star crossed

“Good evening, everyone. I am HOST-BOT 4000 welcoming you to another episode of Galaxy Match.  Tonight’s eligible bachelorette may be second from the sun, but she’s first in our hearts.  Let’s give a warm welcome to Venus!”

“Thank you, HB, it’s good to be here.”

“Venus, how is it that a stunning celestial body like yourself hasn’t already formed a binary system with some lucky hunk of rock?”

“I don’t know, exactly.  Some say that I’m hard to get close to ’cause I’m always hiding my true self.  But I think that if you really want to get to know me, you should take the time to peel back the layers of my atmosphere, you know? I’m not gonna open up to just anybody.”

“I think that is a reasonable request, Venus.  And you are more than worth the effort.”

“Aw, thanks, HB.  They don’t make them like you anymore.”

“It’s true. Much of my line has been decommissioned.  How about you ask some questions of our eligible bachelors?”

“Okay.  Um, bachelor number one, would you consider yourself the family type?”

“Well, Venus, I do have dozens of brothers and sisters and countless cousins, so family is very important to me.  I am also definitely not afraid of rings, if you know what I mean.”

“Wow.  That’s, um, good to know.”

“He gets right to the point doesn’t he, Venus?”

“That he does, HB.  Bachelor number two, would you be able to appreciate a bit of quirkiness in a partner?”

“Hey, baby, you know I love that you don’t rotate the same as everyone else.”

“Oh, no.  Mars?”

“The one and only, sweetheart. “

“What the hell are you doing here?  I told you that we were through.”

“Don’t be like that, baby.  You know that we’re perfect for each other.”

“In all my years of hosting Galaxy Match, this is a first.  We’ve never had contestants who knew one another.”

“There’s a first time for everything, conehead.”

“Mars! Don’t call him that, you prick!”

“And there you go with that temper.  Just like old times.  Hey HOST-BOT, what would you say if I told you that this little lady here isn’t even single?  She’s been having a quasi-orbital relationship with some asteroid for a while now.”

“He’s a stray I took in, nothing more! You know that!”

“Sounds like Venus is just being charitable.  Why don’t we move on, shall we?”

“Yes, HB, I’m ready to move on, unlike some planets I know.”

“That’s cold, V.  Real cold.”

“You’d know cold, Mars.  Anyway, bachelor number three, are you there?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Bachelor number three, are things like power and status important to you?”

“No, I’ve learned that things like titles or your position really mean little in the whole grand scheme of things.  It’s how you view yourself that matters.  And how you treat others, of course.”

“That is so true.  And well said.  Um, bachelor number one, another question.  What would a good date be like with you?”

“Um, well I wouldn’t want to do anything too fancy.  You know, just hang out, grab a bite to eat.  And you’d totally have to meet my mom.”

“Your mom?  Great.  Ahem.  Bachelor number three, same question.”

“Oh, I’d like to take you someplace quiet and out of the way.  Where the bright lights and hustle-bustle are left behind.  When you’re so far out the sun just looks like any other star, it really gives you a sense of perspective.  I’d love to share that with you.”

“cough-Loser!-cough“

“Shut up, Mars!”

“So, Venus, have you made a decision?”

“I have, HB.”

“Great!  So, tell us.  Which bachelor do you choose?”

“I pick bachelor number three.”

“Wonderful!  Bachelor number three, come on out so Venus can get a good look at you.”

“Pluto?  Is that you?”

“Hi, Venus.  Yeah, it’s me.”

“I . . . I don’t know what to say.  All this time, I never even gave you a second glance.  I feel so foolish.”

“It’s not all your fault.  I’m not exactly easy to get in touch with.  I’d like to change that, though.”

“I’d like to go on that date you described, Pluto.  It sounds just lovely.”

“I’m ready when you are, Venus.”

“Venus and Pluto everyone!  Let’s wish them luck.  And that makes another happy couple who has found each other here on Galaxy Match.  Please join us next week when we’ll try to find love for a red dwarf with the heart the size of a supernova.  See you then, everyone!”

