Metallic Dreams of Hammers and Sickles

[jammi]

"Rhetoric?" It asked. "Care to explain what you mean by that?" It turned its head back to Julio, focusing on him once again. The mechanical fingers were unmeshed and it leaned forward, resting its 'elbows' on the table and leaning forward to support its head on its fists.

Almost subconsciously Julio felt the need to lean back, away from the machine that was leaning across the table. He caught himself before moving. There was no need to be intimidated by it. There was a reason a maintenance bot had been picked for the upload, and that was it resembled a human sufficiently, but was at the same time flimsy enough to be overpowered if it should come to the worst.

He cleared his throat then continued. Rhetoric as in the fluent expression of thoughts. Arguing as well. Kind of like the tools of conversation and language, if you get what I mean? He picked up the shot glass again and twirled it between his fingers. He coughed for a moment, then replaced the glass. Excuse me. I need to get another one of those. He hauled himself to his feet and traipsed off towards the bar, leaving Viatcheslav in his seat.

The machine looked to the shot glass sitting on the table. It brought one fist out from under its 'chin', reaching out to pluck up the small glass. It studied the rather dull shape, slowly turning it in its stubby fingers. Stopping, it looked to Julio who had his back turned to Viatcheslav. Remembering the motions of the Lieutenant, it twirled the glass in its fingers. On the third rotation, the glass shattered audibly. The mechanical body stiffened as all eyes were turned on it. different sized shards of glass sat on the table. Viatcheslav remained immobile as everyone still stared.

Hearing the noise, Julio froze, his blood turning cold. He could visualise a drunken Sub Lieutenant throwing a bottle at the robot, perhaps a slurred insult telling it to get back to the hanger. He knew the machine would retaliate to such an attack, then he would be forced to enact Katzs Contingency, and itd be his balls going through the wringer. He slowly pivoted, and saw the shot glass shattered on the table, Viatcheslavs arm still outstretched, the fingers curled. One of the serving staff quietly placed a new drink on the bar surface behind him. Still watching the motionless machine, he reached for the glass and walked carefully back to the table.

He slid back into his seat, then swept the broken glass to the tables edge to clear some space. Dont worry about that. He placed his new drink on the table. Having second thoughts he downed it, leaving a second empty glass. He picked it up and held it out on an upturned palm. You were trying to spin it werent you? He nimbly tossed it into the air and caught it between his fingers a prodigy of a lifetime lurking in bars. Look, hold it this way. He held it up to the light as an example. Im guessing last time you put too much pressure on the glass. Just dont hold it as tight then try again. He rolled the glass down into his palm, then outstretched his hand again, offering it, as if for inspection.

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