Klapaucius' Stories

Emergence

2008-06-24T22:06:01Z

Buckler writhed under the mechanical bear, its teeth of found bone and metal chomping down at him. He stabbed at its hide, trying to find an exposed patch or a joint, but nothing gave way.
Then the stranger fired two bolts at the Remnoid’s head; one at the frothing jaw, and one between the eyes. Roaring, it leaned off Buckler, and began to swipe toward the stranger in a blind fury. Buckler picked up an EMP charge, but before he could throw it the stranger leapt at the disabled animal.
He punched through the beast’s shell, ripping out electronic organs and ignoring its painful cries. Then, as the last sparks of life left its body, the stranger ripped out the bear’s throat, opened his own mouth wide, and with no hesitation devoured it: trachea, esophagus, and part of the spine.
Buckler was too awestruck to get up. Pieces of his arm and forehead had been taken out, probably still in the bear’s throat, and sparks leapt across the gaps, maddening his pain receptors. But he was too afraid to notice.

Team Handed

2008-06-22T21:46:53Z

No Hunter prowled at sunset. Smaller things retreated into nests of loose wires, twigs, and other bits of shrapnel, and the dystrphic foliage of the irradiated trees was colored orange by the last rays of orange sunlight that filtered through. That glow filled whatever remained afoot with an infamous aggression, turning foragers into man-eaters, recluses into flesh-renders. But the mute stranger, who shot truer than his parts should allow, and who carried that borrowed knife like a pet’s leash, gave Buckler the courage to take down the big game.
He watched the stranger watch the forest. The man’s eyes never moved—they took everything in at once with unnaturally large pupils. Buckler raised a hand to point at a far-off twinkle. Then he heard something rustle directly behind. Buckler shot around and drew his gun, too late. The beast was upon him.

The Gleam of a Wild Hound's Eye on a Hill in Southern Glasgow

2008-06-03T18:59:40Z

Annwyl Euren had the longest day of her life. The secretary, blessed creature, was awarded no respect, no prestige, and precious little lunch time. But, back in her sixth-floor apartment, she could answer the phone, or let it ring, as she wished. Today, she unplugged it, and it made her feel free.
She had a snack, put together with toast and the remaining peanut butter, but she needed something more. Maybe something to pick her up, or to remove the nagging ache in her shoulders… but she was for treating the cause rather than the symptoms. Annwyl wanted perspective.
She went into her bedroom, where the most inportant appliance in her home waited: the Conceptual Drive.
Annwyl lied down in the sensory-deprivation chamber. Body-temperature water slowly poured around her, up to her ears. She depressed a small switch on the top of the machine, and prepared to become an idea.

The grass ruffled lazily in the breeze. Annwyl felt the photons of her being, and knew what it was to be ephemeral.

Target Practice

2008-06-03T18:33:23Z

Buckler wasn’t sure about making the stranger hunt with him, but he had to adapt to Captain Fonn’s rare changes. So he came with his partner to the gearhouse, which was kept by a young, fully natural girl in work overalls, whose name Buckler planned to never learn.
The droid never objected, so Buckler prepared him a kit of basic supplies: magnetic charges, radar, pulse drives, and a laser rifle. That last piece of equipment was a precision tool, and Buckler realized that the stranger might not know his way around a firearm. He certainly had trouble with operating the new hand Buckler had found for him.
He took the stranger to the firing range. He gave the droid a pistol, and set the course to begin. The stranger immediately shifted into an unconventional pose which Buckler found dimly familiar, holding the blaster over a bent arm to keep it from moving.
The first targets appreared. Instantly, the droid fired three shots, and all three targets went down.

“We should be heading out soon,” Buckler told him.

Rare Loot

2008-06-02T21:33:27Z

Buckler, unsure of what to do, brought the android back with his to the main office. His boss waited for him.
“Captain Fonn,” Buckler said as he let himself in.
“News?” Captain Fonn was a draft-dodger who kept balanced on the fence between cybernetically enhanced human and verisimilar android. He was too stocky to be mistaken for fully converted, but no human spark passed through his artificial eyes. Most who know him saw the title and the prosthetics as better left unexplained.
“I found someone,” Buckler told him. “While I was hunting.”
Fonn turned around, and examined the poor hermit: sluggish joints, one missing hand, and a face broadcast on a head-shaped monitor.
“I don’t know who he is.” Buckler explained, holding him up with one hand. “He refuses to speak.”
“Well, now..” Fonn grunted. “You can understand speech, can’t you?”
The face nodded. It was full of static.
“Then get him some clothes,” Fonn told Buckler, “and some leftover gear. He’ll be your new hunting partner.”
The face stared.

