Tales of the Gecko
The
Beginning
It
began like any other day. Jolted awake by my alarm, I threw
myself together and headed for work. Miserable traffic –
got there late, breathless and crabby. Jogging toward my desk,
people were lined up to toss problems at me like buckets of
ice water and surprise! I was being paged to pick up line
three.
Another
tedious day devoted to making a living.
At
exactly 3:52 PM I was staring at my computer screen, trying
to make sense of an incomprehensible email from an idiot co-worker,
when I saw a slight movement at the top of my monitor. Live
beasties on my work surface are guaranteed to rivet my attention
and this was no exception. My head snapped back and I felt
my eyes bug. There was a little lizard-like creature, wearing
itty-bitty sunglasses, for God’s sake, looking at me.
My
first inclination was to wonder how much the company medical
plan paid for psychiatric hospitalization. Next, I flashed
on the idea that someone had spiked the tuna sandwich I ate
for lunch. Then the truth dawned. Some office jokester was
setting me up as the butt of their joke. Ha, ha. Like I really
have time for this.
I
reached for the critter, intending to find the wire or whatever
was making it move and nearly swallowed my tongue when it
jumped lightly onto the back of my hand. Bringing it closer
for a better look I was baffled to see that this incredible
little micro-machine, all shiny metal and articulated joints,
wasn’t connected to anything at all.
The
world tipped on its side and fell right over when the little
guy smiled at me and introduced himself as TechnoGecko.
“You
know,” he said pleasantly, “if idiots could fly,
this place would be an airport.”
I
snorted, choked and sputtered, “B-b-beg pardon?”
Part
2
(submitted by Techno’s first guest biographer, Kurt
Cagle)
“Sheesh,
we got one that the tower obviously missed.”
“Uh…er…”
“Scintillating
dialog there, Tex. Who writes your scripts?”
I
once decided that if I were ever to go mad, I would do it
in style. No doubt about it – this was about the classiest
way I could think of.
“You’re
not real,” I said lamely, desperately grasping at whatever
straw I could.
The
thing grabbed the tip of it’s tail by one multi-jointed
paw to use as a pointer.
“Obviously,
you’re not grasping the situation here. If I’m
not real, then you’re as crazy as a loon… not,
mind you, that loons are terribly crazy, just don’t
get ‘em to chew gum and talk at the same time…
and talking to an animated techno-gecho would not make one
iota of difference.”
It
rolled back on its tail, the metallic joints turning into
a serviceable, albeit tiny, chair.
“If
I am real, and I assure you that I am as real as they come
… er, scratch that, never liked that cliché…
as real as you are, then what harm would it do to spend a
few precious moments (talk about cliché!) gabbing with
a Gecko in need. Right?
“I’m
having a philosophical discussion with a robotic lizard.”
Hey,
now, let’s stop calling names. I am not a lizard. Look
at me, the gills, the cool pads, the tail that regenerates
– those are amphibious traits. Lizards lay around all
day drinking beer and singing bad 70’s tunes. “I,”
and here it stood up, “am a Gecko.”
“You’re
a robotic gecko…”
“Well,
yeah, it was a bad day at the Tin Man factory, see, and…
uh, put down that book. I really don’t like the way
you’re holding that… oh damn.”
The
lizard – pardon me – the gecko scurried quickly
down the back of my monitor and up the side of the bookcase
before I could whack it – not that I would, mind you,
though the temptation was sorely there.
“Look,
I don’t care if you’re a freakin’ dinosaur,”
I yelled at the top of the bookcase, “I want you out
of here… now!”
The
voice that emerged from behind Feynman’s Physics Lectures
and Thorne and Wheeler’s Gravitation had lost a little
of its bravado.
“Well,
I wish I could, but I can’t. I really do need your help.”
Part
3
Who
knows? What will Techno’s next biographer have to say?
Stay tuned.
In
the interest of continuing this round-robin tale, we are offering
any 50 ComButtons (a $200 value!) or $100 cash (what lunatic
would choose filthy lucre over our treasured buttons?) to
the author, budding or otherwise, who submits a segment to
this story that we like enough to include here. Plus, we will
give you credit for your work.
Of
course, all submissions become the property of TechnoGecko.com
and we reserve the right to edit, with a very light hand,
mind you, any material that comes to us. That way when we
win the Nobel Peace Prize or an Oscar, you can’t come
back and sue us for a bazillion dollars. We think of everything.
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