SPG fanfic pt 4
FORRRRRRRR
At first it was such chaos that it almost seemed serene in some dark way. The anxiety Michael felt was swept away in a torrent of images, sounds, and a sustained sense of pure existence coming from three directions at once. It was like music, this drowning in blue matter-like being hit with complex sounds blended into one indistinguishable whole which vibrated through his being.
But then as he listened, or sensed, or was, he began to distinguish the notes, and the dissonance began. He tried to focus on those single strands, as painful as they were, and once he grasped one it was like grabbing a rope pulley-the experience jolted him forward.
He was looking out in distorted color, his metal hands clawing their way up the side of the giant copper Elephant. The hot African wind blew the black smoke from his head ahead of him, and into his eyes. Hatchworth was also climbing the beast. He had abandoned his cannon and his hatch was closed-no more bullets and rockets and other deadly projectiles spewed from it. As the Jon reached the top, the Spine retracted his lightning-laced fingers and pulled open a hatch. His knees buckled and an awful hiss and crackle came from his circuitry.
“What is it, the Spine?” Hatchworth said, and Michael saw, the Spine saw, down in the hatch, grotesque human forms melted into the gears of the great machine.
“Oh. Oh no.” Hatchworth’s voice came to his ears. “They’re not human. They’re not human. There were none alive inside. They were already dead. They’re not human.”
“That’s what pappy s-s-s-said,” Rabbit echoed, stammering for the very first time, and Michael looked at the Spine and Hatchworth, and the Jon, but their protestations were barely enough to keep them from shutting down. They could not tear their eyes away from the gruesome sight. Human? Not Human? Killed by them? Already dead?
“Their bodies were merely powering the machine.” Peter Walter I’s voice brought them out of the crack in their sanity. “They were already dead. You did no harm to them.”
The scene dissolved and Rabbit, the Spine, Hatchworth, the Jon-Michael, who was Michael? The memories were everywhere. There were other robots there, and then they were gone. Music wove through everything, old music crooning through their cores, crystallizing in their brains. Rabbit’s core was torn somewhere-it had erupted-men died. Men died. Michael felt the strain, near unto breaking, that single thought caused. Again, a Walter's voice, the first thing he heard after he saw Norman’s disfigured face: “it wasn’t your fault-you weren’t in control-it was an accident.” Norman Becile, disfigured, skulking in the entranceway to the manor year after year after year... a constant pounding chord of dissonance beneath the sweet tones of love songs.
Love songs going on and on. Michael strained to keep things in order. Michael, who was that? Ah, Michael, the boy at the clockwork vaudeville show. I shook his hand-no, the Spine shook his hand, I am the Spine… I watched the Spine shake his hand while wondering, what was it like to eat a pickle?
The rice was still hot. Its steam rose over the dead bodies of the family that had sat down to eat it. A soldier picked it up and began to scoop out great handfuls without even looking at the woman’s face on the porch. The Spine could not move for a moment. Then he took the bowl of rice from the soldier, and set it down, his joints rattling worse than Rabbit’s.
“Wwwwe were c-kkk-coming, you didn’t h-aaave to ki-ki-killllll….”
“Well you were too late! They were going to kill us!” the soldier snarled, streaks of white in the grime under his eyes.”They were starving us out! Setting traps! You don’t know what it’s been like! Of course you don’t know-you’re not even human! You don’t know what it is to be hungry and miserable-”
That same soldier, blown to pieces by a landmine the Jon couldn’t warn him about in time.
There was a family, a mother and father and child not two years old, covered in blisters from the gas the Jon had tried to drag them away from. They cried in misery on the floor of the tents, joined by soldiers who had tried to evacuate the area. And then they stopped crying sometime one night, and for a moment the Jon thought they had fallen asleep. But they were gone-he was helping another human and hadn’t been there to stop their deaths.
“You can’t save all of them. You have to save whoever you can. Think of all the people you are saving who would have died if you weren’t there. You have to keep running for as long as you can.”
