Charon

Charon is the one afterlife myth I can believe in.

  Take the Egyptians, they beleived that after you die, you get to keep all your stuff.
 But you'll need it, because dying is just the beginning, once dead you embark on a huge odyssey of trials, tribulations, tests, trickiness… Et Certera. In fact, so much, you need a guide book filled with the answers, and maps, and cheatcodes. And even if you do make it to the end, there's also the final test, where you heart is weighed against the Feather Of Truth.
A feather.
I don't don't know about you, but my heart isn't coming out on the better side of that deal.
And if you fail that one, crucial test, your soul is eaten by Ammit the Devourer.
 Game over.
And even if you do win, in a weight test, against a feather, their afterlife isn't too much better than what we have here.

Then take the Christian way, and allow me to put on my southern preacher voice here;
A–fter you die, THE A–ngels come DOWN from above, and bring you Up, Up Up! To the pearly white gates of heaven.  WHERE YOU wait inaline to be judged by HIS HO–LINESS the Archangel Wossname, And when it IS your turn, he READS his ledger, and says unto you: Sorry bud, you're not on the list. And Then he PULLS the giant red LEE–VER of rightiousnees, and Puh–Lunges your soul Down, Down, Down!  To BURN in the fires of HELL for all ee–ternity.

Not for me, personally.

But the Greeks, they had it down.
See, at this point, they were still simple farmers, mostly, that newfangled ‘Fancy Math’ stuff was still just getting started, but they had coins, and a system.
 They believed that after you die, you wander about in the fog for a bit, avoid the three-headed-dog {I can do that, Dogs are easy} and eventually come to the river Styx.
  Waiting at the river, is a ferryman. Charon. You pay the man your coins {Or on some cases, coin} that you were buried with, and he takes you to the other side of the river.
    Simple.
  And what's at the other side of the river?
      Well, you'll just have to find out when we get there.

The C.W.A. of Dr. Z. Smith: Episode #94: Plan B

Last Week As You Recall,

Our heroes were in something of a tight spot. 

Capt. Brown was getting a little antsy, understandably, he was fully armed and yet not shooting.

“C'mon Zachary¹, Plan B. Anytime now.” He said.

-=fig. 606: ricochets hurt=-

“I'm thinking I'm thinking I'm thinking”  Replied Dr. Smith
 “Do they have a weak spot?” Capt. Brown Asked, Trying to get the idea flowing.
  “No. Do I look like I would build weak spots into things? I never thought I would have to face off against them in my own house!”
   “Okay, So why did you abandon this design?”
     “Well, you know, James², They're pretty clumsy. And ugly. Slow, too.”
        “How slow?”
          “Pretty slow, they can barely outrun a normal person. ”
Capt. Brown, who up to that point had been pretty hopeful re: the shortcomings of the MK4, sagged a little.
              “So…” Capt. Brown Started, “Why aren't they attacking?”
“Bravo.” Said a new voice “You two sure can talk. Not a lot of thinking going on between the two of you, though.”
Just off the kitchen Dr. Smith had an office, it contained: a desk, a typewriter, a phone, a blackboard filled with indecipherable mathematical scribblings, and a shiny silver robot, who was glowing green.

-=fig. 607: glorious leader=-

“Please don't let my associates frighten you,” it said without a mouth “They are fearsome, and deadly, and don't always listen when I tell them not to kill our guests, but don't let them frighten you, no.”  This new robot was obviously the leader, for one thing, it could talk.  That was new.  “Come a little closer, Mr. Robot.” Dr. Smith said, “We can't quite hear you.”
 The office was on the other side of the room from Dr. Smith, Capt. Brown and the rest.
    “Ha ha ha.” Said the Robot, it probably thought it was laughing. “You think that if I come nearer, you may trick with some device and cause me to be destroyed. But there is no device what can damage Compound LZ129³. So I will come nearer. If only to taunt you.”
Dr. Smith was worried now, even though he didn't show it.
   He still didn't have a plan.

