11-Apr-2019
Knights in Space!
“Magic Wench! Fetch me more of yon ale!”
D-37 sighed. “I am neither female or magic. I am a robot.”
The rather drunk human—arrayed in metal coating and a tall dented helmet that he could no longer get off—scoffed. “You’ve got the shape of a wench.”
“I think you are mistaken.”
The human slogged to his feet, swaying back and forth as if the ship’s stabilizers had gone out. He managed a round-about route to D-37. His eyes roamed up and down the cold exterior of D-37’s mechanical body. “Pretty sure I’m not.” He reached out and put his hand where a human’s chest would be. “Although these are pretty hard.”
D-37 grabbed the human’s wrist and turned. He let out a yowl and twisted until he couldn’t go any farther. “Please sit down.”
“Feisty.” The human’s eyes gleamed as he tried to look over his shoulder. “I like that.”
“It is time to resume your seat,” D-37 said as he led the specimen to his chair. “Please stay seated until we reach our destination.” With more strength than any human, D-37 wrestled the human’s limp form into the chair and turned on the containment field.
“Hey, what’s going on?” The human tried to stand up, but could only move his arms enough to eat or drink.
D-37 sent a silent command to the creator to conjure up a meal and more of the drink that this human loved so much. His eyes went wide and he forgot he was stuck. As were the other three humans sitting around the table. Although the others were asleep at the moment.
D-37 moved to the wall and pressed a panel. It slid up without a sound, and he went through. The wall returned to its place, and D-37 walked toward the control room.
Another of the D-Class robots fell in step beside him. “Any issues with the humans?”
“Besides the fact that they are filthy animals? No.”
The other robot chuckled.
“How are the Dranx specimens?”
“Loud.”
“They are always loud.”
“Did you have to drug yours?”
“Yes.”
“Why did we take this mission again? Diving through space and time to find victims for the Great Fights?”
D-37 glanced over at his compatriot. “Money. Lots of money.”
“Right. Lots of money.”
