heard us rolling around in the back, but when I peer over the side, I see the real reason.
The Titan is on the opposite side of a creek, tangled in vines and whining frantically. I’m struck dumb for a heartbeat, surprised to hear the animal produce such a sound. Then I’m flying over the side, Magnolia hollering at me to keep my distance. But she doesn’t understand that when I see the Titan, I see that eviction notice. I see my grandfather dying. My family falling apart.
I see myself alone.
Rags and Barney are out of the vehicle now too, but they won’t reach the Titan as fast as I will. I dive into the creek—frantic from the race through the woods—and trudge across the waist-deep water until I reach the machine. The vines are wrapped around its neck and back legs, and the horse is hysterical with fear. But that can’t be right. It’s a robot. An intricate system of parts and gears built for entertainment. How could it possibly be afraid?
I approach slowly, my hands outstretched to show the beast I don’t mean any harm.
“Leave him,” Rags yells. “Don’t touch him, Astrid.”
But I’m afraid that if it continues jerking around, the animal will suffer irreparable damage. I can’t let that happen. So I grab the first vine and pull.
The Titan goes ballistic.
I almost fall beneath its stamping feet, and I swear on my sketchpad that the Titan nips me on the shoulder. Gritting my teeth, I lunge for the vines again. This time I’m able to tear one away, and then another.
Rags reaches me as I rip the last of the vines away. When the Titan realizes it’s free, it raises up on its back legs and hooves the air. I fall back, transfixed by the machine’s size, glimpsing my reflection in the black steel. When it touches back down, it sniffs me again, but with interest this time instead of anxiety. I don’t move a muscle, just gaze into those two black eyes staring back at me.
Rags tosses himself over the Titan’s side, pulling himself up with the faux horse hair falling down the machine’s neck. The second he lands on the horse’s back, the creature loses its mind. Bucking, the Titan takes off down the side of the creek. Rags hangs on with impressive agility, and after he runs his fingers over the control panel, the horse lurches to a halt. Breathing deeply, he turns the horse back toward us and leads it into the water. I wade after him as Magnolia and Barney cheer from the other side.
“You still got it,” Barney crows.
“Without a saddle and everything.” Magnolia claps her hands in appreciation of Rags’s performance. When I show up on the opposite side of the creek, dripping water, Magnolia clears her throat. “Oh, uh, you did well too, Astrid. Way to snap the vines like a champ.”
The Titan remains in place as Rags reaches into his truck and withdraws a set of reins used on real horses. He threads it through the Titan’s mouth and pulls the thin leather straps over its neck. The horse heaves as he does this—a false animation I’ve never seen on a Titan 3.0.
“What’s wrong with that thing?” I ask as Rags dismounts. “Why did it take off on its own like that?” I’m soaking wet and infuriated that this day isn’t going smoothly. The sponsor race is next weekend, and we’ve wasted precious time chasing this psychotic thing through the woods instead of practicing.
“I forgot to turn off the autopilot function,” Rags says gruffly. “I didn’t know he’d be so rambunctious after lying dormant this long.”
“Rambunctious?” Magnolia says, voicing my exact thought. “Titans can’t be rambunctious. They can’t be anything. They’re machines.”
“Oh, you didn’t tell her?” Barney slaps the outside of his thigh, belly shaking with laughter.
“Tell me what?” I ask.
Rags leads the Titan away.
“Hey, Rags. What are you not—?” But I don’t finish the thought, because the answer comes at once. “Oh, man. No way. This is not happening.”
“What?”
The Titan is on the opposite side of a creek, tangled in vines and whining frantically. I’m struck dumb for a heartbeat, surprised to hear the animal produce such a sound. Then I’m flying over the side, Magnolia hollering at me to keep my distance. But she doesn’t understand that when I see the Titan, I see that eviction notice. I see my grandfather dying. My family falling apart.
I see myself alone.
Rags and Barney are out of the vehicle now too, but they won’t reach the Titan as fast as I will. I dive into the creek—frantic from the race through the woods—and trudge across the waist-deep water until I reach the machine. The vines are wrapped around its neck and back legs, and the horse is hysterical with fear. But that can’t be right. It’s a robot. An intricate system of parts and gears built for entertainment. How could it possibly be afraid?
I approach slowly, my hands outstretched to show the beast I don’t mean any harm.
“Leave him,” Rags yells. “Don’t touch him, Astrid.”
But I’m afraid that if it continues jerking around, the animal will suffer irreparable damage. I can’t let that happen. So I grab the first vine and pull.
The Titan goes ballistic.
I almost fall beneath its stamping feet, and I swear on my sketchpad that the Titan nips me on the shoulder. Gritting my teeth, I lunge for the vines again. This time I’m able to tear one away, and then another.
Rags reaches me as I rip the last of the vines away. When the Titan realizes it’s free, it raises up on its back legs and hooves the air. I fall back, transfixed by the machine’s size, glimpsing my reflection in the black steel. When it touches back down, it sniffs me again, but with interest this time instead of anxiety. I don’t move a muscle, just gaze into those two black eyes staring back at me.
Rags tosses himself over the Titan’s side, pulling himself up with the faux horse hair falling down the machine’s neck. The second he lands on the horse’s back, the creature loses its mind. Bucking, the Titan takes off down the side of the creek. Rags hangs on with impressive agility, and after he runs his fingers over the control panel, the horse lurches to a halt. Breathing deeply, he turns the horse back toward us and leads it into the water. I wade after him as Magnolia and Barney cheer from the other side.
“You still got it,” Barney crows.
“Without a saddle and everything.” Magnolia claps her hands in appreciation of Rags’s performance. When I show up on the opposite side of the creek, dripping water, Magnolia clears her throat. “Oh, uh, you did well too, Astrid. Way to snap the vines like a champ.”
The Titan remains in place as Rags reaches into his truck and withdraws a set of reins used on real horses. He threads it through the Titan’s mouth and pulls the thin leather straps over its neck. The horse heaves as he does this—a false animation I’ve never seen on a Titan 3.0.
“What’s wrong with that thing?” I ask as Rags dismounts. “Why did it take off on its own like that?” I’m soaking wet and infuriated that this day isn’t going smoothly. The sponsor race is next weekend, and we’ve wasted precious time chasing this psychotic thing through the woods instead of practicing.
“I forgot to turn off the autopilot function,” Rags says gruffly. “I didn’t know he’d be so rambunctious after lying dormant this long.”
“Rambunctious?” Magnolia says, voicing my exact thought. “Titans can’t be rambunctious. They can’t be anything. They’re machines.”
“Oh, you didn’t tell her?” Barney slaps the outside of his thigh, belly shaking with laughter.
“Tell me what?” I ask.
Rags leads the Titan away.
“Hey, Rags. What are you not—?” But I don’t finish the thought, because the answer comes at once. “Oh, man. No way. This is not happening.”
“What?”
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