Metallic Genealogy

Biz-me gulped, deeply. "Me?" He looked around the room from officer to officer. "I wouldn't," he pleaded. "I couldn't. I shouldn't. I don't even know what you're talking about." He attempted to scoot away and hopefully distance himself from this tiny angry mob, sweeping the floor with added emphasis.

"Yep," Jeeps said, confirming her earlier report. "He's the one who did it. He's the one who started the whole awful business. He's the reason the robots are coming to kill us!"

Biz-me stopped his broom, and looked up at the speaker, balefully. "Why, Mr. Jeeps? Why do you say these things?" He began to cry. Not quiet, coy sniffling, either, but all-out annoying blubbers which quickly began to make everyone in the room feel a little uncomfortable.

"Don't you remember when you spilled coffee on the control board?" Jeeps asked the man, her eyebrows formed into a scolding formation.

"No."

"Of course you do. You came over to ask me how I was doing and you spilled my drink."

Biz-me brightened, and instantly returned to his former happy self. "How are you doing, by the way?"

"Well," Jeeps said, frowning. "I suppose I'm fine considering you just signed all of our death warrants."

"Oh, that's nice to hear," the janitor said, cheerfully, as though only able to interpret the tone and not their subtle sub-textual meaning. He walked away, sweeping another part of the room.

The general held up his laser pistol and fired it at the back of the janitor's head, sending bits of hair and brain flying in a thousand different directions -- all of it, however, seeming to end up on the floor.

"Let me just get that for you, general," Biz-me said, frantically mopping up his own blood before collapsing into a heap.

"Now we can get down to business," the general growled, throwing his now uncharged gun to the floor. He grabbed Jeeps by the lapels. "What can we do about this, Jeeps? Is there any way out of this alive?" He was noticeably on the verge of tears. This was normally the time when one of his visions would kick in and show him what to do and how to act. But at the moment, nothing was coming. There was only the stark, horrible reality of impending doom all around him.

"We...uh...could use your private shuttle, sir," Jeeps said, just as the monitors (Jeeps had managed to get one or two of the cameras working by tapping on the screen vigorously) showed robots murdering civilians in the most beastly ways imaginable.

"Just look at them go," Corporal Heebers sobbed. "Those poor people. And it's all that dead man's fault!" He pointed to Biz-me who had only recently stopped bleeding.

"Ah, yes. My shuttle." Quock looked around the room. "But it only seats three."

Suddenly, Corporal Heebers drew his weapon and quickly shot Sparky and the untalkative Major Flips through their heads. "In the hope," he said, wiping the tears from his eyes, "that we might carry on the fight in their honor!"