“Cleb,” Dresker said, pointing up.
“Got it.”
Bintoo burst into the room a moment later. “Sir, the gears have stopped!”
“Is that what happened?”
“Yes, sir. It’s...they’ve stopped, sir.”
“I heard you the first time, Bintoo. Do we know why they stopped?”
“No, sir, but it’s pandemonium out there! Everyone is running around, or floating around, as the case may be, and, and, and—”
“Alright, alright,” Dresker said, with a lurch that nearly demonstrated his capacity for sugary cakes. He took a deep breath. “Bintoo, I need you to get engineering on the line and tell them to meet me at the Hub.”
“Yes, sir,” Bintoo said and ran back out.
Dresker shook his head and blinked a few times.
“Let’s get down there and figure out what the hell is going on. Oh, and remember, this is our jurisdiction, so this time Local can stuff it.”
ONE-EYED DEMON
ONE WOULD IMAGINE being the anchor of a daily news program would be chaotic.
This wasn’t the case for a reporter working on the CCOP. The weather never changed, business was almost always the same, and anything that would pass for hard news was kept bottled up.
So when the world stopped and Selby Gilbeht found himself floating out of bed that afternoon, he was both nauseated and irritated.
Selby didn’t much care for change of any kind, and being suddenly weightless spelled that something was afoot. He had just finished pre-taping the next three weeks of daily news and had been looking forward to doing essentially nothing.
He pushed off the ceiling too hard and bounced off the floor. Pushing off again he managed to open his iPane and found the setting for his personal gravity unit. He flicked it on, forgetting for a moment that he was floating in mid-air.
As he lay on the ground, rubbing his head while wondering if he could get someone to help him set the gravity unit to be automatic, his iPane began to buzz.
“...I know, I’m trying to get...here he is,” said the ever-frantic station manager, Rigz Turginbower, an Uknar who was raised by Human parents. On an audio-only call, he was one of those Uknar that you would swear was not an Uknar, but this was a visual call so there was no hiding Rigz’s Uknarian heritage. “Selby, we need you at the station, pronto. The CCOP has stopped spinning.”
“What? Stopped spinning?” Selby replied. “This is serious! You should do something!”
“I’m sure they’re working on it. Look, we need you to come right away.”
“Why do I need to come in? I don’t know how to fix it.”
“No, we need you to do a special report.”
The words “special” and “report” both sounded like things Selby didn’t want any part of. The last time those words were used in conjunction Selby was still a green newscaster. He blocked most of the memory, but what he retained wasn’t good. Flashes of him crying and lying in the fetal position sprang to mind.
“Um, no,” he said as his back cracked into place. “Thanks for calling, though, chief. I’ll see you in three weeks.”
“This is the biggest story we’ve had in a long time and we need our best anchor on it,” Rigz said.
“But I’ve got—”
“No buts, Selby,” Rigz said, giving him a stern look that said it all, but Rigz said it anyway. “You get your ass in here right now or you won’t have a job to come back to in three weeks.”
The iPane dimmed.
Selby groaned and dragged himself to the shower knowing full well this was going to be a bad day.
The water in the shower wasn’t cooperating since there was no gravitational pull to help it along. It was all he could do to get cleaned up for the day.
One of the dumbest things Selby had ever done was to buy a flat a couple of blocks away from the station. It was convenient for him, sure, but it was also convenient for Rigz whenever there was a breaking story, which had happened at least twice in the last ten years…this being the second time.
People were jumping all over the place as he entered the set of Starting Your Day With Selby Gilbeht some thirty miniclicks later. Camera operators were getting the light checks down as engineers reconnected wiring they recently put away after the pre-tapings. Chatter was rampant as workers proceeded to rebuild the set and get everything in order. Papers, boxes, and cabling littered the floor like a sea of chaos.
To Selby it looked like a sale at the ZMart.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” Rigz said, towering over everyone. “Everything is falling apart out there and we have reporters all over the place waiting for your call. Unfortunately, we didn’t have time to update the TelePrompter.”
