The CWA of Dr. Z. Smith: Episode #98: Fortress

Last week as you recall our heroes were in Capt. Brown's office, which was also his single-room-house.
 It was basically a fortress, impenetrable from the outside, inescapable from the inside.
 And there was someone in there with them.
 “Hello Mr. Mayor.” the impossible intruder said.

-=fig. 622: nat3 returns=-

“Nate! ¹ ” Capt. Brown said, nothing in his tone suggesting that this kid had tried to kill them less than a week ago.  “How'd you get in here? These walls are solid steel with a mahogany finish, everything, including the windows is reinforced and laced with trip wires, you can't be here!”
Nate smiled evilly, “Your receptionist let me in, I can be quite unassuming, when I want to be.”
Capt. Brown gave a twelve-dollar smile, “Well, never mind. It's good to see you again kid, it saves me the trouble of tracking you down. You're under arrest on charges of, among other things, damage to the city, malicious programming, assaulting the mayor, and at least two counts of outright murder. How do you plead?”
  “Not guilty.”
     “Figured you'd say that.  You are sentenced to death, but only after you pay up for the damages to the city. They amount to $1500.00.”
   “Wait a minute,” Nate said thinking, “I thought I get, under the law, a trial by a court of my peers?”
      “Kid, your peers are other murderous little children, who would therefore be prejudiced in your favour. No. My word is law, and I say you shall repay your debt, and die for your crimes.”
         “But… But what about a lawyer!”
          “You did not request one prior to the trial and now that it's over I'd say it's a bit late.”  He leaned over to an intercom and pressed the button “Please remove the convict from my office.” he said.
            “But don't you want to know why I did it?” Nate asked as he was dragged off,
              “No.” Replied Capt. Brown “We have had plenty of experience with machiavellian ne’er-do-wells, and their reasons are never satisfactory for their crimes.”

-=-

-=fig. 623: three stacks=-

Capt. Brown glared at the letters stacked on his desk.
   “So,” Dr. Smith said, “The first stack is letters from people complaining that you wrongly imprisoned thier relatives, the second stack is from people thanking you for imprisoning their relatives, and the last stack is bills.”
   “Gosh.” Capt. Brown said, eying the towering stack of bils, “You wouldn't think running a country as small as ours would cost so much. But it does, especially after idiots like that nate cause one-and-a-half thousand dollars worth of damage. I guess we'll circle back to the bills. This stack is garbage–” –He pushed the “Complaint” stack into the bin–“And I'll sign these later. Next!”
 But Dr. Smith already had some more papers pre-sorted.  He had Decided that Capt. Brown's Office/Apartment needed to stop looking like a paper-recycling facility, and more like the place where a mayor lives/works.
After about three hours, Dr. Smith could see the floor, so they took a break and had a quick dinner.
 “I have to say,” Capt. Brown said “Now that there are less papers everywhere, it does look a lot better.”

-=fig. 624: sunset=-

Capt. Brown looked out at the sun setting over his city.
  Dr. Smith put the needle down on another record, and joined him.
  For a city filled with stereotyped, machiavellian villains, it sure was pretty by sunset.

-=-

-=fig. 625: walking along the boulevard=-

Dr. Smith walked home along Main Street.
  The Macy's shop window displayed brightly coloured advertisements:

BORED WITH RADIO?

Want something a

 little more…visual?

 ◆ TRY TV! ◆

It's the MAGICAL

REVOLUTIONARY

NEW technology 

from S&B!
 ◆ coming soon ◆

Dr. Smith grinned privately at the garish advertisements. S&B of course stood for Smith & Brown, which was the company most of Dr. Smith's inventions were sold under.
  Dr. Smith was still admiring the ad agency's handiwork, when someone came from behind, and the world went black.

¹ EPISODE #91: NATE

NOTE:

This week's episode shot entirely on my new T3i!

The CWA of Dr. Z. Smith: Episode #97: Suckers And Their Money

“So what's the damage?” Asked Capt. Brown.
  “There was no damage. They agreed. Three hundred dollars.”  Said Mr. Slant, Lawyer, Zombie.
 Capt. Brown's heart beat a tattoo in his chest.  He was having a hard time containing his excitement.
         “We had to…throw in some extras.”
             “Like what?”
                “A camera. And you cannot create a competitor for six months.”
   This didn't sound good. “Why Six months?”
             “That's how long they believe it would take them to create a TaVee show. However, once they start broadcasting you may, of course sell to whoever you like.
Capt. Brown shrugged, that sounded reasonable.
      “You of course told them it would be in cash, up front?”
          “Of course.” Mr. Slant nodded at Mr. Radio's heavies, they opened their suitcases and dumped the contents on the table.
   A small fortune spilled out.

