Hearts Akilter

by Catherine E. McLean

  She stared at the major. He was pretending? Well, she didn’t have all night to indulge the man in such theatrics. So, what should she do?

  Rouse him out of his playacting.

  She pivoted about, enhanced her vision, and looked around the bay. Spying welding equipment, she said quietly, “Henry, do not panic. Stay put. I’ll be back in a sec.” She strode away.

  Once she picked up the portable, spot-welding wand, one with a long reach, she checked its battery, and returned to the lift. She stopped beside Deacon and pointed the wand’s tip down, at his groin.

  “Major Black,” she said with as much courage and command as she could muster, “I am a Master Robotic Maintenance Technician, an MRMT. Behind me is Henry, a RPA-TEMS, who you know. Henry has examined you. He says you’re not drunk or unconscious. I don’t know why you’re pretending to be, but we need to talk. So, listen up.” She took a deep breath for extra courage. “I’m holding a ten-five welding wand.” She turned the unit on. It emitted a barely audible hum. “I’m going to count to three, and if you don’t come to your senses, I’m going to burn off your balls.”

  He didn’t move.

  She glanced at Henry and the flicker of his sensor scan lights aimed at the major.

  Quietly Henry said, “His heart rate has doubled.”

  She scowled down at the major. “Okay, smart-ass, have it your way. Balls off in one, two—”

  The major rolled over and onto his feet with a panther-quick grace. He stood, back to the lift wall, pointing his rodgun at her. “I can kill you before you kill me, so toss that weapon away.”

  “No can do. This welder costs too darn much to be tossed. Period.” She turned off the wand and headed out into the bay.

  “Not so fast! I’ll shoot.”

  She didn’t pause. “Fine. Go ahead. Shoot a woman in the back.”

  He had never shot a woman in the back, and he wasn’t about to start now. He watched her put the wand away and stomp silently back toward him.

  Maybe he was overreacting. No, he was being cautious. The stakes were too high, and—Why wasn’t she afraid of him or his weapon?

  She stopped at the lift’s doorjamb and slightly to the left, behind the little robot.

  “Hello, Deacon,” the robot said.

  Deacon kept his gaze on the tech. “Hello, Henry.”

  “Please put your weapon away, Deacon. Marlee and I need your help.”

  “Marlee?”

  “Marlene,” the MRMT said with sharpness. “You don’t get to call me Marlee.”

  “Why not?” was out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

  “Because only family and very close friends have my permission to call me that.”

  “Do you have a last name?”

  “I was hoping not to have to give a name, either first or last, but Henry here has blown that idea all to smithereens.”

  Henry pivoted and faced her, anguish in his voice. “Marlee, please! Your word choice!”

  “Sorry, Henry. I’m more rattled by the lift ride than I thought.” She heaved a calming breath. “Forgive me?”

  “Affirmative. Yes, I forgive you, Marlee.”

  Deacon cleared his throat as loudly as he could. “Now that you two have that settled, what’s going on? Why abduct me and bring me here?”

  Henry replied, “We need your help.”

  “Help with what?”

  “A matter that requires finesse,” Marlee said, “and you giving your word not to blab to the authorities and reveal my name or Henry’s.”

  “Please,” Henry said, “we need your help. Desperately.”

  There was no missing the plea in the robot’s voice. And obviously, it was evident Marlee—no, Marlene—wasn’t an assassin.

  So what kind of problem did Henry and Marlene have that they needed him?

  Deacon turned off his rodgun and pocketed it. “So, what’s this all about?”

  “Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast.” Marlee crossed her arms in front of her chest, feet slightly apart.

  She stood like a formidable matron with a stern set to her jaw. Trouble was, she looked too cute to be anywhere close to formidable.

  “Will you give your word, Major, that what’s discussed and what happens here stays here?”

  Curiosity chewed a king-sized hole in him. “All right, I give my word, but on the condition that whatever you two are up to isn’t illegal.”

  In an emphatic tone, Henry said, “It is not.”

  Deacon studied Marlene. “So, why am I here?”

