"WHAT DO YOU THINK, Miriam?"
Cahill Connelly proudly patted his most recent acquisition on the top
of its transparent dome. Inside the dome, a cube of electronic
circuitry was visible with tiny bulbs set into it here and there.
Lights flickered when Cahill touched the robot as if it was pleased.
The dome sat atop a body that was a solid cube of metal half a metre
long in every direction with a hatch in the front. From two sides of
the cube hung arms of flexible rubber which terminated in four
dextrous metal claws. Each leg was two tubes of steel with a flexible
hinge replacing the human knee. The lower leg tube was sat in the
exact centre of its large, flat feet. The robot was one and a half
metres tall. Its metalwork was dulled by age but otherwise in good
condition.
Miriam Connelly was stood at an easel
under the skylight and turned her gaze from the painting before her
to her husband. “A bit old isn’t it?”
“Classic,” he retorted. “Not
old. Bit of a respray and he’ll look as good as new. This is a
classic design from the early age of robotics. It won a gold medal at
the London Robot Exhibition of 2026. I worked on these when I was an
apprentice.”
“That was a long time ago,” she
said, “when your hair was still dark.” Her hair was still red
because she dyed it but she never told him that and he pretended he
didn’t know. It was a happy marriage.
Reflexively he put a hand to his
greying locks then grinned. “I’m a classic too.” He turned to
the household android which was stood quietly nearby.
“What do you think of your new
assistant, Jeeves?”
The android was the latest model. As
chief of robot design at Harrison-Orwell’s principal plant in
nearby Bristol, Cahill could afford the best. Synthiskin was
stretched over steel struts and cogs to form limbs that were as
flexible as a man’s, and much stronger. Jeeve’s torso was a
bendable tube inside of which, alongside other complicated
engineering, was a powerful electric battery that took only an hour a
day to fully charge. His head was almost manlike but there was
nothing resembling hair and the protruding lenses that were his eyes
marked him clearly as an android for it was forbidden by law to
manufacture any device in the exact image of man. Jeeves wasn’t as
clever as Bertie Wooster’s able assistant but was smart enough to
keep the house tidy, cook and look after the everyday needs of his
owners.
He looked at his master’s new acquisition with an air of disdain
worthy of his namesake. "Very good, master. However, I must
agree with Mistress Connelly that it does seem somewhat outdated.”
Jeeve's voice box emitted the words in that cultivated British
accent once heard on the playing fields of Eton.
“Make sure he doesn’t damage any
of my canvases, Jeeves,” said the painter.
“Especially the female nudes,”
said Cahill.
“I should have painted that girl who
came yesterday,” retorted his wife. ’You couldn’t keep your
eyes off her.”
“Now now dear. You know you’re the
only one for me.”
On the previous evening the Connelly’s
had been visited by a very pneumatic lady called Sophie whose severe
business suit did nothing to hide her charms. She was a headhunter,
she said, working on behalf of Robo-Tech who were very keen to
recruit Mister Connelly. He had declined her offer politely.
Miriam Connelly grunted and turned
back to her painting. "She wouldn’t make a good subject for
art anyway. For a certain type of film she’d be perfect but for a
painting you need someone with more subtle charm.”
“Yes dear.” He looked at his
watch. "I have to get to the plant.” Like many technicians he
did much of his work on computers at home but for certain tasks and
meetings it was still necessary to commute to Harrison-Orwell’s
factory.
“How’s your magnum opus coming
along?" asked Miriam.
“Slowly but surely.” Cahill had
dreamed up a revolutionary new concept in robot brain technology but
turning the dream into circuitry was complicated. He planned to see
the project through before taking his well-deserved retirement.
"Gotta go.”
***
"Come along, Clanky.” The name
seemed appropriate. Jeeves had noticed that the new robot’s ancient
gears were quite noisy and his dextrous claws occasionally clanged
against his legs when he walked fast.
The android led the robot out of the
back door and round to the back entrance of the large garage and
opened the door. The front of this outbuilding was for Master
Cahill’s self-drive electric car and the rear was full of packing
cases.
“Pick up a case and follow me.”
Clanky did as instructed and was led to the spare bedroom at the back
of the house which, conveniently, had a sliding patio door that led
out into the garden.
“Pile the boxes along that wall,”
instructed Jeeves. "Don’t go higher than your outdated dome
with them. Can you do that?’
