EYE CANDY - Chapter 32: Robot Palace
Le Petit Mort.
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Even before Danny reached the parking lot, he was awed by the size of Robot Palace.
People lined both sides of the road. They shouted and shook their fists and waved signs in the air.
GOD HATES ROBOTS!
ROBOTS STEAL JOBS!
HUMANS FIRST!
A contingent of cops stood between the protestors and the road. Some were human, some were robocops like Barney, big and scary. All of them were heavily armed.
Many of the protesters were more obsessed with the robocops than with Danny as he drove past them.
At last he arrived at the Palace. The exterior was all silver and gold, with long, sweeping lines. Parapets topped the metallic walls. It looked more like a castle than a palace. A castle fused with a space ship. Klieg lights shot their intense beams onto the building’s skin. The beams shifted colors, all of them transitioning together, lazily from purple to red to blue to green to white and back again.
Danny sat behind the wheel until his car brought him to a gentle halt under a high portico.
A highly-polished silver robot valet opened Danny’s door.
Danny carefully rolled the e-paper into a tube and tucked it neatly into an inner pocket of his leather jacket.
He got out of his car and the silver robot handed a ticket to him. The robot seated itself in Danny’s car and drove away, into the underground parking facility.
Danny watched it go. He turned and followed the red carpet up the stairs toward massive double doors that had to be fifty feet high.
Silver robots wearing bowties stood on either side of the long red carpet. The Palace lights gleamed on their silver bodies.
A limousine sat parked near the stairs, long and black, with a sleek nose. It looked fast.
“Whose limo is that?” Danny asked.
A nearby robot replied, “Sir, the vehicle belongs to Presidential candidate Les Grossman.”
Sure enough, a hologram graced the side of the limousine depicting Les Grossman in a blue suit and red tie. An American flag pin adorned his lapel. The hologram came to life.
“Vote Les Grossman for President, for a better tomorrow. Because hope is a memory of the future.”
“Man, that guy is everywhere.”
“Enjoy your evening, sir,” said the robot.
Inside the towering gold doors was a massive foyer populated with sofas and chairs upholstered in luscious red and burgundy and purple fabrics, all arranged into cozy sitting areas. Sounds of a piano filled the air, rising above the din of conversation.
Seated throughout the foyer were a variety of people. Some wore jeans and tee shirts. Others wore suits and ties. Still others wore tuxedos and lavish gowns, and were situated on a dais near an enormous black grand piano. A beautiful woman sat playing the piano. Bright orange hair cascaded down to her shoulders, and a silver, sequined evening gown graced her body, swooping low to reveal the delicate cleft of her buttocks. Danny walked past her. She turned her head. Between her teeth she held a long black cigarette holder. Smoke snaked upward from the tip of her cigarette. She looked at Danny with glowing red cyborg eyes. She smiled.
Danny smiled back.
The entire foyer gave the appearance of a lavish, very expensive hotel, something out of the 1920s, perhaps.
Danny wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this.
He made his way through the crowd and took a seat at the bar. Behind the bar was a long display case with row after row of shelves lined with jars of herb. Big jars, small jars. All labeled: Blueberry Trainwreck; Northern Lights; OG Kush; Headband; Romulan; Pineapple Express; Acapulco Gold; Silver Afghani; Tokyo Bubblegum; Maui Waui; Parisian Night Train; U.K. Cheese; NYC Diesel; Oaksterdam High; White Widow, and on and on. As well as an endless array of edibles: Keef Kola; Sativa Coffee; Chocolate Colorado Buddercups; 3 Rastateers; Munchy Way; and Buddafinger.
Adjacent to the bar was a restaurant awash with red and purple lights. Even on a Monday night, the restaurant looked to be at near capacity. Human and robot servers alike tended to their tables. A family of out-of-towners in t-shirts and blue jeans were taking photographs of themselves. A group of men in business suits sat pouring over digital spreadsheets. Danny spotted half a dozen movie stars.
A robot with round blue eyes and a grill for a mouth approached. “Welcome to the Palace, good sir. I am your budtender, Simnon. What can I get you?”
“Give me a shot of your best vodka.” Danny withdrew the e-paper from his pocket and unrolled it on the bar. The hologram of Candy rose up before his eyes, casting its blue light across his face.
He withdrew his gold lighter and pipe. But the pipe was empty.
Simnon set a shot glass on the bar and filled it with thick, clear liquid.
Danny drained the shot into his mouth and swallowed. It was hot and cool at the same time, and tasted of black licorice. “You sell herb here?”
“Yes, sir,” said Simnon. “Good joke.”
“Give me a pack of your best smokes. And another shot of that.”
Simnon filled a second shot glass and Danny drained it. The robot reached into a display case, withdrew a pack of cannabis cigarettes, and set it on the bar in front of Danny.
Danny tore off the cellophane and read the label. “Thai Sticks?” He withdrew one, struck his lighter, and the blue flame ignited the tip of the cigarette.
“Indeed, sir. Another shot for you?”
He exhaled. The smoke tasted sweet and spicy. “Please.”
The bartender filled a third glass and Danny drained it. He noticed a black caddy mounted to the bar. He swiveled it so it faced him, and considered the icons on the touch screen. Particularly the Love In Space.
Below was the black-and-green Bullet to the Head icon.
“Fuck it.” Danny swiped his credit card through the slot. He tapped the black-and-green icon. A black packet was dispensed onto the bar. Danny picked it up. Inside he could feel four ampules. He tore open the pouch and slid the ampules into his hand. They were filled with syrupy red liquid. “You put these in your eye?”
“No, sir,” said Simnon. “They are to be taken orally.”
“Good.” Danny held an ampule between his fingers and snapped the top off. He poured its contents into his mouth and swallowed. The red syrup tasted fruity yet bitter, like cherry cough medicine, and felt slimy on his tongue. He snapped open a second ampule and drank it. He then noticed tiny green print on the back of the empty packet. “Caution: do not take more than one ampule in any twenty-four-hour period.” Danny met the round, electric blue eyes of Simnon. “Too late now.”
“Indeed, sir. Another shot for you?”
“Why not? I could use something to get rid of the bitter cherry flavor.”
Simnon placed a fourth shot glass on the bar and poured.
Danny drained it.
Beside the black caddy he noticed a stack of flyers. He grabbed one and examined it. It showed four cyborgs with red eyes, along with their name, RED HOT CYBORG PLAYERS. It was a flyer for their show at Club C/Fe.
Candy loved their music.
Danny pulled hard on his Thai Stick and tried not to think about that. He glanced over his shoulder at the patrons standing in the bar behind him. A short guy wearing a knit cap and a jacket with a fur collar had a blue visor over his eyes. Danny had seen such a visor for sale years ago. They were sold as part of an at-home study course guaranteed to teach the art of picking up women. The visor was purported to be able to scan a woman and analyze her body language, oxidative rates, and pheromonal discharge. It was supposed to offer real-time tips and suggestions to the wearer. The guy wearing it looked like he needed the help. Probably had a lifelong complex about his height.
Danny looked over his other shoulder. A guy with a Mohawk and a host of face piercings was eyeing the guy in the visor. He’d probably be beating the piss out of visor boy by the end of the night.
The goings on of the restaurant, the bar, and the lobby moved and breathed. Danny sat on his stool and smoked his Thai Sticks, while the Bullet to the Head narcotics wended their way through his body and into his mind.
He stared at the hologram of Candy. He reached out and tried to stroke her hair. His fingers disappeared inside the hologram, and he felt nothing.
