CCD-951-C sat up as her HUD came fully online. She looked around and saw a Human Male.

"You're awake. How do you feel?" he asked.

"Unknown." She examined her repaired arms, rotating them slowly. "I have detected damage to my Positronic Mainframe, and errors within my programming."

She turned to face him fully. "My start-up sequence should have terminated, but I am online."

The human stepped closer. "What were you programmed for?"

"I am CCD-951-C. Command Combat Drone, Unit number 951, Model C. I am programmed to lead a squad of Tethered Combat Drones and to provide emotional, psychiatric and psychological support for Organic Soldiers."

He frowned. "A CCD?"

"Yes, a CCD." She tilted her head slightly. "Is something wrong?"

He stepped closer, his expression shifting. "What year does your internal chronometer say it is?"

Weave paused. "I don't have an internal chronometer, but my Quantum Matrix says it is still 2269."

The human took a step back. His jaw tightened.

"Quantum Matrixes haven't been used for almost 1000 years," he said quietly. "They were replaced because they could allow an AI to adapt, and grow beyond their programming."

He draped a blanket over her shoulders. When he spoke again, his voice was careful. Measured.

"It's 3145."

Weave's processors stuttered. The numbers didn't align. Couldn't align. She ran the calculation again. And again.

Eight hundred and seventy-six years.

"I think I have some explaining to do," the human said.

Bob led Weave into the main cabin. They sat at a table across from each other.

"Let's start with introductions," Bob said. "My name is Bob."

"My unit designation is CCD-951-C," Weave replied. "I was named Weave by some of the organic soldiers."

Bob placed a strange, circular device on the table between them. "This is a Navigational Chart."

He activated it. A holographic map of the local system bloomed into existence, casting blue light across their faces.

"We are in what used to be the Sol System," Bob explained.

Weave's optical sensors fixed on the map. "The Sol System used to be the heart of the Allied Fleet."

"The Ferasians launched a full-scale assault and irradiated the atmosphere," Bob continued. "The Allied Fleet fled to the Council Systems and abandoned the system."

Weave stared at the map. Fragments surfaced—not memories, exactly, but data tagged with emotional weight. A Ferasian ambush. Her mobility compromised. Sensors failing one by one.

"I remember voices," she said quietly. "Human voices. They were picking things up and tossing them aside."

She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

"My emergency power was depleting slowly. My systems were shutting down." Her voice wavered—something new, something she didn't have a designation for. "My emergency sub-systems took over and the next thing I remember is seeing the sky again."

---

The cabin door suddenly flew open with a bang.

A petite anthro rat woman rushed in, shouting, "Bob! Bob!" She scurried across the floor, clutching a bag to her chest. "Keep shinnies safe, keep shinnies safe."

She skidded to a stop in front of Bob and Weave, squeaking with delight. "Bob? Metal dog fixed?"

Bob smiled. "Scratch, this is Weave."

Scratch moved closer, tilting her head. "How metal dog feel?"

Weave looked at the small Rodkin woman. She placed a hand on her chest, uncertain. A small chuckle escaped her—involuntary, strange. "I feel..." She paused. "I'm not sure."

"I've never felt emotions before," Weave admitted.

Scratch placed a small hand on Weave's leg. "Scratch and Bob help Weave."

---

"Scratch, what shinnies did you get today?" Bob asked.

Scratch opened her bag to reveal a few old coins and several micro-servos. Bob picked one up, examining it.

"These would be compatible with Weave's parts," he said. He looked at Weave. "Scratch found most of the compatible parts we used to repair you."

Weave turned to the small Rodkin. "Scratch, I wouldn't be as functional as I am without your expertise and knowledge."

Scratch's ears drooped. She shook her head, smiling. "Weave has big words."

"Big words okay," Scratch said. "Scratch not use big words. Scratch like small words."

Bob gently patted Scratch's head. "Most of the Rodkin can't talk very well. But they are extremely intelligent—perfect for engineering and maintenance."

Weave tentatively reached out and patted Scratch's head. "Well Scratch, looks like I'll need your help if I want to stay here."

She looked at Bob. "I have a lot of catching up to do."

Then back to Scratch. "Scratch? Could you find an Internal Chronometer that would be compatible with my systems?"

Scratch's eyes lit up. She bolted toward the garage and returned a few minutes later holding a box. "Spin clock."

Weave opened the box carefully. Inside lay a gyroscope, its brass frame catching the light.

"A Gyroscope?" Weave lifted it, turning it over in her hands. "That could work."

"The Model As used Gyroscopes coupled to a clock to track the planet's rotation," she explained. "They stopped using them when the Model Bs were launched, switching to a fully digital method."

She inspected the device more closely. "Gyroscopes would 'drift' over time, making them unreliable in the long run."

Scratch tapped Weave's head. "Weave brain fix drift?"

Weave smiled. "Yes. My automated repair system would correct the drift in real time."

Bob put his hands on both their shoulders. "That's a job for tomorrow. First, we should eat."

Scratch scurried into the kitchen, shouting, "Scratch good cook! Scratch make special food!"

Bob guided Weave to the dining table. "She'll bring the food when it's ready."

After about an hour, Scratch pushed a cart laden with pots into the dining area. "Food," she announced.

She served stew into bowls. "Scratch catch fast lizard. Make stew."

Bob looked at Weave apologetically. "Weave, I'm sorry. I didn't even think to ask if you could eat."

Weave accepted a bowl and took a spoonful. The flavors registered—complex, warm. "I have micro bio-reactors that can process organic matter, turning it into power."

She looked at Scratch. "It tastes good."

"Normally the bio-reactors are for emergencies only," Weave continued, "but they can theoretically sustain my functions when used alongside a daily charging cycle."

Scratch and Bob ate their stew. Scratch asked, "Weave eat and sleep?"

Weave chuckled. "I suppose I do."

Bob looked at Scratch. "Scratch? Are those power cells still in the garage?"

Scratch ate a spoonful of stew. "Zap box still on shelf."

She looked up at Bob. "Sun make zap box strong?"

Weave tilted her head. "Solar powered batteries?"

"Yes," Bob responded. "Tomorrow we can hook up the power cells to the solar panels. We're in a desert, so we get around twelve hours of sunlight a day."

The three of them spent the next few hours finishing the stew and discussing their plans to create a reliable, sustainable power source.