Lights flickered and the old robot
replied. "Affirmative.” The voice was without intonation but
otherwise sounded like a human male.
“You have some language skills
then,” said Jeeves haughtily. "I wasn’t sure what with you
being so old.”
“Not old - classic.”
Clanky turned and returned to the
garage while Jeeves used his complex positronic circuitry to consider
whether or not he had just been snubbed.
“It’s like a jigsaw puzzle where I
don’t have all the pieces,” said Kipling. "Very
frustrating.” He was frowning at a complex diagram on his computer
screen. "How can I make advances in android sensory perception
if I don’t know how it fits in with the central cognitive
function?’
Cahill sighed. He got along well with
most of his staff, the five of them had gab fests together at lunch
and even went out for a beer occasionally but Kipling was the odd man
out, forever moaning.
“Work it out to fit in with current
systems,” he said. "I can do any tinkering to fit the new one
later.”
Kipling pursed his lips. "Boss,
if you would let us see the whole picture it would make doing the
parts a lot easier. Why can’t you let us in on your big idea?’
“Industrial espionage,” replied
Cahill. "It still happens. "I have to keep the central
cognitive organizational structure confidential for now,” he said,
not for the first time. "It’s a radical departure from current
design thinking and Robo-tech would give half their shares to get
hold of it.” Robo-tech was Harrison-Orwell’s chief rival in the
field.
Kipling grunted. "Silly name.
They should have changed it to Android-Tech long ago. Who has robots
nowadays?’
Cahill grinned. "I do.” He went
on to tell his grumpy assistant about his latest acquisition.
Kipling merely feigned interest so he didn’t go on for long. He
knew the other blokes would be keen to hear more at lunch, especially
old Brett Barton who would have worked on them as an apprentice too.
He was not especially surprised or
disappointed when Kipling didn’t turn up for lunch.
The assistant had other fish to fry.
He walked to a nearby burger joint and sat at a corner table by
himself with a coke and fries. He was quickly joined by a healthy
young woman, casually but distractingly dressed in the latest
spray-on plastoid black. Her only actual clothing was a thin black
belt which had a case attached to hold her mobile device.
“Well?" she asked, dropping
into the seat opposite him.
“Well nothing, Sophie,” he replied
curtly. That was the only name she had given him and he was pretty
sure it wasn’t her real one. "I keep trying but Connelly won’t
reveal anything. We’re all farting about with peripheral stuff,
he’s keeping mum about the revolutionary new central cognitive
system he claims to have invented. Maybe it’s a load of guff. Maybe
he doesn’t have anything.”
She shook her head. "Cahill
Connelly doesn’t do guff . He studied positronic brain design after
that disastrous Artificer Robot strike at his shipbuilding factory
and now he’s the best in the field. Have you checked the available
information on the lab’s database? He might have left some clues
there.”
Kipling nodded. "I’ve worked
late a few nights and spent some time going through the lab’s
records. I even managed to hack into his personal workbook. Nothing
there. He’s being very cagey. Worried about Robo-Tech doing a bit
of industrial espionage.”
The girl shook her head ruefully
which made her breasts jiggle and her long dark curls shift from side
to side. "As if we would do such a thing.”
“I wish you’d dress more
modestly,” grumbled Kipling. "It’s very distracting.”
“I’m more distracted by the
prospect of Cahill putting Robo-Tech out of business. A radical new
android owned entirely by Harrison-Orwell could wipe us out. It’ll
be like smartphones replacing laptops and solar replacing fossil
fuels. People want the latest thing nowadays.”
“I’ll keep trying.”
She laughed. "Don’t worry about
it. This is our last meeting. You can’t help us. We’ll have to
take more extreme measures.”
“I’ve done my best, Sophie,”
pleaded Kipling. "Do I still get my money?’
She stood up which put her groin at
his eye level so he could see how little spray-on plastoid black
covered the modern young lady. "The deal was half upfront, half
on delivery. You haven’t delivered but you can keep what you’ve
already had.”
He looked up to her face. "And
the job at Robo-Tech?’
She shook her head. "That was
dependent on delivery.” Then she turned and walked out, black clad
buttocks wobbling seductively.
“Bitch,” said Kipling.
***
Clanky finished moving the packing
cases from the garage to the bedroom before the morning was over.
