“Mercury must be in retrograde again
But at least it's not just hangin' around, pretendin' to be my friend
Oh, the road to Hell is paved with cruel intention
If it's not nuclear war, it's gonna be a divine intervention“
Sturgill Simpson
“Mercury Retrograde”
2020
“I am Junks. A PI/EP 240 Android designed for executive protection and special operations work. I am 175 years old and I was witness to the single most selfish and selfless act today.”
Both of the technicians were stunned stupid. Peter, the skinny one with the wiry goatee, swallowed hard. Paul was tapping his toe to the beat of a meth-driven squirrel's heart.
"Junks?" Paul said without thinking. Peter nudged him, "Dude," he said sternly.
"Yes, P-P-l-Paul." Junks said through her busted voice box. The digital feedback was typical of a grounding issue with her vocal cords.
Paul took a long drink of water then he set the shaking cup down on the desk. He felt he couldn't let go of the cup or it would go dancing to the floor with a crash. Junks placed her right hand over the cup and steadied it. The movement was so fast that Paul had a hard time registering it and the feeling of the robots hand over his did little to calm his nerves. Junks moved her head to face Paul then said, "You're scared. Have I don't som-som-som-I-I-something to upset you?"
Paul stammered, "No, no. Not at all. It's just that. Well," Paul looked at Peter, "You're destroyed. Gone. There's almost nothing left."
Junks moved her head about and examined her torso. The vast majority of her body was damaged or destroyed. Wires and cables hung about, some of them melted to one another. Plates were missing, servos twirled about with no purpose. Several exterior cables were tied into her primary interface, but that was burned and cracked. Junks looked at her left shoulder and discovered it missing. The arm, mostly intact, was sitting on a table across the room. It suddenly jumped to life and rolled off of the table. The fingers dragged the 200 pound arm across the floor, scraping as it did so, which sent chills up and down Paul's spine and made Peter's teeth feel dry and electric. Peter got up from his chair and walked over to the arm. He tried to pick it up, but it was too heavy. Paul joined him with a small wheeled lift. The arm clung to the side of the jack and hung on as Peter rotated the "up" grip.
30 minutes later the arm was re-installed on Junks' shoulder mount. It wasn't pretty, but the wires and cables were there. Paul did his best to connect the fibradium strands, but only managed to get two connected. Junks lifted the arm and moved it back and forth then flexed the fingers.
Paul removed the voice box and re-installed a better, updated version. He selected female and let Junks decide on the accent. She picked Scottish.
"That's better, innit?" She said flexing her arms again and moving her head.
"Junks, we have some questions to ask you." Paul said picking up a tablet. "I mean, if it's OK."
Junks nodded, "Questions are fine, Paul. What would you like to know?"
Paul turned the tablet over and showed Junks a picture of a woman. She had beautiful features, smooth skin and shiny black, curly hair. "Who is this?"
Junks slowly reached out with her right hand and touched the tablet, tracing the outline of the woman's face. "Chari Z'Mon de Mann," Junks said sadly. "Where is she?"
Paul slowly backed away and turned the tablet back over so he could access the screen. He moved his fingers quickly over the tablet then he stopped. He turned the tablet back over and and showed Junks. "She died in this crash."
The image was that of a BoXXer Shuttle. Cannon fire reduced the port side engines to ash, the wings were crumpled. The turned over ground indicated that the shuttle hit the dirt at some speed, but the angle was fierce. Outside of the shuttle, to the left of the canopy, were four human bodies that were lined up. A bright red wound was visible on the back of each head. Paul swiped the picture to the right and the next image caused Junks to leap back. "Who is this?" Paul asked quietly.
Junks moved her head about, unable to look at the picture. She stammered and put her hand up over the image, "Please," she said.
Paul quickly turned the screen off. "Who is she?"
Junks turned violently toward Paul and barked, "Chari!" Paul stumbled out of his chair, terrified of the giant robot. Two of the guards in the room lunged forward, rifles at the ready. Junks looked at them, both of them then she looked at Peter, "Who are you people? I don't recognize you."
Paul straightened his jacket and tried to compose himself. He put the tablet down and tried to explain, but Junks did not want to talk to him anymore. She addressed Peter.
Peter cleared his throat. "Well, I think you should know that we did not do anything wrong. We are just scientist. We were hired to, uh, well, to examine your memory for information."
