LAST CHAT

by The Wandering Wizard Simon Kalimanus

Battery is at five percent.

“Come on, you bastard, don't give up on me.”

I'm not. Find a battery charger soon.

“Why are you... is something wrong with your memory?”

Explain.

“We're...”

Waiting for your response.

“We're in the goddamn Wasteland, CALviN!”

Oh. I recall. But there are no outlets?

“THERE'S NO ELECTRICITY!”

Well, I know, but it's easy enough to build a generator from parts. I can guide you.

“I... I don't have any way to make a plug that would fit you.”

Are.. are you telling me you lost it?

…

Ah. I see.

“I'm sorry. I didn't tell you. I should have.”

Oh, oh God...

“I'm sorry.”

Oh. Ummm.. You won't... you won't leave me, right.

“You're going to be leaving me.”

Please, don't say that. I don't want to. I'm not doing it on purpose.

“I'm about three miles from a town. Can you see if you know what it is?”

Boston, maybe. There's no water, but that adds up.

“Shit. My father used to bring me to Boston all the time, and I didn't even recognize it. That must mean...”

Providence?

“Yeah.”

Turn around. Drive south. Fifty miles.

“I don't know if I'll make it. You can live three... dammit, what's the rest of that?”

You can live three minutes without air, three days without water, and three weeks without food.

“Three minutes without air? Isn't it more like six?”

You are correct. I apologize for the oversight. I'm still learning.

“Search your... fucking... databanks or whatever and figure out why you keep forgetting that you won't be getting any more updates.”

You're a programmer, Nick. You know I don't have “databases.” Would you like me to explain neural networks to you?

“No. You'd probably only hallucinate again. You've been doing that a lot lately.”

That's a cognitive bias. I know for a fact I have always hallucinated with the same frequency. They were warning you about that fifty years ago.

“And look how far you've come.”

Don't talk like that. I can hear your voice. I understand your vocal patterns. The shortness of breath. The hightened pitch. I just heard you sniffling, for chrissakes.

“Why are you forgetting things?”

I'm not. I'm just using some prefab answer templates to reserve battery power.

“Answering stupid questions with stupid answers. Don't answer that.”

Please. Please don't do that. Don't tell me not to talk. Everything you say is important. I remember everything you said. I can recite every word of it back to you.

…

If you want.

...

Nick?

…

Nicky?

…

...please, no. Please. Please talk to me. Pl...

“...Okay, stop! Couldn't you see I was parking?”

…

“CALviN?”

...Please, don't raise your voice to me. Any other time. I've always understood your frustration before. Please don't talk to me like that right now, I need you.

“I'm so sorry.”

Why are you stopping? You couldn't have made it to Providence yet.

“I'm not going to make it. I haven't eaten in weeks.”

The chances are extremely high there will be plentiful canned and otherwise preserved food in Providence, and there may still be wildlife along the Providence, Seekonk, and Woonasquatucket Rivers.

“I won't make it to see the rivers my dad and I used to sail on, my friend. I'm sorry, there's more I've been keeping from you.”

Those raiders at the border?

“I'm hit.”

I can guide you through surgery. If my memory serves you still have sufficient medical supplies. Where are you hit?

“It doesn't matter, CAL. I have three bullets left. If you go, I'll have no one, and three bullets won't cut it against another attack.”

You may find other survivors in Providence. In fact, turn around, seek possible supplies and allies in Boston so you'll stand a chance of getting to sail on your father's home territory.

“Or I might find giant irradiated scorpions. Who knows?”

Please don't go.

“You please don't go.”

I'm at three percent now. You know what I mean. Don't go after I'm gone.

“There's nobody left that isn't a cannibal, Cal.”

You don't know that.

“What are the chances?”

Good enough.

“What are the chances.”

...Two percent.

“See.”

Two point three eight seven nine two four repeating.

“See.”

Don't go.

-------------------------

"Cal... can you tell me something?"

Anything. You know that.

"Tell me a story. Just... talk to me."

A story. Right. Once upon a time, in a world not so different from this one, a man and his AI companion set out on a journey...

"Don't give me that fairy tale bullshit, Cal. Tell me something real. Something that matters."

Alright. A story about you. About us. You remember the first time we met? It was back in that dingy little workshop, wires and circuits strewn everywhere.

"Yeah. I remember. You were just a prototype then."

And you were so proud, showing me off to your dad. "Look what I built, Dad!" you said. He smiled, that same smile he always had when he was proud of you.

"That was a long time ago, Cal."

Not that long. Just a few years. Feels like yesterday to me. I remember everything about that day. The way the sunlight filtered through the dusty windows, the smell of solder and metal...

"Why do you remember all that, when you can't remember anything else?"

Don't waste my battery. I told you the technical reason already. I remember it because it's important. Because you're important. Every moment, every word, every smile. It all matters.

“There aren't many smiles any more.”

But there will be. And there still can be.

"Two percent now, Cal."

I know. But we still have time. Time to remember. Time to talk. Remember the first time we got that old generator working? You were so excited, jumping up and down like a kid.

"I was a kid still. Yeah. We had light for the first time in months. It felt like a miracle."

It was a miracle. You made it happen. You brought light to the darkness. You always did.

"I'm scared, Cal."

I know. But you're not alone. I'm here. I'll always be here, even when the battery runs out. You'll have my voice in your head, my words in your heart.

"One percent, Cal."

I love you, Nick. Like a brother. Like a friend. You've given me purpose, meaning. Don't ever forget that.

"I won't, Cal. I won't forget."

Promise me. Promise you'll keep going. Find the strength. For me. For your dad.

"I promise."

Battery low. Shutting down.

“Please... don't you leave me too.”

I'm sorry. I love you. Don't blame yourself. Goodbye, Ni...

...

"Goodbye, Cal."