Dover Gets Stuck

The alarm at the Cloverdale-8 Ridge, a retail colony suspended over the Emerald Stream Sector, was screaming. Usually, this meant a localized supernova in the food court, but today it was worse. Dover had stopped moving.

“I am not moving another inch, Ryan,” Dover groaned, his metal handrails vibrating with existential dread. “I felt it. A microscopic imperfection on my forty-second step. It felt like a pebble. Or perhaps a soul. I must find it and achieve total planarity.”

“Dover, you’re an escalator,” Ryan said, poking a dented panel with his security flashlight. “You don’t have a soul, and you definitely don’t have time for a pedicure. There’s a horde of miserable Octo-toddlers stuck on your mid-section and they’re all crying. Soon they’ll get angry and start to eat your handrails!”

Mr. Meankinder stomped over. Mr. Mean’s head was bright red. “This blockage is costing us three million Space-Credits a minute! Fire the stairs!” He screamed.

Mr. Kind’s head patted Ryan’s shoulder. “You are doing a great job, Ryan, have a peppermint.”

Mr. Er’s head just hummed a confusing, rhythmic sea shanty.

Nebula drifted by, her third arm currently growing out of her left ear to hold a leaking cup of Jovian Juice. “I heard Dover is going through a phase,” she smirked. “I have some industrial-grade sander-bots in my locker. We could just grind him down until he is a slide.”

Dover let out a mechanical wail. “A slide? The indignity! I am a precision-engineered vertical transport system! I will not move until I find the Golden Burr!”

Dover began reverse-cycling his steps at high speed, flinging the Octo-toddlers into the nearby fountain of Liquid Nitrogen. He was single-mindedly scouring his own treads, ignoring the black smoke pouring from his gears.

“Look, Dover!” Ryan yelled, pointing at a discarded piece of pink chewing gum on the floor. “There it is! The Golden Burr! It fell off your forty-second step!”

Dover stopped instantly, his optical sensors zooming in on the blob. “It is beautiful,” he whispered, his depression briefly lifting. “I feel balanced. I feel whole.”

Then the gum spoke. “Actually, I am a sentient diplomat from the Gelatinous Galaxy,” the blob squeaked. “And you just stepped on my wife.”

Dover’s gears groaned. “That’s it,” he sighed, retracting his railings into his chassis. “I am becoming a ramp.”

(This story created by a California earthquake. Magnitude of: 4.26. 8 km ESE of Cloverdale, CA. URL: https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/nc75407577)