-=fig. 618: a small fortune=-

Three-Hundred Dollars.
 Enough to buy a reasonable-sized house outright, or four-hundred pounds of bacon and still have enough left over for a a truck to carry it all in.
  Mr. Slant produced a contract, it was as thick as a paper-back novel. “Sign…here. And there…” He indicated a spot on every page. and when Mr. Radio was done signing he tore the back half of the contract off. “Our copy.” He said and handed the front half to Mr. Radio.
  “A pleasure, Gentlemen.” Dr. Smith said. “I'm sure you can show yourselves out.”
Once everyone had left, Capt. Brown and Dr. Smith did a little dance. “WE'RE RICH WE'RE RICH WE'RE RICH!” They sang, badly. “I Will, of course,” Capt. Brown said,“be taking my Agent's Fee of half.”
   “Of course.” Dr. Smith said, Handing Capt. Brown a bill. “We need to split the last hundred in half JEEVES WE NEED FIFTY DOLLARS! I hope you don't mind taking it in gold?”
     “Of course not” Capt. Brown said “That way it'll be easier to spend.”
   A door opened, and Jeeves appeared wheeling a giant chest filled with gold.
    He set it down in front of Capt. Brown.

-=fig. 619: fifty dollars in gold=-

“HA HA HA!” Boomed Capt. Brown. He felt like a thief, a hundred and fifty dollars, and it was his! All his!
   Dr. Smith looked at him worriedly. “Are you alright, James?”
      Capt. Brown had never had this much money at once. He had grown up pretty poor, and then when he became mayor, well, there really isn't very much money in public service.
   “I'll be fine. Hee HEE! I'm buying a new hat! So. What are you doing with your money?”
      Dr. Smith shrugged.  “Put it in the treasury room with all of the rest.”
          “The Rest? How much do you have?”
             Dr. Smith shrugged again. “Couple thousand.” He said as if it were pennies.
 Capt. Brown eyed his Hundred-and-Fifty dollars. It didn't seem like so much, now.
    “What'd you do?” He asked, hiding his jealousy badly. “Knock over a bank?”
       It was lucky Dr. Smith couldn't register subtleties. “No. You know all those little inventions? The Device for Drying Hair, the Spill-Free Ball-Bearing Fountain Pen and all that other stuff? Those little 25 cent royalties really add up.”
     “Well.” Capt. Brown said. “I'm glad you have so much money.”
       “So Am I,” Dr. Smith said obliviously, “It takes a lot of the worry out of life.”
         “Be Seeing you.” Capt. Brown said, through his teeth.
           Dr. Smith caught that, It wasn't even close to a subtlety.
            “Did I do something wrong?”
             “No. Zachary. No. You haven't done…anything.”
               “Okay then.” For Dr. Smith, that seemed to settle it. “Do you want help…?”
                  “No, I'll get it.” He wrestled the chest, which weighed more than he did, out into the street.
Dr. Smith watched him. “Did I say something, Jeeves?”
                Jeeves had been listening. “You did, Sir. You basically rubbed your money in the Captain's face.”
  Dr. Smith was shocked. “Why Didn't you stop me!”
        “It didn't seem my place, Sir.”
          “Take note, whenever I start to do anything like that, stop me.”
             “Very good Sir.”
“James! Wait up!” Dr. Smith ran after Capt. Brown.

