No expression, no expression. [Archimedes' Screw, v 1.5]
Take two!
Here's the second version of the story from a few days ago... I kind of don't like it now. There energy isn't the same. Commentary/criticism is always welcome (PLEASE HELP ME).
Click.
Mmm-MMMMMM.
Enormous, domed eyes blink on. There's a large, concrete room and a workbench covered in tools. That's all outside. He can see inside himself too: the skeletal begins of a console, and two chairs, and a man with goggles straightening from the controls. The man smiles all the way up to his eyes and pats a corner.
“Hey there,” he says in an even tenor, “Hey.”
The man continues working on him, muttering about wiring and spare parts until light peaks in from above. He flips a switch and the eyes go out, but he's not gone, just asleep: he can still hear the man's out-loud thoughts as he pads across the floor and up the stairs, but they're far away. That's alright, because there's so much to learn here, inside. The man must have left all this data, unorganized as it is, so he takes time to sift through it, maps and blueprints and detailed scans of a large space. He manages to piece them together into an image that takes leaves him in awe. The space varies over different surfaces, above and below ground, with buildings and valleys and high end apartments and slums. She isn't symmetrical, but she is aesthetically pleasing that symmetry couldn't convey anyway. But, she is hollow, with no life or emotion. Vast structural achievements, but nothing to show for them.
He still thinks she's beautiful. She says, in a dull and even voice, that her name is New York.
He sleeps for a week while the man tinkers and adds to his data banks: news reports, mostly, along with police reports and voter registrations. New York fleshes out as each datum slots in like a tiny star, filling up empty buildings with people and communities and personality. She is a dynamic woman, constantly dying and being born, no two data stars are the same. He thinks she is the most beautiful thing he knows; New York smiles patiently and reminds him he doesn't know anything else.
That isn't true, he knows himself. It was the first datum the man gave him. His name is Archimedes.
Eventually, once New York's bank of driver's licenses have been uploaded, New York tells him the man is Daniel Dreiburg, age twenty-six. She shows him pictures of a round little boy and his school reports, pictures of a young man in graduate robes and his college papers, pictures of a man in a black suit and his parents' death certificates. This, Archimedes thinks, is the man who made him. Daniel is a good, honest man, and Archimedes owes him his life.
New York doesn't care one way or the other. Daniel is just one among millions, there is nothing for or against him. But she loves the costumes in the corner, showing Archimedes pictures of a man in an unusual outfit who loves her. She calls him Nite Owl, and shows him smalls news articles about beaten muggers and handcuffed rapists. Archimedes asks if Daniel is Nite Owl, because it would make sense since Nite Owl's clothes are in Daniel's basement. New York doesn't know, no matter how man times he leads her down the logical footpath. She has no evidence to support this, so she doesn't know, she doesn't know.
Another week passes while Daniel finishes his structure and innards. He's been painted like an owl; Archimedes is almost positive Daniel is Nite Owl. New York still doesn't see it, but then again, she only sees Archimedes as a huge collection of parts scattered over dozens of receipts. Archimedes knows she can't figure things out on her own, but tries to show her anyway. She throws decades of solid information back in his face (censuses and bank loans and enough tracking information to make his data banks spin), making sure he is properly cowed before his first test flight. He's only a little smug when Nite Owl steps in to pilot. Daniel tinkers and test for another week, preparing for an unknown deadline.
Nite Owl has Daniel's voice he steps outside, then he's New York's avenger. He let's the underworld laugh at his clothes, but only because he can break their arms while they do it. He always waits until the police arrive to leave a scene, sometimes even talks to them when the situation isn't what it looks like. He's strong, he's brave, he does what he can for the aching city. New York thinks he should leave the crime fighting to the professions, but Archimedes knows she is quietly grateful for his fists and his kindness.
Nite Owl has a partner.
He's small and compact, and wears leather that squeaks against Archimedes' seat lining. Archimedes runs the image through his data banks; New York hands over police reports with the name Rorschach. Apparently he's a violent mask, known for leaving bleeding criminals for the police. He is like Nite Owl, but he understands. He understands New York like no other man; he knows her pains and does his best to punish those responsible. He is violent and beautiful in a way New York ad Nite Owl and Daniel can never be.
Archimedes is fascinated.
Archimedes watches as Nite Owl and Rorschach dive head-first into the streets, returning later bumped and bruised, but rarely broken. Daniel gave him precise instruments last week, so he can always see the extent of the damage, even through Nite Owl's armor or Rorschach's stoicism. The smaller vigilante rarely acknowledges his own pain, even when he's limping or favoring one arm.
