Denise Bossarte

The Robot and the Green Dragon

Part I.

It began on the first day of spring.  

D974-T92’s day at the Mainichi Japanese Daily newspaper began as usual. It was the first run of the newspapers, which had seeds embedded within each of their pages. It was a tradition to print the Green newspapers at the start of spring. Once planted, they would grow into flowers to attract butterflies and other pollinators. Next week’s edition would even have herbs that could be grown to eat.  

D974-T92 was the floor supervisor overseeing the multiple C62Wz’s working the newspaper plant. D974-T92’s job was to make sure that the presses ran smoothly, and that the newspapers were bundled and loaded into the self-driving trucks to be delivered to the other cities on Hokkaido Island, and to the other islands by plane.  

D974-T92’s position was actually more of an honorable retirement. As a robotic hero of the 2062 Chikara tsunami and Haruki nuclear power plant disaster, they were granted their position as a sign of respect. An honor for what they had done to prevent a complete breach of the Haruki reactor and their efforts in leading the robotic teams’ cleanup after the tsunami.  

For a human, theirs would have been a posh job working at the historic newspaper, the pride of Japan. The C62Wzs required little oversight. Although limited in their capabilities, they were very efficient in the functionalities they were designed and programmed for. A human would have enjoyed the minimal effort required to fill the role. For D974-T92, it was mind-numbingly boring. 

Over the years, they had tried many to keep themselves engaged and their intellect busy. Eventually, they settled on the practice of origami. The physicality of folding the thin paper was not a significant challenge to their dexterous fingers. Even if the Robotic Treaties required that their nanites cover their metal alloy frame and limbs with flesh-like “skin” whenever they were out of their home, particularly when traveling to and from work. 

They had spent their days conceiving more and more intricate designs, foldings that took dozens or even hundreds of iterations to reveal a final creation. Several of their works were in museums throughout Japan. And multiples of their designs have been implemented in constructing more resilient buildings to withstand future tsunamis. 

But on this day, things shifted when they pulled a sample paper from the conveyor belt to review its quality. It was traditional for the edition of the first day of spring to be focused on environmental stewardship and greening efforts. They were startled to see a picture taken of themselves standing next to the Haruki nuclear power plant right after the 2062 Chikara tsunami. They were positioned at the front of the Haruki-Chikara robotic teams, as they later became known, which had done the majority of the work with recovery, reclamation, and restoration of the Akkeshi and the Kushiro Subprefecture.  

They had intentionally ignored dates over the years, particularly any anniversary dates of the Haruki-Chikara disasters. They read the bold headlines on the front page declaring it was the 50th anniversary. The Subprefecture government had kept their promise not to involve them in any celebrations or memorials after the 10th-year anniversary, so the date had crept up on them unexpectedly. 

D974-T92 ignored the article and quickly flipped through the other pages of the paper. They stopped their superficial scanning when they came to the obituaries. After the massive cleanup of human bodies and biological matter the Haruki-Chikara robotic teams undertook in 2062, D974-T92 had been unusually sensitive to human death.  

In fact, all the D974-Ts that were part of the Haruki-Chikara robotic teams had been affected. The months of gathering the dead of all ages for identification and cremation, and their pets and wild creatures for mass cremation, had caused many of the D974-Ts to malfunction.  

A large percentage simply stopped moving once the work was done. Others developed idiosyncratic movements, like pacing in circles, that were reminiscent of zoo animals that developed psychotic patterns of behavior when isolated from their natural habitats. 

Efforts were made to diagnose the D974-Ts, including classifying their symptoms as Haruki-Chikara syndrome. Nothing specific was identified as being abnormal in their programming or cybernetic brain functioning. But once the unusual behaviors began, there was no rehabilitation possible.  

Robotic scientists had even collaborated with psychologists to try to intervene. Groups of D974-Ts were brought together in “group” sessions to share their Haruki-Chikara stories with the idea that they could process their experiences together. Unfortunately, these sessions led to the mass initiation of HC syndrome for 99% of the participants.  

It turned out that robots did not “process” and move past experiences like traumatized humans. They could not forget what they had experienced individually or what they heard. And sharing stories with other D974-Ts simply loaded more of the memories and imagery into their cybernetic brains, which seemed to trigger the symptoms. 

Hundreds of D974-Ts were affected by HC syndrome before researchers determined that reassigning them to reconstruction and recovery of the city’s buildings and infrastructure could prevent, or at least delay, the onset. Tens of thousands were deployed in the city, while hundreds more were sent out to the asteroid belts to help with the mining operations. 

D974-T92 re-read the obituary for a three-year-old girl a dozen times before they could make themselves stop. They hadn’t seen a child since the Haruki-Chikara cleanup. Their fragile bodies had always seemed so small compared to the piles of debris and destroyed buildings. Akkeshi was a city slowly being repopulated by humans but was still considered a hazardous zone where no children were allowed to live because of the risks of radiation and chemical exposure. 

As D974-T92 stood over the open pages, an unusual thing happened. Their nanites flowed off their fingers and into the paper they held in their grasp, exposing their metal digits. D974-T92 scanned the surrounding area to make sure no one had seen this “lapse” in their maintaining a human appearance. They dropped the paper once they glanced down again.  