There was more. So much more. A lifetime’s worth of conflicts in each war, the same near-breakage of some deep internal workings. But they had adapted-there was no time to go immobile over the death of one human, when there was another about to come to harm a few feet away. In a way like high strings about to snap, the notes went higher and deeper at the same time, faster and faster, ascending into madness and transforming into a tension that could only just be contained at the edge of consciousness.
Oh how he longed to understand them, even as he watched them kill each other for no reason he could comprehend at all. Oh how he longed to sing again, but he had to make pappy proud. Oh how he longed to go traveling in other realities where there was more magic and fewer orders, and not so much death. But they had to keep scrambling to save them, never stopping for more than an hour, never letting the death of one cause death to even more. The bullets ricocheted off them as they ran like moving shields, and sometimes they happened to hit someone anyway.
It was an eternity of death mingled with dance halls and county fairs, city parks and circuses. People laughed as they died, and the robots danced with each other and with humans who came and went like seasons. And somewhere far away a space shuttle exploded, a blip of light in the night sky as the lives on board winked out, another Walter gone.
In the middle of all this swirling memory there were holes, spaces of blankness where the strain converged. All wars, with the exception of the Normal Becile incident…
He had a knack for harmonies. Somehow all of this could be put right, could be rearranged so that even the dissonance had a purpose. But first he had to lay it all out, separate the themes.
Every time he tried, all he could do was relive whatever memory seized upon his brain on repeat like one of Rabbit’s worst malfunctions.
“They’re not human.”
“My daughter Anna! Save my daughter Anna!”
“Go get that body, Rabbit.”
“I told you to kill them!”
“You were too late.”
“Bob’s got half his head blown off-”
“I can’t feel my legs. I’m gonna die aren’t I?”
“Can’t-”
“YOU PULL THAT TRIGGER-”
“-bleeding out-”
“Can’t be helped. You did the right thing.”
The images of dead and dying soldiers, blank faced or rattling breath through damaged throat and lungs, green in the face from disease or infection. It was too much for one person. A century’s worth of bloodshed placed on the shoulders of a handful of souls. It was ridiculous. All as fresh as if it happened yesterday. He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t his fault. He tried. But his mind wouldn’t work. It was locked up-immobile under the weight of so many impossible but necessary actions. He could have saved them all. It was impossible, but to do anything less was impossible too….
----
Michael’s body was lying on the floor, the blue matter portal swirling peacefully behind it. He saw himself from three angles, an indescribable peace settling in his mind even as he saw Peter Walter V covering his body with a sheet, crying as he’d felt like crying moments ago. It was a terribly sad sound, and yes, the world was full of suffering, but it had been lightened by them. Their existence had meant the saving of so many lives, he knew that now. There was no question-they had done well.
“Well,” Peter said, once he had gotten a grip on himself and turned toward the automatons. “I suppose none of you will work now either….”
He looked utterly defeated and hopeless. The Spine’s eyes flashed brightly and he whirred into motion. Michael stretched his hand out in a placating gesture.
“We’re just fine, sir,” said The Spine. Peter’s face went slack in shock.
“But-Michael is-Mister Reed-”
“Why is he lying over there,” the Jon asked quizzically, “when he’s over here?”
Peter’s breath caught as his face crumpled. “I made a terrible mistake. It wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t any of you-”
“P-Pete, whatcha talkin’ about??” Rabbit tilted his head at an obscene angle. “It worked, didn’t it?”
Peter just stared at them, the gears turning in his head so to speak.
“You’re still talking,” he said dumbly, pointing at Rabbit.
“Tha-that’s what I’m good at! Should I stop?”
“No,” Peter breathed. “No, don’t stop. This is good, I just-don’t understand. Michael’s… dead… I thought that would make it impossible for you-”
“I’m not dead,” all the robots said at once. Peter nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound. “I’m still here.”
“Wha… Michael?” Peter’s voice shook; he whirled to look at the body and then back at the robots. “Is that you?”
