Wo'orkrmo'o loved his job.
He had been hired when he was 68, with a Minor Employment Waiver for school. He went to work in the factory, overseeing robots on an assembly line. He spent the day moving back and forth in a large room, watching the assembly line move by and the robots work. He had his mandatory 10 minute breaks every hour, his mandatory two hour lunch, his three day work week, his 4.5 sick days a month and 7.5 vacation days a month, with mandatory cost of living offset raises of 14.5% every two years. He had health, vision, dental, mental, grooming, emotional, and social media insurance and kept himself the picture of health.
He did not indulge in drugs or alcohol or e-buzzers at work. He punched in no later than seventy-five minutes late for his six hour shifts and never clocked out more than an hour early. He only slept on the job now and then, as well as only skipped work once a week.
His supervisors loved him for his intense work ethic.
He had worked for the Eyeli'ikmo'ny Industrial Concern for nearly three hundred years, ensuring that the robots correctly built the items the computers told them to and did not plot to take over the factory or decide to kill all of the Lanaktallan in the building.
Only once, a few years after he had work for EIC, had he been forced to hide in the shelters as the robots rampaged through the factory killing anyone they came across.
He had been given nearly 8 million credits in emotional damage in the settlement, and was thrilled that he received almost fifty-thousand credits after taxes, lawyer's fees, deductions, depreciation, and inverse interest on the payments.
He, like any proper Lanaktallan, had his settlement converted to Nebula Steam Credits and collected his "I Survived A Robot Apocalypse!" sash award and profile picture border.
Earlier in the day, the howl of LET THE UNIVERSE SHAKE IN THE WRATH OF TERRASOL! had driven everyone to their knees and mandated a full hour recovery period.
Now Wo'okrmo'o was currently sitting on a chair, leaning back against the swivel-back, sipping on a Countess Crey Fresh NuGrass™ Fizzypop, watching the robots work. He'd had to shock Robot #823547A15B2 twice when it started eyeballing him, but other than that, the shift was quiet.
He heard a clunk. Then more clunks, starting to sound like it was raining shoes.
The sound was coming from the wall. The wall was perfectly smooth, the only break in it was a single door marked "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY!" on it.
Wo'okrmo'o moved over to the wall and listened.
The rapid thumping was picking up pace. He reached out and touched the wall, surprised when he realized that he could feel vibration from it.
Checking to make sure Robot #823547A15B2 was aware of its place in the universe, and pinged his supervisor, Fa'actre'emo'o.
"What?" his supervisor asked.
"It's Wo'okrmo'o, down in final panel 66231 fabrication," Wo'okrmo'o said.
"So what? I am busy on my Charlie the Moomoo Power Hour break," Fa'actre'emo'o said.
"My apologies, but there is something going on in the section next to mine that is off limits to everyone but authorized personnel," Wo'okrmo'o said.
"Let me check," Fa'actre'emo'o said.
After a moment his supervisor harrumphed. "There's nothing there."
"I'm looking at the door," Wo'okrmo'o said.
There was a sigh. "When I'm off break, I'll send someone authorized down to check."
Wo'okrmo'o nodded and the line clinked as it went off.
The clunking sound kept up as the room's air pressure suddenly shifted, making Wo'okrmo'o's ears pop. He winced and put in a complaint to his Occupational Safety & Health Administration Liaison about fluctuating air pressure.
Then he went on his optional 20 minute Treana'ad smokestick break up on the roof, chatting with the other Lanaktallan and Welkret who worked at the factory.
When he went back down, the room was chilly. Robot #8723A823C87F21 was trying to hide some circuitry, obviously part of a nefarious plot to take over the factory, so Wo'okrmo'o wrote it up and gave it the firm lecture as recommended by the Robot/Sapient Interaction Handbook, logged what he had done, then took his mandatory paid 10 minute break.
The thumping was still going on when he got back and he noticed something odd.
The wall looked like it was bowing outward.
He pinged his supervisor again, the supervisor's answering service letting Wo'okrmo'o know that his supervisor was attending the mandatory efficiency meeting for the next three hours, which would be after Wo'okrmo'o's shift ended.
Wo'okrmo'o logged the problem and went back to overseeing the robots.
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There was a loud creaking noise and Wo'okrmo'o looked over at the wall in time to see it snap in half and collapse into the cascade of machinery that came pouring out of the gap behind the wall. The machinery looked like a frame that would wrap around a biped, wires and tubes interwoven in the frame.
It was what was beyond the wall that made Wo'okrmo'o stare in shock.
Huge black metal orbs, at least twenty meters tall, with an open iris ten meters in diameter that was full of a dull sullen red glow.
Those frames were being brought out of the iris by tractor beams and dumped in front of the orbs.
He pinged his supervisor rapidly as he backed up.
The room kept filling with the frames until he was forced to put the robots on break, oversee them returning to the Robot Storage & Recreation Area, then he went out into the hallway and watched through the window.
More and more frames were pushing across the floor as the orbs kept pumping them out.
A supervisor galloped down the hall, skidding to a stop next to Wo'okrmo'o. Wo'okrmo'o noted that the supervisor was in such a hurry he had forgotten his sash or his flank wrap.
"What is happening?" the supervisor yelled.
"The orbs are making stuff," Wo'okrmo'o informed his supervisor helpfully.
