June 14, 2006
Robot Island - Special Edition.
Just because I didn't want to spend the next week answering the FLOOD of emails I received after last night's post, here's what you've all been clamouring for - some of the as-yet-unseen Robot Island artwork, brought to life via the power of geekery.
And, there's a few extras thrown in there, too.
April 11, 2006
When Life Hands You Lemons.
Bronnie the Dog smiled gleefully as she poured the lemonade from the wide, glass pitcher, filling the scuffed plastic cup. She handed it across the wooden frame of the lemonade stand that Daddy had built that weekend, to the little girl who lived down the street.
“There you go!” Bronnie beamed. “Enjoy! It’s such a hot day, after all.”
“It sure is!” the little girl said, clutching her rag doll against her side with one arm, and taking a swig of the cool, sweet lemonade. “This lemonade is great!”
Bronnie snorted.
“Our chef is determined to make it the best it can be. Why, he’s been working on the recipe for –“
“David, I’m telling you. It must be a cup of sugar to five cups of water. It simply HAS to be.” Fogerty growled, pushing the chef’s hat up over his eyes, as he carried the big, steel tub – with David on the other side – the lemonade sloshing about, and occasionally spilling over the side.
“You’re going to rot the teeth of every kid in Greensborough.” David growled, “That’s all I’m saying.”
Fogerty rolled his eyes, as they set the tub down behind the lemonade stand. The park had only had it’s grass mown that morning, and the smell was fresh and sweet, floating on the warm spring air, mixing with the clover and the bloom of the flowers.
In the distance, a group of men in suits were walking down the long, winding path that led from the road to the park. They carried bats, and Bronnie beamed at them. Maybe, when they finished their game, they’d be thirsty. It was a good thing that she’d asked Fogerty to whip up that last batch of lemonade, or they might have run out.
The stand was tall, with a broad, wooden sign across the top, and an old wooden packing crate for a base. Daddy had painted on the sign: “LEMONADE”. They’d seen an old movie that weekend, before they had to go to bed, where some kids had a lemonade stand – and Fogerty thought it sounded like fun. So did Bronnie – and so did David, so they woke Daddy up bright and early on Saturday morning, and they asked him to help them. Mummy helped with the lemonade – until Fogerty decided that his recipe was the best one. Mummy had to agree, though – old Fogerty may have had a point. When she followed Fogerty’s directions, the lemonade was cool and sweet, with a delicious tangy flavour.
Bronnie looked up and grinned a toothy grin as the men approached the stand. There were three of them, all dressed in identical black suits and sunglasses – one of whom was chewing on a matchstick.
“Lemonade, Sirs?” Bronnie asked, holding out a cup.
The tallest of the men looked down at Bronnie.
“You licensed, kid?” he asked gruffly.
Bronnie looked around, and began trembling.
“Fogerty? Fogerty!” she called out. The frog looked up from where he was stirring the lemonade with a long, wooden spoon. He walked over to the stand, and smiled.
“Can we interest you boys in a drink?” he asked, beaming.
“I said –“ the tall man repeated, “Do you kids have a license?”
Fogerty bit his lip.
“I didn’t realize that we needed one.” he said slowly.
The man laughed darkly.
“Council regulations.” he said, “Any beverage providers must have the appropriate license.”
“Even lemonade stands?” David asked, walking over to see what all the fuss was about.
“You gettin’ smart with me, kid?” the man barked.
David shook his head: “No, Sir. I was just –“
“We have the authority to shut you punks down. We’re bringing a LICENSED lemonade stand into this park – and that means, you kids have gotta amscray. Like – right now.” the man growled.
“And if we don’t?” Fogerty asked, furrowing his eyebrows.
The tall man shrugged, and reached out for the sign that Daddy made, ripping it away from the lemonade stand and breaking it over his knee.
“Hey!” David cried, “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”
The second man reached out and grabbed the stand, tipping it over. It broke into pieces in front of them, lemonade splashing out onto the ground.
Bronnie yelped and leaped over to David, wrapping her arms around his leg.
“Make them stop, David!”
Fogerty put up his fists.
“You’re going to have to get past me.” the frog growled, his green fists waving about in the air.
Laughing, the two men picked Fogerty up and tossed him aside. He crashed into David and Bronnie, and the three became a tangled mess of limbs, thrashing about on the ground.
They walked over to the tub, and picked it up, tipping Fogerty’s lovely lemonade out onto the ground. The lemonade splashed across the grass, eventually reaching David, Fogerty, and Bronnie – soaking them in the sticky drink.
“Now,” the tall man said, poking Fogerty in the chest with a gloved finger, “We’re putting a LICENSED lemonade stand in here. And there ain’t nothin’ you kids can do about it. So, just scram before you get hurt.”
And, with that, the men left, laughing uproariously, the smashed up remains of the lemonade stand scattered across the sticky, wet grass.
“Boy.” Bronnie said, “Someone should stand up to those guys.”
Fogerty stood, dusting himself off.
“But who?” Fogerty asked, “We can’t do anything. They’re bigger than us. And tougher.”
David paused for a moment, remembering a story that he’d seen on the news that night.
“I think I have an idea.” he said slowly, “Come on. Let’s get home. I need to make a phone call.”
They were standing in the Greensborough Video Library, in the horror section. David looked at Fogerty and shrugged. This was where they’d been told to come – by a Mister Lee – if they wanted to hire the A-Team. But, looking around, there was nobody to be seen. Actually, the store was surprisingly empty. Nobody was around, except an old fellow that none of them recognized, who was serving at the counter. He looked very old, with white hair and a wide, grey moustache perched atop his lip.
“I guess they’re not coming.” Bronnie sighed.
David shrugged. “Mister Lee said to meet this… Hannibal Smith here. At 10 a.m, in the horror section.”
