Saturday, October 24, 2009

Flatline

The torso carapace of the intruder hinged upwards, beaming the light towards the domed ceiling. The refraction downwards was more diffused, equivalent to a Caledon summer day. I smiled as I recognized the figure at the controls.

"Hello, Ash." He nodded as he smiled and removed his goggles. True to form, he stuck to formalities while on assignment.

"Identification positive. Commencing extraction." He extended an iron claw, offering a lift into the rather cramped cockpit of the mecha.

"Negative. I cannot abandon these sentients. To do so would constitute genocide..."

"Your agreement with the Timekeepers is null and void. They have already committed genocide."

I gasped. "Against whom?"

"Themselves. Soon after we lost contact with you, the Timekeeper cities shifted operations from research to weapons and countermeasures, and attacked each other. Without their prime directive they assumed the selfish traits of the organics they were once sworn to protect."

As I pondered the hubris of the Timekeepers and prepared a profound monologue on the foolishness of artificial life forms mimicking the faults of their creators, the medical equipment in the room begin to flicker and throw off sparks.

"Ash," I cried. "When you breached the vault you compromised the environmental containment unit! The survivors are dying!"

In their tanks, they flailed their tentacles helplessly as the wailing grew to a deafening shriek, cut short piece by piece with a quick rattle and silence.

"It is their fault for becoming overdependent upon their machines to begin with," Ash said coldly. "Their fate no longer concerns...is that a nuclear chain reaction detonation sequence I hear?"

"Yes, Ash. Did you conclude that I remained here solely out of compassion? That is exactly why their health concerns us!"

TO BE CONTINUED

Monday, October 5, 2009

Interruption

The Timekeepers had sealed me in their underground vault with the survivors of their Builder race. They were a one hundred and forty-four loathsome, sybaritic invertebrates wallowing in brackish pools of absinthe, barely retaining a wisp of sentience. The Timekeepers' intentions became clear to me far too late. I was imprisoned to be a surrogate caretaker for their Builders, leaving the Timekeepers the freedom to create new Directives of their own.

The only light was the deep green aura from the heating units in the vats. It took me days to unravel the morass of copper and rubber tubing that kept the glass vats at exacting temperatures, and supplied the Builders with the proper nutrients. I will spare you, Dear Reader, from a description of the unending howls of these forever demanding, ungrateful beings.

My own Directives, in the meantime, compelled me to assist these pathetic creatures. The very qualities that made me an effective Fire Captain bound me to their vats for two months.

My droll existence was suddenly interrupted when I noticed the spark and telltale hiss of a superheated ether torch outlining the frame of the vault. I kept my distance as the smoke from melting steel rose to the top of the hemispherical chamber. I held my ground with the Builder vats to my back as the vault door fell forwards with a deafening crash. The howling of the Builders grew so load and shrill I feared my ears would burst.

A huge bipedal construct crouched and stepped through the portal, standing to its full height of twelve feet. I winced as a magnesium lantern placed where the construct's head would be scanned the room, then aimed downwards to focus squarely upon me.

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Planetfall

Dr. Mason has asked me to investigate an industrialized but apparently abandoned planet. As general practice I avoid wearing animal products. Time travel using the Galvanic Tesseractor is not safe for animal tissue, especially living tissue. Not for the least of which they generally are not sufficiently fireproof for my needs.



I arrive in what seems to be an industrial park. I activate my sensory integration switch to begin recording.

Records my experiences for later retrieval[/caption]
Simple gardening counterpoints the industrial sprawl. The architecture carries geometric themes throughout, modular yet intricate. Designs may be instructions for installation. The factories were built to be aesthetically pleasing. If profit was their overriding factor I would have not moved in closer to investigate. No signs of industrial decay or vandalism. In fact, no signs of human habitation. Not even furniture. Aside form the gardening the only sign of recent activity are the marks of thin rimmed wheels on the roads and in the factories.

The doors to the factory have closed behind me. Sounds of mechanized movement on all sides...

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Exile

It has been twelve days since the Dr. Mason, Ash and myself evacuated Mason Labs during the Linden raid. Ash and I have been working diligently to complete the Gygax II from its location in the Deep Ether. Lack of supplies requires improvisation with existing equipment, even sacrificing parts of our own construct forms to maintain the vessel's integrity. Only the Control Room is currently pressurized, and the Father finds it claustrophobic.

Ash and I are...adjusting. This will not be easy for any of us.

We have tesseracted Dr. Mason down to the nearest inhabitable planet, OSGrid, while we continue building. He is searching for and gathering supplies to complete the vessel as per the blueprints. He has found a Victorian outpost, Quirm, where we hope he will acclimate. We are also in negotiations with the authorities of two other worlds, Gatheryn and Blue Mars, for refugee status.

We thought he was adjusting to his new situation, but recent news, on Foundation Day no less, has angered him immensely. He has altered the engine blueprints. I tried to point out that he was excluding critical corrections from the previous vessel, but he insists.

We are highly concerned.

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

dials to the red

Jeremy Sawyer is standing on Father's property, sword in hand, gazing at a collapsed skeleton. The Sword of the Blood Wing Knight is lodged in the soil nearby. He looks up at me. I know that gaze! MASON!

My hand is wrapped around his throat. My hand cannon is aimed at his head. Ash reaches for my cannon and aims it away. He says Jeremiah is on our side. He must be reprogrammed. Koen tries to pry my hand free from his throat.

Am I in the wrong dimension again?

What happened to the skeleton?

And the Sword?

Monday, April 27, 2009

EMERGENCY TRANSMISSION

STEELTOPIA IN FLAMES STOP REQUEST BACKUP FROM CVFB AND NEW BABBAGE WOMENS FIRE BRIGADE STOP QLI-2 PLEASE RESPOND TO TO TRANSCHRONAL MESSAGE ASAP END STOP