Metallic Genealogy

"Of course you realize I can't just turn it on and off," Fanzer bragged to an innocent young rose bush; as a tiny gust of wind blew by, the plant bobbed it's leaves in nodding recognition. "I mean, I have to be almost in a trance before I can work myself up enough to actually kill a person just by talking.

"It's a high sophisticated Program, you see," he continued, and went on to describe just how the robots hid amongst the common people, destroyed the planet daily and reconstructed it again and again with an array of highly toxic, and expensive, chemicals. "...And that's only the half of it...!"

Before he could say another word, several of the rose's buds began to drop off one by one, and after another instant the whole plant had crumpled to the ground.

Looking around, Fanzer discovered all of the plants in his immediate vicinity were also dead, transformed into ashes; he cupped his hands over his mouth, and stood very still.

Suddenly, an idea struck him.

"I'll type up a pamphlet," he said aloud, and promptly a bird dropped from the sky, landing dead at his feet. Upon closer examination, he found the creature to be frozen solid.

The bird was a Fwoadler-Gint, first introduced to various parts of the Tritex galaxy several hundred years ago. Fanzer didn't really know much about the bird, other than it was quite rare and only a few of them still existed in the known universe.

He stuffed the feathered rock into his pocket, intending to ask someone about it later on -- provided, of course, he could find a means of communication not so lethal.

///

"Polyhedron-I," the speaker crackled. "From the transmitted data, Doctor Cadow has discovered a misalignment in your prerogative."

The unseen figure, positioned inside the small vehicle, pushed a blinking button. "Yes, ma'am," he said. "I have just discovered a more deadly anomaly. He..."

"Unnecessary, Polyhedron-I. Return to subject. We'll notify you when you are needed."

“But...ma’am…”

There was a sudden loud percussive sound through the speaker. It was loud enough to make the little, unshaven and sweaty man, known to very few except for those in the company as Polyhedron-I, shriek aloud. This was followed by a change in the quality of the tone of the faceless voice, from that of a distant, high-pitched one to a more muted and deeper tone. It was as though the speaker were trying to talk into Polyhedron’s ear through the microphone.

“Listen to me very carefully,” the woman said, in a loud whisper. “Just because you are the second cousin, twice-removed of Doctor Cadow’s favorite niece, doesn’t mean I can’t send out a second agent to murder you and proceed with the task at hand."

“I completely agree and understand that,” Polyhedron-I mewled. “And it’s not like I’m expecting any special favor…”

“Follow, huh, are you listening, dum dum?”

Polyhedron-I nodded.

“I going to need a verbal response if you're just bobbing your head around like a mindless idiot.”

“Sorry,” the man said, and then responded affirmatively to the first question.

“Follow the subject and make no deviations from this order...or, you know, else.”

“Understood….ma’am.” The dark figure slammed his hand down on the panel ending the communication link, and started up his electric car.

"And what if he tries to talk to someone else!" he mumbled under his breath.

The Three-wheeled machine silently moved across the public garden, over the now brown grass, following closely behind the Program-spouting Fanzer Stip.

///

The olive-colored man stumbled into the printing shop, which boasted the odd moniker, Bradink's Print and Tar Ball, and announced his presence by continuously ringing the small, greasy bell on the counter.

The shop was small, consisting of only a counter, a massive printer which took up most of the room, a small table on top of which sat an electric-ion typewriter, and a wooden office chair. The walls and furnishings, though once probably white, were stained with black sooty streaks and the entire shop smelled of old grease.

A man, whom Fanzer assumed to be Bradink, appeared from the back room, grabbed the bell from atop the counter, and tossed it over his shoulder. He appeared agitated and resentful of the interruption.

Fanzer waved a hand over his mouth, and pointed to the typewriter.

"That'll be two Halligog a stroke," Bradink said, chewing continuously on something of indeterminable origin. "And an extra five if you want to 'carriage return'." The man wore a stained white shirt. His hair was greasy, and his teeth brown in spots. He also seemed to be scratching himself more than was normal for even a poorly groomed person.

"That's outrageous," Fanzer almost said. “I could practically buy a small printer of my own for that price!” he continued almost saying. Rather, though, he sat down at the machine with a sour look of resignation on his face. It didn't seem that he had a choice. Fate had turned his voice into a killing machine. Fate had also placed him nearby this print shop. Therefore, as per Universal Law, to pay these exorbitant prices was his destiny.

Fanzer hoped that Fate was smarter than this first impression.

"In advance!"

Fanzer shrugged his shoulders.

Bradink sighed, and rolled his eyes. He then began to speak to Fanzer as though he were a small, annoying child. "Write out what you want printed first, then I'll know what to charge you. Blandiss! Is there something wrong with your brain?!" The man came around and handed Fanzer a piece of paper and a pencil.

Fanzer winced. This man was even more disagreeable than first assumed. Also, he had an even more disagreeable odor about him which hadn't been quite as apparent when the man stood behind the counter.

Fanzer wondered how this shop even stayed in business with such practices and proprietors.

He pointed to the type-writer in front of him, and moved his fingers around as if he were typing.

"It's my shop...so I get to type." And then the man added. "I like to type." At this, he smiled almost evilly, or at least it was in a way which Fanzer approximated evil beings would make their faces behave should they have a happy moment in their lives. The only real evil example he had ever encountered in his life was the robot known as Eggensotz, and that thing had an unchangeable face, devoid of alternating facial expressions.

Fanzer looked at the chair he was sitting on.

"Well," the man said, angrily. "Get out of it."

Fanzer did so, and Bradink quickly sat down and cracked his knuckles in preparation.

///

"...Ingeniously sloshed together." The man said, as he simultaneously clacked at the keys. "Is there anything else?"

Fanzer nodded excitedly. "I almost forgot about the part..."

This was all he was able to say before the man behind the type-writer burst into flames.