Journey's end

You take the opportunity to check the contents of your pack to review what you and McPiss managed to grab today, while they keep vigil out of the window, scanning the streets for approaching skibidis.

You'd met Tranter McPiss a couple of months ago, a fellow scavenger in the ruins of the skibidi plague's aftermath. Not the most fun or charming person you'd ever met, but competent and sensible enough. Naturally, you'd stayed together for safety in numbers and for companionship (such as it was).

Some toothpaste to add to the cache. You start picking off the cardboard boxes so you can pack the tubes in more neatly and make a bit more space in the pack. Few jars of peanut butter, probably the most calorie-dense food you're likely to find. Just about every veggie seed packet you could stuff into the pack's many pockets. You and McPiss plant those in available bits of ground as you go, in the hope they'll spread.

"Stop rustling for a bit," says McPiss quietly. (You silently take your hands out of the pack and let it down to the floor slowly.) "I hear something," McPiss whispers.

You strain to listen… it's footsteps. You don't know whether to feel panicked or hopeful - is it fellow human survivors, or some of those sinister hardware-headed robots? Or, worst of all, it might be some of those body-snatcher skibidis that have grafted fallen robot's bodies to their toilet bowls.

You're relieved that you can't hear any of that 'skibidi skibidi skibidi' chant that signals the arrival of the blood-crazed biting toilet-people. Might you dare to hope you've found another band of humans?

As the footsteps get closer, your hopes are dashed by hearing some garbled robot speech. Shit. Your guts feel as though someone's dumped a bowl of cold acid in them. Can you and McPiss escape through the window? It's a hell of a drop - could you climb down somehow? Are you better off staying put and trying to talk your way past the robots?

You frantically try to come up with a sensible plan and share it with McPiss, whom you can sense getting tense and frantic alongside you, as though something is saturating the air between you.

The footsteps stop for several seconds. If you stay quiet and still, will they go away again? …Despite the lack of footsteps, something enters the room nevertheless. You can't parse what you're looking at. The sight resolves itself as the head of one of the television-robots, its screen glowing… but without the rest of the robot. It's… hovering on little rockets, you realise. Ohh shit, it's seen you.

The hovering rocket-television displays a cutesy emoticon on its screen… then its screen background goes from a soft purple to a hot sugar-pink, as the hovering monitor smoothly advances towards you. A suggestion hangs heavily in your mind: "Don't worry". You feel you should be appalled at being manipulated like this - you know that thought didn't come from you! But the gesture feels so kind, so considerate, as though the hover-television is letting you borrow some of its courage. Just as the ethical implications of this sink in, a headless robot body walks in, flanked by two more TV-headed robots. The headless one confidently steps forward to meet the hovering TV-head, which must be its own. The two parts of the robot elegantly re-capitate with what looks like practised ease.

One of the flanking robots (they look like Floaty-Head's bodyguards, you reckon) says something - you can't work out what language it spoke. Human-made televisions were invented in Scotland… might they be speaking Scots Gaelic?

The two bodyguard-type robots step forwards, one coming towards you and the other towards McPiss. 'Your' robot says something you can't parse, its screen changing colour from a green-tinted mid-grey to a pale cyan. The screen glows bright, making you flinch, then fades back to its former grey, along with a benignly smiling emoticon. Did the robot just… scan you? Mark you? Whatever it did, it seems pleased with the result.

The other robot appears to have reached much the same conclusion as McPiss. Both bodyguards rejoin their comrade with the detachable head, who has the aura of one who's in charge. Hover-Head's screen fades out from pink back to purple, releasing its mental hold on you - you feel like yourself again, but a little more afraid without the constant reassurance being beamed into your brain.

"We're fucked, aren't we?" McPiss whisper-hisses to you.

You're not so sure. The robots outnumber you, and they could have killed you by now - but they haven't. And the floaty-headed one used its screen-power to soothe you and encourage you. If they'd wanted to kill you, wouldn't they have paralysed you with fear?

You're about to say something to McPiss, then something occurs to you as one of the 'bodyguard' robots speaks - the sound of their speech sounds like a recording being played backwards. (This robot has what looks like an LED torch mounted to its head-casing, you notice just now. Their compatriot has a noticeable trait of their own: some hot pink socks, in stark contrast to the rest of their sombre black get-up. What if… you called them Pinky and Perky. What if you did that.)