“We’re all here.”
Peter’s face took on a peculiar excitement and interest. “’We’re all here’, you say. What do you mean by that?”
“It’s me,” they said. “We’re alright.”
Peter’s brow furrowed deeply, and he walked over to the Spine and stuck out his hand. “The Spine?”
The Spine looked up at him and took his hand, shaking it briefly. “Yes, sir? Congratulations, the experiment appears to have been a, uh, a success!”
“Somehow,” Peter murmured to himself. “Well, how are you feeling? Can you get up?”
“Well, let’s see, ahaha….” The Spine leaned forward and rose to his feet more or less smoothly, rocking slightly in place once he’d straightened. “Everything appears to be in order….” He looked down at his chest and arms.
“Where’s Michael, the Spine?” Peter asked cautiously.
“He’s here, isn’t he?” the Spine said, frowning in thought and looking around. His eyes lingered for half a moment on his body. “Oh, there he is. We just have to put him back in there, right?”
The Jon got up and tipped his hat to Peter. “Easy as pie!”
“I…I’m….” Peter looked crestfallen. “Not that easy, I’m afraid. His body is past saving-but don’t worry!” He looked at each of the robots anxiously, searching for signs of shut-down. “I’ll figure something out. And he’s still alive… for now… isn’t he?”
“I’m alright,” they said. Michael had, actually, never felt more serene. The robots knew this too, and it made their minds sing through the new connection between them. As one mind, they functioned smoothly.
“You’ll figure something out,” Rabbit said, finally clambering to his feet. His joints were still a little shaky. “I b-belieeeeve in you, Petey.” He laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder. His deranged grin was oddly comforting. Peter nodded, the determination visible in his face.
“Yes. Yes, we’ll figure something out….” He fidgeted with his mustache thoughtfully. “A way for Mister Reed to live longer even than the most long-lived human. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“Yeah-haaaa!” Rabbit cheered, waving his arms above his head recklessly. “See, what I tell ya?”
Peter took a deep breath, still visibly rattled, and rubbed the wet spots from his face with a handkerchief.
“Are you all right, sir?” The Spine asked, putting his hand on Peter’s other shoulder and patting it with carefully precise motions.
“Yes, I’m fine. I just thought for a moment that I might have lost all of you… but of course, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“I feel better already!” The Jon said.
“Well that’s the point, the Jon,” Rabbit said. “Y-you are all better ready. Better ready all. ALREADY BETTER. There.”
“Why am I still stuttering like that,” the Spine mused.
“You’re not,” Peter frowned. “Rabbit’s stuttering....”
“Right. That’s what I said,” the Jon piped up. “Why is Rabbit still stuttering like that?”
Peter shook his head. “Michael? I don’t know. He’s still quite old… if he would just let me repair him….”
“I don’t need re-repairs,” Rabbit said in one of his overly deep voices. “I’m fit as a fiddle.” He made a strange noise which was supposed to be an imitation of said fiddle, but it was rather grating.
“Oh come on Rabbit. We all need repairs sometimes,” the Spine said. “Now that we’re all feeling better, might as well go allll the way!”
“Ohohoh,” the Jon laughed, and after an awkward pause said “speaking of pie….”
“Michael, are you alright with waiting until I can figure out a way to place you in another body?”
“A robot body?” asked the Spine.
“Like us?” asked Rabbit
“Well, I can’t put you back in your old body… I don’t think it would work now. It’s too late. But there may be a way I can build a new body for you. Maybe eventually even one that looks human… although I can’t make any promises. For now the important thing is figuring out a way to safely transfer you to a body of your own.”
“Alright,” said the Jon. “I’m alright with waiting.”
“Yes sir,” the Spine said with gusto, rocking side to side.
“Now that we’re feeling better we can do shows again! AAHHhhhh!” Rabbit waved his arms in excitement. “Is it too late to un-cancel the one in Frisco?”
“Maybe not,” Peter smiled. “But… who will play the drums and everything else?”
