SPG in the far-future of your own universe. Because robots + space. – Weirdlet
Rael was ostensibly taking Shayde on a tour of the station’s Ambassadorial Meeting Chamber. What he was covertly doing was testing her. If she really was who she said she had been. If she really had existed on Earth at the time she stated… she would be able to recognise Them.
The Consortium of Steam.
The only artificial intelligences who had been thrown out of the Artificial Intelligence Alliance for being too human. And who viewed that as a compliment.
They always turned up early to sort out who wore the gold sash on their customary black-and-red outfits. By playing ‘Spuds’.
“This will be your desk. Because you don’t technically have a home planet or a population to fight for, you won’t be getting what passes for a formal introduction.”
“'Ere, why’m I Nineteen Eighty-Six when I left in Nineteen Eighty-Seven?”
“Because you didn’t make it all the way *through* Nineteen Eighty-Seven. You can’t have half a year.”
“Ye say that like it’s happened before…”
“We have previously made allowances for the temporally inconvenienced.” After sufficient proof…
And there they came. Four sharply-dressed metal humanoids. One in a dress. Accompanied by the beat of their own drum, and the clank and rattle of gears and the hiss of steam.
Shayde took one look at them and shrieked. It was not the yawp of terror that some would have vented, but the squeal of a fan.
“Omigidomigodomigodomigodomigod… It’s THEM!”
Rael should have won an award for his nonchalant, “Who?”
She grabbed his shoulders and shook him like he should know this was the greatest thing to happen since clootie dumplings[1]. “Colonel Walter’s Steam Man Band! They been knocking’ around the traps since Eighteen Ninety-Eight! Igottagosayhullo!”
She let go of him to drop through her own shadow and leap out of one much closer to the steam-powered Ambassadors. There, she hugged each of them in turn while shrieking, “It’s you! It’s really you! I’m so glad ye made it! It’s you! It'syouit'syouit'syou!”
“It’s us,” said The Jon.
“Do we know you?” said Hatchworth.
Shayde stopped hugging Rabbit. “Hangonasec. I gotta look at ye with real light. I ain’t seen any o’ ye since eighty-two.”
“Which eighty-two?” said The Spine. “We’ve been through more than one.”
Shayde made a complicated gesture over her eyes and shrieked again. “Rabbit! You got RESTOOOOORRRRED!”
“I got restored,” Rabbit smiled. “Refurbished. Reupholstered. And ridiculously gorgeous.”
“Pft! You were always ridiculously gorgeous.” Shayde dismissed. “Who’s the new fella?”
“Hatch-worth,” Hatchworth touched his bowler as he bowed. “I was in a vault be-tween Nine-teen Fif-ty and Two Thou-sand, Thir-teen.”
“Aw ye puir darlin’. Ye need extra hugs. C'mere.”
The Spine, the only Ambassador Shayde hadn’t hugged yet, vented steam in exasperation. “Once again, I wind up feeling like chopped liver…”
“That’s 'cause I’ve been savin’ ye fer last, handsome! Look out!”
It was the first time Rael had ever seen a combination flying tackle, french dip, french kiss, and outright groping session. It was very clear that Shayde was rather over-fond of The Spine and had been so for an extended period of time.
It made a noise like… snog.
She set him back upright with a wicked smirk. “I’ve been saving that one up since Nineteen Eighty-Two.”
“Nineteen Eighty-Two…” said Rabbit. “We were busking, that year…”
“I dinnae expect ye tae remember wee skinny Katie Walker. All blushes and tyin’ myself in knots about a jam?”
“Like this?” said The Jon, and did a scarily accurate imitation of a softly-spoken, shy tweenager about to implode from star-struckedness. He even got the accent, which was thicker when Shayde was emotionally overloaded.
“Aye, ye nailed it. Even the accent. You remember little ole me?”
“We remember everyone,” said The Spine. Still checking his lips to see if they were in one piece. “Do you still have the guitar?”
“Na. I left it at home when I went tae college. Too valuable to me.” She shrugged. “But I got an axe ye can all sign again if ye don’t mind it.” Shayde pulled it out of one of her inter-dimensional pockets.
“On one con-di-tion,” said Hatchworth.
“Aye?”
“You jam with all of us to-night.”
“SOLD!”
Rael sighed and sent a comms message to all debating parties. Shayde recognised CoS. They recognised her by her former name. Temporally Challenged status officially confirmed.
[1] In Rael’s opinion, sliced bread isn’t that much to write anywhere about.
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