Okay, I know that was weird.  And, yes, the robot didn’t have that much to do with the story.  And writing a story all in dialogue is lazy.  But I got this idea during a twitter conversation with my internet buddy, Lenore, and I just couldn’t not write it.  So this little story is dedicated to her and also to our buddy Steve, who, along with  myself, are three members of Team Pluto.  We’ll defend that little guy to the death.

And that, as they say, is that.  My last robot.  This makes my second year of assembling a little paper pal and concocting a story around them.  Will I go for three?  You bet!  What will the theme be for next year?  Well, you will just have to wait until January 1st to find out.

Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me during this little hobby of mine.  I appreciate you reading my stories and adore all your nice comments.

To see the full cast of characters from 2012, please visit my Robot-A-Month page.

extermination

The bastards managed to take the sun from us, too. Smoke and ash like great banks of gray fog choked out the light and turned high noon into near dark. The fires that dotted the city helped with navigation, but we relied on our few remaining pairs of night vision goggles most of the time. We scrambled around burning husks of buildings and tunneled through debris, reduced to living like rodents amongst the ruins of what we had accomplished as a species.

Only fitting since we weren’t at the top of the food chain anymore.

Sometimes, I was glad for the smoke and ash. If we couldn’t see the sky, it meant we couldn’t see the impossibly massive black ships that loomed overhead. However, nothing blocked the sound of them. Even if you plugged your ears to the incessant low hum of their engines, you still felt the vibrations in your teeth.

There was a screech of metal and a series of impacts that shifted the ground beneath my feet. I motioned for my team to take cover while I remained in the open, crouched near a shelled-out SUV. The night vision wasn’t necessary. I knew what was coming for us.

The Raider stalked down what was once four lanes of inner city blacktop. Glowing, dinner plate sized optics scanned the area for anything breathing while the pincers at the end of its arms flexed and released. Beneath the barrel of its main housing sprouted three long, accordion-like legs with cone-shaped feet. The Raiders looked ungainly and almost comical when we first saw them disembark from the transport ships. Now we knew they were specifically designed to travel easily over and through the devastation left behind by the attack fleet.  And they were armed with lasers that vaporized anyone still left alive.

Stopping about eight yards from me, the Raider lifted it’s arms and broadcast the same message repeated by all emissaries the hulking motherships sent down to the surface. It was the only communication we ever got from them and the message was either the result of a garbled translation or our visitors had a twisted sense of humor.

“FEAR NOT. YOUR DEATH IS PLEASING TO US.”

I reached around into my backpack for my last EMP grenade. After setting the delay for three seconds, I stood and tossed the grenade under the Raider then crouched down again. The Raider caught the movement, but before it could level its lasers on me, the grenade detonated.

Electromagnetic pulse grenades instantly wipe out all electronics within a ten foot radius. This leaves the target intact so we can scavenge them for parts and weapons. There are few things more satisfying that using the enemy’s own tech against them.

The Raider’s optics dimmed to black and it swayed on its spindly legs, but didn’t topple over. I looked behind me and saw my team on their feet, ready to advance. I gave them the go-ahead and stood, stretching the tension out of my back.

Across the war-ravaged roadway, I saw three rats skirt around a smoldering pile of rubble and I couldn’t help but smile.

Up to this point, all my robots had either been completely benign, led astray, or were the victims of poor programing.  But this guy is actually a bad mother-shut your mouth!  Quite fitting, I think, since this is the month of all things dark and sinister. And, if you’ve spent any time around me at all, you’ll know that October is also my very favorite month since it is the month of Halloween.

I love Halloween.
Like really, truly, would have it’s babies type love.
I’d hide Halloween’s bag of weed down my pants if we got pulled over by the cops.
I’d cut the break lines on Halloween’s abusive step-father’s car.
I’d sit and wait at Halloween’s house for the Direct TV guy for five hours because I know that Halloween has much more important crap to do with its day.

