On the First Day - Part Robot

All this really began when a Faceless Robot woke up on that fateful day of its murder. The Robot immediately noted three strange anomalies or illogicalies.

1. It woke up.

2. It woke up from a dream.

A strange dream about that time Ward Reward gave it some Super. Before that moment a Faceless Robot was just a machine. Clck clck. That's all it could do. After a touch of Super, and well, clickery clackety cloot! An original Robot with all sorts of robotic feats built in and ready to run. An engineering marvel and a being of pure enginery. It dreamt of its birthing into the world of flesh, blood and bone.

3. It yawned.


On the Second Day - Part Three

Way back in the day and before the invention of Super, the original League of Headquarters was nothing more than a glorified clubhouse on the wrong side of the tracks. A hodge-podge of slightly super-groups looking for, ultimately, a break on their taxes. As New Popolisville grew so did the League, until one day the building was all grown up. Tall, light and handsome. So bright and such a shining beacon of virtue and steel, of justice and glass, of GOOD and gold.

Corporal COPulent had a job to do. He loved his job. Loved the order. The law. The law was right beyond wrong. Above it as well. Right was always above and beyond wrong. He understood his job. He put on his sunglasses. And he suddenly saw through the League. Through the floors, the walls, the structure was as clear as the singing bells of the late Graham Alexander, a great inventor; a great grandfather too. He invented Super and without it, the Corporal couldn't do his job. His grandfather taught him about right and wrong. He taught him the secret to Super. He said to his grandson, "Listen to me Alex, the secret to Super is simple. There is a WORD in swords but no swords in a WORD. You might not understand this now. You will one day. Your older sister Mary understands. She'll look out for you and you for her. She understands. You will too."

Alex Alexander thought about his sister at the Jamboree and thought about his grandfather. He missed them both. He thought about his job. The AutoCOPS missed something. He should have seen to the interviews himself. Seeing through everything in the building had its advantages. The records showed only seven people inside the League since yesterday morning. Alexander, Worth, the Secretary, and a Faceless Robot all have alibis. He spotted the Manmad, the Moose and the Mute. In that order and off he went.


The Manmad was wearing his C-Thru Skin and a straighthat and nothing else. The Manmad was powering his flowers. The Manmad had company. "Well I'll be a copulating corporeal copula if it isn't CORPoral Copulent!" he lied and cracking all the sense he fit in his shallow sanity. "Wry again am I! A robot's death is like its life! I have mournography. How dare you shoe! Plenty have I and I have plenty. Why wasn't it me! I wanted to bill the cot! Fill it kindly! One killethal suicideath coming up!"

Alexander took off his sunglasses and looked the Manmad right in the eye. "Are you trying to tell me that you're sorry for not killing the robot yourself?"

"I'm pretty in pity! And a plaid hand!"

"Had a plan? To kill the robot? How would you have done it?" Alexander asked.


"I still don't understand why you're not locked up." he sighed and the Manmad gave him a lollipop.

"You're one jollicop!" fried the creek and then he dried the train.

"That will be all for now. Carry on." and Alexander wasted no time in going to see Brother Moose.


The Monastery was on the top Forest Floor, its idyllic country green perched and nestled on a balcony over on the East Tower. Everyone calls it the Beast Tower. Four pairs of giant wings made of concrete, white carbon and golden silver spring from beneath the floor and fold gently over a monk in a temple on a hill in a forest on a balcony in a tower. The wings closest curved over half the greenery while the furthest pair flew straight up, the wing tips bent back ever so majestically. There was an afternoon blue blanketing the air and a pair of clouds rested gently in the middle of the sky, which was crispy and clearly beautiful.

"The GOOD GOD thanks you, Alex." and Brother Moose wasted no time in eating the lollipop. "Care for a prayer?

There's a goodly battle that
Shares a badly prattle, and
Those that exhaust goodly and
Souls that accost badly, what
Few won and understood, that
Through one comes some GOOD,
Whom the sun hums to GOD and
Do they run, drum or plod?
Say unto them,
Whoa to the NO GOOD!
Whoa to the NO GOD!
Badly confused, then hear all my news with
Goodly infused and lay bare the shy ruse with
Proudly accused, we cheer with wry music.
Say unto them,
Whoa to the NO GOOD!
Whoa to the NO GOD!
Now who is this devil, this Prince of Lies?
You ain't nothing 'cept GOD in disguise,
Too GOOD to be true since we got wise.
Say unto them,
Whoa to the NO GOOD!
Whoa to the NO GOD!

"Wonder how you shall say the True Law?" rang Brother Moose.

Spoke Alexander, "With a revertant and renew'd awe." as he looked down at the ascetic. Brown and bare and big and bald. Alexander resisted an urge to sit with Brother Moose under the sicknomore tree and hum some hymns. Worth would be back soon. He noticed a spider had built its web between the monk's feet. The records showed that he'd been sitting in his temple for the past few weeks. He wished the Brother a very contrite "Merry, merry." and Alexander went to see what the Mute had to say.


When the Super-Sensibles moved in they opted for the original League as their own headquarters. The glorified clubhouse sat in a large courtyard on the glorified ground floor. It's still the same old place since way back in the day except it's called the Oloh now. Or that Club. Or this Olohouse. Or on Olohground. Alexander walked through the front door and the Astute Mute was plainly sitting and mainly holding a half a century year old newspaper with a frontpage headline that read INVENTOR OF SUPER MYSTERIOUSLY MURDERED.

