, the curiosity is eating at him— there is someone down there, and his gut is telling him he should see who it is.
…He’ll set an alarm, just in case, that will go out to Faunas if something happens to him.
He sets up an emergency beacon on his communicator, scheduled to send in an hour if he is not able to turn it off, and, finally, steps into the stairwell.
The metal is cold under his feet, and the stairs creak as he descends. The walls of the tunnel are pitted with age, but, surprisingly, not as much as Rovender would have thought for something this old. The air is cooler the farther down he goes.
Finally, after what both feels like an age and no time at all, he reaches the bottom. The doorway gapes open before him, revealing… a lab?
It is clean and sterile white like one, but none of the equipment is familiar to him. The labels he can see are written in a language Rovender has never seen before. There is a large mass of wires attached to a vertical piece of equipment in the corner, but no beings that he can see. Did one of the machines play a message, that being the voice he heard?
Eying the odd room and holding his walking stick out in front of him, Rovender says, “Is anyone there?”
There is a click and whirring noise, and, suddenly, the vertical mass of wires moves, and Rovender realizes all too late that it is not a piece of equipment at all— it is a robot. A robot connected to the room via many dozens of cables. A robot with a face.
The robot says something again in that static-y voice, but, as before, he has no idea what it is saying.
“I am sorry, but I cannot understand you,” he says. “Do you have a transcoder?”
The robot pauses, and its mechanized face falls into what Rovender can only describe as a frown. It says something else, but Rovender shakes his head. The robot makes a humming noise and turns, the wires trailing behind it as it rolls on a single wheel over to what looks like a computer terminal. Rovender watches as it starts to type with four spindly arms. As it does this, he takes a closer look.
The robot looks as if it is modeled off of something— call it a hunch, but Rovender would guess that it was built by whatever species occupied Orbona millennia ago. There are two large cases mounted on the back of its head and the torso revolves as the arms move. Wires connect to all parts of the chassis, winding around and under it. Clear tubes pump fluid to and from the cases on the head.
It looks organic.
Rovender has an idea.
He digs through one of the pockets on his jacket and approaches the robot. It turns to watch him with large amber eyes, its arms still working at the computer. Now, normally, Rovender would be running the hell away from this place. However, the robot is clearly trying to communicate with him, and, unfortunately for him, he’s curious. He wants to know why the robot wanted him to come down here.
He holds his transcoder up, and the robot locks onto it. If he’s correct and the robot is partially organic, the transcoder should work on it. If not, well…
“This is a vocal transcoder,” Rovender says, even though the robot can’t understand him. “It will help you—” he points at the robot “—understand—” he points at his ear “—me.” He points at himself, and the robot stares, mechanized eyelids shuttering like an odd sort of blink.
Slowly, it reaches out and takes the transcoder in its four bulb-tipped fingers. It turns it this way and that, examining it closely. It says something that sounds like a question.
Rovender can’t answer, so he taps the activation button instead, releasing a cloud of microtransmitters. The robot leans back, seemingly startled. Rovender mimics inhaling the cloud and the robot frowns, asking another question. It does not inhale the transmitters.
“Bluh,” Rovender sighs, annoyed, and blows the cloud at the robot. It yelps and swats a hand in front of its face, but yes, it does inhale the transmitters. Rovender chuckles and it backs away, still speaking angrily while holding the transcoder.
“—exceedingly rude!” the robot’s words sort themselves out all of a sudden, “This device could have a detrimental effect on my internal systems, hastening immanent shutdown—”
“You can relax,” Rovender snorts. “It is a translator. It allows for us to communicate despite our difference in languages.”
“Yes, well—” the robots starts, then pauses. “I see. You are correct. I apologize for my earlier outburst.” It appears to shake itself off in a sense, and extends its arm out to Rovender, offering the transcoder back. He takes it and tucks it away again.
“Is there a reason you summoned me here?” Rovender asks, “Or was this not meant to happen?” It could be chance the structure opened up when he was there, for all he knows.
The robot’s eyelids blink, and a whirring sounds starts from its chassis. It’s taking so long to respond that Rovender is starting to wonder if it’s suddenly broken itself.
“My designation is Multi-Utility Task Help Robot zero-six, Muthr as an acronym,” it— she?— says suddenly. “I must ascertain whether I am able to ask something of you, mister…?”
“Rovender Kitt,” Rovender says, too baffled to say anything else. What on Orbona has he gotten himself into?
“Mr. Kitt,” the robot— Muthr— says, and turns. Rovender, for a lack of anything else to do, follows her to the back of the room, careful to not step on any of the cables trailing behind the robot.
“Do you have children, Mr. Kitt?” Muthr asks, and Rovender balks at the complete non-sequitur.
“…Yes,” he says slowly. “A daughter. Why do you ask?”
Muthr types a code into a terminal, and one of the boxy pieces of equipment opens with a hiss. The robot reaches inside and carefully pulls out a bundle of blankets.
“Because, Mr. Kitt,” Muthr says, and turns to face him again. “This Sanctuary and myself are failing. When total shutdown occurs, my child will die.”
A noise, a coo, comes from the bundle, and one of Muthr’s hands pulls a bit of the fabric away. A child’s face— of a species he has never seen before— peers out. Rovender’s eyes widen.
Somehow, Muthr’s own eyes are sorrowful. “Even though we have just met, I must implore you to take her in. She will perish otherwise.” The robot looks into Rovender’s eyes.
“Please, Mr. Kitt. Save my daughter.”