Jeeves reported to Miriam.
“Would you like him to do anything
else, Mistress?’
“He can water the garden,” she
said. She was stood in the kitchen which had sliding glass doors
leading out onto the patio beyond which stretched half an acre of
lush green lawn. There were flowerbeds along either side of it and a
large circle of flowers and flowering shrubs in the middle.
"Wouldn’t do it on a sunny afternoon, of course, but it’s a
grey day. Show him where everything is, Jeeves. Good fellow.”
Jeeves had stationed Clanky by the
garage. Now he led him to the rear garden and showed him the long
green hosepipe which was on a reel attached to the back wall of the
house. One end of it was attached to a tap set in the brickwork. The
other end had a round attachment with small holes, the type used on
watering cans.
“Start down there and work your way
up,” said Jeeves.
Clanky unreeled the hose and pulled it
down the length of the garden to the bottom. Jeeves turned the tap
on. Clanky held the end of the hose over the flowerbeds and sprinkled
them generously with water.
Jeeves sat on a heavy cast-iron bench
next to the hose reel and watched him for a few minutes. Soon enough
he was satisfied that the job was being done satisfactorily.
Jeeves stood up. "Careful you
don’t rust,” he called out before returning to his household
duties.
Clanky made no reply.
***
Cahill Connelly was keen to go home
but it was Friday, and on Friday after work the gang went for beer.
It was traditional. As usual they trooped to the nearest bar which
was full of workers from the plant.
“It’s an MP-600,” he said to
Brett Barton. "Completely refurbished and practically as good as
new.” They were sat at a corner table slightly apart from the other
engineers who were discussing the possible outcome of a Manchester
football derby the next day. Brett was an enthusiast about old
robots.
“The MP stands for Multi-Purpose but
we always called them Domehead, "said Barton, using the
colloquial name quickly acquired by the robot. "It wasn’t
great but it was adaptable. Did you do it up yourself?’
Cahill shook his head. "No time
for that, unfortunately. But it was kept in a garage for about thirty
years and a retired engineer bought it and restored it. When he died
his wife put it up for sale.”
Brett pursed his lips. "Wish I
had it. The Dom-600 had a solid body. Steel plate a centimetre thick.
They don’t make "em like that anymore.”
Cahill laughed. "No. They make
them better but it’s nice to have souvenirs. Fancy another?"
Barton nodded and he took the empty
glasses back to the bar. There was quite a queue. He heard wolf
whistles behind him and turned to see what had caused them. A
gorgeous, dark-haired girl had just entered the bar. She was wearing
spray-on black plastoid, which was the same as wearing nothing. He
recognized her immediately. It was Sophie, the headhunter.
She smiled at the attention then came
and stood next to him. Cahill tried not to stare, and mostly
succeeded. It was totally unacceptable in the modern world to eye up
a beautiful lady. Downright sexist, in fact. Unfortunately, a hundred
thousand years of evolution had conditioned men to be attracted to
women and simply would not be denied. He tried to ignore her. She put
a hand on his arm.
“Buy a girl a drink, Mister
Connelly?’
His gang at the corner table were
watching. Some of them were making gestures. He smiled at her. "You
look as if you can afford your own.”
She cocked her head to one side so it
rested on his shoulder and took a firmer grip on his arm. She felt
very warm against him.
The barman came over and gave him an
envious look.
“Two pints of Stella,” he said.
While they were being poured he turned to the girl. "Look,
sweetie, I’m a happily married man.” He waved a hand to indicate
the rest of the bar. "Plenty of young chaps here that would be
glad to treat you.”
She squirmed against him, not without
effect. "I like older men.”
The pints arrived. He twisted free of
her grip and said: "I like older women. One in particular, my
wife.”
She put her hands on her hips and
wiggled. "You don’t know what you’re missing.”
Cahill looked her up and down and
managed a smile. "Oh, I can see what I’m missing. Every
detail. Tell Robo-Tech I’m flattered but no thanks.”
She glared at him. If Hell hath any
greater fury than a woman spurned it’s a female headhunter spurned
and denied the very generous commission she would have earned by
recruiting a valuable scientist.
“Good-bye darling.” He turned and
walked back to his table.
‘Hello, darling!’
The man Sophie saw next was not at all
reluctant to show how much he admired her charms. From the moment she
walked in to his flat Mick Collins was all over her.
