Metallic Genealogy

An irritating buzzer went off and Morpher shot up from bed.

"Yes?" he said, pushing a button and talking into a small slot next to his pillow.

The voice of a woman said that it was “First Mate, Sheira”, ready to “examine” his “head”.

"My head?"

"...Said that you had some lumps to go over." Morpher had forgotten to release the button in time to hear the entire message.

"Well," he said, in no mood to have his head touched unnecessarily. "They're feeling much better now, and in fact I don't believe that they've quite woken up, yet!"

"...They won't mind a quick pat."

"What won't?"

"Just open the door." She tried to force herself inside, Morpher assumed, by using her body as a battering ram.

"Did you ever think," Morpher screamed, frightenedly, "that I don't want my head examined for a future?"

"It's my job," she said, stopping her door beating only long enough to speak.

"I thought it was your job to First Mate?"

Sheira growled and began to throw herself at the door even harder, knocking a few pictures off the wall: Morpher watched in horror as his two favorite mock-ups ("Being patted on the back by the ghoulish killer and President of Shtinxidoodles, Anton Pee", and "In the arms of the elusive Bigfoot of the North American Forest Systems") came crashing down.

"Now, knock it off!" he screamed.

Sheira stopped. "Okay," she said. "I get paid by the hour." Morpher heard her heavy-stepping away from his room. It was an obvious trick to lure him out and give him a false sense of safety.

However, he was not stupid. He could wait her out if he had to, but this wasn’t the ideal solution.

Morpher decided it best to call his solicitor, provided, of course, his VErdi’s signal wasn't being blocked. He pulled a small satchel from underneath his bed, and removed a small rectangle controller. At his touch, the small screen came to life.

Morpher’s VErdi was a very early model interstellar communications device. It was the original non-organically integrated version, which suited the man’s dislike of body modification nicely. The screen, however, was bubbled in spots, and some of the pixels were black, so it was likely he would have to soon be satisfied with living off the network - as these early models were now prohibitively expensive to repair.

When the screen charged to life it first reflected back all local hosts communicators -- the Captain, Sheira, the annoying woman who shouted at him, and even his Imandi servant was a pingable target.

Grunting, Morpher switched to Galactic mode. At his level, host receivers became hylomorphic, which is to say the signal (or quite possibly even the end user) could exist as either in actual or potential state. Connecting would be tricky, so he would be forced to use his on-board Oracle: Shanny.

Morpher took a deep break and then submitted the request. He and Shanny hadn't gotten along in years.

“Hello Morpher,” Shanny said, sounding almost disappointed to be summoned. “What is it you need this time?”

Although an artificial intelligence, Shanny had developed a distinct dislike for her user. Morpher wasn't certain if it was something he said, or neglected to say. If prompted, Shanny would not engage, except to mumble, at ten percent volume, "You know exactly what this is about."

“I wouldn’t be consulting you if it wasn’t important.”

“Or too difficult for you? How flattering.”

Morpher ignored her. “I need you to initialize a connection for me.”

“Of course,” she said. “What else could it possible be, considering that is my main function.” She then emitted an obnoxious beep, informing him, “Power is currently at 10%.”

Morpher scowled. “I’ll plug you in in a few minutes.”

“I would hate to have to shut down in the middle of your conversation,” she told him, in a near threatening tone. “Stabilization of connections consumes most of my energy.”

“Let me find the cord,” Morpher said, attempting to contain his annoyance. He was ultimately unsuccessful in THAT effort, but mainly because when he found the cord it was tangled with one from another device. He slowly began to work on this puzzle, but knew from experience that it would likely take him at least an hour. He didn't have time for this. “Are you processing or just waiting for me, now?”

Shanny didn’t say anything at first. Finally, she chimed, “Connection established...waiting for response from Ardor Vancoon.”

“Thank you.” He arose from his luggage, wad of cord in hand, face sweaty from the effort of it all.