“Oh,” the Spine frowned. “That is a problem.”
“We could try without the drums and keyboard?” the Jon suggested. “And banjo… and…okay maybe we can’t.”
“How long do you think it will take to give me a body?” Rabbit asked.
Peter looked overwhelmed. “Uhhh… I’m not sure. I’ll give you an estimate as soon as I’ve laid out the plans.”
“Fair enough.” The Spine looked satisfied and clapped his hands mechanically. “Good work, sir. Another successful innovation from Walter Robotics! Now I’d better get back to the Hall of Wires.”
“Yeah, I’d better,” said the Jon.
“Where’m I goin,” Rabbit spun slowly in a circle and then went up to shake Peter’s hand vigorously. “Great job, great job. Now uh, what’re we gonna d-do with that?” He pointed at the sheet lying over Michael’s body.
Peter stared at him in amazement. “How can you act so nonchalant about a dead body?”
Rabbit shrugged. “I know Michael’s alive, just like we were still alive when we got taken out of here.” He rapped his metal chest with both fists. The vest and shirt were still open. “Oh, pardon me,” he laughed self-consciously and began to button up.
“Ah. I see.” Peter still looked perplexed though. “I just thought… the laws….”
“Nobody got hurt,” Rabbit said simply. “Right?”
“I suppose.” Peter wasn’t sure if having yourself permanently removed from your own body qualified as “no harm” but if the robots had some new awareness that humans existed outside their bodies, that might make all the difference in the world. And if Michael’s consciousness was reassuring them that he was safe….
“You mean s-s-s-s-omebody did get hu-hurt?” Rabbit asked.
“No,” Peter said firmly. “No, nobody got hurt. I was just thinking, is all.”
Rabbit stared at him for a minute, trying to figure out if Peter was hiding something. Then he gave up. “If you say so! Well, I’m gonna go try on a new face-this one’s boring.”
Their viewpoints stretched out to three different parts of the manor, but within the connection Michael felt no strain relative to physical distance or separate stimuli. It was all part of the same being.
At first it was such chaos that it almost seemed serene in some dark way. The anxiety Michael felt was swept away in a torrent of images, sounds, and a sustained sense of pure existence coming from three directions at once. It was like music, this drowning in blue matter-like being hit with complex sounds blended into one indistinguishable whole which vibrated through his being.
But then as he listened, or sensed, or was, he began to distinguish the notes, and the dissonance began. He tried to focus on those single strands, as painful as they were, and once he grasped one it was like grabbing a rope pulley-the experience jolted him forward.
He was looking out in distorted color, his metal hands clawing their way up the side of the giant copper Elephant. The hot African wind blew the black smoke from his head ahead of him, and into his eyes. Hatchworth was also climbing the beast. He had abandoned his cannon and his hatch was closed-no more bullets and rockets and other deadly projectiles spewed from it. As the Jon reached the top, the Spine retracted his lightning-laced fingers and pulled open a hatch. His knees buckled and an awful hiss and crackle came from his circuitry.
“What is it, the Spine?” Hatchworth said, and Michael saw, the Spine saw, down in the hatch, grotesque human forms melted into the gears of the great machine.
“Oh. Oh no.” Hatchworth’s voice came to his ears. “They’re not human. They’re not human. There were none alive inside. They were already dead. They’re not human.”
“That’s what pappy s-s-s-said,” Rabbit echoed, stammering for the very first time, and Michael looked at the Spine and Hatchworth, and the Jon, but their protestations were barely enough to keep them from shutting down. They could not tear their eyes away from the gruesome sight. Human? Not Human? Killed by them? Already dead?
“Their bodies were merely powering the machine.” Peter Walter I’s voice brought them out of the crack in their sanity. “They were already dead. You did no harm to them.”