  “We need you to—” Her stance relaxed, and she let her arms fall to her sides. “Disarm a bomb.”

  It took a few seconds to process her words. “A bomb? What bomb?”

  “The one I found and which needs a bomb expert to disarm, or whatever it is you do to bombs. And just why are you pretending to be drunk?”

  He hedged. “I have my reasons.” The icy tingling of the medication spraying over his burns sent his stomach rumbling, signaling bile on the rise.

  Maybe he’d had too much to drink.

  He swallowed in the hope his stomach would calm. All the while, he was grateful Marlene didn’t press him for an explanation.

  He shifted his gaze to her eyes and his own image being mirrored on the blackness of the lenses. Such lovely eyes…

  “Deacon,” Henry said, “Marlee is my friend. I will vouch for her. I assure you she is completely trustworthy, highly intelligent, and most forbearing. Please, will you help us?”

  Marlee heaved a sigh. “Look, Major, Henry and I are caught between a rock and a hard place. A very hard place.” She shoved her hands into her side pockets, as if to keep from wringing them. “I inadvertently discovered a bomb. I can’t report the bomb to security because, well, should they find out how I gained access to where the bomb is, I’ll lose my job.”

  She took in a breath. “And secondly, the instant I report the bomb to security, or even the Guardians, the person most likely to have planted the bomb will know, and then Henry and I are toast.”

  No wonder the woman was paranoid. “Where’s the bomb?”

  Henry looked up at Marlee. She glanced at him and nodded.

  The little robot faced him and said softly, “Deacon, the bomb is inside me.”

  The lift seemed to drop fifty decks under him, but Deacon steadied himself. “Where exactly inside you?”

  “My chest cavity.”

  To get inside the bot, he needed the access codes. Deacon looked at Marlee. How had she come by the codes? That didn’t matter. Disarming the bomb took precedence. “What are the access codes?”

  “I don’t have them. Never did.”

  “Then how do you know there’s a bomb inside Henry?”

  “Because,” Henry replied, “I am capable of opening my own panels.”

  What the hell…

  “And,” Marlee said, a warning in her tone, “if you ever reveal Henry can do that, I will burn off your balls.”

  The robot rolled forward, until he was directly in front of Deacon. “It is panel number four, upper left. Please, take the bomb out of me.”

  A bomb. One inside the little robot? That didn’t make sense. Maybe it wasn’t a real bomb. More likely, some practical joke the geeks were playing on Marlee. Yes, that had to be it.

  But could he chance the bomb wasn’t real? This was Kifel Space station, the Jewel of Sol, the gateway to the Star World Colonies. Thousands of people on board were at risk.

  He willed his stomach and his nerves to steel hardness. He better check out the bomb.

  “Marlene, I’ll need tools. I’ll have to go get them.”

  Cheerily, Marlee replied, “No need.” She exited the lift but didn’t go far. She returned, pulling an antigrav skiff she maneuvered toward him.

  On the skiff were two large and two small satchels bearing his stenciled name and ID numbers. His gear? “You took those from my classroom?”

  “It’s where you left them, wasn’t it?”

  Nothing
like stating the obvious. “That classroom is sealed until the investigation and inquiry are made public. Off limits to all personnel.”

  “I know, but you need tools, right?”

  “And you just walked in and took my things!”

  “Don’t panic. I accessed the maintenance tunnel behind the storage room. I’ll put your stuff back when you’re done. No one will be the wiser.”

  He’d met many women, many techs, but Marlene Whatever-her-last-name-was, took the brass ring for forthright and gutsy different. And, damn him, he liked gutsy different.

  What a stupid thought, especially when she scowled at him like that.

  “Well, Major” she said, “are you going to stand there or get to work?”

  The bomb. Right. Dismantle the bomb. In this lift? No, that was insane. “Marlene, if the bomb goes off accidentally—”

  “It’ll blow the station to kingdom come?”

  He nodded.

  “Not to worry.”

  She said that with such nonchalance that he found himself speechless. He cleared his throat. “Why not? Did you snatch the portable Bomb Disposal Unit, too?”

