Walkaway - I

The new president, Rover Doglas, woke up feeling completely rested.

Without opening his eyes, he called out the number "1," and immediately, the house rushed in to help him. All the dog had to do was sit there in bed while a robot dressed him in long robes, brushed his teeth, fashioned his hair, and brought him a five-star breakfast of plant-based bacon and eggs.

But the service didn't end there. The robot then proceeded to massage the dog's large back and plump legs; it gave him tiny white pills to help with his inflammation; , and then, to top it off, it brought a three-layered chocolate cake for dessert.

The dog sighed, happily. "You know what, number 1? You might just be my favorite robot."

"I'm here to serve," the robot said, simply.

"No, really. I don't know what I'd do without you. It's hard to imagine there was a time when you weren't in my life."

"I'm glad I can help."

"Are you, though? Really? Do you enjoy it?" Rover asked. For a moment, the dog's expression became curious, even contemplative. He sat up in his bed and looked closely at the robot.

"I'm not programmed to answer that," the robot said. "But should shall we talk about the your agenda for the day?"

"Right, right, of course you're not," said the dog, letting his back slide back down under his covers. He took a big bite of cake and licked his fingers. He tried to ignore the mild discomfort of his sizeable stomach, which warned him, not for the first time, that he was probably eating too much. "Let's hear the agenda then."

"Today, there isn't so much to talk about. We have the Dinosaur Comet heading for planet earth at a speed of 30,000 kilometers per hour, but of course, we have the gigantic Asteroid Swatter 8000 to knock it out of the way. That will be no issue. More pressing is the need for resource development. We are running out of lithium and cobalt. We need to form more productive mines if we want are to maintain the population's quality of life."

"Oh, this again, huh?" asked the dog, absentmindedly looking at the back of his hand. "Why do we need to mine so much? Can't this problem just… go away?"

"That's not a solution in this case. Your population likes leisure. It enjoys ease. And to maintain a simple life, you need to keep developing. You need more mines. More resources. More technology."

"Right," said Rover, sighing. He took another bite of cake and shook his head, annoyed. Part of him wanted the robot to leave. He hated discussing these things. He much preferred sleeping, eating, and playing games. "Well, do what you have to do then."

"Are you saying we can move the people living on out of the proposed mine sites?the abundant land? Bill Squirrel still refuses to leave on his own."

"Really? That squirrel still hasn't given up? He ought to move on with his life."

"We have tried many tactics," the robot said. "He refuses to budge."

"Hmmm…"

"If he will not listen to reason, shouldn't we try some other way?"

"Well… he is being awfully stubborn, isn't he? We've given him warnings."

"You're absolutely right."

"Maybe it is time then. You can take him away. Give him some money if that makes it easier. But move him, yes, yes, take him somewhere new."

"That simplifies things. Thank you, president Rover. I will get right to it."

"Thanks, Number 1," Rover said, queueing his next up another bite of cake.

When the first rays of the morning sun pierced his window, Bill Squirrel woke up and smiled. He rolled off his mattress onto the ground, stretched into a big 'Y',,' and pulled a bathrobe over his shoulders. Then he set himself a pot of coffee and sat outside. Ahh, he loved it out there, out in the crisp cool air. He listened to the insects buzz while the sun climbed higher in the sky.

He could have sat there for hours, and typically, he would have, but last night he received a disturbing letter, but he received a disturbing letter last night. The letter informed him it was time to move. It said that because he had ignored previous letters they had sent, the government was coming to buy his beloved property in the woods and that he could either accept the payment, or go to jail. When Bill saw this, it felt like his whole being had been deflated, shrinking around him.

At that moment, the squirrel heard a groan from inside the cabin. "It's too early!" the voice said. "Can't we sleep a little longer?"

The voice belonged to Amy Rubbert. In the last month, the rabbit had given up her simple life in the high-tech city to join Bill. She didn't have any strong moral reasons for doing so but, instead, for the most part, she was just curious. She wanted an adventure. She and craved novelty. And she also wanted to understand why someone like Bill, who had once been so keen on digital innovation and improvement, had given it all up.

