Give Him A Round Of Applause
With that, Shakespeare hurried from the medical bay.
Shakespeare entered his quarters and began to pace up and down
frantically.
"A metal beast to depose of their conquests? A synthetic demon
fouler than night or hell? Upon whe'er am I to conjureth up plans
for such'st a trouble?" He walked over to the viewport window and
gloomily stared out of it at a passing nebula. Anomalies like that
always sent him into a creative mood. But that was with drama.
Science was a completely different matter.
"I fear, for'dt being in times a more futurous than mine previous
hence, that I am ne'er more than'st a relic. Cast unto the cities of
fire, upon whicheth I was't wrought," he said sadly.
"Having trouble William?" asked Holly.
"Ah, the moving picture," said Shakespeare. "Thous't would be of
some kind of helper in my plight?"
"Maybe, if you used my name," said Holly, a little annoyed at being
called 'Moving Picture' all the time.
"A thousand apologies, dear Holly, for my mistaketh be one of
amazmenth. A pixelated head upon which was granted life? Tis truly
a most wondrous thing to behold. I am at your service, sir." Holly
smiled, his ego given a boost by the 'wondrous thing to behold'
comment.
"Well, no need to feel so sorry. What about your previous crew?
Where there no being like me?"
"Alas no, merely one of auditory valueth. A voice upon which
described a thousand words. He spoke in rhyme and of tongue unwell."
"Ah, a 2000 series AI. I'm a 6000 series. They gave us faces,
minds, everything."
"Thy physical form is't a little non existenteth?" queried
Shakespeare.
"Umm, everything bar a body," Holly corrected himself.
"Still, my problem's resolve hath neither end nor beginning. And
thy moon is but turning faster than my neurons plenty," said
Shakespeare. He paced up and down the room again, hoping that some
sort of idea for a mechanical demon would come to him.
"If you can't beat them with their method, why not try your own?"
hinted Holly, enigmatically. He grinned and disappeared from the
screen. Shakespeare stood perfectly still.
"Methods of mine own?" He furrowed his brow.
"Of course, tradition is all but extinct, and thy past is merely
written as text. For thee old ways al but vanquish the new ways.
Phrase just and true, 'they don't maketh 'em like they used to'
springeth to my humble mind."
He paced a little longer, his spirits higher until he stopped and
clicked his fingers joyfully.
"Aha! Thou Image of demon hath arisen in my tiresome mind. I have
thy plan, and finally thee name of mine demon." He rubbed his hands
together gleefully and ran out of his room.
--1/2 an hour later:--
Keto scratched his head and looked at the still malfunctioning
Ointmentator.
"Damn and curse this hellish..." he faltered. 'Enough with the
Shakespeare Keto', he berated himself. "Bloody," he began
again, "Contraption!"
The medibay door opened again and Keto turned around to see the
smiling (still) face of Shakespeare.
"Not again," moaned Keto. "What now?"
"For truth and gentilesse, I hath ended my quest of creation. The
demon is captured and forc'd, as if thou would'st tame a shrew, to
work for the power that sought it!"
Keto stood perfetcly still for a second, working over the words in
his mind.
"You've finished?" he hesitated.
"Yes, my minion is tainted with life, and ready to battle wi'th
other's so fair."
Keto looked down. Shakespeare was pushing a very large trolley
with a cloth draped over it.
"Is it under there?" he asked, now very curious to see what
Shakespeare had knocked up in a little over forty mintues.
Shakespeare moved the trolley into the center of the room and held
out his hand as if about to make a speech. Keto hoped he wouldn't.
"Mechanical demons, trembleth before thine force of 'TYBALT!'" he
shouted and whipped the cloth away from the trolley.
Keto stared at Shakespeare's robot. He blinked and looked again.
"Lawrence," he said wearily.
"Yes, Charles?"
"It's a stick."
Sure enough, in the very centre of the trolley lay a brown stick.
Leaves and stem intact.