Chtorr (ktor), n. 1. The planet Chtorr, presumed to exist within 30 light-years of Earth. 2. The star system in which the planet occurs; possibly a red giant star, presently unidentified. 3. The ruling species of the planet Chtorr; generic. 4. In formal usage, either one or many members of the ruling species of the planet Chtorr; a Chtorr, the Chtorr. (See Chtor-ran) 5. The glottal chirruping cry of a Chtorr.
Chtor-ran (ktoi in), adj. 1. Of or relating to either the planet or the star system, Chtorr. 2. Native to Chtorr. n. 1. Any creature native to Chtorr. 2. In common usage, a member of the primary species, the (presumed) intelligent life form of Chtorr. (pl. Chtor-rans)
-The Random House Dictionary of the English Language Century 21 Edition, unabridged.
Mo-die (mo de), n., (colloq.) 1. Any person who has totally immersed himself in Mode Training Seminars. 2. A member of the American Modal Movement. 3. Anyone who is dedicated to quasi-religious, personal development seminars; generally used as an epithet. (pl. Mo-dies)
-The Random House Dictionary of the English Language Century 21 Edition, unabridged.
A limerick of classic proportion
should have meter and rhyme and a portion
of humor quite lewd
and a frightfully crude
impossible sexual contortion.
1
The Spider
"Design flaws travel in herds."
-Solomon Short
"Don't move!" I said it very softly.
"Huh-?" The kid came crashing through the bushes behind me.
"And don't talk!"
The spider was nearly twice as tall as a man. It looked confused. It stood in the center of a grassy clearing, turning itself hesitantly this way and that. It was a dark oblate shape poised motionless on six gangly legs. It hadn't seen us yet, but its big black eyes were swiveling back and forth in a restless, searching motion. It was looking for the source of the sound; we'd surprised it. I wondered if we could fade quietly back into the bushes. Alone, I could have done it
"What is it?" the kid blurted.
All four of the spider's eyes came jerking around to focus on us. "Shit." I touched the phonebox on my belt and punched CONTROL. "This is JIMBO. I've got a spider. I think it's rogue."
The phone spoke instantly into my ear. "We copy. Stand by." The spider unslung a torch from beneath its belly and brought the nozzle around to bear on us. Its red lights came on with an angry glare and it spoke with a hard metal voice. "FREEZE WHERE YOU ARE!"
The phone spoke into my ear again. "What model?"
I replied as softly as I could manage. "I can't see the serial number. But it's one of the big ones. A Robinson. Vigilante, I think. Industrial chassis. Looks like a riot-control model; it's armored and it's got police fixtures. And . . . yes, military ordnance."
"PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEADS!" the spider ordered. "TAKE THREE STEPS FORWARD!"
"We copy that too," said the phone emotionlessly.
"And it looks like it's been wounded. It's got scorch marks, scratches, and a couple bad dents. And it's moving slower than it ' should." I wondered who-or what-had put those dents in it. The phone didn't respond.
"PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEADS! TAKE THREE STEPS FORWARD!"
"Sir-?" the kid quavered. "Shouldn't we do as it says?"
I nodded. "Very . . . slowly." I took a step forward. Then another. And a third. I brought my hands up slowly. I glanced sideways to see what the kid was doing. "Don't. Try. Anything."
"Uh-huh," the kid gulped. He looked like he was about to faint. I hoped he wouldn't. It might be fatal.
The spider was studying us with a full sensory scan. There was something wrong with its brain. It was taking too long and it kept repeating its movements.
My phone reported, "Be very careful! You were right. It is a Vigilante-it's one of the hypered ones. It fell out of the net three weeks ago, we don't know why. And it won't respond to recall. What's it doing now?"
"Looking us over. But it's taking too long."
"It can't make up its mind if you're friend or foe. It probably can't read your dogtags."
"Shit. Have you got an override code?"
"We're not sure when it went down, so we don't know what its codes were at the time of the event. It might still be updating-or it might have locked down when the channel broke."
"And the bad news is . . . ?" I prompted.
"You get to choose which code you want to try. You only get one guess."
There wasn't time to think. I said, "Give me the override cod operative at its last contact."
"Right."
"LOWER YOUR WEAPONS SLOWLY!" the spider bellowed. The phone spoke syllables into my ear.
"Say again?"
"LOWER YOUR WEAPONS SLOWLY!"
I unhitched my rifle from my shoulder and slid it very slowly to the grass. I shrugged out of my backpack too and stepped carefully away from it. . . .
The phone was repeating the override code a third time. "Did you get that?"
"Got it." If the spider was still talking, we had a chance.
I took a step forward. The huge machine rebalanced itself, refocusing and readying its weaponry suspiciously. I spoke loudly and clearly. "Code: Zero. Niner. Charlie. Apple. Six. Emergency override. Priority Alpha."
"STAY WHERE YOU ARE!"
I repeated the code. Louder this time. "Emergency override. Priority Alpha."
The spider beeped. It clicked. Then it requested in a more courteous tone, "Password?"
My mouth was so dry it hurt. We'd gotten first-level recognition-but that didn't mean anything, not if we had the wrong password. I cleared my throat.
"Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty."
"Password?" the spider repeated.
"Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty."
"What is the password?" the spider asked impatiently. "You have ten seconds."
Oh, God. What if its recognition functions were damaged? I stretched the middle finger of my right hand across the back of my left toward the panel on my wrist. "Eternal vigilance-" I nudged the arming button. "-is the price of liberty."
This time the spider hesitated. Thinking about it? One touch of my finger . . . and I might be able to make that spider really angry. Damn. It was too heavily armored. The rockets in the backpack might stop a worm; they couldn't handle this. The best I could do was wound the thing-and maybe buy enough time for an escape.
The question was--could I outrun a four-meter Vigilante spider in hot pursuit?
I did not feel lucky.
Abruptly, the spider beeped and said, "Password accepted."
"Command:" I said. "Disable for inspection. Now."
The spider hesitated. "What is the password?" it asked. "You have ten seconds."
Huh?
"Sir-?" asked the kid. "Is it supposed to do that?"
I shook my head. "Shut up." I raised my voice again. "Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty."
Again, a long hesitation. "Password accepted."
I thought hard for a moment. The spider would accept the password. Maybe. But it wouldn't accept any other commands. To the phone, I said, "Are you getting all this?"
"We copy," said the voice in my ear. "Stand by. We're looking at options."
"Terrific. So am I." The spider had three flame-throwers, two rocket-launchers, and assorted other frightfulnesses all slung neatly beneath its belly-several of which were targeted at us.
"What is the password?" the spider demanded.
Dammit! The bloody thing was stuck! It could recognize the password, but it couldn't pass that recognition back-so it couldn't get out of the loop. How long did we have before its internal monitor realized it was stuck? Once that happened, it would go on to the next option and no password would be effective.