In slightly less ridiculous news, I have just this evening (or last night, rather, as it is after midnight now) finished a new story. I have particular spot in mind for it, but if they don’t want it I’ll start shopping it around. I rather like it. Here is a piece.
My metal companion spoke, breaking hours of silently trudging through this snowy hellscape.
“The birds have gone,” said Carson-5, its voice box crackling. Icicles shivered with the echo. The machine came to a stop with a hiss of hydraulics. Steam rose from the snow where its oval-shaped feet came to rest. Dull and grey, Carson-5 measured ten feet to the top of its cube head, little more than a vocal speaker and pair of antennae. Broad shoulders supported long, thick arms that ended in modular stumps equipped via a backpack cargo pod. The torso narrowed sharply before flaring into wide hips and a pair of segmented legs. Carson-5 was a standard scout and exploration unit, built to withstand any environment and keep its human masters alive. It wasn’t one of the kill-and-detain Yeager-7s most bounty hunters pal around with, but I got a great deal on this one during my last trip to Earth – this particular Carson had failed two previous owners.