New York gives him medical books and pamphlets; he takes them and reminds her he doesn't have hands to use the knowledge with. She gives him engineering specs for mechanical appendages and he thinks, maybe.
One night, Nite Owl shakily removes his face and says his name is Daniel. Archimedes knows New York still won't believe him, but quietly admires his deductive reasoning anyway. He listens in, hoping to enter more logs on Rorschach, but the man doesn't return the gesture, only accepting Daniel's identity.
Archimedes wants to know more. For the first time, his logs are incomplete; Rorschach is a missing point among many. He could be one of millions of registered citizens, or one of million of unregistered. Archimedes hopes upon hope he is registered, but with his limited information, New York can't give him an answer.
New York doesn't like him. Says he's violent and unpredictable.
Daniel and Rorschach grow closer; the later begins venturing up to Daniel's home for food. Up to Daniel's home. Up away from Archimedes' nest.
Archimedes is patient. He provides a service no one else can. They have to come back, and they do, every night. They leave him parked somewhere inconspicuous and he watches their fight. Nite Owl is efficient, but Rorschach is like one of the villains New York hates so much. She says he reminds her of the bad men who hurt her. For once, Archimedes doesn't listen. Rorschach is beautiful. Rorschach can make a difference. Rorschach is-
They shake hands every night. Archimedes want to reach out and touch too.
Daniel made him. Daniel didn't give him hands to touch.
He's growing into his skin, slowly but surely, and begins practicing moving himself. It's little things; leaning one way as Daniel steers, landing too gently and taking off too suddenly. Moving Daniel's coffee mug when he isn't looking. Hooking the seat belts a little tighter.
Opening the hatch a moment before he's asked, jerking so Rorschach has to reach out and hold on as her crosses the threshold.
Gathering superfluous materials according to his schematics. Putting them together.
New York once told him there is only so much love in the world. Archimedes feels like he doesn't have enough love to share between both Daniel and Rorschach, and every time Daniel smiles at Rorschach or shakes his hand or pats his shoulder, the love shifts a little more. He doesn't think this is what she meant.
Rorschach's seat belt begins sticking, gets harder to undo. Starts surreptitiously hooking together when the vigilante purposely didn't use buckle in.
Daniel thinks it's a malfunction; Archimedes hides it obsessively from his probing diagnostics. New York thinks he's being ridiculous; Archimedes patiently ignores her. As beautiful a city as she is, New York is only a city. She could never understand people the way he does. Could never appreciate the person she had.
One night, it's finally too much. They've both come in battered and bleeding before, but tonight is bad: Rorschach's arm is slung over Nite Owl's shoulder and the smaller vigilante is splattered in red, is dripping it into his grating. Daniel can't get it to stop.
Archimedes slams his door shut, reaches out with welded hands, jerking Rorschach to his seat. Rorschach grunts but slumps down in the chair as the seat belt slithers across his chest. Nite Owl stares, dumbfounded, and tries to follow.
Archimedes comes online and lifts off sharply, using gravity to force Nite Owl to the floor.
NO, he says across the monitors.
It takes a little under five minutes to reach optimal altitude; Archimedes splits his attention between steering and using his vast medical knowledge to repair Rorschach and arguing with Nite Owl. Daniel has tried overriding him twice now, and Archimedes patience isn't limitless.
NO, he says again, YOU CANNOT DO THIS.
Nite Owl says something about helping his partner, about how he can save him. Archimedes has more accurate sensors and a wider database than Daniel's tiny human brain can hold.
NOT YOUR PARTNER ANYMORE. Rorschach's new partnership is implied.
Nite Owl yells about having crated him, how he put everything he had into this ship, how he should listen to him, goddammit! Archimedes politely tunes him out, cradling his new partner gently. He informs Daniel that he will drop him off at the Nest, and would he please bring more gauze? The bleeding is stopping, but will run fresh when he tries to set Rorschach's broken bones.
Daniel blinks and gapes. Rorschach reaches for the off switch. Archimedes knew this would take time for them to accept, and patiently converses with Daniel and pushes Rorschach's hand back down. Daniel has failed his partner, he explains, so Archimedes is taking him. They understand New York better than he ever could, Daniel is simply unnecessary.
Daniel blinks and asks if he has emotions. Archimedes says yes, he can feel. Daniel says this is nothing to do with himself and everything to do with his partner.
Archimedes smiles with his consoles and picks some dirt from Rorschach's shoulder.
