Dead Men Don't Disco

by Michael Campling

  “Relax, Jerry. You weren’t going to get the full show. I know how you humans are appalled by naked flesh when in public.” She closed her coat, fastening the buttons as though nothing untoward had happened. “I had a run in with some of Enderley’s stooges. I was starved of nitrogen and then pressed against a garment from Earth. The symbionts in our skin exist in a delicate balance, but that was ruined, and now I’ve been infected by your filthy Earth bacteria. If I was back on Gloabon, I could get the best medical attention in the galaxy, but here…” She raised her hand and let it fall. “It’s a miracle I’m still alive.”

  “Can’t you just go back to your space station?”

  Surrana shook her head. “Not at the moment. Perhaps later.” She smiled, laying her hand on his chest. “Your concern is touching. But don’t worry, your pills should do the trick. And while you bring down Enderley, I’ll go after his minions.” She licked her lips. “And you know what? I think I’ll enjoy that. I’m going to love every minute.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Earth

  When Brent Bolster opened the door to his office, he was greeted by the pungent scent of solvents and freshly printed synthetic plastic. He stood on the threshold for a second, wrinkling his nose, then cast a fond glance back at the stairwell.

  “Good afternoon, Brent,” Rawlgeeb called out. “Come in, why don’t you? The worker is almost finished.”

  Brent grunted and stepped inside, leaving the door ajar. He saw that Vince and Rawlgeeb were both busy at their desks, but his gaze searched out the room’s other regular inmate, finding only an empty space where he should be. “Where is he? What’ve you done with him?”

  Vince looked up from his laptop. “Who?”

  “Algernon!” Brent spluttered. “He isn’t there. He’s not…he’s not dead, is he? Goddammit, I knew I should’ve gotten him that aquarium.”

  “Calm down, Boss,” Vince replied. “Mrs. Albertoni is watching him this morning. Rawlgeeb thought we ought to move him.”

  “Because of the fumes,” Rawlgeeb put in. “They could’ve been harmful to your fish’s gills, and the worker seems to be taking a lot longer than anticipated. Speaking of which…” He turned his attention to the wall behind Brent’s desk where a freshly fabricated, circular window was installed but still surrounded by unsightly blobs of expanding foam. “You there! When will you be finished?”

  Brent’s desk was completely shrouded by a crumpled sheet of blue plastic, but from behind it, a stocky android appeared, standing clumsily and holding onto the desk to steady itself. “Your new window will be ready shortly,” it intoned. “Please wait while I upgrade your window. My task is ninety percent complete. No, make that seventy-eight percent. Perhaps nearer to seventy-five. The estimated time to completion is ten minutes. Or at this rate, forty-two minutes. Approximately. Maybe longer.”

  “What are you talking about?” Rawlgeeb demanded. “You assured us that the work would take only two hours in total, and you’ve been here three days. Three days!”

  “I am getting ready to complete your new window,” the bot replied. “Your new window will have lots of features that you’ll enjoy.” Its shoulders twitched in a shaky semblance of a shrug. “While we wait for the glue to dry, allow me to entertain you by juggling these balls.”

  “No! Do not juggle again,” Rawlgeeb cried. He aimed a frown in Brent’s direction. “I knew we should’ve gone to a properly registered fab company. Cyber-glaze were highly recommended and they use Gloabon tech, but, oh no, you had to call in a favor from an old client.”

  “I was trying to save cash like you keep telling me. For God’s sake, I thought you’d be pleased. I don’t know why I even…” Brent couldn’t finish his sentence. Bandying words with Rawlgeeb was like trying to argue with a freight train that had heard about stop lights but wanted nothing to do with them. Besides, at times like this, he hated the vexed tone that crept into his own voice. We sound like an old married couple, he thought, but without the reassuring promise of a life insurance payout when one of us croaks. His hand went to his brow. “Listen, these fumes aren’t doing me any good, either. I’m going to head out for coffee. Anybody want anything brought back?”

  “Not necessary,” Rawlgeeb stated firmly. “Anticipating your arrival, Vince has brewed a pot of that mind-bending Colombian blend that you so enjoy. And it’s much cheaper than a takeout.” He sat up primly. “I need hardly remind you of the cost-cutting measures needed if we are to keep this agency afloat.”