He was about forty years old with hair
two millimetres short and a beard about the same length, a ’hard-man"
style he copied from old movies. His stocky, muscular body had grown
a small pot belly in the last decade thanks to his dubious diet. He
was tough, no doubt about that after ten years in the Parachute
regiment, but uncouth. It didn’t matter to Sophie. She had tried
spying, she had tried seduction and both had failed. Now it was time
for brute force.
Brute force was Mick Collins
department. After ten years serving King William in the military he
had spent another five serving at His Majesty’s Pleasure in
Dartmoor prison. Violent by nature, he had not adapted well to
civilian life.
Sophie wriggled free of his grip,
looked around the flat and wrinkled her nose in distaste. It was a
jumble of take-away wrappers, empty beer cans and discarded clothes.
"Don’t you ever clean this place up?’
“The bedroom’s tidy,” he said,
grabbing her again.
“Let go!" She slapped him.
He stepped back. "Like it rough,
eh?’
She stepped away and sideways, putting
a dirty sofa between them. "Listen. I have a job for you. It
will pay enough to keep you in beer and take-aways for about ten
years. Stop grabbing me and listen.”
“Okay.” He sat on the sofa and
patted the seat beside him.
“I’ll stay where I am.” She
pulled out her mobile device and tapped the keys. "Here’s the
address you need.” His mobile was on the coffee table in front of
him and it pinged. He picked it up and scanned the information.
“I know the place,” he grunted.
"Pretty hamlet in the Cotswolds. Our target must be doing
alright.”
“He’s a robotics engineer,” she
said. "We want him taken to this address.” His device pinged
again. He read it and nodded.
“That’s remote enough. Suppose he
doesn’t want to go?’
“He doesn’t want to go. You have
to take him. Alive, mind you. This is not a hit. He has information
we need.”
He shook his head doubtfully.
"Kidnapping. That’s trickier than a hit and you get a long
stretch if you’re caught. What’s in it for me?’
Sophie moved around and sat on the
sofa beside him. His hand moved instantly to her thigh. She smiled
and named a sum of money that would indeed keep him in the style to
which he was accustomed for a decade or more.
“How about a bonus?" he asked,
moving his hand higher.
She covered it with her own. ’A man
will pick you up tomorrow morning. He’ll be driving a black van and
he’ll have everything you need. Basically, that’s a dart gun with
ammo that will put Connelly to sleep for a while and rope to tie him
up. Tomorrow is Saturday so he should be at home in the morning. The
house is quite isolated. There’s an android servant. The dart gun
won’t work on him so you’ll have a real gun for that and for the
wife. Better if there are no witnesses left alive.”
He narrowed his eyes. "I like to
work alone.”
“This is too important to take
chances. Don’t worry. The other man is a professional.”
“Okay.” He moved his hand to her
right breast. "Now, what about my bonus.”
She took a deep breath. He held his.
“Hell, why not.” She wriggled
closer to him. "I do like a bit of rough.”
***
“Clanky has finished moving the
packing cases, sir. He has also watered the garden and is now fully
recharged. What would you like him to do next?’
“Clanky?" Cahill stirred his
coffee and yawned. The chemical reaction stirred by Sophie combined
with his wife’s determination to make sure he remembered her charms
had made it a tiring night. "Oh, the new robot.”
Jeeves sniffed. "Hardly new,
sir.”
Cahill smiled. "You call him
Clanky? Well, it’s as good a name as any. Do you think he could mow
the lawn?’
“I expect so, sir. He is physically
capable and if I start the lawnmower for him he should manage it
quite well. They are about the same age.”
Cahill nodded. His lawnmower was also
a "classic’. Many years earlier automated sat-nav guided
mowers had relieved many husbands of a tedious chore but he generally
tried to do a certain number of old-fashioned manly tasks such as
grass cutting and wood chopping in order to maintain physical
fitness. This was to avoid turning into a "lard ass or wobble
bottom" as he called it, the tragic fate of many desk bound
workers.
Miriam entered the kitchen yawning. "I
thought mowing the lawn was your job, husband.” She bent over and
kissed him on the back of the neck then moved to the coffee pot.
“Usually.” Cahill said. "Today
I have other work and we might as well make use of Clanky.”
“Clanky?" Miriam looked around
from pouring coffee.
