Tagged: robot

Dashing Through the Snow With a Robot

  • by jenleft to the mercies of savage beasts
  • stand on the equatorial line
  • all of them ablaze
  • midnight gardeners
  • how many woodchucks

Tune in next time part 589    Click Here for Earlier Installments

Dashing through the snow with a robot simulacrum of my true love by my side reminded me strongly of senior prom at the Academy. As per tradition, everyone in the running for Prom King and Queen were taken by helicopter to a remote wintry location and left to the mercies of savage beasts. The first male and female students to make it back to the Academy and stand on the equatorial line in the courtyard would be crowned prom royalty.

That year, Tessa (the true, human Tessa) and I were the winners. I remembered with pride the two of us ascending to our thrones, surrounded by great bonfires, all of them ablaze with leaping blue flames. I could still hear the Academy’s midnight gardeners debating how many woodchucks it took to chuck wood for so many fires.

I knew the answer, of course. I was the Prom King.

I still remembered the answer to that riddle, but I doubted it would do me much good in my current circumstances.

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Tessa Knew How to Operate a Motorcycle

  • by jen— mind the lobsters —
  • socks that my dad fixed
  • look into your eyes again
  • evidence-schmevidence
  • psychedelic detective story

Tune in next time part 581    Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tessa knew how to operate a motorcycle. It was everything else about driving that she seemed ignorant of. I found myself shouting directions from the sidecar like some kind of terrible backseat driver. “Yield to pedestrians — stay in your lane — mind the lobsters — use your turn signal!”

Suddenly the Viscount shimmered into view in the deep end of the tub. “Ah, good, you’re back,” he said. He raised his feet and held them in front of my face. “Do you like these socks that my dad fixed to the end of my pant legs? It’s to stop me from losing them. I’m afraid they might look silly. What do you think? Tell me the truth. I’ll know if you’re lying when I look into your eyes again and see the evidence.”

“Evidence-schmevidence,” I said. “This isn’t some kind of psychedelic detective story.”

Tessa looked at me quizzically.

“Eyes on the road!” I yelled.

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Brandita Gathered the Chapstick Tubes

  • by jenHe is a stupid fool
  • copying Mother Nature isn’t always the best approach
  • all he kept was the duffle bag
  • elbows tight against my sides
  • , and the dance begins

Tune in next time part 577    Click Here for Earlier Installments

Brandita gathered the chapstick tubes we’d been using during the Baron’s demonstration, and placed them reverently back in their ceremonial box. All the while, the Baron stared at the postcard, crossing and uncrossing his eyes, blinking one and then the other, and otherwise making a great show of squinting officiously. He is a stupid fool, I thought, at least when it comes to codes. Even with so many clues he still could not decipher the message.

Tessa tapped her foot impatiently. “Are we getting off this island, or what?”

Von Dimpleheimer sneered at her. “The man who built you should have realized that copying Mother Nature isn’t always the best approach, but it seems that when god was handing out engineering smarts, all he kept was the duffle bag.”

“Hey!” I said. “There’s no reason to be rude!”

The Baron swiveled his head to me. He arched one bushy eyebrow. “I am not insulting your lovely robot, just the man who made her. All TSS-A Units are adept cryptographers. The feature is supposed to be well-hidden, but is actually easy to access.”

He directed Tessa to stand close in front of me, arms around my waist, elbows tight against my sides. “And now,” he said, “the music starts, and the dance begins, and the TSS-A Unit’s linguistics operations are mine to exploit.” He turned the crank on his victrola. “I’ll have that postcard decoded in no time.”

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“I’m Plenty Sleep-Deprived”

  • by jenmy French is *shocking*
  • could give you a turnip
  • basically moving garlic juice around my mouth
  • denied that he had any plans to leave his wife
  • short of getting pregnant or deliberately getting in trouble

Tune in next time part 543     Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I’m plenty sleep-deprived,” I said.

Tessa told Jason to hang onto Arlo’s ankle, then faced me and stared into my eyes. She started murmuring in French, and while my French is shockingly bad for someone educated in a boarding school, I was able to follow most of what she said as she adjusted her alpha waves to sync up with mine. It was oddly hypnotic.

Or perhaps actually hypnotic. The next thing I knew, I was awakening from a trance and Tessa was smiling like a cat who could give you a turnip, but has chosen not to. Obviously she had deciphered the secret message in her memory banks. She gave me a wink, and then turned to the viscount who was still writhing in the damp grass.

“Arlo, I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure, but kissing you is as enjoyable as basically moving garlic juice around my mouth. And I’m allergic to garlic.”