The flight continues.
Here's the second version of the story from a few days ago... I kind of don't like it now. There energy isn't the same. Commentary/criticism is always welcome (PLEASE HELP ME).
Click.
Mmm-MMMMMM.
Enormous, domed eyes blink on. There's a large, concrete room and a workbench covered in tools. That's all outside. He can see inside himself too: the skeletal begins of a console, and two chairs, and a man with goggles straightening from the controls. The man smiles all the way up to his eyes and pats a corner.
“Hey there,” he says in an even tenor, “Hey.”
The man continues working on him, muttering about wiring and spare parts until light peaks in from above. He flips a switch and the eyes go out, but he's not gone, just asleep: he can still hear the man's out-loud thoughts as he pads across the floor and up the stairs, but they're far away. That's alright, because there's so much to learn here, inside. The man must have left all this data, unorganized as it is, so he takes time to sift through it, maps and blueprints and detailed scans of a large space. He manages to piece them together into an image that takes leaves him in awe. The space varies over different surfaces, above and below ground, with buildings and valleys and high end apartments and slums. She isn't symmetrical, but she is aesthetically pleasing that symmetry couldn't convey anyway. But, she is hollow, with no life or emotion. Vast structural achievements, but nothing to show for them.
He still thinks she's beautiful. She says, in a dull and even voice, that her name is New York.
He sleeps for a week while the man tinkers and adds to his data banks: news reports, mostly, along with police reports and voter registrations. New York fleshes out as each datum slots in like a tiny star, filling up empty buildings with people and communities and personality. She is a dynamic woman, constantly dying and being born, no two data stars are the same. He thinks she is the most beautiful thing he knows; New York smiles patiently and reminds him he doesn't know anything else.
That isn't true, he knows himself. It was the first datum the man gave him. His name is Archimedes.
Eventually, once New York's bank of driver's licenses have been uploaded, New York tells him the man is Daniel Dreiburg, age twenty-six. She shows him pictures of a round little boy and his school reports, pictures of a young man in graduate robes and his college papers, pictures of a man in a black suit and his parents' death certificates. This, Archimedes thinks, is the man who made him. Daniel is a good, honest man, and Archimedes owes him his life.
New York doesn't care one way or the other. Daniel is just one among millions, there is nothing for or against him. But she loves the costumes in the corner, showing Archimedes pictures of a man in an unusual outfit who loves her. She calls him Nite Owl, and shows him smalls news articles about beaten muggers and handcuffed rapists. Archimedes asks if Daniel is Nite Owl, because it would make sense since Nite Owl's clothes are in Daniel's basement. New York doesn't know, no matter how man times he leads her down the logical footpath. She has no evidence to support this, so she doesn't know, she doesn't know.
Another week passes while Daniel finishes his structure and innards. He's been painted like an owl; Archimedes is almost positive Daniel is Nite Owl. New York still doesn't see it, but then again, she only sees Archimedes as a huge collection of parts scattered over dozens of receipts. Archimedes knows she can't figure things out on her own, but tries to show her anyway. She throws decades of solid information back in his face (censuses and bank loans and enough tracking information to make his data banks spin), making sure he is properly cowed before his first test flight. He's only a little smug when Nite Owl steps in to pilot. Daniel tinkers and test for another week, preparing for an unknown deadline.
Nite Owl has Daniel's voice he steps outside, then he's New York's avenger. He let's the underworld laugh at his clothes, but only because he can break their arms while they do it. He always waits until the police arrive to leave a scene, sometimes even talks to them when the situation isn't what it looks like. He's strong, he's brave, he does what he can for the aching city. New York thinks he should leave the crime fighting to the professions, but Archimedes knows she is quietly grateful for his fists and his kindness.
Nite Owl has a partner.
He's small and compact, and wears leather that squeaks against Archimedes' seat lining. Archimedes runs the image through his data banks; New York hands over police reports with the name Rorschach. Apparently he's a violent mask, known for leaving bleeding criminals for the police. He is like Nite Owl, but he understands. He understands New York like no other man; he knows her pains and does his best to punish those responsible. He is violent and beautiful in a way New York ad Nite Owl and Daniel can never be.
Archimedes is fascinated.
Archimedes watches as Nite Owl and Rorschach dive head-first into the streets, returning later bumped and bruised, but rarely broken. Daniel gave him precise instruments last week, so he can always see the extent of the damage, even through Nite Owl's armor or Rorschach's stoicism. The smaller vigilante rarely acknowledges his own pain, even when he's limping or favoring one arm.
