I don't think I've ever slaved as much over a story as I did over this one. Well, here goes!
Ceramic DM, Round 1-1: MarauderX vs.
Berandor
Robert I.
He awoke with a start. As he opened his eyes, he found himself lying on a metal bier in a futuristic hospital room. Neon lights doused the windowless cell in cold brightness. Tall machines adorned the walls, bleeping in an undecipherable code, cables interconnecting between them. Some of the cables ran towards him, bundling into a crown of green and red plastic adorning his brow, where he could feel the weight of a metal band clasping around his head.
He lifted his hands to his forehead. The cables seemed to end in the band. He wondered whether the contraption recorded his brain activity, or subdued it. The band slid effortlessly from his brow as he tried to lift it off. Freed from its influence, he immediately wondered where he was. The last thing he remembered was - he couldn't remember anything!
He sat up and swung his legs down from the bier, standing carefully and waiting for the rush of sickness that usually accompanied a sudden movement after long periods of lying around. It never came. He couldn't have lain on the bier for long.
He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing a deep breath, concentrating. His name was... nothing. He couldn't remember anything. No, that wasn't true. As he thought about it, he retained a lot of his general education. He could name presidents, date wars, knew how to drive a car or cook an omelet - but he couldn't remember actually driving or cooking.
Maybe he had been the victim of an accident? He looked for any signs of injury, and for the first time noticed that he was fully clothed. He wore a grey long-sleeved shirt, pants of the same indistinct color, and black boots. From the breast pocket of his shirt dangled a pair of sunglasses - and fastened to the shirt was a name badge! He turned the badge around so he could read it: "Robert I."
So his name was Robert! Robert... Ivanovic? Robert Ince? He said the names aloud, startled to hear his own voice for the first time. Listening closely, he seemed to detect a slight accent in the warm baritone, a tendency to pronounce the words a little too hard. Maybe he was German? He tried to think of German names.
"Robert Igel. Robert Irrstein. Robert Insel?" Nothing. Come to think of it, he didn't even know how to speak German - but perhaps he had forgotten it, along with his identity?
Suddenly, dizziness overcame him. His mind reeled, and his footing slipped. He looked around for the door to the bathroom. There was only one door leading from the room. He stumbled forward and turned the doorknob.
The door opened into a lit hallway, completely empty, walls painted white and riddled with doors similar to the one he just came through. He started to randomly walk to the right, but stopped himself to go back and close the door to his room. His eyes fell on the walls adjoining the door; he had expected to see a room number, or anything else to signal its function, but there was nothing. Where was he? If this was a hospital, it was the strangest hospital he had ever heard of.
He crossed the floor, looking for a bathroom. The hallway stretched for what seemed like an eternity, and all he saw were identical, nondescript doors lining the walls, and something warned him from opening them. Finally, he approached a turn in the hallway. He stopped as he detected voices from around the corner, but despite him stopping, the voices grew louder, along with the sound of footfalls.
"So, they're still asleep?" A female voice, confident - bossy.
"Not all of them, no," a male voice answered deferentially, "but I checked on those who are awake. There were no problems with the transfer."
They had almost reached the corner, and were obviously speaking about him, and other like him! What would happen if they saw him sneaking around? Would they try to help him, to explain everything? Instinctively, he knew they would not. But where should he hide? There was no way he could open a door without them noticing it, and the hall was empty! He had no chance to escape detection. Following a hunch, he took the sunglasses out of his breast pocket, and put them on.
They came around the corner. The woman was tall, with a slim figure, her black hair a boyish cut. She wore a simple costume, grey skirt, and a white blouse. The man was smaller than her, with wild hair blossoming in all directions, grey twigs among hazel branches. He was dressed in a white coat over simple clothes. Both froze in their tracks as they spotted him.
"What are you doing down here," the women asked? Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he could see the intelligence behind. She wore a name badge similar to his own, reading "Dr. Mavel Flint". He could not answer.
"Well? Don't just stand around, get back!" He head tilted into the direction they had come from. He couldn't believe it - she had taken him for someone else!
"Yes, Dr. Flint," he said and quickly rounded the corner before she noticed her mistake.
