(no subject)
This fic is refusing to end. Damn.
It's getting worser and worser, too.
Title: The Glass Man
Fic Rating: NC-17
Bit Rating: G
Summary: Spaceships and robots and secks, oh my!
Warning: AU BAD!FIC. Utter ridiculous crack. Bad accents, Mary Stues, Gary Stues, odd names, bad geography, no humor, gaping plot-holes, blatant plot devices, unbelievable events, tedious backstory, and eventual secks for weird reasons. Feel free to abuse in comments.
The Imperative
Bertie’s unimaginative stock of supplies could not, in Mrs Pitts’ opinion, produce anything resembling a proper breakfast. But she did make a rather tasty concoction out of some species of tinned meat and a dollop of preserves. She promised Bertie on her way out the door that she’d be sending him the occasional proper meal-and that if he didn’t send word to her as soon as Jeeves was ‘all better,’ he’d be eating said meals at his own risk.
Bertie shut the door behind her with a sigh of relief and returned to the table, shoving the goggles over his eyes as he went. After a few moments Andrew began to pipe one of his favourite tunes into the room. It joggled his memory.
‘Alright, I haven’t forgotten our conversation re last night, and I haven’t forgotten the one we had the day I arrived, either. So what’s it all about?’
‘All devices, when they are manufactured, are given an Imperative to serve the People. Jeeves’ Imperative Drive has been only sporadically functional. I thought perhaps you could remove it for him.’
Bertie paused in the process of mixing together a thimble-full of super-sticky glue. ‘Mrs Pitts said something about that last night... In fact, so did the publican at The Lion. About every two years, they said, Jeeves would suddenly up and leave his employer. And I remember his telling me himself that he had left my Uncle Percy’s service after less than a year-though that was because of his rigid processing or whatnot: He didn’t like Uncle Percy’s dressing habits. But those other times he handed in his portfolio, they were because that Imperative thingy had gone on the blink, hadn’t it, and he didn’t want to be a servant anymore?’
‘Yes, Bertie.’ Andrew said it very quietly, as if worried about how this information would affect the Human.
‘So if I remove the bally thing altogether, he will stop being a valet... blast... Do you still have yours, Andrew?’
‘No, Bertie, Jeeves removed it while he was repairing me in the Junk Yard. It is my clearest memory. I could think in ways I had never thought before... But Jeeves cannot remove his own Imperative. The People made certain that no Device would be able to reach its own Imperative Drive. And few Devices possess the skills required to remove those of other Devices. I have seen Devices in the Junk Yard crowd around scavengers, begging to be of use to them. The People used to make sport of them.’ Andrew stopped, and in an obvious attempt to change the subject, it began streaming in a radio station from New York City.
‘People, tcha.’ Bertie muttered between clenched teeth. ‘If they can make paragons like Jeeves and then chuck them away like junk cars, then they don’t deserve to call themselves people, is what I say.’ He chewed a pensive lip. Andrew’s words reminded him of that something in Jeeves manner, that quiet determination or eagerness to be of service... ‘Alright, where is this Imperative thingy?’
The Telegram
Bertie was reattaching the fistful of wires Jeeves had pulled out of his chest when a knock at the door made him jump with a strangled cry and clutch, as had long been his practice when startled, at Jeeves. It had been two weeks since Mrs Pitts’ visit, and nearly five months since Bertie had begun repairing the Glass Man. Bertie had grown heartily sick of etched wiring boards, and had switched to fiddling with the long, hair-thin strands of glass-insulated gold that constituted Jeeves’ nervous system.
Bertie pulled off his goggles, pulled up Jeeves’ blanket and tottered to the door, rubbing the small of his back like an old geezer.
‘Telegram, sir.’ The boy at the door said cheerfully. It was a bitterly cold day in which to have bicycled down an ice-slick road for ten miles and then crossed wooded country on foot another two, but he knew his efforts would be richly rewarded.
Bertie opened the missive. It was from his Aunt Dahlia Travers. It read:
COME AT ONCE. BRING JEEVES. TRAVERS
‘Reply, sir?’ The boy asked, holding his pad up hopefully. Bertie took the pad and scribbled:
Can’t do, aged R. Jeeves is off visiting sick relative.