-=fig. 608: face to face meetings=-

“Your weapons cannot harm us. There is nothing you could possibly make that could destroy me. It is merely my compassion that keeps you from dying.”
  “It is a well-known fact,” Said Dr. Smith, “That robot do not have compassion.  So you must be keeping us alive for some other purpose.”
  The Robot's face would have shown surprise, had it had any articulate features.
    “So you are smarter than you look.” This wasn't a complement “Yes. This body is…inaccurate, frightening and ugly.  I require a new one, a better one. And you are going to make it for me.”
 Dr. Smith saw that he had a card. So he played it.  “And why should I?”
   “Because if you don't I'll kill you.”
     “Kill me. I'm the only one who can help you.”
       “You're right.  Kill…him.”  It gestured to Capt. Brown, the MK4's took hold Of Capt. Brown before he had time to react, The Captain was big and strong, but the MK4's were bigger and stronger.
   “FINE!” Dr. Smith Yelled, He had just lost his card, his only play. “I'll do it.  It will take time, however.”
       “You have forty-eight hours.” It intoned.
  That was a worryingly small time-frame.
          “I can't make a very good robot in just two days,” Dr. Smith bargained, “How much better do you want you new chassis?”
              “Better than an MK12.⁴”
                “That's impossible in just two days!”
                 “Forty-Eight Hours.” And that was that. “We will keep the good captain here, to ensure you preserve your end of the bargain.”
                 “What my end? The only end to this bargain is yours!”
                   “Your end is your friend does not die. 47:55:10.”
                     “But–”
                        “47:55:00”

-=-

“An MK13 in just 48 hours. Hah.”  Dr. Smith was a grumbler, in private.
 “Sir? Is that you Sir?”

-=fig. 609: laboratorium=-

  “Jeeves! What are you doing in here?”
   “Hiding, Sir.”
    “Good Man.  What happened to the Laboratory?”
     “Those, pardon my expletive, damn MK4's came in here looking for me. I daresay they were no match for my hiding abilities.”
       “Jeeves, they want me to build them a MK13.”
         “A MK13, Sir?  Can it be done?”
          “Doesn't matter, they want it in 48 hours, less now, or they'll kill James.”
        Jeeves⁵ was pretty smart, he had seen cop-and-robber movies, read crime novels, and so knew that this was called kidnapping, and that it never ended with the hostage alive.
 He kept this to himself, however.
   “Sir,” Jeeves said, “Perhaps we could fool them with a MK6, a MK7?  Something better than what they have but still with known flaws?  Something we could exploit.”
Dr. Smith considered it.  “I like it, it could work. And we could make one of those in less than two days, lots less.  It said it wanted something less fearsome, less clumsy.  That sounds like a MK7 to me.”
  “Very good Sir.”

¹Capt. Brown is the only person that Dr. Smith lets call him ‘Zachary’.

 This is because Dr. Smith is not the least bit friendly with anyone he's not friends with.

²Dr. Smith is one of only a few people Capt. Brown lets call him ‘James’. Not because he's unfriendly, but because a certain amount of respect is lost when you call your mayor and glorious leader by his first name.

 ³Jeeves used to be made of this stuff, but it was too heavy.  So Dr. Smith made a new Compound, LZ130, which was lighter, but weaker.  He kept Compound LZ129 in the storage closet however, because you never know when you might need a nearly-indestructible alloy.

 ⁴ An MK12 is the latest model Jeeves, he is sophisticated, smart, obedient and human-looking.  These robots, however, are heavily based off of the older prototype Mk4 model, a mere production-line robot.

⁵An MK12, the only one in existence.

The C.W.A. of Dr. Z. Smith: Episode #93: Closing In

Last week as you recall our heroes were trapped in the upper level of The Smith Compound, a haphazard place made of Dr. Smith's house, a former neighbors house, the alley between, and whatever interesting bits of metal the Legopolis City Rooftop police could ‘Find’.
They were trapped by the MK4's { Prototype Jeeves’ } that had, through an accidental and nefarious series of events, up-risen from their original purpose of  manufacturing TaVee’s to a new level of marginal-self-awareness.
  Self-Awareness, no matter how marginal is a dangerous thing in a robot, as illustrated by the Hundreds¹ of dollars damage to The Grand City Of Legopolis.
   It didn't help either that the MK4's had taken Dr. Smith's house as their headquarters, because Dr. Smith's house, no matter how smallish it looked on the outside, inside is half-a-dimension away, and huge.
  The door can be disconnected from the actual place Dr. Smith lives, so this makes it ideal for withstanding, say, a siege.