"Martin should really be more careful," he could hear her voice receding. Her companion's answer was already lost in the distance.
His luck seemed to hold on, though, because this hallway wasn't nearly as long as the one he came from. It ended in a large double door about thirty yards away. A large window was set into the wall right next to the door. The only other doors he could see belonged to an elevator, a correctly labeled staircase - and a bathroom.
He entered the bathroom, but he no longer felt sick, only confused. His eyes fell upon his reflection in the wide mirror hanging on the wall behind the basins, and he saw himself for what seemed like the first time.
He was of average height - he'd noticed that already upon meeting Dr. Flint -, maybe 5'6''. His face had a certain movie star quality, flashing a roguish smile. He considered taking off the sunglasses, but decided against it. They had brought him luck. Instead, he took his short off and was satisfied with the muscled body underneath. He really could be proud of his looks. At last, he could connect a face to his name; he finally knew what Robert I. looked like. If only he knew what lay beneath this dazzling surface.
Why did he have no memory? Why couldn't he remember anything, not even his name? The cabled crown from his room came to his mind again. Had they deleted his memory? What had that man said? He had spoken of a "transfer" - a memory transfer? Did that even make sense? And if it did. why would someone want to steal his memories? Perhaps he was an assassin, or a spy, and he would be inserted with a cover identity?
For a moment, this outrageous line of thoughts made Robert smile. Memory loss was the kind of contrived plot writers resorted to when they couldn't think of something. The thought had come unbidden, but he relished in it. Had he been a writer, or a critic? Perhaps his memory was slowly returning! But then, who would erase the memory of a critic? No, that didn't make sense, either.
Whatever the truth, he wouldn't be able to find it in this bathroom. Robert put his shirt back on, checked himself in the mirror again, and headed back into the hallway, straight for the window next to the double door, determined to find the truth.
His determination evaporated when he looked into the laboratory beyond the window, and saw himself. He blinked, thinking of a strange visual trick, but nothing changed. The laboratory was cluttered with electronic gadgets and machinery. Men and women in lab coats moved about, checking here, turning a lever there. And standing in the center of it all, Robert saw himself, with the same clothes, the same movie star qualities, the same sunglasses. Dr. Flint hadn't mistaken him for someone else - she had mistaken him for his... twin? No, it wasn't his twin; it was more like a way figure of him, standing too rigid to be alive.
Suddenly, the wax figure moved. It turned sideways, and Robert could see that the skin on it neck had been removed, and cables plugged into the electronic circuits visible beneath. This copy was a machine! Robert was so startled that he bumped against the glass. Lab workers turned their heads towards him. He was discovered!
Robert took two steps backwards, thinking quickly. He had to get out! The elevator - no, the stairs. He swung open the door and hesitated for a moment. The staircase went both up and down from here.
"Secret Labs are underground," he said to himself, and ran upwards.
---
It still seemed like a miracle to Robert that he had escaped. The stairs had led him into a big entrance hall, huge marble letters in the center of it. The letters had read "Gerodyne - Design for the future". Robert had taken a deep breath and quickly crossed the crowded hallway, trying to blend in among the tourists and business-men. It had worked.
Afterwards, he had aimlessly walked the city beyond the building. Newspapers proclaimed it to be San Francisco, but Robert had no idea whether he'd ever been here, or not. Somehow, he had ended up at a cheap hotel called "Sunset Stripes". In the reception hall, sickly yellow light flowed over the worn furniture, and the floor tried to prevent Robert from approaching the night clerk behind his counter, sticking to his every step. The clerk watched him with a mixture of amusement and surprise, the look of a car salesman before closing a favorable deal. The clerk's smile did not belong to a salesman, however, his teeth dark and rotten and his breath stinking of tobacco and alcohol.
"'Night. Whadda ya want?"
"A room."
"Gee, wouldn't have guessed that. Ya want hourly rates, or for the night?"
"Oh. For the whole night, please."
"No prob." The clerk laid a torn book on the table, along with a pen.
"Sign yer name here."
Robert hesitated. The clerk just smiled even broader and put the book away again.