"Information?" Junks said quietly now. "What information?"
Paul was visibly nervous now and it did not go unnoticed to Junks. Junks put her hands up and waved them, "I'm sorry. This is a lot. I was asleep and when I woke up, I was here. My body is in pieces. Maybe, please, help me get together. I will tell you want you want to know."
Paul looked at the guard who shook his head no. Paul talked to the floor, "I'm sorry. We can't."
Junks looked at the man in the uniform. "Hey-fuck you," she said before looking back at Paul. "Fine. OK."
Paul asked Junks if he could access her video feed. Junks, nervously, said "no." She shook her head and said, "You guys are going to get what you want then what? Shut me down again? I don't want to dream anymore."
Peter sat down and asked, "Ok. But, what if we agreed to not shut you down. We can, transfer you to a better model?"
Junks looked at the guards. They didn't move or say anything. She looked back at Peter and said, "Yeah, Ok." Junks looked at her battered hands and turned them over, "Yes. I think that would be good."
Paul moved a cart over that had a set of computers attached to it. He gently attached cables to the ends of frayed pieces and mocked up jacks to insert into the primary and secondary busses. Paul picked up a wire with two jack heads and said, "This one goes there," pointing at Junks' forehead. "Can you, uh..." he said as the port whirred then opened. The panel had a set of large bolts that took a few seconds to spin out of the lock bins before the jack points were finally exposed. Paul reached over and was about to put the jacks in when he heard a crash. He turned to see Peter backing up and turning for the door. The guards watched him run out of the room then they looked down at the video monitor. Peter was watching the recording of Junks last hour and it was suddenly very clear what they were dealing with. The video clearly showed Junks using an organic port to download Chari into Junks' personality and control primary computer. Chair, one of the deadliest terrorists in modern times, responsible for the bombing of New Brunswick stadium that killed 90,314 people days ago was not dead. She was downloaded into the military robot in the room. The behemoth, 15' tall giant with depleted composite armor and a 7' reach. The robot with a nuclear core.
The guards turned to run, but it was too late. Chari cried out "For Independence!" Then detonated. A plan, five years in the making to get an operative into the military headquarters of the Soviet Federation of Communist Worlds, had finally paid off. The explosion rocked the very surface of the Moon and cracked it to the core. Chari, daughter of the last President of the United States and Governments of Earth, had accomplished what so many failed to do. Vaporized Communist controlled Moon.
"Junks?" Paul said without thinking. Peter nudged him, "Dude," he said sternly.
"Yes, P-P-l-Paul." Junks said through her busted voice box. The digital feedback was typical of a grounding issue with her vocal cords.
Paul took a long drink of water then he set the shaking cup down on the desk. He felt he couldn't let go of the cup or it would go dancing to the floor with a crash. Junks placed her right hand over the cup and steadied it. The movement was so fast that Paul had a hard time registering it and the feeling of the robots hand over his did little to calm his nerves. Junks moved her head to face Paul then said, "You're scared. Have I don't som-som-som-I-I-something to upset you?"
Paul stammered, "No, no. Not at all. It's just that. Well," Paul looked at Peter, "You're destroyed. Gone. There's almost nothing left."
Junks moved her head about and examined her torso. The vast majority of her body was damaged or destroyed. Wires and cables hung about, some of them melted to one another. Plates were missing, servos twirled about with no purpose. Several exterior cables were tied into her primary interface, but that was burned and cracked. Junks looked at her left shoulder and discovered it missing. The arm, mostly intact, was sitting on a table across the room. It suddenly jumped to life and rolled off of the table. The fingers dragged the 200 pound arm across the floor, scraping as it did so, which sent chills up and down Paul's spine and made Peter's teeth feel dry and electric. Peter got up from his chair and walked over to the arm. He tried to pick it up, but it was too heavy. Paul joined him with a small wheeled lift. The arm clung to the side of the jack and hung on as Peter rotated the "up" grip.
30 minutes later the arm was re-installed on Junks' shoulder mount. It wasn't pretty, but the wires and cables were there. Paul did his best to connect the fibradium strands, but only managed to get two connected. Junks lifted the arm and moved it back and forth then flexed the fingers.
Paul removed the voice box and re-installed a better, updated version. He selected female and let Junks decide on the accent. She picked Scottish.
