The Ware Tetralogy by Rudy Rucker (ebook reader 8 inch .txt) 📕

“You should have gone, too,” a voice said gently.

He looked around frantically. There was no one there. He was in a dimly lit hallway. Old bopper tools and components were mounted on the walls like an exhibit of medieval weaponry. Distractedly, Sta-Hi read the nearest label. Spring-Operated Lifting Clamp, Seventh Cycle (ca. 2001). TC6399876. Attached to the wall above the label was a sort of artificial arm with…

“Then you could have lived forever,” that same still, small voice added.

Sta-Hi started running again. He ran for a long time, turning corners this way and that at random. The next time he stopped for breath he noticed that the character of the museum had changed. He was now in something like a gallery of modern art. Or perhaps it was a clothes store.

He had been babbling while he ran… to drown out any voices that he might be hearing. But now he could only pant for air. And the voice was still with him.

“You are lost,” it said soothingly. “This is the bopper sector of the museum. Please return to the human sector. There is still time for you to join Doctor Anderson.”

The museum. It had to be the museum talking to him. Sta-Hi darted his eyes around, trying to make a plan. He was in a largish exhibition hall, a sort of underground cave. A tunnel at the other end sloped up towards light, probably somewhere in Disky. He started walking towards the tunnel. But there would be boppers outside. He stopped and looked around some more.

The exhibits in this hall were all much the same. Hooks sticking out from the wall, each with a limp sheet of thick plastic hanging from the hook like a giant wash-rag. What made it interesting was that the plastics were somehow electrified, and they flickered in strange and beautiful patterns.

There was no one in the exhibition hall to stop him. He stepped over and took one of the sparkling cloths off its hook. It was red, blue and gold. He threw it over his shoulders like a cape, and gathered a bight over his head like a hood. Maybe now he could just…

“Put that back!” the museum said urgently. “You don’t know what you’re doing!”

Sta-Hi pulled the cloak tighter around himself… it seemed to adjust to his fit. He walked up the sloping tunnel and out into the streets of Disky. As he left the tunnel he felt something sharp pinching into him.

It was as if a claw with invisibly fine talons had gripped the nape of his neck. He whirled around, cape billowing out, and stared back into the museum tunnel he had just left. But no one was following him.

Two purplish boppers came rolling down the street. They were like beer kegs rolling on their sides, with tangles of tentacles at either end. Now and then they lashed the ground to keep themselves rolling. When they got to Sta-Hi, they stopped in front of him. A high-speed twittering came over his radio.

He pulled the hood of his cloak further forward over his face. What the hell was cutting into his neck?

As Sta-Hi thought this question, bursts of blue appeared on his cloak and grew to join each other. Then little gold stars came out and began chasing each other around.

One of the purple beer-barrels reached out an admiring tentacle to feel the material. It twittered something to its companion and then pointed questioningly towards the tunnel that Sta-Hi had just left. They wanted cloaks like his.

“Ah sso!” Sta-Hi said. For some reason his voice came out warped into a crazy pidgen accent. He pointed back down the ramp. “Yyoou go get him there!!”

The barrels trundled down the ramp, braking with their tentacles.

“Very nice,” Sta-Hi called, “Happi Croak! Alla same good, ferras! Something rike yellyfish!”

He walked off briskly. This cloth he’d draped himself in… Happy Cloak... this Happy Cloak seemed to be alive in some horrible parasitic sense of the word. It had sunken dozens… hundreds?... of microprobes through his suit and skin and flesh, and had linked itself up with his nervous system. He knew this without having to feel around, knew it as surely as he knew he had fingers.

It’s nice to have fingers.

Sta-Hi stopped walking, trying to regain control of his thoughts. He reached for a feeling of shock and disgust, but couldn’t bring it off.

I hope you are pleased. I am pleased.

“Alla same,” Sta-Hi muttered. “Good speak chop-chop talkee boppah.” It wasn’t quite what he’d meant to say, but it would have to do. He’d seen worse times.

As he walked down the street, several other boppers asked him where he had gotten that sharp outfit. With the Happy Cloak plugged in, he could understand their signals. And the cloak was doing something to communicate his thoughts, even though Sta-hi felt like he was talking some weird parody English. It could have been the flickering light patterns, or it could have been something with radio waves.

“You evah do this thing human yet?” Sta-Hi asked the next time they were alone. “Or alla time just boppah boys?”

The Happy Cloak seemed surprised by this question. Apparently it didn’t grasp the distinction that Sta-Hi was trying to make.

I am two days old. Sweet joy befall me.

Sta-Hi reached for his neck, but the thing drew itself tighter around him. Well… a Happy Cloak couldn’t be all bad if so many boppers wanted one. He wondered what time it was, what he should do next, where the action was.

1250 hours, the Happy Cloak answered. And there’s something going on a few blocks off. Please follow yourself.

A virtual image of himself walking formed in Sta-Hi’s visual field. The Happy Cloaked figure seemed to be walking on down the sidewalk, five meters off.

“Ah sso!”