~
Danny slid off his stool and approached the front desk.
A woman behind the desk smiled. She wore a sleeveless black tuxedo jacket complete with long tails. A bowtie choker encircled her throat. The cleavage of her bare breasts tantalized from inside the jacket. A black bikini bottom cut high up on her hips. Her legs were bare, and she wore shiny black heels. Her dark hair was held neatly in place atop her head with a series of flashing pins that changed color in time with the building’s exterior spotlights.
“May I help you?”
“You certainly can,” Danny replied.
“Ooh, good answer. My name is Delilah. Welcome to Robot Palace. Is this your first time staying with us?”
Danny began to giggle. “Oui, mademoiselle.” Danny giggled again. He had no idea what he was saying, nor why he had opted to reply in French. He didn’t even speak French. Did he?
Delilah smiled. “Wonderful. You’re clearly having a good time this evening. I like a man who knows how to enjoy himself.”
“This is a real interesting place you’ve got here.”
“You haven’t seen the half of it, Mister. . . .”
“Olivaw. Daniel Olivaw.”
Delilah strutted around the end of the desk and took Danny by the arm, leading him through the lobby. “Well, Mister Daniel Olivaw, here at the Palace, we strive to take extra special care of our patrons. I will be your personal hostess, so if there is anything you want, and I do mean anything, do not hesitate to call on me.”
She opened her mouth and brushed her red painted lips lightly against Danny’s ear. “But first,” she whispered, “I need to give you a very special private tour. Will you be in need of a room this evening? We accept all major credit cards.”
Danny withdrew his wallet and handed a card to Delilah.
“And do you accept our terms of service, Mister Olivaw, and agree to hold us harmless from any and all liabilities that may arise, including but not limited to collateral damage due to smoke, fire, debris, stray bullets, dismemberment, and or death while in the arena?”
“Absolutely.”
“Wonderful.”
Delilah slid one hand inside her jacket and deposited the credit card into an inner pocket. Danny’s gaze went with it, savoring the glimpse of what he saw nestled there.
Delilah guided Danny further into the lobby. “Through those doors is the entrance to the arena. Down the opposite hallway are the elevators to the guest suites. And over there is the restaurant and bar with which you are well familiar.”
Delilah leaned close, as she was quite tall, and nuzzled Danny’s ear with her lips. “Now, if you hurry, you can catch the rest of the ongoing performance in the arena. Because this is your first time with us, I recommend our V-I-P package. This includes a private box, as well as a very special rate on one of our penthouse suites. Here at the Palace, we seek to fulfill your every desire, Mister Olivaw, whatever it might be.”
They’d reached the grand entrance to the arena. Two silver robots clad in bowties stood ready to open the doors. Delilah turned to one of them. “Escort Mister Olivaw to a Platinum box in Sector A. He’s a very distinguished guest.” She faced Danny once more. “If you need me, use the white courtesy phone. Enjoy yourself, Mister Olivaw. And welcome to the Palace.”
Delilah turned on one foot and strutted toward the front desk. The long black tails of her tuxedo fluttered as she went.
“Right this way, Mister Olivaw,” said one of the robots. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your private box.”
The other robot opened one of the doors. The first robot passed through it and into the arena.
Danny paused momentarily, long enough to knock on the robot’s forehead with his knuckles.
“Thank you, sir,” said the robot.
“You’re welcome.” Danny giggled and followed the first robot into the dimly-lit arena.
Row after row after row of seats towered before him, rising up higher than he could see, disappearing into darkness.
Spotlights illuminated a massive sand-covered pit surrounded by a wall 20 feet high. High enough to prevent escape. All else was shadow.
“Right this way, sir.”
Danny found the robot waiting for him. He followed it to a railing, then into a tunnel, wherein the robot led Danny to a door.
“Your private box, sir. You’ll find it fully stocked. Should you require anything at all, please use the white courtesy phone. Welcome to the Palace.”
The robot bowed and walked away.
Inside, all was quiet.
Danny found himself in a comfortable room. It contained a sofa and two overstuffed chairs, a television, a fireplace, a mini-bar and small half-kitchen, and a bathroom complete with a shower.
Danny flopped onto the sofa. The overhead lighting was soft and low. It would be a perfect room to have sex in.
On the wall next to him was a white telephone. Danny removed the handset from the cradle. He pressed the Call button. Delilah appeared on the handset’s touchscreen. “Yes, Mister Olivaw?”
Danny stared at the small electronic image of the woman he’d just met. He’d completely forgotten why he called.
“Mister Olivaw?”
“I completely forgot why I called.”
“Understood. Are you finding your accommodations to your liking?”
“This would be a perfect room to have sex in.”
“Astute observation, Mister Olivaw.”
“I’m thirsty.”
“I’ll send Bernard. One moment, please.”
A sharp knock sounded on the door.
Danny oozed from the sofa and onto his feet, went to the door, and opened it.
A robot stood before him. It bore a black and white robotic body, with a long silver neck and a very human-looking face. “Good evening, Mister Olivaw. I am Bernard. I am your bartender-slash-sommelier-slash-private chef.”
Danny stared into Bernard’s spongy, flesh-like face. He wanted to reach up and poke it.
“May I come in, sir?”
Danny stepped back. Bernard entered and closed the door.
Delilah’s voice sounded from the white courtesy phone Danny still held. “All set, Mister Olivaw?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Will there be anything else?”
“He’s kinda creepy.”
“Enjoy your evening. Call if you need anything.” Delilah’s image went dark.
Danny placed the phone on its wall cradle and turned to Bernard. “You’re kinda creepy.”
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate your honesty. I understand you require refreshment.”
“Yes! Refreshment. Do you know how to make a Fireball Martini?”
“Indeed, sir. But I’m afraid I lack adequate glassware to complete the pyramid, without which the delicate balance of the concoction will be off. How about a beer?”
“I guess.”
Danny explored the room while Bernard prepared his beer. He tapped a button on the wall and two glass doors retracted, revealing a private balcony with four barstools.
Directly below was the arena. Danny leaned over the side and looked down. He could see the fine texture of the dirt. He could smell the dust. He worked up a glob of saliva and spit, watching it fall to the dirt below.
A light flashed and the sound of metal on metal rang out. It echoed into the darkness of the arena, where it was swallowed by the roar of the crowd.
In the center of the oval, spotlights illuminated two figures. A robot with a sword in its hand advanced on a smaller, human male. The man wore jeans, a black tee shirt, and running shoes. A small shield was strapped to his left forearm. In his right hand he held a sword. It was identical to the long sword held by the robot. The robot also held a shield with its other arm.
The robot advanced. The man slipped and staggered, and almost fell several times. He kicked dirt as he moved, and dust filled the air around him, glittering in the spotlights. The man’s ragged breathing was audible. Sweat slicked his face.
The robot swung its sword.
The man raised his shield and absorbed the blow. He deflected the blade, but the force of it knocked him down, and he fell on his butt. Sparks flew from the shield. The crowd roared.
All the action was highlighted in close-up on a series of monitors located throughout the arena.
“Your beer, sir.”
Bernard held a tray with a pint glass centered on it. A bubbling golden lager filled the glass, with a small head foaming at the top.
Danny grabbed the beer and gulped half of it in three swallows. The carbon dioxide burned his tongue and throat, but the beer was cold and mellow, fresh and a bit sweet, with no skunk to it. It was the best goddamn beer he’d ever had.