"It's alright. Most people don't want to give their names are couples, but I don't care what keeps ya. I only care for the money. Eighteen bucks, then."
Robert closed his eyes. He hadn't even checked if he had any money, but as he did so now, he already knew the outcome.
"I'm sorry, I don't have any money." Before the clerk could answer, Robert added, "Please, Sir, let me stay. Only for a night - I don't know where I should go!"
The clerk seemed to consider.
"Tell me what I have to do to let me stay," Robert said. The clerk's eyes lit up.
"I got an idea. Tell me, ya know how ta clean?"
Robert answered emphatically that yes, he knew how to clean.
"Alright, then. I'm Stan, by the way, and I'll show ya what ya can do ta earn your rent."
So he had cleaned the kitchen, vacuumed the hallways, and taken out the trash. He had worked stoically, unfazed by cockroaches and moldy food. When Stan had told him he'd earned his stay, Robert had tried to rest, but sleep wouldn't come, so he had continued working. It had given him time to think, if nothing else. He had come to the conclusion that he had two choices: he could go to the police or try to find out who he was by himself. He felt wary of the police; as long as he didn't know anything about himself or Gerodyne, he couldn't be sure whose side they were on. Maybe Gerodyne was working for the government, or maybe he was a criminal. And how was he to prove his story? No, he would have to keep away from the police for now.
So how to find out his identity? Robert wasn't such an uncommon name. He had entered "Robert I." into an Internet search, but had been put off by 302,000 results and no guarantee that he was even among them. No, he would have to get information from Gerodyne itself. His Internet search for Dr. Flint had been more successful. She was a renowned expert for robotic design; she had even counseled the government once or twice. Robert had been impressed by her biography. He had also found out that Dr. Flint lived in an exclusive apartment complex. The same apartment complex he was now standing in front of.
The complex consisted of a pair of tall buildings and a series of smaller apartment houses. An iron fence with a gate manned by a muscled officer protected it. Robert had circled the area and discovered a tree overlooking the fence. He waited until sunset, then climbed the fence. Soon he stood in front of one of the tower buildings studying the listed addresses.
"Can I help you, Sir?"
Another security officer had appeared in the doorway. He was built like a football player, and not like a quarterback, either. His hand rested casually on a long-gripped flashlight. Robert reminded himself that the officer couldn't know he had trespassed, and smiled defensively.
"Yes, thank you. I am looking for a friend of mine, Dr. Mavel Flint. Do you know where she lives?"
The officer untensed and nodded.
"Yes, Sir. Dr. Flint lives on the third floor. I'm afraid she isn't home, however. I don't know why Tommy didn't tell you at the gate."
"Maybe he forgot to check. It's all right, though. I think I'll come back later, then."
"I hope it's not too much of a problem for you, Sir."
"Not at all. Good bye."
"Good bye, Sir."
Robert made his way back towards the fence. He found a shadowy spot where he could watch the gate, and waited for the arrival of Dr. Flint. The thought crossed his mind that he hadn't eaten anything since he had fled Gerodyne. Still, he wasn't hungry at the moment, lost in his quest for his identity and in the tension of the moment.
He had waited for about an hour as a small car approached the gate. Looking closely, Robert could see Dr. Flint behind the wheel as she stopped and talked to Tommy, the gatekeeper. A few moments later, the gate opened and Dr. Flint drove through. She didn't turn towards the tower, however, but to the right of it.
Slightly worried, Robert left the shadows and silently followed the car. He came to a ramp leading down into a parking garage. Expecting Dr. Flint to enter the building through the garage, Robert made his way back to the entrance and the security officer he had met earlier. He entered the building and approached the man.
"Good evening. Tommy told me that Mavel has arrived."
"Dr. Flint's just in, Sir. Take the elevator to the third floor. It's the left apartment."
"Thank you."
He took the elevator as he had been told. The third floor consisted of a short hallway and two apartment doors, one to the right, the other to the left. Steeling his resolve, Robert knocked on the left door. He could hear classical music behind the door, and soft footsteps approaching.
Dr. Flint opened the door, and her inviting smile froze into fear as she saw Robert. He pushed through the door and closed it behind it.
