Repetition

Repetition

Konstanz Bleeg entered his home pod and spoke to the room. “Evenin’ Giles. Be a good fellow and stick the lights on, would you?”

“No problem, Konstanz,” answered a disembodied voice. The lights came up at a suitably moderate level. Konstanz crossed the room and threw himself full length on to the couch.

“Thanks, buddy.”

“Always happy to oblige,” soothed the warm voice of the room. “Rough day, was it?”

“You could say that,” said Konstanz as he breathed through hands held tightly against his face. “What I really need is a drink.”

“Playing Favourite Selection Number Four,” announced the voice as music suddenly flooded the room.

“No, Giles, I didn’t ask for that. Turn the bloody music off.” When the music continued unabated, Konstanz sat up and yelled, “For Pete’s sake, Giles, I said shut up!”

The music stopped and a hurt silence replaced it. Konstanz lay back down again.

“I thought you said to play it,” grumbled the voice. “Tell you what, how about you listen to my latest selection? It’s much better than Four.”

“Oh God, no,” said Konstanz but his voice was drowned as a different song began.

The voice was obviously in ecstacies over the music. “I’m really proud of it,” he shouted above the din. “I’ve numbered it Twenty-three.”

And then he repeated it. “Twenty-three.” And again. “Twenty-three.”

Konstanz had his hands over his ears as he shouted to be heard over the music. “Oh shit, you’ve done it now. Stop the damn music!”

“Twenty-three.”

“And stop saying twenty-three.”

“Twenty-three.”

Konstanz clenched his fists in frustration. “You’re stuck, aren’t you? Can you do me a phone call?”

“Twenty-three.”

Giles had obviously hit a loop that he couldn’t end. After a moment’s fruitless thought, Konstanz left the pod and boarded his hovercar. “Are you awake, Hargreave?” he said.

“As it happens, I am,” answered the car. “Where to, Boss?”

“Nowhere, thanks Greavsie. Just phone Tweekers Electronix and ask them to send round a technician. Giles has gone nuts and won’t say anything but twenty-three.”

“Twe…” began Hargreave but Konstanz interrupted him with a yell.

“Don’t say it! Maybe it’s a curse and I can’t afford to have you on the blink as well.”

Everything went quiet while the car made the call. Tweekers promised a visit within twenty-three minutes and Konstanz settled in for the wait.

The technician arrived exactly on time and Konstanz led him into the pod. Inside, the music was deafening and Giles was still repeating the number twenty-three.

“Twenty-three,” he said.

The technician marched quickly over to the corner and yanked Giles’ power lead from its socket. The music died.

Giles spoke into the sudden silence. “Twenty-three.”

“Damn,” said the technician. “He’s got one of those new constant power sources. This is going to take a while, I’m afraid.”

“How long, d’you think?” asked Konstanz.

“Twenty-three,” said Giles.

“Ooh, I dunno. At least twenty-four hours, I reckon,” answered the technician. He started removing the panel that hid Giles’ innards.

Konstanz retreated to the bedroom and lay down but he could still hear Giles repeating the number twenty-three at regular intervals.

Three hours in and the constant repetition must have been getting to the technician because he started answering Giles’ continuing comments.

“Twenty-three.”

“Twenty-three yourself, you lousy hunk of junk.”

“Twenty-three.”

Konstanz was still awake, unable to completely muffle the sound of twenty-three repeated incessantly and piercing the pillow he was holding over his ears. He rose and joined the pair in the living room. Giles greeted him with a twenty-three.

The technician agreed.

Konstanz had been going to appeal for silence but now he realised the hopelessness of his task. He gave in.

“Twenty-three,” he said.

“Twenty-three,” echoed Giles.

The technician chimed in with his “Twenty-three.”

And so the night and the next day passed, Giles mindlessly repeating his statement, the technician fumbling with electrical circuits and doodads, and Konstanz yawning on the couch while he kept up his part in the chorus.

In the event, the technician did rather better than his estimate. Giles was at last reduced to silence after twenty-three hours.

“How much do I owe you?” Konstanz’s relieved voice rent the blessedly empty air.

The technician turned from packing up his tools. “That’ll be twen…” He stopped and then continued, “Oh, what the heck. This one’s on the house.”


Word count: 722
For 23 Skidoo Contest, September 2023
Prompt: Write something that depends on the number 23.
Note: I may not have to point this out but the word twenty-three is repeated twenty-three times in the story. In fact, I overshot and had to delete three occurrences. Happy Birthday WDC!