I sing my song for you alone.
Today was not much better than yesterday.
Although, I am feeling few physical effects after yesterday's plunge into darkness and dust, my mind is reeling from all the anachronistic slices and dices that might have been. To think of so much danger referred to with such a mundane grumble: paperwork. Your circuits comfort my sensitive and neither enhanced nor artificially blunted nerve endings. They are wracked in a post-traumatic way. Also, I have a slight discoloring on my rear that is consistent with what Interpoedia classifies as a contusion. Remind me to order a medi-unit.
There was a dearth of spanners today at the shop. After arriving at my last crisp edge, I decided to use the space to practice my vocation and install the Blend-O-Matic consciousness unit into Chubb. I have been in need of more than just his shiny presence.
I had to chase Chubb into a corner before his idle light turned orange. I proceeded to remove his nuclear Hove-cap just in case his idle light went green and he made a frisky break for it. The Blend-O unit was a little large for Chubb's outer frame, so, after connecting him to the device and testing the display monitor for the usual orange abstract neuro-cloud, I went searching for spare energy enclosures.
I was searching under the electric cool-aid tank when the loud speaker requested a direct connection.
"Repair human, I do not detect the heart rate and deltawave output of the Mr. Kozlow. Repair human, are you authorized to connect to, Appleton Industries, Mr. Professor R.J. Stubble?"
"Shop, my name is Marle. Yes, put him through."
"Connecting: repair human to Mr. Professor R.J. Stubble."
"Marle! Do not speak of what you saw here yesterday. I cannot stress enough," he had called three times today to stress this, "how important secrecy is to my work."
"Professor, I got it and I still get it, but call me again in an hour. I might forget."
"Marle! The content of my research is subject to seventeen bylaws of the Robocode and it breaks fourteen of them. Three of them can be interpreted as questionable. However, I did not call to badger you." A squat, furry creature appeared eating a worm in my eye-unit. "I need a favor."
"Busy, professor. No thank you."
"Like I was saying, one hydra-like favor with several heads. The last zip out to Easterland leaves at 1900 and I need you to board the zip and meet a man named Adonis on the other end."
"Bye, professor." I cut the power to the store's logical framework causing the connection to go out, the overhead lights to flash, and a pleasant song to emit from the walls.
Back under the cool-aid tank, I wrestled around until I pried loose the tank's energy shielding. It was a little big, but Chubb's consciousness unit now had a sturdy cranium. After reinstalling the Hove-cap, I flipped Chubb's operating switch to autonomous. The idle light just kept flashing while Chubb hovered lifelessly.
"Why are the lights flashing?" The gravelly honey of Mr. Kozlow's vocal circuits poured into my ear. "And why are you bothering my bot? Don't you have work to do?" Mr. Kozlow hovered over me, running his menacing "tough but fair" software. Sensing the appropriate variable changes, the software concluded with output: "Go on home before it gets dark out."