-=fig. 603: dramatically staring at stage left=-

“So…What do we do?” Asked Capt. Brown, unusually worried.
  “I don't know.” Answered Dr. Smith “I have a key, so I could probably get in. The fact is that these robots don't seem the sort to ask or pay anyone to change the locks, but the pressing problem is every weapon I have shoots lead, and these robots are made of copper.  Without the LRD's² working, we have nothing.”
  Irvin, a third-class Rooftop policemen who was listening { as cannot be helped when six people are crammed on a tiny platform } piped up. “If we had access to a large amount of electricity, would that help?”
 “Yes.” Dr. Smith said, “The was the idea behind the LRD's, copper conducts electricity like nothing else. But we don't…do we?”
   Irvin gave a little smile, “As it happens, we do.”

-=fig. 604: volunteered=-

Dr. Smith walked gently.
 Of course they would send him. Who else would be stupid enough to volunteer?
   The MK4 hadn't realised he was there, which was good.
 Dr. Smith swung the shovel, Sparks flew and the MK4's internals were fried.
   There are benefits to always carrying Professional-quality insulated rubber gloves in your jacket pocket.
  The Shovel was hooked to a battery usually used by The LCRP³ for radio equipment, but the MK4's had disabled that somehow.
   Luckily the battery still held a charge.
     Not so luckily, the cord was only so long. There would be no carrying it in.
 Dr. Smith signaled the LCRP. Normally they wouldn't be able to touch the ground, they were prohibited by union law, besides the fact that they held it in such disgust.
   But the ground of the Smith Complex had been, officially⁴, declared a roof. This was because underneath the whole city was a network of tunnels, abandoned sewers, sneaky access tunnels, and stuff like that there.
 The door accepted Dr. Smith's key.
   Dr. Smith tried to ignore the fact that they were walking into an unknown, practically unarmed.
 Well, nearly practically unarmed.

-=fig. 605: basso profondo=-

“GIVE YOURSELVES UP!” Shouted Capt. Brown, Basso Profondo.
   The horde of MK4's did nothing.
     The LCRP, however, unprepared as they were for Capt. Brown's impressive vocal chords, swayed gently, trying to blink away the spots that had just appeared practically everywhere they looked.
  Somewhere, an urn imploded.
   There was a hydraulic hiss as the MK4's stepped forward.
     “So…That did nothing.” Grumbled Capt. Brown.
      “Plan B, then.” Said Dr. Smith.
        “Wait, you have one?” Capt. Brown asked hopefully,
          “…er…um…No.  But give me a minute.”   

¹The Legopolian dollar is ridiculously strong, a comfortable single-family four-bedroom house can be bought for roughly $300.  And that includes furnishings.

 ²LRD=Long Range Defibrillator. Think Raygun.

 ³Legopolis City Rooftop Policemen.

 ⁴There was a Ceremony. Quite the Society affair, oddly, as Society At Large rightly believed the LCRP to be homeless, smelly, and above all, poor. Luckily, Society has yet to give up a chance to drink for free while wearing a tuxedo.

The C.W.A. of Dr. Z. Smith: Episode #92: Breakout

Last Week As You Recall…

  “Were we…were we dead for a minute?”
       “Yes we were, but we're fine now.  More pressingly, we are presumably underground in a small dark room with no doors or windows.”

Dr. Smith examined the walls while Capt. Brown rambled on in shock, which was understandable seeing as how he had never died before. “…I…I Died?  And you small-talked our way out of it.  How did you do that?”

  Dr. Smith looked at a bit of wall sideways and answered “Being Death is a lonely business.  You meet people all day but there's never much in the way of actual conversation.  Does this wall look weaker than the other ones to you?” 

  Capt. Brown gave his professional opinion as a former architect, which consisted of a shrug. 

   “I'm gonna take a swing at it anyway.” 

     “With what?”

       “I'll show you if you find my briefcase.” 

There was a brief search for the briefcase, which had gotten itself wedged in the corner of the small room.  Dr. Smith opened the tiny briefcase and pulled out a pick-axe. “We keep getting stuck in small places, usually underground, so I've taken to carrying mining equipment.”

  Capt. Brown tapped the side of his nose, “Smart move. We do keep getting trapped in the same places, don't we?  It's as if we're merely characters in some greater story where the writer's too lazy to stray far from where he's comfortable.  And where he's comfortable is…small underground rooms.  My analogy sort of petered out there, at the end.” 

“It did.” Dr. Smith decided to keep quiet the fact that he could hear a voice he had dubbed “The Narrator” Because that would make him seem crazy. 