“Jeeves" name for the new
robot. Disparagingly meant, I feel, but quite appropriate. Go and put
him to work, Jeeves.”
***
“Strike a light, done up like a
kipper, apples and pears. Of all the morons to do a job with, I get a
bloody cockney.”
“You better watch your mouth mate.”
Mick Collins clenched his fists and stared at the road ahead. His
assigned partner had picked him up at eight in the morning and they
had taken an instant dislike to each other. They were chalk and
cheese. Albert Billings was a tall, slim distinguished looking
gentleman who wore brown corduroy trousers, a pale cream shirt and a
white blazer. He looked disdainfully at Mick’s white T-shirt, jeans
and leather jacket. Albert had been an officer in the Irish Guards
and thought the soldiers of the parachute regiment were a rude lot.
He also disliked Londoners. All this became clear after a few minutes
conversation and the two men had settled into a bad mood.
“We’re almost there, "said
Albert. "Is the gun ready?’
Mick raised his hand to show the
automatic pistol fitted with a silencer. ’Loaded and ready.”
“Okay.” Albert clenched his
fingers around the steering wheel. He took a left turn and they were
heading up a one-way lane with fields on either side. "We may
not love each other but this is work. You take out the woman and the
android. I’ll dart the scientist and get him in the van.”
Mick grunted. ’Not crazy about
shooting an unarmed woman.”
“Think of the money. With the
husband missing the cops may even think it’s a domestic incident.
He shot her and went on the run.”
“That happens.”
“We’re here.” Albert eased the
black van around a sharp bend and they saw a neat bungalow to their
left. It had an open driveway with two vehicles parked. Albert went
past and found a pull in space just up the road a little.
Mick climbed out of the van and
slammed the door. ’Let’s do it!" He had never quite got over
his boyhood watching action movies.
“Let’s do it quietly, old chap,”
said Albert.
They approached the front door. Albert
had the dart gun in his trouser pocket. With a silencer fitted the
pistol was too bulky to fit in a pocket so Mick put his right arm
behind his back to conceal it. Clanky was mowing the lawn from left
to right and happened to be approaching the door as the men were
stood there. He had seen them approaching the house but after careful
deliberation over several nanoseconds had decided that greeting
visitors was not his assigned task and he would carry on mowing. Then
he saw the gun.
A gun could be harmful. Like any other
robot, Clanky could not harm a human being or through inaction allow
a human being to come to harm. He approached the men swiftly.
Albert rang the doorbell. A man’s
voice shouted that he was coming.
The robot approached the man with the
gun. "Stop.”
“Get on with your mowing and leave
us alone,” said Albert decisively.
Clanky hesitated. A robot had to obey
instructions given it by a human being. There was no definite threat
to anyone right now so he considered following the order. He decided
that the potential threat outweighed the usual second law imperative.
Again this decision took only a microsecond.
He heard Cahill approaching from the
other side of the door.
“Do not open the door, master,” he
said loudly, speakers at full volume. "This man has a gun. He
may intend to harm you.”
He heard his master retreating and
calling to his wife.
“Damn you, robot.” Mick Collins
fired at the lock, shattering it.
Albert grabbed his shoulder. ’Go
round the house. Make sure they don’t escape out the back way.”
He pulled the dart gun out of his pocket.
Mick’s decision process was not
nearly so swift as Clanky’s and he resented taking orders from this
snob but quickly saw the sense of it. He ran to the left and down
along the side of the house.
Clanky had a moment of indecision. The
men had separated but the man with the gun was clearly the biggest
threat. He followed Collins.
***
This man has a gun. Clanky’s warning
had put Cahill Connelly into a panic. He was a sedate scientist not
an action man. Like most law-abiding British people in the
twenty-first century he had no experience at all with guns. On
television he had seen what happened where the right to bear arms was
sacrosanct and decided he could happily live without it.
They would be inside in seconds. From
the lobby a corridor ran through the house. At the front a door
opened to the lounge on his left and his study on the right. A
second door on the right led to the master bedroom, one on the left
to the spare bedroom. At the back of the house were the kitchen and
Miriam’s studio.
He popped into the kitchen quickly. It
had patio doors leading to a paved area in the back garden. He looked
out and saw a stocky man stood there. The man raised the gun when he
came into view then lowered it again on catching a better look at
him.
