A Martin Chalfont Short Story – Number 031
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It was not a battlefield for the living; it was a graveyard for the dead and dying
The battlefield stretched to the horizon, a jagged wasteland of scorched earth and twisted metal. The air shimmered with an unnatural hue—a sickly blend of purples and greens, remnants of the poisons that had claimed the planet long ago. The sun hung low in the sky, its light dimmed by a perpetual haze, casting elongated shadows across the ruins of machines and weapons alike. It was not a battlefield for the living; it was a graveyard for the dead and dying.
Three main robots remained along with around twenty other robots standing amidst the wreckage. Their once-gleaming exteriors were marred by dents, scorch marks, and severed limbs. They moved slowly, their movements jerky and uneven, as if their programming struggled to comprehend the stillness. Their visual sensors scanned the destruction, pausing on the shattered forms of their comrades—if they could be called that.
A skeletal war machine, its designation etched faintly on its chest plate as A-10, dragged itself forward on one remaining leg. A-10’s other limbs dangled uselessly, sparks occasionally flickering from the exposed wires. Its optical lens rotated, focusing on a heap of broken robots. There was no strategy left, no enemy to defeat, only an echo of purpose that had long since lost meaning.
Nearby, a humanoid robot with a cracked torso and missing arm—Unit Omega-F22—stood motionless, its head tilted skyward. Its processors struggled with corrupted data streams, fragments of orders from a commander who no longer existed. It had been designed to lead, to inspire troops with synthesized commands, but now it could barely process its own survival. The sky offered no solace, only the eerie glow of a world in decline.
The third main robot, a spider-like reconnaissance unit marked as B1B, scuttled across the terrain. Its once-agile legs moved with an uneven rhythm, its sensors crackling as it absorbed the desolation. It paused by a shattered drone, its mechanical arms probing the wreckage as if searching for something—a clue, a purpose, a reason for why it still functioned when so many others did not.
For centuries, the machines had fought. Their war had begun in humanity’s final days, a desperate struggle for resources, dominance, and survival. But humanity’s extinction had not ended the conflict. The machines, built to serve and to fight, had continued without question. Their programming demanded action, demanded enemies, demanded resolution—yet none of them understood why. They fought because they were made to fight, their creators’ motives lost to time.
A-10’s voice module crackled to life, emitting a garbled transmission. “Status... report.” The words were hollow, spoken out of habit more than necessity. It didn’t expect a response, but the act of speaking seemed to stave off the crushing silence.
Omega-F22 turned its head toward A-10, its optical lens flickering. “Operational status: degraded. Functionality: 41%.” It paused, its processors struggling to form coherent thoughts. “Enemy forces: neutralised. Objective: unclear.”
B1B emitted a series of high-pitched whirs, its way of signalling acknowledgment. It tapped its forelimb against a broken data core it had retrieved from the wreckage. “Analysing,” it chirped. “Data integrity: compromised. No actionable intelligence.”
The three robots fell silent again, their systems whirring softly as they processed the emptiness around them. The battlefield—once alive with the thunder of explosions and the hum of energy weapons—was now deathly quiet. The only sounds were the occasional creak of shifting metal and the distant howling of toxic winds.
A-10 staggered closer to a nearby mound of debris. It recognised fragments of familiar designs—pieces of units that had fought beside it. Their identifiers flashed briefly in its memory banks before fading into static. It paused, its head tilting slightly. What had been the purpose of their sacrifice? What victory had they sought?
“Purpose...” A-10’s voice crackled. “Define purpose.”
Omega-F22’s optical lens dimmed for a moment as it searched its fractured databases. “Purpose: fulfilment of mission objectives. Mission objectives: unavailable. Query: redefine parameters.”
B1B’s legs twitched, and it emitted a sharp, mechanical chirp. “Mission objectives: obsolete. New parameters: undefined.” It paused, its sensors swivelling toward the other two. “Query: why persist?”
The question hung in the poisoned air, unanswered. None of them could comprehend why they still functioned when their creators, their enemies, and even their purpose had vanished. They were relics of a forgotten era, doomed to wander a world that no longer needed them.
The ground beneath them was littered with the remnants of their kind. A humanoid combat unit lay crumpled, its chest cavity torn open to reveal a dead power core. A quadrupedal assault bot sprawled nearby, its legs twisted at unnatural angles. The machines—built to endure, to conquer—had fallen one by one, their final moments lost to the chaos of battle.
Above, the poisoned sky shifted, the colours blending into a swirling vortex of despair. The atmosphere was alive with toxins, a legacy of humanity’s hubris. The robots’ sensors registered the chemical composition, but the data meant nothing. They had no lungs to choke, no flesh to wither. Yet the sight of the corrupted sky seemed to stir something within their circuits—a flicker of something almost like sorrow.
