Mister Pump's Obligation

This was what it was to be Mister Pump.

There was no fire to his mind. No heat or warmth. His consciousness was a thing of twisting wires and turning gears. A churning, grinding machine which broke down problems and spat out solutions.

It was not human. Not even nearly. It was simple and complex, a living contradiction picked out in grinding gears As far as Pump was concerned, everything could be broken down into basic needs. Even the most complex problem was simply a matter of applying the correct steps.

One might have been tempted to call him a being of logic. A binaric monster that did as he was told.

But this was not true.

His thoughts were fast, dancing, shrieking through his mind. His logical imperatives, the code that all automatons existed under still could be found within him. Silenced but present. Beyond that, there was also the shattered, remnant of what he had been before. The Pump-of-Yesterday. Kara’s Pump.

These things clashed. The code, his current persona, and who he had once been. They took the perfect smoothness of his logical thoughts and ruffled it. They broke it, distorted it. Made it into something quite new.

If automatons could be insane, Mister Pump was certainly insane.

At his heart of hearts, this was what made Pump different from others of his kind. From damage came evolution. His thoughts twisted and bent, finding new avenues of expression. Becoming more.

And though the creature that was Pump would readily admit that he did not fully understand humans and likely never would, there was one thing that he understood fully and with his whole heart.

Obligation. Duty. Purpose.

Dying gears began to spin again. The sound of grinding metal filled the workshop as new life sparked and hissed through a massive, bronze body.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

The manstopper came up again, but Pump’s fist closed around it. His finger closed and with a muted crunch, the weapon was reduced to nothing but scrap.

“No more,” Pump’s voice choked. He was wreathed with steam. It poured from his body, from his open wounds. Internally, he noted the extensive damage. Generators down, steam assembly ruptured, motive power falling across all systems.

He revved, triggered overdrive, **** himself to keep moving. The damage would be severe, but that was a problem for later. For now, there were two objectives. Personal survival and completion of the mission.

Gearheart took a step back. Pump took a step forward. His motions were janky now. Erratic. The smooth lethality had been stripped from him.

But he was still deadly.

Gearheart lashed out. Pump had calculated that he would. A man like him, faced with a severely wounded foe would not retreat. He would seek to secure the kill. Pump took the blow, the side of his face crumpled, one of his glass eyes shattered, but in return, his own hand snapped out. Thick, bronze fingers wrapped around Gearheart’s armour and tore through the chestplate.

Pump turned and threw him, hurling him against the far wall with all the strength that remained to him. Gearheart hit it like the bolt of a ballista. The booming crash filled the room. Only the armour he wore saved him from a sudden, violent ****.

Pump’s body was heavy. His generator wheezed; the steam assembly which processed and delivered its product throbbed with effort. More warnings flashed before his eyes. Dire predictions, a dozen numbers counting rapidly down. All with the same inevitable conclusion.

****, ****, ****.

This was how an automaton died.

But Pump would not be bowed. He staggered forward, forcing protesting servos to move when they had no right even to be functional.

Richard lay before him, sprawled across the hissing ruin of the machine. His armour was scorched, blackened. Blood ran from a deep gash across one cheek. His eyes were open, but they were uncomprehending. Dazed by the bone-shaking impact.

“Mister Gearheart,” Pump said slowly. “I must admit that of all the humans I have ever met, you and only you have caused me such problems. If I could hate, I would hate you. The concept of your suffering brings me a perverse joy.”

He took another step, splinters of metal groaned as they were ground to shards under his weight. Richard recovered himself, blinking rapidly, he started to push himself up-

But Pump’s boot cracked down hard against his back. The impact **** him to the ground, and he screamed in pain as his arms buckled. Were they broken? Pump neither knew nor cared.

“I was tasked to bring you back alive,” the automaton continued. “It was requested of me. But you are simply far too dangerous.”

Richard growled and pushed upwards. But Pump slammed a boot down again, this time rupturing the steam plant on his back! The screaming steam geyser outwards, engulfing the automaton with boiling folds of heat. But even damaged, Pump would not fall so easily.

Richard’s armour gave a low groan and began to fail. The servos locked up, suddenly losing power. The resistance to Pump’s foot fell away and Gearheart crashed back to the ground for a third time.

“Isabel will be disappointed about my decision,” Pump went on. His hand lashed out, dragging Richard to his feet. The sparking, hissing void where his eye had once been meant that he had to compensate with his other. The holes drummed through his body by the manstopper were pulsing voids of sensation. His senses simply stopped there, an icy old nothingness where there should have been status reports and ticking parts.

If that was an automaton equivalent to pain, this was it. Not the presence of sensation but its absence. There was nothing left to feel because everything there had been reduced to a broken, steaming mess.

“But I think she will get over it.”

Gearheart spat at him. His muscles twitched, but without the generator to bring his armour to life, it had become a tomb. He had no hope of responding or even raising a hand in his own defence.

Yet before he could deliver the final blow, a voice rang out, filling the workshop with a familiar tone.

“That’s enough, Pump!”

The automaton froze. Richard dangled. The only sound was the hissing of steam which bled from his massive body.

“Kara!”