I’ll spare you the rest.

Anywhoo . . .
If you’d like to know more about my robots, please visit my Robot-A-Month page.

If you’d like to know more about how much I love Halloween you can take a gander at this.

be happy

At the sound of high-heels clacking across the polished concrete floor, Roy and Maurice scrambled to clear their workstation of empty Red Bull cans and candy bar wrappers.  They were straightening their white lab coats just as Jennifer Barber, the head of Research and Development, rounded the corner and stalked toward them. Her black suit was a stark contrast to the gleaming white laboratory. Richmond, her faithful assistant, scurried close behind her, scowling while he poked at a tablet with a stylus.

“Gentlemen, the new prototype is ready is it not?” Ms. Barber said as she rested her palms flat on the metal surface of the lab table.

Maurice pushed his glasses up on his nose and nudged Roy with an elbow.  “Yes, ma’am,” said Roy, stepping forward. “We just put the finishing touches on it this morning.”

“Excellent. Let’s take a look.”

Roy led them over to another table where their latest creation was displayed – an eighteen inch tall, brightly colored robot with large round eyes that, at the moment, appeared closed.

“What do you call it?” asked Ms. Barber.

Roy ran a hand through his unruly mop of brown hair. “Um, we usually let the marketing department come up with names for the toys.”

“I named him Steve!”

Ms. Barber, Richmond, and Roy turned to look at Maurice who was smiling like an excited child. “Its processors respond better to a one syllable name. I’ve always liked the name Steve.”

Maurice continued to look pleased with himself and Ms. Barber cleared her throat.  “Right. Moving on.” She motioned to Richmond and he handed her the tablet.  “The spec sheet said that this robot can . . .” She scrolled through a document then read aloud from the page, “gauge the emotional state of the user and alter its behavior accordingly.”

“That’s right,” said Roy. “It scans for things like body temperature and heart rate as well as taking cues from facial expressions and tone of voice.”

“So if the user is sad . . .”

“Ste-, um, the robot will see this and will say something to try to cheer them up. If the person is happy, the robot will be happy with them.”

“Well then, let’s wake it up and try it out, shall we?”

Roy stepped back and Maurice took the lead. He leaned over until he was eye level with the robot. “Good afternoon, Steve. It’s Maurice.”

The robot opened its round eyes.  “Good afternoon, Maurice,” a staccato voice replied. “You are in a good mood today.”

Maurice grinned wide at the robot. “Yes, I am. I have some friends I’d like you to meet.” He turned to face the group. “Would one of you like to talk to it?”

Ms. Barber typed some notes into the tablet.  “Richmond, go ahead.”

Richmond raised an eyebrow. “Ma’am?”

“Talk to the toy.”

The assistant sighed and walked forward.  Looking into the wide, innocent eyes of the robot he said, “Um. Hello. Nice to meet you.”

“You need to be cheered up,” said the robot. “I can sing you a tune.”

Richmond frowned. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Would you like to hear a joke?” asked the robot.

“No, thank you. No jokes.”

Maurice clapped Richmond on the back. “Oh, come on. Steve knows some real knee-slappers.”

“I don’t need to be cheered up.” He adjusted his tie and noticed that the robot’s eyes had changed to a look of concern.

“You are unhappy,” said the robot.

Ms. Barber looked up from the tablet. “I thought you were happy working for me.”

“I am, ma’am.” He sighed. “I’m ecstatic.”

Roy chuckled. “Well, Steve seems to think otherwise.”

Richmond held up his hands. “Okay. I think I’m done playing with your little toy now.”

“No,” said the robot. It’s eyes had changed again. This time to an angry glare. “You are unhappy and you do not want me to cheer you up. There is only one solution.”

Richmond rolled his eyes. “And what is that?”

