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 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; 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 budtender 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? He was very high.
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.
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