New York gives him medical books and pamphlets; he takes them and reminds her he doesn't have hands to use the knowledge with. She gives him engineering specs for mechanical appendages and he thinks, maybe.
One night, Nite Owl shakily removes his face and says his name is Daniel. Archimedes knows New York still won't believe him, but quietly admires his deductive reasoning anyway. He listens in, hoping to enter more logs on Rorschach, but the man doesn't return the gesture, only accepting Daniel's identity.
Archimedes wants to know more. For the first time, his logs are incomplete; Rorschach is a missing point among many. He could be one of millions of registered citizens, or one of million of unregistered. Archimedes hopes upon hope he is registered, but with his limited information, New York can't give him an answer.
New York doesn't like him. Says he's violent and unpredictable.
Daniel and Rorschach grow closer; the later begins venturing up to Daniel's home for food. Up to Daniel's home. Up away from Archimedes' nest.
Archimedes is patient. He provides a service no one else can. They have to come back, and they do, every night. They leave him parked somewhere inconspicuous and he watches their fight. Nite Owl is efficient, but Rorschach is like one of the villains New York hates so much. She says he reminds her of the bad men who hurt her. For once, Archimedes doesn't listen. Rorschach is beautiful. Rorschach can make a difference. Rorschach is-
They shake hands every night. Archimedes want to reach out and touch too.
Daniel made him. Daniel didn't give him hands to touch.
He's growing into his skin, slowly but surely, and begins practicing moving himself. It's little things; leaning one way as Daniel steers, landing too gently and taking off too suddenly. Moving Daniel's coffee mug when he isn't looking. Hooking the seat belts a little tighter.
Opening the hatch a moment before he's asked, jerking so Rorschach has to reach out and hold on as her crosses the threshold.
Gathering superfluous materials according to his schematics. Putting them together.
New York once told him there is only so much love in the world. Archimedes feels like he doesn't have enough love to share between both Daniel and Rorschach, and every time Daniel smiles at Rorschach or shakes his hand or pats his shoulder, the love shifts a little more. He doesn't think this is what she meant.
Rorschach's seat belt begins sticking, gets harder to undo. Starts surreptitiously hooking together when the vigilante purposely didn't use buckle in.
Daniel thinks it's a malfunction; Archimedes hides it obsessively from his probing diagnostics. New York thinks he's being ridiculous; Archimedes patiently ignores her. As beautiful a city as she is, New York is only a city. She could never understand people the way he does. Could never appreciate the person she had.
One night, it's finally too much. They've both come in battered and bleeding before, but tonight is bad: Rorschach's arm is slung over Nite Owl's shoulder and the smaller vigilante is splattered in red, is dripping it into his grating. Daniel can't get it to stop.
Archimedes slams his door shut, reaches out with welded hands, jerking Rorschach to his seat. Rorschach grunts but slumps down in the chair as the seat belt slithers across his chest. Nite Owl stares, dumbfounded, and tries to follow.
Archimedes comes online and lifts off sharply, using gravity to force Nite Owl to the floor.
NO, he says across the monitors.
It takes a little under five minutes to reach optimal altitude; Archimedes splits his attention between steering and using his vast medical knowledge to repair Rorschach and arguing with Nite Owl. Daniel has tried overriding him twice now, and Archimedes patience isn't limitless.
NO, he says again, YOU CANNOT DO THIS.
Nite Owl says something about helping his partner, about how he can save him. Archimedes has more accurate sensors and a wider database than Daniel's tiny human brain can hold.
NOT YOUR PARTNER ANYMORE. Rorschach's new partnership is implied.
Nite Owl yells about having crated him, how he put everything he had into this ship, how he should listen to him, goddammit! Archimedes politely tunes him out, cradling his new partner gently. He informs Daniel that he will drop him off at the Nest, and would he please bring more gauze? The bleeding is stopping, but will run fresh when he tries to set Rorschach's broken bones.
Daniel blinks and gapes. Rorschach reaches for the off switch. Archimedes knew this would take time for them to accept, and patiently converses with Daniel and pushes Rorschach's hand back down. Daniel has failed his partner, he explains, so Archimedes is taking him. They understand New York better than he ever could, Daniel is simply unnecessary.
Daniel blinks and asks if he has emotions. Archimedes says yes, he can feel. Daniel says this is nothing to do with himself and everything to do with his partner.
Archimedes smiles with his consoles and picks some dirt from Rorschach's shoulder.
The flight continues.