"Where did they come from?" the supervisor asked, wringing all four hands in agitation.
"The wall collapsed and they were back there," Wo'okrmo'o said.
"This is terrible! We might not make our production numbers," the supervisor moaned. He suddenly straightened up with a high pitched shriek. "We might miss quotas!"
That would prevent them from getting their quarterly bonuses!
And Wo'okrmo'o had already pre-ordered the latest DLC from Super-Mega-Ultra-Totally-Tublar-Maxi-Grind-Fest-O'Rama-Season-Pass-Supergame!
Both Lanaktallan began pinging their supervisors.
The boardroom was thick with smoke as the Lanaktallan, resplendent in their vests, their flank vests, their wraps, and their sashes, as well as the current style of a fancy hat with a bird feather in it, all stared at the holograms in the middle of the table.
In dozens of fabrication areas the massive black orbs were putting out strange and exotic materials.
Labs had confirmed that half of them were producing warsteel components, of all things.
R&D had confirmed that, for some strange reason, the orbs were all putting out parts for Telkan power armor, Hesstlan tanks, Welkret aerospace fighters, and green mantid tech-armor.
All of the Lanaktallan board members looked up and felt relief as the Chief Research Officer entered the board room.
"Why is this happening?" was the number one questions fired at the CRO.
"How is this happening?" was a close second.
Although "what is this happening?" was gaining traction.
The CRO cleared his throat, taking time to sip a Countess Crey Super-Berry Bunch Now with MORE XTREME CAFFIENNE! and tasting it through the holes in the straw with is feeding tendrils. The CRO took a hit off a power smoker, filling the room with the scent of freshly mown grass, reminding the board that the CRO often worked with Treana'ad researchers.
"The answer was found in historical records of the factory's recent production history," the CRO said.
The board felt relief. Where there was answers there was a way to deflect the blame in such a way that everyone could get at least a taste of the pie while the bus ran over something like 'unexplained sunspot eruption software conflicts' or 'unforseen climate alteration through shiny jewelry polish aerosol' or something else that blamed nobody but soothed the investors, the public, and the government.
"During the unfortunate events a mere forty thousand years ago, commonly referred to as 'the Second Precursor War', this factory was producing war material to defeat the Atrekna," the CRO said. He used a clicker to show slides from that time.
The gathered Lanaktallan, Tukna'arn, Drimarian, and Treana'ad board members all nodded appreciably at the graphics of heroism, struggle, and bravery.
"However, the Terran Extinction Event occurred at this time," an image of a Terran appeared, then was covered with a big red X as its eyes were replaced by X's and the smile was turned upside down. "Over a period of ten years, what was known as creation engines, nanoforges, and nutriforges all began to display manufacturing errors and defects."
The graphics showed malfunctioning devices producing defective products.
Several of the board members made the sign of the Digital Omnimessiah to ward off such horror.
"While at the front, during a war, it is acceptable to print off an entire war machine, a creation engine has a replication error rate of two billionths of a percent. While that seems negligible, a modern aerospace striker has, when subatomic circuitry is taken into account, thousands of trillions of parts. A failure in one component will surely result in the equipment malfunctioning or failing the second the enemy shows up," the CRO stated. "And, as we all know well, an industrial or manufacturing concern that produces substandard quality war material is either nationalized with their parts sold off to the lowest bidder or becomes the property of the enemy nation."
More exclamations of shock and horror at the table at the thought of lost profits.
Why, an Executive Officer might not be able to afford a new hover-yacht!
They might actually, gasp, be held ACCOUNTABLE!
A Tukna'rn board member fell back in an almost swoon, fanning himself with a sheaf of stock option reports.
"This resulted in the factories of industrial and manufacturing concerns using creation engines and nanoforges to create the parts and assemble them, after rigorous and cost effective testing, into the final product," the CRO stated. He clicked the button with one hoof and the image of the giant black orbs appeared.
"With the creation engines failing, a committee was formed to decide the optimum procedures to replace and remove the multi-ton self-contained variable manufacturing equipment. After several decades of examining the problem, it was decided it was not cost effective to disassemble part of the factory," he clicked the button to show the manufacturing floor as it had been the day before.
The wall was intact, with a single door that read "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY" on it.
"A wall was built to separate the then non-functional creation engines. The door was put in place and the position created for those authorized to examine the creation engines," the CRO looked slightly smug. "By not assigning anyone to that position, the problem virtually went away!"
The others all nodded.
"However, the Terran declaration of their return to the galaxy as a whole appears to have reignited the creation engine and set them to manufacturing their last loaded templates," the CRO stated.
"This fact, combined with the Terran Audible Declaration, has presented my office the irrefutable fact that the Terrans have returned, which means that there are dark days for the galaxy that only they can face!" the CRO stated.
The board members all jumped to their feet, waving their hands and running around the table, shouting out that doom and lost profits were upon them.
The Chief Medical Executive and his staff came in, tranquilized the board members, and sent them to a luxury tropical island to be treated for exhaustion.
Wo'okrmo'o sat in the classroom with the other floor shift supervisors. A Welkret was at the front of the class, explaining how to use the newly functional creation engines.
Like everyone else in the room, Wo'okrmo'o had been promoted to creation engine engineering engineer officer of fabrication.
Wo'okrmo'o couldn't wait to by a hover-skiff with his end of year bonus!