“INTERNATIONAL AGREEMENTS AND NATIONAL LAWS PROTECT COPYRIGHTED MOTION PICTURES, VIDEOTAPES AND SOUND RECORDINGS. 'UNAUTHORIZED REPRODUCTION, OR DISTRIBUTION OF COPYRIGHTED MOTION PICTURES CAN RESULT IN SEVERE CRIMINAL AND CIVIL PENALTIES UNDER THE LAWS OF YOUR COUNTRY.
'THE INTERNATIONAL CRIMINAL POLICE ORGANIZATION – INTERPOL, HAS EXPRESSED ITS CONCERN ABOUT MOTION PICTURE AND SOUND RECORDING PIRACY TO ALL OF ITS MEMBER NATIONAL POLICE FORCES. RESOLUTION ADOPTED AT INTERPOL GENERAL ASSEMBLY, STOCKHOLM, SWEDEN, SEPTEMBER 8, 1977.”
The guards bearing down on us were curious enough to stop pursuit and look around for the origin of the amplified voice. Hadn't all the microphones had been thrown into the ocean by Prollk?
A parked spaceship de-cloaked itself. A door opened. A ramp extended. A squadron of 24 robots emerged.
The robots were met with incredible bouts of laughter from the crowd. After all, the technology that had created them was of vastly poorer quality than anything the crowd had ever seen. They looked rickety and harmless, yet they were programmed to be able to uphold their strict orders with extreme force. All looked identical, about 3 feet tall and capable of motion with dual wheels. Each were emblazoned with the S.S.R.S. logo across their chest.
Also, each of them were installed with their very own nuclear bomb.
“It's the S.S.R.S!” someone screamed. “Run!”
“What's the S.S.R.S?” asked Wilx.
“We are the STOCKHOLM SWEDEN ROBOT SQUAD!” answered the robots.
They seemed to speak with a collective voice. “We have been alerted to a gross perpetuation of movie piracy! Where are the criminals? Where are the ones who had unauthorized film screenings?”
“We don't understand!” said one of the reporters.
“Our piracy homing beacon led us to this planet. The data shows that for the last several thousand years there have been films playing through Sky-Projection Mode to an entire civilization of non-paying creatures,” said the robots. “The initiative set forth by our creators on September 8, 1977 in Stockholm Sweden declares we are owed royalties and interest for this grievous theft. Now where are the ones who played the movies?” asked the robot again.
The crowd was silent.
“If the criminals do not come forth,” said the robots, “we will be forced to punish everyone here by way of nuclear detonation.”
“What's nuclear?” asked the reporter.
“We'll blow you all up,” clarified the robots.
A legion of fingers pointed at the specters.
“It was them!” cried the crowd.
The robots turned to face the specters. “Are you the ones who had unauthorized screenings of the following films?” they asked. A long list of many popular motion picture titles suddenly appeared on the big-screen.
The specters, being dead and with nothing to fear, pled guilty to the charges.
“You will come with us,” said the robots. “We are taking you to the prison planet known as Plorix III. You will spend the remainder of eternity in a soul-crushingly grey atmosphere of concrete walls and anti-nutritional, overly-microwaved meals served on pink plastic trays. There will be no screenings of any films, authorized or unauthorized.”
The specters explained how they weren't going anywhere, and that they were free to watch whatever movies they wanted.
“If you do not comply, we will detonate the nuclear bombs.”
“Now might be a good time to leave,” I whispered to Wilx.
“Can you swim?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“Good, grab one of these laser-guns,” he said, at last finding a useful item.
“Why do I need a laser-gun?” I asked.
“Ocean-monsters. We're going to have to swim to our ship. It's the only chance of escape.”
“It is?”
“Yes. None of these nuts are immortal enough to survive the Hroon Ocean. Now be prepared for the shock in temperature change. The water here is as cold as it gets.”
“It is?”
“No more questions,” said Wilx as he pushed me into the freezing ocean.
We swam rapidly, shooting at the mass of monsters who currently wished for nothing more than to savagely dine on our exotic flesh. The monsters were easily deterred. They quickly sent out word to all other monsters that we were not worth the effort or the severed tentacles.
Wilx was a genius for suggesting we swim. We were much safer in the water than on the surface. Anyone alive wouldn't dare to follow us, from fear of freezing or monsters, as well as their problem of needing to breathe underwater. All these factors did not apply to us immortals. The only real threat came from the specters, who were able to telepathically heckle the most vulnerable part of our subconscious. It took everything we had to hold off their indomitable will.
My limbs were jelly from the vigorous swimming. For a moment I thought I might just give up and sink to the bottom. Wilx grabbed my arm and dragged me the few remaining meters. He immediately set the ship to Get-Us-Out-Of-Here-Right-Now Mode. Our ship, in its impossible ways, decided to create a diversion by materializing an exact replica ship (complete with ultra-realistic robotic mannequins strategically placed in front of the windows) in our place The real ship turned invisible and took off.
For hours after the press conference ended, various groups of curious people tried to enter the fake ship. The specters were of course particularly intent on entering. When this proved impossible, they compromised by taking up the hobby of shouting carefully crafted threats and insults from outside the partially frosted windows. They took turns rotating between doing the heckling or floating around a writer's table brainstorming the best jokes. The duplicate ship went on to perpetually drift through space, always being trailed by a least a few Specters heckling the subconscious mind of robotic mannequins.
Greegs & Ladders - By Zack Mitchell and Danny Mendlow Page 45