  “Better.”

  “What’s better than a BDU?”

  “Garbage incinerators.”

  “What?” He glanced out into the darkness beyond the lift. Giant machinery stood silhouetted and veiled in shadows. “Where are we?”

  “Deck forty-three, Ring D zero three. Relax. Don’t panic. They once accidentally incinerated a torpedo in number four, over yonder.” She pointed to the left. “Nobody heard or felt it explode, and there wasn’t even a drail’s worth of damage done to the incinerator, or anything else.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It happened three years ago. I was there, a deck above. Never mind.”

  Henry manipulated his finger appendage, grabbing and briefly tugging the shirt sleeve of Deacon’s good arm. “Marlee would never lie about anything so important.”

  “Does she lie about unimportant things?” He instantly regretted his caustic remark.

  “I do not know.” Henry spun sideways, facing Marlee. “Do you lie about unimportant things, Marlee?”

  “I have been known to tell a white lie now and then to spare someone’s feelings, but on the whole—” She looked away from Henry.

  As her blacker than black eyes met his gaze, Deacon felt pinned to the wall.

  With clarity, she said, “I am an honest person.”

  The robot put the ends of his appendages together, as if they were hands meshed together for prayer. “Marlee, have you been honest with me?”

  She looked at the robot, and her voice gentled. “Yes, Henry, I always have been honest with you as you have been with me.”

  There was sincerity in her voice.

  “Hey, you two,” Deacon said, “back to the bomb. This is a lift. If something accidentally triggers that bomb, the blast will go up.”

  “Do not panic,” Henry said, and backed out of the lift. “Marlee picked an ideal spot for you to deactivate the bomb.”

  “What’s your definition of ideal?”

  Marlee replied, “Safe. Isolated. No one will be around for a week—or more, depending on if the parts arrive as scheduled.” She pulled the skiff with her and headed into the corridor. “Follow me.”

  He followed Henry, who, en route, grabbed a worker’s task stool. The robot lifted the chair so its base didn’t drag and make noise. Minutes later, Marlee stepped into what seemed a black abyss. Lights quickly came on, revealing a bay.

  Marlee parked the skiff in the center of the emptiness. “This is one of the incinerator pots.”

  He turned three hundred sixty degrees, and studied the rocklike, gray walls. Not a bay but a pot? One big enough to house a dozen shuttles. A second later, the acidic scent of ashes and cinders had him rubbing his nose to thwart a sneeze. “This looks more like a bay than a pot.”

  “It’s on its side for cleaning.”

  “Looks pretty clean to me.”

  “There’s three meters of cement-hard residue to be chiseled and sandblasted off.”

  Henry set the task stool before him. “Please, Deacon, fetch your tools and sit down. I really would appreciate having the bomb removed as quickly as possible.”

  Once Deacon had his tools, he sat down. After removing the bib plate from Henry’s chest, he used a flashlight, peered into the cavity, and soon spotted the bomb. It was all too familiar. Only this was, “Sloppy.”

  “Yeah,” Marlee said from her spot near the rear of the skiff, “the placement allows it to move about.”

  “It moves?”

  “Yep. Check the light blue wire at the back, right side.”

  He reached in with a tool. The moment it touched the clay, the bomb shifted. “No way is this Yokovnin’s work.” Why had he spoken his thought?

  Marlee came over and stood by his shoulder. “Who’s Yokovnin?”

  “A terrorist who—” He stopped himself. Yokovnin was dead.

  Memories flashed of seeing the man die in a hail of Guardian disrupter and rodgun fire. No one was to know he was dead. At least not yet. Not until Yokovnin’s associates had been rounded up.

  Deacon took hold of his emotions and vanquished the memories. He schooled his voice to a matter-of-fact tone. “Yokovnin would have made sure the bomb stayed in place, undetectable.” He flashed his light along the pale blue wire. It was a red herring, something to mislead anyone trying to disarm the bomb. “Really shoddy work.”

  “I’ll agree with that,” Marlee said. “It was shorting.”

