In which a prospective Metabaron and a rogue robot unite forces.
At the center of The Cave is the main public square, known as the Cave In. No one really knows if it was named that because that really appened, or because it feels like life itself collapses here. Well, no matter. You're here, and you are going to make this work for you, one way or another....
The square is lined with various shops, pubs, and whorehouses aplenty. Within the square, it seems as if all of humanity has fallen through the hole and ended up here, and they will do anything for a kublar. A troupe of street performers acts out a play to a good sized crowd. A bit farther down, another entertainer plays on a weird musical instrument while a companion recites violent poetry to a small crowd of onlookers.
Other people mill around the square, looking at some of the street vendors wares. Pirates, thugs, plain folks, and just plain sorry souls all mix together. A herd of Aristos moves about the square, closely shepherded by the their guardian Hunchbacks, stopping to "ooo" and "ah" anything that catches their fancy, but then quickly losing interest and moving on. This is just so typical of these city lower levels...
In the wake of the Haloed Ones, trash blows down the alley, fluttering on the fetid breeze. A greasy MagaNuggat! wrapper sticks itself on the side of a waste bin full of junk -- probably the only waste bin on this level that is actually used to hold garbage.
Or is it? A few minutes after the Aristos have gone past, a piece of dull, scratched metal reminescent of a clamp moves minutely and deftly snags the MagaNuggat! wrapper, pulling it away. "#$%^..." something squeeks very softly, too low to be quite intelligible. A cautious optical attachment pokes above the junk pile... turns this way and that... At long last, a mechanical appendage emerges from the junk, then another one, and an entire section of the pile is revealed to belong to a single articulated mechanical unit. In fact, the piece of junk is a squat little robot, its upper sections quite similar to that of a typical servant robot, but perched on three articulated legs spread around a central castor instead of a hover platform or ground threads.
The robot brushes away all external garbage and starts moving down the square, its radial legs making it look like a lopsided crab. It makes its way with a certain robotic variety of cockiness, but steers well clear of the rowdier specimens of humanity found in these levels. Its sensor attachments are continuously sweeping its surroundings, and it occasionally makes chittering noises to istelf. Finally, the main optical sensor locks onto a specific human. "Target acquired," the robot chirps to itself.
It changes direction, moving purposefully but without haste towards a large -- very large -- human who is stomping in the direction of the entertainers who are reciting violent poetry. It approaches from behind and falls in step with the large one, at a respectful distance. Meanwhile, the performer declaims:
"I sense the time is coming
for fame to come about
The galaxy will hear the cries
of all the things I clout!"
The robot's sensors twitch minutely, but it makes no noise. The large man, ignoring the robot for the moment, strikes a pose, as if declaiming, and begins bellowing at the top of his lungs.
"THIS PLACE SUCKS!
There's just no doubt about it.
OUT OF LUCK!
If we can't find a job.
MAKE THEM DUCK!
Those stupid, smirking hunchbacks.
CUT THEM UP!
And listen to them sob.
WHY MUST we be trapped in all this squalor?
I TRUST I soon will win us free!
THIS JUST is really truly peachy!
I'LL BUST out of this endo-city!
THIS PLACE REEKS
of spit and piss and garbage!
FOES I SEEK
to hack up with my sword!
OUTLOOK BLEAK
unless we can escape here!
ALL THESE FREAKS
I'll kill them if I'm bored!
I SENSE the necrodream encroaching!
PAST TENSE is how they'll speak of me!
SO DENSE, it's trying to engulf me!
I'LL FLENSE those corruptors, you will see!
"THIS PLACE SUCKS!
I really do not like it.
OUT OF LUCK!
Til we can leave this place
MAKE THEM DUCK!
And stab them when they cower
CUT THEM UP!
Then leave for outer space
As the big man's poetry unfurls like flocks of concrete seagulls swooping down, the robot starts twitching and vibrating with increasing violence. A desperate little squeek escapes occasionally.
Having declaimed to the extent of his abilities for the moment, the big man turns to the robot behind him. The robot's twitching miraculously stops.
"Record and save my robot pal,
Where the hell have you been?
I'd kick you to bits for the fun of it,
but you cannot get blood out of tin."
