clankers

Igen’Ae XIS, better known as Igen, was the star of the SRPG ‘Legends of Galactic Traders’. As one of the playable characters and by extension—faction, Igen garnered massive traction for the pacifist playstyle, focused on dominating trade and accumulating wealth.

He was a top-tier unit, and was loved for both his faction's whimsical aesthetic and playstyle. Every so often he would appear in the upper left corner, say something like ‘I could eat a space horse!’, disappear, and everyone would cheer.

On the other hand, if you decided to play him as a war monger, Igen was known to express a uncharacteristic degree of racism for the many alien races, using terms such as ‘Kaoinli’ (a insult for the Andellis who were pieces of sentient rock), Shalanka (a term describing the wide eyed bug people of Vzzzyaria as parasites), and ‘Clankers’ (for all manners of artificial intelligence) .

All this, granted Igen a sort of ‘dual role’ in the community. Making the furry red ball to be both a herald of galactic peace and the harbinger of doom for all who opposed him.

“Jenn,” Igen acknowledged, bouncing on his tiny hind legs. “If you were awake, you should've just told me! I would've stopped it for you.”

“I appreciate it, Igen,” said Jenn cooly, who leaned back into her leather chair. “But that wouldn't have been as aesthetic as what I just did eh?”

“I've seen you puke into a dog bowl, Jenn.”

“Yeah well that was a lapse in judgement. And consistent with my out of touch depressed self, so kinda aesthetic in its own way.”

“If you say so, Jenn-pai.”

“Aren't you like a few hundred years old?”

“Aesthetically I'm your caring, doting junior.” He wobbled on his red feet, and took Jenn’s empty glass. “More water?”

“More water,” Jenn agreed.

She watched Igen go into the kitchen, and pour some water from a dispenser. The inside of the SS Friendship was a strange hybrid between a spaceship, a 1600s sailing boat, and a cartoon toy. It was way too big than it had any right to be, pastel coloured all over, and had the glossy sheen of plastic.

Jenn liked it. It was weird, avant-garde, and cute.

She was lenient towards such things, sure, but that was only partially the case here. Not only did it try to be cute (something which she deemed sorely lacking these days), it had also succeeded in its own, strange way. A triumph of the artisans will!

Igen returned, a glass of water in hand. Without taking her eyes off him, Jenn motioned to speak.

“If you need anything Igen, just tell me. I'll scrub the floorboards, the crapper, whatever.”

“That role’s taken by the new intern,” Igen answered. “You could tell me why you came here though. If you wanted.”

“I'm out for a combo of sightseeing and ass kicking.”

Igen paused, perhaps connecting the dots at long last. “You joust?”

“Joust? When's the last time an isekai setting had actual jousting?”

“This one. Amongst a melee, shooting contest, and other things—you like melee’s don't you Jenn?”

A melee, Jenn no doubt thought, was a large square with a lot of armored whacking. Much closer to the frenzy of a bar fight than a duel.

“Not bad. It lacks the aesthetics of a good old mano a mano, but it has spirit. There's a reason most stories use the tournament format instead.”

Igen started to clap. His furry paws making soft pillowy thuds against each other.

“Wow!” he said, unironically. “You really are knowledgeable about these things!”

A smirk touched Jenn’s face. “Heh. Comes with the trade, old friend.”

“The trade of a true savant, no doubt.”

Jenn took another sip of her water. Her eyes changed from Igen to the room’s exit, the little pink steps leading upstairs.

“When do you think we'll arrive?”

Popularity dictated the ease of access for worlds. And seeing as ‘The Sword Saint’s Transferrence’, had gotten an anime recently, the correlation was there.

“In a dozen minutes.”

The abominable creature hopped off his seat, and went for the stairs out of the cabin. Jenn followed, and the two were on port harbor. Before them was a vast expanse of white, a surface of nigh infinite depth and size.

It was the In-Between, the space between every world of fiction. When seeking to enter it, one had to come with a proper vehicle, typically a boat or spaceship sourced from the right naval or sci-fi story. For to traverse the In-Between demanded a particular sort of skill in both command and navigation, with its ever shifting climate, ravenous beasts, and long long lanes. It was both a highway and a road. Both the expanse of space and the rolls of the high sea.

It was the In-Between. And there was nothing quite like it.

A crewmate approached. A regular man in a regular sailor’s garb. He had a deferential expression, and nodded as he spoke.

“Captain,” he said. “The border police want to conduct a search operation.”

Igen stared for a bit.

The crewmate gave a quick nod. “On account of suspicious activity, Captain. It's happening to others, too.”

“All’s well and swell. It's not like we have anything to hide.”

For a second, Jenn was lost in thought. Finding herself wondering if anything could go wrong. This timing of a search… was it routine, or the product of a recent development?

“Well. We reported that we'd bought passage for sixteen on board, captain.”

“And what seems to be the matter?”

The crewmate looked at Jenn. “There's seventeen.”

Igen jumped in place. “Aw pickle on a space stickle!” He ran around in a small circle, then shook Jenn by the waist. “You've gotta hide!”

“Huh?! W-where?!”

The man pressed his straw hat to his chest, and spoke in a solemn tone. “Captain. I'm afraid they have thermal sensors.”