“Well, there’s nobody here – is there?” Bronnie said. “There’s nobody here.”
“Except us.” Fogerty said.
“Sure. We’re here. But nobody ELSE is here.”
“’Scuse me, kids.” a voice called out from behind them. They turned to look. It was the old man from the counter.
“Can I… help you with anything?” the old man asked, as he hobbled towards them. He paused to cough loudly, and blew his nose on a wide, white handkerchief.
David smiled sadly. “It doesn’t look like it. Thanks anyway.”
“Are you sure?” the old man asked, “Good lookin’ kids like you. You look like you could use some cheerin’ up.”
“We don’t have any money, Sir.” Bronnie said softly, “Thanks anyway.”
“Tell ya what.” The old man said, winking. “I’ll letcha take a movie for free. It’s on the house.”
“That’s very nice of you.” Fogerty said, “But, I am not sure we’ll have time this weekend…”
“That’s a good point.” The old man spluttered, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a cigar. He bit the end off, and spat it onto the floor, before lighting it with a shiny, silver zippo.
“David, Fogerty, Bronnie.” he said, standing up straight and pulling his fake moustache off his top lip, “You’ve just hired the A-Team. I’m Hannibal Smith.”
A younger man, with sandy brown hair and a handsome face stepped out of the office.
“Hannibal, are we going to be long? I have a tennis lesson at eleven, and I was really hoping that we could kind of wrap this up..”
“This is my associate, Faceman.” Hannibal announced, blowing a puff of smoke into the air. “And I think we’d better get moving.”
Hannibal turned to Face.
“Have B.A bring the van around to the front.” he said. “And we’d better get Murdock.”
Face sighed. Breaking Murdock out of the V.A hospital was becoming increasingly risky. They had suspected that Murdock was the pilot for the A-Team for months, now. It was only a matter of time until Decker anticipated them breaking him out, and they’d be back to the stockade.
Face left through the rear door, and Hannibal turned to face David, Bronnie, and Fogerty.
“Now, Mister Lee said that the three of you run some kind of lemonade stand, and some scumbags decided to move in on your territory. That right?” he said, the cigar clenched between his teeth.
“Uh-huh, Mr. Hannibal.” Bronnie said quietly, “They broke our stand and tipped out Fogerty’s lemonade.”
“Did they say why?”
David coughed. “They said that we didn’t have a license. They said that they were going to move in and take over.”
“I tried to stop them,” Fogerty said, “But they were too tough for me.”
Hannibal smirked. Outside, a black, custom GMC ’82 van had screeched to a halt. It had a bright, red stripe up one side, and Face emerged from behind the sliding metal door.
“Don’t worry. Dealing with slime like that is our specialty.” Hannibal said, grinning. He pulled out a shimmering, steel Colt .45 and racked a shell into the chamber.
Bronnie gulped, as Hannibal pushed the glass door open, gesturing towards the van.
Face rapped once, then twice on the bell at the V.A reception desk. Bronnie stood nervously beside him. She’d been told to simply play along, and do whatever Mr. Peck said. He had changed into an important-looking military uniform, and was carrying a manila folder.
A portly nurse walked over to them, her brightly coloured lips curled up at the ends with suspicion.
“May I help you?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.
Face held out the folder.
“Transfer for H.M Murdock.” he barked. “Effective immediately.”
“I wasn’t informed.” the nurse said slowly, “May I ask why he’s being –“
“Possible contagion. Hereditary.”
“Contagion?” the nurse gasped, “What kind of contagion?”
Face pointed at Bronnie, who gulped nervously.
“This is Bronnie Murdock.” he said sternly, “H.M Murdock’s sister.”
“His SISTER?” the nurse said, her eyes wide, “This is a DOG.”
Face dropped to his knees and stroked Bronnie’s head. He looked up at the nurse and frowned.
“Please, ma’am. Don’t talk like that in front of Ms. Murdock. She may be suffering from some… odd physical afflictions, but that’s the nature of canus metamorphus.”
The nurse raised an eyebrow.
“Canus metamorphus?”
Face nodded: “Comes on in middle age. The subject goes crazy, then begins to physically change into some kind of dog-creature. I take it you’re familiar with Mr. Murdock’s psychiatric history?”
“Well, I-“
“The whole family is crackers.” Face muttered, looking at his watch, “Can we speed this up? I have a lot of members of the Murdock family to isolate today, and –“
The nurse nodded.
“I’ll fetch Mr. Murdock. I won’t be a moment.”
And, then she was gone. Face looked down at Bronnie and winked.
“A LEMONADE STAND.” Murdock yelped, almost leaping out of his seat as the sleek GMC rode through the streets of Greensborough. “I’ve always wanted to run a lemonade stand – ever since I was a kid.”
“You still ARE a kid, sucker.” B.A barked, his chains jangling as he steered the van through the streets.
“There’s no need to be like that in front of our new friends, Baracan one.” Murdock said, “This little bitty froggy, here – he can talk just as well as you and me. You gotta be impressed with THAT, B.A.”
“Better, in some cases.” Fogerty said, raising an eyebrow. Hannibal smiled, blowing a stream of smoke into the air.
“I don’t see what good taking over the stand will do.” David said, “Those goons are just going to come back and break it up.”
“I’m counting on it.” Hannibal said, grinning, “Face, how do you feel about going into the beverage trade?”
Face rolled his eyes.
“I ran an officers club in Da Nang, Colonel. I’m sure I can handle a lemonade stand. If I recall, it was your fights with our friend Decker that led to us being shut down.”
B.A’s eyes darkened.
“And if I remember, sucker, you lost that club because you didn’t have no license. You didn’t even own it – you cheated some fool out of it in a card came in Saigon.”