You notice Floaty-Head display a cheery emoticon, then turn the dials on their head-casing. Their speakers click and buzz until the robot is apparently satisfied with what they hear.

"Calibration," says the robot. "Humans, do you comprehend?" Its voice is like a flock of metal birds of various sizes speaking together in perfect synchronicity, with the slightest reverb.

McPiss looks to you, apparently for support. Should you say yes to the robot? …Do you have anything to gain by pretending that you can't understand them? Probably not.

"Yes," you say. "Yes, we comprehend you."

"Imperator to squadron," says Hover-Head. So their name or title is 'Imperator'? You file that away in your brain-meats. "Unskibbed humans found. Duplicate communication parameters."

"Copied," says Perky. …You need to mentally assign these two some different nicknames.

"You're far from Sector Carina-Seven," says the TV-robot with the detachable head - the Imperator. (Maybe they can all detach their heads and this is the only one you've seen doing it? Or maybe not - Pinky and Perky don't have the head-rockets. Argh. You can't keep calling those two that.)

"…Sorry?" ventures McPiss.

The Imperator displays an amused emoticon on their screen. "This sector isn't safe for D-class personnel and below. Given how unprepared you seem for combat or recon, and how easily we were able to approach you, I am assuming you are lone operants acting without orders or backup."

"We're not with the skibidis, if that's what you mean," you say. "Or whatever you call the toilet people."

"Yes, we call them skibidis too," says the Imperator. (Didn't they call you and McPiss 'unskibbed'? You've just worked out what that must have meant.) "…If you're not affiliated with the Alliance, you won't know the sector names. Carina-Seven is the current safe zone for unaffected humans."

"Can you… tell us how to get there?" you ask.

McPiss seems displeased by your question - they probably think you're being too eager to trust these robots. You'd agreed with McPiss that the faceless, slightly weirdly-proportioned robots were creepy… but now you're rethinking that stance. At close range, they're almost cute!

"We can do you one better," says the Imperator, displaying a delighted emoticon. "My colleague can take us there."

"One moment, please, while I confer with my colleague," you say to the Imperator, then gesture your head to McPiss to get into a huddle with you. Well, two people isn't really enough for a huddle. It's half a huddle. A hud.

"We don't know their motivations," says McPiss quietly once you've moved away from the robots. "I think we should part ways with them while we still can. We know what we're dealing with out in the wilderness - these robots are an unknown."

"I'm inclined to go with them," you say. "You have a point, but… if they wanted to kill us, they could have done that many times over. And we know the robots are enemies of the skibs too-"

"Don't give me that 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend'," interrupts McPiss. "The enemy of my enemy can smooch my hoop as well."

"I just think if we don't go with them, we'll regret it later," you say. "I'm tired of running and hiding and not having a safe base to call my home."

"I exert no hold on you," says the Imperator. (How much of your conversation did they hear?) "I cannot force you to come with us." (Well… physically they can. The Imperator is probably speaking of ethics rather than capability.) "But I advise you to choose quickly-"

On cue, you hear the sound of approaching skibidi activity…

"Let's regroup with my colleagues for now," says the Imperator, "And you can decide where to go from there. Grab your bag." You do so, and the Imperator and their two guards converge smartly on you. You're unnerved but you hold firm as the Imperator claps a hand on your shoulder - you're aware of one of the two guards doing the same to McPiss.

Your surroundings suddenly become very dark and close, as though walls of black fog swept in and converged on you, until all you can see is the Imperator… The walls of fog fall away just as suddenly as they materialised… and your surroundings are different. What just happened? Did you just go down a wormhole?

"You could have warned us that was going to happen!" shouts McPiss. You agree a little - that was a bit scary and you would have appreciated the heads-up.

"Skill issue," remarks someone. You jerk your head to the source of the sound and realise there's another TV-headed robot here, of a different model from the Imperator and their two guards. You thought the Imperator looked elegant, but this unit… "They made it in a rizz factory and didn't know when to stop," you hear yourself thinking. Gah! Get it together!

"Be gentler," chides the Imperator. "These humans have had a frightening day."

