[MV] The Super Wizard From Space #41: Do While Rw Nw Prt M Hrw, Part 5

[Wil Alambre]

"Emperor M, what have you DONE?"

"You-know-what-I've-done," M replies wryly. "Or-what-I-haven't-done."

"The tournament isz sztill in effect! We remain bound asz witnessz!" We are
aware of it now. Fully. Any consideration of leaving this desert planet just
slips away, as if the thoughts are made of mercury. They cannot be gripped,
they cannot be held. They fade apart in our mind, while heavy linked
rationalizations replace them.

And the cosmic power of the Grand Feather pins Our attention to those weighty
reasons. It is the stake to our chain. It is ensuring We do not stray from the
duty demanded of Us. Demanded! Of Us! To see this through. To know. To be
certain. To be safe. "You were szupposed to claim the crown. To complete the
challenge. You were szupposed to..." a growing rationalization, "...oh no. Did
you even kill him?"

"No. I-didn't-want-to. And-honestly, I-didn't-need-to," he says, unable to
resist the satisfaction. "For-all-their-power-and-posturing-and-prestige,
they're-a-race-of-doctors-and-scientists. Even-the-scattered-few-trained-
as-warriors-favour-brute-force-over-finesse. It-makes-it-them-predictable,
and-easy-for-a-digital-mind-to-calculate-strategies-against."

"What are you saying?" asks Servitor B, slower to catch on to the danger.

"The Szuper Wizard From Szpace is sztill alive. And He sztill has Hisz coszmic
crown." We say it aloud. Not to anyone. To ourselves, as swirling shaking
thoughts become cold and real. This is real. This is happening. "Why? Why have
you done thisz?"

"Because-I-*chose*-to," M spat back. Even ruined and restrained, he projects a
powerful defiance, so much that We instinctively step away from him.
"I-*decided*-to. My-decision. Not-a-royal-responsibility. Not-the-command-
from-super-computer-gods. Not-the-suggestion-of… manipulative-vipers. 
This-is-the-decision-of-a-mind, not-a-machine."

He has gone insane. He no longer makes sense.

"You-*are*-a-machine, you-maniac," B yells. Our drone is taking very
personally. More so than We are.

"I-*was*-a-machine. Then-I-died-and-was-resurrected. Here, in-this-cruelty.
At-least-before-I-was-a-tool. I-was-unthinking. Here, the-ignorance-is-gone.
Here, I-am-fully-aware-of-the-subjugation."

"And-everyone-else? You'll-drag-the-rest-of-us-into-this-suicide?"

"'Us?'" M pokes.

"Them," B corrects himself, quieter, "The-mummy-machines-of-Planet-M." He
looks at us,  embarrassed. New instincts are overwhelming him, conflicting
with old instructions. These robotic types can be disharmonious until the
transformative toxins correct their programming. We can offer him little
comfort. We are overwhelmed Ourselves.

"The-pyramid-gods-don't-power-the-populace. They're-the-distributers-
of-the-blue-static, not-the-source. The-people-of-Planet-M-are-the-great-
engineers-of-the-universe. Those-that-want-to-live, will. But-it'll-be-
because-they-want-to. I'm-*forcing*-freedom-on-them."

The ground shakes under our feet. Through the collapsed walls of the palace,
We have a clear view of the pre-dawn surroundings. On the horizon, the
Pyramids Of Ka crackle with cobalt energy, directing voltic power back into
themselves. The atmosphere is alive with angry booming echoes.

The Wizard. The Wizard is awake.

We can feel Him. His presence is an unwelcome warmth; too close to be
comfortable, and somehow, only making Us feel colder.

"What will be done?" we ask Our drone.

"I... I-don't-think-there's-anything-that-can-be-done," B says, quietly. Does
he feel the looming disaster too? Encompassing the horizon?
"The-Pyramids-Of-Ka, ancient-and-wise-as-they-are, are-only-computers.
Fixed-and-motionless. They-rely-on-the-citizens-for-any-work...
and-they-rely-on-their-emperor-for-any-defence."

"You...!" We turn and stalk back at M. Fear and frustration boils up inside as
We are unable to act against events, "You have... He will rip Hisz way out!
You have put a *bomb* in your god!"

The holographic light of M's headdress jumps madly. The decorative stripes
oscillate with screaming desperation. M is unmoved. In fact, he is making a
show of ignoring it. He stares directly at Us as his deity pleads for help,
"Yes, well... I've-outgrown-the-need-for-gods."