Face shrugged. “I relieved a certain gentleman of an excess piece of real estate that was being unused due to the war effort.”
“You cheated him, sucker.” B.A snarled, “You cheated him, then he came back to collect. And he busted it up.”
“Well, what can I say?” Face replied, “Some people are just bad losers.”
“What did you say you did, David?” Murdock asked, “I’m sure your little furry friend told me that you write.”
David looked at his feet.
“I’d like to write books when I grow up. Maybe.” he said quietly.
Murdock reached into the pocket of his brown leather jacket, retrieving a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. He slid them onto his nose and pushed his hair back.
“It’s a good thing I’m here, then.” he said, in a British accent, “For, you see, I am H.M Murdock. Writer. Critic. Thinker.”
“You’re H.M Murdock, the crazy fool.” B.A spat, “You ain’t no writer.”
“Bosco, how dare you be so brusque?” Murdock said elegantly, “I am a writer of great, unpublished works of fiction. My war diaries are simply the stuff of literary legend. And, my young David, I offer my teachings to you. The teachings that spring from one of the finest creative minds of this generation.”
B.A span around angrily.
“Hannibal, you tell this crazy fool that he ain’t no writer. I ain’t gonna put up with his crazy talk on this job. I’m doin’ this so that the kids can get their lemonade – and I ain’t gonna do it if I gotta listen to this fool’s crazy rap.”
“You do it for the children?” Murdock said softly, “My, Bosco. Your generosity is without bounds.”
“Do you think your work will translate into film?” Hannibal asked, grinning, “Don’t limit yourself to a single medium.”
“Colonel, with all due respect,” Murdock chortled, “I am a writer. A writer writes, does he not? He does not dabble in a medium as crass as ‘film’.”
“Point taken, Captain.” Hannibal replied, before pointing through the windshield. “B.A – take a right here.”
Hannibal turned around in his seat and grinned at David, Fogerty, and Bronnie.
“We’re going into the lemonade business.” he announced with a smile, his cigar clenched between his teeth.
Face stood behind the lemonade stand – which they had quickly fashioned out of the pieces of the old one – and handed out cupfuls to the local kids, who were, by now, queuing up in numbers so great that the line led out of the park. B.A and Murdock stood behind Face, stirring the lemonade in the vat, while Fogerty looked on, making sure that the recipe was just right. Bronnie was pouring the cups for Face, while David stood with Hannibal, looking on.
“I can’t believe all these thirsty kids.” Face said, passing another cup over the rough, wooden counter, “Have we got enough of this stuff?”
“But, of course.” Murdock said in a faux French accent, “My froggy associate and I have concocted a drink that is so truly refreshing that it will go down in epicurean history.”
“Murdock’s right.” Fogerty nodded, “This is gonna knock everyone’s socks off.”
B.A looked at Murdock and growled.
“Stop talking your fool talk, and just keep stirrin’.”
Murdock looked up.
“B.A, I am an artist. Do you think this is just water, sugar, and lemon juice?”
“That’s exactly what it is, Murdock. Don’t you be tryin’ to tell me otherwise, neither. I’m tired of your crazy rap.”
Shaking his head, Murdock laughed.
“There is more in this than the ingredients, B.A. Consider the gastronomic alchemy that is taking place – right here, in this tub.” Murdock said, gazing with wonder at the lemonade, “Fogerty’s recipe is something else – but we’ve added the magic ingredient. And that is love.”
B.A could take it no more. He reached out, wrapping a powerful hand around Murdock’s head and pushed it into the tub. Murdock splashed around, and Fogerty leaped aside on strong, green legs.
David looked up at Hannibal.
“Are they always like that?” he asked.
“No, not always.” Hannibal smirked, “Sometimes, they fight.”
“Well, well. What’s going on, here?” a deep, booming voice called out.
Everyone turned to see the same three thugs approaching the stand. Hannibal stepped forward to meet them.
“Morning, boys.” he said loudly, “Care for a drink? Must be thirsty work being slime.”
The tallest one smirked.
“You got a big mouth on you, haven’t you?” he growled, poking Hannibal in the chest. “I told these kids already – no license, no stand. We’re moving in OUR stand, and we’re gonna charge the kids money.”
B.A released Murdock, who fell to the ground, gasping for air.
“What’d you say, sucker?” B.A snarled, “You got somethin’ to say about the kids?”
“Who’s the freak in the chains?” the head thug said, grinning. “Listen, all of you should probably take a hike before you get hurt.”
“See, that’s the thing.” Hannibal said, smiling. “I never know when to quit before I get hurt. My mother used to tell me that it was a major character flaw.”
The three thugs looked at each other and began to laugh, their fists curling into balls.
“Alright.” the leader said, “You asked for it –“
He was cut off, as Face squeezed the trigger of the Ruger, firing off a volley of rounds into the air. He put one foot up on the lemonade stand and aimed it at the face of the boss.
“You asked for what?” Face quipped, his finger stroking the trigger.
Hannibal pulled out his Colt .45, and pushed it into the man’s broad, muscular chest. His gloved thumb pulled back the hammer and he grinned.
“You know, scumbags like yourselves get off on pushing people around. Well, you know something? David, Bronnie, and Fogerty are friends of mine – and if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it is seeing my friends being bullied.”
“Listen, we work for the council.” the boss said, his hands raised, “We’re just doin’ our job.”
“And we’re doing ours.” Hannibal said, “We’re exterminators, and we deal with vermin like you. Now, you run along home – and you tell your boss that Hannibal Smith sends his regards, from David, Bronnie, and Fogerty’s lemonade stand. And, the next time you clowns show up, we won’t be so forgiving.”
