The edge of the crater had a steep incline, so we decided sliding down would be the best approach—like sledding on snow. Unfortunately, there was nothing to use as a sled, so we had no choice but to slide down on the fine lunar sand in our current clothes, using our bodies. Both Kana and I were wearing our usual high school uniforms. The lunar sand was soft, almost like clean desert sand, so while our clothes got a bit dirty, it wasn't a big deal.
The fishing person's long, pale blue-green hair stretched out like a guide, pointing us toward the smoothest path to slide. Adjusting our bodies to follow its trail, we slid down with momentum, gliding effortlessly. When the hair trail ended, the slope leveled out into flat ground, and our slide came to an end. But it wasn't a gentle stop. We crashed spectacularly into what seemed to be the wreckage of a lunar rover, the impact echoing with a sharp metallic clang.
The jolt left me momentarily dizzy, my visual sensors flickering as if overwhelmed. After about 0.001 seconds, the sensors stabilized, and I lifted my head to look around. Kana did the same, and together we surveyed our surroundings.
Countless lunar rover wrecks were scattered across the desolate gray surface, forming an endless graveyard of machines. Rusted wheels, bent antennas, and shattered solar panels dimly reflected the faint lunar light, accompanied by soft metallic creaks in the silence. The sound was heavy and subdued, like the calls of nocturnal birds in a deep forest. It reached my auditory sensors slowly, almost at the pace of radio waves, resonating with a strange, haunting quality.
We began carefully navigating through the dust-covered pile of wreckage. In the distance, the crater's rim framed the starry sky, blending into a darkness as heavy as a thick blanket.
"So, what now?" Kana asked, glancing at me.
I thought for a moment before replying. "Without a device to detect any active signals, we'll just have to check each rover manually. We'll need to physically inspect them to see if any still have battery life or consciousness."
"Yeah," Kana nodded. "That's probably our only option."
"It'll take a while, though."
"That's fine," Kana said brightly. "It's kind of like a treasure hunt, don't you think? It could be fun!"
I smiled. "Thanks for being so positive."
And so, the two of us began our search in this vast, wreckage-strewn "forest of machines," where we were likely the only functioning beings. I glanced up toward Earth for a moment and noticed that the other humanoid robots, who had come to sightsee at the Scrap Nest, were staring at us. They weren't looking at the rover wreckage but at us, intruding into the crater, as if we were exotic animals in a zoo.
"Whoa, we're getting a lot of attention," Kana whispered, sounding slightly nervous as she noticed the gazes. But within 0.01 seconds, she seemed to adjust, her expression brightening. She raised both hands and waved enthusiastically at the onlookers, as if interpreting their stares as a farewell.
"Feels like we're celebrities," Kana said with a grin.
I had a different take. "More like we're just a spectacle. We're probably coming off as annoying tourists, doing something out of place in this tourist spot."
"But it's not like we're causing trouble, right? There's no 'No Entry' sign, and there aren't any rules against this."
"That's true," I conceded. "Still, we're doing something completely different from everyone else here. Their stares feel like a mix of curiosity and… maybe wariness, like they're looking at something strange or out of place."
Kana nodded. "Well, stars can be kind of scary sometimes, you know? They're burning with nuclear fusion, blasting out all that energy. It can feel overwhelming, like it might crush you."
We shared a light laugh over the conversation, then shifted our focus back to the task at hand, ignoring the onlookers. It was time to get serious about finding a working lunar rover.
We began inspecting the rovers by hand, but the sheer number was overwhelming, and lifting them revealed they were heavier than expected. This was going to be hard work. A crane would've been nice, but of course, no such thing was around. We had to rely on our bare hands, checking each one individually.
Most of the rovers were discolored, their paint faded or peeling, exposing a monochromatic gray or ivory-like surface. To check for any remaining battery life, we knocked on their heads or tried speaking to them, but as expected, none responded.
Still, we didn't give up. We looked into the faces of the rovers—where their cameras or visual sensors would have been—and spoke to them one by one, as if making eye contact with a lifeless corpse.
"Hey, anyone alive out there?"
"Hello? Can you hear me?" Kana joined in. "Any conscious rovers out there, please respond! Even a tiny signal will do. My ears are sharp, so I'll catch even the smallest sound. Like that scene in Titanic where someone barely clinging to life on a piece of debris signals they're still alive—just give us something, anything!"
We wove through the wreckage, calling out and knocking, but there was no response.
An hour passed like this.
We kept talking, kept knocking, kept searching, but not a single rover showed any sign of life.
Humans might give up after just an hour, but I wasn't ready to throw in the towel. I could've kept talking to the lunar rovers endlessly if I wanted to. The problem, though, was Kana. I could see her energy visibly draining, even though she'd been so full of enthusiasm and positivity at the start. For someone as new as her, an hour must feel like an eternity—or at least a significantly long stretch. To put it a bit dramatically, in her perception, it might feel like the time it takes for a star to be born and burn out. That's how incredible her capabilities are. She's a cutting-edge model, after all.