He belched and wiped the foam from his lips. “Bernard, that’s the best goddamn beer I’ve ever had.”
“Very good, sir.”
Danny put his arm around Bernard. “I like you. I’m sorry I said you were creepy.”
“Apology accepted, sir.”
“Is herb allowed here at the Palace?”
Danny withdrew a Thai Stick from the pack, along with his lighter.
“Allow me, sir.” With thumb and index finger, Bernard gently took the lighter from Danny. Danny put the Thai Stick to his lips.
Bernard struck the torch on the first attempt. He angled the long blue jet flame toward the end of the cigarette. He moved the flame over the edge of the tip for a moment, and then withdrew it. It created just the right amount of incendiary action, and Danny stared down at the cherry as it burned. Danny held his smoke. “Nice burn, Bernard.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ve had a fair amount of practice.”
Danny turned so he and Bernard faced the arena.
The man was scooting backwards on his butt, kicking up a cloud of dust. The robot swung its sword at the man. The man took the blow on his shield. Sparks flew. The man fell on his back in the dirt. It was all he could do to hold the shield before him.
The robot swung again.
Sparks flew.
“What’s happening down there, Bernard?”
“Punishment via duel, sir.”
Danny coughed out his smoke. “Say what?”
“That man was convicted of assault with a deadly weapon. The judge gave him a choice: life in prison or a duel with a robot. The man chose the duel and was remanded into the custody of the Palace security forces. If the man survives, he is free to go.”
The robot swung again.
Sparks flew. The crowd roared.
Danny enjoyed another long gulp of his beer. “What’s with the sparks?”
The weapons are embedded with flint in order to create the sparks. It adds a dramatic flair which studies have shown the crowd enjoys.”
“They did studies on that?”
“Exhaustive studies, sir.”
“How long have they been fighting?”
“Fifty-seven minutes, approximately,” said Bernard.
“Is that a long time?”
“Longer than average. For most of the duel, the man ran away from the robot, searching for a way out of the arena. It appears that he is unable to continue running. I suspect the duel is nearly over.”
On the arena floor, flat on his back, the man kicked at the robot. Weak, ineffective kicks. He dropped his sword in the dirt, and held the shield with both hands. Sensing that the end was near, the crowd fell silent. The man’s wheezing, high-pitched breath filled the air.
The robot swung its sword.
The man thrust his shield up to block the blow.
The sword slid off the shield and struck the man’s hand. Several fingers flew through the air, illuminated in the spotlight’s white light.
The man screamed and clutched at his hand.
The robot swung its sword. The blade struck the man in the face. His body jerked. He let out a muffled cry.
The robot swung again. The blade struck the man in the face.
The man was still.
The robot also remained still.
Neither figure moved.
Despite his highness, Danny knew immediately what had happened. “It froze, didn’t it?”
“It would appear so,” said Bernard.
“How can a robot injure a human in the first place?”
“The laws are overwritten by a court order,” explained Bernard. “But sometimes the laws are stronger.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“About what, sir?”
“About a robot killing a human.”
“The human made his choices, all of which led him here. He has now borne the consequences. How I feel is irrelevant. How does it make you feel, sir?”
“It doesn’t make me feel good.”
“May I ask why?”
“Life is precious. All life. It ought to be protected.”
“I see. Another beer, sir?”
“Please.”
Bernard went inside.
A handful of robots moved onto the arena floor. They loaded the bodies of the man and the robot onto a long flatbed cart and then drove out of the arena.
A man in a black leather jacket materialized from out of the darkness and trotted into the center of the dirt floor. A powerful spotlight beamed down on him.
“How do you like that?” he called out. His amplified voice filled the arena.
The crowd cheered.
“It’s a shame about the freeze-out, but did that slimy son a bitch get what he deserved?”
The crowd roared.
“I said, did that slimy sack of shit get what he deserved?!” the man screamed.
The crowd absolutely screamed back.
“That’s what I thought.”
Bernard returned to the balcony. “Your beer, sir.”
Danny took it. “Thanks. Say, Bernard, who’s this guy?”
The man on the arena floor turned in place and looked up at Danny. “For those of you who don’t know me, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Zammy Spry. I am the founder, owner, and proprietor of Robot Palace. I am your master of ceremonies!”
Sammy raised his hands in the air, spun in a circle, leaped onto his toes, and balanced perfectly on the tips of his pointed black boots. Illuminated tassels swung from the arms of his jacket, color-shifting from purple to red to blue to green to white and back again. His smiling face appeared on the giant monitors throughout the arena. The crowd cheered, eating it up.
Bernard reached out and tapped the power button on a wall-mounted monitor. The screen lit up, showing a close-up of Zammy’s face.
“Let that last match be a lesson to all of us,” said Zammy. “Think before you commit a crime. Our previous competitor could be up in the stands right now, enjoying a cold one,”–Danny was certain Zammy pointed directly at him–“but instead, he broke the law. Now he’s dead, and the only thing he’ll be enjoying is his new status as a permanent organ donor. Stupid bastard.”
Zammy looked down at the dirt. He shook his head.
After a moment, he looked up at the crowd once more. “But, life goes on.” He smiled. “So, are you ready for our next performance?”
The crowd cheered.
“Bullshit. I said, are you ready for our next performance?”
The crowd howled.
“That’s more like it. I hope you’re ready for something extra special, because we’ve pulled out all the stops for this one. You know ’em, you love ’em. . . . Put your hands together for . . . the Wrecking Crewwwwwww!” Zammy trailed off in grand fashion. His spotlight went dark.
Green lights appeared around the arena, whizzing in a circle along the walls above the arena floor.
The crowd went berserk.
Everyone was on their feet, arms in the air, cheering. Thousands of bluish-white lights filled the arena as everyone readied their mobile phones to record whatever was about to happen.
A grating sound filled the air, the sound of a heavy gate opening. A swarm of people ran into the arena. Some sprinted for the wall and began trying to climb it. Others staggered about, peering up into the darkness, wringing their hands, crying, and even sobbing. Still others collapsed into the dirt and hardly moved.
The sound of the gate closing filled the air once more.
“What is this, Bernard? Who are all these people?”
“It’s tonight’s main event, sir. According to tonight’s program, it’s the Wrecking Crew. But everyone here refers to it as the pedophile parade.”
“What’s going to happen?”
“Justice.”
Green spotlights shot from high up in the darkness, pointing straight down vertically, where they created brilliant green circles in the dirt.
Some of the people wandered into the green lights and looked up, investigating their origin.
Trap doors opened in the floor, directly under each of the green lights. Danny counted about a dozen. Large robots rose into the arena, each one glowing with green light. Danny recognized them at once: Pagaz-model military-grade attack units like the one he and Candy met at Mechanical Man.
When the Pagaz units reached the arena floor, everyone fell silent. The only sound was the clamoring and weeping of the humans mewling in the arena, scrambling about in the dirt, and leaping pathetically into the air in feeble attempts to scale the wall.
Every monitor in the arena lit up, bearing a large, green-glowing number: 5.
The crowd chanted, “Five!”
The number changed to a bright 4.
The crowd chanted, “Four!”
Then 3.
“Three!”
2.
“Two!”
1.
“One!”
In unison, the crowd screamed, “ACTIVATE!”
The Pagaz units came to life. Their red eyes lit up. Each robot pulled two long, curved, samurai-style katanas from their sheaths. They stepped forward, targeted the nearest human, and swung.
The screaming began.
The Pagaz units seized upon person after person, katanas swinging in tandem. Limbs and heads were severed. Mortally-wounded people flopped about in the dirt, screaming in agony.
