Monday, February 7, 2011

Sanur 8, Poor RecordO

And so…
As far as your story:  Free Me delivered Liyane, who was found by Captain Jeremie, who was undermined by San’ur Crush, who has recaptured her again.
Jeremie set a cleared vial back onto the work table.  Not a silver one anymore.  Glass, which reflected the dull shadow of all his hunting trophies in the machine’s red light.
“That’s exact.  Oh, and here’s another one to whisper, RecordO:  Not mine this time, straight from the Imperial Court.  Emperor Crush's salt lick ring is the closest he's been to getting an heir, and for a good reason... wait, I can't post that?"
Jeremie now reached for another tool without looking, worked fingers down a line of small spanners and picked the next to smallest.  Then, back to the bloodied gadget making a constant slip of Biotech Blood onto a canvas floor mat.
Galactic Tweet recorded.  …Multitasking…
"Heheh, oops."  Jeremie whistled in the interim.
And so…
As far as your ambition:  Emperor San’ur Crush had overturned the Senate, which was re-stocked by Ungulate sympathizers, who scattered the Hunters, who are now sitting positioned directly at the Imperial Underground, on Planet Wyle.
He wiped nose on his sleeve.  Smiled hard because it was burning.  “Eyup.”
“I’m ten moves ahead of you RecordO.  And several ahead of him too.  Give me more time to catch you up.”
You have omitted events, names and purposes.  Please, explain.  The program is ready.
The clog of oily machine parts in Jeremie’s hand sparked red lightning and he had to drop it.  Eyes wide, still grimacing, “Free Me, I’m just not done with you yet.  Ugh, do you see her?  Do you see how she is, RecordO?”
RecordO repeated herself.  Probably, because it was a She too.  A long time ago, someone figured out that Bio Tech sold better, with a woman’s voice.  “You’ve a hunger to be possessed, don’t you machine?  And I want to just take you and… haha… fantastic.  Come here Free Me.  RecordO, restart.
New thoughts now accepted.  3…2…1…
“Women.  In targeting a woman from his past—our past—I’ve learned that the Emperor has a weakness.  Crush has taken power because he wants revenge, which means he is having existential problems.  He lacks the ability to comfort himself.”
“I didn’t ask for my own psychological check-up, RecordO.  I’m just observing, aloud, where Crush is.”
Musings are not memories.  Forecasts and dreaming involve the other side of the brain. New thoughts now accepted.  3…2…1…
“I’m forced to begin again.  Dear, beloved Hunter Rebels.  The beast is nesting.  But, no matter whether Emperor San’ur Crush thinks he’s won, we aren’t done hunting him yet.  We Hunters have survived.  We’re moving downwind of him.  I plan to creep closer than the rest, and when there is a good enough shot, I am going to take it.  You’d all better be ready to move with me.  RecordO, emphasize that we’ve removed the emperor’s puppet Senators in the same way he got them to turn on us, with bait.”
Too many hunting allusions.  Clarify.  New thoughts now accepted.  3…2…1…
Jeremie sat there for a time, feeling the wire plugged into the base of his skull.  Yes, there was a soreness, where metal clicked into bone.  And an old wound.  Extraordinary, how warm his blood felt in contrast to the cold Biotech Blood.  He could smell it in all the reds in this same room.  Pungent, copper, inky wild, teeth-slicing color.  Far at the back of his teeth, like when the toothbrush pricked and one’s tongue lapped it up again.
“Dear Hunters.  I remember that, when I was resurrected, you charged me with leading you out of the extremities of our humanitarian failures.  So many instances have passed, all recorded here.  Our near to final moment comes after your fearless leader has been inspired, or frightened, into pushing his strategic skill so far with the help of WhiteBlank.  More Senate elections will happen tomorrow.  We will be voted back in.  Then, Crush, distracted with his past, will find himself suddenly faced down by that same object of desire, and she will pull the gun on him that I will provide. 
False.  It is strategically unsound for you to infiltrate the palace at this time.  New thoughts now accepted...
Jeremie yawned, reached back behind his head and shut the machine off.  “You’re just an over-blown external hard drive anyway, RecordO.  What did I say?”
But who was he talking to?
“I’m ten steps ahead of everyone.  The WhiteBlank planted at our base will be the same weapon turned on Emperor Crush to destroy him.  Yes.  Get the Hunters convicted of dealing in narcotics, or starve them and get them addicted… But what do I have to be ashamed of, my pearl goddess?” And this was the color of RecordO’s chassis, a milky red that resembled a bloodshot eye, at the machines soft corners. 
Then, there was a knock on the door, and Captain Jeremie scrambled to hide the emptied vial of WhiteBlank, its spilt contents, and then wipe Biotech Blood about his neck as if it were cologne.
RecordO was coveted technology.  So then, of course the Imperial Ungulati had been using it as well.  Crush had a glass of green wine, and no table or paper before him, as he listened to their memories.
“Feast on all those who oppose you.  Get fat, build bulk for the winter.  Rub your antlers against their trees, clean the velvet away after Spring time, reveal yourself.  Be so pointed, show no mercy…”
“Does it go on?” Crush complained.