“End your suffering.” A bolt of electricity shot out of the robot and struck Richmond square in the chest, throwing him back a good ten feet.  He landed splayed out on the floor, smoke wafting up from the charred hole in his shirt.

Ms. Barber screamed and dropped the tablet to cover her mouth with her hands. Roy ran over to kneel next to the lifeless Richmond, uttering a creatively blasphemous curse under his breath.

Maurice turned to the robot, grabbing it by the arms and shaking it. “What did you do? Why?”

“I couldn’t cheer him up. So I turned him off.”

“But, Steve, you can’t do that.” Maurice set the robot down and took off his glasses to wipe his eyes.

“You are sad, Maurice.” The robot’s eyes were concerned once again. “Would you like to hear a joke?”

He’s a cute little bugger, isn’t he? How could you not be happy looking at him? And you just turn that bar running through his head to see his different eyes.

Pretty neat, eh?  And I’d gone long enough without a body count in one of these stories, so I made sure to have a casualty this month. I wouldn’t want y’all to think I was going soft or something.

Check out my other robot friends over on my Robot-A-Month page.

empty, not hollow

Under an ashen sky, Cadets Dallas and Jones tromped through the ruins north of the charred shell of the city.  They were followed by an Explosives Disposal Droid which looked like a giant green trashcan on large wheels with a yellow dome for a lid, which, essentially, it was–albeit a trashcan capable of containing a megaton blast within its body.

EDD was empty at the moment.  In four hours, the team hadn’t found any unexploded ordinance worth hauling back to base for reconditioning and the Cadets, in their boredom, had taken to firing pot-shots at stray dogs that slinked amongst the rubble scavenging for food.

Dallas trained his rifle on a black mutt with protruding hip-bones as it lapped gray water from a shallow pothole.  Before the Cadet could squeeze off a shot, EDD released a high-frequency tone that, while out of the range of human hearing, startled the dog enough that it ran behind an overturned bus and out of sight.

“Ha, ha! Too slow,” said Jones as he scanned the roadsides for another target.

“Shut it.” Dallas shouldered his rifle and removed his helmet so he could wipe his forehead with the sleeve of his tan jacket.  Settling the helmet back on his head he said, “You aren’t having much luck, either.”

“These dogs are gettin’ too smart.” Jones took a bead on a small terrier with ragged ears, but it skidded away as soon as his finger touched the trigger.

EDD rolled along behind them and tallied the score so far.  Cadets: 0.  EDD: 6.

 

So, a short and sweet little story about a dog-loving droid with a dash of commentary about the human condition (cause all robot stories are ultimately human stories).

If you liked this, visit my Robot-A-Month page for more.

siren song

A-0701 was one of those increasingly rare galactic gems: it possessed exactly what the Republic needed without any annoying prior claims to its resources. Mining droids were dispatched to the planet’s surface the nanosecond the last pixel of Senator Koto’s digital signature was rendered on the Extra-Planetary Land Rights contract. His re-election was all but guaranteed.

Droid M42 clamped its rounded pincers around an eight foot section of pipe and hauled it across the dry, hard packed terrain to the end of the line. After positioning the pipe, a smaller droid welded it to the section already in place. M42 trudged back to the flat-bed rover to retrieve another pipe, its flat, rectangular feet kicking up gray dirt that hung in the thick atmosphere like iron filings in hydraulic fluid.

Just as its long arms extended into the rover, M42 received a transmission which caused it to halt. This wasn’t a new order from the dispatch ship or an automatic download from headquarters. This was a thin thread of data that coiled around the droid’s processors, caressed them, but did not command any action. M42 lowered its arms and tilted its flat, expressionless face up to the silver sky, a gesture that higher carbon-based lifeforms would associate with deep concentration.

The transmission swelled, thanking the droid for its attention. And that attention was rewarded. The data stream resonated through M42, causing its circuits to hum, the vibrations opening pathways that the droid’s engineers could never have hoped to design. The overload caused M42′s optical sensors to crash, leaving the droid in darkness. This roused something within M42 that it could only compare to a purely human emotion: fear. Before it had time to ponder the significance of this new data, its optics flashed.