-=fig. 620: chasing capt. brown=-

“JAMES!” He bellowed.
   Capt. Brown finally stopped.
     “What.” He said impatiently.
        “This is yours.” Dr. Smith said, handing him a hundred-dollar bill.
        Capt. Brown had been brought up modest, “No, I can't–” He tried to start, But Dr. Smith cut him off.
          “You're my agent right? It's a bonus. Without your clever talking and that lawyer of yours, neither of us would have any money. I'm still keeping my fifty dollars, and you're not getting any royalties, mind, but this is definitely yours.” He pressed the bill into Capt. Brown's hand, and pointed his finger right up close to Capt. brown's face, saying, quite threateningly, “And don't you dare try to give it back. or Else.”
  Capt. Brown broke into a smile. Very few things are more hilarious to him than being threatened by Dr. Smith, who was at least a half-a-foot shorter than he was. “Alright,” conceded Capt. Brown, His hands up “I'll take it. Thanks.”
     “Alright.” Dr. Smith said, nodding, that seemed to have gone well. It was then he noticed where they were. “Why are we here?”
          “This is where I live.”
             “Well, I know that,” Dr. Smith lowered his voice, “What I meant was, why aren't you taking all this to the bank?”
                 “My house is safer than any bank.”
 Dr. Smith pictured Capt. Brown's house, which was a glorified room. It was also his Mayoral offices, and you could barely see the floor for all the loose papers people wanted him to sign.
  As far as home comforts went, there was cot behind the desk and a bathroom downstairs, but that was it. That was why he spent so much of his time at Dr. Smith's house.
  “James,” Dr. Smith said “I can barely imagine anyone living in your house, let alone storing anything important there. Besides, It's up three flights of steps, how are you going to carry that–” He indicated the large chest, filled with gold “–up three flights of steps?”
   “Don't have to.” Capt. Brown said with a smile, “I'm the Mayor, I have People for that.” As he spoke, ropes fell from the sky, they had hooks attached to the ends.
The hooks didn't fit in the chest's handles, so Capt. Brown whistled.
  A small steel platform fell out of the sky, and Capt. Brown quickly slid the chest off its wheelbarrow onto the platform and clipped the hooks to the platform's provided loops, then gave a shout.  It began to rise.

-=fig. 621: winch=-

    He elbowed Dr. Smith, “C'mon, Let's race it upstairs!” He then took off up the stairwell, as the chest rose straight up, pretty quickly for it's weight.
  They had nearly reached the third floor, when there was a huge crash, and a thump from directly above them.  Capt. Brown charged into the room, and, ignoring the chest on the floor, stuck his head out the broken window; “You're slipping!” He yelled, “I nearly beat you!”
   “What happens when you beat him?” Dr. Smith asked.
      “I fire him.  If he can't pull whatever it is up here faster than I can run up the steps, He deserves to be fired. He knows that.”
     Dr. Smith was mildly shocked, “You were taking the steps two at a time!”
         Capt. Brown winked, “Keeps 'im on his toes.”
           Dr. Smith laughed. Today was turning out to be a good day.
              “Okay,” Dr. Smith asked, “Why didn't it go through the floor? I heard it hit pretty hard.”
                 Well after this room was set on fire¹ I re-enforced the walls and floor with steel. Nothing gets in or out of here unless I want to, this room is a fortress.”
 “Hello, Mr. Mayor.” Said a voice from behind them.

¹Episode #63:  FIERTÉ PATRIOTIQUE

The CWA of Dr. Z. Smith: Episode #96: Forgot About That

Last Week, as You Recall…
Dr. Smith opened the door.

-=fig. 614: polite company=-

“Mr. Radio, Mr. Radio's Heavies. JEEVES WE GOT COMPANY!”
A moment's pause,
 “THE POLITE KIND! Please come in. May I ask why you're here?”
“My offices have gone over the tapes of our conversation, and no-one could figure out what I had been sold, or why it cost so much.”
  “Then come in! Come in. Do you like Tea?”
    “No.”
      “Coffee it is then. JEEVES!  COFFEE FOR FIVE!”

-=shortly=-

-=fig. 614: everyone ignore the jester=-

“So…” Capt. Brown started, “You want to know what you've been sold.”

   “Yes.” Mr. Radio said. 

     “You were sold” Said Capt. Brown “The right to broadcast on TaVee. Your network, QPFA would be the first onto this new medium, and as you can guess this is a huge advantage.”

   “Alright, So I'm buying the rights off'f the Doctor here, but if he can retain a butler, why is my contract so expensive?  He obviously doesn't need the money.” 

 “Jeeves!” Dr. Smith said, “Do I pay you?”

   “No Sir.” Said Jeeves. 

      “There's your answer.” Capt. Brown said quickly. “And I assure you it's satisfactory, only one small problem I'm afraid we don't have the papers drawn up just yet.”

   Mr. Radio was shocked, “You've had a week!”

     “Mr. Radio, Have you noticed the screams?” Capt. Brown said “The panic in the streets? The giant copper robots terrorizing the city?”

  “No.”

