She was reminded of her ill-advised audition for Siegfried Idol, and the anxiety she had felt while standing on the darkened stage, readying herself to sing the aria Un bel di from Puccini's Madama Butterfly. Her present situation differed in many ways; there was a pervasive electronic hum in place of the murmuring of the audience, the only light in the house came from the auras of the floating brains, she was in the body of a not-so-attractive male, and she was about to die.
Leela glanced in every direction, but saw only the outlines of darkened corridors and mechanisms that appeared to serve the function of elevators. She took a few steps, and found that she was able to move freely and without pain. They must be holding me prisoner for some reason, she thought.
As if in response to her meditation, a booming, familiar voice echoed throughout the air above her, giving her the impression that the ceiling was miles away. "Greetings, Fry of the planet Earth," it spoke. "Welcome to…THE DUMB STAR!"
It's the Master Brain, she realized. Fry should've killed him while he had the chance.
"I'm not Fry!" she shouted into the black void. "I'm not the one you want!"
A moment of silence passed as one of the brains broke from its orbit and descended almost to Leela's eye level. "You say you are not Fry," it said, flashing red and yellow with each word. "If you are not Fry, then who is?"
Before Leela could figure out an answer to the odd question, a figure strolled out of a dark hallway. Its appearance startled and shocked her as it moved into the light.
It was an exact duplicate of Fry, complete with red jacket and pointy hair.
"Perhaps this is Fry," said the Master Brain. The Fry clone stood still and gazed blankly at Leela, its eyes devoid of emotion and, it seemed to her, awareness.
"Or this." Yet another copy of Fry trudged forward from the opposite direction, assuming a position next to the first.
"Fine," said Leela with resignation. "I am Fry. Now stop sending in the clones."
A fraction of a second later, the space surrounding her became completely illuminated. She could see no apparent source of light; the only thing she could see was decks. A deck above her, another deck above that, a hundred decks stacked on top of the first two—decks as far as she could lift her eyes. It was an awesome, dizzying picture.
Laboring mindlessly on the decks were dozens…hundreds…thousands of Fry duplicates. Every one sported the same outfit, hairdo, and vacant expression as the two copies standing before Leela.
"Holy freaking Jesus," she said under her breath.
Several hundred giant brains swirled above her head, locked in an endless dance. "I'm glad you like it," said the brain hovering in front of her. The two Fry clones nearest her turned and walked away, soon reappearing at empty work stations.
"What's the purpose of all this?" asked Leela for lack of a better question.
"Long term? Domination of the universe," replied the Master Brain. "Short term? We needed a slave army that was unaffected by our dumbening influence."
"So that's why you cloned me," said Leela. It's exactly like what Philaster did with Bender's personality, only on a far grander scale.
"Affirmative," the Master Brain went on. "With the generous support of our slave army, we were able to construct this station, which we christened the Dumb Star. In addition to conventional weaponry and planet-mining implements, the Dumb Star is armed with a long-range anti-intelligence beam that can stupefy either a starship or an entire world with one pulse."
God, thought Leela. It's the end of everything.
"It's the end of everything," said the glowing brain. "Now, do you have any more questions before we consign you to your doom?"
"Er, yes," said Leela. "Does the Dumb Star have any vulnerabilities?"
"Yes," was the answer. "There's a tiny exhaust shaft on the surface that leads directly to the reactor core. An extremely skilled fighter pilot might succeed at launching a torpedo into the shaft, which would almost certainly result in a gigantic explosion and the complete destruction of the station."
"I see," said Leela, intrigued. "Why are you telling me all this? Are you about to kill me?"
"No," replied the Master Brain. "You're more valuable to us alive, if only slightly. There's no danger in describing to you the details of the station's architecture, since you'll know everything once we plug you in."
Plug me in? That does not sound good.
"This central chamber has special acoustic properties," the brain continued. "It's like a well-built orchestra hall, only it reflects, amplifies, and clarifies thoughts instead of sounds. Every one of the four million Fry clones that work here can hear the thoughts of all the others, as well as the instructions issued by the main control computer. You may view them as robots, zombies, creatures devoid of what you call free will, but you'll soon see that when seven million trains of thought are passing through your mind, each with prominence equal to your own, there'll be no room left for the pursuit of your individual desires."
"But I can't hear any thoughts," said Leela, and then, all at once, she could.
It felt as if the entire population of New New York was crowding around her, addressing her with a constant stream of requests, every one of them with Fry's face and voice. The din was deafening and almost unbearable. She wanted more than anything to put her hands over her ears, and perhaps block out the noise and the pain, but every time she formed the thought lift arms and put hands on sides of head, it was swept away by the incessant clatter. She was powerless to move or decide.
"It can be disorienting when you're first plugged in," said the Master Brain, its voice barely audible above the chaos. "But in a matter of minutes your brain will learn to sort out the various command streams, and identify the one intended for you. At that moment you will understand your duty and become an undistinguished worker in our slave army! BUWAHAHAHAHA!"
Need I say it? To be continued!