Arlo sniveled, “I can’t believe you’re leaving me for him!” (indicating me). “He’s married, you know, and he has frequently denied that he had any plans to leave his wife!”

“That doesn’t matter,” Tessa said. “Because I’m a robot, and short of getting pregnant or deliberately getting in trouble with the laws of reality some other way, I don’t have to worry about petty human emotions, such as love.”

Even knowing this wasn’t the true Tessa, it hurt to hear her say such things.

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“We Need to Get Out of Here”

  • by jenIt’s a Rolex
  • silver-haired thief
  • what I get for respecting vocations
  • small jar of nutmeg in the nightstand
  • looked like steak tartar

Tune in next time part 535      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“We need to get out of here,” I said. “Change into something less conspicuous than that wedding dress.”

I crossed to the closet and opened it, but it was empty. Likewise the dresser drawers. The only thing I found in the whole room was a long filmy scarf with a gaudy gold men’s watch wrapped up inside.

“It’s a Rolex,” Tessa explained. “I stole it from a silver-haired thief who in turn stole it from my husband-to-be. The thief was very cross with me. He said that he would never dream of stealing from another thief, but, quote, that’s what I get for respecting vocations, unquote.” She smiled. “I reminded him that there’s no honor among thieves, and bid him farewell. I want to sell it to finance my escape from from my fiancé.”

She unzipped her wedding dress and let it fall to the floor, then wrapped herself in the scarf. It was adequate to cover her undergarments, but not much more. She strapped the clunky watch to her wrist.

“Hand me that small jar of nutmeg in the nightstand drawer,” she said.

I did, and she rubbed in on her cheeks like blush until they smelled like cookies and looked like steak tartar.

“No one will recognize me now!” she enthused.

“Be careful with that nutmeg,” I warned. “Too much can cause hallucinations.”

“I know!” she giggled. “Why do you think I keep it in the nightstand?”

If my suspicions were correct about who she was meant to marry, I couldn’t even blame her. That guy was such a dick.

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“Who Built You?”

  • by jenbehind which lurk
  • just an hour and a half later
  • resulting fist fight
  • bought the soundtrack on a cassette tape
  • barred from the theater for behaving inappropriately

Tune in next time part 533      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Who built you?” I asked the Tessabot. I wondered whether it was the owner of the all-too-familiar voice on the self-destruct message, or if she was merely the evil facade behind which lurked an even greater danger.

“All I know is that Tallulah built the first Tessabot, and just an hour and a half later I was created using the same plans.” She sucked the bean juice out of another taco. “Everything she is programmed to do, I do 90 minutes later. The resulting fist fights have taken many people by complete surprise. But who created me, and why, is a mystery.”

It was the same old song, one I’d heard many times. So many, in fact, that it was like I’d bought the soundtrack on a cassette tape and memorized it and later got myself barred from the theater for behaving inappropriately by trying to start up a Rocky Horror-style floorshow.

I sighed and asked, “And who are you supposed to be marrying today?”

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As I Slid My Fingers Between Tessa’s Toes

  • by jenwhen the sun has gone down and the owls are serenading you
  • huddling together for warmth
  • well you *are* drunk
  • when a woman comes to you in black lingerie
  • proper use of grenade launchers

Tune in next time part 531      Click Here for Earlier Installments

As I slid my fingers between Tessa’s toes in search of the manual override switches, she giggled and tried to jerk her feet away. I had to grab her by the ankle to hold her foot still, and at last found the first switch. As I depressed it, Tessa shrieked with laughter and collapsed, winding up on her bottom on the floor in a poofy ocean of white satin. I quickly found the corresponding switch on her other foot. As soon as I depressed it, Tessa’s mirth switched off. She leaned forward and took my face in her hands. She said, “Tonight, when the sun has gone down and the owls are serenading you, and you and your lover are huddling together for warmth under the stars and the moon and the owlsong, promise you will call your brother and tell him I love him, Jason. Promise me!”

“If you love him, why are you marrying someone else?” I lisped. “And if you were a robot, where would your self-destruct override switches be?”

“Well you are drunk, I do declare!” Tessa huffed. She sat back and said, “Would you even know what to do when a woman comes to you in black lingerie and offers to teach you the proper use of grenade launchers?”

“Who’s asking?” I said. It seemed like a code phrase, but it wasn’t one I recognized.

Tessa slipped her wedding dress strap off her shoulder, exposing a black bra.

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Two Tessabots, at Least

  • by jenemitting sad noises
  • ear-penetrating intensity
  • virtually impossible to do it with just one person
  • the glacier that once covered New York City
  • very individualized

Tune in next time part 529      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Two Tessabots, at least. Who knew how many there could actually be? I stood guard over her as she rebooted, emitting sad noises as I contemplated whether I would ever see the real Tessa again. Whether there had ever been a real Tessa.