  He swiveled his stool around until he could look up at Marlee. “That’s impossible. The wire is a dud. It isn’t connected to anything with current.”

  A look of profound relief suffused her face. “Bless the Lord.”

  “You thought the wire was hot?”

  She nodded. Then a puzzled frown crunched her brow. “Now I get it. It wasn’t a charge from the wire. It was the end laying across the two posts that let a charge build and race up Henry’s arm, making Henry think he was having a heart attack.”

  A heart attack? Robots didn’t have hearts or heart attacks. But a hot wire could wreak havoc. Deacon swiveled around to Henry and studied the area behind the exposed wire. “I don’t see any evidence of a short.”

  “You would need microscopic vision to see it,” Marlee said. “But the evidence isn’t there anymore. I replaced the posts with insulated ones. I even put in a microscopic brace, so when the bomb shifts, the wire won’t touch anything.”

  She had the foresight to do that? And the guts to work around the bomb? He glanced over his shoulder and put a heartfelt compliment to his words. “Well done.”

  Her smile softened her face and stance, even softening the gloss of her eyes.

  She looked downright pretty when she smiled.

  “So, Major,” she said, “can you disarm the bomb?”

  “Call me Deacon. And, yes, I can disarm it, but to be safe, you should leave.”

  “Right.” She pulled something out of one of her pockets and handed the gizmo to him. It was a comm unit. “It’ll take me ten minutes to get clear and—”

  “You don’t have to go that far.”

  “Why not?”

  “Should the bomb go off, most of the damage will be short-range. My suit will protect me.”

  “Okay, but, thank you very much, I’ll feel a whole lot better somewhere else.”

  The way she said that had him wondering. “Marlee how did you know this was a bomb?”

  “I—I saw one very much like it once. A long time ago.”

  “Where?”

  “Here, on Kifel. I was new, just starting out as an apprentice, working on a Big Mo crane. I saw a stick-thing on a gear box and thought it was a retrofit. After my shift, curiosity got the better of me. I went to the control room to access maintenance records, but the bomb went off.” Her voice lowered, as if the memories were painful. “A cascading explosion took out a quarter of
the deck, including the control room. Twenty died—I was unconscious for two days…”

  With the brilliance of a lightning bolt, he made the connection. “Evans. Are you Evans?”

  “Yes, that’s my last name.”

  “You drew a sketch of the device that took out the crane?”

  “Yeah. Why? What’s it to you?”

  “That drawing you gave the authorities was a godsend to my squad. It enabled us to figure out Yokovnin’s bombs.”

  “Small world, huh? And speaking of worlds, I’m out of here. When I’m clear, I’ll let you know.” She left.

  He found himself marveling at her, grinning, and watching the swing of her hips until she was out of sight.

  Minutes later, the comm crackled with Marlee’s breathless, “I’m at a safe spot. Let me know when you’re done and, Henry, you do as Deacon says.”

  Henry replied, “I will, Marlee.”

  Deacon fetched his protective gear from the largest of the satchels on the skiff. Despite his ever-increasing queasiness and rising nausea, half an hour later, he removed the black disk from the center of the clay. He briefly held the disk up for Henry to see before he triggered the comlink on. “The bomb is disarmed.”

  Henry’s voice held heartfelt relief. “Bless the Lord J’Hi!”

  The comm unit crackled with Marlee’s, “I’ll second that. Is it safe for me to come back?”

  “Yes,” Deacon said. By the time he had his gear off and stowed, Marlee arrived.

  “Look.” Henry pointed to Deacon, who stood near the skiff.

  Deacon raised his hand, clutching the black disk between index finger and thumb for Marlee to see.

  “Looks like a TS4 spacer.” She eyed the front end of the skiff. “Where’s the explosive?”

  Deacon replied, “It’s inside Henry.”

  She gasped. “Aren’t you going to take it out?”

  “No.”

  “NO?”

  “Fetch me one.”

  “One what?”

  “Spacer. You just said the detonator, this black disk—” He again held up the disk. “You said this looked like a TS4.”