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When the old robot died, the people did not notice. It died suddenly, the middle of the orchard, its power cells shrieking for a few seconds before its spider-like legs collapsed. The people did not notice when the old robot died, but the robots did. They converged on the spot at dusk, all forty-seven of them, scurrying around on their eight limbs, examining the body, asking questions, remembering. The old robot, they knew, had been the last of the original robots from the colony ship. The old robot had planted the ancient apple tree now dripping blossoms over its body.
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