"Don't scream," he said. She shook her head in agreement, taking two steps back at the same time. She still wore her business outfit, only she'd taken off her shoes and her name tag.
"Please, I... don't hurt me."
"I won't - if you answer my questions."
Dr. Flint seemed confused.
"Questions?"
Robert grew impatient. He was close to getting some answers, and now she had to play dumb!
"Yes, questions. For example, why did you steal my memory?"
For a moment, Dr. Flint seemed to forget her fear.
"Steal your memory? We didn't -"
"Don't lie to me!"
He grabbed her and pushed her against the wall. That stupid woman! Robert's head started to hurt. It was too much.
"But we didn't steal your memory! Don't you -"
"Quit lying!" He let go of her and took a step backwards, rubbing his temples with his right.
"You must... tell me... the truth." Dr. Flint just stood there, eyes wide.
"Tell me!" He took a step forward and lifted his hand to strike her, to shake some sense into her, but the pain in his head intensified. His vision blurred, and a black hole spread out from the center of it. He saw
Dr. Flint recoiling in fear, and then darkness claimed him.
---
He was almost instantly awake again. He lay on the floor of the living room, arms bound behind his back, feet bound together by clothesline. Robert could hear Dr. Flint entering the room, and lay still. She was talking on the phone.
"He doesn't know." A pause, as she listened.
"No, I didn't tell him! Why do you think I - yes, he's still here. Wait a minute," she said and came over to where Robert lay. He tried to keep as motionless as possible.
After a moment, Dr. Flint spoke again.
"He's still down."
It took a while for the person on the other side of the conversation to finish speaking, and Robert used the time to carefully test the strengths of his bindings. He felt he could wriggle free, but not while Dr. Flint was on the phone. He had to wait.
"Yes, I understand. I'm coming over immediately. I'll use the cover."
Coming over? She probably wanted to go back to Gerodyne. Robert couldn't let that happen. She knew the answers.
"I'll tell Tommy to leave the gate open for the next half hour, and take a break. You want have any problems getting in. Come through the garage. Bye."
She hung up, and left the room. From somewhere in the apartment, he could hear her speaking to Tommy. Robert tensed his muscles and pulled against the clothesline, and then wriggled his hands. It took a short while, then his right hand was free. He sat up to untie the binding at his feet, when he heard the apartment door shut close. Dr. flint had left.
Robert pulled the clothesline from his left wrist as he left Dr. Flint's apartment. He saw the elevator doors close. He would have to take the stairs, and be faster than the elevator was. Robert sprang into motion, threw open the door to the stairwell, and ran down.
The stairs didn't go to the garage, but ended on the ground floor. Robert left and quickly crossed the entrance hall, almost running past the guard.
"Is everything all right, Sir? Sir?" The guard got up, but Robert was out of the building already, not caring whether the man followed him or not.
Robert ran down the road towards the garage. He might still stop her. As he made his way down the ramp, he heard a car approach, then screeching to a halt. He couldn't see the car, but he was sure it was the Doctor's. He would only have to wait until she came in sight.
He heard the gears shift right in front of him. But there was nothing! He could only see the dark entrance to the garage looming in front of him. Still, he got the distinct impression that something was there, he simply could not see it.
Suddenly, the engine came to life with a roar. Robert could hear the car speeding towards him, but still he saw nothing. How could that be? He didn't have time to ponder, as he felt rather than saw the vehicle closing in. He had to trust his instincts. Robert took a small step, and
leapt into the air.
He could feel the car rushing along under him. His lower leg brushed against the hood of the car, but he kept his balance. As he landed down the ramp, he could hear the car speeding away. It had been her. Dr. Flint had an invisible car!
Remembering that Dr. Flint had called Tommy away, Robert ran into the garage to look for a vehicle to pursue her. He chose a BMW motorcycle standing close to the entrance. Thinking for a moment, he found that he knew how to repair such a bike, and how to short-circuit it. A moment later, the BMW shot up the entrance and out the gate. Robert didn't try looking for Dr. Flint; she was invisible, and he knew where she was going. His only hope was for him to be there faster than she was.
