The disintegration bolt hit the sasquatch in its chest. It shrieked as it disappeared. Agent 27142 squealed with joy. He reached out to the kitten to take hold of it. However, it swiped his hand with its rainbow-colored claws, fled backward on a bolt of lightning, and jumped out of the Barrier without him. He squealed in anger.
He glanced down at his torso and cursed. Blood stained his uniform. Based on the shape of his wound, Agent 27142 surmised that the sasquatch must have used some sort of savage ballistic gun, which meant that he could fix himself right up. He groaned in pain as he twisted to press a button on his holster. Near the buckle of the holster opened a small hole, out of which slithered a metallic earthworm. The creature crawled into the wound, removed the bullet, ate away any potentially infected tissue, and then cauterized the wound with flames from its anus. Afterward, it slithered back out of the wound and returned to its home in Agent 27142’s holster. Agent 27142 passed out from the pain.
When he came to, he was once more tumbling through the infinite expanse of the Barrier. He frowned and hoped he would not need to wait six more years for another chance to escape his aimless drift. He had a mission to complete, after all.
Chapter 10
DRILLBOT GOES UNDERGROUND
DRILLBOT LISTENED TO the blaring notes of the alarm drift out to him from the hole that he had torn in the side of the ship when he had entered it a decade ago. He steeled himself and concentrated on his task at hand. He knew this was going to take crackerjack timing. Luckily, he had little else to do but plan over the last half-decade in which he had clung to the outside of this shift-shuttle, so he had long ago calculated the necessary timing and physics of his launch.
Thus, as soon as the alarm rang out, Drillbot counted down the milliseconds. Five … Four … Three … Two … One … Now!
Drillbot leapt from the side of the ship. He crashed onto the ground and rolled for a good half-mile, leaving a path of destruction in his wake. Luckily, his tumble had dropped him in the middle of an undeveloped forest outside a residential neighborhood, so loss of life was minimal. Well, minimal aside from the dozens and dozens of trees that lay broken and destroyed and the multitude of woodland critter corpses that lay strewn about the ground.
Drillbot pulled himself upright. He was still functioning, so his hypothesis that his falling speed was so fast that he might kill himself upon landing was proven wrong. He glanced around to gain his bearings. His internal positioning system told him that he was on the correct reality, so the timing of his release from the shift-shuttle had been correct. The major problem was that he had landed thousands of miles away from where he would like to be: his former master’s place of residence—the home on Earth 6,076 that he had visited with Art and the god and the Blue One upon completing the rescue of the Blue One from Earth 1,000,000.
So Drillbot heaved a steamy sigh and revved his engines. Knowing that the quickest path between two points is a straight line, he brought his drills to full power and dove drills-first into the ground in order to dig directly toward the aforementioned second point in this line.
The trip resuscitated long-archived memories of his travel below the surface of Earth 1,000,000 immediately after he had been brought into existence. Drillbot remembered the many complaints of his former master during the trip, and the memory of that whining voice drifted through his processors like an annoying ghost. The memory made him more ashamed than ever that he had murdered his former master.
He revved his engines and dug faster.
Chapter 11
RESURRECTION VIA ROBOT
Drillbot hid in the bushes and peered through the window into his former master’s home. Much to his dismay, strangers now occupied the place. Drillbot frowned, for he had not suspected this scenario. He had always understood this domicile as belonging to his former master, and he had never considered that it might change ownership if Art were not occupying it.
Inside, a young couple sat at a table and fed a toddler sitting in a high chair. The baby giggled and chewed its food happily. Drillbot remembered his dreams of a family with Ginny Rex. He frowned his version of a frown. He backed away from the window and considered his options. He needed to gain access to the domicile, but he resolved not to harm this family to do so.
Then he had an idea. He waited until deep into the night, and then left the bushes in search of somewhere that purveyed in clothing. He wandered through the streets, darting from shadow to shadow until he found a place that might have what he was looking for.