“Come on, Jack. Let’s go.” one of the goons growled to the boss, yanking him by the sleeve, “Let’s get out of here.”
They began to run. But, not before the boss turned around and pointed at Hannibal.
“You’ll be sorry you did that, man!” he yelled, “You can count on THAT.”
And then, they were gone. Hannibal turned to David and grinned, giving him the thumbs up. David returned the gesture with a smile.
“You don’t think that’s the end of them, do you?” Bronnie asked nervously.
“I doubt it.” Hannibal said, lighting a cigar, “They’ll try something else. But, we’ll be ready.”
B.A rolled his eyes.
“Hannibal’s on the jazz, man. He’s on the jazz.” the big man muttered under his breath.
Hannibal smiled, reaching down for a cup of lemonade.
“I love it when a plan comes together.”
September 09, 2005
Fragments.
I've been busy. I get into these moods where I want to write a lot - and that isn't to say that I'm wearing lots of black and listening to the Velvet Underground by candlelight and nodding sagely at the infinite blackness of the starless night. I just kinda get wacky ideas and decide that I'd better get them down, because I know wacky ideas - and when you seem to spend a lot of time dealing with wacky ideas, the first thing you learn about them is that they tend to have a tendency to creep quietly out the door, wearing silent slippers, never to be seen again. The other night, I sat up and I wrote 10,000 words - my hands swelled up and my fingers turned into thick, pink sausages. My hands generally look like knuckleless balloons of pink play-doh, but after typing out 10,000 words in a deranged, open-jawed frenzy, they inflate to twice their normal size and become impossible to use for a day or so. But, that's okay - because the wily escape of my wacky ideas has been prevented, and I have the proof - in the form of a glittering word document.
Robot Island has been an incredible learning experience for me - moreso than Sleepy Rock, which ended up being a collection of experiments that I re-engineered and knitted together. Sleepy Rock was put together like jigsaw puzzle, and I had no idea what was going to happen or how I was going to reach each narrative milestone. Things just sort of fell into place, and eventually - after a good deal of editing, re-editing, and re-re-editing, I managed to make the pieces fit together into a book that I'm quite proud of - it's cute, it's different, and under the circumstances in which it was written, it works quite well as a cohesive whole.
Robot Island, on the other hand, was a completely different experience. I knew that the editing process on Sleepy Rock was going to take quite a while, since it was pieced together from a number of different sources - and it was going to take some time to cut the material so that it flowed with tonal cohesion. And, while I toiled away on Sleepy Rock, I wanted to keep running with the idea of my dog, Fogerty The Frog, and my younger incarnation, and their adventures in this funny little fantasy world that I'd generated. Taking my cue - as always - from Schulz, I figured that Sleepy Rock had established the rules for the world, and Robot Island needed to be a continuation, as well as an evolution, of the material that had come before. But, I wanted to do something that was far more panoramic than Sleepy Rock, which was written in much the same way as Nowhere was - an experiment to see how much narrative space you can pack into an absolute minimum of physical space. As anyone who read the as-yet un-edited cut of Nowhere, I kind of cheated by adding in a metanarrative layer, and playing as many cards of postmodern trickery as I could think of. Sleepy Rock, though, had none of this to hide behind - and so, by setting it in an isolated lighthouse, I could hopefully make good on Nowhere's initial intention to engage in a bit of physical reductionism and narrative expansion. I think Sleepy Rock handles it well - I like it, and I'm pleased that it is finished.
But, I'm digressing.
Robot Island was designed as a panoramic novel - which would allow me to use massive amounts of physical space within the fictional world, and would allow me to pack in as many creative ideas as I could for populating such a large area. Sleepy Rock is a lighthouse - and despite the rather large plot twist at the end - a lighthouse is as a lighthouse does, and I certainly wasn't going to go messing with that. Robot Island has given me the chance to exploit the very fictionality of fiction, by creating a world which shouldn't exist, can't exist, doesn't exist - but we can pretend that it does for a few hours, if the details are there.
So, I thought that some of you - the one or two who are left here after my stretches of absence - might get a kick out of reading a few bits and pieces taken from the draft version of Robot Island. They're just a few little bits that I like - hopefully, you'll like them too.
This is a little piece from the start. This is to illustrate, sort of, what I'm talking about. Bronnie, David, and Fogerty have just arrived on Robot Island - landing on the beach - and they are about to venture into the jungle that sits on the border, hopefully to find someone to give them directions on how to get back to Greensborough.
NOTE BEFORE WE CONTINUE: These little bits were cut and pasted from the Robot Island word document, and in the transition, the formatting has been lost - so where it looks like there should be italics, there probably are. Damn technology.
They stood before the large, metal sign that was erected on the path that led deep into the jungle.
Bronnie read aloud:
“ROBOT ISLAND. POPULATION 50,000.”
Fogerty smiled. “Well, there you go. Now we know where we are. We’re on Robot Island.”
“Robot Island?”, Bronnie hissed. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
David smirked. “Afraid of robots now, are you?”
“After our last encounter with that robot squid – yes.”, Bronnie whispered, shivering.
“Come on, you two!”, Fogerty said firmly. “Let’s get moving.”
Bronnie held up a paw. “Wait a second, I just want to go to the little girl’s room.”
“You want to do what?”, Fogerty said darkly.
“You know. I have to answer the call of nature.”
David scowled and glared at the little dog.
“Couldn’t you have gone before we left?”
“I didn’t have to go then!”
Fogerty snarled under his breath, before pointing at a cluster of trees that stood in the distance.
“Fine. Go over there and… and do your thing. Just be quick. We need to get to the city before dusk.”
“You won’t look?”, Bronnie asked suspiciously.
“ No.”, Fogerty and David said in unison.
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
Bronnie trotted away, and Fogerty walked over to David.