"That's better, innit?" She said flexing her arms again and moving her head.
"Junks, we have some questions to ask you." Paul said picking up a tablet. "I mean, if it's OK."
Junks nodded, "Questions are fine, Paul. What would you like to know?"
Paul turned the tablet over and showed Junks a picture of a woman. She had beautiful features, smooth skin and shiny black, curly hair. "Who is this?"
Junks slowly reached out with her right hand and touched the tablet, tracing the outline of the woman's face. "Chari Z'Mon de Mann," Junks said sadly. "Where is she?"
Paul slowly backed away and turned the tablet back over so he could access the screen. He moved his fingers quickly over the tablet then he stopped. He turned the tablet back over and and showed Junks. "She died in this crash."
The image was that of a BoXXer Shuttle. Cannon fire reduced the port side engines to ash, the wings were crumpled. The turned over ground indicated that the shuttle hit the dirt at some speed, but the angle was fierce. Outside of the shuttle, to the left of the canopy, were four human bodies that were lined up. A bright red wound was visible on the back of each head. Paul swiped the picture to the right and the next image caused Junks to leap back. "Who is this?" Paul asked quietly.
Junks moved her head about, unable to look at the picture. She stammered and put her hand up over the image, "Please," she said.
Paul quickly turned the screen off. "Who is she?"
Junks turned violently toward Paul and barked, "Chari!" Paul stumbled out of his chair, terrified of the giant robot. Two of the guards in the room lunged forward, rifles at the ready. Junks looked at them, both of them then she looked at Peter, "Who are you people? I don't recognize you."
Paul straightened his jacket and tried to compose himself. He put the tablet down and tried to explain, but Junks did not want to talk to him anymore. She addressed Peter.
Peter cleared his throat. "Well, I think you should know that we did not do anything wrong. We are just scientist. We were hired to, uh, well, to examine your memory for information."
"Information?" Junks said quietly now. "What information?"
Paul was visibly nervous now and it did not go unnoticed to Junks. Junks put her hands up and waved them, "I'm sorry. This is a lot. I was asleep and when I woke up, I was here. My body is in pieces. Maybe, please, help me get together. I will tell you want you want to know."
Paul looked at the guard who shook his head no. Paul talked to the floor, "I'm sorry. We can't."
Junks looked at the man in the uniform. "Hey-fuck you," she said before looking back at Paul. "Fine. OK."
Paul asked Junks if he could access her video feed. Junks, nervously, said "no." She shook her head and said, "You guys are going to get what you want then what? Shut me down again? I don't want to dream anymore."
Peter sat down and asked, "Ok. But, what if we agreed to not shut you down. We can, transfer you to a better model?"
Junks looked at the guards. They didn't move or say anything. She looked back at Peter and said, "Yeah, Ok." Junks looked at her battered hands and turned them over, "Yes. I think that would be good."
Paul moved a cart over that had a set of computers attached to it. He gently attached cables to the ends of frayed pieces and mocked up jacks to insert into the primary and secondary busses. Paul picked up a wire with two jack heads and said, "This one goes there," pointing at Junks' forehead. "Can you, uh..." he said as the port whirred then opened. The panel had a set of large bolts that took a few seconds to spin out of the lock bins before the jack points were finally exposed. Paul reached over and was about to put the jacks in when he heard a crash. He turned to see Peter backing up and turning for the door. The guards watched him run out of the room then they looked down at the video monitor. Peter was watching the recording of Junks last hour and it was suddenly very clear what they were dealing with. The video clearly showed Junks using an organic port to download Chari into Junks' personality and control primary computer. Chair, one of the deadliest terrorists in modern times, responsible for the bombing of New Brunswick stadium that killed 90,314 people days ago was not dead. She was downloaded into the military robot in the room. The behemoth, 15' tall giant with depleted composite armor and a 7' reach. The robot with a nuclear core.
The guards turned to run, but it was too late. Chari cried out "For Independence!" Then detonated. A plan, five years in the making to get an operative into the military headquarters of the Soviet Federation of Communist Worlds, had finally paid off. The explosion rocked the very surface of the Moon and cracked it to the core. Chari, daughter of the last President of the United States and Governments of Earth, had accomplished what so many failed to do. Vaporized Communist controlled Moon.
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