Bad Unicorn Page 20

  “Well, you forget that I’m magical too,” Robo-Princess said as the group moved into a large quad-directional horivator. “And besides, when was the last time a hunter actually lost?”

  “Sixty-two years ago,” Robo-Magar answered, referencing his memory core. “An accident when an obese frobbit got stuck in one of the hunter’s intake valves, overheating the entire system and blowing it up.”

  If Robo-Princess had had eyes instead of glowing red optical sensors, she would have rolled them. “Other than that one exception, it’s never happened.”

  “It’s all very exciting, isn’t it?” the horivator said as the doors shut and it started to move from the parking terrace to the coliseum. “An honest to goodness real human hunt. I can’t wait to tell my brother-in-law I got to shuttle Robo-Princess to the stadium. He works as an elevator just down the road. Poor guy can’t go side-to-side like me.”

  “Maybe you should just focus on doing your job,” Robo-Princess snapped, not appreciating being interrupted. “Although I’m sure being an elevator is fascinating.”

  “It has its ups and downs,” the horivator replied.

  “Four minutes until we go live,” Purple announced.

  The horivator made a sudden change in direction, a little more abruptly than Robo-Princess thought was necessary. “So is it true you actually eat them?” the horivator asked.

  “Eat whom?” Robo-Magar interjected.

  “You know, the living creatures you hunt and kill. I mean, we’re machines and we don’t eat, so I was kind of wondering about that.”

  “I’ve been designed to eat and to taste,” Robo-Princess answered testily. “Not that it’s anyone’s business. And is it really your job to talk to the passengers or just move them?”

  “Just move them,” came the reply from the speaker. “But I like to think of myself as an overachiever.”

  They rode the rest of the way in silence.

  When the horivator came to a stop, the doors opened into a staging area at the bottom of a giant coliseum. Robo-Princess led the group out as a group of servos descended around her, performing everything from last-minute maintenance checks to buffing her metal skin to a high sheen.

  “This is it, you know,” Robo-Princess announced as they walked toward the staging area, the servos working beside her. “This will be the pinnacle of my entertainment career.”

  “I’m sure it will,” Purple replied optimistically.

  “So tomorrow I’ll announce my retirement from the games.”

  “You’re going to quit?” Robo-Magar asked, replaying his audio recording chip to make sure he’d heard her correctly.

  “Yes. I’ve always known that when I go I’m going to go out on top. And tonight I’ll be on top of the world.”

  Purple was stunned. “But you’ve spent hundreds of years sneaking and trapping—hunting and killing. You’ve destroyed more living creatures than every war, famine, and plague put together. Where do you go from there?”

  “Politics,” Robo-Princess announced.

  The thought of following Robo-Princess into government made Robo-Magar attempt to override his self-destruct inhibitor and short himself out. It didn’t work—just like the 712 times he’d tried before.

  “Do I detect you trying to blow yourself up again, Magar?” Robo-Princess asked. “Does a career as a civil servant sound so unappealing?”

  “I’m sure the city is full of other more qualified candidates.”

  “Perhaps—but none of them would be as adorably miserable as you.”

  Purple’s light was blinking rapidly. “We can discuss all this retirement business later—now it’s time to go.” The servo bots hurried to finish their work.

  “I feel my existence coming full circle, Magar,” Robo-Princess said. “It began with Max Spencer and his book—and now it will end with him.” Robo-Princess walked from the staging area to the stadium floor, looking up to see the rows of seat cubes stretched from the ground to a seemingly impossible height. The sky above was lit with crisscrossing floodlights as several large blimps floated about. Advertising messages such as “Half off head lube and filter change at Harry’s Head Hut” scrolled on their sides. Around the coliseum an ocean of small lights blinked on as citizens downloaded themselves into unoccupied seat cubes. The podium was waiting for Robo-Princess, and as she trotted up she passed the giant holographic imaging system that would come to life once the show started.

