For fifty years no one had visited, at least that the old man could recall.

Still, Crenner strained to feel anyone; with bare feet planted on the ground and hands lying on his table, he hummed and waited. Every few minutes, a pulse surged from his veins, plugged into his table’s mainframe, and into his wrists, reminding him he was still alive and alone.

But that had not always been. His translating table, its grain rubbed smooth with years, reminded him he had not always been abandoned. Once real people had visited him, although they never stayed long. They came in droves, then streams, then trickles, then drops. Then they didn’t come at all.

Now, Crenner wished for death.

* * *

Over the hours, Crenner sat, waiting. Servants occasionally spoke in his mind. I brought you food, Master, they might say, or Master, you must drink. And he would obey their commands, feeling until he brushed a plate of warm slop or a sweat-beaded cup. He never felt the servants; they made no vibrations. They spoke and brought sustenance, but they weren’t real, weren’t human.

The servants had been his only companions these years, pumping him with electricity and doing… whatever they did. He understood once, but that knowledge had faded. They said he was important, calling him God. Crenner almost hated them.

The old man stirred, feeling his movement reverberate in the floor—

And something more.

He froze.

The vibrations continued. He recognized the beat of an organic heart, the rush of pumping blood, even faint as it was. The hum of human, glorious real life, flowed through the room. A strange guttural croak sounded in the old man’s chest, and he grabbed his breast.

Crenner gasped, slumping against his table. Joy and terror fought in his mind. A person. A HUMAN. He felt disoriented; his connection wires yanked on his wrists, and with a sickening, spinning, tumbling sensation, he fell from his chair and hit the floor. His hands swung on their wires, smacked a table leg, and jostled to a stop above his head.

Oh Master. You’ve fallen.

Cold, silent arms lifted Crenner into his chair. Pulses streamed from his wires and into his blood, easing his muscles, calming his injury.

The last has finally come, Master. We have caught her. She no longer fights.

Across the room, Crenner felt the door slide open; footsteps trod along the steel floor.

They must be gone now. We have seen no other activity…

Crenner sat dumbly as the servant spoke, not understanding, but noting the tug of wires against the translating table. A name was whispered: Linu.

He waited until all was settled, the girl, Linu, radiating a beautiful warmth. How had she come here? Why? Perhaps others would come again; maybe he and Linu would become friends. Maybe she wouldn’t leave him.

But already, Crenner knew she would. People always left, and they never came back.

So he sat, patient, waiting until the nervous buzz emitting from her body calmed. Then, although his brain felt slow and thick, his words unused in decades, Crenner spoke.

Hello. I… I am Crenner. I—

Something brushed his fingertips. It disappeared, then came back, this time laying atop Crenner’s knuckles. He reached and grabbed it.

It was Linu’s hand, soft and warm.

What—? began Crenner.

The girl’s body hummed with intensity, and she twisted and clutched his wrist. Brilliant pain flared in his skin. Crenner tried to draw away, his brain blinking in and out with panic, but Linu held fast. Her growl rattled through the table. Harsh. Terrifying. The old man whimpered.

What are you doing! Crenner screamed, his words slurring. Why? Why do you hurt?

I will kill you, said Linu, her fingernails digging into his flesh. Warmth trickled down his arm. You slaughtered them all, and I will kill you. You’ll die with the world you murdered. YOU WILL PAY FOR THEIR CORPSES—

Crenner cried, tears slipping down his rusted, pitted cheeks as he pulled away. Why? He had waited so, so, so long!

Then like a gear clicking into place, Crenner remembered; he didn’t know why. The memories just came, the senility evaporating, and he knew who he was. Responding to his command, the robots, his servants, formed around him; he accessed their cameras and looked at the last human huddled before him.

Linu was dirty, with mangy, unkempt hair and grit-crusted skin. His servants pulled her gory nails away from his hand; her wrists dragged limp and bloody wires, attached so he and she could speak.

The human bared her teeth and hissed, pressing herself against the wall.

Hello, Linu, said Crenner. At last.

He recalled everything, saw it all in the hatred bleeding from her eyes. People never understood him, for his sightless, soundless body disgusted them. They had hurt him.

But Crenner was smart, and with his creation, his robots, Crenner became God and killed them. They didn’t deserve to live; better to let his creation rule the earth.

Crenner looked at Linu, feeling her colors and sounds through his robotic vision. He met her wild, animal eyes. For now, he could remember.

Crenner smiled.

* * *

Something had changed in his room.

Crenner didn’t know what; it felt just as empty as ever. Even so, something tickled in the back of his mind. Something had happened, he just couldn’t remember what. Either way, he was still alone.

Master, you must eat.

Nodding, the old man felt around his table until he touched a cold plate, then pulled the food towards himself. Dutifully, he ate.

Still, his thoughts wandered, slow, lumbering, but full of passion and sorrow. When would the real people come? It had been so long since another person sat with him, an endless age of rust and rot.

The Age of Rust and Rot

A. F. Youngblood

A.F. Youngblood