harddrive

Series: The Book of FoxFire

Story: 01—The Human Hard Drive

By David Gonterman

It was a winter's night in the early 80s. Christmas Eve.

A lonely log ladder, towering above an empty schoolyard, got an unexpected visitor at that strange hour. A boy about 11 years old who had already had enough of his short life to last him to his old age was climbing that ladder. He had enough of the constant bullying from his peers and humiliation by his teachers. It had dragged him from an exceptionally gifted kindergartner to a hopeless flunker at 6th grade. He had advanced in grade only because his teachers didn't want another year of him. He had gone from a child who was only thought the best of to a whipping boy who was there solely to be kicked around for whatever went wrong in the world. He was someone who lived his life from beating to beating and wasn't considered as much, if at all.

The last straw came about an hour before. At the Christmas recital, somebody rigged his Santa suit to disintegrate right where he stood. Everybody in the hall had a good laugh, at his expense.

The child just couldn't stand any more. He ran sobbing past mocking children and irate adults who demanded that he repeat the scene for the next two performances. He ran out of the hall through a snowstorm and into the darkness until he couldn't hear the laughter or any other human voice.

He didn't stop running until he came to that log ladder. He was usually found there during recesses or when his parents wouldn't let him in his own house because he needed to be played at by other kids. Normally he was on the top rung with the occasional catcalls from below telling him to jump to his death. All too often someone actually climbed up to push him off.

There was a good reason why he chose that place as his personal retreat from the world below him. There was a constant wind at the top of the ladder, an altitude where flags flutter and birds fly, which effectively drown out the noise below him. There he could study the clouds at day and the stars at night—yes, he did show up there at night when things at his house got too intense. He could look for any deity that would claim him or any changes in his fortune in the sky above, and in a way, around him as well. He looked for anything that would ensure him that his past existence would not be the theme of his whole life.

Emphasis on the word, 'any,' and he didn't care who. Never mind what he heard in Church.

Normally he would be found there and dragged back to his school or his house with at least a thorough tongue-lashing but usually worse, but not that night. The snowstorm he had run through had grown to 100-year blizzard proportions with the addition of a thick fog, covering the outside world as if by a flood. The streets were impassable and the visibility all but a few feet. The storm also effectively hid the log ladder below the child in the white and darkness that flowed over and around him as well.

For the first time, the child finally felt that the world he knew had disappeared. It was just him and the wind around him. The wind seemed to blow louder through his hair and into his ears, whipping around his small frame and up to his chin as if to gently guide him to look above.

He did look up and saw what would be the one and only Christmas present he ever needed. The holiday would have no more purpose after tonight because of its presence. Because his silent cries in the night had just been answered.

A book as wide as he was appeared in the neatherspace above him. He stood up tall over the top rung to reach for it, welcoming it into his arms. It was made out of wood and bronze with pages lined in gold that gave the inside of the book a fiery glow. The book was locked tight with a latch similar to diaries, and it was encrested by a foxtail-like shape over the felt covers.

The lock sprang open at his touch, as if it were accepting him, and it opened itself to reveal virgin pages of the softest vellum inside. The darkness of the nighttime snowblind left his presence as the book opened. A fire that the boy had never seen before surrounded him. He could feel the heat and light it gave off, but it didn't cause him the pain of burning, even as it started to ignite the log he was standing on and even seeped through his body and into his soul. And through his handholds to the book, he could see the flicker of flame begin to write on the pages.

It started with a mere trickle, a sole flame forming a single letter.

Then a word.

Then another word.

A sentence.

A paragraph.

And another.

And a third.

They seemed to pour out from the boy's own soul: Stories. A whole universe of stories appeared from every genre imaginable. He saw a romance tale appear in the parchment, then a mystery, science, history, tragedy, comedy, and more and more. Page after page flew past as it was written in fire and flipped over, yet there seemed to be no end to the pages within the book.

It didn't seem weird to the boy. He was already deeply lost in the words that appeared in front of him. In fact, it actually felt right to him, more right than anything else that had occurred and occurred in his short life.

And then the dam really burst open. Wide!

A picture was painted in flame with the text.

And another.

Several of them merged to form a comic strip.

Then a whole series of strips.

Then a whole comic book.

And another.

Pictures and words danced together in perfect harmony. It almost resembled the music that now sang in his ears and in his mind. A whole world, no, a complete universe, flowed from inside him out onto the paper, and then back to him. He felt it resonate inside him as he actually felt every story and tale in his own soul.

He never felt so good about anything like this before.

So right.

So alive, alive for the first time ever.

He closed his eyes.

He took in a breath.

He felt his legs take leave of the log below him.

The fire instantly disappeared. The log ladder was completely consumed, no longer needed, mere ashes to be covered by the snow.

The child was never seen again.

Only the stars and the snow were the witnesses.

____________________________________________

Present Day

The stars are just as enigmatic as the long bone-shaped spaceship, which passes underneath them. The spaceship has a giant dirigible-shaped construct, which is attached on the top and spread out across its spine, dwarfing the craft. On the dirigible is one word, in all capitals except for the I: NiTRO.

