The Hunt for Reduk Topa

by Barry J. Hutchison

  He grinned, his hope restored. They were going to get money. They were going to get a new warp disk. Everything was going to work out just fine.

  “This is going to be the easiest Vajacox anyone ever made!”

  Fourteen

  “Oh-shizz-oh-shizz-oh-shizz!”

  Cal threw himself to the floor and covered his head just as Mech came screaming by above him, arms and legs spread, spinning like the throwing star of some giant ninja. With an ear-splitting screeeeech, Mech tore through the second-to-bottom container in a stack of Winnebago-sized metal shipping containers on Cal’s right, swore loudly, then exited the crate through the opposite wall.

  Its structural integrity now royally fonked, the tower began to wobble. It did not spend much time in this wobbling phase, electing instead to proceed rapidly to the ‘about to fall on Cal’ stage of proceedings.

  “Oh-shizz-oh-shizz-oh-shizz!” Cal ejected again, his feet slipping and sliding on the polished warehouse floor as he tried desperately to get traction.

  A shadow grew around him. It was a large rectangular shadow, and one of many that were currently darkening the ground around him.

  A boot found purchase. He kicked off, rolling clear just as the first of the containers slammed into the floor with a ka-thang that rattled his bones and strummed his nerve endings like a banjo.

  Another of the crates fell in front of him, the impact shaking the ground. He slid like Bambi on ice, only without the benefit of twice as many legs to hold him upright. God, he wished he had four legs. If he had four legs, he’d have a much better chance of not falling on his ass. And, more importantly, he could’ve been on that game show now instead of fighting for his life in a skanky warehouse on the moon. Or a moon. Or whatever the fonk it was.

  The first container that had fallen spent the next few moments teetering on one edge, trying to decide which way to fall. Cal knew, of course, that it would choose to fall in his direction. Of course it would. Everything always did.

  Slipping, skidding, and flailing his arms in big flapping circles, he half-ran, half-skated toward a gap where the second container hadn’t quite wedged all the way against the other stack of crates on Cal’s left. He threw himself at it just as the first crate came down, landed heavily on his stomach, and let his momentum carry him through the gap.

  The moment he emerged on the other side of the crate, a hand caught him. Well, it was more of a claw, really—a three-fingered robotic pincer that snapped closed on the back of his shirt and jerked him into the air.

  The buttons on the front of the shirt popped, and he slipped out of it, clattered against the floor, then managed to get himself up and moving before the mechanized bamston could make another grab for him.

  “You shan’t take me. Do you hear me?” hissed an amplified voice from elsewhere in the warehouse. “I shan’t let you take me. I shan’t!”

  “Give up now, Nutmuck!” Cal warned. “Last chance.”

  “It’s Nushtuk!” the voice spat back. “How many times must I tell you? Nushtuk!”

  “Whatever it is, surrender now, or I’ll be forced to—”

  A volley of blaster fire hammered against the crate beside him. Cal ducked, covered his head with his hands again, and dashed madly for cover.

  “Jesus! They’re shooting! They’re shooting!” Cal yelped. “Mech? Mech, where are you, buddy?”

  The question was answered a moment later when Mech exploded through a crate just ahead of Cal. It was unlikely that he had done this on purpose, Cal thought, because of the way he’d come through the crate backward, shouting, “Motherfonker!” at the top of his voice.

  He hit the wall of the crate across from the one he’d passed right through, but his momentum had been slowed enough that he didn’t continue through this one, instead merely crumpling a near-perfect outline of himself in the metal.

  “Hey! Are you a sight for sore eyes,” said Cal, rushing over to him. “We need to…”

  He looked down at Mech’s feet. Or, more accurately, his foot.

  “Why do you only have one leg?”

  “Why the fonk do you think I only have one leg?” Mech barked.

  “Did it come off?”

  “Well, it ain’t on! So, I guess it fonking must have! Now duck.”

  “Huh?”

  Mech raised his arm until the cannon on his wrist was pointing directly at Cal’s face.

