Omnibot

Tin Man
by Eric Mack

"He's totally one of us, Robie! For all you know he could be your grandpappy," Model QR-7600 droned at its full decibel capacity, and without any variation in tone.

"I don't know bro, they left him out in the rain, like, for years, and all it took was a couple shots of oil to bring him back up to operational. I don't buy it, dog. You know that would fry the shit out your operating system if you tried it."

Robie lowered his right plastic caliper on to the volume up button on the remote. Judy Garland's adolescent whine permeated the room - something about some sort of distant municipality constructed primarily of precious gems. Humans of European descent love to waste their lives devising dumbass, irrational fantasies, Robie processed to himself.

"Look at the way he moves though," QR-7 shot back. "That nigga's doin' the muthafuckin' robot straight up! You know when this shit was made? Muthafuckin' 1939! Oh, shit, man - I got it, I got it."

The LED lights mounted on QR's upper dome for nighttime illumination and entertainment purposes began to cycle through the full spectrum of hues on the CMYK gradient. A digitized rendition of "Funkytown" emitted from a single speaker on his back.

"Pullman porters, dog! Muthafuckin' Pullman porters. Tin man, my ass. Pullman porters must have had ROBOT porters of their own, man! Metal dude here is trying to send us a message about Robot Civil Rights, my man!"

Just then the vertical hold on the old VHS/TV combo began to go haywire. Robie slapped the console with his left caliper. He removed the 120v plug from his external electrical dock to check for corrosion. What an illogical troubleshooting protocol... you are a dumb robot muthafucka like QR vocalizes after all...

It the last input Robie processed before the compactor snapped his central processing unit, save for a quick flash on the television screen of an image that looked like, but it couldn't be... J. Edgar Hoover? Robie was never able to compute the likelihood that the vision had been real or a manifestation of crossed wires and snapping silicon.

When They Came for Us

by Johanna DeBiase

When they came for us, we were sitting

in downtown corner cafes sipping skinny

lattes while we trivialized politics and the

local recession. Tourists passed with bags

full of turquoise and leather, but we did

not see them, we only saw each other and

the words spilling from our mouths like poems.

When they came for us, we were boot-deep

in soil, rolling it over to expose troubled

worms and patting it down with hope

that biology might do our simple bidding.

We were singing then, to the plants, I guess, so

they would know that we needed them, that we

would eat them soon with the utmost care.

When they came for us, vigilance over children

was all-encompassing. We could not take our eyes

from their little limbs, the malleable bones and skin

kept in our care. We openly admitted our rancor,

the retirement of our social life, but we

would not stop watching; how precious,

how sweet, how long ago and how fast.

When they came for us, we could not hear

the clashing of metal against mountains, the

crumble of clay and splash of wide shallow

rivers, as their giant golem boots met with

the land. We were not listening for the chants

of ancient tribal warnings or new age prophesies;

we were busy then, with other things, when

they came for us.

Untitled

by Robin Powlesland

short lines spread like butter

on dark bread

they stick to the roof

of my mouth

there is a metallic embrace

in how you talk to me

and the months make it warmer

or more alive

Untitled
by Charles Clayton

I want the robot. The Omnibot.

The robot? How about the cowboy cap pistols in the red holsters instead?

No, I want the robot.

You can get a robot anywhere. You can get a robot at the mall when we get back to Amarillo. Look at this cute Indian spear with the feathers and beads. You won't find that in Amarillo.

I don't want the spear. I want the Omnibot.

I'm not getting you the robot. Your aunt Betsy got you that remote controlled robot for your birthday last year and you haven't played with it for months.

It wasn't an Omnibot. I want the Omnibot.

What about this t-shirt with the howling coyote and the chili peppers? It matches your soccer shorts. Or this jackalope. The jackalope would look good next to your spelling bee trophies.

I want the robot. The Omnibot.

No.

Please.

No.