  “Two minutes,” the voice of Purple announced. Warm light cascaded across the whole of the coliseum—everything was going without a problem.

  “We have a problem,” a voice announced over the communication band. Robo-Magar jumped—or more precisely for a floating head, bobbed—into action, tracing the transmission, logging into a satellite feed, and processing the data.

  “Well,” he finally announced a few seconds later. “It appears as if something’s been jamming the satellite feed out of sector 1215. And it’s not an equipment malfunction—it seems purposefully blocked.”

  “Purposefully blocked?” Robo-Princess repeated. “Who would dare? What machine runs sector 1215?”

  Robo-Magar found the information quickly. “Ah, one of the ancient ones . . . an arcade game built by the humans.”

  Cenede! This was exactly the reason Robo-Princess didn’t trust the elder machines—they were human sympathizers. “Tell me what you see.”

  “A small army of frobbits and faeries are moving into the hunting grounds with the humans. They’re marching in organized ranks and wearing armor—very unfrobbit-like.”

  “An army?” Purple asked over the network. “That’s not in the script! This is a disaster—we’ll have to cancel.”

  Robo-Princess quickly processed different options, but none of them were entirely satisfactory. She could send more hunters, but they weren’t ready—and if she sent too many the ensuing battle might be too lopsided to be entertaining. She could try to blast the frobbits before they made it to the hunting grounds, but the old war canons were offline. She could also simply go on as planned, but she had designed everything as a perfectly balanced contest meant to cause casualties on both sides, and the appearance of a small army had thrown everything off-balance. Robo-Princess had simply run out of time to do anything about the new turn of events.

  “Calm down, everyone,” she replied, knowing that she had to reassure the network executives that everything was okay. “So our little event has turned into a rebellion. Good. Let them come. Everyone enjoys a frobbit bashing at no extra charge.”

  “I don’t know . . . maybe we should call the authorities?” Purple inquired. “There’s so many of them. Or at the very least delay the start and convene an emergency board meeting—”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Robo-Princess interrupted. “The humans have decided to come and die with their little friends and we’re going to oblige them. Besides, you’ll find no complaints from the hunters—they’ve been wanting a bigger challenge for years.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. I’ve already calculated for this possibility,” Robo-Princess lied.

  “You did?”

  “Of course. It’s what a good leader does.”

  Robo-Magar understood at once that Robo-Princess was going to turn this crisis into a political opportunity. She’d probably begin her whole campaign with how she diverted the “great disaster.” She had always been evil, but now she was getting smarter, and that really was a dangerous combination.

  Robo-Princess took the steps to the top of the platform, having decided that the show would go on. As she stepped into the lights, a wave of applause erupted, washing over her with an energy that was palpable (thanks, in part, to her Palpability 3000 recognition software).

  “Three, two, one, and live!” Purple announced over the network. Across Machine City millions of holo-sets came to life.

  “Citizens,” Robo-Princess declared, her voice broadcast over a massive PA system. “Can you sense it? There’s somethi
ng special going on. Something historic. You’ve been fans of the hunt for most of your existence—but you’ve never seen a spectacle like the one tonight. So who here knows what time it is?”

  “Hunt time!” a half-million electronic voices called out as one.

  “What was that? My audio sensors seem to detect a less than adequate decibel level. Come on machines, show us what you’ve got!”

  “HUNT TIME!” The words exploded into the evening air, and Robo-Princess had to switch her audio dampeners on for a brief moment.

  “Yes! Hunt time!” This got another roaring round of applause. Robo-Princess stood still, letting it all soak in. She knew she was the master here. She had created the hunt and had refined it into a perfect entertainment tool. Now she would use it to catapult her to the next level—ruling the entire world. “Many years ago, before most of you had even been stamped into existence on an assembly line, I was sent on an important mission. I was an organic back then, born as a princess in a world of magic and wonder.”

  Robo-Magar watched as the half-million blinking lights began to blink faster. Magic always agitated the machines, and he found that gratifying. He might not have been the most passionate of magical practitioners when he was human, but there was something amazing about feeling the universe’s power in such a way—and he missed it.

