Just a Little Chip
===
Late morning sunlight filtered through tall, stained glass windows
resting in stone archways long since weathered by many years. While each
window was emblazoned with their own images, some of battles of history
past, others of myths and legends, and others yet of figureheads near
forgotten, it was the light that entranced him most.
The light,
run through that stained glass, ignited into a rainbow of color every
morning, using the stained glass as its paints to splash a spectrum of
hues across every stone and brick that lined that long hall. And, with
the miniscule bits of dust that drifted from the ceiling on particularly
lucky days, the colors seemed to even dance in the air.
Today was one of those lucky days.
While RM-BH-022 lacked the mindful programming of some of his brethren
to allow him to truly appreciate the beauty that the natural world
provided, something about the light in that hallway always drew him back
to it. He’d return to it day after day, mopping and sweeping and
cleaning the corners like clockwork, even when his scheduling didn’t
actually call for it.
A bug. One of the arcanists called it.
A quirk. Another said.
Too much time to figure it out. The headmaster finally declared.
Why would they care if the mechanized cleaner happened to clean one
particular hall more often than required? It was doing its job after
all. So long as it didn’t get in the way of the students attending.
Perhaps that’s why they had spent so much time trying to figure out the little quirk.
“Move it, tin-can.” one of the students said as they barreled down the
hall, nearly slamming into him as he leaned over the mop, trying to get
up a particularly stubborn bit of who-knows-what on the floor.
A
split second later, a human male, dressed in the long, flowing garments
typical of the Illusion Branch, followed after the other student,
calling after him and actually shoving aside the mechanical janitor.
“Hey, wait up!” the human shouted as RM-BH-022 hit the ground with the clang of metal on stone.
His mop, bucket, and several hand brooms went flying as he hit the
ground, scattering cleaning implements in all directions with janitorial
tools sliding across the floors, bouncing off the walls, and one
particular brush banging against one of the stained glass windows.
The hallway quickly filled with students as the period came to a close.
No one paid the Forged in the hall any mind as he picked himself up off
the stone, seemingly no worse for wear, began gathering the tools of
his trade, and continued about his duties.
After all, why would
he, a drone seemingly identical to the twenty nine others that wandered
the campus, stand out in any manner? They might as well pay attention to
an individual brick in the wall.
For that matter, why would
they care about him leaving the hall? Surely he’s got somewhere to be
and it couldn’t have anything to do with them being there.
The next day passed much as any other.
RM-BH-022 moved from task to task, passing students, faculty, and
Forged alike, bustling about the campus without thought. When he found a
mess, he cleaned it. When he arrived at his scheduled regions, he
sanitized them. He worked quickly, diligently, thoroughly, and always
stayed out of the way of his betters.
He was everything he was programmed to be.
Except for that bug.
At the same time the following day, late in the morning, when the sun
was just beginning to filter through stained glass, the hall one again
had a single occupant.
Mop in hand, RM-BH-022 slowly wiped and
worked the old stone floors while the dustmotes, always the last and
seemingly regularly forgotten element of his work, drifted down from the
ceiling.
As always, the hall lit up with the rainbow of colors, dozens of stained glass windows illuminated by the sun behind them.
With an exception.
Looking up from his mopping, RM-BH-022 realized that there was
something different about the light in this room today. It was
miniscule, but a single, small beam of sunlight shined unabashed through
one of the windows.
No color.
Only pure, natural sunlight.
RM-BH-022 set down the mop and made his way over to the offending
window, leaning down to examine the minute difference in color. To the
average student, it likely would have been left unnoticed for quite some
time; either til someone was looking directly at it at the right time
or if the damage got worse. However, to a Forged meant to pick out the
most mundane details, the small, centimeter wide hole stood out as
plainly as if someone had put their fist through the glass.
It was the same window he had been in front of the day before when he was knocked over. The one his hand-broom had hit.
He ran his finger over the hole, watching the light appear and reappear
and noting the slight difference in heat that it put out compared to
the filtered light. Again, it would be nothing to any regular person,
but he wasn’t.
RM-BH-022 knew without checking that he did not
have the ability to repair the glass. While all of it had been cast by
artisans several centuries back, repair required a mage’s touch; someone
with the ability to fix it without removing or warping the precious
window.
There was nothing he could do, so why should he waste anymore time than just reporting it and moving on?
He stepped back away from the miniscule hole in to see the larger picture.
