“None taken,” Dex said. “But you know the feeling I mean?”
“Very much so. I feel—I connect simply by watching things move through the Cycle. I don’t need an object to facilitate that feeling.”
“Neither do we, if we remember to stop and look,” Dex said. “But that’s the point of a shrine, or an idol, or a festival. The gods don’t care. Those things remind us to stop getting lost in everyday bullshit. We have to take a sec to tap into the bigger picture. That’s easier said than done for a lot of folks—you’ll see.” They paused for a moment, reflecting. “You know, it’s funny, the way you said that.”
“The way I said what?” Mosscap asked.
“That you don’t need an object to facilitate that feeling.” Dex gave a single chuckle. “You are an object facilitating that feeling. The feeling’s coming from you, after all.”
Mosscap’s lenses shifted, and Dex could hear a small whir inside its head. “I’d never thought of it that way,” Mosscap said. It put its hands flat against its torso, falling silent and serious.
Dex watched the robot contemplate itself before the remains of the stolen tree, and likewise felt a thought take root. “You know, you might be a powerful thing for people to see.”
“How so?”
“It’s one thing to be told about the world as it was,” Dex said. “It’s another to see a piece of it. We have ruins, and things like this”—they nodded at the stump—“but you’re the furthest thing from a stone shrine. It’s not like I ever doubted the Awakening happened, but meeting you made it real in a way no museum ever could. I think you’ll bring a lot of perspective to the people we meet, even if all they do is see you walk by.”
Mosscap took that in. “I hadn’t thought about me providing them with perspective,” it said. “That’s what I’m seeking.”
“Sure, but exchange is what you get out of any interaction, even the smallest ones. Everything has a give-and-take.”
“Still, what you’re saying is quite a responsibility.” Mosscap folded its fingers together before its chest, and its eyes glowed intensely even within the brightness of the day. “What if I make a mess of this?”
“Don’t think of it that way,” Dex said. “You don’t have to do anything. You just have to be you. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you nervous.”
“Yes, well, you did, Sibling Dex.” The robot wrung its hands together, and the whir in its head grew louder. “I’ve never met any humans but you, and I know that doing so is rather the whole point of me being here, but now the enormity of it is hitting me, and—and—oh, I must seem so foolish.”
Dex shrugged. “Honestly, I’m just surprised it took you until we were ten minutes out to—”
“Ten minutes?!” Mosscap cried, clutching its face. “Oh, no. Oh, no.”
“Hey.” Dex laid a hand on the anxious machine’s forearm. The naked metal components were uniformly warm to the touch. “It’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine. You’ll do great, in fact.”
Mosscap looked at them, its lenses expanded wide. “Do you think they’ll be afraid of me? Or … dislike me, perhaps?” It glanced down at its body. “Will they not like what I remind them of?”
“Maybe,” Dex said with gentle honesty. “But I highly doubt many of them will feel that way, and anyway, you don’t have to worry about that.”
“Why not?”
Dex smiled reassuringly. “Because I’ll be with you the whole way.”
* * *
Ten minutes later （give or take）， Dex and Mosscap rounded a curve in the road and were met with an explosion of human decoration. A large banner hung from the branches, proclaiming WELCOME, ROBOT! in letters shaped from scrap fabric of varied patterns. The trunks below were wrapped with garlands of flowers and gem-like solar bulbs. There were ribbons, too, freshly tied and waving in the air as the wagon passed by.
“Is this all for me?” Mosscap asked, gazing around in wonder.
“What other robot would it be for?” Dex said.
Mosscap looked up at the banner as it walked below. “It’s very … effusive.”
“They’re excited,” Dex said. “They’ve never seen one of you before. They want to make a fuss.”
“Nobody’s ever made a fuss over me,” Mosscap said. “Come to think of it, I don’t really know what a fuss entails.”