    “Good. That means we–” He gestured to Dr. Smith and himself–“Have been doing our jobs. There was an outbreak of giant robots, which we stopped. I'm sure you'll hear all about it on the evening broadcast. The point is, it has taken us a week, and in that week we have not had time to deal with silly legal documents. But If you'll excuse me, I'll go and call a lawyer friend of mine, and we'll do this right now.” 

  There's no need for that.” Mr. Radio said quickly, “I've brought two of the best lawyers in the city.”

    Capt. Brown flashed a million-dollar smile, “Which is exactly why I need to call my own lawyer.”

Capt. Brown left the table, and dialed a phone in the corner. Soon, the doorbell rang.

ding dong

“Answer that, will you Jeeves?” Capt. Brown asked.

-=fig. 615: mr. slant=-

A Zombie stood on the doorstep. 

 “Let ’im in, Jeeves.” Capt. Brown said.
 The Zombie lurched over the threshold. “BRAAAAIIINSSS…” It rattled, then stopped. “Heh…Heh…Heh. Just my little…joke.” Said Mr Slant Esq., Zombie.
 “But…But BUT!” Repeated Mr. Radio. “That's a Zombie!”
   “Yes.” Capt. Brown nodded, “And for over three-hundred years he's been the best Practicing Lawyer in the city. Mr. Slant, It's a pleasure.”
    “Likewise…Mr. Brown.”
      “Slant, The Reason I called you here is because–” He explained what was going on.
         “I…See. And you have decided on a Price?”
            “Yep.”
                 “No!”
                    “I see.” Mr. Slant addressed Mr. Radio's Legal Heavies, “Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris!”
  The Legal Heavies, of course replied with “quia non numquam eius modi tempora incidunt ut labore et dolore magnam aliquam quaerat voluptatem”
  “That sounds like legal-speak to me.” Said Capt. Brown. “How Long do you think this is going to take, Slant?”
   “I …Can't say.  They are stubborn.”
Capt. Brown Shrugged, he had expected something like this. “Will You be needing Mr. Radio here?”
     “No. His Lawyers have a good, solid grasp of his…*wheeze*…greedy objectives.”
       “Good. Zachary, Let's show Mr. Radio how TaVee Works.”

           -=-

-=fig. 616: keep cranking=-

“As long as you keep the crank going,” Dr. Smith said, “The film'll keep going past the mosaic, now the mosaic turns each frame, which is like a little picture, into thousands of little tiny bits, which are fed out this antennae to the computer terminal. You got all that?”  Mr. Radio had been scribbling madly in his book, trying to keep up with Dr. Smith. “Sure…What happens once it gets to the computer terminal?”

-=fig. 617: computer bank=-

“Almost everything. If you are using a large computer bank, as I am, you can choose to save the incoming data as a Digital File which you can then edit, or you can choose to just export the un-edited LIVE footage to a connected radio antennae. You can also, with this bit of free software,” He handed Mr. Radio a floppy disk “Switch between cameras, assuming of course you're using a multi-camera set-up.”
  “What about sound?”
      “You can use any mics you already have, I'm using a standard Boom Mic, It records onto a Record, which you then import into your computer terminal using the standard 33&⅓ Phonograph Record Drive.”
   “It all seems so…straight-forward.”  Mr. Radio was lost. But he had copied everything down, so maybe someone at the office could translate it.
      “It basically is. But all I've done is invent the technology, It's up to you to make a TaVee show worth watching.”
         “I assume all this extra, yet necessary paraphernalia isn't included in the price?”
            “Of course not.”
              “Where'll I be able to get it?”
          Dr. Smith counted off on his fingers, “The Cameras, the film, the mics and the lights; Sears and Roebuck. Or Direct from the manufacturers; Kodak, RCA and General Electrick, Respectively. The Computer banks; Apple Computer Company. Software; Me., at least at first. I'm releasing an API as soon as our deal goes public, so there'll be better solutions pretty quick.”
  “That's it?”
     “That's it.”
Jeeves walked in. “Sir,” He said “The legal deliberations are over.”
“Capital.”

PARTY PARTY PARTY!

Introducing: the MK7!

The C.W.A. of Dr. Z. Smith: Episode #95: Extortion, Robot Style

“Well, That took longer thaan I expected.”
   “But you still have The Touch, Sir.”
      “I do at that.”

