The (unsolved) case of the purple earlobes

Strong Arm One didn’t like this one bit. The new anti-irritation chip hadn’t quite settled and he was hungry. Having already destroyed a coffbot earlier in the day for bringing him a latte instead of the usual black, his body was charged up to attack anything and anyone at the merest hint of annoyance. Hoping he wasn’t anywhere near a human when he popped, he squeezed the stress ball in his hand with a grim look on his face.

He was out in this because he had to be. Another girl had been found this morning. Like the others she was unconscious, not harmed in any way except that her earlobes were an unusual purple colour. As with the others, he expected her to wake up shortly with no memory of what had happened, confused and speaking gibberish for weeks.

Her name was Gracie P and she was one of the original Daughters. Built to last, she was older than Strong himself, yet had never aged beyond perfection and never would.

So how could this be? If one so much as touched a Daughter without her permission, the response from Stephenie Fray was immediate and severe. Yet there she’d been, living proof of the impossible.

Strong had thought her confusion gave her a look of ethereal beauty. He couldn’t deny that he would be thinking of her later in the bath. It was fucking Valentines Day after all.

He knocked. The camera above the door swivelled and focussed on the top of his head. He didn’t feel like making it easier on the bastard by looking up and so didn’t.

“You know who this is Dynomax. Just open the fucking door so we can talk.”

With a small hissing sound, Strong found himself draped in a virenet. It tickled but it wasn’t unpleasant. Even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t stop the device from probing him physically and mentally. He didn’t regret not looking up. This would eat a giant hole into Dynomax’s electricity bill and that was something.

Known as the Gazer, Dynomax was one of the most advanced orgobots on the planet. Built at the same time as the Daughters, he had been around before Strong was born and would be long after he was dead. Once human, he had been developed by Stephenie Fray to assist in the eradication of crime. Now universally accepted as the Overling to every camera unit in the known universe, Dynomax was where every detective started a new case.

Strong always visited him last.

As soon as the virenet had completed its scan, the door dissolved, revealing the same room he had visited more often than he liked to admit, each time with a heavy reluctance on the way in, each time with a sense of ill on the way out.

As usual, an inflatable exercise ball stood unnaturally still on the floor. Knowing there would be no conversation with Dynomax until Strong sat himself down on that yellow plastic piece of crap, Strong stepped in, his Stephenie right behind him.

Meanwhile, not too far away in Chin’s Bar & Banqueting Hall, the naked northern crusader, Richie von Vinkleman was drowning his sorrows in the company of his own Stephenie.

The Mother, Stephenie Fray, had created the world one afternoon when bored with her toys. She was 3 at the time. This year, for her birthday, she had gifted everyone alive with a clone of herself. They were everywhere; each was different; she was all of them.

The booth was soaking in Von Vinkleman’s tears. Be-Liza, she who he thought was his true love, had told him just this morning that she couldn’t be with him any more for commercial reasons. As a rising star in The Corporation, it was impossible to introduce your perpetually naked (except the cape of course) boyfriend to other movers and shakers. She loved him, but she’d cried “The Man” every night during sex the whole time they’d been together. And so she’d dressed her Stephenie and herself and walked out.

Vinkleman’s Stephenie wasn’t too concerned. Out of sheer boredom, she had scanned his future and knew he would eventually end up with G-Shoe, the busty empress of a nation across the stars who was due attack the planet in 20 minutes or so in her ongoing search for the perfect man, one who could match her appetite for pancakes and shoes, which of course Vinkleman could.

A hapless hero, he would run out as soon the news of the attack was repeated by the standard issue news monkey atop the bar. His as yet undried tears would lead G-Shoe to stop the invasion, instead taking him as a lover and the two would begin a fabled journey across the stars, following a short stop at the Burger Prince for a bite.

So his Stephenie drank her whiskey. Soon, she was going to be one of the few without a human. She may as well get drunk. Other Stephenies around the room gave her comforting looks. They also worried about some of her recent choices.