The Memorial Centre Mall stood out in stark contrast to the strip malls around it. The mall was a bastion of capitalism, featuring every department store imaginable. The fringes around its many, many doorframes were tinted gold, its walls were covered in ivy, and its parking garage was four-stories tall. Like corpses left abandoned upon an unconquerable battlefield, empty and boarded mom-and-pop shops lined the streets leading to the mall.
Drillbot approached a door to the Memorial Centre Mall, but he found that it was locked. The mall’s hours were printed on the tinted glass door in white, and they informed Drillbot that the mall had closed hours ago. He analyzed the door with his telescopic eyes and concluded that an alarm would be tripped if he simply smashed through it. So, he did what any robot designed for drilling would do at a time like this: he drilled underground and entered the mall from below.
Upon exiting the dark dirt and entering the dimly lit interior of the mall, he raced from shop to shop and department store to department store, collecting the biggest dress shirt, mittens, trucker hat, and trench coat he could find. He made one final stop by the novelty shop to steal a mask that would make him look human, deciding in the end upon one that looked to him like a generic human being, though the label read Giant Baby.
Drillbot dressed himself in his new outfit. He forced the dress shirt over his torso and covered it with the trench coat that, when fastened, covered him enough to conceal his wheels so long as nobody looked even remotely in the direction of them. His drills were too big for the sleeves of shirt and coat alike, so the sleeves shredded when Drillbot forced his drills through them, and the fabric dangled in loose tatters. He tucked the ends of his drills into the mittens and pulled the baby-face mask over his head, which he crowned with the trucker hat. He stared at himself in the department store mirror for a moment and nodded in approval at how well he passed for human. The plastic pacifier dangling from the latex lips of the baby mask bobbed and rattled.
Drillbot exited through the hole he had dug and returned to his hiding spot outside the apartment. In the morning, he rolled to the breaker box on the side of the building, removed his left drill from its mitten, and unceremoniously slashed the breaker box with his drill. The power to the building winked out. Drillbot replaced the mitten onto his left drill tip, and now back in full costume, rolled around to the front door and knocked.
Moments later, the male occupant opened the door.
Drillbot initiated the Deception Matrix within his processors, tapped himself with one mitten, and said, “[whir] Greetings, sir. This human – CLACK – This human – CLACK – This human works for the city and has heard that there have been some – CLACK – some problems with the power around here. May this human come inside and – CLACK – and inspect your domicile for problems?”
The male stared at Drillbot, his eyes wide open in shock. He screamed and ran into the apartment. He attempted to slam the door shut, but Drillbot caught it with one of his mitten-covered drills.
Drillbot entered the apartment. “[whir] Sir? This human means you no – CLACK – no harm.”
The man returned to view from one of the back rooms. He now held a pistol. His hands shook as he aimed it at Drillbot. He said, “What the hell are you? Leave us alone, or-or-or I’ll shoot.”
Drillbot frowned, and the wobbling of his radar dishes in the process caused the latex mask to bob back-and-forth on his head. Drillbot sighed and stopped frowning, but the mask now rested so the eye holes were out of pla
ce, and he could only see out of one of them. The man shrieked in terror. His wife walked into the room and did the same.
Drillbot held up his mitten-covered drills in deference. “[whir] Please, put the – CLACK – put the weapon down. This human means you no harm. This human has come to check on the – CLACK – check on the power outage for the city.”
The man did not comply, instead tightening his finger on the trigger. “I mean it, freak! Get out of here!”
“[whir] This human must warn you, bullets have no – CLACK – have no effect on this human.”
“Why are you here? And don’t feed me no more lies about the power!”
Drillbot sighed once more. “[whir] As you wish. The – CLACK – The – CLACK – The truth. An old – CLACK – an old friend once lived here. Drillbot just needs to collect something he – CLACK – he left behind.”
The man frowned. “And what’s that?”
Drillbot replied, “[whir] A god died here. Drillbot must collect whatever is left of his – CLACK – of his remains to bring him back to life.”
