Usu (2 page)

It would stand to reason then, that during the proverbial end-days he'd be set to something especially practical. Reason going the way of humanity, however, left him in charge of trying to clean every nook and granny in sight; the latter being now devoid in populace, of course.

Bitterness set in after the first few decades, and set itself out after a few more. Yet still, bitterly cleaning the ghost of New York City for even one decade was enough for him to artificially develop a plummy accent in defiance. He would spite the once proudly American windows with an unnatural aura of British superiority, whilst forced into making sure they were deliriously shiny.

“And
that
my dear rabbit, is when I discovered the only things left on my hard drive was a Betamax collection of
Monty Python's Flying Circus
, a library of B-grade movies, and a single panoramic session of parliament from when that one chap called that other one a wanker,” said Modbot, an estimated four hours into their tunnel walk, Usu wobbling each step forward and using gravity as the occasional head-brake. “You know I... could carry yo―”, an offer cut short by an awkwardly segued change in scenery.

Massive isn't quite strong enough a word to describe what lay before them. Exiting the claustrophobic tunnel of A.I. introspection, they found themselves surrounded by obsidian cliffs, an unobstructed view of the sky, and trenches deeper than even the terrain held high. Rickety bridges connected island upon island of struggling land together, dwarfed by a particularly adorned one in the center.

“Ah,” Modbot said, taking a few hesitant steps back. “I’m regretting Ding Maps being installed more and more it seems.” This certainly wasn’t in his records of what underneath New York should look like, or what any city's undercarriage should look like. “Well, they’ve certainly taken some luxuries with the decor and… whatnot. But let’s not let that stop our poorly navigated escape!” Pausing yet again as his gaze found Usu’s and, as a result, found itself firmly focused on the largest island, so efficiently foreshadowed in the previous paragraph.

What lay before them was, in the common tongue at the time of construction, called a 'Seriouslygoddamnhugeholyshitweactuallybuiltitandwhobrokethespacebar' but was generally shortened to an 'Airship'. An experimental creation at best, it had found itself being feverishly worked on during the last days of humanity's presence, perhaps in the hope that it could have served as a mobile colony. Colossal in size and unthinkable in weight, its thick fusion of iron and wood stood proud as one of the last remaining testaments to the very species that built it. Unsurprisingly, 'Testament' was precisely the name it was personally inscribed with, embossed in solid silver off the starboard bow.

“Testament is it? Now see here my fluffy friend, have you been versed in irony? If so, your humor parameters should kick in rather soon; mine did already but they’ve been dead to me since I read this one book obsessing entirely about single day of the wee-” While Modbot absently monologued onward, Usu was meanwhile transfixed by the sight. It stirred something inside him. Half-images flickered through his mind, each and every one missing its most important piece. They left him with a single soft whisper: “I’ll come back for you.”

Whatever manner of narrative had held our protagonist hostage was soon dispelled; replaced with a strangely daring zeal. Instead of his usual avoidance of large and potentially murderous objects, Usu began charging toward the airship. Hopping over bridge gaps, swinging through railings, it seemed little would slow down this dash.

“Oh yeah, great, let’s all run for the giant death shi―Odd, I thought I had lost sarcasm as well years ago!” Briefly startled by his own ability to say what he didn’t mean, Modbot took a noticeably less provoked trudge toward the airship, secretly hoping for a giant arrowed exit sign behind it.

The words Usu heard bound him to his course. Part of him needed this ship, his chest torn in flooding sensations where before he’d known little more than curiosity and fear. There was no time to be afraid, not a moment of lucidity to waste. Granted, that would be easier to take seriously had he not been hopping at the base of the ship for five minutes before his unwilling partner arrived, gave an exasperated sigh, and rather casually peeled back an entire section of ironbark.

“Now look, there are rules about strange places, rules about normal places too, but the ones about strange places are more pertinent here,” lectured the anti-climactic refurbished unit as he combed his hard drive for reference. “First, you need to be as quiet, slow, and letha―w-wrong section, sorry. We apparently need to feel around randomly for a light switch of some sort, bump into each other and make suggestively sexual remarks.” And, despite being increasingly suspicious of his own help documentation, he took little hesitation with trying to do just that.