The scene dissolved and Rabbit, the Spine, Hatchworth, the Jon-Michael, who was Michael? The memories were everywhere. There were other robots there, and then they were gone. Music wove through everything, old music crooning through their cores, crystallizing in their brains. Rabbit’s core was torn somewhere-it had erupted-men died. Men died. Michael felt the strain, near unto breaking, that single thought caused. Again, a Walter's voice, the first thing he heard after he saw Norman’s disfigured face: “it wasn’t your fault-you weren’t in control-it was an accident.” Norman Becile, disfigured, skulking in the entranceway to the manor year after year after year... a constant pounding chord of dissonance beneath the sweet tones of love songs.
Love songs going on and on. Michael strained to keep things in order. Michael, who was that? Ah, Michael, the boy at the clockwork vaudeville show. I shook his hand-no, the Spine shook his hand, I am the Spine… I watched the Spine shake his hand while wondering, what was it like to eat a pickle?
The rice was still hot. Its steam rose over the dead bodies of the family that had sat down to eat it. A soldier picked it up and began to scoop out great handfuls without even looking at the woman’s face on the porch. The Spine could not move for a moment. Then he took the bowl of rice from the soldier, and set it down, his joints rattling worse than Rabbit’s.
“Wwwwe were c-kkk-coming, you didn’t h-aaave to ki-ki-killllll….”
“Well you were too late! They were going to kill us!” the soldier snarled, streaks of white in the grime under his eyes.”They were starving us out! Setting traps! You don’t know what it’s been like! Of course you don’t know-you’re not even human! You don’t know what it is to be hungry and miserable-”
That same soldier, blown to pieces by a landmine the Jon couldn’t warn him about in time.
There was a family, a mother and father and child not two years old, covered in blisters from the gas the Jon had tried to drag them away from. They cried in misery on the floor of the tents, joined by soldiers who had tried to evacuate the area. And then they stopped crying sometime one night, and for a moment the Jon thought they had fallen asleep. But they were gone-he was helping another human and hadn’t been there to stop their deaths.
“You can’t save all of them. You have to save whoever you can. Think of all the people you are saving who would have died if you weren’t there. You have to keep running for as long as you can.”
There was more. So much more. A lifetime’s worth of conflicts in each war, the same near-breakage of some deep internal workings. But they had adapted-there was no time to go immobile over the death of one human, when there was another about to come to harm a few feet away. In a way like high strings about to snap, the notes went higher and deeper at the same time, faster and faster, ascending into madness and transforming into a tension that could only just be contained at the edge of consciousness.
Oh how he longed to understand them, even as he watched them kill each other for no reason he could comprehend at all. Oh how he longed to sing again, but he had to make pappy proud. Oh how he longed to go traveling in other realities where there was more magic and fewer orders, and not so much death. But they had to keep scrambling to save them, never stopping for more than an hour, never letting the death of one cause death to even more. The bullets ricocheted off them as they ran like moving shields, and sometimes they happened to hit someone anyway.
It was an eternity of death mingled with dance halls and county fairs, city parks and circuses. People laughed as they died, and the robots danced with each other and with humans who came and went like seasons. And somewhere far away a space shuttle exploded, a blip of light in the night sky as the lives on board winked out, another Walter gone.
In the middle of all this swirling memory there were holes, spaces of blankness where the strain converged. All wars, with the exception of the Normal Becile incident…
He had a knack for harmonies. Somehow all of this could be put right, could be rearranged so that even the dissonance had a purpose. But first he had to lay it all out, separate the themes.
Every time he tried, all he could do was relive whatever memory seized upon his brain on repeat like one of Rabbit’s worst malfunctions.
“They’re not human.”
“My daughter Anna! Save my daughter Anna!”
“Go get that body, Rabbit.”
“I told you to kill them!”
“You were too late.”
“Bob’s got half his head blown off-”
“I can’t feel my legs. I’m gonna die aren’t I?”
“Can’t-”
“YOU PULL THAT TRIGGER-”
“-bleeding out-”
“Can’t be helped. You did the right thing.”