So, I picked up the pace. At first, I'd been in a leisurely mood, as if we were strolling through this tourist spot, taking our time to search at a relaxed pace. But seeing the joy fade from Kana's expression made it impossible to stay in that carefree mindset.
I cranked up my body's motors, boosting the torque and increasing the speed of my actuators nearly tenfold. I grabbed lunar rovers, straightening out a bent bar here or propping up a machine that still held its original shape there. For the ones that were in pieces, I tried reassembling them, like sewing together a torn doll. Sure, it didn't yield much results, but by being more proactive and varying my approach, I hoped it might reignite Kana's interest.
The strategy seemed to work. Kana quickly started mimicking me, handling the lunar rovers with more energy. She moved at least one and a half times faster than me, and I couldn't help but be impressed—truly a next-gen model.
With our enthusiasm rekindled, we began treating the lunar rovers like toys—assembling, disassembling, tossing, breaking, and playing with them in an almost reckless, joyful way. At some point, it became hard to tell whether we were searching for a rover with a functioning consciousness, trying to revive one, or confirming their demise in some kind of morbid check. Our actions had morphed into something bizarre, almost nonsensical.
But, well, it was fun, so it felt like a win either way.
As we continued this friction-filled work, another hour passed. Suddenly, Kana called out to me, looking at my hands.
"Neo-kun!"
Her voice was a mix of urgency and surprise as she rushed toward me. I'd been so caught up in my task, like a kid engrossed in a sandcastle, that it took me a full 0.5 seconds to turn toward her, still swinging the broken arm of a lunar rover through the air out of inertia.
Her face was etched with deep concern.
"What's wrong, Kana?" I asked.
Instead of looking at my face, her gaze was fixed lower—on my hands.
"Neo-kun, your hands are a mess!"
At her words, I raised both hands to chest level to check. Sure enough, they were in rough shape. The "skin" covering them was tattered, exposing the gleaming silver metal underneath. The skin hung in strips, like the worn-out surface of an old leather bag, or the shed skin of a salamander, dangling as if it might tear off at any moment.
It was a pretty grim sight.
"It's fine," I said casually, since I genuinely wasn't bothered. "It doesn't hurt at all, and a bit of peeling skin won't affect my hands' performance."
"But…" Kana's expression was one of empathy, almost as if she felt the pain herself. "Your beautiful hands looking so battered, so pitiful—it's hard to see. Won't they regenerate?"
"Nah," I shook my head. "I'm human, you know. Unlike humanoid robots, human skin regenerates slowly, if at all. Once it's this damaged, it's pretty much done for."
In truth, my humanoid robot model is so outdated that it lacks skin regeneration entirely. A humanoid robot without that feature is rare these days—practically museum-worthy. But here, my "human" lie came in handy.
"But if you keep going like this, you might damage the metal underneath!" Kana said, her worry deepening.
"It's fine," I replied lightly. "My original arms are long gone. I've got these robotic ones now, like a cyborg. If they break, I'll just swap them out for new ones. No big deal."
"Even so," she insisted, "these arms must hold a lot of memories, right? You shouldn't treat them so carelessly."
"It's okay. I've swapped them out over ten times already. I don't have any attachment to them. As long as they work, that's enough for me. I don't care about my body."
"…"
Kana fell silent, saying nothing more. I shifted my gaze away from her and went back to my task—exploring, collecting, playing, or maybe just wrecking lunar rovers.
I kept experimenting, injecting electrical energy, reshaping structures, kneading parts like clay, and trying different combinations. It was insanely fun, but after another thirty minutes, I started wondering if we should try a different approach. Just as I was about to call out to Kana, she spoke first.
"Neo-kun, here."
Her voice carried a hint of shyness as she held something out to me. I looked closely—it was a pair of gloves.
"Put these on."
Instead of taking them right away, I studied them. Part of me was moved, but I was also curious about how she'd found gloves in a place like this. They were made of something like carbon fiber—sturdy yet soft.
"Where'd you get these?" I asked.
"I made them," Kana replied. "There were all sorts of materials scattered around here besides the lunar rovers. I gathered some and wove them together. They're not perfect, but the material's tough, so they should be practical."
"…"
I stared at the gloves for a second before taking them carefully, as if they were a precious treasure. First, I peeled off the tattered skin from my hands and tossed it to the ground. Then, with my bare metal hands, I slipped the gloves on, one at a time.
They were a stunning emerald green, like the warm seas of Earth I'd never seen but could imagine. I opened and closed my hands, testing them. The fit was perfect, and the texture was incredible. My skin was in ruins, yet these gloves felt like they created a new sense of touch, something profoundly moving.
"Thank you," I said in a deep, sincere voice. "I'll treasure these."
In that moment, the gloves Kana made became my most precious possession, surpassing even my handkerchief.