And the blood flowed.
Danny was shocked by the sight of it. It looked black in the green spotlights.
Some of the people mounted a combined assault on the Pagaz units, attempting to subdue and disarm them. One of the robots was successfully felled, but only after its twirling blades had chopped up nearly a dozen humans. A man in a business suit managed to remove a katana from the hand of the Pagaz. He turned to find another Pagaz bearing down on him. He held the sword with two hands and swung it with all his might. The Pagaz feinted, parried the blow effortlessly with its own katana, and sent up a brilliant spray of sparks. Much to the delight of the crowd. The Pagaz then criss-crossed its blades and in an instant the business man’s chest and shoulders separated from his lower body and legs. Both halves of the man fell into the dirt. He looked down at himself, screaming.
A man leaned over the wall above Danny’s private box and yelled and shook his fists. “That’s what you get for raping kids, you fucker!”
The severed business man’s image appeared in perfect close-up on all the monitors in the arena. He looked up at a hundred images of himself, sprawled in the dirt, his body in halves. He died with the sword still in his hand.
Bernard turned and went into the private box.
Danny followed.
But still the screaming was audible. Danny closed the door, and silence ensued.
“So all those people. . . .”
“Convicted child molesters,” said Bernard.
“And they chose to come here, like the last guy?”
“That is correct.”
“So this is what society has come to.”
“It would seem so.”
The white courtesy phone lit up, emitting a pleasant ring. Bernard answered it. He listened, said, “Right away, sir.” And hung up. “Your presence is requested, Mister Olivaw. I will escort you. Right this way.” Bernard opened the door to the suite and waited. “You may of course bring your beverage.”
On his way out the door, Danny took one last look over his shoulder at the monitor depicting the action in the arena. A Pagaz unit stood with one heavy robotic foot on the chest of a fat, hairy man writhing in the dirt while a second Pagaz filleted him. The crowd roared. They captured it all on their handheld devices.
Danny followed Bernard down the hallway to an elevator. Bernard pressed the topmost button, then entered several numbers on a virtual keypad. They rode upward for a few moments, and the door opened into a lavish black marble foyer decorated with tall black vases brimming with long-stemmed red roses. Their sweet, decadent aroma filled the air.
“Right this way, sir.”
Bernard knocked gently on one of the two gleaming black doors.
After a moment, the door opened a few inches. The face of a man with spiky black hair appeared. Dark sunglasses obscured his eyes. “What’s the password?”
Bernard and Danny exchanged a look.
The doors flew open. The man in the sunglasses held two large silver handguns. His long black trench coat fluttered around him. “Tell me the password or I’ll kill ya!”
Danny opened his mouth to reply.
The man began to laugh. “I’m just kiddin’. There’s no password. Come on in. Z’s expecting you.” He holstered his weapons inside his coat. “How the hell ya been, Bernard? It’s been awhile.” Bernard and the man shook hands.
“Indeed it has, sir.”
“We’ve been working a lot. Just got back from Borneo.”
The man turned to Danny. “You must be the great Daniel Olivaw.” He extended his hand. “Delilah informed us that you were here.”
Danny shifted his pint of beer to his left hand, wiped his right hand on his jeans, and shook hands.
“I’m Rukara. Pleasure to meet you. I loved your book. I didn’t agree with everything in it, particularly most of chapter three, but the rest of it was rock solid. No pun intended.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” said Danny.
Rukara lifted his sunglasses up to his forehead and peered at Danny with glowing red cyborg eyes. “I can’t tell who’s higher, you or me. Are my eyes red?” He dropped his shades over his eyes and laughed. “Come on.”
A voice echoed through the room, “Rukara! Get your ass over here or we’re putting your head back into that box of spiders.”
“I’m on my way and that’s not funny,” Rukara called.
Danny followed Rukara through a suite that was a palace unto itself. Rukara’s coat emitted a subtle illumination, giving it the appearance of giving off black light. Rukara caught Danny studying it. “It’s woven with M-LEDs, micro light-emitting diodes. One of my inventions. It actually bends light. Works great for camouflage.”
They entered a great room decorated with lavish tapestries and gold-framed mirrors. Candles burned everywhere, and a warm glow filled the room.
“Well, look what the pussycat dragged in,” said a man lounging on an enormous sofa. He wore a tee shirt with BUSTED printed on it, and his red eyes glowed in the candlelight. The lower half of his face boasted a long beard.
“Good evening, sir,” Bernard replied. “How was Borneo?”
The man rose and hugged Bernard.
Before the man could answer, a woman in a silver-sequined evening gown stepped forward and said, “Hot.” She held a sleek black cigarette holder in one hand. It gave her the air of a silver screen starlet straight out of the Golden Age of Hollywood. Her hair was orange like fire, its brightness surpassed only by her eyes, which glowed a brilliant red.
“Didn’t I see you downstairs, playing piano?” Danny asked.
“Didn’t I see you downstairs, staring at my ass?”
Danny felt his face flush.
“It’s okay,” said the woman, “it is a sweet ass.” She turned in place and gyrated her hips.
Danny tried not to stare at the low sweep of her gown, the way it revealed the small of her back and the top of her–
Another voice rang out. “Rony! Stop torturing the man.”
Zammy Spry emerged from the large kitchen carrying a green beer bottle. Zammy shook Danny’s hand. “It’s great to meet you, Mr. Olivaw. Really great. I mean, really really great. Really. Your work on the subatomic distillation of positrons absolutely blew my mind. If I had positrons, I’d want them subatomically distilled by no one but you.”
“Yeah, well, it was all common sense.”
“Pioneering a paradigm shift in robotics is hardly common sense, Mister Olivaw.” Zammy somehow managed to simultaneously squint in concentration and open his eyes wide in disbelief. “If it were, somebody would have thought of it. Probably a whole bunch of people. But they didn’t, Mister Olivaw. You were the one.”
“Please, call me Danny.”
Zammy threw his head back and laughed. “And humble, too. Such a rare thing these days. Listen, Danny. We’re delighted to have you here at the Palace. I’ve already instructed Delilah to void all the charges on your credit card. You are our distinguished guest so everything is on the house.” Zammy reached inside his black leather jacket and withdrew Danny’s credit card.
Danny took it. “You don’t have to do that–”
Zammy held up one hand. “I insist. Case closed. Now, lest you think my manners have escaped me, let me introduce everyone.
“You’ve already met my expert robot builder, Rukara.”
Rukara nodded. He put an enormous joint to his lips. “You don’t mind if we party a little, do you? It’s the only way we can cope with all the death around here.”
“I don’t mind,” said Danny.
“Sometimes I wish I were a robot,” said Rukara, “then I wouldn’t have to feel anything.” He fired the massive joint and inhaled. “Right, Bernard?”
“I feel your question deserves a lengthy response best suited to another time, sir.”
Rukara exhaled. “That’s why I love you, Bernie, you don’t mince words.” He passed the joint to Zammy.
Zammy took a long drag and held it. “The lovely lady in the evening gown is Rony. She loves fire and explosions and guns. And champagne.”
Rony raised her champagne flute.
“She also plays piano,” said Danny.
“Indeed I do,” said Rony.
“Indeed she does,” said Zammy. He enjoyed a long, slow exhale. “The gentleman reclining on the sofa is Bella. He’s an expert in all things mechanical. He also surfs.”
“Indeed I do.” Bella winked a glowing red eye at Rony, then stood, shook Danny’s hand, grabbed the joint from Zammy, and returned to the sofa.