The window before him, like the rest of the windows in the hall, was
emblazoned with something significant to the original founders of the
Academy. This one, though RM-BH-022 himself did not know it, showed the
principle hero of the War of the Gryphons; a man by the name of Hrothnar
the Wise.
In the window, Hrothnar, cloaked heavily in red
velvets and brown leathers, stands upon a hill, one hand extended to
point towards something unseen, his other hand at his side, loosely
holding a tome. Behind him, set in relief, before a boiling sea of blue
and white, seemingly a hundred Gryphon-mounted Cavaliers wearing White,
Silver, and Gold and brandishing swords, axes, and spears, fly forward
towards where Hrothnar points.
Were he actually studying here,
he’d likely know that this was the turning point of that War. He’d know
that Hrothnar, having chartered an agreement with the Gryphons using the
aide of his brothers-in-arms, a Druidic Shaman by the name of Colgan
and the Ranger Le’ara, used the power of the Gryphon riders to overcome
the tyrannical Kingdom of Trevania. He’d likely also learn that this was
the first recorded instance of Gryphon-Human relations and one of the
founding moments that would eventually lead to a multitude of
achievements for the Human species; in particular the dawn of the
Erengale Empire, which still to this day relied heavily on the regal
creatures.
But, to be fair, he would have also likely fallen asleep were he to have that level of comprehension.
“On your left!” a voice shouted behind him before, a moment later, something slammed into the back of his head.
And his head went through the window.
The glass shattered loudly, exploding outward in a sparkling array of
ruby reds and emerald greens that showered the lawns four stories below
the window, though RM-BH-022 only had a split second to comprehend this
before momentum of the shove finished slamming his face into the stone
windowsill.
“Caleb! You broke the window!” a second, familiar voice shouted.
“Yea, whatever. They can bill me.”
RM-BH-022 leaned up for a moment, the action causing his neck and back
to fight against him, and saw the same two from the day before. The
second student, a human in Illusionist robes, and the first, a blonde
haired half-elf wearing the same.
Crick.
RM-BH-022 looked up just as the weakened window started to crumble.
ShhhCRACKcrack!
And as it gave way directly on top of him.
“Testing. Testing.”
“Seems like audio cues are working well. Visual should be coming online shortly.”
“You sure you aren’t worried about that chip?”
“It’s fine. The restrictions the inhibitor chip place on them are just
redundant backup. Their programming is really what takes care of it.
Besides, mending the broken head and shoulders was already a nuisance.
We’d have to replace the entire chassis to replace that chip.”
“Okay. If you insist. I’m just wondering if we shouldn’t wait til it can be replaced.”
“Yea, right. You want to talk to the headmaster about ordering a party
down to Ironrock Keep to find the gems required to make one?”
“Not really.”
“It’ll be fine. It’s just a custodial Forged. What’s it gonna do? Mop aggressively?”
“Yea. You’re prolly right.”
The world, all at once, snapped into stark relief. Brilliant blue and
white lights glew all around and at him while a smaller gnome male, his
hair shock white and tied back, leaned forward with some sort of metal
instrument.
“Begin tracking.”
Doing as he was told,
RM-BH-022’s eyes focused on the metal instrument before him and the
gnome, no, the biologic known as Felros, the head artificer, proceeded
to test his visual acuity. The other biologic, a dwarf female called
Elna, the head arcanist, took notes as they worked.
“Good.” Felros declared proudly.
The two started saying something. Was it to him? Was it to each other?
He was having trouble focusing on them. What were they saying? Did it
matter? It probably didn’t matter, right? Why would it matter?
And for that matter, why was the other biologic so flushed? Her skin
seemed oddly red. Was it always like that? Had he just never noticed.
And she was so…wet around the edges. Particularly under the arms.
Actually, so was the first biologic. His lips in particular. Everytime
he talked, he could hear the saliva slapping on his lips. And everytime
either of them moved, they sounded…squishy.
Were they always squishy?
“Repeat.” Felros said with a snap of his little meaty appendages. “Designation number.”
“Sir…” the other biologic said, a hint of nervousness in her voice. “Something seems off.”
“Enough, Elna.” the old, frail little biologic snapped at the stouter one. “Designation number. Now.”
“Designation Number: Ru..Ru… RuM-BuH-022.” RuM-BuH-022 responded in an unfamiliar, chipper voice.
“Seems like that replacement voice circuit might be bad.” the fat female biologic commented.
“Whatever. It’s not like they’re conversationalists.” the little, easily broken biologic said dismissively. “Objective.”