The Herald

2008-05-21T21:48:24Z

The river water had soaked her clothes, up to her hips. Her horse resisted to progress; the species was instinctively reluctant to step on human bodies. But with one hand she tightened the reins, and with another she grasped the clarion. She ignored the illusions designed to lure her off the path, to make her stray into the fell labyrinths of Nature.
They would all know, when she arrived. They would all know of the oncoming storm.

Unknown Target

2008-05-20T23:41:14Z

A flash saturated the forest with eerie light. Buckler dove behind a tree as the force of the blast shot past him, feeling waves of static electricity crackle over his alloy skin.
When it subsided he got up, swiftly but noiselessly, and tightened his grip on the knife. There was something out there, and it was big.
Buckler stepped lightly over the forest floor. His soles were soft enough to silence leaves underfoot, but Remnoids were capable of improvising ears ten times stronger than his, if the environment demanded it. He silenced the hum of his vibroknife edge. Weapons silence.
Something strafed into his peripheral vision: the microsecond glint of a metal surface, a claw or shell or improvised weapon.
He turned, eighty-six degrees, and blindly shot towards the attacker. There was contact, and Buckler tackled it, punching it with a taser glove repeatedly before he finally cooled down.
Then Buckler’s hand twitched as he stared in awe at the thing below him: bright, trembling, and humanoid.

Rebirth at the Corporation, Inc.

2008-05-19T23:55:50Z

He woke up in complete darkness, and he did not know it was the second time consecutively. His face was hot, but something cold was pressed against it.
“Awake, number 17!”
He shook his head in confusion. He knew that was his name, but he had never heard it before. He wondered what the name was for this feeling, and a sort of light flickered in the back of his mind.
“Can you hear me, number 17!?”
A humming sound emerged; a stream of synthesized angelic voices at the edge of his hearing.
Apres vu... words of a dead language. Banned by the Corporation. How did he know this?
“If you fail to respond—”
France… dominant brands… culture as of the Day… implications in the Second Enlightenment conspiracy…
The voice sighed cynically. “He is lost in the database,” she said, now barely audible over the chorus. “Cut off his access.”
He surfaced, suddenly from the ocean of thought. The humming faded; the point of illumination flickered and died.
“Now, Number 17,” Aslog said, “your teaching can begin.”

The Gambit

2008-05-19T23:01:05Z

“I think I have an idea,” said Felg, the one that always sort of stood there.
“Really, now.” Stebbing squinted. “Let me guess. Does it involve a wrench?”
Felg hid the wrench behind his back.
“Look here,” Ishno said, “we’ve got to do something about this fast. Somebody’s going to realize that-” He checked the name tag. “-that Hoddles is missing. And then what will we do? Pat them on the back, and ask politely for a do-over?
“We’ve got to get thinking here. That includes you, Felg, and keep the wrench as far from your thoughts as possible.”
They stood around for a moment. Something shuffled in he adjacent room, and they all jumped.
“Listen, mates, I know what to do,” Meathrop said, his voice shaking. “It’s a long shot, but it’s all we’ve got.”
Everyone shrugged.
“First,” Meathrop said proudly, “let’s find a place to hide the body…”

Several minutes later, Meathrop came running into the guard’s room, in full body armor. He stopped at the door, short of breath.
He shouted, “Somebody killed Hoddles!”

Partition Magic

2008-05-19T22:25:40Z

Ivan’s life-avatar burrowed frantically into the Mastermage’s. He found a point of weakness (an unsuccessful relationship with a certain acolyte, many years ago) and with spikes it attacked the life from inside.
As Ivan struck, Klaus watched the sage intently. The Mastermage closed his eyes. Pain? Was he watching memories crumble? Or, was he preparing-
The blue avatar shook, and reformed into a sphere around Ivan’s. It began to crush the life on all sides.
The sage’s move was ludicrous. These battles always played like fencing matches: battles of attrition. But this was savagery.
Ivan threw his head into his hands. Everything began to slip away—not in pieces, but all at once, until he was on the ground, crying. Finally, he forgot his own name, then his brother’s. And he vanished.
Klaus stared blankly.
“Partition magic,” the Mastermage said. “The All reformed him, most likely as a nameless laborer in a Qinto rice field. He is not dead, but you will never meet again.”

Klaus’ hand clenched into a fist.