The robot before me beeped three times, and then played an alert message at ear-penetrating intensity. “This TSS-A Unit will be online in 29 seconds. The automatic self-destruct requires a double manual override, and it is virtually impossible to do it with just one person, so good luck.” The alert voice was well-known to me, and covered my heart with a layer of icy dread as thick as the glacier that once covered New York City back in the 80s. This Tessabot was sent to me personally, a very individualized form of revenge.

“Two of the override switches are between her fourth and fifth toes,” the alert continued. “But I’m not going to tell you where the other two are.”

I looked in dismay at the intricately laced high-heeled boots adorning Tessa’s feet.

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“Do You Think We’re Robots”

  • by jena unique view
  • “My mother makes them every day,” she whispered.
  • couldn’t buy their silence
  • where your imagination goes
  • Looks like Russians

Tune in next time part 295      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Do you think we’re robots, Tessa?” Jason lisped.

“That would be a unique view,” she replied, rising to her feet.

“Because that would be a mistake,” my brother added.

“It’s hilarious to hear you talk about mistakes,” Tessa said as she rounded on him. “My mother makes them every day,” she whispered. “But I never do.”

Both Tessa’s parents lived off the grid in defiance to Mother’s belief that we couldn’t buy their silence, so I didn’t know why Tessa would mention the woman now. My mind spun all sorts of doomsday scenarios. It’s amazing where your imagination goes when you’ve had the kind of day I’ve had.

Keeping a wary eye on Tessa I bent down and pretended to examine some footprints on the dusty floor. “Looks like Russians built this place,” I fibbed.

Tessa gasped. “Lyudmila? Or Svetlana?”

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“Oh I Might Have Guessed”

  • by Kentdrank from watermelon cups
  • got worse, but not loquacious
  • , unless you’re talking about economics,
  • (regular showers for example)
  • inclined his head towards his leader

Tune in next time part 288                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Oh, I might have guessed you were messed up in this!” Tesla hissed.

Tessa laughed. Being directly between them, I wasn’t seeing anything funny about the situation. Tesla advanced with murder in her eyes, and my only thoughts were to protect Tessa. But she just laughed again. Tesla reached my position and I barred her way, but she just didn’t stop walking and I was pushed backwards helplessly. Her strength was inhuman, yet the target of her wrath kept giggling.

Mimes staggered in random directions in the leaping firelight, arms flung out, all of them having forgotten to take off their imaginary blindfolds. It looked like we had desecrated a secret mime burial ground and triggered its ancient protective curse.

“Tessa, run!” I grunted.

Instead, she cleared her throat and chanted, “The penguins wished for bamboo tusks until they drank from watermelon cups.”

Tesla stopped and stood as if at attention.

“Meet the Teslabot,” Tessa said. “She built the Tessabot.”

“You mean Tesla built the bots?”

“No. The Teslabot built the Tessabot. I don’t know who built the Teslabot. I just know some of its verbal commands.”

“Okay,” I said. “Now that the sisters are under control, maybe the brothers should figure out their deal. Jupiter and Jove would be shocked to know you’re here, Jason.”

“I bet they’re disappointed they didn’t get to sacrifice you,” he lisped back at me. “Come to think of it, this whole ritual is pointless if you’re still alive. But the scrying scrolls are quite clear about what must happen now. A rap battle. The final rap battle.”

“Ah shit, Jason. Don’t say it.”

“Rap-narok!”

“He’s right,” Tessa said unhelpfully.

Jason launched his attack, the zombified mimes laying down his beats with their plodding footsteps.

“Makin’ friends all around because I’m always vivacious,
while your solitude got worse, but not loquacious,
with no one to talk to and nobody for a chat,
you’re a hopeless case with a ridiculous hat.”

I countered instinctively, and although my voice was strong, terror gripped me at what might happen if those scrolls somehow proved accurate.

“My hat is nonexistent, just a rumor you started
and as I’m sure you know this rhyme is only half-hearted.
There’s no way you’ll win, not with all your hand-me-down tricks,
I already lost interest, unless you’re talking about economics,
Your list of defects goes on and on and your delusions are ample.
It’s stuff most people find easy (regular showers for example).”

We slung such cumbersome insults back and forth for an hour, our couplets gaining syllables with every exchange. I couldn’t stop. The words used me as their gateway into the world, and I was exhausted from the strain. Jason and I both panted, awaiting some indication of the verdict. The mimes abruptly halted their rhythmic shambling. They all reached behind their heads to untie their blindfolds, and in perfect unison each mime inclined his head towards his leader.

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