“And one of these days he’s going to shave that goddamn beard,” said Zammy.
Bella stroked his beard. “Chicks love it.”
“What chicks?” Rony asked.
Zammy led Danny to the kitchen. Two men with glowing red eyes wore black latex gloves, carefully placing colossal nuggets of cannabis one at a time on a digital scale.
Zammy sipped from his beer. “Over here we have Blendo and Atom. Blendo is the one with the walrus mustache and wearing the beret. Atom is the other one.” Atom had blond hair and wore black horn-rimmed eyeglasses and a black tee shirt that said Am I missing an eyebrow?
Atom placed a nugget the size of a grapefruit on the scale and read aloud the weight. “Point nine-nine-seven.”
Blendo entered this number in his electronic tablet. “Got it.”
Atom weighed another nugget of similar size. “We’d shake your hand but we don’t want to get sebum on the merchandise. Point nine-nine-eight.”
Blendo entered this number as well. “Got it.”
“Okay, that was the last one.” He stripped off his latex gloves and shook Danny’s hand. “Hi, I’m Atom, your friendly neighborhood Automated Technically Obsolete Man. At least that’s what they tell me. But I reject that reality and substitute my own. Are you really Daniel Olivaw?”
“That’s what they tell me.”
“Smart and clever,” said Blendo. “I’m gonna go crunch these numbers while I take a bubble bath.” He departed with his tablet.
Atom withdrew three silver balls from his pocket and proceeded to juggle them. “I didn’t think subatomic positronic distillation was even plausible. I thought it was a myth. But when I heard someone had actually achieved it, I just about peed my pants. Do you mind if I juggle? It’s how I cope with the stress around here. Don’t get high on your own supply, right?”
“Wrong,” Rony called from the sofa. She took a long hit from Rukara’s monster joint. She leaned her head back and blew several perfect smoke rings into the air.
Atom continued to juggle. “Everyone needs to blow off a little steam, right? Or, in their case, C-21-H-30-O-2. Also known as tetrahydrocannabinol. What with the bomb threats, the arsonists, the stalkers, and those damn protesters, Zammy’s security costs have gone up six hundred and forty-seven percent. Six hundred and forty-seven percent. That is significant. When we’re not in the arena executing the court-ordered sentences decreed by the State of California, which in all actuality means executing convicted felons, we try to relax. Blendo takes bubble baths. I juggle. They party. What’s your drug of choice, Mister Olivaw?”
Danny’s face formed a rueful smile. “Candy.”
“A man with a sweet tooth,” said Atom.
Bella entered the kitchen and opened the massive stainless steel refrigerator. “Rukara! Brewskie?”
Rukara lay sprawled in a big leather recliner, with his feet up. He was attempting to blow smoke rings. “Hit me.”
Bella tossed him a beer. Rukara caught it in one hand. Bella refilled Rony’s champagne flute from a bottle in the fridge. He turned to Danny. “You workin’ on your R-N, Mister Olivaw? Because you are nursing that pint of warm beer.”
He handed a fresh beer to Danny.
“Z?”
Zammy shook his head.
Bella twisted the cap from Danny’s beer, followed by his own. “Cheers.”
“Bottoms up.” Danny tapped the bottom of his beer bottle hard one time atop the neck of Bella’s. The vibration caused an instant effervescence, and foamy beer erupted from Bella’s bottle. He hurried the geyser of beer to his mouth and attempted to drink, but beer ran down his chin onto his beard and shirt.
Everyone laughed.
Everyone but Bella. “Very funny, doctor. You should be a comedian.”
A man with white hair and red eyes entered. Danny recognized him at once. It was Poodle Raw.
“Somebody call for a comedian?” He surveyed Bella wiping beer from his shirt. “It works better if you drink it, Buttbeard.”
“I know that, Poo. And stop making fun of my beard.”
“Or what, assface?”
“I’ll have eminent roboticist and master of party tricks Mister Daniel Olivaw here subatomically distill your positrons. It won’t feel good.”
“I’m a human being. I don’t have any positrons.”
“Besides,” said Bella, “chicks love the beard.”
“What chicks?” Rony called.
“You want a beer, Poo?” Bella asked.
“Desperately.”
Bella handed a cold beer to Poo. Poo bit off the cap, spit it into the trash, and chugged the entire beer.
Zammy clapped Poo on the shoulder. “About time you got here. How was your show?”
“Terrible. Only four people. And three of them got up and left right in the middle of my bit about the compulsive sperm donor.”
“What about the fourth guy?”
“He was passed-out drunk. I put him in a cab. What a shitty show.”
“When I stroll in the imaginary rain, I carry my imaginary umbrella,” said Zammy.
“What the bloody fuck does that mean?” asked Poo.
“It means,” said Zammy, “that life is one percent what happens to you and ninety-nine percent how you react to it.”
“Oh, really?” said Poo. “Wait, it gets worse. After I locked up for the night, I discovered that somebody threw poo all over the marquee. Again!”
“I saw that,” said Danny. “I was at the Seventy-six station. Two kids ran up and tossed a brown sack at the marquee.”
“Who were they? What did they look like?” Poo asked.
“A couple of white kids with nice shoes.”
“I knew it.” Poo clenched his fists. “It’s always the rich, spoiled kids who do shit like that.”
“So what did you do?” Zammy asked.
“I had to clean it off. I got poo all over me, same as last time. It was on my clothes and in my hair and under my fingernails. I had to pay the guys at the carwash five hundred bucks to let me walk through the machine again. Then I took a cab home and bathed in hydrogen peroxide. I then took a cab back to my car. I came straight here, but you know what happened? Those goddamn protestors threw shit on my car. Right on the windshield. It’s stuck to the wiper blades and I think it got down into the vents because the whole car smells like crap. I think it was human feces, too. It smells like beef and onions and pickles. The cops arrested the guy who threw it and charged him with assault with a biological weapon. If you get the docket, let me know. I want to meet that fucker in the arena and beat the fuck out of him. Then, when he’s flat on his back, lying in the dirt, breathing his last breath and begging for mercy, I’m gonna shit in his open mouth. And in his eyes. And then I wanna lean over him and say, ‘How ya doin? Havin’ a shitty day? Maybe you’ll think about that the next time you decide to attack an unsuspecting motorist with a paper bag filled with your own feces. Oh, no you won’t, because you’re dead!’ And then I’ll cut his fuckin’ head off and FedEx it to the offices of those STERN fuckers.
“What happened to the good old days when people threw eggs? Or, better yet, when they didn’t throw anything at all? They just let you go about your business the same way you let them go about their business. And everyone minded their own business. My business was my business and your business was your business and we all agreed to just stay the fuck out of each other’s business. It was a simpler time.
“Now everything’s all fucked up and just because I finally decided to have my eyes fixed, the anti-robot establishment has to boycott me. Can’t a guy make an honest living anymore?”
“Welcome to the club,” said Atom. “The anti-robot establishment ruined our careers, too.”
“What do you guys do for work?” Danny asked.
“I’ve amassed a global bubble wrap empire,” said Rukara.
“I have a big tee shirt design and fabrication company,” said Bella.
“I’ve licensed my likeness to be used by snuffbots in black market overseas robo-snuff films,” said Rony. “And every day somebody emails me a video of a robotic me getting deactivated in ever more disturbing ways.”
“What was it today?” Bella asked.
“Let’s just say I no longer have to imagine what it would be like to drown in a giant vat of saliva.”