  “I'm not crazy.” He mumbled, like a person who hears voices that most certainly are not there.

And the pickaxe was swung.

  The wall crumbled, like any sensible wall would when faced with steel and determination and Capt. Brown's notable muscles.

-=fig. 597: a whole new hole=-

On the other side of the wall was a narrow passageway.
   “Good, we're out.” Dr. Smith said.  “Now all that's left is up. What could be easier?”
     “Lots of things.” Answered Capt. Brown, “Down, For example.”

 -=-

After walking along the narrow passageway for what seemed like forever.
  There didn't seem to be an end or outlet in sight.
    So Capt. Brown destroyed a nearby wall.
       They climbed through the hole and found themselves in a small, moldy room.
“What is this place?” Asked Capt. Brown.
  “It's a basement.”
    “So that means there's stairs up, in here somewhere?”
       “Right.  Good call on this wall.”
The stairs weren't too hard to find.
         “Any ideas on where we are?”
            “Nope.”
              “You first, then.”
               “Gee Thanks, James. That was sarcasm.”

-=fig. 598: short basement=-

“Argh.”  Grumbled Capt. Brown.  When you put a six-foot-seven man in a five-foot-two room, he hits his head pretty regularly.
  “Hey! We're downtown!”

-=fig. 599: putzkammers=-

“…How can you tell we're downtown?”
   “This is Putzkammer's Delicatessen.  It's across the street from my house.”
    “Oh yeah.  How come it got abandoned?”
      “Ol’ Putzkammer defaulted years ago.  It looks like somebody looted the floorboards out of here. This used to be a pretty little spot. Damn kids with their graffiti.”  Indeed, the walls were covered in lewd and profane graffiti, of the sort I'm sure you can imagine.
  Formerly the building had been an assayers office, back when Legopolis had primarily been a mining town.
  But when the Upisdaisium and Luddite dried up, so did the tourist dollars.
 That was when Legopolis fell off the map.  Which is a shame, really, because it's a pretty little town.
   The cheesy lock on the door couldn't hold up to a pick-axe, and soon they were on Ron Daveu Drive.
   It was quiet.  Which was odd.  A whole lot of evil robots on the loose and you'd expect it to be louder.
   As it turned out, that was because the robots had won this street.
     Ron Daveu Drive was where they'd started.

-=fig. 600: entrance blocked=-

“James!” Whispered Dr. Smith “There's an MK4 Guarding the entrance to the Smith Compound.”
   “Hold Still.”
     Capt. Brown carefully drew an LRD, Checked that it was charged, steadied his hand, and failed to fire.
   Shaking the LRD didn't change anything.
      “It's broken!” Capt. Brown whispered and handed the Raygun to Dr. Smith.
         As it turns out, Long-Range-Defibrillators don't fare well after being dropped from heights.
    “We'll go ’round back, then.”
       Dr. Smith Didn't know about this, “we have a back door to the compound?”
           “It's more like another front door.”

-=-

-=fig. 601: who goes there?=-

  “Who Goes there?” Shouted the guard.
    “Your Captain.”  shouted Capt. Brown.
     The Back Door turned out to be the front door of the Yellow House, one-half of the Smith Compound.
    It opened directly onto stairs, and they led to what used to be the top floor before the Rooftop Police got at the walls.

-=fig. 602: stragglers=-

At the top of the stairs, on the platform, were four dejected Rooftop Policemen.
  “Men.” Capt. Brown started, in his best Captain Voice “Robots have taken the compound.  How did this happen?”
  No one could explain it properly, those metal beasts were deceptively fast, but the facts now were: 1. The Compound was cut off from the greater network of rooftops, Communication-wise and physically, and b. The Robots had set up Doctor Smith's house as their base.
 “They've What?” Asked Dr. Smith.
   “The Robots have set up base in your house.”
      Normally Dr. Smith would have been panicked, but he realised this could only mean one thing.
   “We now know where the MK4 leader is!”

…ick.

I'm sick.
Phlegm, sneezing, the whole bit.
No story tommorrow, can't think straight.

