Cups were turned upside down. Fire was squelched. Truncheons discarded. Hugs administered.
Construction equipment was abandoned in place, holes half dug, cement half poured, a bare skeleton of metal gleaming in deadly drizzle.
At the back of the cave were three drawings, each depicting a man fighting a robot. What could it mean, the archaeologist said, we can only imagine what their world was like.
Every canister was tightly sealed except that one. Good enough, he thought as he locked up the laboratory.
The reception was held at a local abattoir. The couple claimed this provided substantial insight into their developing spiritual lives.
The drummers arrived under a banner declaring their purity and obedience to the universal concept. The woodwinds bristled.
“Life in the bio-dome won’t be so bad, better than that gravel pit you live in now. Give it a try. Worst-case, you get thrown into the composting.”
To the passengers’ dismay the train made of light continued to blink.
After the inexplicable failure of the tenth bomb disposal robot, they began to suspect robot suicide.
Twisting time and space was easy for them, as easy as sinking in, folding yourself into milky furrows.
The electronic jazz men arrived like a gang, a gang of infinite cool.
At the station she set down her luggage, adjusted her skirt. The sad and beautiful android contemplated her false memories.
Hundreds of tiny drones swarmed chaotically around the body, singing the required company jingle.
From The Machine’s point of view, they were simply sticks of meat standing between itself and a delicious power source.
Touching the button revealed a complex, detailed wall of existential options.