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                                   Fantasy/robocop
                                  Nikolai Kingsley
                                       RoboCop
                                          gratuitously  rude  text  alert
                                          w    a    r    n    i    n    g
                       `...superior fire-power, combined with, in the revision B
                       firmware, an extensive neural-network pattern recognition
                       storage/retrieval system, makes ED-209-B, `the' urban law
                                        enforcement solution...'
                                        OCP advertising brochure
                  `...here he comes now,'  breathed Genesis.   his companions shrank
               back slightly  behind the dumpster.   rivulets of muck  that ran from
               the holes in the rusted corners of the huge metal bin  gleamed as the
               ED-209-B's  lights  swept  the  alleyway,   searching  for  potential
               offenders.   Genesis  whistled  the  signal to Kely,   who was hidden
               behind a set of water pipes  that  ran up the length of the building.
               she stepped out  just as the ED-209-B turned to leave.   the sound of
               her footsteps made him pause,  and with gyros whirring, he turned and
               stepped  into  the  alleyway.   his  xenon  lamps  bathed  her  in  a
               blue-white glare momentarily, before he switched to ultraviolet.   he
               assessed her `miscreant potential',  decided that she wasn't breaking
               the law,  and  was about to depart  when she  produced something from
               underneath her flak jacket.  it was a cylinder, about three inches in
               diameter, twenty inches long, painted black on one side, with regular
               bar-code  markings  in  ultraviolet-reflecting  paint  on  the other.
               ED-209-B  quickly  recognised  the  bar-code;  it  was a cannister of
               `HarXene 23',  a  powerful  chemical  explosive favoured by terrorist
               groups.  the machine instantly hunkered down with hissing pneumatics,
               lowering his  centre of gravity and presenting a shallower profile to
                                        any potential blast.
                  `Put down  your weapon.   You have  twenty seconds to comply,' the
               machine grated in his barely understandable synthesised voice.   this
               was the part that Kely hated.  she counted a careful fifteen seconds,
               and then rotated the cylinder so that the matte-black, non-reflective
               surface  showed.    ED-209-B paused,   and cautiously lifted from his
               defensive crouch.    he waited for about ten seconds,  then turned to
               leave.   Kely turned the cylinder again, and again, ED-209-B crouched
               with  pneumatic  squeaks,  and issued his warning.    another fifteen
                                              seconds.
                                  and so on, for almost three hours.
                          `was it slower that time?' ivo muttered to genesis.
                  `i think so... look!'  ED-209-B's batteries had been low when they
               had  set  this  trap  up,  and  he had finally reached the point when
               recharging  had  become  a  higher priority than catching a potential
                                             terrorist.
                  `Do not leave the vicinity,' he growled, `you have been tagged for
               further surveillance.  this is your only warning.'  he punctuated the
               threat with a sampled Alsatian-growl,   and turned to leave.   at the
               alleyway entrance,  genesis' compatriots had set up a mock-recharging
               station.  the red flashing light was completely authentic, though; it
               had to be,  otherwise  ED-209-B  wouldn't recognise it.   the machine
               stumped up to  the station,  settled down into the recharging cradle,
               and beeped its  `commence recharging' command.   the mockup responded
               with  a  very  plausible  imitation  of  the `station out of service'
               signal.   ED-209-B paused briefly, and then got up.  he turned a slow
               one-eighty  degrees,  and  spotted  the other mock-recharging station
               that  genesis  had  hurriedly  set  up at the other end of the alley.
               with noticeably slower steps, he tramped the length of the alley, sat
               down in the cradle,  and signalled for a recharge.  this station also
               beeped `out of service'.   ED-209-B got up, turned a slow one-eighty,
                              spotted the first recharging station...
                                             and so on...
                  until half-past-four in the morning, when ED-209-B finally ran out
               of  juice.   just  before  shutting  down  completely,  he locked his
               twin-turret machine guns down,  so that potential miscreants couldn't
               break  them open  for the  ammunition.    bullets,  however, were not
               exactly  what  genesis  and his friends were after.   Kely cautiously
                        approached the machine, knocked on his leading edge.
                  `anybody home?' she giggled.   genesis had shoved aside one of the
               mock-recharging stations  and was  backing a small electric loader up
               the alley.   together,  they tipped Ed-209-B backwards into the tray,
                           covered him with a tarpaulin, and whirred off.
                  Ed-209-B stood  under the bright lights of the AnarchArtist's work
               room,  rear maintenance plate removed,  a mass of leads dangling from
               banks  of  packed  circuitry.   his  twin  guns had been detached and
               stacked  in  the  corner,  the  ammunition  removed  for  sale to the
                              `BananaLand Arts Irridentist' movement.
                  genesis  and  ivo were arguing about the disassembly of Ed-209-B's
               code.  ivo pointed to a block of hexadecimal digits, `4E71', repeated
                                       halfway down the page.
                  `i tell you,  it's some sort of jump-table.   it just looks like a
                  series of NOPs in the listing, 'cos the code isn't contiguous.'
                  `well,  okay,  although  i still think that they stuck them in for
                         some sort of timing loop.'  ivo snorted cynically.
                  `what  sort  of  asshole  depends on a bank of NOPs for timing?  i
               mean,  what  happens  when  you port the code to a faster processor?'
               genesis  grinned,  raising  an  index finger to illustrate his point.

