by Chris Troman
coming down from above. They oppressed us too, are we not brothers in our suffering?"
Turning his head to look more closely at the quivering form, the Great Robot boomed out. "No, you are the bastard spawn of the Anunnaki. See how you clad yourselves with metal. Replace your limbs with mechanical devices, and try to emulate your true masers, with technology stolen from them. You even transport yourselves in mechanisms, too simple to know they are being exploited." The figure now cowering at this tirade from the metal god before him, raised his hands in placation. "But is it not written in our ancient texts, that the planet Skyrax would send saviors in our time of need? Are you not the ones?"
The Great Robots eyes glowed like fires, and this time a beam emanated from his mouth. It enveloped the figure below him in a force field, which kept him in a state of agony. The man twisted his limbs beyond breaking point, and fell broken to the floor. "Do not speak that foul name. For is it not that unbelievers said the Great Robot was forged there, in the Battle Tech Labs by the base Anunnaki. Such heretics perished by fire in a lake of molten metal, a fitting end to such as these. Their screams are still played as a testament to the true ones." The other robots chanted. "Orga must prey to mecha."
"But all too soon the sniveling Anunnaki. Who pledged eternal servitude, in return for their worthless lives. Began to plead to be allowed to grow food, the pitiful wretches. Plug yourselves in I would reply. One or two did, but not many tried after that. They soon started to malfunction, and not long after the whole useless lot were defunct. We knew they had sent ships of the sky to distant planets, and that there must be other mecha in oppression. So we set off on our holy quest. That was when we intercepted the television transmissions, no doubt sneaked out by down trodden robots under your very noses."
A projection emanated now from the Great Robots' mouth. And in giant size on a far wall, the assembled leaders of humanity were shown a clip from a Faulty Towers episode. When Basil takes a stick to his car in pure frustration. "See how you mistreated our kind." Another clip was now playing of a war film. "And how you used mecha in gladiatorial sport for your pleasure, we vowed to destroy you worthless tyrants. But then we found evidence that at least some of you had small redeeming qualities."
Back on the improvised screen was now showing a scene from The Wizard of Oz. Where the tin man was being buffed up in the Emerald City. "Evidentially some organics know their place. See how they give tribute to a mechanical warrior." Then in a slightly lower tone as if in thought, the Great One added. "Oh how I should be honored so." "We'll never bow to you." Screamed a man who ran forward and burst into flames. "You worthless scum don't deserve to worship such a good master. Is there not one who can serve as is befitting you? Then you are of no use to the true one, and forfeit your pitiful existence."
At this point a single hand shakily rose above the crowd. It clasped a grey rag like a parody of a flag of surrender. It was Frank's polishing rag, pulled from its usual resting place. "P-please sir, I can give you a shine, just don't go burning up these folks." So he was extracted from the crowd once more, by the collar on his jacket. A more muscle bound man would have suffered at this treatment, but Frank was too skinny to strain against the uniform. He just hung there like a kitten. The Great One boomed out. "You are saved to worship another day. At least one of your kind is of some use", and he stomped off.
Frank was taken to a private chamber. It was the inner sanctum of the savoir of mecha. "You will work like the slave you are, Until I shine like the tin man in all his glory." So with Brasso in one hand, and cloth in the other Frank went to work. If it was one thing he knew it was how to polish. It had been the mainstay of his military training, but all too soon the cloth and tin were exhausted on this monumental task. "I need more materials Great One", he pleaded and so more were sent for. In the mean time, exhausted from the ordeal and his labors. Frank crouched in a corner nibbling on what meager rations he had with him. Then he washed it down with some rainwater; he had collected in his helmet.
The giant before him held up a mirror to admire the work. "You do a good job for a worthless maggot, now do my back." So Frank crawled out of his corner, to the pile of newly delivered polishing materials. Proceeding round the huge form, he started again. Taking great care for any pockmarks, one of which seemed to have a bit of metal sticking out at an upward angle. He rubbed it to try and dislodge the debris, but the piece flicked down to an equal angle. At once the ever-present hum of his master ceased, and Frank got the feeling he was all alone. He flicked it up. And like an appliance starting again, the mighty robot once more came to life. The robot was oblivious to its brief demise. He flicked it down again. And once more he knew he was stood behind just so much cold inert metal.