“What the hell you talkin’ ‘bout?” demanded the woman, who had procured from somewhere a large black frying pan, which she wielded with both hands in front of her like a club.
Drillbot scanned the floor with his telescopic eyes near where God-Art had dissolved and died. The carpet had been replaced since his former master had resided here, so he toggled his eyes over to the X-Ray functionality to see through this new shag. He zoomed in on a microscopic level. The residents of the apartment continued yelling to the robot with questions and threats, but he turned down his audio receptors so that he could concentrate.
“[whir] There!” he exclaimed when he recognized a few skin flakes and a strand of coarse hair. The pieces registered as having identical DNA sequence to Drillbot’s former master, but the molecular structure was different.
Drillbot rolled forward. What felt like a few tiny rocks bounced off his chest. He flipped the volume back up on his audio receptors and looked from where three small holes had appeared in his trench coat over to the man with the gun. The gun’s barrel was smoking. The gun itself lay on the carpet next to the man, who lay writhing on the ground clutching his left calf. Blood seeped out between his fingers where a bullet must have lodged itself after ricocheting from Drillbot.
The woman ran over to the man’s side, crouched, and cradled him in her arms. “What the hell’d you do?” she screamed at Drillbot.
Drillbot continued rolling forward to where he had seen the dead and dormant pieces of God-Art. He said, “[whir] Drillbot warned you, human. Drillbot is – CLACK – is immune to bullets.”
Knowing not what else to do and having no better ideas, Drillbot ripped up the carpet. He swept the dead remains of the mischief god into a tiny pile on the bare floor. He unclasped his trench coat, exposing his metal torso. He touched the knobs and dials that stretched up his torso in a pattern known only to himself, and the metal hide popped open, exposing his inner workings. His metal heart beat with thrum after thrum of electricity. He sighed, took aim at the dead flakes and hair, and released his electric life force into the god’s dead pieces.
Kilowatt after kilowatt flowed from him. His vision began fuzzing and he felt himself drifting into unconsciousness. Just before he blacked out, he noticed the skin flakes begin to dance and the hair begin to writhe like a worm. He gave a final blast and halted the current. He slammed his metal torso shut and locked it, glad the wounded man in the corner of the apartment had not chosen the moments when his delicate inner workings were exposed to fire the gun.
Drillbot stared at the dead god’s debris. The skin flakes wrapped themselves around the hair. The hair caught flame. Smoke billowed from it for about a dozen seconds before the hair bounced from the floor to the wall to the ceiling, leaving a trail of fire behind it like a set of lethal footprints.
The flames grew, enveloping the trail from the floor to the wall to the ceiling. However, Drillbot concerned himself little for fire danger to the family or their domicile, because he detected no heat emanating from the fire. Further, the wall showed no scorch marks beneath the flames, and the fire did not seem to be spreading farther into the domicile.
Then the fire transformed into a thick, black, billowing plume of smoke that filled the room. Drillbot heard the man and the woman erupt into choking coughs. Without warning, the man’s rapidly leaking blood levitated from the ground and drifted over to the corner of the room where the smoke swirled the thickest.
The man’s blood danced within the smoke and shadows, turning them red. The red smoke began vibrating and twirling, almost like it was dancing. A terrible laughter boomed from its center and filled the room. All the light bulbs in the apartment exploded, and a voice echoed seemingly from everywhere. “Muahaha! I am returned!”
The smoke gathered in the corner of the room and formed into the outline of a nine-and-a-half-foot tall man. The top of the smoke-man’s head erupted into flames. The smoke condensed below the flames and solidified into the man’s face and body, the latter of which was covered in a cloak made from the stitched-together hides of white wolves and baby seals. A necklace of severed ears hung from his torso, and a belt of thick rope hung suspended around his waist, attached to which were a leather pouch, various tools made from obsidian, and a dagger with a serrated blade and a hilt crafted from the green-furred paw of a giant cat.
God-Art stepped forward. “Feels good to be alive again!”