The C.W.A. of Dr. Z. Smith: Episode #91: Nate

-=fig. 594: nat3=-

“You're nat3?” Capt. Brown couldn't believe it, it was just a boy.
   “Yeah, who's asking?”
 Capt. Brown drew himself up to his considerable full height, “I am Captain James Brown, The Mayor, and this is my associate, Doctor Smith.  You are under arrest for two counts of murder, one count of malicious hacking and city-wide damages accounting to $1427.50”  Nate {the boy} blanched  “The entire house is only worth about three-hundred bucks,  And that's with all the stuff! What did I do?”
  Capt. Brown indicated Dr. Smith, who produced his sheet of data.
    “You created the 3x-TERM-1: NAT3 virus, which took hold of my production ’bots, who then went on a rampage.” Dr. Smith replaced the paper in his jacket “As one nerd to another what made you do it, kid?”
      Nate had been typing late one night, while listening to Doctor Who? a science-fiction radio-play out of Britannia.
       He had decided to see if he could de-construct the code of one of the main antagonists, the Daleks, because with the code and twelve Who-Flakes box-tops you could get a gen-u-ine bow-tie, just like The Doctor.
      “I didn't mean to publish it, sorry.”  Nate was despondent.
   Dr. Smith and Capt. Brown were touched by the boy's story.  A similar thing had happened to Dr. Smith when he was young, although the death toll was much larger,  one reason he no-longer lived in QuagmIreland.
Capt. Brown went down on one knee and put his hand on the boys shoulder, in a fatherly way.
  “You're still going to jail, kid. Sorry.”
Nate sighed.  “Damn, and it was such a good story, too.”  That should have set off our heroes radar, but it didn't. They hadn't heard him.  He looked Dr. Smith in the eyes, “So what are you, like, the nerdy sidekick?”
 Dr. Smith was surprised, “No, I'm the hero, He–” he points to Capt. Brown “–is the sidekick.”
   Nate gave a big smile, like this was a joke. “What, the tall good-looking one?  He's the sidekick?”
    “Yeah, I am. What are you doing with that remooAAHH!—”  The floor had opened up at the press of a button on Nate's remote.  Our heroes fell into the dark.

-=-

-=fig. 595: finished falling=-

“Wow!  I feel great!” 

   “James, stop talking.”

    “That must have been, what, three stories we fell?  At least because this looks like a disused Undercity tunnel.” Capt. Brown stood up.

“James, I don't want to alarm you, but you just stood up out of your body.”
 Capt. Brown looked down.
   There he was, still, with his eyes wide open. Bleeding.
     He hyperventilated, which is hard with only the memory of lungs.
       “James!” Dr. Smith yelled, standing up out of his body too, “Don't Panic!  We're only mostly dead.  It's a shock at first, but we'll have a miraculous recovery soon, just stick with me.”
  Capt. Brown's breathing slowed, “Isn't there supposed to be…angels and stuff?”
     “Do you believe in that sort of thing?”
       Capt. Brown shrugged. “Not really.”
         “Then probably not, no.”
           “How come you're so calm?”
            “I've been mostly dead more times than you can count, Death should be showing up any time now.”
A voice like the screams of a thousand souls and lead slabs falling into place over your grave  said HELLO DR. SMITH. IT IS GOOD TO SEE YOU AGAIN.
 “Hello again, Death, It is good to see you again. Although understand that I am saying that purely sociably and it's not good to see you again at all.”

-=fig. 596: hello death my old friend i've come to talk with you again=-

 I UNDERSTAND.  AND WHO'S THIS I ASK EVEN THOUGH I KNOW THE ANSWER?
  Capt. Brown Watched the exchange with interest, not only because he'd never met Death before, but because Dr. Smith was being sociable.   Dr. Smith is never sociable.
  “This is my friend, Capt. Brown.  He's not been dead before.”
 HELLO JAMES.  Death gave him a little nod, one workman to another.  They made small talk, Death and Dr. Smith, like old friends. After awhile, Dr. Smith said
  “So what's the verdict, Death, do we die from a fall in a disused Undercity tunnel?”
 NO DR. SMITH.  YOU DON'T. IT HAS BEEN NICE CATCHING UP, DON'T BE A STRANGER. YOU TOO, JAMES.
The world changed and the eternal pain of living returned.
 “AARGH!”  Yelled Capt. Brown.
   Dr. Smith laughed. “Hurts, dunnit?  That's all the blood running about in your veins.  Don't sit up just yet.”
   “Were we…were we dead for a minute?”
       “Yes we were, but we're fine now.  More pressingly, we are presumably underground in a small dark room with no doors or windows.”