Across the bar, Stax bounced atop her newest pogo stick while her psychopathic sister, Utah ate a plate full of chicken wings. They said Utah left a half eaten chicken wing wherever she went, to mark her territory. Each one she ate assimilated its essence into her. Woe on you if you found one in your house and tried to move it or, god forbid, throw it in the bin. Utah was one of four known instaporters in the Universe and acknowledged as the best. With pinpoint precision, she would first knock you down by teleporting right on top of you and would usually proceed to rip off your nose with her fingers alone. There wasn’t a prison that could hold her and so if you moved one of her wings, the consequences were yours to bear alone. Even her Stephanie looked a little maniacal in her company.

As for Stax, she appeared to have lost her wits years ago. And yet, her legend was known by every child and tinybot out there. Known simply as the Crafter, it was said Stephenie Frey has chosen her to receive her earliest gift, that of creation itself. And yet now, Stax spent almost all her time on her pogo stick, attempting to recreate the perfect double spin front ground touch reverse stall, first performed by handsome lothario JJP eons ago. Covered in bruises, all those who knew her were aware she could lose it at any time and kamikaze pogo beatings for all those in her way would follow in the wake.

Tiny Tracy danced on her table. Today’s performance was meat related, as were all the others. Describing it would be inappropriate. Needless to say, the cow didn’t stand a chance. She was another of the Daughters. Untouchable. And yet, she longed to be touched. Anywhere, but particularly there. Or there. Her AJK ciggie unit looked up at her longingly, wishing more than anything for human form, just for a day. She leaned down and pressed for a cigarette, which he duly produced lit and ready to smoke and as she took her first puff, there was an audible sigh from the one who loved her so. Not noticing, she continued to dance around the remains of the cow.

Behind the bar, the Dood stood watch. He was a relic really. A throw back to a time long gone when a person or robot served customers. Nowadays, you just thought your drink and it would appear on your table, charging your credit account at the same time. The Dood was there because he knew nothing else and because he dreamed of the day the thought drive in the bar would malfunction. In the meantime, he went to the gymkhana so regularly that his physique could only be described as “Over Cut”. Pictures had appeared in the papers recently about some drunk who had sliced his arm off on The Dood’s left tricep. Needless to say, his Stephenie wore wire mesh all the time.

The Bar itself was owned by Jimmeny Chin. Artist, rapper, pro RocketBoarder, koala bear breeder. Adopted by the Chin family when he was just a baby, he had spent his early years directing appalling Asian movies and the occasional pop video. But ever since Stax Hanso had crafted his paint brush from the nasal hairs of his first ever bear, everything he now touched turned to pink fire. It was said they were once lovers, Stax had offered the brush up on one knee in the time honoured tradition of one about to make a proposal. Jimmeny had accepted but the power of the brush was too strong, and their once unique love has fizzled out in a haze of hip hop and pogo sticks.

In the lap of his giant stuffed koala, Chin sat at the far end of the bar, turning his brush around in his hands absently, his thoughts focussed on finding a list of words to rhyme with Jax. Increasingly annoyed at repeatedly thinking “Stax”, he stared meanly at his Stephenie, who in turn sat across from him, one eye closed, silently squishing his head between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand.

Dynomax projected each of them on the wall before Strong Arm as he shifted uncomfortably on the ball.

“So it’s one of them?” Strong asked.

“Yep”, Dynomax’s voice was low, filled with a humour that always drove Strong to the edge, “and you know you’re buggered if it’s one of the clones. I’d let it go if I were you Strong, but now that I’ve said that I know you won’t.”

Strong sighed. “You could just tell me and save us both a lot of trouble.”

“I could but I need something interesting to watch!”

“Cunt!” Strong hissed as he nodded at his Stephenie to leave. This was going be a needlessly long day but at least he had the bath to look forward to later.