“Got it, no TelePrompter,” Selby said as he sat in the makeup chair and felt the sublime caress of Balinka’s hands starting their work.
“You’re just going to have to wing it.”
“Wing it,” Selby repeated.
“You’ll just have to use your own words.”
“Right, my own words,” Selby replied.
Somewhere in the back of his mind a little yellow sign popped up to notify Selby that Rigz said there would be no TelePrompter and that he, Selby Gilbeht, would need to use his own words; he would have to “wing it.” Selby still hummed along unaware of the trouble he was in, and so his subconscious sighed and then screamed its concern to the frontal lobe.
Selby bolted out of the chair, almost causing Belinka to drop the bottle of neutralizer.
“Wait, what?” Selby said, finding it difficult to breathe. “My own words? I don’t have any words.”
Rigz just stood there tapping his foot.
“For Syadoony’s sake, Rigz, that’s why I became a newscaster!”
And then Selby said a little apology to Syadoony for using the god’s name in vain. Selby hadn’t followed the Syadonic religion since he landed the job at the news station. There were too many odd rituals involving various scented oils, singing, and livestock. But old habits die hard and, according to Selby, it was better to apologize and be wrong than to not apologize and end up being reincarnated as livestock—especially if you were unfortunate enough to be reanimated in a Syadonic region.
Rigz pulled Selby along and positioned him in the anchor chair. Belinka did her best to touch him up as the lights got set and the whirring of electronics sounded. The familiar smell of the set did its best to calm Selby.
“This is intolerable,” Selby said, his voice quavering. “This just isn’t how things are done. Someone writes the words and I read them. It’s always been that way. There is no way I’m doing this. Where is my Union rep?”
Rigz leaned across the news desk. His eyes were fierce. Human-sounding or not, Rigz still carried the full force of an Uknarian menace. “I don’t care how scared you are, Selby,” he said in a calm tone that spelled doom, “you’re going to do the best damn job possible. Got it? If you don’t, it’s going to be a very bad day. A very, very, very bad day. Are we clear?”
Selby gulped and nodded, but Rigz had already walked off the platform. He’d never seen Rigz like that before.
Still, no words meant he had to come up with things to say. What would he say? He could talk about how his back hurt from falling. Maybe other people had fallen too. That would be good. Well, not good, but relevant. He burped lightly and tasted a bit of the steak he’d eaten the night before. It was a good steak. Always good food at Tamerkins. He could talk about that. People liked to talk about food.
Bling McCore, one of the producers on set had been frantically waving his arms in the air for the last ten microclicks while Selby pondered.
“Will you stop doing that?” Selby said. “It’s very distracting.”
“You’re on the air” Bling hissed in response.
Silence filled the room. Selby just stared straight ahead as if the camera had transformed into a one-eyed demon. He wasn’t sure which was worse: a camera with no TelePrompter, or having to face Rig
z again.
“Say something!” Rigz blurted out.
“Something,” Selby squeaked.
“For the love of... Say something about the situation on the CCOP.”
“Oh, right,” Selby said and then took a deep breath. “Good day, everyone. The gears on the CCOP have stopped.” Sweat was beading on his forehead as he searched for something more to say. “I had an excellent steak last night at Tamerkins,” he said and then saw Rigz slap himself in the forehead.
“Go to the field,” Rigz said as he motioned to the control booth. Monitor two flickered to life.
On screen sat the familiar face of Lenarch, one of the field reporters that always seemed on the hunt after Selby’s job. She was a Tchumachian female that stood chest high to an average-sized Human. She had a triangular head with large black eyes, tiny mouth, and she was lanky. Her choice of a bright green business suit only served to further dull her lifeless gray skin.