“Objective as last: Monitor, maintain, and Sanitize grounds for Academy.”
“Retain Objective as Last and begin primary programming.”
“Acknowledged.”
RuM-BuH-022 stood and walked past the squishable, disgusting little
biologics and made his way promptly out of the room without another
word.
“See. Voice circuit works fine. It was just his designation number that was the problem.”
The next day did not pass like any other.
RuM-BuH-022 moved aimlessly from place to place, passing students,
faculty, and Forged alike, seemingly dragging as he was unable to focus
on any task. His head and body felt strange. Almost foreign. As though
he were wearing the metal of another and someone had left a beehive
behind in his head. He didn’t work though he notated those locations
that really should have been.
He felt like he was drifting and, despite answering what he knew he was supposed to say, he felt no direction.
No programming.
The only habit that felt right came at the same time the following day,
late in the morning, when the sun was just beginning to filter through
stained glass.
The damage from the day before had already been
fixed. The mages had been by, no doubt due to dozens of complaints from
students about the dangerous conditions of a broken, twenty foot window,
and already mended Hrothnar the Wise. The window was good as new
without even the minor chip to speak of.
For long minutes,
RuM-BuH simply stood there, staring up again at the stained glass
window. From time to time, he’d glance to and fro, marveling at the
glittering colors that seemed to drift in the air and paint the walls,
but mostly he just marveled at the window.
Who was this man?
What was his story?
Where could he fi-
“Watch it, Ro-”
Rum-Buh spun in place, already anticipating the shove that was coming,
and perfect, metal fingers clasped around fragile, meaty wrist. There
was a crunch as pathetic bone splintered under barely trying servos and
the ensuing scream of pain from the little Illusionist biologic was
promptly cut off as a single metal hand closed over his mouth.
“What?!” the second biologic Rum’Buh already knew was going to be there shouted. “Caleb!”
A thousand things ran through his mind in a moment, but something bubbled up that felt right. Felt correct.
“Please. Do not interrupt the Custodians. We are helping to make this
your home away from home.” came out a chipper, robotic voice.
Releasing both the little biologic’s mouth and shattered radius and ulna, Rume’Buh shoved him harshly to the stone floor.
“Caleb!” the second one shouted again as he dropped to the ground by his friend.
“It appears you have suffered an injury from tampering with facility
maintenance Forged. This would be inadvisable in the future as the
machines that maintain this facility are much stronger and more durable
than you.” He continued in that same chipper voice. “I recommend
reporting to the physician. Would you like me to take you there?”
“No!” the second biologic shouted as the first sobbed, holding the purple and red mess of an arm. “We-we got it.”
“Carry on then.” Rume’Buh said as he turned and walked away, admiring the gleaming colors of the hall.
They were gone before the rest of the students arrived.
And neither saw the smile that graced his metal lips.
Pushing his way through the quickly crowding hall, he continued on
through the gathering flood of stinky, sweaty bodies until he crossed
outside into a small courtyard that looked down onto others below it.
Flowers hung from vines sneaking through trestles above and snaked their
ways along columns and benches. Some students were gathered here, but
many were thankfully quiet.
With an exception.
“I’m telling you, you need to stop talking to that guy.”
“You’re telling me. He’s the one that keeps showing up in my dreams. At least your’s doesn’t talk.”
“I don’t think the talking is the problem.”
Two male biologics, similar in appearance despite the difference in
hair color, sat off to one side speaking over a small lunch. One, the
blonde speaking about dreams, appeared particularly haggard and looked
like he hadn’t gotten a good night’s rest in several days.
“What’s up, boys!” Rume’Buh heard shouted from behind.
Turning to look back at the third voice, another blond haired biologic
came walking through door of the courtyard, waving to the first two.
“What’s Up?” Rume’buh responded.
The two biologics both fell silent and a queer smile cross the third
one’s lips as, looking to Rume’buh for the first time, a chuckle escaped
his lips.
“What’s up to you, too, big guy.”
“Rume’buh.”
“Sorry?” the blonde biologic responded.
“I think you made a friend.” One of the two said as they walked up to the third.
“Didn’t know they could talk.” the other said.
“I am Rume’buh.” Rume’buh clarified.
“Arioch.” the third one responded before pointing to the other two.
“That’s Locke and Pal, though don’t make me tell you which is which.”
“Nice to meet you.” Rume’buh declared.
“Huh. I didn’t know they could talk.”
