Dex thought, and thought some more. This was stupid, but all the same, an unshakable want arose in them, the same sort of nameless, senseless, rebellious magnetism that had made them turn off the highway into the wilds months before. Smacking down everything within themself that began to argue, they walked the bike around, turning the wagon in the opposite direction. “It’s about six miles to Cloud Beach,” they said. “People go there every year to watch the turtles. There’s a little festival around it—no music, obviously, but people bring food, and there’s lots of kids, and—”
“I was thinking—I was thinking somewhere more private,” Mosscap said. The satchel strap had transformed into a helix in its hands. “You know how it is; sometimes you just want to have a moment between yourself and a turtle and no one else.” Its eyes were wide and piercingly bright. “I don’t think I want to see any people today, Sibling Dex. Other than yourself, I mean.”
Mosscap stared down at the road, and Dex looked away, not wanting to make the robot more uncomfortable. They continued to think. “I know a spot,” they said at last. “I haven’t been there in forever, and it’s hard to get to, and I can’t promise no one will be there, but…” They looked back. “It’ll be a longer ride.”
This last comment was a question; Mosscap nodded in assent. “I don’t mind, if you don’t,” it said.
“Okay,” Dex said. They got back on their bike. “Okay. Let’s go.”
* * *
The spot Dex knew had no name. The road leading to it was unmarked and in poor repair, barely extant the farther they went along. It was the sort of place you went when you were a teenager in possession of a bottle of wine you shouldn’t have and a few friends who would all share your regret about varied decisions by morning. Brambles stretched untrimmed into the space Dex rode through, scratching their arms and snapping in the wagon’s wake. Once they passed through this unpleasant barrier, there was, as Mosscap had requested, a beach. It wasn’t anything special, as far as beaches went. It was small, forgettable, littered with old seaweed and abandoned shells. The beach wasn’t dirty, but neither was it overly scenic. It was a place where land met water. That was about all that could be said about it.
Mosscap observed the area as Dex brought the wagon to a halt. “Yes,” it said with relief, watching the waves push and pull. “Yes, this is perfect.”
Together, they coaxed the wagon out onto the sand until they came to a stopping point as good as any other. Without a word, they began to make camp, just as they’d done countless times before. Dex locked down everything with wheels, Mosscap unfolded the kitchen on the wagon’s exterior, Dex fetched chairs, Mosscap started the fire. Or, then again, Mosscap started to start the fire but froze midway through. The robot stood unmoving in front of the fire drum, the line to the biogas tank dangling unconnected in its hand.
“What’s wrong?” Dex asked.
Mosscap looked at them. “I want to build a wood fire,” it said. “I don’t want to use this.”
“Why not?”
“I just … I just don’t!” Mosscap sounded frustrated, petulant, more like the kids back at the farm than like itself.
Dex stuck their hands in their pockets. “We don’t have any firewood,” they said.
Mosscap gestured broadly at the beach around them. “There must be driftwood,” it said. “Or fallen branches near the cliffs.”
Dex shrugged. “Okay,” they said. “Let’s go find some wood.”
And so, several hours passed as Dex and Mosscap combed the shoreline for things that would burn, wandering back and forth in no particular rush. They both stopped to watch a crab that had been hiding beneath a shard of driftwood, and apologized for the disturbance as it scuttled off with offended haste. Mosscap found a glistening harp snail shell in perfect condition but left it behind rather than take it into its satchel where nothing could make it into a home.
By evening, they’d assembled a huge stockpile of kindling, far more than they would need. The wagon’s pantry was stuffed to the brim with the bounty of Dex’s family’s farm, and they chose the evening’s delicacies with care as Mosscap happily arranged sticks into a combustible cone.
“We have so much more than we need,” Mosscap said as it stacked. “It seems silly, to burn all of this at once.”
Dex nodded as they chopped vegetables into chunks destined for skewering. “So, just make a normal fire,” they said. “We can use the leftovers tomorrow.”