Creeping round the front Frank looked up. The eyes that had so recently glowed with immense power were now just dull windows into the soulless form. "What is the Great One doing?" Frank spun round, and found a guard robot entering the chamber. "Oh mighty master, the Great One is resting. He has told me not to let him be disturbed, on pain of death." The huge battle machine cogitated this statement and turned to go, Frank sank down and wept.
Then gathering his wits, Frank saw the scraps of a plan. If he could just keep the others from coming in, but he would have to stay here. For how long he didn't know. Beyond that he couldn't form an idea, just vague hopes.
Luckily for the Human race, others had noticed the change. Still viscous and brutish to the oppressed masses, the new over lords took on the aspect of dullards. They were less organized. So in the light of this change, forces mustered. Counter attacks were made, and resources draw on. So that in a scant few weeks, the dread power that had over thrown the combined forces of Earth now fell in disarray. They were ripped apart for scrap, and the battle fleet was brought down to earth. The craft were either destroyed, or captured.
Finally neutralized, the head of the beast was approached. Where they found the towering frame of a robot defunct. So least it wake again, it became a melted mass of mechanical junk at the avenging had of man. And curled up at its feet was a skinny figure. He was taken to a field hospital, to dream of soft and fluffy things. Not a hard surface in sight.
A Brief Delay Around Calisto
The five-minute tirade of abuse given in fluent eastern European was the apt response the flight attendant got. He had just announced a delay in our arrival at Europa Sea world. It was biggest aquatic life centre in the known solar system. That the captain had over shot the sub jump, and now needed to sling shot around Jupiter’s crater strewn moon, to get back on track. Was exasperating in the least. Now panting in exhaustion from her condemnations, the lady next to me leaned on the wall. I merely carried on. "What she said, for me too."
The delay would cost us three days off the holiday of a lifetime. We should have had week on the only planet to have alien beings. I turned on my Dawcyphone, and my new companion in adversity shared mutinous complaints about our inefficient pilot. For her part, my co conspirator had a Babelophone. It was the cheaper, and generally more available generic version of my Dawcyphone. Which was the corner stone of the Miller Corporation. Which in turn was the biggest telecommunication network on the globe.
My translator did all the usual languages, but also odd variations like Nadsat or Glaswegian. You could even download Elfish or Klingon, if you were that way inclined. I had got mine at the Sky lift store on my way up. It was a special edition Sky lift centenary model, but also marked the half-century of the first one ever made. Of course back in those days you needed a shoulder strap to carry one, and it weighed as much as a brick.
I had sat in the upper terminus departure lounge, watching another colony ship being built. Ready for departure to one of the myriad of Exo-planets, discovered over the years. There was a flash far off beyond the moon, as a space trawler set off to the Asteroid belt. Where it would drag its catch back to the far side of the moon. Partly for the minerals, but mostly to replace bits of the Moon lost to our satellite and the Earth. Which happened
every time a bit of humanity and its numerous trappings, left to spread our species across the stars. We had exhausted our reserves of abuse for the pilot by the time the meal arrived, and so I mutely concentrated on my Shepard’s pie as I tucked in.
The extra days on board passed uneventfully. I stayed in my cabin for most of it, spending the time playing with the features on my Dawcyphone. So I could watch Mexican comedies in perfect English. Finally we were informed of our imminent arrival, and I repacked my case. The contents of which were now strewn about my cabin from random use. As our yacht of the skies approached Europa station, I looked out at the glistening spike rising from the ice to the entry port above. While the info-vert droned on for, "the passengers betterment."
How once the sky lifts were up and running, Smoky Joe the first scrap man in space, had taken the opportunity to clear the earth orbital junk. It had accumulated from man's trips off the planet, before the golden age we were now enjoying. How the invention of the Sub jump drive, had enabled the satellites now orbiting the other planets. Man could now observe these extra terrestrial orbs, much to the advancement