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                  `i thought you knew,  that  you have to be  an asshole to code for
               OCP.   it's in the job specs.'  the door slammed open, and Kely burst
                                  in, waving a sheaf of printout.
                  `never  fear,  Camden's  here!,'  she  proclaimed.   `hot  off the
               presses...   original   documentation,   stolen   from   right  under
               Jonesy-babes'  cocaine-powdered  nose!'   genesis and ivo grabbed the
               printout,  and  began  sorting  the  pages  into  areas  of interest.
                  `gyro  assimilation...  nah,  that's,  what's-it-called, that, um,
               recoil/ranging actuator differentiation...  there!   that's where the
               Motivation and Restriction codes get filtered through the Situational
               Engine, and - what's that?  Christ, Kely... that thing would've blown
               yer fuckin' head off as soon as look at you  - see that bit of code?'
               ivo  was  grinning.   Kely looked at the printout,  and  turned pale.
               genesis  slapped ivo  on the back,  and said  with  forced joviality,
                  `next  time,  you  can  do  the  song-and-dance  in  front  of the
                           double-barrelled motherfucker.'  Kely grinned.
                  `by  the  time  we've finished with him, Eddie-baby'll be entirely
               single-barrelled.'   she shoved a disk of pirated code into their PC,
               and  moved around to the front of ED-209-B.   she began to unbolt the
                          plate that covered the servos between its legs.
                  later that morning: genesis clicked on the `play' gadget. ED-209-B
                                      said, in a husky voice,
                                         `Ohh... bay...bee...'
                  `nahh, 's too slow, and you can hear the anti-aliasing a mile off.
                         Up the playback rate to twenty K... okay, again.'
                  `Ohh, bay-bee!'   in  addition,  genesis made the droid wiggle his
                                         ass.  Kely smiled.
                              `I'd buy that for a dollar,' she murmured.
                  they  had  moved their work-benches out and had three videocameras
               set up under the lights.   ivo focussed two of them on the end of the
               brass bed that Kely and genesis had wheeled in, strapped on the third
               camera,  adjusting  its  Steady-Cam  balancing  weights.  he waved it
               around,  checking  the  autofocus.   he  nodded  to  genesis, who was
                       manning ED-209-B's hastily dummied-up control console.
                  Kely  was  wearing  nothing  except  a  tattered shirt, spotted in
               jungle-camouflage  green,  and  a  Mao cap with a forlorn single twig
               poking  out.   she looked the very caricature of the urban terrorist.
                          she was handcuffed to the end of the brass bed.
                                         genesis counted down:
                  `three,  two,  one...  okay,'  he  continued  in  a  parody of the
               serious, concerned news-reader's voice:  `in today's violent society,
               we  here  at  OCP have to deal firmly with terrorists...'  he pressed
               some keys on his console, and ED-209-B stumped into shot behind Kely.
               A  huge rubber penis had been attached to the plate between his legs.
               it  waved comically as the droid sidled up to Kely,  who was cowering
               in  mock-fear.   another key press,  and  the penis  inflated  with a
                                            sultry hiss.
                                       `oh, MY!' Kely squeaked.
                  `Oh,  bAY-BEE!' ED-209-B replied.  it nudged the penis between her
               legs,  and  began  to  thrust rhythmically.   as ivo dollied in for a
               close-up, genesis cued some music, the theme from a currently popular
               news show.   it  didn't quite  drown out the squeaking of bed-springs
                                      and Kely's put-on gasps.
                  it was then that ED-209-B spotted something in the monitor ivo had
               set up for Kely's benefit.  it was a cylindrical something, that kept
               appearing  and  disappearing  between  the  suspect's  thighs...   he
               thrust  forward  -  there  it was again.   something triggered in the
               faded  neural-network of  ED-209-B's pattern-recognition system.   he
               suddenly  crouched  down,  angling  the  tip  of  the  penis upwards.
                  `r-r-r-t- your weapon.   you have twenty- b-z-z-z-z-t'  Kely, ever
               the  improvisationalist,  hitched her behind up,  and settled down on
                                    the end of the rubber penis.
                  `come on baby,  do it -'  and suddenly,  ED-209-B  thrust  forward
               again,  propelling  Kely  over  the end of the bed.   her hands still
               cuffed to the bedstead,  ED-209-B  began shaking  like  an epileptic,
               pushing  the end of its dick in and out at a frantic rate.   her hair
               flying  in all directions,  Kely's gasps weren't put-on any more,  as
               ED-209-B  pumped away like mad,  standing up on his toes,  emitting a
               grinding buzz  that was part scrambled audio-sample,  part electronic
               shriek  of lust.   ivo backed off slightly,  framed his camera's view
               around  the  tableaux  of  Kely  cuffed  to the end of the brass bed,
               suspended  on  the  end of ED-209-B's  swollen dick,  just as he gave
               a  final  thrust,  flipping Kely right over,  forwards onto her back,
               and,  shuddering in some  digital epiphany,  ED-209-B spurted about a
               gallon  of bright-green  machine-oil out of the end of his dick.  ivo
               took a  close-up  of the oil  running  over Kely's face  and down her
               breasts, genesis superimposed the familiar OCP logo, and said, as the
                                            music faded,
                                 `O... C... P.  we know how to do it.'
                                       nikolai kingsley 1991
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