The man who now lived in the apartment let go of his wound to retrieve the weapon from the floor. He fired a bullet into the god’s head. The god collapsed onto the ground, dead once more. Pixies sprang forth from his blood and scurried into the bedrooms. Drillbot could hear the toddler in its crib squeal in delight as one rained fairy dust down upon its face.
Moments later, God-Art sprang back to his feet. He snatched the gun from the man’s hand and crunched it into a useless pile of metal. He shoved the man, who scurried backward on all fours until his back was touching the wall. “That will be quite enough of that!” declared the god. “I’ve resurrected myself plenty for one day.”
The man and woman screamed. God-Art stared into their eyes and screamed back at them. His pupils shifted shape into a pair of swirling whirlpools. The man and woman stopped screaming, though their mouths remained open. Obviously in a trance, they fainted seconds later.
God-Art turned to Drillbot. “Drillbot, you fool,” he called. “That costume is ridiculous.”
Drillbot removed the mask. “[whir] Drillbot is aware of that – CLACK – aware of that now. Drillbot came to resurrect you so that you might – CLACK – might help.”
“Oh, but there was no need,” said God-Art. “I was juuuuust about to resurrect myself, like I always do.”
The god laughed, though the undertones of the gesture hinted that it was not filled with much mirth. A look of wrathful recognition fluttered across the god’s eyes. He continued, “I remember that we did not part one another’s company on the best of terms. I resurrected you, but when the blue bear’s idiotic magic backfired on me, you did nothing to help me.”
Drillbot ignored the god’s statement. “[whir] Now that you are alive, you can – CLACK – you can come with me to help. You – CLACK – You must.”
The god stared at Drillbot with cold eyes. He said, “So the Multiverse expects me to be a deus ex machina for your stupid story, too? The Multiverse really is a stupid place if it thinks that’s a clever twist on events.”
Drillbot nodded emphatically. “[whir] Drillbot knows not of what you – CLACK – of what you speak. But Drillbot needs you! Help Drillbot get back t-”
“But why would I want to help you? You left me to die,” the god muttered, interrupting the robot. He slithered across the room to stand before the robot. “Maybe it’s time you experienced the same.”
Drillbot flung off his mittens and revved his drills. “[whir] You are welcome to – CLACK – to try. But know that Drillbot has c
hanged – CLACK – has changed since last we met. Drillbot is not such an – CLACK – such an easy target.”
God-Art laughed maniacally and stared at Drillbot. His eyeballs transformed into flames, and Drillbot frowned his version of a frown. This was not at all how he had expected this scenario to play out.
Chapter 12
SOMETIMES IT TAKES A GOURD TO SLASH A GORDIAN KNOT
Most of Agent 27142’s thoughts these days amounted to cursing his terrible luck.
Four more years had passed, and Agent 27142 had yet to catch a lucky break. He had encountered a few more travelers, but they had appeared too far away for him to reach them before they jumped away.
But then the Multiverse smiled upon him. Not four feet away, lightning flashed into existence, and in its place appeared a young girl approximately twelve-years old who was clinging to a large, orange gourd. Agent 27142 reached out and grabbed her ankle. She shrieked.
“Calm down,” he yelled at her. “I’m Agent 27142 of the B.I.T., and I need your help.”
The girl stopped shrieking. “Let go of me,” she demanded. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”
“I told you: I’m a B.I.T. agent, and I need your help. It’s OK to talk to strangers if they’re B.I.T. agents. We’re the good guys.”
“I don’t care. I don’t know you,” she replied. Then she looked down at his shoulder and saw the bits and pieces of the eagle’s corpse embedded there. She shrieked again. “Let me go! I need to go! My sick aunt is waiting for me!”
Agent 27142 grinned like a predatory cat. “Oh, honey, your aunt is going to have to keep waiting.”
He snatched the gourd from her arms and clicked his heels together in his secret pattern, using the explosion created by the move to push himself out of her reach. “You know, this is exactly why the B.I.T. warns children against traveling without adults.”
The Endless War That Never Ends Page 25