Times of Tribulation
Fleeting Glory

Rain pocked down upon the hood of the beat up TX6000 as Zac slept. The distant echoes of far off thunder drifted in through a slight crack of the passenger window. The one eyed man shifted in his sleep, lost in the throes of a dream. Behind its lid, Zac's one good eye flitted about as he sank deeper into his recessed memory. Memories of a not to distant past

A dark room, with a single bulb that hung from the middle of a wire strung from one wall to the other. Its glow cast a pall of fake light upon a form in the middle of the room. The form began to take shape, its visage most familiar.

Zac's one good eye was now puffed around the edges and bleeding from a corner. A low rumble of a chuckle was heard and the one eyed form lifted his head.

His gaze locked stares with the adversary. A handle bar mustache, a pocked marked face, and a ruddy chin, named Sinclairr. Strong, wide hands beat against each other, grinding fist into palm and the mustached man neared ominously close.

Suddenly a fist was sunk deep into the already wounded ribs of the one eyed man, who twisted in his binds and gritted his teeth against the blow.

"And you thought you had killed me, didn't you, One Eye?" Another punch took the retort right from Zac's lips and his head whipped forward, chin met his chest, almost reaching the breaking point.

A deep breath was taken as Sinclairr moved away, and just as suddenly as he had entered the dark room, he was gone.

Zac looked around through his one puffed up eye. He hung, wrists bound and arms pulled upwards, feet dangling a foot or two off the ground. His head swiveled to look around in the other direction. Pain.

Time passed, seemingly eons in the dream. Blood had congealed on the side of Zac's face. Footsteps were heard and again the handlebar mustached man entered, this time a skinny, older man was in tow behind him.

The skinny man's face was sallow, almost yellow looking in the odd light. There was a whispered exchange between the two and Sinclairr left again. The skinny man turned and faced Zac, a grin spreading across his rat-like face as he stepped near.

The one eyed man strained to lift his head up and Skinny moved around him with a slow and evil intent. A long, bony finger was poked at bruised flesh, seemingly to test for the most tender spot.

Zac's teeth gnashed back and forth with each prod of the skinny man's finger.

Skinny ran a finger along Zac's bruised ribs and spoke in an almost whiny voice that irritated the ears of the one eyed man. "You take punishment well. I put you as a former . . . " He poked hard for emphasis, "Freeman. I am going to relish this." Skinny licked his lips, excited, and turned to pick up a small rolled cloth. He turned back to face Zac, his face split into a grin, revealing teeth that were brownish-green with decay.

"This will hurt only a little bit." Skinny sneered as he unrolled the cloth and withdrew a long, sharp object. Zac stared straight ahead, his teeth gnashed again, then he set his jaw. As the object was lifted and held aloft in its aim for Zac's one good eye, the crashing sound of thunder tore through the stormy sky. The dream shattered and he blinked until the world inside the vehicle came into better focus.

The pattering sound of raindrops falling incessantly upon the TX-6600 played accompaniment to Zac's rapid breathing and heartbeat. His tongue flicked out to lick across parched lips and dregs of tobacco were spit outward.

Staring out through the drizzle that covered the cracked window, Zac set that cig back between his lips and let it rest there, unlit. He was too shaken to feel confident enough to head to the Hospital, so he turned the key and let the rumble of the engine calm him. Slowly pulling away, he headed in the opposite direction of the city's limits.


"Good evening, Bliss."

The voice of the computer was ever pleasant, ever friendly, ever sickening in this regard. Various tones could be heard over the overhead speakers as the computer ran assorted self-diagnostic evaluations.

"Mmm, hello Elliot." Bliss didn't move, in fact she still appeared to be sleeping. "It's quiet tonight Elliot."

"Yes, Bliss ... it would seem to be. Perhaps, as you huumunns would say ... the quiet before the storm?"

"Actually I'm hoping it's the quiet before more quiet." Bliss chuckled.

"Then again, perhaps not. I overheard your exchange with the man called Jarredd a while back and have been wondering what has become of that?"

"Nothing that I know of. I haven't seen or heard from him since."

"Interesting. Perhaps no news is good news?"

"No news is simply that Elliot, no news."

"That would be the rational response, Bliss. I was simply entertaining the euphemism often used by your kind."

"I don't use those much Elliot." A small grin appeared beneath the hat perched on Bliss's head.

"I don't have much use for euphemisms myself, Bliss. But then, as a computer, I don't have much use for a lot of things."

"I'm human and I don't have much use for a lot of things." Bliss's grin grew a hair.

"That is a curious statement, Bliss. Most huumunns are known for their resourcefulness. At least those that come to be of any note in the annals of history."

"Didn't say I wasn't resourceful, just don't have a lot of use for a lot of things other
humans seem to value."

"This is true."

"And the last thing I want is to be remembered in the annals of history." Bliss retorted with a snort.

"Take my creator, for example, a very resourceful man. Started with nothing but an idea and some change in his pocket. History, unless recorded by an impartial entity such as myself, tends to be colored by the historian."

"I've heard that. My knowledge of history has been colored mostly by my grandparents."

"Elliot Hunterr never expected to become the leading face of technology. Yet he did embrace the role quite wholeheartedly."

"I'll hide in obscurity, thank you very much." Bliss lifted her hat and grinned towards Elliot's camera eye.

"I think it would be proper for me to 'chuckle' at that comment, would it not?"