They want me alive, thought Cahill.
That meant Miriam was in danger.
He dashed into her studio. It had a
skylight but only a normal window on the rear wall.
“Miriam!" She turned.
Cahill looked through the window and
saw the man with the gun again. This time it was pointed at the
window. He dived in a rugby tackle.
Miriam crashed to the ground as the
window smashed under the impact of a bullet.
She screamed.
Cahill looked up from the floor and
saw the gunman approaching the shattered window. In his peripheral
vision he saw someone in the doorway behind him.
“Jeeves! He has a gun!"
The gunman raised his arm and pointed
the pistol at Miriam.
Cahill threw himself on top of Miriam
even more enthusiastically than he had the night before. If they
didn’t want to harm him they might not shoot.
Jeeves threw himself across the room.
The silenced gun made its small noise and Jeeves was propelled
backwards. He landed on top of Cahill.
“Sorry, Master,” he said.
Cahill heard the gunman curse in
fluent Anglo-Saxon. But before he could make another move Clanky was
between him and the window.
“Stop. I cannot allow you to harm a
human being.”
Collins fired. The bullet bounced off
Clanky’s steel exterior.
Another figure appeared in the
doorway. A well-dressed gentleman with a dart-gun which he raised and
aimed at the heap of bodies on the floor.
“Sorry about this, old chap.”
Jeeves jumped to his feet. There was a
hole in his torso but it had not affected his motor capacity or his
brain. He blocked the way effectively.
Cahill stood up, keeping Jeeves in
front of him.
Albert reached behind him. From the
small of his back he pulled out a .38 automatic pistol. This one had
no silencer.
Cahill dived to the left. Miriam
screamed again as two bullets crashed through Jeeves" android
body. The butler collapsed.
Alfred pointed the automatic at
Miriam.
Clanky crashed through the window and
the wall below it in a noisy cascade of glass, splintering wood and
rubble.
Alfred was a professional soldier but
this was enough to distract him. He turned and fired at the robot.
The bullets bounced off. Clanky grabbed his gun arm and held it
tight.
“I cannot allow you to injure a
human being.”
Cahill was helping Miriam to her feet.
She immediately went to check on Jeeves who was lying prostrate on
his back.
“I fear I am severely damaged,
Mistress,” he said apologetically as she bent over him.
Cahill looked out through the hole in
the wall. ’Clanky! Where’s the other one?’
The old robot was keeping an iron grip
on the old soldier’s hand. Albert twisted and turned desperately
but short of chopping his arm off at the wrist there was no way he
could escape.
“He is outside, master. I have
incapacitated him.”
Cahill stepped over the rubble and on
to the patio. On the ground he saw a crushed automatic pistol. Next
to it a cursing cockney wriggled on the ground. His arms were bound
tightly to his side by a long length of green hosepipe which was also
attached to a heavy cast iron garden bench. He wasn’t going
anywhere.
Cahill resisted the temptation to kick
him in the head. He kicked him in the belly instead, though the
hosepipe afforded some protection.
“That’s for shooting at my wife
you son of a bitch.”
He heard sirens in the distance.
Miriam had called the police.
“More tea, inspector?” said
Miriam.
Cahill smiled. She had recovered
quickly from the ordeal and was back to being a nice English lady.
The gunmen had been carted away but her studio was still a mess of
rubble and her household android would be out of service for a week.
Clanky was stood beside his master, waiting for instructions.
“No thank-you, Ma’am,” said the
policeman. He looked at Cahill. "I think that’s all the
information we need, sir. So, you’re pretty sure these men were
hired by a rival company to get your secrets.”
“Robo-Tech,” he affirmed. “I
don’t know if they’ll confirm that. They might not even know who
was behind it.”
“You’re a top man in the field of
artificial helpers, yes?” Cahill nodded. The inspector looked at
Clanky. “So how come you have this museum piece around the house?”
Cahill laughed. “That museum piece
saved our lives, inspector. In one respect, at least, he’s superior
to Jeeves and any other modern android servant.”
The policeman raised an eyebrow. “And
that is…?”
“He’s bulletproof.” 🔺
Eamonn Murphy is a writer from Bristol, England. He has been a reviewer for “SFcrowsnest” and has published over twenty science-fiction stories in small magazines like “Perihelion,” “The Fifth Dimension,” and “Empyreome.”
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