  “No, you’d better not even think about reminding me of that,” Brent shot back. “That’s one thing we can agree on. But where am I supposed to work?” He waved his arm toward his desk where the android was staring at the unfinished window and scratching its head. “At least, in the coffee shop, I can do some research without Bozo the Builder splattering me with molten plastic every ten minutes.”

  “I hate to say it, but he does have a point,” Vince chipped in. “That bot is starting to get on my nerves. If it starts rapping I’ve got a Gal in Kalamazoo one more time, I swear I’ll flip.”

  Rawlgeeb heaved a sigh. “Very well. I suppose we have enough in the petty cash for a little outing–so long as we don’t go mad.”

  “Petty cash?” Brent asked innocently. “Was that in the little cash box on the shelf? Only it sort of fell on the floor, and the lock gave out. And the lid kind of came off its hinges. And got crushed underfoot. By accident.”

  “No, that was just a secondary measure,” Rawlgeeb replied. “I had a feeling something like that might happen, so I took the liberty of establishing a more secure system for securing our outgoings.”

  Brent’s face fell. “It was a decoy? You put a decoy cash box in my own office?”

  “Our office,” Rawlgeeb corrected. “And yes, I did. And a good thing too, or you’d be without funds for your espresso.” Rawlgeeb stood, straightening his jumpsuit. “Right. Let us adjourn to an establishment of your choice. We have business to discuss.”

  “Really?” Brent raised his eyebrows. “We have a client?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.” Rawlgeeb paused to grab his trench coat from the wooden stand. “That’s what we need to discuss. We must establish a marketing plan, and since most of the cash from our last paying client has already disappeared into clearing your debts, we’ll have to manage the whole strategy on a boot string.”

  “The mayor’s money has gone?” Brent asked. “All of it?”

  Rawlgeeb smiled. “Not quite, which is why I said boot string and not shoestring. We have a little left to play with.”

  “That’s a real neat way of putting it,” Vince said. “You’re getting the hang of speaking American.”

  “Thanks, but that phrase should be really neat if you think about it,” Rawlgeeb replied. “And the language you speak is English, although admittedly it’s an American variant.”

  Vince sighed as he stood. “Okay, is it time for recess? Can we quit the English class and get Brent his afternoon wake-up juice?”

  “I’ll grab my hat,” Rawlgeeb said. “Lead the way. But don’t choose anywhere too pricey.”

  “Oh my God,” Brent breathed, closing his eyes. “This all an illusion. I’m plugged into a construct and nothing is real. I’ll wake up in a second, and everything will be back the way it was.”

  A crash of shattering glass made them all jump, and Brent opened his eyes with a start. “Did I do it? Did I break out of the matrix?”

  “Oops,” the worker bot droned, shaking its head at the wreckage of glass and plastic that lay scattered across Brent’s desk. “I’m sorry, but your window has crashed. Looks like I’ll have to start again. Please wait while I upgrade your…”

  Without a word, Brent turned on his heel, yanking the door open hard enough to send it rattling back against the wall. And as he headed down the stairs, taking them two at a time, he heard Vince and Rawlgeeb hurrying along right behind him.

  CHAPTER 5

  Earth

  Brent stared throu
gh the window of The Koffy Haus and let out a grunt. “Look at that damned line. The place is crammed.”

  “You always say that,” Vince replied, holding the door open for Rawlgeeb. “It’s cheap, and we always manage to grab a table, so how about you change the record?”

  “Anyhow, I’ll stand in line for all of us,” Rawlgeeb said brightly. “You two, find us somewhere to sit. I assume you’ll want your usual.”

  “Why mess with a winning formula?” Brent asked. “Double ristretto for me, and a babyccino for the boy.”

  “Hey!” Vince protested. “Get off my back, Brent. That was one lousy time, and I ordered it by accident. The waitress confused me with her accent. I remember because the weird thing was, she looked kind of like my mom.”

  “Freud would have a field day,” Brent drawled.

  “Leave your old drinking buddies out of it,” Vince shot back. “Let’s just go inside. Rawlgeeb, I’ll have a regular coffee, black. Thank you.”