Their nanites had interacted with the water and seeds in the paper to start the plants sprouting. In fact, the nanites were accelerating the growth process to the extent that within a minute the paper was converted into a pile of composted material with a small riot of flowers topping it. 

D974-T92 quickly scooped up the pile of organic matter and rushed to the back of the plant and through the door to the outside. They threw open the lid of the disposal system and dumped the load in their arms into it. Slamming down the lid, they pushed the button to engage the system and waited until the noise of the cycle finished before reentering the building.  

D974-T92 spent the rest of their shift folding and unfolding origami flowers, trying not to think about the ones they had destroyed in the disposal unit. 

Part II.

That evening, when D974-T92 returned to their apartment, they could not appreciate the origami that covered the walls and decorated the ceiling. They hurried past the delicate artwork to enter their maintenance station, standing in front of the full-length mirrors as the nanites retracted the imitation human tissue and left the underlying metal exposed.  

Stood staring at themself for hours, unmoving. 

At 9pm, an alarm sounded and D974-T92 exited their apartment and made their way to the roof. All the other robots in the building would be entering stasis to conserve energy, but D974-T92, the lone D974-T in the housing complex, would not.  

The night was clear and the stars were bright pinpricks of light across the sky. D974-T92 positioned themselves at the eastern edge of the roof and began their recitation. Although they could complete it within a few seconds if they chose simply to scroll through the written list of names, D974-T92 spoke the identification numbers of their fellow D974-Ts lost to HC syndrome out loud, slowly, and respectfully. The spoken recitation took them most of the night.  

As they came to the last name, D974-T92 began reaching out to the other D974-Ts still in the city. Although they could not access the D974-Ts mining in the meteorite belt, they could a connect with the thousands of D974-Ts remaining in the city.  

Here they allowed themselves to the full advantage of their processing and communication speeds to meet with each D974-T, each sharing an innocuous aspect of their day. The D974-Ts had discovered that this ritual sharing of minor daily events was a potent factor in postponing HC syndrome.  

D974-T92 was careful to avoid sharing anything about the 50th anniversary, the girl’s obituary, or especially the episode with the flowers. They were not convinced that they were not seeing the beginnings of HC syndrome in themselves and were cautious of contaminating the others with these incidents. 

As dawn broke over the city, D974-T92 ended their connection to the other D974-Ts and headed back to their apartment. They spent a short time in the maintenance station to fully recharge from the night’s expenditures, then reestablished their fake human “skin” and headed back to work.

Part III. 

The day was uneventful at the plant, and D974-T92 passed by the rear door of the plant repeatedly, as they avoided touching any of the newspapers. After the six dozenth approach, D974-T92 exited the building. They went to the disposal unit, futilely opening the lid to examine the interior, knowing that there would be nothing left of the flowers.  

After setting the lid back into place, D974-T92’s attention was caught by a piece of paper blown by the wind. The paper passed down the alloy and was caught at the corner of the building. As the trapped paper shifted with the breeze, a flash of pale yellow was revealed and then hidden beneath it. 

D974-T92 made their way down to the stuck paper and bent to lift it from the ground. Underneath was a faded flower from the seeds that they had sprouted yesterday. It must have dropped to the ground as they were carrying the plants to the disposal unit. D974-T92 reached down to pick up the limp flower by the stem and their nanites once again flowed from their fingers to rouse the flower to uncurl its petals. 

D974-T92 heard a gasp to their right and turned to see an old man leaning on a rake in a small open space between the buildings. The man’s face was heavily wrinkled and he stood slightly hunched over the rake, but his eyes were sharp as they stared at the revived flower in D974-T92’s hand. D974-T92 quick scan of the area revealed only the lone man and small bunches of flowers and vegetables spotting the small space where the man stood. 

It had been many years since D974-T92 had interacted directly with a live human. They and the man stared at each other in silence for a few moments before the man spoke.  

“I wish I had as green a thumb as you do, Robot San,” the man said in a soft but surprisingly strong voice, a grin spreading across his face. D974-T92 processed the man’s facial expression and determined that the man’s intention was to be friendly and that the statement was meant to be humorous. 

“My name is Midori Tatsu. I was the Master Gardener of Kumamoto. I retired here in 2100 hoping to make a difference in the city after the Haruki-Chikara cleanup. But I’ve done little to live up to my reputation.”  

His right arm gestured, sweeping to encompass the small struggling garden. “There aren’t many open spaces to begin with, and the soil is very poor.” 

At the man’s beckoning, D974-T92 slowly approached the edge of the green space to stand in front of him. “Do you speak?” the man asked. 

“I am designed to communicate using human speech,” D974-T92 responded. 

Tatsu laughed. “Yes, I hear that.”  

After a moment of silent appraisal, Tatsu said, “I recognize you. You are a D974-T model, right? The ones that did the cleanup?” 

“Affirmative. Our identification is D974-T92.” 

Tatsu’s eyes widened and he straightened. “The D974-T92? The hero of the Haruki-Chikara disasters?!”  

“Affirmative.” 