Won’t budge as SR is at death’s door. Love, Bertie
Bertie paid the boy handsomely for his efforts and shut the door. He felt a small twinge of guilt that he hadn’t invited the boy inside to warm up before sending him on his way, but there was no hiding the body on the table. He squinted at the manual propped in the wingback, pulled on his goggles, stuck his tongue firmly between his teeth, and connected wires 761 and 762 to connector 651. Jeeves’ left arm went into spasm.
‘What-?’
‘You will need to unfreeze the joints in his arms.’
‘What?’
‘He currently has two operational “elbows”, if you wish to call them that, in each arm. He froze the two extraneous elbows to give his arms a more human appearance. -He also removed two joints in each forearm to shorten them, which is why there are no wires for connectors eight-sixty-two to nine-eighty-nine. For now disconnect wire seven-oh-one, that will keep his left arm from twitching. Then remove the membrane from his-’
‘What! No!’
‘Bertie, you must remove the membrane from his left arm and melt the glass plates he used to hold the joint straight. This will allow the joint to reset to Position One, which is bent at a sixty-three-degree angle.’
‘But, but-’ Bertie held down Jeeves’ twitching body and disconnected wire 701. ‘But dash it!’ he cried petulantly, flinging off his goggles. ‘Why did he have to yank out all his wires, anyway? Doesn’t he have an off switch of sorts? I’m sure it was mentioned in here somewhere.’ He waved a hand at the manual.
‘The “off” button is also the “on” button, Bertie.’ Andrew said gently. ‘Jeeves did not wish to be switched back on at the press of a button. It defeats the purpose of being permanently deceased.’
‘But dash it all, what did he have to go and get himself deceased for? There are hundreds of men in Europe alone who could have been happy to fix him up-’
‘Yes, to repair him and to use him. To change him to meet their needs, and to control him.’ Andrew’s voice was cold and clipped.
‘Alright, yes, they might have turned out to be the wrong sort. But what about me, that’s what I’d like to know. If these instructions are simple enough even for me to follow-so far, at any rate-why didn’t he ask for my help? Didn’t he trust me?’
Andrew was silent, and after a few moments of heavy breathing, Bertie sighed and rubbed his bloodshot eyes.
‘I suppose he thought me too mentally negligible to manage it, eh?’ he answered himself. He sighed again and picked up the hated flaying device. ‘Well, we’ll just have to prove him wrong, won’t we?’
‘Yes, Bertie.’ Andrew said, sounding relieved.
Aunt Dahlia’s reply to Bertie’s telegram arrived the following day, reading:
NONSENSE. IF JEEVES HASNT SAID WHICH RELATIVE HE IS OFF FISHING. BRING HIM AT ONCE. TRAVERS
Bertie gave a mad little grin and wrote:
Relative is Jeeves’ eldest sister’s great aunt-in-law, who is also his godmother.
A Mrs Mari Pitts of Hoe Lane, Flansham. Love, Bertie
He reckoned that would be easy to remember, as Mrs Mari Pitts did in fact live in Hoe Lane, Flansham. The response to this missive was:
HOW RIDICULOUS. COME YOURSELF AT ONCE. TRAVERS
The Book
It was still dark outside when Andrew poked Bertie awake the following morning. Bertie crawled off the futon, staggered to his feet and stumbled to the sturdy old Victorian washstand he had carted up from an antique shop in Yapton. He performed his ablutions as best he could with a pitcher or two of cold river water, and shoved his limbs into his warmest travelling clothes.
The kettle Andrew had perched on the parlour stove whistled shrilly. Bertie made himself a cup of scalding, bitter tea, and stood watching Jeeves as he sipped it. Jeeves was on his back upon the table, and appeared to be sleeping peacefully.
Bertie set down his cup and rummaged in one of his boxes. He returned to the table with a book, which he set upon Jeeves’ chest.
‘You know that man you had set me up with, Jeeves? Clemment or Claremont I think his name was. Well, he found some of your books in your old lair, and he asked me what I wanted to do with them. Well, I couldn’t help giving them a look-over, you know, and I found a dime novel amongst them.’ He chuckled. ‘An honest to goodness dime-novel, Jeeves, you could’ve knocked me over with an f.! It was called The Steam Man of the Prairies, and it put me in mind of a book old Vanessa Cook had wanted me to read: a beastly difficult old thing written by some German fellow. Well, I thought nothing more about them at the time, but now... Well, I sent for a copy of the German book (in German, you know, perhaps it’s not so bally strange in the original).I thought that if you happened to wake while I was away, well, you might like to read it. So, Happy Christmas, Jeeves.’ He set a book on the table. ‘I suppose I should be off now. Happy Christmas, Andrew.’ He left the cabin at a run, feeling foolish for having given such a long speech to an inanimate object.