“You really think we’re doing the right thing?”, the frog asked nervously.
“Of course. We need directions, don’t we?”
Fogerty nodded.
“Well, there you go. We have no choice, really.”, David said reassuringly, putting a hand on his old friend’s shoulder.
“Thanks, David.”, Fogerty said, smiling.
A scream pierced the stillness of the air, and they both whirled around, looking for Bronnie.
“That sounded like Bronnie.”, Fogerty shouted in terror.
“Quick – she went over this way!”, David replied, grabbing his friend by the arm and running in the direction of where Bronnie was.
Their hearts pounded as their legs pumped beneath them.
“Bronnie! Bronnie, where are you?”, David cried.
“I’m over here!”, the little dog’s voice called back.
“Where? I can’t see you!”
“Over here.”
Eventually, they saw Bronnie’s white, furry paw waving at them from behind a large fern. They charged over to where she sat, rubbing her bottom gently.
“What? What is it? What happened?”, David hissed, reaching down and checking the little dog.
“Are you alright?”, Fogerty spat. “What’s wrong?”
“Well.”, Bronnie began, “I came over here – like you said – and I was about to… you know.”
“Yes..”, David said, rolling his eyes.
“When, I felt something.. scratch me.”
“Scratch you?”
“Uh-huh. I wasn’t sure what it was, but then, I looked down – and I saw it.”
“Saw what?”, Fogerty demanded.
Bronnie smirked. “You grab a handful of grass. Go on.”
The frog looked at her, as she crossed her arms smugly over her furry white chest.
“What?”
“You heard me. Just reach down and pull out a handful of grass.”
Fogerty shrugged, and leaned down. He wrapped a flipper around a long, thick clump of grass and yanked as hard as he could.
The grass broke free of the ground with a crackle of electricity and a shower of sparks and smoke. Fogerty jumped back in astonishment, and David let out a tiny yelp of surprise.
“See?”, Bronnie said, waving the smoke away with her paw.
“I can’t believe it.”, Fogerty said in awe, reaching down and picking up a few smoking blades of grass. “This grass isn’t real. It’s… it’s…”
“Robot grass.”, Bronnie said. “When I sat down on it, it wasn’t like normal grass – it was hard. And it scratched me. So, I screamed with surprise.”
“Can’t say I blame you.”, David said, reaching down and scratching Bronnie behind the ears. She looked up at him and closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling.
Fogerty, on the other hand, was fascinated by the blades of grass he held in his hand.
“They even have serial numbers.”, he whispered. “This is amazing.”
He let the grass drop from his hand and walked over to a tree. Reaching up, he hooked his fingers around a piece of bark, and ripped it away. Again, there was a tiny explosion of sparks and smoke. When the smoke had cleared, Fogerty peered inside the tree.
“Oh, wow. Both of you – come here. You’ve got to see this.”
“What is it?”, David called over, still scratching Bronnie’s ear.
“This tree. It’s a robot tree. I’m looking at the inside. And it is… wow.”
Surely enough, pulling away the bark had revealed a mess of wires, circuit boards, microchips, and clusters of red, green, and blue wires. The tree hummed with electricity, and Fogerty was completely transfixed.
David stood up and walked over to Fogerty, peering inside the tree trunk. He whistled, thoroughly impressed with what he saw.
“That’s amazing.”, he said quietly. “What is this place?”
Fogerty shrugged. “I don’t know. But I want to find out. Let’s get moving – let’s get to the city. We need questions answered, and –“
Bronnie’s eyes snapped open suddenly.
“Someone’s coming.”, she hissed. “I can hear them.”
“From which direction?”, David asked.
“Over… there.”, Bronnie replied, pointing at a particularly dense patch of trees and bushes.
“Well, there’s nothing to be gained by running.”, Fogerty mused. “Let’s go and introduce ourselves.”
“What?”, Bronnie gasped, “Are you crazy? What if they’re not friendly?”
“If they’re not friendly, we’re going to find out sooner or later anyway. We might as well go and say hello. Who knows, they might be just the ticket out of here.”
And then, the bushes parted with a crackle of electricity, and a tall, uniformed robot stepped out from behind them. His body was a gleaming, glittering silver – clad in a black uniform with a red stripe running across the body. His eyes glowed red, and his mouth – no more than a mesh grille – was motionless.
He stomped out of the undergrowth and approached the three, reaching to his side and pulling out a silver pistol. He held it up towards them, pointing it menacingly.
Criminy! Terrifying stuff, I'm sure you'll agree.
I'm sure all of you Metal City enthusiasts have been busy fidgeting madly, waiting for the day when some of the material that the artwork I posted so, so long ago would be revealed. You lucky things - it is about to happen!
I don't want to give away too much, but our porky friend Cracklin' Rosie - swine janitor and hoglike pal to Bronnie, David, and Fogerty - is turned into the demonic, savage despot Lacer8, by bumbling quack Dr. Ubi-Works.
For those of you keeping score at home, the name 'Ubi-Works' is a reference to Ub Iwerks, one of the original creators of Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck at Disney. I thought I was being, y'know, kinda clever. Until I realised that it was such an obscure, nerdy reference that I should have called him 'Doctor Bob' or something. Oh well.
The backstory to this scene is that the evil Lacer8, by now the ruler of Robot Island, is desperate to hunt down Bronnie, David, and Fogerty - who are fugitives on the run, taken in by an underground city of broken, malfunctioning robots. Her chief of police, Esso, lets slip that the golden sun that hangs over Robot Island is - of course - robotic, and Lacer8 has a simply fiendish plan, which she's sure will draw her prey out into the open. Esso reveals a secret elevator that leads directly into the heart of the sun, and as the doors slide open, both Lacer8 and Esso are surprised at what they see.
