“Chuck who?”
Elias stared at the parrot. “Why didn’t you just fly there yourself? You could have broadcast the coordinates.”
Chuck 3.0’s eyes dimmed for a fraction of a second—the empathetic matrix making a decision. parrot chuck 3.0
“Chuck.”
The room went cold. Elias’s hands fell to his sides. He hadn’t programmed that. He hadn’t programmed any of the survival protocols into Chuck 3.0. He’d built the bird to be a companion, a storyteller, a last library of human warmth. Not a navigator. Not a savior. “Chuck who
“Diagnostic complete,” Chuck said. “I am Parrot Chuck 3.0. Unique specifications: empathetic learning matrix. Solar-independent flight endurance: 47 hours. Onboard memory: the complete cultural and linguistic history of the Eastern Seaboard. Also: thirteen thousand knock-knock jokes.”
“Hope you’ve got a plan, because the radiation cloud is shifting southwest and you’ve got seventy-two hours before this bunker becomes a tomb.” “Chuck
The parrot ruffled its solar scales—a soft, shimmering wave of gold and green—and for the first time, it sounded exactly like a bird.
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