She was wearing her Artful Attire, made from every letter in the alphabet. A Witty Watch with no face, just these tiny Golden Gears and Silver Springs. They were still and broken and the watch had a Savvy Strap that wrapped around her right wrist and up her lengthy limb to an Adept Armlet. Shoulders were naked and revealing her neck which was clasped in a Clever Choker latched with a Locket Lock and no key in sight. Lips were useless and her bland and blind eyes were shaped like almonds with a creamy hazel center. She was holding an Uninteresting Umbrella which was the colour of umbrage and it unfurled and curled above her. Hair fell back and wound around down the left arm and grew from her fingers and into the handle for her Hairybraid Handbag which she reached into and pulled out a long lost letter. She handed it to the Corporal.

The old envelope was stamped and delivered to the League and addressed to Graham Alexander. It was from Ward Reward. Alex opened and read it.

The strangest thing happened to me just the other day! Oh Hammy, if only you were here to invent a little sense of it all. I was giving a dose of some Super to this guy who says he sells futures; not like that fortune seller, something further. He shows me the far fates and I see t'morrow's morrow, which consists of this lovely blind lady getting dressed! Very slowly. It takes her all day and all night and she doesn't say a word the entire time! It's artfully mesmerizing. And she's in the middle of the League Lounge! It's the same next century as it is today! No growth? How can that be?

Then the dame sits down and picks up a newspaper. I can't read the headline, a drawback to bending the lens of time I suppose. When she pops the paper up, this old envelope falls out and slides straight into her fuzzy purse. Then Captain COPulent walks in! He hasn't aged a bit and he stares at her and then the girl gives him this old envelope and he rips it open and looks at this letter. He seems to understand what he's reading and just as he's about to say something, anything at this silent point, the whole vision fades! Why is the future so quiet, Hammy? What does it all mean? - Ward


On the Second Day - Part Two

The AutoLIMO gingerly drove itself up and away from the downtown core, past the Seventh Sealed Bank and the City Hall of Justice, over the Silvery Bridge and under the Fallen River until it finally hit the Freedway. Detective Worth, who enjoyed riding behind the wheel when alone, was savouring the sights and listening to the radio.

". . . and in what they're calling the Late Escape, a Robot Face, New Popolisville's infamous ex-mayor, attempted a daring prison break but was foiled yet again by a change in the prison timekeeping records, the fourth change in as many weeks. On the lighter side of things, this year's Super Jamboree was a smashing success, helping to raise over ten million dollars for the Super Sickids Fund."


". . . tired of sleeping? Napping got you down? At the Institute of Woken Dreams we can help you realize your dream of a sleepless life. You can explore more at your nearest DataBank by entering WOKEN DREAMS."


". . . latest from Suzy Seashells and her Adoring Fans, here's Perchance!"

There's a boy called Yes,
And a girl named No,
She was in distress,
He was apropos.

Saved her from a mess,
And wouldn't you know,
Love flew more than less,
Now they're quid pro quo.

The library was at the heart of New Popolisville; some might say it was the heart of the city itself, some being mostly librarians. Worth noted the presence of Mayor O'Mortal and a ream of red ribbon wrapped around the high regal columns guarding the front entrance way. A snip of some scissors would christen the library's latest award of a brand spanking new DataBank, the second largest in the whole city, a gift from Sir Reward. The AutoLIMO pulled up to one of the side doors and hummed into submission.

Yes and No got a little crazy!
Nine months pass, had a little maybe!

He exited the vehicle and entered the building. Everything was quiet like the inside of a church mouse, with mostly everyone outside; their noise being muffled by the layers of brick and years of shushing. Worth headed towards the old book section, beyond the towering shelves filled with a multitude of colourful spines of varying width and height. Everything got a little dimmer, dustier and drabber yet he could almost taste the musty morsel of history. All of a sudden, an Agent of the Statement, none other than WORDwork came buzzing by with an assistant with an assistant. Worth observed the three of them systematically taking random words from random books. Before he could gleam any motive for such behaviour WORDwork says, "Detective Worthwhile of the Fortune Fiefdom! How's it slanging?"

"Short and to the point. Have you heard WORD? A Faceless Robot is dead."

A shock tremor'd across the readable WORDwork's face upon hearing the new news. "No GOOD and so distracted. Pet project and they're exhausted." he said, throwing his thumb behind him where the assisting assistants were sleeping soundly, both of their heads resting against Vol. 7 of The Serious Jester in a Court of Laughter. "What you have spoken is a thing I cannot chairish," WORDwork's speech becoming inflicted, "and while I may have had my different dances with that mundane metal monkey, a question must beg on bent knees to crooked feet," he lightly paused, "might there be a who in the whodunnit?"

Worth rubbed his eyes and thought better of rubbing his ears. "No."

"Suspected leading clues?"

The detective quietly produced Sherlock Holmes. WORDwork voraciously devoured every single page in a few single seconds with the help of his photogenic memory and then handed the book back to Worth.

"Even better the second time. Shame about the missing adventure."

"Second time?" Worth exclaimed. "Where did you see it for the first time? The DataBank had no record of, wait, can you get a copy of the third adventure to me?"

"Certainty! As to where I saw it, a public library is a poor place for secrets." he gestured at his assistants or perhaps it was the books. "Shall we head back to the League?"