Having said his piece, and without waiting for an answer, he turns and begins making his way down the nearest corridor, walkway, alley, street, or whatever, giving menacing looks to any who a) stand in his way, b) look like they might stand in his way, c) look like they are with anyone who might stand in his way, d) he can make eye contact with.
"Yes, Your Excellency, of course, recording now, I was recording you know, I was right here..." The little robot scuttles behind the big man, careful to stay exactly centred behind the human battering ram as he parts the crowd. Its sotto vocce monologue transitions from obsequious to cantankerous as it falls behind a trifle and the volume of its voice goes down.
"...from those stupid humans! 'Do this, Parchesi, do that, Parchesi, blah blah blah...' Do they think I have nothing better to do than..."
Mike suddenly whirls and affixes the robot with a fierce glare.
"Hurry up you idiot!
I haven't got all day!
There's things to do, places to go
and enemies to slay!"
He whirls around again and continues stalking through any crowds/assemblages/groups/associations/chance clumps etc. of people he may encounter.
The fierce glare from the big human extracts a SQUEEEK! from the robot who accelerates its ungainly walk to catch up and ceases its monologue to record more of the Exalted One's poetry. As soon as a pause stretches long enough for Parchesi to believe it won't be interrupting the Great Man, it begins in its most soothing voice:
"Your Excellency knows I am programmed with the finest technical software packages and equipped with state-of-the-art attachments for servicing of armour, computers, exoskeletons, firearms, flight systems, fixed weapon systems, robots, vehicles, and various personal equipment, as well as being equally proficient in a variety of useful tasks such as demolition, piloting, security systems, and emergency assistance to biological life forms..."
From soothing, Parchesi's voice has turned to droning as it waxes eloquent about its own merits. "May I respectfully suggest that my talents could be used to earn hard currency, as long as Your Excellency's patronage ensures that no presumptuous interlopers will attempt to obtain my services for free?"
Once again Mike the Metabaron whirls around to glare at his robotic companion. This time his hand comes to rest rather meaningfully (and with a poetry of motion completely lacking in Mike's speech) that conveys a message of destruction in eloquent terms. Mike then grunts significantly, and turns away once more.
The crowd at the Cave In largely ignores Mike. Bellowing big mouths are common here. Just look at all of the doomsayers and "Accept the Techno-Pope, and bring technology into your life for your salvation" born-again Paleo-priests that litter the corners of the streets like garbage. The Hunchbacks ignore him too. They didn't hear him, and, if they did, it is unknown if they would even understand.
As Mike stomps down the alley, a huge burly man and woman stand in his way, arguing. Two other guys leans against the wall off the side, looking annoyed and bored.
"Hey, baby, you know I like to go out with the boys...I need to unwind from work!" the man coos..Well, coos as much as a lumbering hulk of a man can coo..
"Don't give me that load of crap again! You have been unemployed for two weeks, ever since you shot your sup's foot! Fucking clumsy ass.."
"Hey! The guy mouthed off to me!"
"I don't want to hear it! If you go fucking off with your two fucking friends here, I'm gone!"
"We only go out for drinks, bitch! Is that so much to ask for?"
"DRINKS?! You FUCKING liar! Do you think I don't know what goes on in the OTHER whoreholes, shit for brains?"
"I don't know what.."
"OH SHUT THE FUCK UP! You know you are doin' Clarice, and I am tired of paying for you to fuck her!"
"Baby!...Baby, there is no one but you..Honest!"
"Two can play at this game, dickhead!" With that, the woman turns, just as Mike is coming down the alley. She smirks, tosses her brown hair, and adjusts one of the skinny little shoulder straps of her hardly-there outfit. The burly man, seeing Mike, starts to plead...
"Oh, no... Baby you wouldn't.."
She ignores him and saunters up to Mike.
The man is becoming furious. "DON'T YOU DARE!"
She grabs Mike's head and gives him a gigantic kiss. She lets go of Mike and walks away, giving a little wave over her shoulder as she goes, disappearing into the crowd.
The behemoth stands there frozen, watching his woman disappear. He then turns to Mike, his face growing as deep a red as his huge flaming red beard, almost giving him the look of a Norse god (if this world knew about Norse gods...) The two friends just roll their eyes, and flash to Mike they each have a suprapistol concealed in their jackets, but they don't draw...