For Amy, it hadn't been easy to adjust to life in the cabin. She'd forgotten how much effort it took to do the most basic of tasks. Dressing hey yourself, brushing your her own teeth, chopping vegetables, these were habits she had to rebuild from scratch. But they were nothing compared to foraging for firewood outside in the wilderness, or fixing leaky s in the walls, or even starting a fire - a safe and powerful fire.

She'd found her life in the cabin required more improvisation than her easy life with the robots. She experienced more days filled with, what she previously would have described as silence, but now, more accurately, she understood them to be filled with the sound of the wind, evaporation, and the chirp of insects.

In her first few weeks at the cabin, she grew leaner and, more capable.

She started to empathize with Bill Squirrel more. She still had her own opinions about things: for instance, she still saw her time at the cabin as a vacation more than a permanent home, and, at times, she very desperately missed her life of leisure. But every day, the life at the cabin came more naturally to her.

The one thing Amy had trouble understanding was Bill's militant dislike of cities. She'd been around long enough to hear many of his frustrated, angry, interminable rants about their decadence. He loved to work himself into a fit talking about how many forests had to be consumed so that a few city-folk could enjoy their easy lives. He showed her pictures of the

constant work people far away did to ensure everything ran smoothly. He said all cities were predicated on greed, power, and obsession.

By now, Amy knew not to bring up cities unless she wanted to remind herself of his hatred of them. To even mention the word was to blow oxygen onto a very hot bed of embers.

And tThat's why, when Amy sensed a brusque whine tone in Bill's voice that morning, she knew a rant was incoming.

"It's not too early," the squirrel said, countering what the rabbit had said about waking up. "Last night, I received a letter. They're going to try to take over this - my land."

Amy, who hadn't heard the news yet, rolled out of bed. "What?" she exclaimed. "Who's they? How are can they 'taking it over'?"

"The city," Bill said, an ugly expression forming on his face. "The government, the cities, their companies. They say I have to move off of the property."

Amy was genuinely perplexed. "But why? You've built every single things that's here. I've seen it. It's incredible. You've built the tools by hand to build bigger tools to make things. You've done the plumbing. The electricity. And you've been here forever. How can they just kick you out?"

The squirrel shook his head. "Technically, they've offered to buy it. But there's no way I'm going to accept money. I don't want to leave; I want to stay here."

"I still don't get why they—"

Bill looked up and cut her short: "They want the resources, Amy. They're going to bring their bulldozers and their tractors, and they're going to take this whole place apart, tree by tree. They're going to turn it into a dessert."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Why?"

"If you reject their offer, they'll have to look elsewhere. That's how it works, right? Doesn't it? No?

"This has happened before," the squirrel said, sighing. "I know the outcome."

"No, no, what? So you're going to just leave then?" Amy was incredulous.

Uncharacteristically, her fists were bunched, and she was almost shouting.

"I don't know," Bill said. He rose up from his stooped position and started to slouch around the house, packing his things.

"I can't believe this," Amy said, following him around the house. "What about all the work you've done here? What about the book?"

Bill stopped. 'The Book,' as both Amy and Bill had come to call it, was the name of the project they had been working on for the past few months. It was their attempt to write a comprehensive story about life in the forest.

They wanted to communicate to the reader what it was like to live in the cabin, but more than that, they wanted to create a kind of time-capsule of their entire surroundings.

This involved drawing a picture of every floral species they had come across. It involved describing the particular kind of wing of every insect species in the forest possessed. More than just a compendium of facts, though, it was an attempt to boil down the entire soul of life in the forest into a book that anyone, at any time, could pick up and read.

"We don't have time to finish the book," the squirrel said, simply. He packed the last of his things into a day-pack and headed for the door.

"So you're just giving up," said Amy, watching him go. "You're going to leave it all behind unfinished?"

For the first time, the squirrel looked defeated. He paused at the door and looked down at his feet. "I just don't want to fight anymore," he said.

"I'm done with all that."

With those last words, Bill left his cabin and entered in the woods.