The Spanish blademaster had only a few moments to take stock of his situation. He'd been transported to a open, mostly circular space with a low ceiling, probably one of the rooms in the holding ship. Standing poised around the room were the robots, two female and one male, the ringleader. This would be where the final battle would take place.
In a instant the fight was joined. The blademaster immediately leapt into action, sprinting left and right, dodging incoming blows with dexterity of a sparrow. He tried in vain to strike any of the three robots, but it quickly became clear they were evenly matched. Parry met with parry, slashes cut only through air and vapor, passing tantalizingly close to their intended target. The match drew on.
The blademaster began to sense the robots were playing a game, that they had the power to grant him an honorable death but chose not to, preferring to keep him alive for amusement. Frustration and fatigue set in as the dance continued; he realized that he would be unable to finish them in an open fight. The blademaster would have to resign himself to lifetime internment with his enemies, for though neither party could (or perhaps would) defeat the other, the humanoid robots would never release him. He would have to think of another way.
The fight stagnated and all four combatants ceased altogether. The robots returned to their various activities with a smugness while the Spaniard simmered, trying to think of a plan. After a long period of internment, he decided on a course of action, a final act of desperation.
Moving stealthily toward a microwave sitting in an alcove, he tampered with the unit, wondering vaguely if his metallic body would protect him from the imminent radiation. It mattered little either way.
After finishing, he quickly scrawled a message and dropped it into the mail chute, then approached the three robots. They were each too absorbed in their activities to notice his movements; one, which bore a resemblance to Starbuck, was having sex with a simplistic robot prostitute. He quickly disabled her, then moved on to the other female and pinned her bow, rendering her useless. He approached the male robot, whose eyes registered hate as he realized the situation.
"Ah, yes, I have activated the microwave to emit lethal radiation into the ship," said the blademaster in a thick Spanish accent. "Look, there it is! It's so old, I thought all those models were out of commision. Ha! And now I will fight you, and you and I will surely die. If I do not finish you, the radiation will, and failing that, if you somehow survive, my brother will hunt you down and kill you, for he is the true master of the blade. And as he stands over your dying body, he will invoke my name."
With that, the blademaster extended his sword, looked toward the heavens and closed his eyes, as if in a trance. The radiation began and health bars started to drop.
Back on the planet, the blademaster's brother stood poised on a diving board above a dark, outdoor pool. A flying mail bot flitted down from the sky and delivered a small envelope to the man, who took it with surprise. It was from his brother! Puzzled, the man opened it to find a small, double-sided stamp along with an enlarged copy. The larger image showed a city at night, light from above by a dizzying array of stars. Circled with marker near the corner was a particular constellation, and next to it were the hastily scribbled words, "blinking lion's head, path to salvation." The blademaster's brother stood silently in contemplation
