The Last 200: Rebuilding Humanity

Chapter 6: The Gravity of a Toddler

"Are you seriously drawing a line in the dirt?" Ethan asked, staring at the thick white chalk stripe separating the cabin’s wooden floorboards.

"It is not just a line, Ethan. It is a geopolitical boundary," Lyra retorted, dusting the white powder off her hands. "This side is my sovereign territory. That side is yours."

"We live in a one-room log cabin, Lyra! We don't have enough space for sovereign territories!"

"We do if we respect spatial optimization. And right now, your dirty boots are actively violating my airspace."

"My boots are on my side of the line!" Ethan yelled, pointing wildly at the floor.

"The mud on them is radiating dried particulate matter into my atmospheric flow," Lyra argued, crossing her arms defensively. "Furthermore, the thermodynamic heat rising from your unwashed socks is creating a localized warm front that is disrupting my sleep cycle."

"They're wool socks, Lyra! They're supposed to keep my feet warm!"

"They are a biological hazard. Please relocate them approximately twelve inches to the left."

"No! I am not moving my socks for your spreadsheets!"

Before Lyra could present another mathematical counterargument, the heavy wooden door flew open. A scrawny NPC survivor named Jerry tumbled inside, panting heavily, his face pale with panic.

"Ethan! Lyra! You need to come quick!" Jerry gasped, pointing toward the southern tree line. "It's the big kid! Bob!"

Ethan's heart dropped. "What did he do? Did he pull down another support beam?"

"Worse! He escaped the playpen!" Jerry cried. "He's fifty feet up in the air!"

"What?!" Ethan bolted past Jerry, with Lyra following close behind, her dry-coconut armor clacking rapidly.

They ran into the southern clearing, stopping at the base of a massive, towering ironwood tree. High above, nestled in a fork of thick branches, sat Bob. He was swinging his legs back and forth, clutching his wooden block, Mr. Squeaks.

"Look at me, Ethan! I'm a big birdy!" Bob shouted down, his deep, booming adolescent voice shaking the leaves. "Mr. Squeaks says I can fly!"

"Bob! Do not try to fly!" Ethan screamed, his hands cupped around his mouth. "Stay right there! Don't move!"

"Statistically speaking, if he falls from that height, his terminal velocity will result in a one hundred percent mortality rate," Lyra calculated, staring up with wide, analytical eyes. "The impact force would completely shatter his skeletal structure."

"Not helping, Lyra!" Ethan snapped, kicking off his boots. "I have to climb up and get him."

"That is highly dangerous. The bark of the ironwood tree has a friction coefficient of nearly zero when damp," she warned.

"Do you want him to fall?" Ethan yelled, grabbing the lowest branch and pulling himself up. "I'm climbing!"

"I want to fly now!" Bob cheered, standing up on the branch. The wood groaned under his massive weight. "One... two..."

"No, Bob, wait!" Ethan panicked, his fingers slipping on the mossy bark as he scrambled upward. "The branch can't hold you! Sit down!"

"He is not responding to logical commands," Lyra observed from below. "His cognitive state is locked in a high-energy play cycle. We need an immediate sensory distraction."

"Then distract him!" Ethan yelled, clinging to a branch twenty feet up. "Sing a song! Do a dance! Anything!"

"I do not possess artistic capabilities," Lyra called back. "However, I can recite acoustic frequencies."

"Just do it!"

Lyra took a deep breath, cleared her throat, and began to sing in a bizarre, perfectly rhythmic, completely flat monotone voice.

"Twinkle, twinkle, constant G," she sang, her voice echoing through the quiet clearing. "Six point six seven times ten to the power of minus eleven... mass times mass divided by distance squared..."

Up in the branches, Bob froze. He tilted his head, his giant eyes blinking in sheer confusion. "What is that funny noise?"

"Keep going!" Ethan hissed, climbing faster. "It's working!"

"Gravity is the force of attraction," Lyra continued, her voice maintaining the exact same robotic tempo. "Pulling you down to the crust of the planet... please do not accelerate your mass... or you will experience rapid deceleration upon impact..."

"The robot lady is singing!" Bob giggled, sitting back down on the branch to listen. "She sounds like a broken music box! Sing more, robot lady!"

"Force equals mass times acceleration," Lyra chanted, swaying slightly from side to side in a stiff, mechanical rhythm. "A constant velocity is your friend... do not test the kinetic energy of the ground..."

Ethan finally reached the high branch. He gasped for air, wrapping his arms tightly around Bob’s waist. "Gotcha! Okay, buddy, play time is over. We're going down."

"Aw, but the robot lady was just getting to the thermodynamic equations," Bob complained, but he let Ethan guide him slowly back down the trunk.

When their feet finally hit the dirt, Ethan collapsed onto the grass, clutching his chest. "I think... my heart just aged ten years."

"Your cardiovascular system survived," Lyra said, stopping her song and walking over. She looked down at him, her dark eyes filled with a rare, genuine softness. "Though my vocal chords are currently experiencing mild irritation. That was... highly stressful."

Ethan looked up at her, a warm, goofy smile spreading across his face. "You were amazing, Lyra. Seriously. A physics lullaby?"

"It was the only data-set I had memorized," she murmured, a bright, unmistakable pink flush spreading across her cheeks. "But... your appreciation is mathematically pleasing."

"Yeah, well, you're pretty pleasing too," Ethan laughed, reaching out to gently tug her hand.

Before Lyra could analyze the chemical reaction in her blushing face, a loud, high-pitched chime rang through the air.

`SYSTEM UPDATE: UNEXPECTED SIGNAL INCOMING.`

A bright blue holographic icon flashed dynamically in front of their faces, pulsing wi

th a rhythmic, digital heartbeat.

`EXTERNAL TRANSMISSION DETECTED FROM ISLAND 3...`