“Hello, Selby,” Lenarch said in her uppity way. “I am on the scene at the Hub, if you want to discuss something current...other than the wonderful meal you had last evening, I mean.” The camera panned back and showed the steps leading up to the entrance of the Hub. “As you can see,” Lenarch continued, “there are guards blocking us from getting in to speak with any of the leaders at the CCOP. I haven’t been able to talk to anyone in corporate,” the camera focused back on her. “I did speak to a couple of security guards on the way in,” she continued, “and they said that they were blocking us from entering the building for our own safety and for the safety of the employees inside. They insist it’s not because of some kind of conspiracy, but that only makes things sound more conspiratorial.”
The red light flicked back on to let Selby know he was on again. He looked at the camera for a moment and then saw the TelePrompter spring to life. His world was back to normal. A sudden calm covered him like warm water.
“Thank you, Lenarch,” he said with a sniff and then began to read from the screen. “This is version one-point-seven of NegligibleSoft’s TelePrompter software,” he read in his strong anchor voice. “Loading files and tables,” he nodded in an I’m-conveying-something-important-right-now kind of way. “This will only take a few moments.”
Rigz audibly groaned and then yelled out, “Cut to tomorrow’s news!”
SIMPLE SOLUTIONS
THE FLOOR OF the central Hub was teaming with people as Dresker, Truhbel, and Cleb walked in.
Dresker surveyed the gears. The last time he’d seen them was on a tour of the facility when he had accepted his position leading the IIB. He had recommended that security protocols be set in place to avoid an event such as this, but everyone told him that people just weren’t like that. He knew better. In Dresker’s estimation, everyone had the potential to do something dicey, including himself. There was simply no excuse for not locking down the Hub. At the very least, they could have put up a fence to secure the gears.
“Clear these people out,” he said to Truhbel and Cleb. “Required personnel only.”
“Listen up,” Cleb bellowed a moment later. Everyone quieted. “If you ain’t fixin’ nuffin’ here, den get out.”
People looked at each other as if trying to determine whether the person next to them was capable of fixing anything. One by one they found their way to the elevator.
Dresker walked to the edge of the platform and peered into the workings. He saw a Mechanican wedged between the teeth of two gears. Not a pretty way to go. The amazing bit was that the entire system had stopped from nothing more than a wedge of a bot’s head. That being the case, Dresker could have come up with any number of things that would have been just as effective in shutting down the system.
He walked to the other side of the monstrosity. It too was exposed. Insanity, he thought, as he crossed back to where the Mechanican lay.
If nothing else, at least the engineers had included a safety mechanism to shut the system down if it detected anything in its workings that shouldn’t be there. That would make sense, since it was easy enough to clean out one bit of the gears. Rummaging through the entirety of the system would be a nightmare.
“Ah, Mr. Dresker,” Prime Engineer Twekman said as Dresker continued studying the area. “I see you have spotted the cause of our dilemma.”
“Seems I have,” Dresker responded, nodding at the little Tchumachian, who wore his standard purple robe laced with white taffeta. He looked like a tiny gray wizard. “Looks like a nasty way to go.”
“Head first, too, so we won’t be able to get any data out of him.”
Figures, Dresker thought. Then he looked a little lower on the Mechanican.
“Now that’s not something you see every day.” Dresker noticed that the recently departed had a somewhat attentive lower half. “Is that his, um, well...”
Twekman too seemed a bit uncomfortable. “Yes, I believe it is his...”
“Penis,” Truhbel chimed in, jolting the two men who hadn’t heard her come up behind them.
“Right, his, um...”
“Penis,” she said again. “Dat’s what it’s called.”
“I know what it’s called,” Dresker snapped. “I just don’t see the point in saying it, is all.”
“Humans are weird,” said Truhbel. “Oh, sorry,” Truhbel added with a nod toward Twekman, “you Tchumachians is weird too.”
“Thank you,” Twekman said, looking chuffed to be included.
“The thing I don’t understand, is why his...um...”
“Penis.”
“Yeah, why it’s in a, well, you know, an excited state.”
“Erection.”