"You...YOU! YOU FUCKHEAD!" The monster lunges at Mike.
Those who hesitate against a master of Bushitaka in order to call him a Fuckhead are lost, as Mike the Metabaron, seeing the writing on the wall, attempts to skewer Mr. Beard.
"Paleochrist on a hoverboard!!" yowls Parchesi as it lunges for the safety of the nearest GleeCola vending machine.
Red Beard lunges at Mike. Mike goes to draw his sword, trying to dodge the burly man. Red Beard smacks Mike squarely in the face, but Mike doesn't move. In fact, he barely even flinches.
"If that's the best that you can do
your efforts are in vain!
For with this big ol' trusty sword
I'll make you feel real pain!"
Parchesi chirps in panic, and runs full bore into a pile of garbage trying to escape from the fight. Starblaster cups, bits of fruit, and garbage filth tumble off Parchesi's top from the impact. Nothing physical is damaged....
The two friends of Red Beard draw their weapons, but keep them as concealed as possible from any potential onlookers...
Having now drawn his sword, Mike gestures towards the two guys with the suprapistols and declaim loudly:
"Those guy's look sleazy,
so get them Parchesi!
You're such a tough robot
you'll make it look easy!
Those two aren't our friends!
They're certainly foes!
So rip out their guts
and run over their toes!"
Having finished, he attempts to skewer Red Beard with his sword.
Granted, Parchesi is but a robot, but its -- nay, his expression is clearly painted over his artificial features: pure horror. The goo... the metabaron wants him to do what??? Since when do small, intellectual robots defend big, mean humans?
Parchesi's processing speed is amazing. It takes but picoseconds for the answer to be returned by his ontological subroutines: since big mean humans are needed to protect him from other, meaner humans. The choice is clear, here: he can ignore the fight (preferred option - a red arrow highlight immediately appears on his HUD and starts rotating slowly next to this option), or side with the most likely winning side.
A probabilistic subroutine pops up in turn, calculating odds for each party. Reluctantly, Parchesi runs simulations for all three scenarios. Crap. He runs the simulation again. And a third time. Double crap. Odds are marginally for the poet from hell, but not by much. Which means if Parchesi doesn't help and Mike wins, there's going to be cheap robot parts for sale at the junkyard tonight.
But the alpha value is really high. The other goobers might win too... In which case they're almost sure to sell him. Re-crap.
All this takes but nanoseconds -- Parchesi thinks fast, as long as it's
all internal processing. Motile correlation with visual input and
processing speed, well... That's just another day's problem.
Parchesi finally reaches a decision. He turns away from Mike and
tires to run past Red Beard's suprapistol-toting friend who is closest
to the wall, peeling garbage from his metallic frame.
Mike attacks, runs Red Beard through (in the torso) to Incapacitated.
"Your blood is red
My sword is sharp
Your lips are turning blue
You'll soon be dead
You stupid creep
For I just ran you through!"
Parchesi tries to zap one pistol-toting guy but fails and the thug shoots his weapon arm off.
"You menace me with fist and gun
You broke my robot's arm!
Now drop your guns this minute, scum
Before I do you harm!"
The two guys with pistols back off -- neither is interested in getting hurt because of Red Beard's spat with his girlfriend. Meanwhile, Parchesi is screeching: "OOOOWWWW! Owowowowow! My arm! My AAAAAARM!"
"Shut up, Parchesi!
Fixing you will be easy!
Your cries are unseemly
Your arguments cheesy!"
"Come, Parchesi, we must go
This planet really sucks
To buy a ticket off this place
We have to find some bucks."
"The galaxy is full of fights
With fist and sword and gun
Wherever we may find ourselves
Be sure we'll have some fun."
"My robot had his arm destroyed
You'd better fix it back
Cuz I have a BFS
And skill to make it hack!"
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This page property of Empress Lady Jen'yfahr of Ramezay who says: "Talk to the hand, not to the face." All pictures are the property of their authors. No challenge is implied by use, credits are indicated, any picture to which to author objects will be promptly removed. Web page designed and maintained by Technopriestess Anemone von Frickenmeen. Last updated April 4, 2002.