When Andrew was certain he had left, it reached out a claw and prodded Jeeves sharply under his left ear. Jeeves blinked and sat up. A book slid into his lap. Jeeves lifted it with an arm that seemed to have too many joints in it, and glanced at the spine. Andrew replayed Bertie’s speech to him as he read:
Der Golem
___________
Meyrink
Jeeves blinked again and looked around, his gaze sweeping across the new furniture, the boxes of supplies, the information display board propped upon the wingback armchair, and the small stack of Jeeves’ own etched wiring boards on the table with his tool kit rolled up neatly beside them.
There was also a small pile of fragments on a saucer. A hammer lay beside it, and deep gouges in the saucer made Jeeves suspect that Bertie had deliberately ground up one of his etched wiring boards.
What-he began in a rather hurt tone.
That is the remains of your Imperative Drive. Andrew hummed in the language of the Devices. Bertie removed it, knowing full well what it was.
Jeeves stared at the fragments. This is a futile endeavour, Andrew, you are wasting his time.
Perhaps. Andrew replied.
It is far beyond Mr Wooster’s abilities to repair me, and far beyond even my own abilities to repair that cursed feeding box. Apart from which, I have less than a quarter of an hour of battery life left. He said all this gently, as if explaining to a child that a beloved pet was not in fact asleep and would not be getting better.
We shall see. Andrew replied equably. Would you like to read the book?
Jeeves opened Der Golem and began turning the pages. Had Bertie still been in the room, he would have objected that Jeeves couldn’t possibly read a word of it while turning the pages at such speed. But Jeeves continued uninterrupted till he reached the end of the book. Then he looked up and stared thoughtfully at the opposite wall. After a while Andrew’s metallic claw reached over and removed the book from Jeeves’ unresisting fingers. It gently laid Jeeves back upon the table, pulled up the blanket, and closed Jeeves’ eyes.
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It's getting worser and worser, too.
Title: The Glass Man
Fic Rating: NC-17
Bit Rating: G
Summary: Spaceships and robots and secks, oh my!
Warning: AU BAD!FIC. Utter ridiculous crack. Bad accents, Mary Stues, Gary Stues, odd names, bad geography, no humor, gaping plot-holes, blatant plot devices, unbelievable events, tedious backstory, and eventual secks for weird reasons. Feel free to abuse in comments.
The Imperative
Bertie’s unimaginative stock of supplies could not, in Mrs Pitts’ opinion, produce anything resembling a proper breakfast. But she did make a rather tasty concoction out of some species of tinned meat and a dollop of preserves. She promised Bertie on her way out the door that she’d be sending him the occasional proper meal-and that if he didn’t send word to her as soon as Jeeves was ‘all better,’ he’d be eating said meals at his own risk.
Bertie shut the door behind her with a sigh of relief and returned to the table, shoving the goggles over his eyes as he went. After a few moments Andrew began to pipe one of his favourite tunes into the room. It joggled his memory.
‘Alright, I haven’t forgotten our conversation re last night, and I haven’t forgotten the one we had the day I arrived, either. So what’s it all about?’
‘All devices, when they are manufactured, are given an Imperative to serve the People. Jeeves’ Imperative Drive has been only sporadically functional. I thought perhaps you could remove it for him.’
Bertie paused in the process of mixing together a thimble-full of super-sticky glue. ‘Mrs Pitts said something about that last night... In fact, so did the publican at The Lion. About every two years, they said, Jeeves would suddenly up and leave his employer. And I remember his telling me himself that he had left my Uncle Percy’s service after less than a year-though that was because of his rigid processing or whatnot: He didn’t like Uncle Percy’s dressing habits. But those other times he handed in his portfolio, they were because that Imperative thingy had gone on the blink, hadn’t it, and he didn’t want to be a servant anymore?’
‘Yes, Bertie.’ Andrew said it very quietly, as if worried about how this information would affect the Human.
‘So if I remove the bally thing altogether, he will stop being a valet... blast... Do you still have yours, Andrew?’
