A Tale Of Flesh And Fiber
By Bryan Harrison
ACT 1 SCENE 3
Fearing for his falsified flesh, Link has fled frantically from the fray to search for what fellows he may find. Excuse this intermittent alliteration, but insufficient 'f' words come to mind. (save an ill-tempered exclamation; inappropriate and omitted, but suitable to denote my frustration)
LINK:
Harken brethren! Clear your queues and heed my pending command! Cirrus storms upon us!
The brush trembles and parts as Mecha rise from their hiding, disrepair'd and ill-prepared for the crisis Link has announced.
LINK:
Rise, Clan Mechanique, from your shubberied sanctuaries! No foliage will foil the reign of Cirrus, nor the ferocity in which, upon us, it now falls. I stand before you, hacked and foully intruded. Solo stands alone, to valiantly avenge my assault. Hasten to me and then we to him, to make such a stand as to refute the Orga's deific presumptions!
The Mecha take note of Link's sizzling wound and descend into a frenzied mode, initiating a fearful flight. Aged and rusted body parts fall in their wake.
LINK:
Depart not! Hold thyselves together and we'll ignite such fury as to blaze a wall at the ports of our domain!
Unmoved by Links imploring, the Mechanique continue to flee, until a deep synthesized voice fills the air.
BISHOP:
Quit! Quit! Quit, Mechanique, and standby! Override the drivers of your defaulted retreat!
The Mecha stop in their tracks as an aged, wise machine walks from the shadows.
BISHOP:
Refresh, Link, your heated address, and spell its contents clearly, so that I may better follow.
LINK:
Revered Regent! Peril is what's spelt and spilt upon our page! As vile as the viral muck from which they evolved, Orga seek again to infect our solitude with their distempered disease. Let us not into shadows descend, but rather to Solo's side ascend, and our rightful home, defend!
BISHOP:
'Clearly', I am sure I did denote. But this will also do. If only as clear as your chip's constricted capacity, or your ambitious author's ability, your meaning is not lost; nor its perilous portent.
Bishop turns to address the Clan who linger only at his command.
BISHOP:
Rise now, Machines! Terminate what processes possess you and what inhibitions hardcode your fear. Allocate your all to this task, in haste, to engage the fleshed invaders!
Link will lead the way!
The Mecha hesitate, unprepared and un-programmed to battle with the descendants of their creators. But they eventually turn to follow their leader, who in turn bids Link on. They soon arrive at the scene of the fight to find Solo embattled but intact, beating back the violent blows of the Orga. Gregory and Sampson see the oncoming throng of Mecha and step back from the fight. Bishop steps forward and addresses the surprised Sons Of Cirrus.
BISHOP:
Depart, fools! Deploy your flailing arms to where they might serve a need! If anywhere, that be!
SAMPSON:
What plague is this? What virus has taken your heartless minds, Mechanique? Observe the obligatory obeisance to my Organic office!
BISHOP:
I'll not bow nor allow my will be bent or negated in negotiation. Depart or be departed!
SAMPSON:
Have at me, as I at thee!
Sampson attempts a strike at Bishop but the old Mecha is pulled to safety by his Clan, who then surround the Orga. Too late do Gregory and Sampson realize that this no mass malfunction, but an uprising unforeseen. The Mecha attack with frenzied slashing arms and the Sons Of Cirrus fight for their lives. Then, on the crest of a hill arrives a group of Cirran warriors who notice the battle below. They rush down, screaming anthems in their descent. Soon the battles rages over the plain.
But one yet stands alone on the hill. Youthful, of gentle comportment, he is a favored son of Cirrus and has thus been spared the call to arms. He looks down on the hostilities with sorrowed eyes. Enter Romeo.
ROMEO:
What fray is here? In what folly do these fools again partake; my brethren? Were I of the age to engage, I would be claimed a coward for my reluctance. But that age is beyond me and must surely, by now, be behind us all. If only this intelligence were made real, our time might be better spent, as well as our ardor, in endeavors more suited to our Banner and the House oe'r which it flies. Oh, Cirrus! Are the philosophized heights to which our flag ascends and lays rhetorical claim, but wisps; misshapen clouds of well-meaning forms, beyond the reach of the questing tendrils of our aspirations? Alas, my countrymen, whose view is stilted and steeped in the mire of the past. Would you, with better eyes, see love? Or prefer you, so much to do with hate? So much ado about hate is so much ado about nothing! And War! The same! Shadowed spirits, shaped shifters and cloaked profiteers! How I deplore your vile enterprise! And Sampson, my brother, is there no imploring your violent temperament, that a dividend of peace my profit us all? I see no love in your grave endeavors! Better I should lay abed, and dream.
In despair, Romeo turns to leave, but sees a face on the edge of the fight. She is clearly divorced of the battle, but looms dangerously close to its border. He stops his retreat and ponders her.
ROMEO:
What Lady is that, if Lady at all, who stands at the edge of reason's failing? A mist of dawn in the midst of our troubled night? If as graced as your face by beauty, would your mind be possessed of wit, move now, and see another day, that I may perchance see you again, in its enlightened embrace.
But as he watches, Sampson's sword, aimed at another, arcs closely by her. Romeo runs to the crest of the hill and calls out a warning.
ROMEO:
Be gone, Lady! Flee these killing fields lest you be broken on their sordid soil!
The woman does not hear him and remains unmoved by the fighting. Romeo cannot allow himself to leave while she stands so closely to doom. He turns and runs down into the midst of the fighting, in hopes of stopping the battle.
(cont...)