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Metallic Genealogy

Book One: A Faint Glimmer of Metal

by Stuart Bedlam

Chapter 21 Fanzer

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"We've got to quiet him down," Jeorgie said, looking towards the back of the car. There was an almost constant thumping coming from the trunk. She began to unconsciously grind her teeth.

Fanzer shrugged. He didn't know what was going on and he wasn't sure he wanted to find out. How much simpler the world used to be, he thought to himself, when he could simply transform people into sticky puddles of goo with the mere reverberation of his words.

Behind a simple, though electrically charged, viewing fence, they were overlooking a vast space port. Hundreds of bland and undecorated buildings jutted from the ground as though products of the patient drippings of a calciferous fluid. The only features to identify it as a hub of galaxy-wide travel were the numerous spacecraft. These were of every variety: Fanzer spotted a single-engine Venital Broggert and even a Fevally Brungeon Cruiser sitting alongside the general stock of tan-colored and boxy government transports. Fanzer stared at them wistfully remembering the times before Eggensotz when his father would take him to watch spaceships lift off and burn into the atmosphere.

"We can't very well steal a ship if they know that we're here!" she growled. Jeorgie appeared to be talking to herself rather than to the olive-colored man sitting next to her.

Fanzer shook his head. "Why are we going to steal a ship? Aren't there enough robots on this planet to destroy?"

"Our pamphlets have planted the seed of hatred in the minds of the people. Now we've got to go see someone I know, to rid the entire universe of their kind!"

"What person?"

"None of your business!"

"Isn't it my business?" Fanzer assumed that even if he had little say in the formation of this club that at least some of it should be his business. He took a deep breath and attempted to take a stand on this issue. “I really think that as a founding member that this should be my business. Don't you think?”

By the time he arrived at this final question his voice had turned piteous and diminutive.

"No," she said. "I don't believe it is."

Fanzer sat deeper into his seat, melting as if to hide himself inside the cushions. It was a form of pouting he had perfected as a child, and was the only such form of fulmination on Eggensotz's approval list. Protestation without presentation, the crazed robot had called it. "Well, what are we going to do with that man?"

Jeorgie turned around and punched Fanzer in the side of the head, knocking him unconscious. "That'll do for now," she said.

Emanating from the trunk of the car, fitful high-pitched cries added to the constant and baleful banging of a person begging to be set free.

Jeorgie growled and got out of the car. The kidnapped young man was only able to emit a sad, "Happy Cransfeldt?" ** before Jeorgie's left fist made him involuntarily drowsy.

She then calmly closed the trunk, and smiled as she climbed over the fence to the storehouse of flying ships.


** Cransfeldt: Considered by almost all religious groups an abomination of spirit and an utter destruction of the divine, this holiday found its origins in the very womb which rejected it. After years of dealing with a complicated system of matching Holy days to employees of the correct religious persuasion, the system devolved into one in which every employee, regardless of actual affiliation, was simply not coming to work for every religious holiday. With five major religions, this had become a huge problem. Ficklet Danjo's were suddenly celebrating the birth of Weejet, the all-knowing Lord of Zinc Major Tuttlets. Ponnicker's were bathing in the glory of Dodgery-fobnobs' ascension triton. While it had been the first time in a millennium that these groups were as accepting of each other's ideals, it was to the point where everyone on the planet was taking more than fifty paid holidays per year. Deadlines were missed, orders were not filled on time. Pressured by Business executives, the government acquiesced to combine all of these into a single, general day for observance. The resulting, Cransfeldt, named for Dooey Cransfeldt III who had pushed the bill forward, is the most hated of all days save for those with but the most passive aggressive personalities.