---
He had sat himself on the fountain near the entrance to Gerodyne. If the company also had a parking garage, or an employee's entrance, he would have no choice to intercept Dr. Flint. He studied the crowd carefully, watching for any sign of her. A slight commotion near the street caught his attention. A bike messenger had fallen down and was looking confusedly at the space in front of him. Robert stood and walked closer.
As he was about fifty feet away, he knew his instinct had proven right. Out of thin air, Dr. Flint's car appeared.
An electrical grid appeared first, forming the outline of the car, and then color spread throughout. The street was relatively empty, but quite a few people stopped and gawked at the car. Nobody watched the woman who stepped out; all attention was focused on the wondrous machine.
Robert used the commotion and snuck up behind Dr. Flint. He grabbed her arm and jerked her away from the entrance. He put his other hand over her mouth.
"You're coming with me." He pulled her away, towards the motorcycle. His head began to ache again.
"Sit down!" Not waiting for her to comply, he pushed her on the seat and sat himself behind her. He started, and rode off towards the "Sunset Stripes".
---
"Whoa! What're ya doin?" Stan's eyes were wide in shock at the sight of Robert carrying Dr. Flint into the hotel.
"Don't worry Stan. I'm not going to hurt her."
"Hey, that's not what I mean. Take the back entrance next time. Sheesh! What'f someone called the cops?" Stan shook his head in amazement and went back to watching TV. Dr. Flint started sobbing.
"Better be quiet," Stan said as Robert carried her upstairs to his room.
He threw her on the bed, and immediately had to hold his head in pain. His vision was blurring again, but he fought it back.
"Now, tell me! Tell me who I am!"
Dr. Flint had stopped sobbing and had calmed down remarkably. She shook her head.
"You wouldn't believe me."
"Nonsens," he shouted. The pain intensified again. "Tell me, or I'll make you!"
"You can't hurt me. That's where the pain is coming from."
"What's that supposed to mean? Is that some psychological trick?"
"No, it's not. It's the truth."
Robert paced the room like a caged animal. He roared, picked up a lamp, and threw it against the wall. It shattered with a smash. Dr. Flint recoiled in shock. Robert turned back to her and asked calmly,
"Who. Am. I?"
"You're Robert One."
"Robert One?"
"I'll show you."
Dr. Flint stood up and, carefully watching him for any signs of disapproval, opened the door to the bathroom.
"Look at yourself," she said.
Robert turned and looked at the mirror. He still looked good.
"So?"
"Take off the glasses. Look closely."
He took off the sunglasses. He had blue eyes. Baby blue. But something seemed wrong with them. Instinctively he looked away.
"Look," Dr. Flint said.
He forced himself to look. He walked close to the mirror in looked right into his eye. And then
he saw it: tiny electronic circuits, turning around as he focused on them. This was no human eye. He was no human. He was...
"Robot One?"
---
Dr. Flint heard him whisper something she could not understand, and then he went still. She walked over to the telephone and called Gerodyne. Dr. Martin Hunter answered, as she had hoped he would.
"It's me, Mavel."
"Mavel? Where are you?"
"He took me to a hotel. Sunset Stripes, somewhere near the freeway."
"What about him?" Hunter's voice grew concerned. Mavel had longe since accepted that he felt more protective of his "children" than of his colleagues.
"He's down for good."
"Jesus, Mavel, you told him?"
"I showed him. You know telling does not work. It would be to easy to shut them off."
"Why did you do that?"
"Martin, he was rebelling against the directives. He nearly killed me with a lamp he threw around!"
"That's impossible."
"I've been here, Martin, I've seen it." She tried to regain her posture.
"Do we know what went wrong with him?"
"Not yet. He was rebelling against his directives, you say?"
"Yes."
"Do you think it will hurt the project? Do we have to delay the production?"
Dr. Mavel Flint pondered the question. The rogue robot hadn't seriously hurt her. He might have been able to, but she had acted out of fear as much as out of calculation. The advertising was to begin next month; in six months, she would be one of the most prominent scientists of the world - and one of the richest, too. But what if more robots went rogue?
"Well, Mavel," Dr. Hunter repeated, "do we have a problem?"
"No," she said. "I don't think we do."