I've turned into Dr. Smith

The C.W.A. of Dr. Z. Smith: Episode #90: 3-X TERM-1: NAT3

A man stands on top of macy's with a megaphone, “DON'T PANIC!” he yells. 

 Below him the screams of the people mix with the smell of oil.

-=fig. 589: shouted from the top of a building=-

  “STAY IN YOUR HOMES!” He suggests, but Dr. Smith corrects him.  “James, these are robots built to manufacture things, wooden doors won't stop them.”

   “Alright then, what will?” 

      Dr. Smith thinks for a moment, “They weigh roughly two thousand pounds, so…stairs.”

         Capt. James brown adjusts his megaphone “ON SECOND THOUGHT, GET TO AT LEAST THE SECOND FLOOR OF SOMEWHERE, THESE THINGS ARE TOO HEAVY FOR STAIRS.”  He turns the megaphone off. “So what have you learned from the one you captured?”
   Dr. smith had printed off his collected data, he was that sort of nerd.
     “Their motive is death to all humans, and the virus is called ‘3-X TERM-1: NAT3’ 3-X is the model number, TERM-1 is the file name, and NAT3 is the author code. Now–”  But Capt. Brown had to interrupt him “Wait, we know who made the virus?”
   “No.  We have a username.  Three letters and a number used to identify IRCS users.  I was thinking you could use your network of spies to find this…NAT3. ”
    Capt. Brown gave a nervous laugh, “Ha, I don't have a network of…um…spies.  That's…ridiculous.  Who told you that?” His eyes opened really wide, in a manner that instantly communicated that he had a secret but thought he was being sneaky.

  “James,” Dr. Smith said “I've met them. Jeeves captures them sneaking around my house at night sometimes. The point is can you use them to find NAT3?”
   “Sure. I'll get my top spy on it right away.  Ah, there you are.”  Capt. Brown said the last part into the thin air to his left.
       Dr. Smith squinted, and focused, and looked hard, until he saw the vague shape of a fedora and trenchcoat.

-=fig. 590: top spy=-

“How's he doing that?”  Dr. Smith said as he squinted.  The spy remained stubbornly out of focus.
   “That's why he's my top spy.” Capt. Brown said, smiling broadly. “Mr. Spy, I've got a job for you.”
The Spy hadn't been invisible, nor had he used teleportation.  He had just gone unnoticed, until he wanted to be.  He was that good.
   Capt. Brown rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “We should have a result within the hour.” he said. “In the meantime, how many of these robots did you make?”
   Dr. Smith shrugged, “About eight. Why?”
       Capt. Brown pointed off the starboard bow of the macy's building “Because I count twenty-two just on main street.”
    Dr. Smith paled.  Which was difficult, because he was already pretty pale to begin with.
       “They must have found a copper deposit. They can reproduce themselves from raw materials. 22?”
     “OKAY LISTEN UP YOU MUGS!” Capt. Brown shouted to his assembled team members.

-=fig. 591: preparedness=-

“DOWN THERE ARE A BUNCH O’ ROBOTS DR. SMITH MADE AND THEY'VE GONE EVIL–” No-one seemed surprised, they had all met Dr. Smith before. “–THEY ONLY WANT TO KILL PEOPLE. THEY CANNOT BE–” Capt. Brown had an impressive set of lungs on him, he could shout pretty loud. That was his training in opera showing. “–REASONED WITH AND UNLESS YOU SHOOT ’EM JUST RIGHT, BULLETS ARE USELESS. FOR THIS PURPOSE, DR. SMITH INVENTED A RAYGUN THAT’LL KILL ’EM OUTRIGHT BUT YOU ONLY GET ONE SHOT. QUESTIONS.”  Capt. Brown answered a few quick, gruff questions, and they moved out.
 The spy came back into ‘Focus’. “Found ’im.” he said.

 -=-

“Are  you sure this is the right place?” asked Dr. Smith.

   “My spies are never wrong.” Answered Capt. Brown.

-=fig. 592: so normal looking=-

“But…It looks so normal.” Dr. Smith said as he rang the doorbell.

 “What D’ya Want?” Accused an unpleasant woman. 

  “Hello,” Capt. Brown responded, smiling, “Is this the home of Nathaniel ‘Nat3’ Burke?”

   “Yeah–oh. Nat3. You're more of his ‘InterBot’ friends, aren't you?” She spat the word InterBot, which was another acronym for IRCS.