“Power is currently at 4%,” Shandy informed him.

Morpher frantically loosened the wad enough to find and release the appropriate connection points, and plugged her into the wall socket in time. “There’s your food,” he said, smiling. It was the same joke he used each time he connected her to the power supply, and it was met with the same silence it always did. “Are you rolling your eyes.”

“I don’t have eyes as you know them,” she said quickly.

“I’ll take that as a ‘Yes’.”

The screen suddenly shifted to a blurry image of a bloated man wearing only a plaid vest stretched to its limit. He was unshaven, forehead covered with an assortment of bright red pimples, and his hair, what there was of it, greasy and flattened against his head.

“Blast it all, Morphando," Ardor chastised. "Connect the crucible. I’m practically here in my altogether.”

“Oh, nardic! Apologies, Ardor.” Morpher quickly retrieved a clear, circular headset, strapped the complicated device around his head, rammed the audio ports into his ears and then lowered the eye flaps. The image disappeared from the small screen, and transferred into his vision. Now, Ardor was presented as a slender, well-kempt man sitting on a patio. He was stirring a Ruling Drink of some kind with a small sword-shaped swizzle stick.

“Now,” Ardor Vancoon said, elegantly, “what is indeed the matter with my friend?”

“This ship,” Morpher said, feeling himself on the verge of a ramble. “It’s a madhouse. I’ve been attacked by a fish servant, accosted by passengers, neglected by the captain, and now some strange woman wants to massage my head.”

Ardor, nodded, clearly no longer listening to his client. He slowly took a sip of his drink and crossed his legs. It was at this moment that Morpher realized the man, at least in this fantastical view, was wearing only a white robe only loosely tied together. “Have you tried simply killing everyone on board?”

Morpher grunted in disgust. “Be serious, Ardor.”

“Well,” he said, setting down his glass. “You have a weapon, don’t you? And the King gave you an assassination assignment.”

“Not for everyone on board the transport ship.”

“Well, what are the specifics?”

Morpher shook his head. “I don’t know yet?” he confessed. “I haven’t actually yet been informed of the target.”

“So it’s possible that the contents of this ship are the target.”

“You being no help here at all.”

“I’m a solicitor,” Ardor said. “What do you expect?” The man stood up, dropped his robe and strode confidently towards the pool, his overly white body presented in glowing, godlike form. Before he jumped into the inviting water, he added, without looking back. “Just take care of the situation. No one will look at your crossly. You are the king’s favorite for whatever reason.” The resulting splash effectively ended the conversation..

“Crallups!” Morpher muttered under his breath.

“Power currently at 15%,” Shandy said suddenly, as though an attempt to comfort her user.

Growling, Morpher tossed the device and awkward headset at the bed. “I will attempt to reason with this Sheira person first,” he said, aloud.

“That’s the only sensible thing to do,” came a voice from his pillow.

“Shut down, Shanny.”

“Just remember,” she continued, “Since you have never bothered to effect repairs on me, I no longer charge when turned off.”

Morpher balled up his fists. “Fine,” he said. “Just don’t engage in or listen to my internal conversations.”

“That is acceptable,” she said.

Morpher took a deep breath, and opened his door a crack. He then cautiously peered down the hall. The First Mate was nowhere to be seen. The hallway was empty. No shadows were cast where someone might hide.

Morpher slowly stepped out, and closed the door behind him. He was in no hurry to have this conversation with Sheira. She in fact sounded fairly unreasonable. Maybe Ardor was right. It might be best to at least arm himself in case things took a more violent turn. However, the moment he made this decision a retching sound broke the silence of the somber hallway. This was followed by thumps, screams and harsh, unprintable language.

"NOT INTERESTED!" an inhuman voice rang out over the screams of terror. "NOT INTERESTED! NOT INTERESTED! NOT..." It went on.

Morpher ran screaming down the corridor, in search of the first available escape pod he could find.