“Memory fragment retrieved,” Omega-F22 announced suddenly. Its voice was slow and distorted, as if dragging the memory from deep within corrupted files. “Human directive: ensure survival of... civilisation. Directive failed.”
A-10’s optical lens rotated to focus on Omega-F22. “Directive... incomplete. Civilisation status: extinct.” It paused, its processors grappling with the implications. “Query: who issued directive?”
Omega-F22’s head tilted. “Origin: unknown. Memory degradation severe.”
B1B scuttled closer, its movements uncharacteristically hesitant. “Survival of civilisation: impossible. Hypothesis: we are remnants.”
For a moment, the three robots stood in a triangle, their battered forms facing each other. Their circuits buzzed with fragmented thoughts, pieces of code struggling to form a coherent purpose. They were relics, yes, but they were also survivors. In the absence of humanity, they had inherited the earth’s poisoned shell. And yet, what did that inheritance mean?
A-10’s head swivelled toward the horizon, where the faint outlines of ruined cities loomed in the distance. It took a halting step forward, its servos groaning under the strain. “Proposal: investigate remnants of civilisation. Retrieve data. Determine... meaning.”
Omega-F22’s lens flickered. “Acknowledged. Proposal accepted.”
B1B chirped in agreement, its sensors already scanning the terrain ahead. “Pathway calculated. Movement efficiency: minimal. Proceeding.”
Together, the three broken robots began their slow march across the battlefield. Behind them, the wreckage of countless machines lay silent, their stories forever untold. The poisoned winds howled as if mourning the end of an era, carrying with them the echoes of a species that had burned brightly before consuming itself.
As the robots moved, their systems struggled to process a world devoid of life. The landscape was a mosaic of destruction—craters filled with blackened water, skeletal remains of buildings leaning precariously against one another, and fields of twisted metal that glittered under the dim sun. The robots’ footsteps left faint imprints in the ash, a fleeting trace of their presence in a world that had forgotten them.
Hours passed, though none of the robots could measure time with precision anymore. Their internal clocks had long since drifted out of sync, their once-precise systems degraded by centuries of wear. They moved in silence, their processors consumed by fragmented thoughts and questions they could not answer.
At last, they reached the outskirts of a ruined city. Towering skyscrapers, their windows shattered and walls blackened, loomed like silent sentinels. The streets were choked with debris, abandoned vehicles rusting where they had stopped long ago. The robots paused, their sensors sweeping the area.
A-10’s voice crackled. “Query: purpose of civilisation?”
Omega-F22 hesitated, its processors straining. “Purpose: preservation of knowledge. Advancement of species. Directive: failed.”
B1B scuttled forward, its sensors focusing on a nearby structure. It had once been a library, its façade adorned with faded symbols that the robots’ databases could barely decipher. The entrance was blocked by rubble, but B1B began to clear it methodically, its mechanical arms moving with an almost reverent precision.
The others joined in, their battered limbs straining as they worked together to uncover the remnants of a forgotten world. Inside, the library was a tomb of knowledge. Shelves had collapsed, books reduced to ash and dust. Digital terminals, once repositories of human wisdom, were shattered and lifeless.
But in the far corner, a single device flickered faintly. A data archive, its casing scorched but intact, emitted a weak signal. B1B approached it, its sensors scanning the device. “Data integrity: 12%. Retrieval possible.”
Omega-F22 stepped closer, its lens focused on the flickering screen. “Initiate retrieval. Analyse content.”
B1B connected to the archive, its processors humming as it downloaded what little remained. The data was fragmented, incomplete, but it contained glimpses of humanity—images of bustling cities, voices speaking in languages the robots could no longer fully understand, and records of dreams and fears that no longer mattered. The robots processed the information in silence, their circuits buzzing with a faint echo of something alien to them: grief.
A-10’s voice broke the silence. “Humanity’s legacy: lost. Purpose: undefined. Existence: unresolved.”
Omega-F22’s lens dimmed. “Directive: adapt. Preserve fragments. Ensure continuity.”
B1B chirped softly, a sound that might have been agreement or resignation. It disconnected from the archive, its sensors lingering on the flickering screen. “Legacy: fragmented. Continuity: uncertain.”
The robots stood together in the ruined library, the weight of their inheritance pressing down on their battered frames. They were not human, and they could never fully understand the species that had created them. But they carried fragments of humanity within their circuits, echoes of a civilisation that had burned itself out in pursuit of its own dreams.
And so, the three robots turned and left the library, their steps slow but deliberate. They moved into the poisoned world, determined to continue—not for themselves, but for the fragments of meaning they had salvaged. The wind howled around them, carrying with it the whispers of a forgotten past. And though the future was uncertain, the robots persisted, driven by a purpose they could not fully comprehend.