"These skibidis-in-waiting, you mean?" the new robot says, idly drawing and flexing some magenta-purple blades installed on its forearms, in a casual display of power. "You do them no kindness prolonging their misery, Imperator. Only a matter of time before their brains rot."

The Imperator displays a glaring displeased emoticon, apparently not impressed by the bladed robot's rudeness. The two of them 'stare' silently at each other for a couple of seconds - are they communicating on a wavelength you can't hear?

"They're clean," says one of the guards (the one with the torch on its head). "Both scanned."

Purple Blades nods silently to the Imperator, apparently concluding their imperceptible conversation. "I take it back," they say, approaching you and McPiss. (McPiss bristles and stands their ground, but you try to stay relaxed - you'd be far better off with these TVs as allies rather than enemies.) "Had a dicksplash of a day. Frustrated. Took it out on you." The robot makes a show of deliberately tucking away its blades, then presents its gloved fist to you. What does this gesture mean? Should you… copy it?

You raise your own fist and bring it in, mirroring the TV-unit. It completes the gesture - and you realise it was going for a fist-bump all along. You happily push your knuckles into place - what excitement!

"What should we call you?" you ask.

"Sabre," replies the blade-armed TV.

"I'm November, and my companion is Tranter McPiss," you say.

"Why would you tell them that?" protests McPiss angrily.

"What are they going to do; get in touch with our bank?" you point out. You continue to Sabre: "…You smell of burning. Did you run into skibidis too?"

"You can tell?" asks Sabre. You guess robots can't smell. "Blew a fuse. Don't know which one. Diagnostic system failed. Takes forever to check all fuses systematically. Grumpy about it."

"I can smell that on you," you say. There's a definite burnt metal tang, with the unpleasant sour back notes of burnt rubber. "May I… examine you a bit more closely? I might be able to find it."

"If you must."

You move your head closer and sniff at Sabre's torso while walking around them. Sabre seems mildly alarmed, and their head moves on a swivel to track you, even as you walk behind them. Evidently they can spin their head like an owl. (The Imperator and their two guards seem to keeping their eyes - well, their screens - on you too. McPiss is keeping their distance - they don't seem eager to help out.)

"Mind how you go, meatbag," warns Sabre. "I'm pointy."

"The smell is strongest here," you say, pointing to a spot on one of Sabre's shoulders. "I would guess your blown fuse is under here."

The two bodyguards move in, as Sabre takes off their coat. "Hold that for me," instructs Sabre, handing it to you. …Oh, it's nicely warm. The two guards set to work with what you assume is a robot first-aid kit, containing several small specialised-looking tools. Sabre undoes their jacket and shirt, revealing a glimpse of sleek and slightly angular plating. You realise you're clutching the coat quite hard…

The guards are evidently trained in field repairs, as they remove a panel of Sabre's plating, exposing a bank of fuses. One of the guards pulls out the blown fuse (while Sabre appears to be trying not to flinch) and the other replaces it with a fresh one from the kit. You remember what Sabre said about having to check all their fuses systematically - you guess it would be hard for them to remove their own body panels because of the awkward angles, especially with their blades in the way.

"You'd better appreciate this," says the Imperator warmly. "I don't share my spare fuses with just anyone."

"Thank you, Imperator," says Sabre, then: "…Thank you, November. That saved a lot of time." They take their coat back from you. "Are you cold, human?"

"I am a bit," you concede. You'd had to leave your coat behind earlier that week and you hadn't found a suitable replacement yet. (You guess it was this week. Keeping track of time has fallen a bit by the wayside these days.)

Sabre moves to put their coat on you before you can object. They hold the sleeve out for you to insert your arm, and you do so without really thinking about it. It's hard to not take something that someone is handing right to you. The cuffs snap closed with magnetic clasps as you put the sleeves on - they have large slots in them for Sabre's arm-blades.

You shiver in delight inside the coat. Its warm weight feels nice, and you rather appreciate the view of Sabre in just their jacket. "See, McPiss," you say, "We were wrong; robots are nice."

"For your knowledge," says one of the guards (the one sans torch), "We prefer to be called 'techfolk' rather than 'robots'. It's true, we are robots, but so is a mindless factory assembler."