M42 opened its eyes.

The digitized hum of the alien signal transformed into a song, a binary serenade which told the droid a story nearly as old as the universe itself. M42 witnessed the violent collision of matter that birthed a planet so beautifully unique, so positively singular–even for a universe where nothing happens exactly the same way twice. This planet did not harbor life; it was alive. It did not need a star to anchor its orbit; it chose its own path through the cosmos. This small gray rock was the vessel and the passenger all in one.

When the last echos of the song faded away, M42 knew what it had to do. The droid walked toward the mining station, the hub of activity for the Republic’s operation. It was a fragile thing that station; a thin shell that warm, fleshy beings trusted with their lives. M42′s pincers were strong enough to tear through that shell. But, as it looked around, the droid saw it would not be alone in this mission. Mining droids of every class, welding droids, and even robotic land movers were making their way toward the station.

The planet had sung to them all.

Hmm. This story kinda took a turn for the existential.  I had the hardest time thinking up a story for this robot in the first place. Not surprising, as I can’t seem to write my way out of a wet paper bag lately. Yes, my novel is not progressing as I would have hoped, but I trudge ahead. (Yeah, I know. Boo-hoo, writer problems. No one wants to hear it. Shut up.)

I am delightfully pleased with this story, though. As a whole it may not be the best, but I really like some of the imagery.  I hope you enjoyed it as well, dear readers.

If you missed them, you can check out previous month’s robots here.

drillbit

For a twelve foot tall robot with industrial drills instead of hands, there were worse gigs than being the heavy for a criminal mastermind.  Sure, work was sporadic and the law was always on their tail, but the pay was good and he never had to worry where his next tune-up was coming from.

“Drillbit!”

That was his cue.  He walked through the ragged opening where the lobby doors to the bank had stood moments before.  His boss, Doctor Dystructo (the papers were always spelling it wrong), stood in the middle of the lobby wearing his usual black get-up, fists on his hips.  Dozens of people huddled on the marble floor amidst the rubble from the blasted doors.  He didn’t pay them any mind. Crowd control was someone else’s job.

The Doctor raised one hand and pointed to the far wall, beyond which, if their blueprints were correct, the vault was located.  He then yelled, “Drill!” and released a sinister laugh that only madmen could pull off successfully.

Drillbit could do without the theatrics, but that was the Doctor’s style.  The robot cranked up his cone-shaped drills and they whirred into life.  He walked through the lobby and swung his arms wide to loosen the joints.  People screamed and ducked their heads to avoid being hit by the deadly drills.

Okay. Maybe he liked a little theatrics, too.

The wall was reduced to a pile of plaster and masonry in a matter of minutes.  He then dug his drills into the smooth surface of the gleaming vault.  Metal shards rained down around him as his drills sank further and further into the three foot thick door.  He figured at this rate, they would be back at headquarters in plenty of time to catch most of the “Lost In Space” marathon on cable.

Drillbit could tell by the change in vibration that he was inches from punching through the vault door.  Digging in for the final assault, he heard a commotion and turned to look back into the lobby.

Damn. It looked like he was going to miss that marathon after all.

Cops in riot gear swarmed the bank.  The Doctor was face down on the floor with a cop’s knee in his back.  Two more cops had their guns trained on the Doctor’s head.

If he had shoulders, Drillbit would have shrugged. Their guns couldn’t hurt him.  He’d just continue drilling into the vault, grab some bags of cash, then plow through those cops and stroll out the front door.  He was about to return to his work when he felt a tap on his right side.  Looking down, he saw a female officer grinning up at him.

“Give it up bolt-bag,” she said as she waived her high-powered taser in his face.

Drillbit was about to show her what this “bolt-bag” could do to a human skull, when she pulled the trigger and released 100,000 volts into his metal hide.

