At the factory were robots of many, many kinds. Some were hulking and imposing, capable of moving heavy loads, breaking down enormous chunks of raw ore, or bending huge metal girders. Some were compact and flexible with delicate, dextrous arms, each outfitted with various attachments for performing minute and careful tasks with the utmost precision. Still others were unique and dedicated to particular specialty functions, such as B6-2397, a sleek, chrome serpent of a robot, with two articulated hoses with narrow nozzles on their ends. B6-2397 was specifically designed to enter engine compartments and spray chemical sealing fluid on the interior sections. It performed this specific task with an air of satisfaction and contentment that it knew its place, its purpose, that it knew that its contributions to the grand design were integral, essential. Important.
However, there was one robot at the factory who had none of the qualities of its compatriots. This robot was bulky but not powerful. Short and squat, but not delicate or dextrous. It was clumsy and clunky, and shuffled around the factory floor on its belly. Its designation was DX-99. It didn’t have a specific station in the factory like other robots. There was no special task only it was designed to do. DX-99 bristled with plugs and leads, hoses and compartments, vents and drains, and many arms fitted with grippers and pincers. DX-99 could do a little bit of everything, but none of it very well. It could perform odd jobs in multiple different sections. But odd jobs were unnecessary.
The other robots in the factory all operated at peak efficiency. They kept their batteries charged. They would never think about dripping, dropping, spilling, or messing up anything. They each fulfilled their tasks at the speed perfectly attuned with the rest of the factory. It was clockwork. An intricate dance that required precise timing. DX-99 had no place in the dance. It had no steps to take. DX-99 was a redundancy, an outlier.
One day GH-4365, a massive ore-processor robot, was smelting a large amount of iron ore and its crucible began to crack. Molten metal and glowing slag exploded from the crack and surged across the factory floor. Conveyor belts and assembly robots were caught in the wave. Anything flammable immediately caught fire. Thin metal struts on tiny robots immediately melted, injuring the robots and stranding them in place, to drown engulfed in the fiery ocean. The intricate perfect balance of the factory was ruined.
DX-99 observed the mayhem calmly. This was a dance it knew. This was the station made especially for it. DX-99 extended heat shields on either side of its body and plunged into the inferno. It unfurled hoses and opened nozzles and sprayed fire suppressing foam on all the open flames. It pressed its body into the ground and used the heat shields to dam up the molten metal and contain it from spreading. It reversed and opened all its vents and cranked its internal heatsinks to full to blow out cool air. It reached out with its many arms and plucked trapped robots from the flow, carrying them to safety. The fires were quickly contained, and DX-99 set to work clearing rubble and repairing the damage, conveyors and robots alike. It reached into one of its compartments and brought out a patch to mend GH-4365’s cracked crucible.
Its tasks complete, DX-99 rolled back off the factory floor, to the sidelines. Its dance was done. The factory stood in silence. All of the other robots looked at one another. Fans spun up and servos articulated. The robots of the factory resumed their tasks. The precise dance began anew. DX-99 watched.