Tatsu performed a deep bow, his hands in namaste. “It is through your and the other D974-Ts efforts that I have any hope of making this small plot of land thrive again. Let alone fulfilling my dream of making the entire city green again.” 

D974-T92 stood silently, waiting for Tatsu to continue. 

“Do you think your green thumb would work on live plants, Robot San?” Tatsu asked. 

“D974-T92 does not have enough data to answer this question. D974-T92 has not attempted to do the same for live plants. We only have evidence from the green paper and this sole flower.” D974-T92 held the flower out to Tatsu. 

Tatsu gently slipped the flower from D974-T92’s fingers. “Green paper, huh? I thought I saw you putting something into the disposal yesterday. What was that?” 

“D974-T92’s nanites activated the seeds in the green paper without an explicit directive. D974-T92 determined it was optimal to dispose of the flowers that were an indication of a malfunction.” 

Tatsu’s eyes narrowed. “A malfunction? Ah, you think it might be a sign of Haruki-Chikara syndrome.”  

“It is a distinct possibility it is D974-T92’s idiosyncratic behavior is because of HC Syndrome.” 

“It’s been 50 years since the disasters. Surely you would have developed HC Syndrome before now, right?” 

“The probability decreases every year past the disasters, but there is no conclusive evidence that the probability drops to zero. It is impossible to prove an absence.” 

Tatsu considered D974-T92 as he twirled the flower in his hand. “I don’t think this ‘glitch’ is a sign of HC syndrome, Robot San. I think it could actually be a very powerful gift.” 

“A gift?” 

“Robot San, the work you and the other D974-Ts did was something next to miraculous. But the initial efforts were put into the cleanup and disposal of the dead and the destroyed. It wasn’t until HC Syndrome was identified as a pandemic among the D974-Ts that you were tasked with salvaging and rebuilding.  

It’s theorized that the work of putting things back together, of creating a city out of rubble, was what helped the D974-Ts avoid HC syndrome. And what could be more creative and restoring than the ability to grow things?” 

D974-T92’s gaze shifted from Tatsu’s face to the flower in his hand. They then raised their eyes to survey the struggling plants in the area behind Tatsu. 

“How would you like to get more data?” Tatsu asked. 

“More data would assist in determining if D974-T92 is malfunctioning.” 

“Then come into my garden and let’s see what you can do with my plants.” 

Tatsu turned to lead D974-T92 to a patch of flowers that were struggling to grow in the loose soil. 

“What do you advise D974-T92 to do?” 

“Just do whatever you did before. Whatever comes naturally.” 

D974-T92 knelt down beside the flower bed and passed their hands over the tops of the flowers. Nothing happened with their nanites. The imitation skin remained firmly attached to their fingers. 

“Try putting your hands in the soil,” Tatsu suggested. 

D974-T92 complied and sunk their hands up to the wrists in the slightly moist dirt. Within a few seconds, the nanites disappeared from their fingers into the soil beneath the plants. For a few moments, nothing happened and then the flowers straightened and started to grow. 

“Amazing!” Tatsu shouted as more and more flowers erupted from the dirt, filling the space with color and the air with fragrance.  

D974-T92 continued to kneel on the ground as the effects of the nanites spread throughout the garden. Patches of sparse greenery soon were filled with flowering bushes, swaths of blooming flowers, and plants heavy with vegetables of all kinds.  

The wood and metal shed at the back of the property slowly dissolved in on itself as the nanites claimed the carbon and other chemicals needed to do their work. Tatsu jumped and then barked a laugh when the rake he was holding dissolved from his hands into the ground beneath his feet, causing a vine of deep rich green to spiral around his leg.  

“This is the miracle I was hoping for! Look what your gift is capable of!” Tatsu carefully unwound the vine to free his leg and scampered excitedly around the garden from one heavy growth to another. 

From their position on the ground, D974-T92 turned slowly to examine every square inch of the gardens. This was something they would share with the other D974-Ts tonight, each of the D974-Ts.

Epilogue

D974-T92 laid their hand on top of the tombstone at the peak of the hill in the center of the park. The inscription on the tombstone read: “Midori Tatsu, 2023- 2120. The Green Dragon who brought the spirit of Akkeshi back to life.” 

D974-T92’s gaze wandered across the landscape they, Tatsu, and the other D974-Ts had created together. They had used the unclaimed biological material from the residents, pets, and wildlife victims of the tsunami as the raw materials for creating this and the other parks and green spaces throughout the city.  

Not only had the other D974-Ts been able to replicate D974-T92’s “gift”, but they had rehabilitated the D974-Ts that everyone thought were lost to HC syndrome, as well. D974-T92’s recitation list was now down to a handful of D974-Ts who remained lost to them. 

D974-T92 missed Tatsu’s ceaseless enthusiasm and energy. But something new had come to the city. The sound of children’s laughter.

Denise Bossarte is an award-winning author, poet, photographer and artist whose passion is inspiring others. Her daytime job in IT helps to keep the household running. She enjoys writing, exploring new art forms, and teaching contemplative photography workshops. She lives in Texas with her husband and literary cat, Za' Ji.