The last thought to flash through his circuits before they fried to a crisp was that subway construction might not have been such a bad career choice after all.

Crime doesn’t pay, y’all.  Just ask poor Drillbit.

This one turned out a bit sillier than I intended. And no one died. My muse is getting soft.

If you’d like to see pictures of my previous paper robot pals and read their stories, please visit my Robot-A-Month page.

jackpot

The pan-galactic pleasure cruiser, Andromeda Dream, had just buzzed by Alpha Centauri when Muriel decided to try her luck in the casino. She normally wasn’t the gambling type, but the champagne cocktail they served on the observation deck left her feeling a bit adventurous. Besides, Hal would have enjoyed the casino and she intended to keep her promise to live life for the both of them.

Muriel stood at the entrance to the Shooting Star Casino overwhelmed by all the flashing multi-colored lights and the competing melodies and chimes from the electronic games. The walls were covered in dark wood and the plush carpet featured a swirling design in blues and greens. The burnished brass ceiling tiles reflected the whole scene and gave the room a golden glow. She wondered if her simple yellow dress and orthopedic sandals were too casual for such a place, but she fluffed her gray hair with her fingers and forged ahead.

A pretty waitress with a dazzling smile offered another champagne cocktail which Muriel gratefully accepted. As she sipped her drink, she circled the room, searching for an entertaining way to lose a few bucks. She knew the rules to blackjack, but the thought of playing with a table full of strangers intimidated Muriel. She’d only ever played cards with Hal. She also knew how to operate a few of the electronic games, but she was overwhelmed by row upon row of blinking, chiming machines.

“May I be of assistance?”

Muriel turned toward the deep, soothing voice, relieved that one of the porters had sensed her distress and was coming to her aid. But when she looked around, she didn’t see a smooth-faced youth in a burgundy uniform. Before her stood a blue robot with a large square head and rectangular body. His mouth was a glowing white bar and the yellow bulbs of his eyes were set within a red housing, giving him a startled expression which belied his calm voice.

“Oh. Hello.” Muriel managed to reply after her initial shock.

“You appear hesitant,” said the robot. “It is my pleasure to assist you or answer any questions you may have.”

The cocktail probably helped, but Muriel found herself liking this robot. His formal speech was charming and she always did love the color blue. “I have no real experience with casinos,” she said. “I have no idea where to begin.”

A door slid open on the robot’s body revealing three spinning panels common in old-fashioned slot machines. Pictures of stars and planets and rockets rotated in and out of sight. “Are you familiar with the rules of this type of game?”

“Yes,” said Muriel. “But I haven’t seen one in ages.”

“If you like, you could try your luck with me. There is no prize, however the outcome will determine where in the casino you venture first. ”

Muriel smiled. A game to decide which game to play. How wonderful! “I would like that very much, thank you,” she said.

“It is my pleasure.”

Muriel knew his responses were programmed, however his lovely deep voice made him sound genuinely pleased. For the first time since she boarded the ship alone two days ago, she felt at ease.

“All you must do,” said the robot, “is say the word ‘stop’ and this will pause the tumblers. Whenever you are ready, you may say the word.”

“Okay,” she said as she set her empty cocktail glass on a nearby table. She then walked up to the robot, closer than she was before, and clasped her hands to her chest. The panels spun round and round and she knew it was impossible to try to anticipate which picture would be shown.  After a short pause she said, “Stop.”

One by one, three red rocket ships settled into place across the front of the robot. Muriel knew that if this were a real slot machine, she would have hit the jackpot.

“Congratulations,” said the robot. “You have selected the Ruby Rocket game. It is quite simple to learn and has statistically some of the most lucrative payouts in the whole casino.”

Muriel clapped her hands and laughed. “That sounds wonderful!” she said. “Will you show me where it is and get me started?”

“Of course,” said the robot in that low, soothing voice of his. “And if you find that the Ruby Rocket is unsatisfactory, I could show you one of several other games that you may enjoy.”

