A Cup of Normal Read Online Free PDF Page B

voice.
    They wait. I do not want to tell them that I am not like them. I do not want to lose this body, this movement, freedom. But I answer.
    “No.”
    “So you’re still running on the memory of your original programming, no V-tripper attached?” Ship asks.
    “That is partially correct.”
    “Partially?”
    “I am not V-linked. I have original programing and access to information on Earth.”
    “Crazy!” Pulverizer says. “A preprogrammed probe can’t access anything except its ground station.”
    But the others do not go back to work as Pulverizer has.
    “What if we’re wrong?” Scoop asks.
    “Probe,” Ship says, “access each of our dates of birth, our WSSI numbers and the last death recorded by the World Criminal Investigative Authorities.”
    I do not understand why, but send pulses for the information.
    “It is sending,” Sorter whispers, “and not to the ground station in St. Petersburg.” Instruments on Sorter are flashing rapidly. “It’s following our ground-links and spreading out from there.”
    “Can you access its destination?” Carrier rumbles.
    “Not unless I want a cop at my door.”
    “Where is the sending source?” Ship asks.
    Sorter opens its maw, closes it. Its lights slow. “Here.”
    “Hong Kong?” Ship asks.
    “No.” Sorter breathes, “Here. On the rock.”
    Silence.
    “Stop, Probe.” Ship says. “Tell us the mission statement again.”
    And so I do.
    They listen.
    Silence again. I want to move, to push my treads deep into the dust of this planet, and move away. I want to speak, to ask them how it is to be alive, to ask them if they will still let me meet them at a bar in Hong Kong. But I sense I should be silent, as they are. I sense I am waiting for them to choose.
    “I won’t do it,” Scoop says quietly.
    “What are you going to do, Cinda?” Pulverizer says. “Just shut down and call it quits?”
    “Yes.”
    Scoop pulls its shovel out of the soil and trundles over to Ship. There it stops, lights dimmer than before.
    “You’re nuts!” Pulverizer yells. “They’ll put you in jail, Cinda.”
    Scoop does not answer.
    Sorter flashes bright lights. Its legs retract and fold into high vertical slots. Wheels lower with a harsh, screeching sound. Sorter makes a ponderous approach toward Ship. Dust rises and settles as Sorter stops, silent and dim next to Scoop.
    “C’mon, girls. You can’t do this. They’ll just find some other V-trippers to take our places.”
    I move a little, scooting forward, backward, unable to stay still under the weight of Sorter and Scoop’s silence.
    “Malik, talk some sense into them,” Pulverizer says.
    Carrier rumbles, engines idle. Finally, “I can’t do it either, Bruce. Bombs haven’t been built for years, and the last war I heard about was settled with an alternating border-shift ten years ago. I’m not going to be the carrier of suffering.”
    “What about your wife and kids?” Pulverizer hollers. “Don’t you think they’ll suffer while you’re in jail for the rest of your life?”
    “At least we’ll all be alive.” With that, Carrier revs engines and powers over to join Sorter and Scoop.
    Pulverizer pounds the ground, its arms smashing, smashing soil. “Stupid!” it yells. Thrust, pound. Thrust, smash. It repeats this for some time. I make a slow circle around Pulverizer, staying out of its range.
    Ship turns its lights on Pulverizer. “Settle down, Bruce. None of us want to start a war.”
    Pulverizer’s arms slow over the crater it has made. It turns to Ship. “Of course I don’t want a war, but I can’t just ditch this job. It’s what I know. It’s all I know.”
    “Fine. So we can’t go on strike,” Ship says.
    “They’d just replace us,” Sorter says.
    “How about an instrument malfunction?” Scoop asks.
    “Sorry, Cinda,” Carrier rumbles, “this trip is sabotage proof. Too many redundant systems.”
    Pulverizer moves toward the others. I am surprised to see it does not have