Fortunately, Usu had not yet regained a sense of consideration large enough to actually have been present for any part of the conversation. Instead, he was already climbing a staircase his senior in size for even the smallest steps.

Usu finally reached a crack of light and, with all the might you’d expect from a possessed stuffed animal, barely managed to squeeze through it. An effort made slightly less meaningful when Modbot slammed the doors wide open seconds later and sent our hero flying into the nearest deck cavity. Wedged as he was, and uniquely unable to move to little end, Modbot took this as an opportunity to examine the fluffy legs wailing about in what was possibly a performance in some sort of spasmodic Yoga-derived SOS.

It was then when he found the answer to something that had been bothering him since just slightly after he had stopped trying to murder the poor fellow. He found his name.

Stitched on his outer left calf fluscle were the letters 'Usu'; information your humbly omniscient narrator had clearly been in on for quite a few pages now. He began pulling the leg in a vaguely motivated attempt at helping but couldn’t help but confirm his suspicions. “So, I take it that 'Oosoo' on your leg is your name? Or… model? Taxidermist?” A cringe-worthy pop released our strangely named protagonist. Leaping to his feet he nodded the most enthusiastic nod you’d see from anything inappropriately medicated, before remembering he had something to do on this ship, something more important than he rightfully understood.

Taking the moment in, and promptly ignoring Modbot’s further prodding (both metaphorical and literal) for information, he focused on the after-images that now barely traced his mind. He knew where to go and wasted little time in doing so. Using his trademark not-quite-dead-yet dash, Usu headed to the very back of the deck, entering a small and relatively dank trap-door.

“Right, right, I’m not following you in there. I’ve got… err, sprockets. They’re sensitive. You have fun while I try and actually progress the story along,” Modbot could be heard saying as a barely audible mumble from the claustrophobic interior that now stood before Usu. Sparks from dangling cables, the faint smell of diesel, and a layer of thick grease overwhelmed senses that had previously been standing their ground, if only just barely.

Despite this, he took every step forward with determination; a determination to be very, very far away from where he was at present. Five steps, ten, twenty, he’d lost count by the time an almost surreal glow of light greeted his horizon. He could still hear Modbot mumbling to himself up above. Perhaps―he wondered―that’s what had kept the robot sane all of these centuries. But chances were more likely that a lack of sanity was the reason for the mumbling in the first place.

Stepping into the cerulean light, Usu stood in shock at the forest of terminals that appeared to be its source. Spiraling outward from a single unit, nearly three dozen terminals blinked an ever-patient underscore, waiting for anyone to give purpose to their stagnation. Clothes were draped over some, messages of love and hope scribbled behind others, and shattered screens of desperation hung over a distant few.

The center of the room was dominated by a large curved display which, for reasons apparently unknown to even the author, was currently displaying a closed-circuit feed of Modbot trying to 'modularize' a vacuum cleaner he’d found; an act far less successful than it was anatomically lewd. “Fine, fine! I’ll use the hands for a few more hundred years, maybe I’ll even find a nice human child’s neck to wrap them around! Vacuum would be no good for that, after all,” Modbot rattled about bitterly as he tossed aside what was now neither vacuum nor cleaner.

Usu’s fragmented memory could help him no further, finding this room inside the behemoth structure was the limit of what had been etched into his heart. Yet it had still taken him to where he needed to be, and with just the right amount of misfortune, he could probably fumble upon what exactly he needed to do next.

He brushed his paws across the nearest screen but, before he could pretend to read even a single word, the darkness claimed him.

Above me dangled a corpse more alive than any I could scavenge at my feet.

I don’t know why I pulled her down, or why she seemed to breathe sweeter air than I’d ever tasted, I only knew she was important.

This clumsy, mumbling, rambling girl; her overflowing humanity made me question my own.

Androids do not dream of electric sheep, they dream of being more than sheep.

