A Tale Of Flesh and Fiber

by pazu7

Of flesh and blood was he, fiber and wire was she, yet interfaced in the face of all that their bond decried. Was it really love, or just the illusion of such, which flared so brightly, and then died?

7. Chapter 7

A Tale Of Flesh And Fiber

By Bryan Harrison

ACT 2 SCENE 3

Hark ye fellows who yet follow my folly, and those of fairer gender, though a year has passed since I posted last, I beg an ear (or eye per the form of this render). When we last engaged, our star-crossed lovers had at last crossed paths and creased the brow of the Patriarch Cirrus, who spied across a dance'd floor his heir's disgraced engagement. Son Gregory will assert his Father's command while Son Sampson draws his idle hand, and plays the part of the jerk. (Hope I can make this work!)

SOLO:

What words wield you Orga, to weld the cracks your intemperance has plied?

SAMPSON:

Reset, troubled Mechanique, and boot warm to the occasion. Undo what offense was done; redo and be done with it!

SOLO:

The damage is dun, and ill-pallor'd as this bland appeasement. What play you now? I cold call your fouled hand!

SAMPSON:

Grey, yes, in grave admittance, and ill-suited are these mischievous hands to play fair. But they're all I've been misdealt. Pray, leave me room to improve and a bit more for an out.

SOLO:

What domain you've left is much levied by debt of tyranny. But I'll appease your organic obstinacy, for a time. Declare!

SAMPSON:

Spy thee with me… and cloak your gaze from scrutiny… there. Tis Romeo, Cirran heir and my brother, with another, the fair one of your Clan. In rationale ostensive, innocence has war's hand stayed. But I deploy a dire dialectic, and deduce a different game being played. See you only limbs entwined? Flesh and fiber's delineation redefined? Then rescan, with optimal resolution, and make clear the pixel'd ploy. Tis no beginning, but the end of your kind. And mine.

SOLO:

Tis no just deduction. But, though taxing is your appeal, exempt me not from it. Withhold nothing.

SAMPSON:

Scan now my Father with your lens. He of lineage regal and refined, brought forth from loin begat from loin begat as said, again and so forth, since before there was time. Such is the currency of soft machinery that sustains our House through our turbulent genetic history.

SOLO:

To the point! What care I for history, or yours?

SAMPSON:

I know not, save that I seem to've been here before… but wait! There's more. A thing much the same as a King, carries the mantle of your Clan. Bishop is it named, this replicant regent? But be he a King or just a thing in this guise, who would know? For what is a ruler without a throne? And what throne is without its House? And what House can be defined but by an enemy?

SOLO:

Speak thee of… you and me?

SAMPSON:

Certainly!

SOLO:

Yet speak ye of war?

SAMPSON:

Of course! Though not in animosity.

SOLO:

What but animus would animate our rivalry?

SAMPSON:

A secret truce of grievances.

SOLO:

Ah! An agreement of hostilities.

SAMPSON:

That our Houses will retain their identity, Regents and aristocracy.

SOLO:

But Mechanique share no such human peculiarity as hierarchy.

SAMPSON:

Why arrest your simulant similarities? Carry you not our memetic propensity to rule? Surely we bequeathed you a spine.

SOLO:

As so!

SAMPSON:

Then I'll an ass'ol be, if you'll but join me! and fight one another as Brothers! For blood is no thicker than enmity!

SOLO:

So, what is your plan?

Elsewhere robots are engaged with Orga in cautious conversations. The music swells and falls. Romeo dances in a slow trance with Joliet. Enter Gregory.

GREGORY:

Romeo! Our Father cries craven this disgrace'd embrace!

ROMEO:

Speak you his words, or some bedeviled amendment?

GREGORY:

Hold your hackles, Brother. Seek no offense where none was imposed, nor for the sake for that which cannot. I speak to the spirit of our Father's command and propose you purge what spirits have fired this heated dance.

ROMEO:

The spirit that moves me is known to thee, Gregory, if you but have a heart and ever obeyed it.

GREGORY:

Of heart I am surely possessed, Brother, though none that reason shan't exorcize. Take heed your Father's call.

ROMEO:

Sweet Mechanique, I must away. Pray you delete my brother's input from your queue and libel not my Father' their author. He is of as fair virtue as thou art visage.

JOLIET:

Dally not from duty, good prince. I shall pause and standby, that we may engage when truce entwines our tribes.

Romeo turns to leave but stops. He reaches out, as if to grasp Joliet's hand.

GREGORY:

Duty calls, Brother.

ROMEO:

No more than my heart. Oh, grasp and bear me away, Gregory, for I am willing victim of want.

Gregory grasps Romeo by the arm and pulls him away.

GREGORY:

Your cause is not well serviced by such vice.

ROMEO:

Judge not my courtship, it is beyond your petty jurisdictions… and, I must stipulate, my own! Ha! My Brother, testify me; is this what is meant by love, this transcendent baring of being? I feel to have ascended beyond our house! Indeed, its namesake!

GREGORY: (laughing)

Then descend now, and grasp firm roots. Our Father failing ears cannot perceive from such heights. Go now, and give him audience!

Exit Romeo.

GREGORY:

Were we all such fools as innocents, such pawns in love and war? Ah, my sighing sibling. The age of such desires on its deathbed lies. Too late make you a bid as heir. But that fare for which loves groans, and would even die, is no fair for Romeo, so bewitched by charm of appearances. What tune is this, fair Mechanique, that you pluck on the strings of mortal hearts? Has our Brother's weakness lent you such power to play him as only a lover would dare? Stroke gently, and with much care for what hardships may arise.

Bishop and Link watch cautiously from the periphery of the party, patiently waiting the call to negotiations.

BISHOP:

It is old, Link, my device that marks times passing. But not so far gon't that I cannot perceive our congress overdue.

LINK:

Yea. A congress incongruous as our waiting. I fear foul.

BISHOP:

And foul is your fear. Too long has it nested. Let it fly. This be a chance, if ever a chance be, to end the uncivil rite twixt blood and electricity.

LINK:

Ha! Let none say that dreaming be beyond us.

BISHOP:

Then I'll open my ports to what dreams may come, and make a bed to sleep them.

LINK:

That bed would be your pyre, though neither you'll ever know.

BISHOP:

I'd bless the unknowing and be tithe to all the Gods of Orga if would peace be so simply bought.

LINK:

That transaction you'll make alone, if at all. See there. The Head of Cirrus billows dark on his throne. Turbulent must be the thoughts that cloud his stately head.

BISHOP:

Speaks he to the son who brought us?

LINK:

Yea.

BISHOP:

So speaks he surely of us.

LINK:

He should speak of us to us.

BISHOP:

That time comes hither.

Enter Gregory

GREGORY:

Hail, Mechanique. Cirrus has cleared this time for you, that light may enlighten our engagements and radiate what seeds are this night sown. Follow now, that our proceedings may proceed.

Across the room, the conspirators prepare

SAMPSON:

Look, Solo. The time draws nigh to draw and play our hand. Congress is pending; discourse to deflate the bloated fief'ry from which I extract all I own. But through our network of conspiracy, we can fox this peace unknown.

(cont…)