Slip of the Knife

2008-05-15T23:35:27Z

The four thieves stared down at the corpse. Ishno, the leader, put his head in his hands, trying to assuage the headache.
“Meathrop, Meathrop…” he said, looking over at the man, who was grinning sheepishly and holding a bloody dagger. “The wasn’t part of the plan!”
“I know, Boss,” he replied, “But… just look at him!” He waved his hands at the body. “Full body armor, guns, an alarm button on his sleeve! Wh-what was I supposed to do? Knock him out!”
“YES!”
The four looked at each other in confusion.
“Look, guys,” said Stebbing, the second oldest, “we came to this facility to steal…?”
“Prototype weapons,” the others said in unison. He tested them like this every ten minutes or so.
“And a little thing like murder shouldn’t get in our way. Not anymore, now that we’re on this level. Besides…” he said contemplatively, “it was merely self-defense.”
“Um,” Meathrop said.
“Yes?”
“Is it self-defense if you snuck up on them?”
“No,” Stebbing said. “So does anyone have a plan?”

Master Magic

2008-05-15T22:44:09Z

Klaus hid behind Ivan as the elder brother clashed with the Mastermage. This was an existential duel; the two fought with literally all their experiences, manifestations of their lives, to the death.
The Mastermage had lived a long but quiet life; his life was calcuating, defensive, and infinitely blue, meaning that, though it was transparent, you would never be able to see through to the the other side. Ivan’s life, on the other hand, was small but full of trickery. It danced around the Master Mage’s, evading the other’s ability to adapt to anything by never using the same trick twice. It was silver, and glowed too brightly to be observed for more than a moment.
Klaus couldn’t summon an existential guardian quite yet, but his life was young and unremarkable, so he imagined it would have the potency of a housecat.
His brother chipped his opponent’s life away—days spent studying, most of the age of four. But the Mastermage did not earn his title through patience. Klaus knew he was saving something deadly.

The Initation of The Corporation, Inc.

2008-05-14T23:52:19Z

He regained consciousness in a chair. The room was cold, wherever he was, and he was completely blind.
“I can’t see!” he cried.
“A mercy gesture.” Aslog’s voice buzzed, over the sound of shuffling feet and muffled screams. He tried not to hear them, but then a loud, mushy noise surrounded him as air rushed into his depressurized ear canals, causing them to ring. He was now deaf as well. He cried out incoherently, though he couldn’t hear it. Something pressed against the back of his head.
“You are being fused into the relay.” The Commander’s voice rang out in his own mind, too loudly to be a product of his imagination. The pressure now dug sharply into the base of his scalp. He tried to break his restraints, but the sharp steel only injured his wrists.
“The anesthesia should be taking effect now.” Aslog said. The sharp pain intensified—a knife-stab into the spinal cord. He felt his throat spasm.
“Hm… resistance to painkillers. A sign of compatability. You’re lucky, Mr. Bennet.”

The process began.

Final Exam

2008-05-14T22:51:37Z

She was called in, in a few moments, by a middle-aged blonde who didn’t look at her.
The girl was led into a room with a doctor, one that wore some sort of special glasses over his eyes. He had a bit of five o’ clock shadow on his chin. She wasn’t sure if doctors were supposed to shave.
“Come over here,” he said, in a friendly voice. He indicated a table, and she sat on it.
The doctor picked up her burned hand, and examined it closely—as if he was looking for small details.
“What did you say your name was?” he asked, absentmindedly.
“Ev-Evita.”
“Hm.” With a speed that startled her, he pulled a small light from his coat pocket and shined in in her damaged eye. “And where have you been the last, oh, hour and forty-six minutes?”
“I…” She hesistated. She wasn’t supposed to tell him.
Suddenly he replaced the light, snapped his gloved fingers, and ran into the hallway.
He shouted, “We’ve got one!”

Remnoids

2008-05-14T21:54:03Z

Buckler stepped lightly as he searched the woods, and as his reflexes took over, his mind slipped into thought. There was a paradox that had left him dumbfounded when he first began hunting: out here in the waste jungles, man’s influence had stopped nearly a century ago, but its technology still reigned: small, self-sustaining beasts that had been created as a weapon of war, things designed for espionage and for ambushes. The greatest advantage is to have nature on your side, and the easiest path to that end is not to destroy or exploit nature, but to bend it to your will.
These things could reassemble themselves from scrap, meaning they were endlessly modular, and with each reassembly they adapted themselves to their new situation. They wiped the South Americans off the map, and then their masters razed it for raw materials. Then the reorganized U.N. destroyed the hive mind which controlled the things. Now nobody could know what went on in the mind of these savage veterans. They simply wanted them dead.