“Thermal sensors on an isekai outpost?! Who have they been doing trade with, the Galactic Republic?!”

“Us, actually.”

“Oh.”

A look of despair took Igen’s big, doughy eyes. Jenn took his look in, bit her lip, and ran for the side of the ship. The expanse of the In-Between was below her, and there were creatures in it. Shimmering, ghostly things, almost invisible, but refracting just enough light to outline the horrid shapes of Jaebebs, Ankekes, Ififanwhyuiuireadshthis, and other strange, unpronounceable lifeforms.

“Wait!” Igen called, grabbing Jenn by the end of her jacket. “Don't kill yourself!”

“It's fine Igen! I'm a two time Olympic swimmer! I can traverse the In-Between!”

“Since when?!”

“Since I made that up two seconds ago!”

Igen pulled hard, taking them both. They landed on their butts, and shared a glance each. There was no time.

A few hundred metres away came a large sailboat. Lean like a white snake, patterned with blue hydrangeas, and arriving right then and there.

Ropes bridges shot from the sailboat, connecting to the SS Friendship’s deck. With unparalleled finesse and speed, the crewmates of the White Snake Ship began to board, leaving time a very valuable thing indeed.

Jenn looked around for any chance of salvation. A crewmate, seeing her expression, tossed his cloak. She took it, wrapped it around herself, and sat down, attempting to make herself as small as her rather tall self could be.

Igen, in a rushed attempt at concealment, took a metal pail and stuffed it over Jenn’s head. The Border Guards had arrived. And on their now level ground—the crewmates of the SS Friendship could prepare no further.

A half-dozen soldiers boarded. They wore the mark of the Indarian Empire—a coat of white mail, a wide brimmed hat, and blue badge of the hydrangea on their breasts.

By their hips were sword and pistol, and on their faces was the quiet contemplation of all things monotonous.

They turned to face the crew, all in neat lines of seven. The one guard in front, with a high-collared trench coat and authoritative air, turned to face Igen. He was a young man—no older than nineteen, fresh-faced and strong, with flowing brown manes, and a scar by his lower lip.

He held a clipboard in hand. “Sixteen,” he said. “You paid passage for sixteen persons.”

“Sixteen,” Igen said.

Silence.

“Yes. Did I misspeak?”

Another silence.

“No, it's just—I think you miscounted.”

The man swept his gaze from side to side. “Fifteen crewmates, one ball of a Captain, and one…”

His gaze fell on the strange thing next to Igen. That mound of brown with a steel bucket on top. That oddly animated, moving mound.

There was a silence of great volume.

“Sorry sir, but I believe you're mistaken,” said Igen.

“How so?”

“This right here?” Igen pointed, thrusting his furry paw. “This isn't a person. This here is a stupid motherclucking clanker!”

Igen kicked Jenn, imparting a felt impact. The latter, seeing his direction, fell to the ground, moaning in agony.

“You stupid no good scrap heap toaster gadget overpriced chrome dome calculator! You realize how much trouble you've cost us? This'll set us back ten years! Ten clucking years, clanker! All because I forgot your no good kind had rights!”

“Beep boop, I am in indentured servitude.”

Jenn cowered on the ground, laying still.

“Let's go, everyone! Let's play kick the damn clanker!”

The other crewmates came and gathered, joining Igen in a ferocious display of machine prejudice. One particularly eager crewmate—a black bear with a hard hat, landed an elbow drop. This motivated the other crewmates in their commitment, creating a display of wrestling move after wrestling move.

Suplex. Half Nelson bulldog. Full Nelson quadruple suplex hotdog.

It went on and on and on.

The border guard did not reply, choosing to watch in a pensive silence. While the Indarians had no AI of this sort, and thus no experience beyond routine inspection of foreigners, this situation struck the guard as strange.

With swiftness, and no indication of suspicion, the guard stepped forth, and took the pail off Jenn’s head. Underneath he found what he expected. A machine lifeform, with a metal helm for a face, and thin visor of red for eyes.

“I see,” he said, relieved. Watching as the ‘clanker’, pulsed with red underneath their clothes, no doubt, another machine oddity. “You may go.”

He patted the machine on her oddly human hair. “A metal pail is a poor substitute for head wear.” And leaning in, offered words of consolation. “We accept clankers in Indaria. Don't be afraid to ask for help. Just say Elmond Heckworth sent you to any guard. They'll know.”

Elmond—fair of heart, face and hair, backed away, shooting a glare towards Igen. “Remember this: Any and all clankers are considered personnel in Indaria, and must be registered as such.”

“Of course!” Igen fell down to his furry knees. “Glory to Indaria!”

The fifteen other crewmates followed. A chorus of voices and reverence. “Glory to Indaria!”

Elmond jotted a few brief notes, and brushed back his acorn hair. A tear fell down his right eye. He shared a brief glance with his fellow guards, then without further ado, climbed the rope bridge he took.

The tension went slack, releasing Jenn with an outburst of breath. Up ahead, a massive stone wall, lifted its equally massive portcullis—opening one gate among dozens. A path was clear inside it—a bridge—long and blue, like a sheet of flexible glass.

The SS Friendship had made it, and would now enter Indaria.