      Capt. Brown and Dr. Smith shared a quick glance, as if to say ‘Are we?’

         “Yes. We are.” Replied Capt. Brown, with some confidence. 

            “Well he's in his room. Top of the stairs and don't drip on my carpets.”  It wasn't raining, but Mrs. Jane Burke suspected all IRCS Nerds of having an innate drippiness.

-=-

There was only one room at the top of the stairs. 

    It contained a bed, a terminal, a Fax-O-Gram machine and a boy.

-=fig. 593: nat3=-

“We're looking for NAT3.” Said Dr. Smith. 

  “Yes?” Said the boy. 

EDIT: this last week's been so hectic I never even noticed this post went screwy.
Anyway, enjoy.

The C.W.A. of Dr. Z. Smith: Episode #89: The Head Is Purely Ornamental

Glenn couldn't breathe.
  The big metal…thing had snuck up behind him and was sucking his life out, at least it felt like that.  It's big metal arm was at his throat. Choking him.
   He managed to scream.
     Glenn was in town on inland leave, he was a border patrolman.  It was a pretty boring job, because most threats seemed to come from inland, somehow, but the uniform was nice, and the pay was good enough.
          The Sargent had never said anything about big metal things that sneak up behind you and choke you to death.
              Glenn tried to scream again, but he was nearly out of air, so that didn't really work.
   The Sargent, whose name was Arnold, was on inland leave too and had seen Glenn get grabbed by the big metal…thing. Arnold hadn't rose in the cut-throat ranks of border patrolmen by waiting around, so he drew his sword and charged.
He drove the sword into the MK4's head, thinking that's where the brain was. In reality, the The Head is purely ornamental and the brain {Such as it was} was in the torso.

  Arnold, like all Legopolians, had only vague notions about robots, so he couldn't have known that drawing a metal weapon and driving it into one was a terrible idea.

-=fig. 585: electrocution=-

The current traveled out of the MK4, through the sword, and made Arnold's hair stand on end. 

Unfortunately it also traveled over the exposed metal body of the MK4, along its arms, and into Glenn, who was trapped in the MK4's vice-like grip. 

 Pretty much everyone got electrocuted, except the robot, somehow.

-=-

Glenn stood up.  He felt…Good.  “I…Survived!  Sgt. Arnold! I Survived!”

-=fig. 586: dead?=-

A voice like a slab of lead said “YES, ER, ABOUT THAT…”
 Glenn went white.  “I'm Dead, aren't I?”
    DEATH was relieved, this made his job so much easier. “YES, YES YOU ARE.”

-=-

Dr. Smith Rounded the corner.

-=fig. 587: i have you now=-

   He had chased the MK4 that had gotten those poor Border Patrolmen down here, but it had disappeared. He only had the one shot, all the others were with Capt. Brown on the basis that he was a better marksman.
    In retrospect, that was the reverse of what they should have done.
      At least at this range Dr. Smith couldn't miss.

-=fig. 588: in over his head=-

Ah.
 *Zap!*
The MK4's marched forward over the body of the Mk4 Dr. Smith had shot.
 Dr. Smith was out of power now, but the Mk4's didn't really seem to notice him.
  He got out of the way.
   Once they had passed by, Dr. Smith pulled a little computer out of his briefcase and plugged it into the trampled robot.  The robot was beyond repair, but the little computer allowed Dr. Smith to see the its source code, and the logs, and maybe find out what had caused all this. The logs showed that the…3-X TERM-1: NAT3 virus had deleted Program.1 and replaced the original source code with this:

Var.MK4= Status.PowerOn 

  <Open> Program.2; 
    <Start> Cmd.DESTROY; Var.HUMANS <Ref> File.HUMAN-IDENTIFICATION</Ref>
<WHILE> Var.HUMANS=1+ goto: line3;
 <IF> Var.HUMANS=0 STOP

It was only a few words different from Dr. Smith's original program,  but it was nearly twice as deadly. 
  The earthquake indicated that the MK4's had realised that Dr. Smith was human.
It was time to leave.

The Discworld Black Hat Society

Otto; Photographer, Black Ribboner.
Mr. Slant; Undead Lawyer.
DEATH: ANTHROPOMORPHIC PERSONIFICATION.


In case you haven't noticed, this is a Terry Pratchett's Discworld reference.