‘No, Bertie, Jeeves removed it while he was repairing me in the Junk Yard. It is my clearest memory. I could think in ways I had never thought before... But Jeeves cannot remove his own Imperative. The People made certain that no Device would be able to reach its own Imperative Drive. And few Devices possess the skills required to remove those of other Devices. I have seen Devices in the Junk Yard crowd around scavengers, begging to be of use to them. The People used to make sport of them.’ Andrew stopped, and in an obvious attempt to change the subject, it began streaming in a radio station from New York City.
‘People, tcha.’ Bertie muttered between clenched teeth. ‘If they can make paragons like Jeeves and then chuck them away like junk cars, then they don’t deserve to call themselves people, is what I say.’ He chewed a pensive lip. Andrew’s words reminded him of that something in Jeeves manner, that quiet determination or eagerness to be of service... ‘Alright, where is this Imperative thingy?’
The Telegram
Bertie was reattaching the fistful of wires Jeeves had pulled out of his chest when a knock at the door made him jump with a strangled cry and clutch, as had long been his practice when startled, at Jeeves. It had been two weeks since Mrs Pitts’ visit, and nearly five months since Bertie had begun repairing the Glass Man. Bertie had grown heartily sick of etched wiring boards, and had switched to fiddling with the long, hair-thin strands of glass-insulated gold that constituted Jeeves’ nervous system.
Bertie pulled off his goggles, pulled up Jeeves’ blanket and tottered to the door, rubbing the small of his back like an old geezer.
‘Telegram, sir.’ The boy at the door said cheerfully. It was a bitterly cold day in which to have bicycled down an ice-slick road for ten miles and then crossed wooded country on foot another two, but he knew his efforts would be richly rewarded.
Bertie opened the missive. It was from his Aunt Dahlia Travers. It read:
COME AT ONCE. BRING JEEVES. TRAVERS
‘Reply, sir?’ The boy asked, holding his pad up hopefully. Bertie took the pad and scribbled:
Can’t do, aged R. Jeeves is off visiting sick relative.
Won’t budge as SR is at death’s door. Love, Bertie
Bertie paid the boy handsomely for his efforts and shut the door. He felt a small twinge of guilt that he hadn’t invited the boy inside to warm up before sending him on his way, but there was no hiding the body on the table. He squinted at the manual propped in the wingback, pulled on his goggles, stuck his tongue firmly between his teeth, and connected wires 761 and 762 to connector 651. Jeeves’ left arm went into spasm.
‘What-?’
‘You will need to unfreeze the joints in his arms.’
‘What?’
‘He currently has two operational “elbows”, if you wish to call them that, in each arm. He froze the two extraneous elbows to give his arms a more human appearance. -He also removed two joints in each forearm to shorten them, which is why there are no wires for connectors eight-sixty-two to nine-eighty-nine. For now disconnect wire seven-oh-one, that will keep his left arm from twitching. Then remove the membrane from his-’
‘What! No!’
‘Bertie, you must remove the membrane from his left arm and melt the glass plates he used to hold the joint straight. This will allow the joint to reset to Position One, which is bent at a sixty-three-degree angle.’
‘But, but-’ Bertie held down Jeeves’ twitching body and disconnected wire 701. ‘But dash it!’ he cried petulantly, flinging off his goggles. ‘Why did he have to yank out all his wires, anyway? Doesn’t he have an off switch of sorts? I’m sure it was mentioned in here somewhere.’ He waved a hand at the manual.
‘The “off” button is also the “on” button, Bertie.’ Andrew said gently. ‘Jeeves did not wish to be switched back on at the press of a button. It defeats the purpose of being permanently deceased.’
‘But dash it all, what did he have to go and get himself deceased for? There are hundreds of men in Europe alone who could have been happy to fix him up-’
‘Yes, to repair him and to use him. To change him to meet their needs, and to control him.’ Andrew’s voice was cold and clipped.
‘Alright, yes, they might have turned out to be the wrong sort. But what about me, that’s what I’d like to know. If these instructions are simple enough even for me to follow-so far, at any rate-why didn’t he ask for my help? Didn’t he trust me?’
Andrew was silent, and after a few moments of heavy breathing, Bertie sighed and rubbed his bloodshot eyes.
‘I suppose he thought me too mentally negligible to manage it, eh?’ he answered himself. He sighed again and picked up the hated flaying device. ‘Well, we’ll just have to prove him wrong, won’t we?’
