get one thing straight. I'm not into any funny robot-fetish canine doggy business, OK? You're a dog. A robot. Whatever. And I'm a man!" He puffed out his hairy chest. "Got that, dog-meat breath?"
"Ruff," said the dog, and stood. It whirred over to Franco, legs kicking, and sat down again. A small drawer in the dog's chest slid out on neat hydraulics. There was a slim metal pamphlet. Franco eyed the pamphlet warily, having been the victim of junk mail before. Slowly, reaching forward, he snatched the slim volume and eyed the robot dog with a scowl. He read the front cover:
Congratulations! on your purchase of the DumbMutt v1.2 special robotic friend. This little special friend will be your friend. A friend for life!! Please find enclosed the instruction manual and ownership deed in a variety of Quad-Gal languages, Braille and scent-sensorship.
Thank you, Franco Haggis, Quad-Gal resident DNA number 6753675347645-3764575324652. As you read this, a genetic sample has been taken from your fingertips and relayed digitally to the DumbMutt's brain. He is now yours. He will never leave your side. He is forthwith electronically registered to your DNA and as such will follow you to the ends of whatever planet you inhabit [insert here]. If you lose your DumbMutt v1.2 special robotic friend, do not fret, because he will eventually find you. If you vacate the planet, he has emergency funds to book passage on a Shuttle to anywhere within the Quad-Gal bubble. In effect, your DumbMutt special friend will follow you to the ends of the Galaxy. Well done in this, the Smart Choice.
We do hope you enjoy your DumbMutt v1.2 special robotic friend. He will be a very special robotic friend. For life. Your special friend DumbMutt v1.2 comes with many exciting innovations and technical upgrades over the previous DumbMutt v1.1, which tended to burst into flame and kill the owner. Don't worry! That doesn't happen anymore! Not often, anyway [please read legal addendum].
Your friendly special friend DumbMutt v1.2 is called [Sax].
Please be kind to it. And remember. A robot dog is for life not just for [insert applicable religious festival].
©hv3801 Metal Mongrels Inc.
QGSMA Quad-Gal Safety Mark Assured (pending).
Franco eyed the dog, which panted mechanically. Somewhere deep inside, a heavy flywheel went clunk .
"So, you're Sax, eh lad?"
"Ruff."
"Why did they give you that weird quiff?" He eyed the straggled auburn tangle, sitting atop the dog's alloy head like a mop atop a dustbin; a toupee on a mannequin. Franco sighed, and hunted for his clothes. "Hey, have you seen my pants, boy?"
"Ruff." Sax padded over to a chair, where Franco's clothes had been neatly folded, and nudged them with his damp metal nose.
"Good boy." Before he could help himself, Franco patted the mop of hair - and shuddered. Sax wagged its stumpy tail. "Anyway," he shrugged, "I'm not quite sure I understand all this business. After all, I didn't buy you. You're not mine. What indeed was all that nonsense about a deed? Haha. Ha.'
There came a ticker ticker ticker sound. Sax opened his mouth, and a long stream of punched foil paper ejected. Franco took the paper, and read in letters made up of pin-prick holes:
Please take good care of your DumbMutt v1.2 [Sax]-model. Your DNA has now been registered with the MMI central core database. Your deed will last: 999 years. Thank you for your custom.
©hv3801 Metal Mongrels Inc.
QGSMA Quad-Gal Safety Mark Assured (pending).
Franco crouched down, face to muzzle. "Ach. Right. Well. You see, Sax, mate, buddy, faithful fellow, the thing is, I'm a bit of a special man you see, I work covert ops for a Combat-K squad and I'm kind of going on a mission, so I kind of don't need a dog. Sorr ee ."
He stood.
Sax gave a whine.
Franco dressed, and walked to the door. Sax's sad brown eyes followed Franco. Franco opened the door. He frowned. "Look," he said. "I... I give you to yourself. There. Self-ownership.
"Ruff," said the dog, and stood. It whirred over to Franco, legs kicking, and sat down again. A small drawer in the dog's chest slid out on neat hydraulics. There was a slim metal pamphlet. Franco eyed the pamphlet warily, having been the victim of junk mail before. Slowly, reaching forward, he snatched the slim volume and eyed the robot dog with a scowl. He read the front cover:
Congratulations! on your purchase of the DumbMutt v1.2 special robotic friend. This little special friend will be your friend. A friend for life!! Please find enclosed the instruction manual and ownership deed in a variety of Quad-Gal languages, Braille and scent-sensorship.
Thank you, Franco Haggis, Quad-Gal resident DNA number 6753675347645-3764575324652. As you read this, a genetic sample has been taken from your fingertips and relayed digitally to the DumbMutt's brain. He is now yours. He will never leave your side. He is forthwith electronically registered to your DNA and as such will follow you to the ends of whatever planet you inhabit [insert here]. If you lose your DumbMutt v1.2 special robotic friend, do not fret, because he will eventually find you. If you vacate the planet, he has emergency funds to book passage on a Shuttle to anywhere within the Quad-Gal bubble. In effect, your DumbMutt special friend will follow you to the ends of the Galaxy. Well done in this, the Smart Choice.
We do hope you enjoy your DumbMutt v1.2 special robotic friend. He will be a very special robotic friend. For life. Your special friend DumbMutt v1.2 comes with many exciting innovations and technical upgrades over the previous DumbMutt v1.1, which tended to burst into flame and kill the owner. Don't worry! That doesn't happen anymore! Not often, anyway [please read legal addendum].
Your friendly special friend DumbMutt v1.2 is called [Sax].
Please be kind to it. And remember. A robot dog is for life not just for [insert applicable religious festival].
©hv3801 Metal Mongrels Inc.
QGSMA Quad-Gal Safety Mark Assured (pending).
Franco eyed the dog, which panted mechanically. Somewhere deep inside, a heavy flywheel went clunk .
"So, you're Sax, eh lad?"
"Ruff."
"Why did they give you that weird quiff?" He eyed the straggled auburn tangle, sitting atop the dog's alloy head like a mop atop a dustbin; a toupee on a mannequin. Franco sighed, and hunted for his clothes. "Hey, have you seen my pants, boy?"
"Ruff." Sax padded over to a chair, where Franco's clothes had been neatly folded, and nudged them with his damp metal nose.
"Good boy." Before he could help himself, Franco patted the mop of hair - and shuddered. Sax wagged its stumpy tail. "Anyway," he shrugged, "I'm not quite sure I understand all this business. After all, I didn't buy you. You're not mine. What indeed was all that nonsense about a deed? Haha. Ha.'
There came a ticker ticker ticker sound. Sax opened his mouth, and a long stream of punched foil paper ejected. Franco took the paper, and read in letters made up of pin-prick holes:
Please take good care of your DumbMutt v1.2 [Sax]-model. Your DNA has now been registered with the MMI central core database. Your deed will last: 999 years. Thank you for your custom.
©hv3801 Metal Mongrels Inc.
QGSMA Quad-Gal Safety Mark Assured (pending).
Franco crouched down, face to muzzle. "Ach. Right. Well. You see, Sax, mate, buddy, faithful fellow, the thing is, I'm a bit of a special man you see, I work covert ops for a Combat-K squad and I'm kind of going on a mission, so I kind of don't need a dog. Sorr ee ."
He stood.
Sax gave a whine.
Franco dressed, and walked to the door. Sax's sad brown eyes followed Franco. Franco opened the door. He frowned. "Look," he said. "I... I give you to yourself. There. Self-ownership.
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