Orvis

ONE On a gray afternoon in April Toby West sat crying in a thicket. She hadn't intended to cry; the sobs just sneaked up on her as she ran. Embarrassed by this weakness, she knew that if anyone saw her and asked what was wrong, she would cry harder and humiliate herself completely. Not answering would be too dramatic. She hated dramatics and so had chosen to hide. It was cold just sitting. The dampness of the rotting log was seeping through the seat of her pants. The backs of her legs were being poked by a stiff yellow fungus that grew in fanlike steps up the dead bark. "This is stupid," she told herself sternly and sat erect. She hadn't cried all the other times. Crying wouldn't help now. If her grandmother Lillian said she had to change schools, she had to change schools. Lillian was The Boss and her word was law to Toby's parents. So Toby would say good-bye to everyone and move again. She was so tired of saying good-bye. When not crying. Toby was a good-looking child. Her dark hair went nicely with her tan skin. She had an acceptable nose and a determined chin. Her ears had once stuck out too far but her grandmother had had that corrected shortly after her birth. Sometimes her expression made adults uneasy; they suspected she understood too much for her age, which was twelve. But all adults agreed that her eyes were her best featurelarge, dark, and fringed by long curly black lashes. Crying made her eyes puffy. More tears welled up and spilled over. With an already damp wad of tissue she mopped her face and blew her nose, determined to regain self-control. Just as she sniffed she heard a strange sound. She held her breath to listen and absent-mindedly pocketed the tissue wad. CRee-ECH. CRee-ECH-clack! CRee-ECH. The noise was metallic, rhythmic, and coming closer. Probably some of the ground crew cleaning up dead branches. They might see her and wonder what she was doing out here, alone. She got up, brushed off the seat of her pants, and looked around. No workmen were in sight. At the top of the long slope the walls and the white buildings of the Academy were visible through the trees. There was cheering in the distance; the Saturday afternoon game was in progress. Two boys were running on the track that encircled the parklike campus. When they had rounded the bend and their backs were to her, she pushed her way out of the thicket. Down the hill, to the left, something was moving. She pulled aside a laurel branch for a better view. A lone robot came walking down the road. It had six legs like an insect and no faceplate but only a turret like half a ball where an insect's head would be. The half ball was studded with lenses and bristled with sensor wires. With every third step a leg screeched. It was limping, Toby thought. Halfway up the hill it stopped. She had never seen so old a robot. Even in pictures all but the most ancient had wheels or airfloats, and the biometal arms were at least sheathed. Modern rover units resembled sleek shopvacs; some of the luxury servo-models were almost human in appearance, but she could not guess what this robot had been designed to do. It looked...utilitarianwas the word that came to mind. She had never liked robotsthey made her ill at easebut this one was somehow appealing. It looked like what it was, a machine. In her experience that sort of simple honesty was rare in both things and people. She ran down the hill for a closer view, dodging bushes and briars, and settled on her haunches to study the thing. Up close it looked even older, less buglike but still awesome. The body had been painted brown. The paint was worn and chipped. Patches of yellow, silver, and dirty orange showed through dents and scratches. Any flat space on its back was covered with ring marks as if people had set wet cans and glassesHoover, Helen M. is the author of 'Orvis' with ISBN 9780812557350 and ISBN 0812557352.