  “I said—”

  Cal ducked just as Mech opened fire. The robot who had grabbed and then subsequently shot at Cal lost its head. Its blue painted body marched on a few more steps on auto-pilot, then whatever signal had been driving it on was lost and it froze, mid-step.

  Mech and Cal both watched the robot as it toppled sideways and hit the floor.

  “We got one!” Cal said. “Holy shizz, we actually got one.”

  “One of two fonking hundred!” Mech barked. “I knew we shouldn’t have rushed in. I said we should’ve scoped the place out, but oh no. You wanted to just charge on in and grab him.”

  “He looked so harmless,” Cal protested. “How was I to know he had two hundred robots?”

  “We could’ve looked through the motherfonking window!” said Mech.

  A fist appeared through the container wall he was partially embedded in, and a three-clawed hand caught him by the head.

  “I am holding you personally responsible for all this shizz,” Mech said, witheringly. And then, he was torn through the wall and Cal once again found himself at the foot of a teetering tower of storage containers.

  “Aw, Jesus,” he groaned, running on the spot for a few seconds on the almost frictionless floor before finding enough purchase to launch himself clear.

  CLANG! KA-TANK! BOOM!

  The force of the sound waves caused by the falling containers shoved Cal on. He fought to stay upright by swinging his arms straight at his sides in an opposite rhythm to his penduluming legs. It was actually rather breathtaking to watch, but almost entirely ineffective.

  He hit the floor chin-first. The pain immediately sprang him to his feet again, only for both legs to go in opposite directions as soon as he was upright.

  Cal performed clumsy splits, slammed his ass-cheeks against the floor, then decided to allow himself to rest for two seconds while he composed himself and got his bearings again.

  A second-and-a-half later, a robotic hand caught him by the hair. He roared in pain as he was swung in a wide arc, then released. He spent an almost-enjoyable few moments sailing through the air, and then his knees—one of the few parts of him yet to become acquainted with the floor—were introduced to it and he went careening helplessly on them toward a second robot a little farther along the warehouse.

  A metal arm swung at him like a clothes-line attack. Just before it hit, Cal threw himself back until his head almost touched the floor. His slide limboed him under the arm, and as he passed under the robot he saw a little bundle of exposed wires in the gap where one of its legs met its crotch.

  He grabbed the wires and let his momentum do the rest. As the wires were torn from their housing, the robot’s top half spun furiously in an anticlockwise direction until, with a boing, the torso shot into the air like a popped cork and then clattered onto the floor.

  “Two down!” Cal called. “That’s ten percent!”

  “It’s one percent!” Mech hollered from elsewhere in the warehouse. This was followed by a series of clanks and bangs and then the roar of several heavy things all falling over at the same time.

  “Wait, what?” said Cal, consulting his fingers. “So two-hundred minus…”

  Blaster fire tore up the floor beside him, forcing him to abandon his calculations. Rolling sideways, he found the upper half of the robot he’d destroyed and fumbled with the weapon attached to its arm.

  “Come on, come on,” he muttered, struggling with the complex clips. His eyes went to the robot who’d tossed him in this direction. It stalked toward him, easily keeping its balance on the floor, its weapon locking on.<
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  With a roar, Cal snapped the clips holding the weapon in place, and squeezed the trigger. A series of crackling energy bolts lit up the glassy floor and went streaking toward their target.

  Then past their target.

  They exploded some distance away against one of the warehouse’s reinforced walls.

  “OK,” Cal muttered, adjusting his aim. “Let’s try that again…”

  Loren sat on the bridge of the Currently Untitled, her feet on her console as she quietly enjoyed a Twix. She’d become quite addicted to their combination of crunchy base, caramel topping, and delicious milk chocolate since Cal had first introduced her to them, to the point she was starting to get a little worried. She often found herself eating anything up to a third of a finger a day these days, and had doubled her morning sit-ups routine to compensate.

  Splurt sat on the console beside her feet, watching her. Occasionally, he’d momentarily break away from watching her in order to watch the Twix, instead. Then, he’d remember what he was supposed to be doing, and pull himself together.