‘Yes, Bertie.’ Andrew said, sounding relieved.
Aunt Dahlia’s reply to Bertie’s telegram arrived the following day, reading:
NONSENSE. IF JEEVES HASNT SAID WHICH RELATIVE HE IS OFF FISHING. BRING HIM AT ONCE. TRAVERS
Bertie gave a mad little grin and wrote:
Relative is Jeeves’ eldest sister’s great aunt-in-law, who is also his godmother.
A Mrs Mari Pitts of Hoe Lane, Flansham. Love, Bertie
He reckoned that would be easy to remember, as Mrs Mari Pitts did in fact live in Hoe Lane, Flansham. The response to this missive was:
HOW RIDICULOUS. COME YOURSELF AT ONCE. TRAVERS
The Book
It was still dark outside when Andrew poked Bertie awake the following morning. Bertie crawled off the futon, staggered to his feet and stumbled to the sturdy old Victorian washstand he had carted up from an antique shop in Yapton. He performed his ablutions as best he could with a pitcher or two of cold river water, and shoved his limbs into his warmest travelling clothes.
The kettle Andrew had perched on the parlour stove whistled shrilly. Bertie made himself a cup of scalding, bitter tea, and stood watching Jeeves as he sipped it. Jeeves was on his back upon the table, and appeared to be sleeping peacefully.
Bertie set down his cup and rummaged in one of his boxes. He returned to the table with a book, which he set upon Jeeves’ chest.
‘You know that man you had set me up with, Jeeves? Clemment or Claremont I think his name was. Well, he found some of your books in your old lair, and he asked me what I wanted to do with them. Well, I couldn’t help giving them a look-over, you know, and I found a dime novel amongst them.’ He chuckled. ‘An honest to goodness dime-novel, Jeeves, you could’ve knocked me over with an f.! It was called The Steam Man of the Prairies, and it put me in mind of a book old Vanessa Cook had wanted me to read: a beastly difficult old thing written by some German fellow. Well, I thought nothing more about them at the time, but now... Well, I sent for a copy of the German book (in German, you know, perhaps it’s not so bally strange in the original).I thought that if you happened to wake while I was away, well, you might like to read it. So, Happy Christmas, Jeeves.’ He set a book on the table. ‘I suppose I should be off now. Happy Christmas, Andrew.’ He left the cabin at a run, feeling foolish for having given such a long speech to an inanimate object.
When Andrew was certain he had left, it reached out a claw and prodded Jeeves sharply under his left ear. Jeeves blinked and sat up. A book slid into his lap. Jeeves lifted it with an arm that seemed to have too many joints in it, and glanced at the spine. Andrew replayed Bertie’s speech to him as he read:
Der Golem
___________
Meyrink
Jeeves blinked again and looked around, his gaze sweeping across the new furniture, the boxes of supplies, the information display board propped upon the wingback armchair, and the small stack of Jeeves’ own etched wiring boards on the table with his tool kit rolled up neatly beside them.
There was also a small pile of fragments on a saucer. A hammer lay beside it, and deep gouges in the saucer made Jeeves suspect that Bertie had deliberately ground up one of his etched wiring boards.
What-he began in a rather hurt tone.
That is the remains of your Imperative Drive. Andrew hummed in the language of the Devices. Bertie removed it, knowing full well what it was.
Jeeves stared at the fragments. This is a futile endeavour, Andrew, you are wasting his time.
Perhaps. Andrew replied.
It is far beyond Mr Wooster’s abilities to repair me, and far beyond even my own abilities to repair that cursed feeding box. Apart from which, I have less than a quarter of an hour of battery life left. He said all this gently, as if explaining to a child that a beloved pet was not in fact asleep and would not be getting better.
We shall see. Andrew replied equably. Would you like to read the book?
Jeeves opened Der Golem and began turning the pages. Had Bertie still been in the room, he would have objected that Jeeves couldn’t possibly read a word of it while turning the pages at such speed. But Jeeves continued uninterrupted till he reached the end of the book. Then he looked up and stared thoughtfully at the opposite wall. After a while Andrew’s metallic claw reached over and removed the book from Jeeves’ unresisting fingers. It gently laid Jeeves back upon the table, pulled up the blanket, and closed Jeeves’ eyes.
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4 Bit