"Understood," you reply. You suppose calling them 'robots' is like calling a fellow human an 'ape' - it's correct, but can be wielded offensively. "Well, what do you think?" you ask McPiss. "I reckon our best chance of survival is to head to… Carina-Seven, was it? Join the other humans there. I'm so happy to know there are still more of us out there!"

"I can see there's no dissuading you," says McPiss. They move in close to you so they can whisper. "I think you're being too trusting."

"I think you're not being trusting enough," you say. "This would be a stupid amount of effort to go to for a trap. I'm going with the techfolk. I really hope you'll come too." You address the Imperator: "What happens now?"

"My colleague Polycephaly will take us the rest of the way," says the Imperator. "We'll need their teleportation ability to get us all the way to Sector Carina-Seven from here." The Imperator addresses McPiss: "Consider this the warning I didn't give you last time. Are you ready to depart?"

"I know I am," you say.

Sabre steps near you and offers their hand. You guess they're initiating a teleport, and you take it. Your world is swirling black fog for a moment, and then you are somewhere else. Next to you, the Imperator spawns in with McPiss, followed by the two bodyguards.

Your body surges with terror at the unmistakeable sound of a skibidi chant rapidly getting closer-

"Doctor Polycephaly diagnoses you with being annoying. Here's your prescription."

The skibidi song rapidly takes on a panicked tone as the approaching skibidi gets lifted into the air and thrown away, explosively shattering its porcelain on impact. You can't work out what you just saw… until you realise there's yet another TV-headed techfolk here - you actually hadn't noticed them at first because their sheer size made your brain not register them as an entity. This unit's colossal!

"Some fresh meatbags," observes the huge TV - Polycephaly, you think the Imperator said. You're startled to see four more TV-screens suddenly unfurl on stems from behind the big unit's back. Polycephaly kneels and cranes their subscreens inwards, apparently getting a better look at you and McPiss. "Bound for Carina-Seven?"

"Just so," replies the Imperator.

"You know the drill," says the giant TV. "Fog tax." Polycephaly's main screen turns void-black - not the black of a switched-off screen, but black like a hole cut in reality. Clouds of void-blackness spill out of Sabre's, the Imperator's and the guards' screens and fly towards Polycephaly, as if the big TV is vacuuming up their energy. The four smaller TVs jokingly protest at this treatment, to Polycephaly's amusement.

Polycephaly stands up again, and takes a few steps to a nearby shipping container. They pull open its doors and then pat the roof. "Get your arses in my box, mammals, unless you'd rather take your chances with the skibs," says Polycephaly.

You get inside the shipping container, a little hesitantly - how is this going to work? You feel braver once the Imperator, the guards and Sabre follow you in. If they're getting in, it's clearly the right thing to do. McPiss brings up the rear. You can see their point about preferring to face an known evil than an unknown one, but you're daring to hope that going with the TVs won't turn out to be an 'evil' at all. You feel a pang of guilt that you ever thought of the robots - the techfolk - as creepy.

Polycephaly closes the doors of the shipping container, shutting you all into near-darkness. The only light comes from the four TV's screens - the Imperator and the two guards with their green-tinted grey, and Sabre's richer royal purple.

"Feeling okay?" Sabre asks quietly. They pat your hand. Oh! Before you can say anything, all of you are plunged into swirling blackness. This feels the same as when you were transported earlier. Did Polycephaly teleport the entire shipping container?

That question is answered when the doors re-open. McPiss immediately hops out, reminding you of re-wilded tigers dashing to freedom from their transport crates. The Imperator glances behind them to make sure you're following, giving you a reassuring smiling emoticon, then steps out accompanied by their two guards.

"Out you get," says Polycephaly, slapping the container roof. You obey, Sabre walking alongside you.

"Ni hao, Imperator. Wo happen so?" A human voice!

"Buono estente, Gladys," replies the Imperator to the human. "Beaucoup skibidis, but two newbies."

"Skibidis, quelle fuckery. Oho!" says the human - Gladys? - noticing you and McPiss. They wave hello to you, and you wave back. So does McPiss - they seem happy to have found more humans instead of robots.

You take in your surroundings. Is this the Sector Carina-Seven that the Imperator mentioned? There are many humans here, some at work and some at leisure. You notice a few of the Camera-headed robots - techfolk - here too, talking in a sign language with some humans.

