Brigit's Flame, September Week 2, Gear
I had one rule when I joined this community. No excessive serial stories crossing over different weeks. I am breaking that in my first contest right now, but this stands alone. I was going to include references to last week but I didn't want to confuse people who didn't read it. Consider this another story in the same world as last week. I don't think this is as good, but I was running out of time and the thought occurred to me an hour before the deadline. Hope it's readable, at least!
***
“Robotics,” the man paused for effect, smiled, “have come a long way.”
He began to cough. His face flushed and he put a hand on his chest. It was a long cough, almost as if it was drawn out for some unseen benefit. He composed himself and smiled again at the crowd in front of him. The cameras in the wall glistened anonymously, tiny specks of technology capturing, recording, and transmitting all on their own. Viewers at home panned and zoomed anywhere they saw fit. Some preferred to listen to the speaker while exploring the crowds-a man picking his nose here, a woman adjusting her bra there-while most focused on the presenter himself.
“Our industry provides mankind's latest tool. Updated, refined, improved. This,” he made a show of slowly sweeping his hands around the room, smoothly passing over each camera as he went, “unusual conference is not without merit. I am sure you have all heard the rumours about out latest breakthroughs. They are false. Leaked information on purpose to keep this a surprise worthy of this historical moment.” There were sounds of unrest in the crowd. The man's eyes opened wider, gently pushed upwards by the muscles in his cheeks contracting, pulling his lips into a smile and revealing perfectly white teeth.
“Tools have been an essential part of our progress as a civilization. Our humble beginnings: rocks, weapons, spears, and,” he casually unbuttoned his overcoat, slipped a hand into it, and pulled out a slim object, “knives.” The light bouncing off the blade was blinding. Many cameras changed their point of view. “Imagine what our ancestors would have done with these tools if they had our opportunity. Our society lives forever! What could those have inventors done with their primitive, accidental discoveries if they had forever to improve them? How much farther would we be?
“We have been playing a game of catching up to that ideal. We have reached this advantage far too late and have lost too many great people in our folly. Great artists! Great inventors! Pioneers! All dead because we progressed too late!” He gripped the knife tightly and faced the back of his hand to the audience. His knuckles were white, milky with blood squeezed away from his skin. “We are making up for that today.” He pounded the knife down into the podium before him. The blade stuck into it and he took a step back.
“Tools are what separate us from the rest of the world. They are what make us more than the animals we used to be-the animals some think we still are.” He hunched his shoulders up and wormed his arms out of his sleeves. His overcoat fell to the floor behind him. He unbuttoned his shirt and let that fall back onto a heap as well. His chest was hairy, blemished, but firm. The cameras picked up the sounds of murmuring in the audience. The people at home who had been looking through the crowd switched to the presenter. The people focused on the presenter switched to the crowd. Confusion and shock was on there faces.
“What the inventor of the knife would have done with an endless life is what we have achieved with our great scientists of today.” He grabbed the knife once more. The muscles in his arms protruded out of his skin with the effort of pulling it from the podium. “It is with this knife that we honour and respect those who built the foundation of this pinnacle of technology. It is with this knife that we show how our simple beginnings are still relevant. It is with this knife that we present to you: me.”
He plunged the knife into his stomach. Every camera whirled to the stage. People dived out of their seats but the initial gasps were silenced by the man's smile. Blood dribbled out of him as he carved the knife up his torso but not nearly as much as there should have been. He pulled the weapon out of himself and dropped it on the floor. It fell with a clatter but no one paid it any attention. His fingers curled around his wound and pulled back revealing smooth metal, whirling parts and machinery under a thin layer of synthetic blood and fabricated skin.
“I present to you a new age of robotics, and a new age of tools for mankind. There are more like me in the audience, sitting with you, beside you, right now. See if you can find us. See if you can tell us apart. We will be everywhere soon, ready to serve you even better than our older brothers and sisters have done for so many years. Thank you.”
Everyone in the audience was standing now. They began to clap. The robot coughed again, and then took a bow.
***
“Robotics,” the man paused for effect, smiled, “have come a long way.”
He began to cough. His face flushed and he put a hand on his chest. It was a long cough, almost as if it was drawn out for some unseen benefit. He composed himself and smiled again at the crowd in front of him. The cameras in the wall glistened anonymously, tiny specks of technology capturing, recording, and transmitting all on their own. Viewers at home panned and zoomed anywhere they saw fit. Some preferred to listen to the speaker while exploring the crowds-a man picking his nose here, a woman adjusting her bra there-while most focused on the presenter himself.
“Our industry provides mankind's latest tool. Updated, refined, improved. This,” he made a show of slowly sweeping his hands around the room, smoothly passing over each camera as he went, “unusual conference is not without merit. I am sure you have all heard the rumours about out latest breakthroughs. They are false. Leaked information on purpose to keep this a surprise worthy of this historical moment.” There were sounds of unrest in the crowd. The man's eyes opened wider, gently pushed upwards by the muscles in his cheeks contracting, pulling his lips into a smile and revealing perfectly white teeth.
“Tools have been an essential part of our progress as a civilization. Our humble beginnings: rocks, weapons, spears, and,” he casually unbuttoned his overcoat, slipped a hand into it, and pulled out a slim object, “knives.” The light bouncing off the blade was blinding. Many cameras changed their point of view. “Imagine what our ancestors would have done with these tools if they had our opportunity. Our society lives forever! What could those have inventors done with their primitive, accidental discoveries if they had forever to improve them? How much farther would we be?
“We have been playing a game of catching up to that ideal. We have reached this advantage far too late and have lost too many great people in our folly. Great artists! Great inventors! Pioneers! All dead because we progressed too late!” He gripped the knife tightly and faced the back of his hand to the audience. His knuckles were white, milky with blood squeezed away from his skin. “We are making up for that today.” He pounded the knife down into the podium before him. The blade stuck into it and he took a step back.
“Tools are what separate us from the rest of the world. They are what make us more than the animals we used to be-the animals some think we still are.” He hunched his shoulders up and wormed his arms out of his sleeves. His overcoat fell to the floor behind him. He unbuttoned his shirt and let that fall back onto a heap as well. His chest was hairy, blemished, but firm. The cameras picked up the sounds of murmuring in the audience. The people at home who had been looking through the crowd switched to the presenter. The people focused on the presenter switched to the crowd. Confusion and shock was on there faces.
“What the inventor of the knife would have done with an endless life is what we have achieved with our great scientists of today.” He grabbed the knife once more. The muscles in his arms protruded out of his skin with the effort of pulling it from the podium. “It is with this knife that we honour and respect those who built the foundation of this pinnacle of technology. It is with this knife that we show how our simple beginnings are still relevant. It is with this knife that we present to you: me.”
He plunged the knife into his stomach. Every camera whirled to the stage. People dived out of their seats but the initial gasps were silenced by the man's smile. Blood dribbled out of him as he carved the knife up his torso but not nearly as much as there should have been. He pulled the weapon out of himself and dropped it on the floor. It fell with a clatter but no one paid it any attention. His fingers curled around his wound and pulled back revealing smooth metal, whirling parts and machinery under a thin layer of synthetic blood and fabricated skin.
“I present to you a new age of robotics, and a new age of tools for mankind. There are more like me in the audience, sitting with you, beside you, right now. See if you can find us. See if you can tell us apart. We will be everywhere soon, ready to serve you even better than our older brothers and sisters have done for so many years. Thank you.”
Everyone in the audience was standing now. They began to clap. The robot coughed again, and then took a bow.