  “I had been sent to find a human boy, but somehow he escaped me.” Anything escaping Robo-Princess was simply unheard of, and the machines sent messages back and forth with excited anticipation. “Later, I learned the boy, a human named Max Spencer, was very important. You see, he was the last descendant of the arch-sorcerer and World Sunderer himself: Maximilian Sporazo!”

  Robo-Princess shot a lightning bolt from her horn into the darkening sky. It cracked and sizzled, branching out through the low-hanging clouds and lighting them up with a dazzling white light. Several of the blimp pilots decided to move out of the area as a loud thunderclap crashed through the chilled air above the city. For a once-living creature to produce such magic in the Techrus was a testament to just how powerful Robo-Princess was. And as intended, the sight was so terrifying that the entire stadium fell utterly silent.

  Robo-Princess let the moment hang in the air as she watched the wildly blinking lights that filled the stadium. “And now he’s here,” she continued. “The boy who started it all—the boy who could read the book! And so tonight we will bring to a conclusion the question of magic versus technology! Organic versus machine! Tonight we send three hunters to battle on our behalf. And these brave machines will not only stand against the humans, but they will fight a frobbit horde as well!”

  Robo-Magar had never heard frobbits described as a “horde” before. It was a bit like identifying a rampaging “mob” of butterflies. Three large screens suddenly lit up above Robo-Princess.

  “Champion number one is cooking up a recipe for disaster. With knives that slice and dice and an appetite for destruction, may I present to you . . . Robotouille!” An image appeared of a large skeletal rat standing upright on two powerful hydraulic legs. A heavy, sectioned tail provided a counterbalance for the robot’s weight, and the head looked like a series of armored plates with dark bulbous eyes. It had antennae ears that curved back from the side of its head and long skeletal arms that ended in two taloned hands—each grasping an oversized meat cleaver.

  The audience cubes played their applause sounds.

  “Then, should the humans survive, in round two we’ll bring out an oldie but a goodie. He went from collecting the ‘trash’ to delivering the ‘smash’—here he is, Wall-up!” The next screen came to life showing a square robot with two tanklike tracks on each side.

  “Finally, a true veteran standing at the ready. He’s a hunter with a kill streak second to none; the one, the only, the Frobinator!” The final screen lit up with a heavily armored robot that looked like a Roman gladiator plucked from history, dipped in metallic blue armor, and given a large shield and laser-tipped blade. A single gold eye sat in the fully enclosed armored head, and a large caliber machine gun rested on each shoulder, fed from an ammo pack on the robot’s back. When the image of the Frobinator joined the other two, the entire stadium erupted.

  “And I’ll be standing ready to take the field if things go to sudden death.” And taking the field was exactly what Robo-Princess planned to do. “So, without further delay, let the hunt begin!”

  On Druids Versus Scrub Oaks

  DRUIDS LOVE ALL THINGS IN NATURE, except scrub oaks. This goes back several thousand years when, in a moment of spontaneous philosophical awakening (later referred to as the “noisening”) the entire collective of scrub oaks came to the conclusion that if they toppled over in the woods, and nobody was around to hear them, they didn’t exist. As a result they decided to make their presence known by screaming loudly.

  To the druids, who loved sitting back and listening to the peaceful sounds of nature, this ongoing screaming was seriously annoying. Their resentment was later articulated by the druid philosopher Proclorius of the Big-Eared Clan in his classic rebuttal, “Just Shut Up Already.” Finding the trees unmoved by various forms of reasoning and persuasion, the druids erected the now famous Stonehenge. To date, there are two schools of thought as to the exact purpose of the stone monument: either as a focusing point for mystical powers that create a “quiet zone” for druids to stand in; or that after setting the large stones upright, one might then tip them over and smash oneself into quiet oblivion.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  MEETING THE WEZ

  (THE MESOSHIRE—PRESENT)