Admittedly, Lacer8 isn't at her evil best in this scene - she's too busy thinking up fiendish schemes to bother with her Maniacal Ruler act, but the idea was just something I came up with on a sunny afternoon in Greensborough, while I was sitting outside and working. I liked it - I thought it was kinda sweet - so I threw it into the mix.
The inside of the sun was a massive, round paddock of green grass, with two vats – one at either end. Between them was a clear, glass pipe that pumped from one to the other – and behind the pipe, a lamp – bigger than any he’d ever seen.
And, scattered across the paddock, chewing grass, was a herd of animals. Esso had read about them once – he was pretty sure that they were cows.
A robot in a pair of metal overalls, with a long, steel beard stepped up to Lacer8 and Esso, his hand clasped around a pipe that blew rings of puffy, white smoke.
“Who are you two?”, the robot asked, “What are you doing here?”
Lacer8 grinned, stepping forward and holding out a trotter.
“Lacer8, ruler of Robot Island. And this is my Captain of police, Esso. We’re only here to inspect. You needn’t worry yourselves.”
The Farmer squinted, and puffed at his pipe.
“Inspect, eh? ‘Ruler’, eh? How come I ain’t never heard o’ya?”, he asked.
Lacer8 took a step forward, looming over the Farmer.
“Because, I was only recently given the job. What does it matter?”
The Farmer shrugged.
“It doesn’t, I s’pose. I don’t know what you want with us, though. We’re Farmer robots. We don’t hurt nobody, and nobody hurts us. We’re just here to keep the sun workin’.”
Lacer8 grinned, snapping her metal teeth together.
“So I hear.”, she said. “How does that work, exactly?”
The Farmer chortled: “You don’t know? Missy, you got a lot of learnin’ to be doin’.”
Lacer8 frowned, and folded her arms over her chest.
“Then, why don’t you teach me?”, she hissed, her eye glowing red with anger.
The Farmer began to look scared, looking around nervously.
“Ma’am – just why is it that you’re here?”
Lacer8 stepped past him, her trotters feeling good in the cool, green grass. She pointed at the machines.
“How do these work?”, she asked plainly. The Farmer ran up to her.
“It’s pretty simple, missy. Pretty simple, for sure. See, we collect milk from these here cows. The cows eat the grass, then they give milk, then we milk them. We fill this first vat with milk, and we very slowly pump it through the pipe. The lamp shines through the milk – and there, you got yourself some mornin’ light.”
“Morning light?”, Lacer8 asked, fascinated.
“That’s right, missy. Mornin’ light. That’s what I said. Why d’you think the sunlight is white in the mornin’? You think it’s by accident?”
Lacer8 shrugged: “Never really thought about it.”
The Farmer scoffed.
“Well, you should. The mornin’ light’s the colour of milk. See, that first vat’s a butter churn. As the milk gets turned into butter, it’s pumped through the pipe into the second vat. And, then you got yourself some afternoon light.”
“Which is orange. The colour of butter.”, Lacer8 mumbled.
The Farmer grinned, and clapped her on the shoulder.
“’Zactly! Now, you’re usin’ your head. See, we shine the lamp through the butter – and then, the light changes colour. It’s orange, see? Afternoon sunlight. We take the butter out of the second vat, and we use it to paint the outside of the sun. See, she gets so hot that all the colour burns away – so, we gotta repaint her every night. That’s why we have night – we need to turn the sun off so we can paint her outside, and give the cows a chance to sleep. Then, we wake up in the mornin’, and we do it all again.”
Lacer8 grinned. This was perfect.
“So, what would happen if you were to pour – say – oil into the vats?”, she asked innocently.
The Farmer laughed: “Ma’am, that’d never happen. That’s against all the rules of –“
“What would happen, though?”
His face looked frightened, and he took a step back, his voice coming out in a low, mechanical wheeze.
“There’d be no light. Anywhere. Robot Island would have the blackest, darkest night in history. And, it wouldn’t end until someone cleaned all the oil outta the pipe.”
Lacer8 began to smile devilishly. She put her trotters together and rubbed them with glee.
“Perfect.”, she hissed. “Absolutely perfect.”
Esso stepped forward, suddenly afraid of what Lacer8 was planning.
“What are you going to do, ma’am?”
Lacer8 began to laugh cruelly.
“Esso, those fools are going to try and get back into the city to rescue the Angel. The fake news report will see to that. And when they do, we’ll know exactly where the entrance to the Badlands is. Only, we’re not simply going to close that accursed place down. The population of that miserable city are coming here. Robot Island is going to learn just how dark the night can be – we’ll drain those worthless robots of their oil, one at a time, and we’ll use it to keep the city in endless night until they give us David, Fogerty, and Bronnie.”
Gasping, Esso shook his head. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was so evil – so crazy.
“We’ll have them, Esso. They’ll be trapped without light, and the population of their city will be wiped out unless they give us exactly what we want. They’ll never make it back to the Badlands – not with the Nightcrawlers guarding the junkyard.”
Lacer8 laughed, so hard that she had to put her trotter on Esso’s shoulder to steady herself.
“They’re mine, Esso. So’s Robot Island. So’s the very sun, itself.. Don’t you see? It’s all mine.”
That Lacer8! What a card!
This is just a tiny scene which I thought I'd throw in for your amusement. Lacer8 addresses the troops. It took me about an hour of editing, rewriting, and editing to get her final, megolamaniacal monologue about destroying and conquering just right - and if it doesn't pain you, I sure hope you'd appreciate it when it rolls around.
Oh, for those of you who haven't worked it out, Roboflies are flies. But robotic. And they watch our heroes as they - for reasons I won't reveal - head out of the Badlands, towards the city, on a mission of some importance.