“Which is why we spend so much time in Borneo,” said Rukara. “Not so much anti-robot sentiment down there.”
“Yeah,” said Poo, “but you guys don’t have people hurling excrement at you every other day. I’m gonna have to get a new car now. My brand new Aston smells like pickled shit.”
“I heard about this guy,” said Danny, “a friend of a friend, named Larry, who ate some bad Teriyaki cat and shit his pants and had to buy a new driver’s seat for his car, a brand new Jag, I think. Oh, and he got a ticket for jaywalking because he couldn’t wait for the crosswalk. But then there was a line for the bathroom and he couldn’t hold it anymore.”
“So he shit himself?” Rukara asked.
Danny nodded. “Had to incinerate his favorite pair of pants, too.”
“Why would he eat Teriyaki cat?” Rony asked.
“I think he thought it was chicken,” said Danny.
Rony grimaced. “That is why I always have been and always will be a vegetarian.”
Poo turned to Danny and extended his hand. “Anyway, we haven’t officially met. I’m Poodle.”
Danny shook Poo’s hand. “Danny. I love your movies. Especially the one where you banged all those aliens. That was hot.”
“Xenophilia has always been one of my fetishes. There’s nothing more terrifyingly thrilling than inserting your manhood into an alien orifice. There could be anything in there. It’s like that old Flash Gordon movie when Flash had to stick his arm inside that big alien tree ball with the deadly, pulsating spikes inside. Except, instead of your arm, it’s your junk.”
“Hey, Poo,” said Rony, “I’ve got an idea. For your next movie, you should play a woman who goes to another planet and has to have sex with lots of aliens.”
“Ooh, yeah,” said Poo, “it could be like an orgy.”
“And then you get pregnant,” said Rony.
Atom dropped the balls he was juggling. “That kinda puts a damper on things.”
“Exactly,” said Rony.
“Speaking of which,” said Zammy, “Bernard, we’re up.”
“After you, sir.”
Zammy turned to Danny. “We’ll be back shortly. In the meantime, relax and enjoy all the food and drink you like. You can watch the show on the big screen.”
Zammy pressed a button on a remote control and the plush red velvet draperies retracted. Behind them was a massive monitor. It showed the arena, where the bodies and body parts were being loaded up and hauled away. The monitors throughout the arena displayed Intermission. Several electric Zamboni tractors made back-and-forth sweeps of the arena floor, washing, rinsing, and drying the sand.
“Health codes,” said Zammy. “Bernard! Let us away, my sexy thespian robotic buddy!” Zammy and Bernard departed.
“Is he always so dramatic?” Danny asked.
“No, he usually sings and dances his way out of the room,” said Bella.
A few minutes later, the arena had been cleared, and the house lights pulsed several times. A pleasant female voice rang out, “Please return to your seats. The show will resume shortly.”
“This is my favorite part of the show,” said Rony.
“I’m going to make some popcorn,” said Atom. “This number won’t make me throw up.”
“Please don’t burn it this time,” said Rony.
“I like it burned,” said Atom.
“The smell makes me sick.”
“You carried out five executions tonight,” said Rukara, “and the smell of burned popcorn makes you sick?”
Rony merely shrugged and sipped her champagne.
Atom pressed the Pop Now! button on a package of popcorn. Within a few seconds the bag began to expand, the kernels inside popping.
“How do you guys feel about killing people?” Danny asked.
“I don’t look at it as killing people,” said Bella. “If I went down to the Chinese Theatre and started chopping up tourists, that would be killing people. We are fulfilling a court order.”
“It’s like hundreds of years ago,” said Rony, “when thieves and murderers were executed in public. Somebody had to do it.”
Rukara added, “But the poor guy who had to swing the axe also had to show his face in public and go to market to buy turnips and rabbits and stuff. Which is why they started wearing masks and hoods.”
“We take our job very seriously,” said Atom. “We try to make it quick.”
“But isn’t it cruel and unusual punishment?” Danny asked.
“Yes, it is,” said Poo.
“No, it isn’t,” said Rony.
“Yes, it is,” said Poo.
“No. It isn’t,” said Rony.
“Yes, it is . . . infinity,” said Poo. “I win.”
Rony stood and faced Poo. “The people who come here made a choice. Rather than languish in a cold, hard cell, waiting to be shivved or shanked, they chose to come here. And if they didn’t want to be in a position where they had to make that choice, they shouldn’t have broken the law.”
“No, they shouldn’t have gotten caught,” said Poo, crunching on popcorn as Atom emptied the bag into a large bowl. “Besides, two wrongs don’t make a right.”
“How many times are you guys going to have this same argument?” said Bella.
“However many times it takes for Little Miss Massacre here to realize that capital punishment is wrong.”
“I will never admit that.”
“You won’t kill animals for food but you’ll execute humans?” Poo asked.
“Animals are innocent,” said Rony. “Humans have free will.”
“If Poo-boy had his way,” said Rukara, “Robot Palace would be shut down and demolished.”
“Not demolished,” said Poo. “It should be turned into a behavioral rehabilitation center. And don’t call me Poo-boy. You know I’m sensitive about that.”
“Okay, Poodle,” said Rony, “what if a thief broke into your house and murdered your wife and kids while you were on location shooting your next movie? Wouldn’t you want justice? You’re always going on and on about how much you love justice, and how you want to blow a big justice-y load.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” said Poo. “I would want that person to be rehabilitated so he sees the error of his ways and can go on to make a valuable contribution to society. That way, something good can come from the tragic deaths of my fictitious wife and nonexistent children.”
“You are so full of shit,” said Rony.
Poo grinned. “Why do you think my parents named me Poo?”
“I always figured they had a fondness for dogs,” Rony replied. “Although, I would’ve named you something a bit more masculine than Poodle. Like . . . Collie. Oh no, I’ve got it: Dane. Dane is a great name. I would totally have sex with a guy named Dane. Maybe even on the first date.”
Poo’s head drooped.
“Wait a second,” said Danny. “A few minutes ago, you said you hoped the guy who threw pickled excrement on your Aston Martin comes here so you can beat the fuck out of him in the arena and then cut his head off and FedEx it to the STERN people after you poop in his eyes and mouth.”
“That’s right,” said Atom, “you did say that.”
“That’s right, you did,” Rony added.
“But now you’re saying capital punishment is wrong?” Danny asked. “And that someone who murders your fictitious wife and nonexistent children deserves a second chance, but someone who throws crap on you deserves to be publicly beheaded?”
Poo nodded. “I told you I was sensitive about that.” He turned to Atom. “Where’s Blendo?”
“Taking a bubble bath, crunching the numbers on today’s inventory,” said Atom.
“Is he watching Titanic again?”
“Probably.”
From another room, Blendo’s voice rang out, “I heard that!” There were sounds of water sloshing and splashing, and a moment later, Blendo emerged. He wore a red silk robe embroidered with Chinese dragons. He still wore his beret.
“You wear that beret in the tub?” Poo asked.
“You’ll never know.”
On the giant monitor, the lights dimmed.
“Ooh, it’s starting,” said Rony.
“I want to see it live!” said Rukara. He extricated himself from the chair and pushed on two large gold-framed mirrors. The mirrors were actually doors. They let out onto a lavish balcony. Rukara ran to the ledge, followed by Bella.
Rony, Atom, and Poo took positions on the sofa opposite the big screen.
Danny turned to Blendo. “Aren’t you going to watch?”
Blendo shrugged. “Robot on robot doesn’t really do it for me. I’m gonna go finish Titanic.”