  “And you can knock yourself out,” Brent said to Rawlgeeb. “You’re paying.”

  “The agency is paying,” Rawlgeeb stated. “And since this is a business meeting, I’ll be keeping the receipt.” With that, he marched inside, Vince and Brent following in his wake, which was easier than it might have been. Gloabons were a common enough sight in the city’s bars, but they were rarely seen in coffee shops. And since it was a safe bet that no one in The Koffy Haus had ever seen a Gloabon wearing a trench coat and sporting a Fedora, the crowds parted to let him through.

  “You know what, Rawlgeeb?” Vince began. “I think you actually enjoy standing in line.”

  Rawlgeeb turned around to stare at Vince in amazement. “Discipline. Order. Structure. What’s not to like?” He grinned. “Standing in line is pretty much the only Earth custom that I can get fully on board with. Apart from that annual festival of joy that comes around each year. What do you call it? Er…”

  “Christmas?” Vince offered. “Thanksgiving?”

  Rawlgeeb clicked his fingers. “Tax season.” He let out a heartfelt sigh. “What can I say? It’s the forms. Lovely.”

  Brent shook his head. “Come on, Vince. There’s a bunch of hipsters over there who look like they’re about to leave. We can grab their table.”

  “Those guys?” Vince pointed at a table where three young men were intent on tapping at their laptops, handsets plugged into the wall to recharge. “I don’t think so. They look like they’ve settled in for the afternoon.”

  “Just go and stand over them for a minute,” Brent said. “You don’t need to say anything. They’ll get the message.”

  “No.” Vince frowned, scanning the crowded room. “Look, our regular spot is free.”

  Brent wrinkled his nose. “By the restroom? Not again. You do know why that table’s not taken, right?”

  “Aw, come on.” Vince led the way to the small table and pulled out a chair, but before he could sit down, Brent slid onto it.

  “You know the rules,” Brent said, holding up his hand to ward off any argument. “I sit with my back to the wall.”

  Vince’s irritated frown gave way to a broad smile as he took one of the other seats. “Seriously? Still? Brent, there are no Gloabon assassins in here. Trust me.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it.” Brent glared at the lone occupant of a neighboring table. “What about her? She looks pretty damned suspicious to me.”

  Vince turned in his seat. “Brent, she’s eighty years old if she’s a day. And apart from that, she’s also a nun.”

  “Exactly.” Brent folded his arms and sat back as though he’d made his point.

  Vince studied him in silence for a moment then shook his head as if dismissing a troublesome thought. “I wonder how Maisie’s getting along.”

  “You should know,” Brent said, a little more quickly than he’d intended. “You send her a message every five minutes, don’t you?”

  “We keep in touch, that’s all.” Vince sounded hurt. “It’s what people do, Brent. Normal people, anyhow.”

  “Self-surveillance, that’s what I call it.” His fingers flicked the air as if typing on an invisible keyboard. “Am in coffee shop. Sitting on chair. Expect to drink coffee soon. Will send photo of steaming cup along with caption as soon as I can think of something smug enough to say.” He waved his imaginary keys away. “The NSA has got nothing on kids like you. They probably have a framed picture of you on the wall. Vince–the most documented man alive.”

  Vince jutted his chin. “Are you done? Do you really have to get like this every time I mention Maisie’s name?”

  For a moment, the pair locked eyes, but Brent looked away first. “Here comes Rawlgeeb. Looks like he treated us after all.”

  Rawlgeeb was bearing a tray, and after picking his way between the cramped rows of tables, he set it down carefully between Vince and Brent. “Here we are, gentleman. Your daily tax-deductible subsistence allowance.”

  “You make it sound so appetizing,” Brent drawled. “Who could resist?”

  “One tries one’s best,” Rawlgeeb replied cheerfully, taking a seat and handing out the drinks.

  “Hey, you got doughnuts,” Vince said with a smile. “Cool, I’m hungry.”

  Rawlgeeb’s fingers fluttered over the plate. “I couldn’t resist,” he said, taking the largest, sugar-coated doughnut for himself. “I hate them, actually. They’re far too soft, and they make me feel incredibly sleepy, but I can’t seem to stop myself eating them.”