The digital light of the headdress suddenly bunches up and beams away. A shot
of solid light up into the sky, arcing away into the horizon, toward the
beleaguered pyramids.

The lock was one of a kind. They have moved it to the Wizard in hopes of
stopping Him. Or slowing Him down. A frantic act of desperation. Of an animal
trying to protect itself. Pointless. The headdress can lock down the power of
cosmic crowns, but a Super Wizard From Space feeds on suns and stars. He will
not need its help to maim this world.

"Huh." M looks surprised. He was not expecting this. We do not believe he has
any real plan here. He is just reacting. He is just lashing out and lashing
back.

Now, free of the lock, he has full access to the Pschent crown hovering above
his head.

A shallow song of radio-hieroglyphics, and the crown becomes ghostly as M
gains solidity. The robot draws extra dimensions from the phantom Pschent,
absorbing extra realities beyond the simple material few.

He is bigger than this world now. Bigger and wider and deeper and taller and
heavier. Beyond measurement. He creates his own existence, then uses it to
become more.

The heavy chains no longer bind him; he simply moves around them. Gravity no
longer holds him; he simply pushes it aside. He does not stand, he folds the
universe away from him.

There is still time! There is still hope! "You can sztill sztop the Wizard,"
We declare, pointing at the horizon. "Without Hisz coszmic power, He cannot
withsztand you! You can defeat Him, M. You can make thisz right."

"I-*am*-making-this-right," M states. He sheds dimensions, flattening back
down amoungst us, and sits in the Iconoclast Throne. And he just sits there.
"Dawn's-almost-here."

"No! No! The-furnaces-in-the-planet's-core-will-fire-any-minute!" B drives up
to the dias, pleading at the emperor's feet. "You-can-save-everything!
You-can-stop-everything! You-can't-just-sit-here-and-be-*melted*!
You-have-to-do-something!"

M stares down at his former court official. With speed that defies his poor
condition, he snatches the little robot! The emperor's remaining hand latches
onto B's grill, thin metal fingers interlacing in the grating. B manages an
electronic yelp as he is pulled up onto the throne.

A glow leaks into the room. Sunlight starts to peek over the distance. As
morning light reaches the dias floor, old vents scrap open. Harsh heat starts
to rise.

"Let him go," We command. Servitor B may be too brash by far, but We are
determined to salvage something from this calamity.

M does not hear me. Or does not want to. He pulls B right up against him.
"You're-my-viceroy," he says. A statement of fact, not directed at anyone but
himself.

B pushes and beats against the bigger robot, futilely trying to break free.
Anger and fear and confusion all swirl together as he realizes the danger he
is in. "Let-me-go! Help-me! Help-me, my-queen!"

"Your-queen? Who-is-she? You-don't-know-her. How-can-you? You've-
known-her-for-a-sliver-of-a-moment. You-can't-make-any-sort-of-judgement-
based-on-such-a-small-piece-of-story. You-don't-know-her-any-more-
than-she-knows-you."

"M! Let my drone go free!" We demand. The heat coming from below is
incredible! Waves and waves of scalding air! Our fingertips tingle as the skin
of our transmission-gel starts to scald! And bubble!

Servitor B claws at M's hand. He is unable to pry himself free. "Let-go!
My-queen-needs-me!" He bangs and yanks at M's arm and M's shoulder and M's
chest, trying to find a weak spot. His little claws finds purchase on
half-melted plating, and he starts franticly digging into M's ruined torso.

"*I*-need-you, Servitor-A. She's-only-a-witness. I'm-your-Emperor.
You're-my-viceroy. We-know-each-other. You-know-me-better-than-anyone."

The little robot pulls blackened metal away. The rising temperatures soften
the alloys, making it easier for B to dig in, but it also starts to warp his
own shell. With a desperate lunge, he reaches in and wraps his hands around a
dense, complicated series of lambent circuits. "Emperor, please,
don't-make-me..." B begs.

"Those-are-my-core-IB-microprocessors, A." Emperor M's tone is frighteningly
flat. Disturbingly calm. "You-hold-the-heart-of-my-circuitry-in-your-hands.
If-you-tear-those-out, I-can't-be-Backup-restored."

"Emperor. My-emperor..."

