21. The First Pitch Head
"Kana."
The moment I found her, there was no need to shout anymore. In a calm, flat, low voice, I softly called her name.
"Kana. I'll get you out of there right away."
Of course, there was no response from her, still sleeping.
But the anxiety was gone.
The passive urgency I once felt—the desire to return home—had faded like a distant memory.
Now, my CPU was filled with a vivid wish: to hold Kana's hand again.
The question was, how to reach her?
The cotton candy enveloping Kana floated at a height rivaling the Statue of Liberty. My outdated model couldn't possibly jump that high. Even a latest model probably couldn't, I consoled myself, as I searched for another way.
I pushed my tiny CPU to its limits, racking my brain for ideas.
A helicopter or drone would make things easier, but no such conveniences existed here. If the spider's tree were closer, climbing its branches to reach Kana's cotton candy might've been an option.
But she was at the farthest point from the tree.
"What do I do…"
A pathetic voice slipped from my throat's speaker.
The sound was so pitiful that I was seized by an urge to rip out my throat and crush the speaker, but I barely swallowed it down.
As I wallowed in despair, a faint sound reached me from somewhere.
"…"
I recognized it.
It felt like a voice I'd heard before, and I quickly searched for its source. I found it almost immediately. In a puddle-like spot where the cobalt sand had been stripped away by the storm, exposing the Moon's gray rock, a lunar rover's head lay.
"Use… me."
The head spoke.
A memory surfaced.
It was the lunar rover that first spoke to Kana and me.
The one that offered itself as a weapon to attack the spider—the "First Pitch Head."
"You're…" I said. "The First Pitch Head?"
"Is that…" the head replied, "the name you're giving me?"
"Yeah. You were the first thing I threw, so I named you that. Thanks. Without your suggestion, I might not have beaten the spider."
"…Named?"
The First Pitch Head fell silent for about two seconds.
It was as if it were savoring my words, indulging in the luxury of that silence.
Finally, it spoke. "A name? You gave me a name?"
There was a certain charm in its voice. It was genderless, like a child's before puberty, neither distinctly male nor female.
I couldn't help but smile faintly. "That's right. From now on, your name is 'First Pitch Head.'"
"Ugh…"
The First Pitch Head let out a low groan, as if overwhelmed with emotion.
"I'm so happy!"
"Really? Glad you like it."
Of course, I could never admit that I'd thrown the name together on a whim.
"I've always been called by a serial number, so I've always wanted a real name. Thank you!"
Before I knew it, the First Pitch Head had become quite talkative.
I smiled again and teased lightly. "You're pretty chatty now, huh? When I first saw you, you were all choppy and halting."
"That's because I didn't have a name back then!"
"Huh?" I tilted my head. "Does that make a difference?"
"Totally!" The First Pitch Head began explaining with the enthusiasm of someone nodding proudly, despite lacking a neck. "Having a name makes it possible to say all sorts of things. A name shapes half of your existence!"
"Huh."
Honestly, it wasn't a topic I cared much about.
I subtly changed the subject. "So, how are you still intact? I thought you exploded when I threw you."
"Nope, no explosion. Don't you remember?"
The First Pitch Head's green indicator light flickered, as if teasing me.
"You threw me, but you missed by a mile. I didn't even hit the spider, let alone explode. I just fell here. Didn't even get a chance to go off like fireworks."
"I don't remember."
I answered honestly.
"I was being chased by the spider, so most of my memories from then are a blur. It's like everything was over before I knew it."
"Wow, your performance is rough. You're an old model, aren't you?"
"How'd you know?"
"It's obvious just looking at you. A clunker like you stands out a mile away."
"Hey, you're getting harsher by the second, First Pitch Head. Already forgot the favor I did by naming you?"
"Oh, right!" The First Pitch Head raised its voice in a panic, as if smacking its forehead in regret, despite having no hands. "Sorry! I don't know you that well, so I just blurted out 'clunker.' What's your name?"
"I'm 暶. Call me Neo."
"That's a crazy complicated kanji, 暶. Got it, nice to meet you!"
"Nice to meet you too. So, anyway—"
I finally got to the point.
Raising my gaze, I pointed to the cotton candy where Kana slept and said, "My precious possession is up there, sound asleep. I want to wake her up soon. Any ideas?"
"Leave it to me!"
The First Pitch Head spoke with the gusto of someone thumping their chest, despite lacking hands. "Just throw me like before and knock that cotton candy down!"
"Nah, I'm not confident about that."
I answered a bit timidly.
"Your, uh… throwing feel… How do I put it? The grip's kind of off. That's why I missed so badly with the first pitch."
"But the second pitch was a perfect strike, right? You'll be fine."
"Really…?"
"Yeah!" The First Pitch Head continued, its green indicator light twinkling as if urging me on with excited eyes. "When I fell to the ground after that miss, my head got a bit reshaped. I bet the grip's better now."
"Really…?"
Still skeptical, I was met with a mocking glance from the First Pitch Head as it pressed on. "Just pick me up already. Hurry! Don't you have a time crunch?"
"Well, yeah."
If I let my guard down, I'd start wanting to go home again. It's a bad habit of old models—or maybe just my lazy instincts. So, before boredom or fatigue could creep into my CPU, I picked up the First Pitch Head.
"Whoa, you're right…"
A gasp of admiration escaped me. Just as the First Pitch Head had said, the grip felt subtly different—perfectly comfortable.
It paired flawlessly with the gloves Kana had made, fitting my hand like it was meant to be there.
"This might actually work."
My voice brightened, and the First Pitch Head's green light sparkled, as if brimming with excitement. "Then throw me already!"
"But…"
I voiced one lingering concern.
"If I throw you and hit Kana's cotton candy, you won't explode, right?"
"Nope, no worries!"
The First Pitch Head answered with brimming confidence.
"I only explode when I want to. Right now, I've got zero intention of blowing up, so throw me with confidence!"
"Alright, then."
I believed it.
Because, after all, lunar rovers are robots, and robots generally don't lie. The only robot shameless enough to lie is probably me.
Reassured, I tightened my grip on the First Pitch Head. "Here I go."
"Anytime!"
With that, I threw the First Pitch Head with all my strength toward the sweet chrysalis of cotton candy where Kana slept.
Letting out a high-pitched scream like a rollercoaster rider, the First Pitch Head soared in a graceful arc, accompanied by a surround-sound effect.
And it struck Kana's confection-like chrysalis perfectly.
In that instant, the chrysalis burst like a coconut, falling near my feet.