-=fig. 610: final programming=-

Dr. Smith and his Robotic Butler, Jeeves, had just finished building a MK7 in the hopes of exchanging it for the life of Capt. James Brown, Mayor of the Grand City Of Legopolis and Dr. Smith's only friend.
   “Why did we ever abandon this design?” Dr. Smith said, almost wistfully. “It was so adorable.”
       “Wheels¹, Sir.” Jeeves Replied.
 “Ah. Yes.  Right, that's the last of it, you stay here Jeeves, I don't want them finding you.  I'll roll this guy out myself.”
      “Very Good Sir.”

 -=-

 “Now Presenting!”  Dr. Smith tried to use his best ‘Circus Announcer’ voice, but he failed. “The most wonderful thing you've ever seen!  Never before shown publicly, until now!  The–drum-roll please–MARK 13!”

-=fig. 611: gold master=-

It wasn't. It was a MK7. But Dr. Smith was hoping that these evil robots–themselves only MK4's–wouldn't know the difference.
“It's beautiful” Said the Leader of the MK4's “So much better than that human-esque”–It said human-esque like it was in insult–“MK12.  Such articulation, such height. But it only has one eye.”
   “That shoots laser beams.²” Dr. Smith assured it, “And besides, People are less frightened of things with one, big, eye.³”  Dr. Smith hoped The Leader didn't have anymore questions.⁴
 “How do I get into this new form?” It asked.
   “You plug this cord into your AUX OUT port, and this end into the MK13's AUX IN port. That's it.”  Wordlessly a spare MK4 clunked over, and connected the two robots.
     “There had better not be any tricks.” The Leader said.
        “You have me over a barrel, what would I dare do?”
 There was a short transfer period, where both bodies went limp.
    The the MK7 straightened up.  “I Feel so powerful!” Said The Leader, from Its new body. It disconnected the cord from Its AUX IN port and tested out Its new wheels.
   “You can go up to 50MPH with those wheels, nearly silently too, which I imagine will come in handy in your imminent reign of terror.”

“Thank You, Doctor, and it seems it is now my turn to keep my end of the bargain.” The Leader said. “Henchmen, Our leverage is no longer needed. Kill him.”
 

-=fig. 612: streamlining=-

“We HAD a DEAL!” Dr. Smith yelled,
  “A deal which I broke.” Replied The Leader.
 But Capt. Brown was on top of the situation.  He had had upwards of eight hours to work on his bonds,  he was just biding his time until the right moment.
And This was the right moment.
00:01
   He snapped the ropes, opened the top drawer of Dr. Smith's desk and drew the six-shooter that was kept there.
00:03
He shot every gun-carrying MK4 in the one weak spot he could see. The ankles. There was a tiny gap in the ankle, and behind that gap was the vacuum tube that regulated the entire leg.  These robots weighed nearly a ton, so with only one functioning leg they collapsed.
00:08.
  “Eight Seconds, James?” Dr. Smith called over jokingly, “You're slipping.”
    “Could'a done it in six if this damn gun would shoot straight. Remind me to get you a better one.”

    “What's Happening!” Demanded The Leader. Without waiting for an answer, it fired the shotgun mounted to it's back.
     Nothing happened.
     “Did you think I would Load it?” Questioned Dr. Smith. “You have one minute to live before the Program I have installed re-formats your entire hard drive, permanently erasing what ever you are.  But I can still Stop it, Do you Repent?”
 “NEVER!”
   “Then Goodnight, Mr. Robot.”

-=fig. 613: bug deletion=-

That was when the miraculous, viral, confused and murderous thing that had been The Leader of an off-shoot branch of deadly MK4s, died.
 The MK7 sagged.
   Then played a cheerful eight-bit tune and stood to attention, all remnants of The Leader had been erased.

“Mk7,” Dr. Smith said “Begin Cleaning this room. Erase the Memories and Hard Drives of any MK4 you find, and set them up again in the manufacture hall.”
  The MK7 tried to salute. Then set about its task.
“Why do I feel sad?”  Asked Capt. Brown.
   “Because we just killed a life-form that created itself, and now are using its corpse for menial tasks. C'mon, I'll get Jeeves to make some bacon.”

-=-

knock knock knock.

 “Who is it?”
   “A representative From the Offices of Mr. Radio.”

¹Dr. Smith mistrusts wheels. Always has.

 ²This is a lie.

 ³This is another lie.

⁴Because he really was terrible at lying.

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!”