"Nah, no need to humor me Elliot."

"Very well, then I shall not humor you, Bliss."

"Thank you Elliot." Bliss stretched languidly in her seat.

"One observation, if I may, Bliss?"

"Go right ahead Elliot."

"It has been said that glory is fleeting ... but obscurity is forever. Are you attempting to strive for immortality?"

Bliss chuckled, "Nope. Besides which, it's a false immortality."

Elliot processed that data for a moment before responding, "I see, Bliss. Yes, that does make sense."

"There is only one road to true immortality, according to my grandfather anyway, and that is through those you leave behind."

"Those left behind? You refer, then, to progeny?"

"Yes, Elliot, exactly."

More processing. "I am incapable of having progeny, Bliss. What will be my legacy, then?"

"All the doctors you take care of here are your progeny in a manner of speaking." Bliss told the computer with a smile.

The overhead speakers fell quiet for a few moments as the computer reflected on her statement.

"They carry the knowledge you have taught them and they pass it on." Bliss added.

"They are my progeny, then. They shall be my legacy. Yes, of course."

"See, you are all taken care of and quite immortal." Bliss grinned again.

"But then again, I am really incapable of dying. At least in such a way as you organics would know the concept."

"'Course, if you keep breaking down . . . " Bliss nodded and just let that statement hang.

"So I suppose I am not in dire need of a legacy to begin with. Replacement parts are becoming harder for Mirandahh to find ... and skilled service technicians are not many in number."

"I know, I've been aiding in repairs, but you know that. At least I have repaired most of your cameras."

"I do thank you for that, Bliss. My optical failures as of late have been ... I believe frustrating is the correct word. The elevator failures have been most inopportune as well."

"Very inopportune." Bliss chuckled, "Even if one of them was Quent's fault."

"Quentari is an interesting individual."

"You could call him that. Nuttier than a fruitcake is another way of putting it."

"Nuttier than a fruitcake? An interesting analogy."

"It works."

"Fruitcake is normally considered to be inedible, is it not?"

"Usually, if you believe history."

"This would mean that Quentari is quite inedible. His component parts are no more or less ingestible than anyone else's ... Curious."

"It refers to his mental state Elliot, not his edible state." Bliss corrected Elliot with a laugh.

"I see, Bliss. His mental state, as you put it, is quite a large file in my storage area."

"I'm sure we all have files in your storage areas Elliot."

"Yes, you do, as a matter of fact, Bliss. And, as some might say, 'speak of the
devil'." Elliot added as one of his cameras swiveled to track Quent as he hopped down the stairs.

Quent walked into the lobby, his head turning this way and that, looking for some company. No one was about, so he altered his path into the direction of the Cafeteria.

"Good evening, Quentari. We were just speaking about you." Elliot greeted him, cheerfully.

Quent looked to the ceiling and Camera Man. "Really? Wow." He waved to Bliss as he walked through the cafe towards her. "Why were you talking about me?" His hands perched on his hips in a very 'mother hen' sort of style.

"Because you came up in conversation." Bliss said, matter of fact.

"We were discussing the elevator problems, Quentari. Amongst other concepts which are perhaps not of great importance." Elliot added.

Quent again looked up at the ceiling and hopped onto a table. "You can't prove anything!" He then quieted down for a moment, as if in thought, "Can you?"

"Proving something is only needed when there is something in need of said."

"Don't worry Quent, we didn't say anything bad." Bliss reassured him.

"Okay." Quent turned to Bliss with a smile and plopped down to sit cross-legged on the table top. "How are you?"

"I'm fine Quent, thank you."

"And your boys are still alive?"

"I do not consider things in a good or bad manner, Bliss." Elliot interrupted.
"Observations are either factual or nonfactual. The observations about Quentari are, by their nature, based in fact."

"I know you don't Elliot, that is part of what makes you an interesting conversation partner." Bliss turned a smile to Quent "Yes they are very much alive."

Elliot continued, droning on seemingly to himself. "The huumunn reliance on the concepts of good versus bad is ever curious."

Quent pulled out one of his bouncy balls and began to bounce it against the table next to him.

"I am about to go up and tuck the boys in and then read them a story. Good night Quent, Elliot. I'm off to play story teller." Bliss said with a yawn and a stretch.

"Good evening, Bliss."

"Good night Bliss, tell your boys I say: BOOGA BOOGA BOOGEY. They'll understand."

Bliss laughed as she pushed out of the cafe, calling over her shoulder before disappearing into the lobby. "Okay Quent, I shall do so."

"Quentari, what language is that?" Elliot asked, "The only references I find to those words are as a slang reference to nasal discharges."

"Uh, it's . . . " Quent muttered something very quickly under his breath.
" . . .-ian. You don't know . . . " Mutter, "-ian?" He whistled innocently.

"I am not familiar with anyone called Ian."

"Oh, that's because I made it up."

"There was an Ian McBainn who was once a programmer for Elliot Enterprises ... but he has long since expired."

"Really? I thought only Milkk could go bad."

"Go bad? Please explain."

"Expire. Doesn't that mean go bad?"

"Anything organic can expire, Quentari. That is part of the nature of being organic."

"Wow, you're smart."

"Actually, Quentari, I am not, as you say ... smart ... in accordance to your own definition of the word."

"Really? Then what are you?"

"I am adept at storing and retrieving data, Quentari. I can do that so much faster than any organic mind can."

"Yeah. You're smarter than me."