“I’m not very good at fishing,” Dex said, “but…” They caught Mosscap’s eye and confirmed this was how the day was going to go. “Sure. Let’s do it.”
* * *
The doors of the village were shut when their group reached the bottom of the cliff. All the homes were on stilts, standing high above the sand, but Dex could see flickers of movement through their windows. A curtain was pulled shut as Mosscap drew near. A couple of kids in another house pressed their noses against the glass, only to be shooed away by the shadow of someone larger. Dex hoped Mosscap hadn’t noticed, but it didn’t take long for the robot’s eyes to grow dim and distant. Upon seeing this, Dex reached out and took Mosscap’s hand, holding it tightly as they followed Mx. Avery to the dock. Robots didn’t hold hands with each other, Dex knew, but humans did, and by the way Mosscap squeezed its metal fingers in response, it was clear it understood the gesture.
Mx. Avery gave a little shake of their head as they continued toward the water. “Ignore them,” they said disapprovingly of their townsfolk. “It’s my home just as much as theirs, and I want you here.” They looked Mosscap in the eye. “Not very neighborly of us, is it?”
“It … is a little disheartening,” Mosscap said, honest and calm. “I’m trying not to take it personally, as Sibling Dex encouraged me to do, but I have to admit, this is proving to be a difficult day.”
Mx. Avery gave a sympathetic smile. “Day’s not over yet.”
The three of them arrived at the dock, stepping from loose stones onto weather-beaten wood. A heap of fishing gear was waiting at the end of the structure, accompanied by a trio of seating cushions set out in a row. It seemed their host had anticipated the invitation would be accepted.
Mx. Avery opened a palm toward the fishing poles. “Well, what do you think, Mosscap?” they said. “You want to give it a go, or you want to watch?”
“I’ll watch, thank you,” Mosscap said.
“Okay,” Mx. Avery said. They picked up two poles and extended one toward Dex. “Sibling?”
Dex took it and ran their fingers over the hand-polished wood. They’d never used a pole like this before, but the function of it was no different from that of a printed one. Fishing wasn’t that complicated.
Mosscap leaned in with interest toward Mx. Avery’s pole. “How does it work?”
“You bait this,” Mx. Avery said, holding up the hook. “Then you drop it in the water, and … you wait.”
“What do you wait for?”
“For the fish to bite the hook.”
“I see,” Mosscap said. “Very clever. Tools do make this easier, don’t they? I always feel for bears, standing in the water with their mouths open all day. The young ones look so disappointed.” It leaned in closer, studying the hook. “What do you bait it with?”
Mx. Avery reached down, picked up a small box with holes drilled in the top, and opened the lid for Mosscap to see.
“Oh!” Mosscap gasped with surprise. “Purple crawlers!”
Mx. Avery laughed at the robot’s reaction to the wriggling ball of worms. “You know them, huh?”
“Yes, but…” Mosscap looked back at the village standing on the rocky shore. “Where do you get them? They’re forest dwellers. They live in topsoil.”
“I have a bin of them at home,” Mx. Avery said. “They eat my food scraps, and then I use them to get more food.”
“You farm worms,” Mosscap said slowly, trying to clarify. “In a bin.”
“I guess so, yes.”
“And then you put them on a hook.” It looked up. “Alive?”
Mx. Avery nodded. “Best way to get a fish’s attention.”
Mosscap pondered this, its head whirring with consternation. “What an utterly confusing life and death that must be.”
Dex reached over and took a worm from the box before they could fall into an existential crisis about it. They baited their hook with a whispered apology.
The three of them sat on the cushions, Mosscap in the middle. It watched keenly as Mx. Avery and Dex both lowered their lines into the splashing water below. “How long does it take?” Mosscap asked.
“Long as it needs to,” Mx. Avery said. They made themself comfortable and smiled at Mosscap. “That’s why it’s a nice thing to do with someone to talk to.” They held their fishing pole between their knees, then reached over and retrieved a battered old canteen from the assorted equipment. “Tea, Sibling?” they offered. “Won’t be half as good as what you make, I’m sure, but—”