05-03-2018, 10:13 AM
HARPY remained aloft while Dexter followed, pale light sparking off its sleek body with every graceful, mechanical movement. The splotch on the horizon grew into a more tangible thing as they approached, a constructed gateway of smooth metal.
True to Baxla’s word, other figures trickled through the gate and spread out in every direction. Dexter gaped in amazement as a procession of what looked like dwarves from the books he used to read as a kid streamed through the gate with peals of raucous laughter, hefting swords, battle-axes, and war-hammers and clapping each other on the backs with gauntleted fists. The rearmost dwarf spared Dexter an errant glance and opened his mouth in greeting before noticing HARPY and scurrying away.
The fantasy races don’t like technology much, Baxla explained, his voice ringing with mirth. Can’t imagine what they were doing in Coruscant.
“Fantasy races?” Dexter echoed, stunned.
Sure! And elves too, and orcs, and so on. They mostly stick to Camelot and some of the outlying Verses. Dwarves tend to call the Frozen Fields home; they’re a hardy bunch. If you bother to look down, you’ll see ‘em pretty much everywhere though. Except Coruscant, that is.
Dexter found himself at a now-characteristic loss. The many-worlds interpretation, while unproven, was simple enough to understand. Even some science fiction intergalactic hub made enough sense, if the complete absence of tangible evidence was ignored. But this… robots, and dwarves, and physics-defying fountains, and gates between universes, and mysterious, maniacal silhouettes in the darkness. It lent itself better to the ill-conceived scribblings of over-imaginative children than any rigorous scientific theory Dexter had encountered. He felt like laughing and crying at the same time, so overwhelming was the conflicting information flooding into his brain.
Flanking the gate on both sides, tall men in white armor with black trim regarded Dexter’s approach silently. Their bucket-shaped helmets betrayed nothing of the temperament of the men, if indeed they were men and not the next installment in Dexter’s series of staggering surprised, beneath, but Dexter’s eyes widened when he noticed the rifles they held tightly across their chests.
HARPY hummed to a landing as they neared the gate, wings protracting into its back. Its beak clicked open, and the staticky, prerecorded voice spoke again. “Coruscant is an ecumenopolis, the capital of the Republic, and the foremost cultural and economic hub of the Omniverse.”
Dexter hardly registered the words. In between the gate’s two sturdy columns, a swirling gray-blue vortex gave little indication of what existed on the other side. While Dexter had no firm concept of the technology required for teleportation, purely a science fiction concept in his world, but, as uncomfortable as it made him, he was well past the point of trying to understand everything about this place. In time, he hoped, the answers would come to him, and in the meantime, he would gather as much information as he could.
—Gizmo want with a new Prime?
What business is it of yours?
Dexter froze, listening to the words. They seemed to manifest directly in his head, the first voice unknown to him but the second belonging to Baxla, HARPY’s pilot.
The movements of fledgling Primes are Empire business. The unknown voice sounded gruff and uncompromising, in stark contract to Baxla’s young, playful tone.
Look, Baxla replied, it was a chance encounter, all right? He asked to come with me, I’m not trying to recruit him.
Even Dexter, hardly an expert in social interaction, knew Baxla was lying. The guards seemed to share the sentiment, setting their feet defensively and leveling their rifles at HARPY.
Oh, come on! Baxla protested. And you guys wonder why no one respects your fucking authority.
Surrender the Prime, came the guard’s terse reply.
During the exchange, neither HARPY nor the guard paid any attention to Dexter, as if he was not meant to be privy to their conversation. Without knowing how or why, or even if, Dexter got the distinct impression that he was not supposed to be hearing their words.
Sorry, boys, I don’t obey the orders of Stormtrooper scum.
All at once, HARPY’s wings protracted, and the robot launched itself at the two guards. The barrels of their rifles surged with red light and the weapons retorted, firing on the diving HARPY. The robot ducked and swerved the two blasts, pouncing on the left guard, its razor-sharp talons glinting before they carved through his armor with a spray of blood.
Dexter staggered back and fell into a sitting position as the errant blasts flew over his head, their palpable heat leaving a shimmer in their wake. Baxla’s words came back to him in that moment: All the excitement, none of the danger. Yet the danger to Dexter was quite real, he knew.
Making quick work of the first guard, HARPY regained its feet without regarding the mass of pulp and gore at its feet. How terrifying the bloodstained robot seemed to Dexter in that moment, in stark contrast to the moments before the engagement. Its wings caught the ambient, white light, glinting and glimmering, its savage beak dripping with the redness of its enemy.
The second guard skipped back and dropped to one knee as HARPY turned on him, firing a second blast, then a third. The first narrowly missed HARPY’s head, and the robot swept its curved wing in front of the third, striding fearlessly forward.
Dexter expected the blast to damage the HARPY in some way, to drive it back and allow both Dexter and the guard a chance to pass through the gate and into what he hoped was the relative safety of the universe beyond. Instead, the wing flashed blue as it became enveloped in shimmering light, and the guard’s blast was deflected away…
… directly toward Dexter.
Dexter had just enough time to scream as the blast clipped him in the shoulder, spinning him face first to the ground. Agony spread across his neck and torso, and an unfamiliar smell came to him—a smell he dimly recognized as smoldering flesh. He whimpered and tried to crawl away, dragging himself perhaps half a pace before blackness crept up at the edges of his vision.