The images of dead and dying soldiers, blank faced or rattling breath through damaged throat and lungs, green in the face from disease or infection. It was too much for one person. A century’s worth of bloodshed placed on the shoulders of a handful of souls. It was ridiculous. All as fresh as if it happened yesterday. He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t his fault. He tried. But his mind wouldn’t work. It was locked up-immobile under the weight of so many impossible but necessary actions. He could have saved them all. It was impossible, but to do anything less was impossible too….
----
Michael’s body was lying on the floor, the blue matter portal swirling peacefully behind it. He saw himself from three angles, an indescribable peace settling in his mind even as he saw Peter Walter V covering his body with a sheet, crying as he’d felt like crying moments ago. It was a terribly sad sound, and yes, the world was full of suffering, but it had been lightened by them. Their existence had meant the saving of so many lives, he knew that now. There was no question-they had done well.
“Well,” Peter said, once he had gotten a grip on himself and turned toward the automatons. “I suppose none of you will work now either….”
He looked utterly defeated and hopeless. The Spine’s eyes flashed brightly and he whirred into motion. Michael stretched his hand out in a placating gesture.
“We’re just fine, sir,” said The Spine. Peter’s face went slack in shock.
“But-Michael is-Mister Reed-”
“Why is he lying over there,” the Jon asked quizzically, “when he’s over here?”
Peter’s breath caught as his face crumpled. “I made a terrible mistake. It wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t any of you-”
“P-Pete, whatcha talkin’ about??” Rabbit tilted his head at an obscene angle. “It worked, didn’t it?”
Peter just stared at them, the gears turning in his head so to speak.
“You’re still talking,” he said dumbly, pointing at Rabbit.
“Tha-that’s what I’m good at! Should I stop?”
“No,” Peter breathed. “No, don’t stop. This is good, I just-don’t understand. Michael’s… dead… I thought that would make it impossible for you-”
“I’m not dead,” all the robots said at once. Peter nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound. “I’m still here.”
“Wha… Michael?” Peter’s voice shook; he whirled to look at the body and then back at the robots. “Is that you?”
“We’re all here.”
Peter’s face took on a peculiar excitement and interest. “’We’re all here’, you say. What do you mean by that?”
“It’s me,” they said. “We’re alright.”
Peter’s brow furrowed deeply, and he walked over to the Spine and stuck out his hand. “The Spine?”
The Spine looked up at him and took his hand, shaking it briefly. “Yes, sir? Congratulations, the experiment appears to have been a, uh, a success!”
“Somehow,” Peter murmured to himself. “Well, how are you feeling? Can you get up?”
“Well, let’s see, ahaha….” The Spine leaned forward and rose to his feet more or less smoothly, rocking slightly in place once he’d straightened. “Everything appears to be in order….” He looked down at his chest and arms.
“Where’s Michael, the Spine?” Peter asked cautiously.
“He’s here, isn’t he?” the Spine said, frowning in thought and looking around. His eyes lingered for half a moment on his body. “Oh, there he is. We just have to put him back in there, right?”
The Jon got up and tipped his hat to Peter. “Easy as pie!”
“I…I’m….” Peter looked crestfallen. “Not that easy, I’m afraid. His body is past saving-but don’t worry!” He looked at each of the robots anxiously, searching for signs of shut-down. “I’ll figure something out. And he’s still alive… for now… isn’t he?”
“I’m alright,” they said. Michael had, actually, never felt more serene. The robots knew this too, and it made their minds sing through the new connection between them. As one mind, they functioned smoothly.
“You’ll figure something out,” Rabbit said, finally clambering to his feet. His joints were still a little shaky. “I b-belieeeeve in you, Petey.” He laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder. His deranged grin was oddly comforting. Peter nodded, the determination visible in his face.
“Yes. Yes, we’ll figure something out….” He fidgeted with his mustache thoughtfully. “A way for Mister Reed to live longer even than the most long-lived human. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“Yeah-haaaa!” Rabbit cheered, waving his arms above his head recklessly. “See, what I tell ya?”
Peter took a deep breath, still visibly rattled, and rubbed the wet spots from his face with a handkerchief.