  “Well, don’t eat it too fast because we’re not carrying you back to the office,” Brent put in. “The last time, I damned near put my back out, so if you want to gorge yourself and then crash out, be my guest, but we’ll leave you here to sleep it off.”

  “I don’t know what you’re bitching about,” Vince grumbled. “I took all the weight.”

  “Well, someone had to carry the guy’s hat,” Brent countered. He took a sip of coffee, his taste buds welcoming the bitter liquid like an old friend. “Anyhow, that’s enough office chit-chat for one day. Let’s talk turkey.”

  Rawlgeeb frowned. “The bird or the country?” He looked from Brent to Vince and back again, then treated them to a burst of his braying laughter. “Your faces! That was a good one. I got you that time. You actually thought I didn’t know such a basic idiom. Ha! Hilarious!”

  “Is it, though?” Brent asked. “Are you sure about that? Only there’s an open mic night at that club down by the dog track. Perhaps you might like to test out your material. I’m sure you’ll get a warm reception. And if not, there’s a county hospital within crawling distance.”

  Rawlgeeb and Vince looked at him askance, disapproval writ large in their stony expressions, so Brent took the opportunity to let his gaze wander across the room. A few people had turned at the sound of Rawlgeeb’s guffaw, but when they were met with Brent’s unflinching stare, they quickly discovered an intense interest in their cups of coffee. What must it be like to have a regular life? Brent wondered. The place was filled with people on their coffee breaks, talking about their jobs, their mortgages, their favorite TV shows. Or maybe they were taking time out to go shopping or catch up with family and friends. Unbelievably dull, Brent decided. All things considered, and despite his perplexing alien associate and his lovesick assistant, Brent still wouldn’t trade places with any of the coffee shop’s regular customers. Especially the nun.

  Somewhere, a handset buzzed, and Brent looked pointedly at Vince. “Probably Maisie, wanting to know the latest Earth-shattering news, such as how much sugar you put in your coffee today.”

  “Ha-ha,” Vince said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “But that’s not my handset. Sounds like it’s coming from your pocket.”

  “Oh yeah.” Brent fumbled in his jacket pocket, pulling out his handset and staring at the screen. “It’s a message. From Mayor Enderley.”

  “Read it,” Rawlgeeb said excitedly. “He might have another job for us.”

  Brent tapped his handset’s screen to open the mess
age. And the blood drained from his face.

  “Boss?” Vince said. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Brent licked his lips. “It’s…it’s a warning. He’s skipping town, and he says we should do the same.”

  Rawlgeeb’s hand went to his mouth, inadvertently spreading a layer of sugar crystals across his smooth chin. “Why? What’s happened?”

  Brent shook his head slowly. “I don’t think our erstwhile employer cares much for explanations. All he said was, we should watch the news.”

  In a flash, Vince and Rawlgeeb had their handsets on the table, both frantically tapping away. Brent watched them in silence. Left to its own devices, bad news always came along quickly enough; there was never any need to go hunting for it.

  “Mayor Enderley implicated in widespread collusion,” Vince read. “The FBI refused to comment on the case, but sources within the UN have revealed that the mayor is the subject of a wide-reaching investigation following the publication of incriminating records by The New Earth Times this morning.”

  “Oh,” Rawlgeeb said. “That differs somewhat from my information.”

  “You looked at a Gloabon news site?” Brent asked.

  Rawlgeeb nodded, then read: “There is no substance to the suggestions that the working relationship between the Gloabon Government and Mayor Enderley is improper in any way. We understand that the mayor is taking a well-earned vacation, and we wish him well.”

  “Hell’s teeth,” Vince muttered. “I pulled up the latest edition of The Times. This stuff is dynamite. Looks like Enderley had his fingers in a whole heap of pies.”

  “That explains a lot,” Rawlgeeb said wisely, and when the others looked at him, he added, “He was always very keen on washing his hands. I thought it was odd at the time.”

  Brent’s mind reeled, but he knew better than to ask Rawlgeeb to explain. “The point is, what do we do about it? Do we head for the hills?”