The last thing he saw was HARPY’s wicked, taloned feet closing in on him.
True to Baxla’s word, other figures trickled through the gate and spread out in every direction. Dexter gaped in amazement as a procession of what looked like dwarves from the books he used to read as a kid streamed through the gate with peals of raucous laughter, hefting swords, battle-axes, and war-hammers and clapping each other on the backs with gauntleted fists. The rearmost dwarf spared Dexter an errant glance and opened his mouth in greeting before noticing HARPY and scurrying away.
The fantasy races don’t like technology much, Baxla explained, his voice ringing with mirth. Can’t imagine what they were doing in Coruscant.
“Fantasy races?” Dexter echoed, stunned.
Sure! And elves too, and orcs, and so on. They mostly stick to Camelot and some of the outlying Verses. Dwarves tend to call the Frozen Fields home; they’re a hardy bunch. If you bother to look down, you’ll see ‘em pretty much everywhere though. Except Coruscant, that is.
Dexter found himself at a now-characteristic loss. The many-worlds interpretation, while unproven, was simple enough to understand. Even some science fiction intergalactic hub made enough sense, if the complete absence of tangible evidence was ignored. But this… robots, and dwarves, and physics-defying fountains, and gates between universes, and mysterious, maniacal silhouettes in the darkness. It lent itself better to the ill-conceived scribblings of over-imaginative children than any rigorous scientific theory Dexter had encountered. He felt like laughing and crying at the same time, so overwhelming was the conflicting information flooding into his brain.
Flanking the gate on both sides, tall men in white armor with black trim regarded Dexter’s approach silently. Their bucket-shaped helmets betrayed nothing of the temperament of the men, if indeed they were men and not the next installment in Dexter’s series of staggering surprised, beneath, but Dexter’s eyes widened when he noticed the rifles they held tightly across their chests.
HARPY hummed to a landing as they neared the gate, wings protracting into its back. Its beak clicked open, and the staticky, prerecorded voice spoke again. “Coruscant is an ecumenopolis, the capital of the Republic, and the foremost cultural and economic hub of the Omniverse.”
Dexter hardly registered the words. In between the gate’s two sturdy columns, a swirling gray-blue vortex gave little indication of what existed on the other side. While Dexter had no firm concept of the technology required for teleportation, purely a science fiction concept in his world, but, as uncomfortable as it made him, he was well past the point of trying to understand everything about this place. In time, he hoped, the answers would come to him, and in the meantime, he would gather as much information as he could.
—Gizmo want with a new Prime?
What business is it of yours?
Dexter froze, listening to the words. They seemed to manifest directly in his head, the first voice unknown to him but the second belonging to Baxla, HARPY’s pilot.
The movements of fledgling Primes are Empire business. The unknown voice sounded gruff and uncompromising, in stark contract to Baxla’s young, playful tone.
Look, Baxla replied, it was a chance encounter, all right? He asked to come with me, I’m not trying to recruit him.
Even Dexter, hardly an expert in social interaction, knew Baxla was lying. The guards seemed to share the sentiment, setting their feet defensively and leveling their rifles at HARPY.
Oh, come on! Baxla protested. And you guys wonder why no one respects your fucking authority.
Surrender the Prime, came the guard’s terse reply.
During the exchange, neither HARPY nor the guard paid any attention to Dexter, as if he was not meant to be privy to their conversation. Without knowing how or why, or even if, Dexter got the distinct impression that he was not supposed to be hearing their words.
Sorry, boys, I don’t obey the orders of Stormtrooper scum.
All at once, HARPY’s wings protracted, and the robot launched itself at the two guards. The barrels of their rifles surged with red light and the weapons retorted, firing on the diving HARPY. The robot ducked and swerved the two blasts, pouncing on the left guard, its razor-sharp talons glinting before they carved through his armor with a spray of blood.
Dexter staggered back and fell into a sitting position as the errant blasts flew over his head, their palpable heat leaving a shimmer in their wake. Baxla’s words came back to him in that moment: All the excitement, none of the danger. Yet the danger to Dexter was quite real, he knew.
Making quick work of the first guard, HARPY regained its feet without regarding the mass of pulp and gore at its feet. How terrifying the bloodstained robot seemed to Dexter in that moment, in stark contrast to the moments before the engagement. Its wings caught the ambient, white light, glinting and glimmering, its savage beak dripping with the redness of its enemy.
The second guard skipped back and dropped to one knee as HARPY turned on him, firing a second blast, then a third. The first narrowly missed HARPY’s head, and the robot swept its curved wing in front of the third, striding fearlessly forward.
Dexter expected the blast to damage the HARPY in some way, to drive it back and allow both Dexter and the guard a chance to pass through the gate and into what he hoped was the relative safety of the universe beyond. Instead, the wing flashed blue as it became enveloped in shimmering light, and the guard’s blast was deflected away…
… directly toward Dexter.
Dexter had just enough time to scream as the blast clipped him in the shoulder, spinning him face first to the ground. Agony spread across his neck and torso, and an unfamiliar smell came to him—a smell he dimly recognized as smoldering flesh. He whimpered and tried to crawl away, dragging himself perhaps half a pace before blackness crept up at the edges of his vision.
The last thing he saw was HARPY’s wicked, taloned feet closing in on him.