The scene fades to the inside of this novelly designed Space Blimp to the bedroom of the one who will be narrating this tale. The room appears to be for a young teenaged girl. It has pastel papered walls, various stuffed animals, several outfits including those made for show apparently, the occasional shoe strewn on the floor, and the obligatory dresser with a mirror and makeup kit.

But as she starts speaking, the pan continues to reveal that which is rather out of place at first: A detached robotic forearm with a strange device strapped—no attached—through the length.

I get a lot of questions about myself. What I am? How I was made? Am I related to Brent Spinner?

The panning passes a poster of Data from 'Star Trek: The Next Generation' which is autographed by Brent. The words read, 'Here's to Roll Rabbit, the one who beat Starfleet to it,' and ends on a recharge device wired to a recliner, in which lays a very pretty and a bit sexy female android. She looks almost perfectly human with two exceptions. The first is a second pair of ears—rabbit ears—sticking straight out from her long and deep purple hair on her head—with matching cotton tail which is seen under her legs. The second is the fact that she is sleeping a bit too soundly. She isn't moving at all, much less breathing. She is wearing only a loose white shirt, which drapes over her ample C-Cups and curved hips, and panties that hide viewers from what is her genitalia. Her clothing doesn't hide much of her otherwise naked figure.

Well, I'm supposed to be the real world answer to the android he plays in that show.

A loud ping is heard, signifying the end of the recharge cycle, and the robot springs to life, starting with pink-colored humanlike eyes which flutter open and then with the rest of her as she takes her shirt off to unplug the connection to the recharge device from her navel. A good view of her firm chest and torso with only a satin bra hiding her otherwise apparent nipples can be seen.

As you can see, I'm the culmination of countless decades of technological innovation, one human's life and a decade of another, and as you can see, the libido of more than one guy with too much time and no girlfriend to share it with. Not that I would have minded though, I do have the Bunny Girl subroutine in my programming, as well as the capacity to give and receive . . . oh, I'm rambling, am I? Davey-kins says I do that at times. Oh well.

She finds a rather form-flattering purple and deep pink jumpsuit to put on—making sure that the tail is outside the pants—and straps a sash tight around her slim waist as her slender feet slide into a matching pair of pumps. Afterward she actually twists off her own left forearm and, after placing the now inert limp into a drawer, snaps the robotic arm with what she calls her 'Utility Arm' in place. She then bends over to the makeup counter to give her synthetic skin some decent color. You can only tell it's not a real skin if you have a near microscopic view of her too-perfect complexion to see the actual fibers.

Those parts aren't just for show, though. The ears are my sensor array: My hearing, vision and smell, as well as Infrared, Radio, and electronic communication connections that come in handy. They had to put them there so that my head can have enough room to properly express my facial expressions. And my Bun-Bun? It's a perfect heat sink, keeping my primary components in my chest properly cooled. Okay, my rack does the same job of a human as well, if any of you were asking that.

Roll is followed by the camera as she walks down the long and rather expansive hallway leading to the front of the craft. She stops by a cupboard to make some coffee from an automatic drip machine, which is located across from another door labeled, 'Captain's Room.'

Despite the reason why I got my last name, my first name has more to do with my primary program. I'm named after a certain Capcom character who is similar in my personality and function. Roll is a robotic sister to Megaman; a rather bright and cheerful assistant and homemaker. Add the sensuality and tenderness of a young woman who discovered guys, and I become the perfect companion to whoever has me. But to the person who actually has me, I'm that and so much more. Probably why I consider myself to be one lucky android. Now if I can wake him up.

She turns around to open the door. Somewhere in the unkempt bed is a man in his early thirties who is obviously turning in his sleep. Roll just sits on the edge of his bed and pats his head with her left hand.

His first name's David, I know that much. For all I know, he doesn't have or need a last name. He calls himself Davey-Kins FoxFire, though. Everybody else knows him as a rather eccentric comic book artist. I just know him as my boyfriend, if a robot could have one. That's what I call him in public, after all. I'm very fortunate to be one of the few that sees the man under the ego. Ego. That's something I can talk blue streaks about, but more on that later. I think I may be narrating out loud.

"Yeah, Ah believe y'are." David mutters. Roll puts her hand over her mouth in a surprised gesture. At that David merely takes Rolls hand down and puts a finger to her lips moving them to make a smile. "That's awrite . . .

You try spelling a Southern Accent. He's always had it since . . . well, since he was born, and never had the ability to correct it. I'm glad he still has it, in my humble opinion. It gives him some charm.

. . . Ah was abou'ta expect y' anyway. Yer know? One can set their watch t' y' activity? You've been givin' me these wakeup calls at th' same time ever since Ah've known ya."

"What can I say, David," Roll says with a giggle, "We androids are creatures of habit. We do our best on a schedule, but I've shown a bit of flexibility along the way, didn't I?" Roll's soft hand moves down to stroke his leg. "I've shown that many times while we have been here."

