It had all started with the first Mythic War. The legendary Greeks and Romans had joined forces against the Seculars—a ragtag band of ninjas, robots, zombies, and vampires—in a battle for pop culture supremacy of the consciousness of the Western world.
Captain Crankshaft and Roboat had been part of the Navy, of course. Crankshaft's title wasn't purely decorative; he was a decorated veteran of the Steam/Cyberpunk war a few years earlier, and Roboat was a mechanical quinquereme in the Punic style, good on the water but new to the battlefield. It needed tactical direction, and Captain Crankshaft needed a ship. (His had been sunk early in the proceedings by a thunderbolt.)
Together, they served with distinction, a massive warship crewed by two. The Romans had their own warships, of course, but human oarsmen couldn't react as quickly as Roboat's engines. The Romans, no fools, knew Roboat's primary weakness was its captain and attempted to attach themselves to the ship to overrun it, but Crankshaft knew his military history and had no intention of reenacting the First Punic War. Besides, he and Roboat had a chronological advantage: a Tesla cannon. (Tesla was one of the Seculars' greatest unsung inventors.) It was a rout.
There were a few tight spots, of course. The Tesla cannon required an inordinate amount of Roboat's power, making it cumbersome to use, and it was strictly short-range, requiring a ram-and-run approach. The Romans greatly disapproved of the guerilla tactics, and they expressed it militantly. Crankshaft lost a leg to a Roman sword, and Roboat needed repairs constantly. They were despised and reviled, loathed and hated.
They were in love.
It'd been an accident. Cupid or Eros (who could ever tell them apart?) had gotten involved in the naval battle, shooting arrows from a distance. (Gods, of course, were immortal, but that didn't mean getting hit with a Tesla cannon was pleasant to them.) He was aiming for Crankshaft but at the last minute, Crankshaft's peg leg skidded against the deck. Still unused to the prosthetic, the captain stumbled, and the arrow sunk into Roboat's deck. Crankshaft hesitated to ask, “Are you--?” and Roboat declared through its speaking tubes, “Fine! I'm fine! Achaeans on the port bow!”
Turned out robots could lie too. Just not very well.
The battle ended with Roboat and Crankshaft hastily retreating into the deep water. Though for short distances, Roboat's speed was comparable to human rowers, it never tired, and could maintain it longer. Once they were a safe distance away, Crankshaft stumped below decks to make repairs and assess damages.
“Where were Captains Ahab and Nemo?” Crankshaft grumbled as he hammered a dent out of Roboat's hull. “I thought Uhura said they'd be there by now.”
“I received a transmission from Lieutenant Uhura during the battle,” Roboat replied absently. “Seems they got tangled up with a whale and a squid.”
Crankshaft rolled his eyes. “Oh aye, in the Mediterranean, no doubt. Damned literaries, you'd think they'd bloody well move on after a hundred years...”
“Quite,” Roboat said, but its speaking tubes seemed to lack vigor.
“Here now, that arrow had me worried,” Crankshaft said. “The gods are wretched blaggards, but they shoot straight. Eros does hate too, eh? I--”
“Don't worry,” Roboat said awkwardly. “It... wasn't that kind.”
Crankshaft paused, hammer in hand.
“Don't worry about it,” Roboat urged. “I don't think it worked as well on my systems as it would've on yours, and there are far more pressing things than my sudden infatuation with you. It'll pass.”
Captain Crankshaft hesitated. He'd never been a romantic fellow, but combat made fast friends, and Roboat was a good entity. “If there's anything I can do...” he started awkwardly.
“Well... if you could hammer a bit to the right—ah! Yes, that's better, thank you.”
The First Mythic War! (part one)
Captain Crankshaft and Roboat had been part of the Navy, of course. Crankshaft's title wasn't purely decorative; he was a decorated veteran of the Steam/Cyberpunk war a few years earlier, and Roboat was a mechanical quinquereme in the Punic style, good on the water but new to the battlefield. It needed tactical direction, and Captain Crankshaft needed a ship. (His had been sunk early in the proceedings by a thunderbolt.)
Together, they served with distinction, a massive warship crewed by two. The Romans had their own warships, of course, but human oarsmen couldn't react as quickly as Roboat's engines. The Romans, no fools, knew Roboat's primary weakness was its captain and attempted to attach themselves to the ship to overrun it, but Crankshaft knew his military history and had no intention of reenacting the First Punic War. Besides, he and Roboat had a chronological advantage: a Tesla cannon. (Tesla was one of the Seculars' greatest unsung inventors.) It was a rout.
There were a few tight spots, of course. The Tesla cannon required an inordinate amount of Roboat's power, making it cumbersome to use, and it was strictly short-range, requiring a ram-and-run approach. The Romans greatly disapproved of the guerilla tactics, and they expressed it militantly. Crankshaft lost a leg to a Roman sword, and Roboat needed repairs constantly. They were despised and reviled, loathed and hated.
They were in love.
It'd been an accident. Cupid or Eros (who could ever tell them apart?) had gotten involved in the naval battle, shooting arrows from a distance. (Gods, of course, were immortal, but that didn't mean getting hit with a Tesla cannon was pleasant to them.) He was aiming for Crankshaft but at the last minute, Crankshaft's peg leg skidded against the deck. Still unused to the prosthetic, the captain stumbled, and the arrow sunk into Roboat's deck. Crankshaft hesitated to ask, “Are you--?” and Roboat declared through its speaking tubes, “Fine! I'm fine! Achaeans on the port bow!”
Turned out robots could lie too. Just not very well.
The battle ended with Roboat and Crankshaft hastily retreating into the deep water. Though for short distances, Roboat's speed was comparable to human rowers, it never tired, and could maintain it longer. Once they were a safe distance away, Crankshaft stumped below decks to make repairs and assess damages.
“Where were Captains Ahab and Nemo?” Crankshaft grumbled as he hammered a dent out of Roboat's hull. “I thought Uhura said they'd be there by now.”
“I received a transmission from Lieutenant Uhura during the battle,” Roboat replied absently. “Seems they got tangled up with a whale and a squid.”
Crankshaft rolled his eyes. “Oh aye, in the Mediterranean, no doubt. Damned literaries, you'd think they'd bloody well move on after a hundred years...”
“Quite,” Roboat said, but its speaking tubes seemed to lack vigor.
“Here now, that arrow had me worried,” Crankshaft said. “The gods are wretched blaggards, but they shoot straight. Eros does hate too, eh? I--”
“Don't worry,” Roboat said awkwardly. “It... wasn't that kind.”
Crankshaft paused, hammer in hand.
“Don't worry about it,” Roboat urged. “I don't think it worked as well on my systems as it would've on yours, and there are far more pressing things than my sudden infatuation with you. It'll pass.”
Captain Crankshaft hesitated. He'd never been a romantic fellow, but combat made fast friends, and Roboat was a good entity. “If there's anything I can do...” he started awkwardly.
“Well... if you could hammer a bit to the right—ah! Yes, that's better, thank you.”