His advisor, a half-deer named Thain said, “This would have been your ancestor.  Grand… Uncle… An uncle?”
Crush flitted fingers through the air, then scratched the back of his neck.
“In times as these, it’s perfect to have your thoughts put down as well, Emperor.  You could guide future generations.”
“How would I guide more Ungulati if I’m the last one and there are no heirs in sight?”
“Well, I suppose it would be a half-ungulate.”
“Half of half of an ungulate isn’t even deer race at all.  Not according to any laws I know.  And have already broken.”
“Perhaps you could—”
“The legend goes, that I can make a mate out of someone worthy.”
“But, Majesty, that may just be a lyrical transliteration.”
“Would you like to call me a liar, or stupid?  Go on, prevent me from making this any worse.  It’s as if a tabloid sneaked into every single device in this galaxy and vomited black gut rumors about me, that people do worse than believe.  They laugh at it all.”
“There is no status on who created what must be a virus, yet, Deer Perfection.”
Crush sipped green wine.  “Thain, you won’t be honest with me.  If I could get some machine to do it, don’t you think I would?  I can’t use you anymore.  Tomorrow, send your replacement to this office.”
Crush now sipped wine alone.  He thought.  Advisor Thain had begged that he at least try to plug it in.  Why not?
--You know why not.
My body.  I decide.
--We’ll see how far you get, then.
Now, Crush stood before a mirror.  He could never get too close to them, because of his antlers.  It forced a spaced between himself and anyone, he’d learned.  The thin plug uncoiled itself as his blood pumped down, slackened it, then into the nearest machine, a top-of-the-line version, that resembled a blushing armoire.  Several more lined the walls of the Imperial Family Library, a very useful inheritance.
“The Hunters are gaining a majority in the Senate.  It should have never happened.  And then it’s all going peaceably, the people are completely won over by it, because of those damned rumors—stop recording.”
RecordO has stopped.  Have you a new wish, Holy One?
How subservient this version sounded.  “I need answers… to… I don’t know.  I’m not sure how much knowledge or what kind you really have?”
A psychological check can be performed.  Your perception of events, that are presently clouding your ability to resolve this political crisis, can be compared against an exemplar. 
“Who, exactly?”
A blood ancestor, with close personality traits, biology, and behavioral pattern is recommended for an accurate assessment.  Or, a template from RecordO’s factory setting may be used.
Crush tilted head one way, and then the other, seeing the coins and ribbons on is antlers drift. 
“A template then.”
--What are you afraid of?  Go for it?  Do you think that We’ll hurt you?
What is your wish?
Crush patted palm against a ringing in his ears.  “I was thinking that, we were estranged so… I am a distant relation to the royal family.  You might find some gap in the genetic make up.  But a template… what could would that do?” he massaged his temples, “I need an answer from some in-bred imperial beast who knows the reach of this royal seat back and front.  Run the test, look for any genetic connection.  Even a whisper of one would do.”
Processing… Error:  Please maintenance RecordO.  No genetic relationship found.  No comparison can be made.
--You hoped it would be different.
“Search for…” Crush’s shadowed topaz eyes wandered over the candle light coming beneath the door, from the next room.  Steady, no movement.  “Human-Ungulate Imuno Deficiency… there’s a genetic marker for something like that, at least there should be, unless I’ve been living in the middle of some nightmare these last few months.”
Connection found.  4,678 results. 
“Deer are disgusting.”
--No, you are disgusting.  Go on, and ask it for us.
“Try the first male result, my age, height, childhood, whatever… Ask it:  How do I defeat, who were once my friends?”
RecordO took her time.  Become so that they can no longer know you.  If they will not quit their love of you.
Crush reached to pull out the plug, but it singed him.  He leaned on the back of his chair, hastened, hand over hand, to walk himself around its front, to sit again, but his antlers were suddenly too heavy.  He fell in, then the pain made him kneel, forced him out of his throne again.
“And, what if, I am like they are, and I can’t quit my loving?  That I’d use myself raw for ambition, until I became corrupted and diseased?  That exact easy-bought man-whore the people seem pleased, to believe me to be?”
False.  When an existential assessment is being performed, it is strategically unsound for you to submit an honest memory of yourself at this time.
Crush glared up at the glowing rose lights.  A man down on all fours.  Antlers raised, heated breath passed over the extremes of his turned mouth.  He cussed, he yelled wild, and launched several points of his white crown directly into RecordO, blasting her to dazzling shards.
Her Biotech blood was still darker, more rich and suffering than his own.  Something else would have to be done, there was a threat out there lingering.  Crush felt himself exposed, in the middle of a clearing.
Next:  State of the Galaxy Address meets Maury Povich-style shennanigans

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So nice of you to get Randitty today. Hope your read was a good one!