Yep, we did do it. We'll probably do it some more. I've got the equipment and the capability for the whole sexual experience, right up to pregnancy and the occasional disease. The semen goes into a reactor, which converts it into energy, which in turn saves juice in the battery. I even feel a surge through my body, which is the equivalent of a woman's climax. Part of the Bunny Girl package I somehow got. At least Davey'll let me use the 'official' terminology and not come off as a talking inflatable doll. I've seen otherwise living human beings who were reduced into just that. Very unfortunate.

David however smells the coffee. "Hey, this here's Irish Cream. Yer've got different flavors of Joe, heah? Way to go." He then gives her a kiss. "Let me get dressed."

"Sure thing," Roll says with a smile as she picks up the pair of pants from the floor and fetches the rest of what he wants to wear for the day. Not much for the formal attire, he would put on anything that fits.

There are two traits that would make a robot want to have a particular user. One is that they keep up the upkeep and upgrading of his robots. I have a 35 Gig drive that I'm anxious to fill, and the recharge station is always available for me. David insists that I keep my batteries on a good charge. You've just seen the second: The fact that my user loves his robots. Whatever the treatment resembles a pet, or a sibling, a friend, to even a lovers relationship like mine or even to the point of being man and wife. It's the affection and care that would make your android want to do . . . .

Roll's thoughts are put on hold by a doughnut in her mouth! David's way of telling her that not only is she being too talkative, she's acting like an overzealous saleswoman!

David however is back to his cup while she is standing there with her mouth stuffed and her eyes blinking. "Good thang y'can stomach sweets. Gimme th' status report once y' gulp that down."

Jelly, my favorite. <gulp> Yes, what goes down my working mouth goes into the reactor too. Every now and then I do need to get rid of the waste. Any toilet will do.

"All systems onboard the NiTRO are green, and we have just entered this Earth's atmosphere. In about 5 minutes, we will be passing Cuba . . . "

"Dump our trash ovah Havana. Ah need t' let that bastard Castro know what ah think o' him."

"Done," she says without as much as a batted eyelash. "And may I request Janet Reno's residence for the next dump?"

David nods his approval with a smile as suction sounds can be heard from the trash compressor.

Roll continues. "Neo-GismoTech recorded that new 'CardCaptors' show for the Theater Mode."

Neo-GismoTech is what the company that made me eventually became. It's a high-tech industrial giant in the robotics field. I happened to be one of the earlier prototypes.

"Th' one as butchered t' Hell as DIC's Sailor Moon?"

"Apparantly so . . ."

I have to find out about these anime translations. Maybe it's something an android can improve on.

" . . . Oh! And a new story web site wanted submissions and they listed you by name."

David's eyes light up. "Really? Wanted stories form me? Well, Ah think Ah can supply th' site with enough fresh meat."

Roll follows David to the living room/bridge/studio as he walks past the walkway between the controls and the drawing table to an empty semi-darkened closet consisting of a bookstand with a book on it.

The Book of FoxFire has always fascinated me, mainly because it's so mysterious to my standards. I used every scan this spaceship has and I found nothing about it outside of it being a wood bound diary.

David has a reverent look as he holds out his hands to the book . . .

. . . but in the hands of Davey-Kins FoxFire . . .

. . . . and the book flies to his hands!

. . . It shows it's true colors.

"Funny that y' mentioned 'CardCaptors,' Roll-chan," David says as he sets the book on a table. "Dis hear book does look like it was made by Clow Reed, but Ah'm only hearsayin'. Maybe Ah'll ask Sakura and Shoryan about it."

David pops open the book, but instead of pages, the book opens a compartment with several notebooks, drawings, and envelopes inside. "It has two modes, Case Mode an' Book Mode. Most of th' time, Ah keep it in Case Mode, an' that's what most people see when thair lucky enough t' see it open. Don't look like much, ain't it? Just something for me t' stash mah notes in. But th' real magic comes in th' Book Mode, and to git t' there . . . "

He closes and locks the book, and digs inside his pocket for a chain that is looped through a belt clip. It has his wallet at one end, and a stubby key at the other.

"Ah need this. Ah just insert it in a hole by th' lock, give it a turn and . . ."

As the key is turned, a sound similar to a deadbolt slide is heard. When he opens it this time, the book reveals written parchment.

"It's pretty incredible how stuff Ah put in Case Mode comes out here in these pages. It's 'The Neverending Story' on stereoids."

I've seen that series and I've gotta admit, he's got a point. Although I've seen the most of David's stories, and I doubt that anyone from Bastain's group would survive.

"So," Roll asks, "which story will you start on?"

David just smirks and flips a page. "Anywhere, Ah guess. One thing this book definitely needs is an index. Ah guess Ah'll start with what's on top."

"Good idea. Did you know that this is the third time you explained the book to me?"

"Ah know," David says as he grabs for the camera, "But Ah need t' explain it to this critter." He shakes the camera around, as if the camera is fighting him. He finally ditches the camera to a corner while muttering, "Quit cher whinin'. Ain't th' first time Ah broke th' fourth wall . . . "

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