I don't know. I just kind of like this little bit.
The map was beamed onto the wall from a metal projector that hung from the ceiling, and Lacer8 poked her fist at it menacingly as she stormed around the room. The generals and heads of Robot Island’s military were seated around the command table, nodding as Lacer8 outlined her plan.
“So, gentlemen, we know where the entrance to the Badlands is located. You can thank our Roboflies for that.”
In the corner, a group of Roboflies were lazing around rubbing their front legs together.
“Zzzz!”, they chimed, “You can – zzzz! – thank us!”
Lacer8 nodded, returning her attention to the map.
“So, what we’re going to do is blow the lid off the Badlands. Quite literally. The entrance has been disguised as just another piece of desert, but we’ll bomb the doors off and take control of the elevator that leads to the heart of the city. I want at least twenty squadrons of soldiers –“
There was some mumbling around the table, the men becoming shocked at Lacer8’s demands.
“- to round up the civilians, ready for transport. To the sun.”, Lacer8 continued. “It should be quite simple. We’ll get the civilians moving, and then we can take the Badlands apart. In a matter of hours, there’ll be nothing there but a big, empty hole in the ground. Any questions?”
A general timidly put up his hand. Lacer8 pointed at him.
“Yes, General Mattel. You have a question?”
Sheepishly, the General spoke: “What are we going to do with the prisoners? Why are we sending them to the sun, of all places?”
Lacer8 sighed.
“I’ve already explained this. I want them kept as far away from the city as possible until we can reprogram them.”
The generals seemed to accept that answer, and Lacer8 turned away from them to smile. They had no idea of her real intentions, and that was going to make the surprise so much sweeter.
She swung around, and brought a fist down on the table, leaving a deep, ragged dent in the steel.
“It’s time to move, men. This is war.”, she screamed, her one robotic eye blazing furiously red, “Assemble your troops and move out! By the end of the day, I want the Badlands to be nothing more than a smoking reminder of what happens when you DARE to cross Lacer8! Destroy it! Crush everything in your path! Capture them all, and annihilate anyone who resists! The time has come to end this once and for all!”
Kill! Kill, kill, kill! Right on, Lacer8 - sing it, you swine sister!
I'll just put one more little bit in. This is a slight change of pace - for the most part, Robot Island is action, action, action. But I thought I'd bring things down a little bit, and do some real writing.
Voltage has been left behind, as David leads a group of robots into the city via a network of sewers. He's too fat to fit through the pipes, so he stays up on the land to watch and make sure that they aren't followed. He's an old robot - kind of quiet, and kind of shy. Beat up a little. Spanner is his sidekick, a young, zippy robot whose personality circuits have been damaged so that he is incapable of being anything but cheery. But, sometimes, Spanner makes fun of Voltage and thinks it's a joke - but it isn't.
Voltage was sure he saw something as they left home - there was something strange about those flies. Wasn't there?
This was no job for a robot of Voltage’s standing. After all, wasn’t he one of the founders of the Badlands? Wasn’t it he who built it from nothing, and invited all of those unwanted, unloved robots to come and stay there? Hadn’t he worked with Ohm, for all those years, without once asking for anything in return?
Ohm got the glory. All Voltage seemed to get was the laughter.
And here he was, standing out watching his paint peel in the hot sun, playing guard-dog to a bunch of young kids.
He was sick of young punks like Spanner making fun of him. He had seen something – he was sure of it.
Old. Sure, he may have been old – and maybe his optics didn’t function as well as they did the day he rolled off the factory line – but he knew what he knew, and he saw what he saw, and what he saw was something that he shouldn’t have seen, unless there was something very strange happening. He’d seen enough in his time to know when there was trouble brewing. Those were no ordinary flies, that was for sure.
There was a sound in the distance. A far-off hum, which seemed to be getting slightly louder. He couldn’t figure out what it was, and he strained his hearing circuits to listen.
That David kid was something. Voltage wasn’t too sure about the other two, but that kid really was brave. Or stupid. He wasn’t sure which. Then again, when he was a younger robot, he did the same kinds of things. That was part of being young, he guessed, you got to run off and play hero when you had to. Now that Voltage was nothing more than a rusting old robot, nobody wanted him to rescue them from anything. He knew he’d never be a hero again, and that was sad.
The hum was growing louder. Whatever it was, it was big. He could tell that much.
Maybe he could do something about his age, anyway. After all, he hadn’t had a tune-up in at least 800 microcycles – maybe when this was all over, and they were back safely in the Badlands, he could spend a few credits to have himself repainted. Maybe he could have a few of those old dents that he’d not thought about in years knocked out of his arms. He could have the backlights in his eyes replaced. He was sure that he could look a million bucks if he put the effort in.
But, no. They’d just laugh at him. He really loved Spanner – but sometimes, that kid was just much too much.
It was becoming deafening by now, and Voltage noticed that whirlwinds of sand and dust were beginning to rise up from the ground.
“What is it?”, Voltage yelled. And then, as if answering, it floated into view.
It was a ship – the biggest he’d ever seen – and it was obviously carrying troops. Hundreds of thousands of troops. He could see them sitting in the bays, the doors open and their rifles at the ready. The ship had a pair of powerful wings which flapped and flapped, carrying it across the ground. And Voltage could hear the cheers and whistles of the troops as they readied themselves for battle. Wherever they were going, this was going to be big. But, where on earth could they be going?
He racked his brains trying to think of a place. But, he couldn’t. The only place that was in the direction they were headed was the Badlands, and surely…
Then, it struck him like a lightning bolt. The flies. They were Roboflies. They were being watched.
Those troops were headed for the Badlands. They were going to destroy it.