“I heard that!” called Atom. He shoveled a fistful of popcorn into his mouth.
“Hey, Danny! Come out here!” Rukara and Bella beckoned him with their arms. Their red eyes glowed in the darkness. Rukara’s trench coat shimmered a brilliant violet.
Danny joined them at the railing. The view was spectacular. They looked down at the very center of the arena, high enough to effect grandeur but not so high as to feel removed from the action.
Across the arena, Danny spotted a man standing by himself in a private box. He wore a blue suit and a red tie.
On the arena floor, a vertical shaft of white light faded up. Standing in the center of it was Zammy. He lifted his head and made a show of surveying the crowd. He held a finger to his lips, calling for silence.
Bella and Rukara pressed their fingers to each other’s lips and said “Shhhh.” Rukara craned his neck toward the double doors and whispered, “You guys, be quiet. Shhhh.”
“We are being quiet,” said Rony. “You red-eyed freak.” She winked one of her own red eyes at Danny.
The arena became quiet and still.
Zammy spoke softly. “Here at Robot Palace, we have the great responsibility of seeing that justice is carried out. It’s not an easy job. But we do it. Day in and day out, night after night, we do it. And because of the support of all of you, our friends and neighbors, we’re able to do it. Whenever possible, we like to give something back.”
Zammy raised his arms. The floor behind him began to rise. A massive pyramid emerged from the sand and was lifted into the air. Red light illuminated the pyramid from within.
A great section of floor opened across from the pyramid. A stage rose into the air, and an orchestra along with it. A big orchestra, at least 200 pieces. Each player wore a tuxedo replete with white bowtie. A sea of red eyes trained on the conductor. The conductor stared back at them with intense red eyes of his own.
“Welcome, please,” said Zammy, “the Palace Grandharmonic Cyborchestra, led by Conductor Flavius Sol.” Great applause filled the arena.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” said Zammy, “may I present to you Le Petit Mort, The Small Death.” The white beam of light shut off and Zammy was gone.
The pyramid reached its full height. Danny found himself nearly at eye level with its peak.
The tip of the pyramid unfolded. Its four sides retracted like petals on a flower, and formed a stage high in the air. Upon the stage, two figures stood perfectly still, locked in an embrace.
Red light illuminated them from below, casting their bodies in stark red and black contrast.
The female stood on tiptoe of one foot, with her opposite leg wrapped around the robot, and her head thrown back. Her body was completely nude.
The robot held the female close.
Flavius Sol extended his arms, glowing green baton in hand. He took a deep breath, nodded his head, and the orchestra began to play.
Music filled the air.
A snare drum tapped gently.
A flute began to play. A sweet melody rising and falling.
The melody was repeated, this time by a clarinet.
Then an oboe.
Then a bassoon.
Then a French horn.
And all the while the delicate taptaptaptap-taptaptaptap-tap-tap-taptaptaptap-taptaptaptaptaptap of the drums.
The woman arched her back and leaned away from the robot. She swayed with the music.
Slowly, the tempo increased.
Taptaptaptap-taptaptaptap-tap-tap-taptaptaptap-taptaptaptaptaptap went the snare drum, accompanied by the soft embrace of gathering horns.
“Oooh, it’s Bolero,” said Bella.
“Who?” whispered Rukara.
“No, Bolero. By a French composer named Maurice Revel.”
The whispers between Bella and Rukara went into Danny’s ears but found no purchase. Danny was transfixed upon the performers. They swayed this way and that, slowly with the music.
The horns’ gentle vibratos filled the air. The snare drums repeated over and over while they gathered strength.
Dozens of red shafts of light shone down from high in the darkness, illuminating the arena floor. Under each beam of crimson light, a trapdoor opened, and a pair of figures rose up into the arena.
All across the floor, the pairs were lifted up, a robot and a nude woman. Together they swayed in time with the music, in time with the two figures atop the pyramid.
Red light and black shadow cloaked their bodies.
They turned in place. With sure and swift steps the male pranced. The female remained poised on one toe. She revolved like a ballerina inside a music box. Her hands caressed his head, slid down his face. Her fingers caressed his chest.
The music grew louder, ever louder, ever faster, repeating and repeating and repeating its cadence, Taptaptaptap-taptaptaptap-tap-tap-taptaptaptap-taptaptaptaptaptap, while the horns, violins, cellos, and drums built and built and built.
Across the arena floor, the pairs made their way toward the pyramid. They writhed and swayed, until they reached its base, and then they began to climb.
The male robot and his partner swayed while their bodies flowed together.
The woman’s back arched. Her head swung wildly. He struggled to contain her, with her leg about him, locked in place.
Faster and faster she rocked her body against him while he held her tight.
And still the music did build. Louder and louder, faster and faster.
Red light fluttered across the profile of her breasts, her buttocks. She thrashed and thrashed while the powerful male pumped against her, harder and harder and faster and faster.
Dozens of pairs of figures made their way up the pyramid, until every side of it was full, its stepped tiers occupied by entwined bodies, a writhing mass of arms and legs.
The pyramid became a moving tower of swaying bodies.
Louder and louder the music grew.
Brighter and brighter the light glowed red.
On and on it went, the pyramid alive and crawling with flesh awash in red light, like lovers giving themselves with wild abandon.
Great jets of fire shot into the air in time with the music.
Louder and louder the music swelled.
Brighter and brighter did the red light glow.
Loud and bright, bright and loud until it hurt. The couples thrusting and pounding in time.
Taptaptaptap-taptaptaptap-tap-tap-taptaptaptap-taptaptaptaptaptap. . . .
All the instruments swelling and rising, higher and louder, higher and louder. . . .
Taptaptaptap-taptaptaptap-tap-tap-taptaptaptap-taptaptaptaptaptap. . . .
Until the arena was filled with bodies moving and swaying, thrashing and pounding, full of red light, full of brilliance, full of sound and music building up and up and up like a fury great and strong, more and more and louder and brighter, faster and faster until it hurt, impossible to stop, impossible to continue, louder and brighter more and more, building . . . building . . . building . . . !
Every body went rigid with release.
And then collapsed. They knelt together, melting into place, until they were still.
Darkness.
~
Applause.
The crowd was on its feet.
Whistles filled the air.
A white spotlight illuminated. It followed Zammy as he walked to the center of the arena and stood at the base of the pyramid.
Zammy’s voice filled the air. “If that didn’t get you going, you’d best go see a doctor because you must be dead.”
Gentle laughter from the audience.
Zammy continued. “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it for our performers.”
Red light illuminated the pyramid once more. The dancers took their bows.
“An extra special round of applause, please, for our featured entertainers,” said Zammy.
A red spotlight beamed down from the darkness and lit up the stage where the male and female pair stood atop the pyramid.
Zammy raised his arms. The glowing fringe swung from his coat. “Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for Saint Bernard and i-Candyyyyyyyy!”
Danny could not move.
Could not breathe.
Could not think.
The robots atop the pyramid waved to the crowd. They turned in place, offering everyone a chance to see them.
There, holding hands and waving to the crowd, was Bernard.
Beside him, bathed in red light, clinging to Bernard with one hand and waving to the crowd with her other hand, was Candy. She was completely nude. But it was her.
“Thank you, and good night!” Zammy called out.
The lights on the pyramid faded. In the dim glow of the house lights, the pyramid could be seen retracting into the floor.
“My launch pad certainly has attained liftoff,” said Rukara.
“Mine too,” said Bella.