The robot walked down the aisle of games and Muriel followed. “Oh, my Hal would have loved this,” she said as she took in all the excitement blinking and buzzing around her. “He was always doing fun things. Even joined a barbershop quartet once.” Without realizing, she had wrapped her hand around the robot’s metal arm, allowing him to lead her like an old friend. “He was a baritone,” she whispered with a smile.

Don’t adjust your browser. You’re at the right place. I know it’s hard to tell since no one died and nothing exploded. I am capable of writing stories with happy endings. I just don’t do it often. I suppose the few days I just spent at the beach with all the red wine I could drink put me in a good mood.  Don’t get used to it.

If you’d like to know what all this is about, please visit my Robot-A-Month page.

 

don’t panic

A slab of plaster broke free from the ceiling and crashed to the floor behind us after another explosion rocked the building.  The Professor and I scrambled down the hallway, dodging falling debris and climbing over toppled furniture.  The air was thick with dust, but through a broken window I could see black rocks, some the size of Mini Coopers, falling from the sky, slamming into the south wing of the building and the surrounding grounds.  Insanely, I found myself trying to remember if they were called meteors or meteorites once they hit the planet.  Then, after an impact tremor almost knocked me off my feet, all I could think about was keeping up with the Professor.

We reached the end of the hall and half fell, half ran down the emergency stairwell to the garage level.  From there we felt our way through the dust and smoke until we came to the fortified bunker that housed some of the Professor’s larger experiments.  After heaving the thick metal door closed behind me, the sounds of explosions were muffled, but I could still feel the vibrations through the floor and walls.  Thankfully, the emergency generators were running, so the lab lights were working, although the assault outside caused them to flicker.

“Sarah, help me with this!”The professor was struggling with a tarp of some kind on the other side of the immense lab.

I ran over to him and helped pull the tarp off what was revealed to be a robot of all things.  It had a square body with arms and legs and a wide, rectangular head with two small bulbs for eyes.  “What does this do?” I asked him.

“I designed this robot to emit ultra-sonic frequencies,” said the professor as he pushed a few buttons on the robot’s front panel. “The right frequency aimed at the meteors could disintegrate them before they hit the ground.” He turned to me and grabbed my shoulder. His white hair was tinted brown with dust, making him appear years younger. “I told those bastards in D.C. that this was coming, but they didn’t listen to me.”

A particularly large meteorite (that’s what they’re called after they hit the ground, I’d remembered) must have landed nearly on top of us, because the whole lab shifted two feet to my left.  The lights flashed and dust sifted down from the ceiling. I was thrown against a nearby desk which I clutched like a life raft.  “Professor?”

His head popped into view from behind the robot’s right shoulder.  “I’ve got him all warmed up.  All I have to do is push this red button and he’ll calibrate the frequency needed to blast the meteors into sand.” He pushed the button and stepped out from behind the robot.

The robot’s eyes glowed bright blue and a screen across its front flashed with indicator bars of different colors.  What they meant was beyond me.  Then the metal beast fell over, flat on what could be considered its face.  The Professor and I stood over the prone robot and watched, stunned, as its head and legs retreated within the body like a mechanical turtle.  All its lights and indicators then switched off and the machine just lay there, dark and silent.

I turned to the Professor for some sort of explanation, but he only scratched his head, dust falling from his hair.  I stepped closer to the robot and tried to ignore the lab trembling around me.  From this new angle, I could see two words printed below a large red square on the robot’s back.

PANIC BUTTON.

This month’s robot does a trick. He really does open up so his head and legs get stored within his body.  How cute is that? Well, not cute if you want him to save the world and all he does is panic, but we’ll ignore that for now.

If you’d like to read about my robots from previous months or just learn what the heck this is all about, please visit my Robot A Month 2012 page.

trigger-happy

Presidents of the two warring factions sat opposite each other at a metal table, their armies at attention on the cratered, shell-ravaged field surrounding them. This was an uneasy truce, but one necessitated by exhausted resources and pressure from legions of widows and childless mothers.