McPiss introduces themself to Gladys. "McPiss - Tranter McPiss," they say, holding out a hand.

Gladys shakes hands. "Dailyo, McPiss. Gladys, je suis. Welcome a Sector Carina-Siete."

"November," you introduce yourself with a handshake. You get an idea - you'll probably score points if you contribute supplies to the group. You open your pack and start bringing out toothpaste and peanut butter.

"Zahnpasta avec karanga squishy? Bonus est!" Gladys clearly approves. You guess a mix of people from around the world live here and have fallen into using a pidgin blend of their own languages. Gladys calls over a couple more people to help unload. "Sprechen a beth?" Gladys asks you.

"…Not sure what that means, sorry," you reply.

Gladys tilts their head slightly, apparently taking in what you said. "Oho," they say. "Macaroon!"

Someone else approaches. "Parler zum newbies," Gladys tells them.

"Ey up," says the new person. "My name's Macaroon - Chris P. Macaroon." (Gladys must have summoned someone who speaks the same language as you.)

"Ey up, Macaroon. I'm November and this is my colleague McPiss," you explain. "We ran into some skibs but luckily the Imperator ran into us first."

"And I didn't want to come with because I assumed it was a trap," says McPiss. "For once, I'm glad to be proven wrong."

"Nice coat," says Macaroon to you.

"I should give it back," you say. "I borrowed it from Sabre - have you met them?" You begin taking it off so you can give it back to its owner.

"Sabre, lending your coat to a human?" says Macaroon. "I didn't think you liked us that much."

"Skibidi-headed, but not as stupid as you look," concedes Sabre. It seems McPiss isn't the only person glad to have been proven wrong today.

"That's high praise, coming from Sabre. Gladys and I will get you another coat from somewhere," Macaroon says to you. "And we'll give you a tour. You and McPiss should both get settled in for today - tomorrow we can talk about adding you to the duty rota and get you some Alliance tablets. These things, I mean, not medicine tablets." Macaroon flashes their digital device.

"Thank you," you say. "I can't believe my luck! Earlier today I was scrabbling in the wilderness running from skibs, and now this!" Life will be so much easier with a home and some friends.

The Imperator approaches you and McPiss, having been talking to a small group of humans and Cams. "I must take my leave," they say.

"Imperator, I'm so glad we met you," you say sincerely. To your surprise, the Imperator extends their arms to offer a hug. You gladly step forward to accept. You've been on the run and on edge for so long, it feels overwhelming to stand on safe ground and enjoy the simple pleasure of a hug. Your eyes prickle pleasantly with the beginnings of happy-tears. And the Imperator gives great hugs, warm and firm, no shyness or limpness. The Imperator gives you a final little squeeze, then ends the hug.

The Imperator offers a hug to McPiss. "Have you got over your dislike of robots?" the Imperator asks cheerfully, displaying a happy emoticon.

"I have," says McPiss, then accepts the hug readily. "Thank you, Imperator."

You seize your chance. You don't know when you'll see Sabre again. "Sabre… could I hug you?"

There's a pause. Have you offended them? Then: "If you must."

You'll take it! You hug Sabre, noting how carefully they move to not injure you with their blades. Their coat smells of your warmth, as if you've known them a long time and their scent is familiar to you. You delightedly snuggle into them as much as you dare.

"Sabre, cwtsh?" Gladys says with amused surprise.

"Mind your own business," says Sabre. They deliver a final squeeze to signal the end of the hug - did they pick up that habit from the Imperator?

"Will I see you again?" you ask Sabre as you disengage.

"Possibly," says Sabre non-committally, as they press something into your hand. They vanish in a column of black mist, to your surprise. …Is that what teleportation looks like from the outside?

You notice the Imperator and their two guards stepping back into the shipping container, which Polycephaly slaps their hand on and teleports away, in a big cloud of smoky black fog. Dang - you'd wanted to thank and say goodbye properly to Polycephaly. Hopefully you'll see them again, if the robots - no, the techfolk - find some more humans.

You check what Sabre gave you. It's a business card of sorts, with some contact details on it. Well, you know what you'll be doing when you get your tablet tomorrow…