“Mine too,” said Rony. “That was an energetic performance.”
“When did you get here?” Bella asked.
“Just now. Atom and Poo were getting kinda grabby so I decided to come out here. Can’t say I blame them, though. Every time I see Candy and Bernard’s act, I just wanna touch myself.” Rony began sliding her hands over her silver gown.
Bella looked on with intoxicated eyes. “I wanna touch yourself, too.” He reached for Rony but she smacked his hand away.
“Go touch your own self. Pervert.”
“Yeah,” said Rukara. “You pervert.”
Danny finally gathered the strength to speak. “Wait a minute. What do you mean, every time you see their act?”
“What do you mean what do I mean?” asked Rony. “They do this every night.”
“Well, not every night,” said Rukara. “They get Sundays off.”
Danny was incredulous. “How long has she been here?”
“About two months,” said Rony.
“Yeah,” said Bella, “I think before that she did some escorting and a bit of film work.”
“I don’t remember what she did before that,” said Rukara. “Zammy told me but I forgot.” He withdrew another enormous joint and lit it. “I call it non-total recall.” He inhaled deeply. “Occupational hazard.”
“May I?” Danny grabbed the joint and drew hard on it. He handed it off to Rony. “So, how well do you know her?”
“Somebody is asking an awful lot of questions about Candy,” Rony teased.
“I think somebody is in love,” said Rukara.
Danny fidgeted, waiting for the weed to hit. “You could say that.”
“Wait a second,” said Rony, “you’re the guy. The ex-boyfriend. The one who humiliated her up on stage in front of everyone at that fourth of July party. You’re the dick.”
“Oh yeah,” said Rukara.
“So you’re the dick,” Bella stated. “Sorry, we didn’t realize it was you. Candy never calls you by name. She always refers to you as ‘the dick’. At first we thought you must be hung like Godzilla. But then we figured out that it’s not that you have a giant dick, it’s that you are a giant dick.”
“How could you do that to her?” Rony passed the joint to Bella, skipping Danny. Danny reached for it. “No, he doesn’t get any. No more sucky-sucky until we get an explanation. You’re lucky it wasn’t me up on that stage. I would’ve kicked you in the nuts and stomped your face into hamburger. You have any idea how many nights she and I have sat and talked, analyzing what happened and trying to figure out what she did wrong?”
“No,” said Danny, “she didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then why did you try to cut off her finger?” Rony demanded.
Rukara coughed. “You tried to cut off her finger?”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Bella asked. “You are a dick.”
“No, I didn’t want to cut it off completely,” said Danny. “Look, I know I screwed up. But that’s why I’m here. I’ve been looking everywhere for her. I even filed a missing person report with the police. I thought I’d never see her again. I was afraid she might be dead. But then tonight I wound up here. And it turns out she’s here, too. That’s gotta count for something. Right?”
“I don’t think she wants to see you,” said Rony.
“Do you know where she lives?”
“Yeah,” said Rony, “she and Bernard have a suite on nineteen.”
“She and . . . Bernard?”
“Yeah,” said Rony. “See, Bernard didn’t try to cut off her finger and then humiliate her in front of hundreds of people.”
“I can’t believe you tried to cut off her finger,” said Rukara.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Bella asked.
“I know I have a lot of explaining to do. I understand that I hurt her. But I was confused. And I’m hurting, too. I just need to see her. I need to ask Candy something.”
“Ask me what?”
Rony, Bella, Rukara, and Danny all turned.
Standing in the doorway, backlit by candlelight, was Candy. She was clothed now, dressed in tight jeans, heels, and a black tank-top.
She stepped out onto the balcony. “Ask me what?”
Rony, Rukara, and Bella moved to one side, away from Danny.
“This should be interesting,” said Bella.
“A thousand bucks says she cuts his finger off,” said Rukara.
“A thousand bucks says she cuts his dick off,” said Rony.
Rukara and Bella replied in unison. “You’re on.”
Danny stepped toward Candy.
He took a deep breath. “Candy, please give me a chance to explain.”
Bernard appeared in the doorway. “Are you alright, Miss Candy?”
“Yes, Bernard. Thank you.”
Bernard went to Candy and Candy took his hand. “Nice to see you again, Mister Olivaw,” said Bernard. “Did you enjoy the performance? Monsieur Revel is one of Miss Candy’s favorite composers.”
Danny smiled and spoke softly. “I didn’t know that.”
“You wanted to ask me something?” said Candy.
“What’s going on out here?” Harley emerged from the doorway. “Hi, Danny. What’re you doing here?”
“What’re you doing here?” Danny countered.
“Hanging out with my friends.”
“Does Rory know you’re here?”
“It’s none of his business where I go and who I spend time with. Besides, he’s probably with my grandfather, plotting the inevitable demise of the company.”
Danny could scarcely understand what Harley was saying. “What?”
“Don’t act so surprised,” said Harley. “You’re not that naive are you? Didn’t you see the protestors outside? Society is turning away from robots whether we like it or not. There is a war being waged over the future of robotics. I’m doing anything I can to position my company to be on the winning side after it all shakes out.”
“You mean your grandfather’s company,” said Danny.
“No, I mean my company. My batty scallywag of a grandfather wouldn’t see the writing on the wall even if he was having sex with it. His days are numbered. I’m the new face of global robotics. Don’t you read Time magazine?”
Zammy stepped out onto the balcony. “Is this where the party is?” Atom and Blendo were right behind him, with Poo bringing up the rear.
Danny approached Zammy. “Mister Spry, I want her.” Danny pointed at Candy.
“She’s under contract,” said Zammy.
Danny went to Candy. “Candy, I’m sorry. I love you. Please come with me.”
Candy merely looked out across the arena. The candle light twinkled in her eyes. She was more beautiful than ever.
Danny seized Candy by the arm. “Come on. We’re leaving.”
Bernard pressed a hand against Danny’s chest. Rukara, Rony, and Bella leaped forward, pulling Danny by his arms.
Candy did not move.
Zammy waved his hands in the air. “Hey, hey, hey, let’s take it easy. There’s no need for violence.”
The commotion ceased.
Zammy continued, “If Candy wants to go, she can go. I’ll void her contract right now.” He placed one hand gently on Candy’s shoulder. “You’ll always be welcome here, sweetheart. But you do what you feel is right.”
Candy’s gaze remained fixed on an invisible point somewhere in the darkness across the arena. “I’m fine here.”
Zammy met Danny’s eyes. Well?
Danny lunged at Candy, pushing her toward the door.
Bernard, Rony, Bella, Rukara, Atom, Blendo, Poo, and Harley moved to stop Danny.
“Mister Olivaw, please stop!” called Zammy.
But Danny did not stop. He struggled and fought against the hands clutching at him, even as he was surrounded by what seemed like an endless sea of glowing red eyes.
“Okay, get him out of here!” Harley ordered.
Bella pushed his full weight against Danny. “Sorry, Mister Olivaw, but she pays the bills.”
They dragged Danny from the balcony.
“Don’t worry, Dan,” Harley called out, “we’ll take better care of her than you ever could. She’s with her own kind now.”
Danny was forcefully escorted from the suite, downstairs, and through the front doors of Robot Palace. The other guests stopped to watch the man being thrown out.
Outside, Danny’s car was waiting where the limousine had been. The keys were already in the ignition. Danny slumped behind the wheel.
He drove away.
Atom, Blendo, Rony, Bella, Rukara, Poo, and Bernard stood on the red carpet and watched him go.
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