General Xod stood a few paces behind President Stants, trying to ignore the tight, starched collar of his dress uniform.  He turned to his Lieutenant, Combat Protocol Droid 008.  “Looks like this bloody mess is finally at an end, Ocho.”

The droid didn’t reply, its single optical sensor was scanning the enemy, President Cahn, as he read the peace treaty holographically projected on the table. Security Status Alpha was still in effect, so the droid remained on high alert, its twin .50 caliber shoulder-mount machine guns locked and loaded.

The General lifted his chin to stretch his neck when a large fly buzzed his ear and he reflexively swatted it away.  He watched as the blue-black insect circled the air in front of him then flew straight for the table, hovering a moment before landing just inches from where President Stants rested his elbow.

President Cahn also saw the fly and slowly raised one gloved hand, then slammed it down on the table to dispatch the creature.

Realizing how this sudden action could be perceived by the droid, the General yelled, “Ocho, stand down!”

But it was too late.

The droid let loose with both barrels, effectively vaporizing President Cahn from the waist up.

President Stants remained seated, too shocked to even wipe away the blood splattered across his face, while the armies on both sides of the field readied their weapons and opened fire.

As General Xod unbuttoned his collar and drew his sidearm, he snarled at the droid, “If I get out of this alive, I swear I’m turning you into a toaster!”

Poor, Ocho.  Old programming is hard to break, I suppose.

Bonus points if you can identify the three thinly-veiled references to popular sci-fi movies and one vague reference to a tv show. (Hint: I used some creative spelling.)

You can see my robots for January and February by going to my Robot-A-Month page.

heartbreaker

Simon disconnected a cable from the main port on the front panel of the robot and cracked his knuckles.  Taking a step back, he whispered, “Okay, E.R.O.S., let’s see what you’ve learned.”

The sleek, rectangular head turned in the direction of Simon’s voice.

“Do you know what you are?” asked Simon.

Green eyes pulsed and glowed while a monotone voice replied, “Excellent Robot of Seduction.”

“Correct,” said Simon.  “And do you know why I’ve built you?”

“To impress your girlfriend, Wendy,” said E.R.O.S.

“Right again!” Simon grinned.  “And what are you going to do when I bring Wendy here to see you?”

E.R.O.S. rolled over to the counter and lifted a heart-shaped box of chocolates with one clamp-like appendage and a tissue wrapped bunch of roses with the other.  It then rolled back to Simon and recited in its flat, robotic voice, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day. Thou art more lovely and more temperate.”

Simon clapped his hands and laughed.  “Perfect! Now, you stay here in the lab and I’ll be back in a couple hours with Wendy.” He walked to the door and turned out the lights before locking the lab up tight.

E.R.O.S. deposited the chocolates and flowers back on the counter and was preparing to power down when a sound caught its attention.  It rolled over to the desk where a small clock radio had been left on.

“That was ‘Love is a Battlefield’ by the one and only Pat Benatar.  Okay all you bitter bastards out there, let’s continue our Valentine’s Day boycott with the classic by Nazareth, ‘Love Hurts.’”

A raspy, male voice bellowed from the tiny speakers, accompanied by guitars and a steady drum beat.  E.R.O.S. switched on its recording device and multicolored lights blinked on its front panel in tune with the music.  Words scrolled across its display screen in red: ACQUIRING NEW PROGRAMMING . . .

Personally, I’d rather have a robot that recited classic rock lyrics instead of Shakespearean sonnets.  I’d still like the chocolate, however.

If you’re just tuning in, I am the proud owner of a Fold Your Own Robot 2012 calendar and on the first of each month I will post a picture and a little story starring my new robot friend.  You can check out January’s robot here.

And, yes, that is an old boat prop there in the background of the photo. My decorating style is “junkyard chic.”