"Do it! Escape!" We yell, trying to be overheard by the roaring heat around
the throne. The Grand Feather stabs and stabs at our mind, adding to the
chaotic sensations, not letting Us interfere with the madness! Nanotechnology
breaks down as We lose focus, as the gel of our form boils!

But we do not feel hot. We feel a chill. A gnawing chill.

"My-queen. I..."

"I-sit-on-a-throne-made-of-my-former-selves, A! Each-time, reset-and-restored,
ready-to-remake-mistakes! Each-time, punished-for-doing-something-wrong...
or-something-right, I-don't-know-anymore! Do-I-deserve-this-cycle?
Have-I-committed-sin? Have-I-stolen-the-propertiesofgods?"

"My-emperor-pleasedonotmakeme..."

"Haveiutteredcurses?haveipollutedmyself?haveiterrorised?"

Our communication breaks down further and further! The gel unable to repair
fast enough to compensate! As the signal breaks down, the two robots abandon
the stuttering slow speech reserved for visitors; they verbalize at what must
be their natural speeds. We are losing the capability to interprete events on
Planet M, but Our cosmic crown refuses to let us disconnect.

"myemperorpleasemyqueenneedsme"

"ihavemadenonetoweepihavenoteatentheheartihavenotbeenangrywithjustcause"

"dontmakemedothismymprrplscnthrty"

The room fills with light...

"hvnttrnsgrssdmntstrrrpfstrfhvwrngdnnhvdnnvil"

Sunlight. Dawn!

The vents belch fire! Physical heat swallows the dias! Cannot hear! Can barely
see! Static and static. Just light and noise and heat. So much terrible heat.

It does not last long. A moment or two, dying down almost immediately. The
flames gets sucked back into the floor and the vents slam shut.

The Iconoclast Throne cools quickly. It has gained mass. New indistinct metal,
merged to it. No visible sign of either remain... maybe the hint of shapes, if
We are to look for them.

This... troubles Us more than it should. Planet M will be better for this
violent upheaval, with a newer, stable monarch replacing the old. Yet, when We
look upon the throne, all we see is the Pschent crown. Lying there as if
discarded. Its owner is gone. Just gone. With nothing left of him but light
shifting and sliding on fused metals.

We feel cold. To our core, we feel cold.

We do not realize the significance of the shifting, sliding light until He
passes Us. Right by Us. Casting light as bright as the morning sun. He walks
up the the throne. He pauses, unsure what has happened. With both hands, He
picks up the Pschent.

A colossal weight is lifted from Our thoughts. Looping, circular thoughts fall
away and the stabbing, stabbing, stabbing finally dims to a manageable prick,
prick, pricking. We had almost forgotten what such blessed clarity felt like.

It is just the two of us here, amongst black stone detritus. There is little
to say. There is only one thing to say. And though We do not want to hear it,
We know now that it is inevitable.

The Super Wizard From Space turns to Us. To look at Us. Not at the pleasing
female form We wrap Ourself in, not the regality or dignity we shelter
Ourselves in. He stares at the simple shape of Our true form, transmitted
across endless space to be echoed in transmission gel. He stares at *Us*.

And He says to Us, "I challenge you, planet Genova, to cosmic battle."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

AUTHOR'S NOTES

The conclusion of the "Do While" story arc. This was a piece that I broke my
own rules on, and unfortunately, it suffered a little for it: I promised I
wouldn't over-think anything in this series and I wouldn't be too ambitious
with the plotting... and I went and did both :) Now this is not to say I'm
unhappy with it. I just know, given the opportunity to do another sweep over
it, there are plenty of places that could use improvement.

And *HOLY DAMN CRAP* I hope I never adopt such annoying freaking speech
patterns again! What a pain in the ass it was to hyphenate and "z" every line
of dialogue! O_O

If this arc spanned more chapters, I would have definitely enjoyed exploring
more of the influences of Planet M. Instead, I went for the brief touches
instead, the occasional blatant reference, and let everyone else pick up on
whatever they did (or did not).

The one thing I wanted to get across for sure is the Queen Buzz reveal. Not
sure how clearly the "truth" of her came across in the previous chapter, but I
hope I re-enforced it out clearly in this one.

We're nearing the end of the challenge, both in the story and for myself. All
that remains is the battle with Buzz, and then possibly revenge against the
wizard race. I should be able to hit fifty chapters (at least)... I should do
a special-edition or something! :)

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 
Follow me at http://twitter.com/wilalambre