  “Any word from Cal and Mech?” Loren asked, after shaving a fraction of an inch off the end of the chocolate-covered stick with her teeth.

  “Not since they entered the complex, ma’am,” said Kevin. “So, I’m assuming everything’s fine.”

  “I still think we all should’ve gone,” Loren said.

  She broke a piece off the end of the Twix and tossed it to Splurt. He grew a mouth, caught the lump of chocolate, then swallowed it. It floated in his stomach like a tiny animal carcass suspended in preserving fluid.

  “Master Carver was quite insistent that he and Master Mech would be fine,” Cal said. “He felt it best that you—”

  “Stay behind to make sure Miz and Tyrra don’t blow anything up. Yes, I remember,” Loren said.

  She shaved off another piece of chocolate, licked away a smear of caramel that snagged on her lips, then gazed through the viewscreen at the hangar-sized warehouse building ahead of them.

  “I’m sure they’ll call if they require any help,” Kevin assured her.

  “Yeah,” said Loren, chewing slowly. Kroysh, these things were good. “I’m sure they will.”

  The door to the bridge slid open. Loren glanced back briefly as Miz slunk in and slumped into her chair with a sigh.

  “I can’t believe we had to stay behind,” Miz scowled. “Like, what’s the point of coming all this way and just staying on the stupid ship?”

  “To be fair, we were flying for under an hour,” Loren pointed out. “And when Cal asked if you wanted to go you said, ‘Ugh, why do I have to do everything around here?’”

  “That didn’t mean I didn’t want to go,” said Miz.

  Loren shrugged. “Sure seemed like it,” she said.

  “Wait a minute,” said Miz, her chair creaking as she sat forward. “Where’s Tyrra?”

  “I thought she was with you?”

  “She said she was coming to the bridge,” said Miz.

  Loren turned her chair all the way around so she was fully facing in Miz’s direction. Splurt splatted to the floor, rolled under the base of the seat, and peeked up at Loren from somewhere near her feet.

  “She’s not here.”

  “Like, I can see she’s not here,” Miz scowled. “That’s why I asked. If she was here, why would I have asked where she was? I’m not, like, an idiot.”

  “I’m sure she’s fine. She won’t be far,” Loren said.

  “She’s quite far, ma’am,” said Kevin.

  Loren and Miz both looked up.

  “Where is she?” Miz demanded.

  “She asked me not to say, I’m afraid.”

  Miz stood up, baring her fangs and flashing her claws. “Kevin, I’m going to ask this one more time, and then I’m totally going to disembowel you,” she warned. “Where is Tyrra?”

  “Well, I don’t actually have bowels, ma’am…”

  Miz growled.

  “But I get the general idea. Very well, I shall tell you where Miss Tyrra is,” Kevin said. “But I fear you aren’t going to like it.”

  “Help!” Cal wheezed, his legs kicking frantically as he hung suspended by the throat from a robot’s three-pronged grip. His face had turned a vibrant shade of purple that looked like one big bruise, and everything above his neck felt fatter than everything below. “Mech!”

  “Kinda having problems of my own!” Mech barked from somewhere behind him.

  He clanked onto the floor just at the edge of Cal’s peripheral vision. It was hard to be sure from that angle, and what with the onrushing black cloud of unconsciousness closing in around him, but Cal could’ve sworn the cyborg had now lost the other leg, and at least one arm.

  “That is enough,” said a voice, and Cal instantly fell from the robot’s grip. He hit the ground with an unceremonious thud and an undignified bout of hacking and coughing, then lay there gulping in sweet, sweet air until the room stopped spinning and his head felt like it had returned to normal size.

  “Alright, you evil shizznod!” he hissed, spinning and jumping to his feet.

  A robot fist clanked him on the top of the head, instantly dropping him.

  Blackness followed, but only for a moment.

  “Ugh. Fonk. That was unnecessary,” Cal protested.

  The ground undulated sickeningly beneath his hands as he pushed himself up onto his knees. That was far enough for now, he thought. Standing would hopefully feature in his future, but it was still a distant dream at this point.

