Robut Rampage
Chapter 4
Zero One began to play. The electric saxophone made a strange buzzing tone, not unlike the caw of a crow. The robut placed both clamps on the instrument and began to depress buttons. Each button made a dissonant new sound, creating an eerie, atonal scale. Zero One was experimenting with its new instrument, learning to play.
“That’s enough of that,” said Jupiter. The sparker had fully charged. He pulled the trigger. Here’s what should have happened. A powerful stream of positively charged ions should have created an arc of electricity between the sparker and Zero One. The high-voltage, low-current should have shorted out Zero One’s electric components, which would have meant instant death for the robut. The murder machine being incapicated, Jonas Jupiter and his antsy assistant Skrum should have been able to collect the disabled machine, secret it away to the lab, and avoid any and all responsibility for the damage caused by the robut’s rampage. But the laboratory was a rental, its fabricator was on the fritz, and the sparker was missing a key component.
Here’s what actually happened. An immense stream of weak ions discharged into the square and interacted with the charges from all the various metals nearby. There were flashes and small arcs of green, white, blue, orange, yellow, red, purple. The mob oohed and aahed at the sudden light show.
At that same moment in time, Zero One completed its catalogue of the saxophone’s keys and pitches. It began to play a wondrous melody.
It had the rhythm of the city, the backward swing of a jazz orchestra played in reverse, and all the soul of a being who had found a focal point somewhere between the pain of existence and the meaning of life.
The Terskan recognized his lost crombolt on the device, but instead of being angry he was proud, pointing it out to anyone who would listen. “That’s my crombolt! I contributed!”
The security officer couldn’t bring himself to arrest the rogue robut. His ear stalks wagging with the music.
Many among the mob had been waylaid by Zero One, but all was forgiven once the music began.
It’s an easy thing to deconstruct music into its scientific components: frequency, time, acoustics, harmonics, etc, but there is a hidden, immeasurable element. It’s the thing that makes people move and feel and vibe. This is the magic that Zero One tapped into that night in Grand Zodon. It moulded an angry mob into an adoring audience.
In a way, Jonas Jupiter’s invention was a success. His killer robut certainly killed. Zero One became one of the most sought after performers in the city after that night. But in most ways the professor had failed spectacularly.
Back at the Laboratory
Lightning flashed. Thunder rumbled. Jazz music played in reverse from a record player in the corner of the laboratory. Electric currents arced up and down the pylons of a raised table.
The robut on the table sat up and clacked its clamps. Jonas Jupiter went eagerly to its side.
“Well? What do you want to do?”
“Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill,” said the robut.
The professor trudged over to the monitoring console and collapsed into his chair with his head in his hands.
“I keep making perfect killing machines, but no one wants killing machines,” said Jupiter.
“Shall I put it with the others, Professor?” asked Skrum. Jupiter waved his hand dismissively.
“Murder. Murder. Murder,” chanted the robut. Skrum hit its killswitch. It fell back on the table as it powered down.
“Murder . . . Murder . . . Mur . . . der.”
Skrum wheeled the table out of the laboratory and onto the freight elevator that connected all the labs in this building. He rode twenty levels down and emerged in a large storage room. The automated lights clicked on one by one as he pushed the table through aisle after aisle of shelves. The shelves were lined with failed inventions and half-finished projects. He didn’t stop until he reached the far corner of the warehouse, where thirty-five similar robots lay in a tangled pile. He tipped the table up and the latest failure tumbled onto the heap. Skrum wheeled the table around and returned to the elevator, where he dry washed his hands, imagining another nutrient brick.
The doors closed and the automated lights turned off one by one. In the darkness a lone red light began to blink, buried deep within the pile of killer robuts.