“Are you all right, sir?” The Spine asked, putting his hand on Peter’s other shoulder and patting it with carefully precise motions.
“Yes, I’m fine. I just thought for a moment that I might have lost all of you… but of course, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“I feel better already!” The Jon said.
“Well that’s the point, the Jon,” Rabbit said. “Y-you are all better ready. Better ready all. ALREADY BETTER. There.”
“Why am I still stuttering like that,” the Spine mused.
“You’re not,” Peter frowned. “Rabbit’s stuttering....”
“Right. That’s what I said,” the Jon piped up. “Why is Rabbit still stuttering like that?”
Peter shook his head. “Michael? I don’t know. He’s still quite old… if he would just let me repair him….”
“I don’t need re-repairs,” Rabbit said in one of his overly deep voices. “I’m fit as a fiddle.” He made a strange noise which was supposed to be an imitation of said fiddle, but it was rather grating.
“Oh come on Rabbit. We all need repairs sometimes,” the Spine said. “Now that we’re all feeling better, might as well go allll the way!”
“Ohohoh,” the Jon laughed, and after an awkward pause said “speaking of pie….”
“Michael, are you alright with waiting until I can figure out a way to place you in another body?”
“A robot body?” asked the Spine.
“Like us?” asked Rabbit
“Well, I can’t put you back in your old body… I don’t think it would work now. It’s too late. But there may be a way I can build a new body for you. Maybe eventually even one that looks human… although I can’t make any promises. For now the important thing is figuring out a way to safely transfer you to a body of your own.”
“Alright,” said the Jon. “I’m alright with waiting.”
“Yes sir,” the Spine said with gusto, rocking side to side.
“Now that we’re feeling better we can do shows again! AAHHhhhh!” Rabbit waved his arms in excitement. “Is it too late to un-cancel the one in Frisco?”
“Maybe not,” Peter smiled. “But… who will play the drums and everything else?”
“Oh,” the Spine frowned. “That is a problem.”
“We could try without the drums and keyboard?” the Jon suggested. “And banjo… and…okay maybe we can’t.”
“How long do you think it will take to give me a body?” Rabbit asked.
Peter looked overwhelmed. “Uhhh… I’m not sure. I’ll give you an estimate as soon as I’ve laid out the plans.”
“Fair enough.” The Spine looked satisfied and clapped his hands mechanically. “Good work, sir. Another successful innovation from Walter Robotics! Now I’d better get back to the Hall of Wires.”
“Yeah, I’d better,” said the Jon.
“Where’m I goin,” Rabbit spun slowly in a circle and then went up to shake Peter’s hand vigorously. “Great job, great job. Now uh, what’re we gonna d-do with that?” He pointed at the sheet lying over Michael’s body.
Peter stared at him in amazement. “How can you act so nonchalant about a dead body?”
Rabbit shrugged. “I know Michael’s alive, just like we were still alive when we got taken out of here.” He rapped his metal chest with both fists. The vest and shirt were still open. “Oh, pardon me,” he laughed self-consciously and began to button up.
“Ah. I see.” Peter still looked perplexed though. “I just thought… the laws….”
“Nobody got hurt,” Rabbit said simply. “Right?”
“I suppose.” Peter wasn’t sure if having yourself permanently removed from your own body qualified as “no harm” but if the robots had some new awareness that humans existed outside their bodies, that might make all the difference in the world. And if Michael’s consciousness was reassuring them that he was safe….
“You mean s-s-s-s-omebody did get hu-hurt?” Rabbit asked.
“No,” Peter said firmly. “No, nobody got hurt. I was just thinking, is all.”
Rabbit stared at him for a minute, trying to figure out if Peter was hiding something. Then he gave up. “If you say so! Well, I’m gonna go try on a new face-this one’s boring.”
Their viewpoints stretched out to three different parts of the manor, but within the connection Michael felt no strain relative to physical distance or separate stimuli. It was all part of the same being.