Sta-Hi followed the image through the maze of streets. The section they were in was mostly living quarters… cubettes the size of large closets. Some of the closet doors were open, and inside Sta-Hi could make out boppers, usually just sitting there plugged into a solar battery. Eating lunch. Some of the cubettes would have two boppers, and they would be plugged into each other, their flickercladding going wild. Looking at the couples actually made Sta-Hi horny. He was in bad shape for sure.

A few more blocks and they were in the factory district. Many of the buildings were just open pavilions. Boppers were crushing rocks, running smelters, bolting things together. Sta-Hi’s virtual image marched along ahead of him, looking neither left nor right. He had to hurry to keep up. He noticed that a number of boppers were moving down the street in the same direction as him. And up ahead was a big crowd.

The virtual image disappeared then, and Sta-Hi pushed into the crowd. They had gathered in front of a tremendous building with solid stone walls. One of the boppers, a skinny green fellow, was standing on top of one of those beer barrels and giving a speech. Filtered through the Happy Cloak’s software the garbled twittering was understandable.

“GAX has just been wiped! Let’s move in before his scion can take over!”

Boppers jostled Sta-Hi painfully. They were all so hard. A big silver spider stepped on his foot, a golden hair-dryer bashed his thigh, and something like a movie-camera on a tripod tottered heavily into his back.

“To watching steps, crumsy oaf!” Sta-Hi cried angrily, and his Happy Cloak flared bright red.

“You shouldn’t wear your best clothes to a riot, honey,” the tripod answered, looking him up and down appreciatively. “Pick me up and I’ll get off a nice laser blast.”

“Ah ssso!”

Sta-Hi lifted up the tripod, massive but light in the lunar gravity. He held two of its legs and it leveled its other leg at the huge factory door, fifteen meters off.

“Here goes nothing,” the tripod chuckled, and FFTOOOOOOM there was a hole the size of a man’s head in the thick metal door. The crowd surged forward, shrilling like a mob of ululating Berbers. Sta-Hi started to go along, but the tripod protested.

“Hold me tight, dear. I feel so faint.”

“I wwwondeling why alla boppah ferra pushing in?” Sta-Hi inquired, gently setting his new friend down.

“Free chips, sweetheart. For more scions.” The tripod whacked Sta-Hi sharply across the buttocks in a gesture meant to be flirtatious. “You got the hardware! And I got the soft ware,” he sang gaily. “Interested in conjugating, baby? You must be loaded to have a Happy Cloak like that. I promise you it would be worth your while. They don’t call me Zipzap for nothing!”

Did this machine want to fuck him or what? “Nnnevel on filst date,” Sta-Hi said, flushing a prim shade of blue.

Up ahead a heavy-duty digger was grinding at the hole Zipzap had made. He had his bumpy head fitted into the hole and was spinning around and around. Abruptly he popped through. A spidery repair robot darted nimbly after. A moment later the big door swung open.

Then the rush was really on. The boppers were scrambling all over each other to get in and loot the chip-etching factory. Some of them were carrying empty sacks and baskets.

“Lllight on, mothelfruckahs!” Sta-Hi screamed, and followed them in, Zipzap at his side. He’d always wanted to trash a factory.

The cavernous building was unlit, except for the multicolored flashings of the excited boppers’ flickercladding, running the whole spectrum from infra-red up to X-ray. Sta-Hi’s Happy Cloak was royal purple with gold zigzags, and Zipzap was glowing orange.

Here and there GAX’s remotes were rushing around. They were made of some dark, non-reflective material, and looked like mechanical men. Worker drones. One of them swung at Sta-Hi, but he dodged it easily.

As long as GAX’s software was making the difficult transition to new hardware, the all but mindless remotes were on their own. The agile boppers struck them down ruthlessly with whatever heavy tools came to hand.

A slender, almost feminine remote darted out at Sta-Hi, a sharp cutting-tool in hand. Sta-Hi stepped back, stumbling over Zipzap. It looked bad for a moment, but then the little tripod had lasered a hole in the killer robot’s chest.

Sta-Hi stepped forward and smashed its delicate metal cranium. While he was at it, he kicked over a sorting-table, sending hundreds of filigreed little chips flying. He began trampling them underfoot, remembering Kristleen’s hollowcaster.

“No, no!” Zipzap protested. “Scoop them up, sweetie. You and I are going to be needing them… am I right?” The bopper raised one of his legs for another flirtatious slap.

“Yyyyou dleaming!” Sta-Hi protested, dodging the blow. “Nnnot with ugry shlimp rike you!”

Peeved at this rebuff, Zipzap shot a blast of light high over Sta-Hi’s head and trotted off. The blast severed a hanging loop of chain, and Sta-Hi had to move fast to keep from getting hit. As it was, he wouldn’t have made it if the Happy Cloak hadn’t showed him how to do it.

Stay away from that little three-legged fellow, the Cloak advised, once they were safe. He’s unwholesome.

“Ooonry intelested in one thing,” Sta-Hi agreed. He scooped up a few-handfuls of the chips he had knocked off the table, stuffing them in his pouch. It seemed like they were as good as money here. And he was going to need bus fare to get back to the dome. It would be nice to take off his suit and get some food. Hopefully the Happy Cloak’s wires would come out of his neck easily. An unpleasant thought, that.

A bopper