Dresker sighed. “Yes, fine,” he said, exasperated. “But if I had just fallen into a set of gears, I highly doubt my...you know...thing.”
“Erect penis.”
“Oh, for the love of...fine. The bot fell into the gears head-first and he has an erect penis. There, I said it. Are you happy now?” Everyone had stopped what they were doing and were staring at him. “Erect. Penis. Did everyone get that? Anyone miss me saying it? I wouldn’t want anyone to be left out as Officer Truhbel here obviously feels it’s incredibly important that I not be ashamed to say it. So just to make sure everyone has heard me loud and clear, I will say it one more time. Eeeerrrrect! Peeeennniiiisssss!”
Then he looked up and saw a camera was on him from the doorway. He slouched. That would make the news.
“Cleb!”
Cleb escorted the still-laughing cameraman to the elevator.
“Thank you, Officer Truhbel,” Dresker said.
“No problem,” she said calmly. “Glad you done dat?”
Dresker rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. “The point is that—and do note that I’m by no means a robotics expert—a Mechanican is not likely to get in an aroused state after his head gets annihilated.” He paused. “At least I know I wouldn’t.”
“Den you fink he had dat erect penis...” Twekman and Dresker both shuffled, “...when he fell in der?”
“Again, I don’t know enough about their physiology to even guess. Twekman?”
“Not my area of expertise either.”
“Truhbel, would you be so kind as to go and check with the front desk to see if they picked anything up on the security feeds?” She left and Dresker said to Twekman, “How do you plan to get things moving again, Prime Twekman?”
“It’s quite a puzzle. Vice Prime Engineer Lazken and I have been sketching a blueprint procedure out.”
The folks from the Engineering Research Division loved using their full titles wherever possible. They thought quite well of themselves and each other. On the one hand, they were among the greatest minds ever known; on the other hand, they were horrific at getting anything done in a timely manner, and simplicity just wasn’t their way.
Dresker felt that brute force was always more effective than elegance. Fixing something, in his estimation, required that something got fixed.
“How long is that going to take?” Dresker aske
d.
“These things take time, Prime Dresker. One can’t rush in to a troublesome project like this without planning for contingencies.”
“I think we’ve hit a contingency already, don’t you?”
“Well, you see—”
“And each miniclick that goes by is causing those contingencies to pile up, I would argue.”
Twekman pursed his tiny mouth a few times in response, like a fish eating a flaky meal.
Dresker searched the corners of the ceiling for surveillance cameras. There were none.
Truhbel came back with her VizScreen floating above her arm. “Front desk says nobody came in.”
“Clearly they’re incorrect,” Dresker said, pointing at the lodged Mechanican. “He must’ve come in through the complex somehow.” There were countless access points into the place. “Unbelievable.”
An irritating beeping tone kept ringing out at set intervals. At first it was like a little gnat that flew by every so often—annoying, but tolerable. After dealing with Truhbel, Twekman, and the general lack of accountability and security surrounding the Hub, the beep had turned from a pesky gnat into a pecking pterodactyl.
“My questions are simple.”
Beep.
“Did they see anyone go out?”
Beep.
“Was he alone?”
Beep.
“Are there any cameras anywhere in this place that would give us some insight as to what happened?”
Beep.
He spun toward Twekman. “Are we going to have the rotation back on soon?”
Beep.
“Is there nothing we can do to get this going?”
Beep.
He turned again to Truhbel.
“Did anybody in the entire complex see this bot...Mech...bot come in?”
Beep.
Dresker raged, “And what is the source of that infernal beeping?”
No beep.
Silence.
No doubt everyone was hoping he’d say something to rival his “erect penis” comment, but he wasn’t playing. Another few moments and still no beeping. Finally, he thought, something is going right today.
Twekman and Truhbel had already set off on finding answers. Truhbel had, anyway. Twekman more likely ran off to avoid any further confrontation with Dresker.
Starliner (The Intergalactic Investigation Bureau Book 1) Page 9