Racing towards the truck, Voltage nearly tripped on a piece of iron that lay rusting under the sun. He slipped into the cab of the truck and snatched up the radio.
“Hello? Hello? Anybody!”, he screamed, “You have to get EVERYBODY out of the Badlands! Do you hear me? They know where we are, and they’re COMING for us – THOUSANDS OF THEM.”
“Sir, is this some kind of hoax?”, a voice crackled back.
“A hoax?”, Voltage yelled, his eyes glowing brightly, “I am telling you. This is Voltage, I’m out in the Junkyard, and I just saw a ship go by overhead that was carrying thousands and thousands of troops. I am telling you, you have to evacuate the city.”
There was a loud boom in the distance, and Voltage saw a plume of black smoke rise up in the air. He dropped the radio, which was producing nothing but static, and gasped.
“Oh, no.”, he said quietly. “I was too late.”
Explosion after explosion followed, and Voltage stepped out of the truck, his face grimaced in terror. He fell to his knees.
He was too late. He could have saved them.
Then, he remembered R.C and the others. He might not have been able to save the Badlands, but he could save his friends.
Rising, he snatched up R.C’s cutting torch – which he’d left lying next to the grate – and lit it.
Then, kneeling down, he began to cut into the steel, making the hole wider.
And the whole time, he kept thinking about his friends back in the Badlands, and he had to stop himself from crying.
If he’d only been a few minutes earlier, he could have been a hero again.
So, there it is. Robot Island - the unfinished, unedited bits and pieces. I hope some of you enjoyed them - I was sitting with Aunty Kathy tonight, discussing blogs and blogging and writing, and I figured that it can't hurt to stick up a few excerpts. With a bit of luck, some of you will get what I'm trying to do.
Okay, I lied. So far, I think, this is Aunty Kathy's favourite little piece of the book. I'll throw it in, because it's only short - and because your Aunty Kathy loves you.
This is just something I put together because I thought that the idea was cute - but, in a way, it kind of sums up my writing career at this point.
So, here it is.
“I want an ice-cream!”, Bronnie wailed, scampering away. She stood in line behind a little robot girl.
Shaking his head and snickering, Ohm put his hand over his mouth.
“She’s in for a big surprise.”, he muttered between laughs.
Bronnie waited and waited in the line, before reaching the front. The ice-cream man smiled down at her – a skinny, tall robot in a red cap and a blue apron.
“What’ll it be?”, he asked.
“Can I have… a chocolate ice-cream?”, Bronnie asked, licking her lips.
“Sorry. We don’t have that one.”, the ice-cream man said.
Bronnie growled.
“Okay. What about vanilla?”
“Nope. Sorry, we don’t have that one either.”
Bronnie sniffled.
“Banana? Strawberry? Blue heaven? Lime?”
“Nope, nope, nope, nope.”
Putting her paws on her waist, Bronnie squinted at the ice-cream man, who looked a little frustrated.
“Well, what do you have?”, Bronnie demanded.
“Let’s see,” the ice-cream man muttered, “We’ve got motor oil, brake fluid, paint thinner, transmission fluid, turtle wax – but that’s only for the more adventurous, wiper fluid..”
Bronnie stared at him blankly.
“What are you talking about?”, she asked. Was he making fun of her?
“You asked for our flavours, missy. These are our flavours.”
“Come on!”, a rotund robot boy yelled out behind Bronnie, “We’re hungry!”
“Yeah!”, called out another robot child, “Hurry up down there!”
Bronnie whirled around on her heel.
“Shut up. All of you.”, she hissed.
The boy behind her laughed, and pointed.
“You look like a clown with those stupid teeth, anyway. And that stupid hair. What are you supposed to be – some kind of feather duster with ears?”
“Feather duster with ears?”, Bronnie yelled, her paws rolling into fists. “I’ll show you who’s a feather duster with ears, you overgrown microwave oven!”
The boy gasped at this, and put up his fists.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!”, the other robot children chanted, forming a circle around the two of them, as Bronnie reared up on her hind legs.
“Oh, no.”, Fogerty said, pointing and grabbing David by the arm. “You’d better go and control your dog. She’s already starting trouble.”
David sighed, and ran over to Bronnie, who was throwing punches in the air, getting ready to give her new robot friend a fist square in the mouth.
“Bronnie!”, David called out, “Get back over here!”
“Can’t!”, Bronnie replied, “This little punk started it! And I’m gonna finish it!”
“Bronnie the Dog, you get over here this instant.”, David scolded.
Bronnie sighed, and put her fists down.
“Sorry, chump. I’ve got to go. We’ll settle this another time.”
The robot boy smirked and walked back to the ice-cream truck.
“Chicken.”, he muttered under his breath.
Bronnie whirled around: “What did you just say?”
David grabbed her paw and dragged her away.
“Come on. We don’t have time for this.”
Ohm had his arms crossed over his chest and was staring sternly at Bronnie.
“I’m sorry, Mister Ohm.”, Bronnie said quietly.
“Bronnie, you shouldn’t let bullies get to you. There’s nothing wrong with being different. Everyone in the Badlands knows that. Some just haven’t learned it quite as well as they should have.”
Bronnie stared at her feet.
“Yes, Mister Ohm. I’ll do better next time.”
Ohm reached out and scratched Bronnie behind the ears.
“I know you will.”
June 08, 2005
Building The Perfect Piggy.
I've been starting to put together stuff for the follow up to Sleepy Rock. I don't want to give too much away - but here's some of the artwork I've been playing with. Maybe you'll like it.
This is Cracklin' Rosie The Pig. A swine with a dark future...
... but not right now. She's too tired.
Here - feast upon the sight of her armpits.
Cracklin' Rosie's feeling zany!
A first meeting. But something's not right. What IS it that Fogerty is thinking?