  A robotic figure, easily fifteen feet tall, stood over him. It was the same color as the other robots, but there all similarity ended. It had two thick legs that angled backward from its fat, spherical body. At the bottom of the legs were a pair of enormous three-toed feet, and something about the set-up made Cal think that, if it put its mind to it, this robot could really jump.

  Two stubby arms stuck out from the body, one on each side. The body itself was a smooth, mostly featureless metal until around halfway up, when it became a smooth curve of darkened glass.

  “And you must be Daddy Bear,” said Cal.

  Kneeling in front of this thing was rapidly giving him an inferiority complex, so he struggled to his feet in the hope that he wouldn’t feel quite as minuscule. It didn’t really help.

  There was a whirring from behind him, and Cal braced himself for another strike to the skull. Instead, Mech waddled up and stood beside him. Cal found himself staring down into the cyborg’s upturned face. Both Mech’s arms were missing and, more notably, he was less than five feet tall.

  “What the fonk is this?” Cal asked.

  “Emergency feet,” said Mech. He leaned back a little, revealing what looked like tiny metal clogs that protruded from his leg sockets.

  Cal took a moment to process this.

  Nope, wasn’t happening.

  “Emergency feet?”

  “Yeah. I got emergency feet,” said Mech.

  Cal took another moment.

  “But… why?”

  “The fonk do you mean ‘why?’ In case some motherfonking robots pull both my legs off,” Mech snapped. “That’s why!”

  Cal looked Mech up and down. It took much less time than usual. “Do you have emergency hands?”

  “Silence!” commanded the towering robot.

  “Just… hold up there, ED-209,” Cal told it, still waiting for an answer from Mech. “So? Do you?”

  “No, I don’t have emergency hands,” Mech sighed.

  “Well, that seems like an oversight,” Cal reasoned. “I mean, if you’re going to go to the trouble to add emergency feet, why not emergency hands? Like, a little set of raptor hands, just…”

  Cal brought his hands up to his shoulders and waggled the fingers.

  “Just cute little T-Rex arms that—”

  “Can we just get down to fonking business?” asked Mech, gesturing toward the big robot with his head.

  “No, you’re right. You’re right, it’s not the time,” said
Cal. He ran his hand across the top of Mech’s head, as if ruffling his hair. “You eager beaver little scamp.”

  Cal turned and looked up at the giant robot. “So. Hi there!” he said, mustering one of his better smiles. “I’m not quite sure what’s going on with all the violence and everything, but I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding. See, we’re from the… uh, the local neighborhood watch, and we just wanted to offer some advice on how best to secure your property. You know, from space burglars?”

  He gestured to the semi-circle of robots forming behind him and Mech. “But I can see you have it all covered by an army of violent robots, which is great. So, we’ll tick you off our list and bid you farewell.”

  “Silence!” the giant bot barked again. “Enough of your insolence.”

  With a series of clunks and clicks and a high-pitched whine, the glass part of the robot retracted into the metal body. The first thing Cal noticed was the hair. A moment later, he noticed the rest of the professor, too.

  “Nutmuck,” Cal said, narrowing his eyes.

  “Nushtuk!”

  “My old nemesis,” Cal continued. “We meet again.”

  “What? What are you talking about?” demanded the professor, veins throbbing along his elongated neck. “I have no idea who you are.”

  “Well, we know who you are. You’re the guy who just walked right into our trap!” Cal said. He leaned an elbow on the top of Mech’s skull. “It’s over, Nutmuck.”

  “Get your arm off my motherfonking head,” Mech spat, wobbling from foot to foot in order to shake Cal off.

  “Sorry. It was automatic. You’re the perfect height,” Cal told him. “I swear, weld a tray to your head, and you’d make an awesome drinks trolley.”

  “Shut the fonk up and get on with it,” Mech said.

  Cal turned his attention back to the professor. “You want my advice? Give up now. Turn off all these robots. Power down your weapons. And then—and only then—we’ll consider letting you live.”