  THE NAME OF THE COMEDY CLUB WAS “GOBLIN UP CHUCK,” WHICH said a lot about goblin humor. The story went that “Chuck” was the former owner of the place. Chuck was eaten by the Wez after losing a bet with the goblin warlock, and the title of the establishment was transferred to the new owner. The next day, however, the meal didn’t sit well with the Wez and he ended up getting sick. Thus “Goblin up Chuck” repeated twice and with the right emphasis, told the entire story. Princess and Magar found the hot spot easily enough after learning the warlock was the current owner. The building was tucked away near the “five corners” section of the Mesoshire. It was the spot where the goblin, orc, elf, human, and dirgel districts converged. It was evening by the time the taxi dropped Princess and Magar at the doors, the lights of the club glowing brightly against the evening sky.

  Soon after they announced that they were looking for the Wez, Princess and Magar found themselves seated across from him at a back table. Like most goblins, the Wez was green with giant ears. He had long black hair with two braids that ran down the sides of his face, each adorned with tiny skulls, and a patch of hair on his chin that was braided into two parts and waved about when he turned his head.

  “So you’re the Wez,” Princess said, offering her hand. The Wez, dressed in a tuxedo, took Princess’s hand to his lips. He sniffed several times and then smiled, offering it back.

  “Royal blood and a unicorn, too,” the Goblin announced. “Now, that’s definitely a first for this kind of establishment.”

  Magar had been trained to be leery of those who practiced forbidden magic, but he had to admit that the goblin was amazingly perceptive. “Might I ask your fields of study?” Magar finally inquired.

  “And a Tower’s wizard, I see,” the Wez answered, waving at a waitress to bring them something to drink. “I’m sure your training likes you to put things into neat little boxes, so I’ll do my best. But in my view, magic was never meant to be corralled like that. You can call me a warlock, a necromancer, a conjurer, even a druid, if it helps.”

  “All four?” Magar asked, sounding surprised.

  “And more, truthfully, but we lack the proper labels. You see, magic isn’t half this or half that, wizard or mage, creative or destructive. It flows through everything and adapts itself to whatever form it finds. The Tower pours it into carefully defined cups, but I like to jump in with both feet, as the humans on the Techrus like to say. Bu
t now that you’re thoroughly impressed with my résumé, how can I help you?”

  “Let’s start with the who before we get to the how,” Princess replied. “We’ve been sent by the Tower’s regent, Rezormoor Dreadbringer. And he’s in service of the Maelshadow. I suspect you understand what it means to gain their disfavor—just something to keep in mind in case you get any ideas about playing us for fools.”

  The Wez sank back in his chair, the fun having gone out of the conversation before it had even gotten started. The goblin was tolerated because he hadn’t gotten in the way of either the Tower or the Lord of Shadows. “Well now, isn’t that a bit of a downer,” he said finally.

  “See, you are smart,” Princess replied.

  The Wez forced a smile and tipped his head forward. “So, you’re mixed up with some powerful folks and you have a problem—what is it I can do for you, exactly?”

  “The problem is we’re hunting the Codex of Infinite Knowability and a blood descendent who can read it, and we’ve run into a bit of a snag.”

  It wasn’t exactly what the Wez was expecting to hear, but given the players involved it did make a certain amount of sense. “How ambitious.”

  “And we’ve found them. Both of them.”

  Now that was a shock. “And your . . . snag?”

  “They’re proving hard to pin down. We should be able to follow the trail right to them, but something’s off.”

  “I see,” the Wez answered. “Tell me the human’s name—this descendant of Maximilian Sporazo.”

  “I’m sorry,” Magar interjected, “but you don’t need to know that.”

  “I do if you want my help—it’s part of the price.”

  Princess raised an eyebrow. “Part?”

  “I’ll require something in trade—that’s the way it works. If you agree then we can move to my workshop and continue in private. If not, your meal is on the house and I’ll wish you good luck with your search.”