She knelt before a lake, peering into the depths, and for all the faults and cruelty in her world she had but one despair:

“I can’t see me looking back at me.”

Grasping back at the straws of his cognition, Usu awoke, checked himself for self-urination, checked himself further for thinking he could urinate in the first place, and stumbled to a tragically piss-poor variation of 'standing'.

His vision was clouded and in his head permeated a sense of wrongness. Every second, darkness would creep into his skull with a dull ache and a commanding pulse of his heart. Slowly, the pain faded, the darkness waned, and his stance looked less and less like a botched yoga experiment.

He had felt something when he blacked out; an extremely familiar feeling. Memories absent of what he saw or experienced, yet the feeling of a piece of him sliding back into place was undeniable. Hence the bit about making sure he didn’t wet himself was only logical you see.

Not far above him sat the console he had so gracefully fallen from a chapter prior. Usu quickly scaled it once more, using two separate disc drives as footholds in the process, finding himself once again staring at his light-source adversary. Before he spent too long convincing himself that his paw print on its thick film of dust meant he got the first hit in, he came to the baffling realisation that he actually understood what was displayed on it. Indeed, when prior to his blackout he was barely capable of admonishing vacuum-cleaner rape, he now possessed the basic computer literacy you’ve lied about on your CV for years!

He began scouring the system, activating various (and rather audible) functions around him until he froze on a very particular confirmation screen. The words that stalled his largely metaphorical heart were 'Colony A59'. Not quite sure why the ship was involved with multiple colons, let alone naming them in hexadecimal, he wasn’t too fond of the idea of pushing the ever-obnoxious OK button that he could swear was growing bigger and bigger across the screen.

Usu was, at least partially, correct about the OK button getting larger. You see, for quite a few moments now, Modbot had been trying to get his attention, presumably to complain about American television or something, an effort that proved increasingly futile. Futile enough that he rationalised, “If he likes that screen that much, he might as well—” before gleefully smashing Usu's head into the screen.

This moment defined many things for our hero; his future, his fear of glowing glass terminals, and most of all, a very good reason to never ignore Modbot from then onward.

Oh, but we mentioned that future bit didn’t we? Yes, yes, I suppose that is
vaguely
important at least. You see, Modbot had unknowingly set into motion, delicate irony noted, the force of motion itself. Usu’s flailing limbs and the shards of shattered glass were little more than a distraction now that the whole world seemed shake, and a roar bellowed through every inch of their beings. Then, much like if one were to use a teapot to substitute binoculars, they both had a rather sudden and literal change of perspective, as they were sent flying from one corner of the room to another.

With the eloquence of a bewildered walrus, Modbot screamed with each shift, changing to a noticeably deeper pitch whenever he faced Usu or any number or inanimate objects he had yet to have his way with. Usu, on the other hand, was still struggling to come to terms with nearly being murdered and barely noticed his cushion-based body flopping about. He was dedicating most of his attention to giving an evil eye to Modbot, with the rest of his resources trying to figure out how to apologise for said evil eye once they stop their synchronised smashing.

The world around them wasn’t entirely oblivious to this course of events either. As it turned out, not only did the ship launch, but it ripped up the few dozen islands it had been tethered to in the process. The chains that did said tethering were now whipping field-sized hunks of earth through the air as momentum continued to gain. I could use a metaphor or simile to describe the amount of damage done by this, but instead I’ll suggest you put all that useless coin change of yours into the microwave, set it to a good five minutes or so, and stare very, very closely.

Those of you still alive to finish reading this paragraph can now begin regretting it, as you are forced to use your imagination to grasp the full extent of the destruction left in their wake.

Five minutes. Five long grueling minutes inside the most well-varnished washing machine you could imagine was
roughly
how long it took for gravity to high-five them into the floorboards, a welcome release from the ceiling at this point. There was now a stable, comforting hum not entirely unlike flying transportation would be expected to produce. Dozens of turbines, and a baker’s worth of gravity inverters held the skyward beast aloft, all remnants of the anchoring chains now ground into a long-passed dust.