by Andre, Marc
“May I help you?” she asked.
“Yes, we were friends of Bob Blunt.” I lied.
“We were?” Cotton said, surprised.
Fortunately the junior officer had glanced back down at the vid screen, her mind lingering on the duty that left her frustrated. This gave me a chance to discretely kicked Cotton, a cue to follow my lead.
“Bob Blunt,” the officer said, finally giving us her undivided attention, “he was the steward wasn’t he?”
“Yes, I’ve been putting this off because it’s been so painful,” I said stifling a false sniffle, “but I was meaning to secure his belongings for his folks back home.”
At best, Cotton was a mediocre actor, but that day he put on his best performance yet and somehow managed to get himself to burst into tears, real tears. “It’s just so sad!” he blubbered, “We miss him so much!”
The officer immediately cheered-up, which would have been an extremely inappropriate response had our expressions of grief been remotely sincere. Some sort of load had just been taken off her shoulders.
“Perhaps you can help me,” she said, “I’ve been ordered to get his living unit ready for his replacement today, and I’ve got so many more important things to do. I am glad you guys came forward. It seems he was very unpopular. Some people even blame him for the accident last week. Nobody’s offered to help until now.”
“He was misunderstood,” I said. “He was an okay guy once you got to know him.”
The officer handed us two large folding boxes. “If you could put his personal property in the green one, that would be great. Place ship property in the purple one. Come back here when you are done.”
“Ship property?” I asked.
“Yes, his uniforms, and anything labeled ‘Magic Sky Daddy.’ Of course you should just leave furnishings in place. I’ll unlock his unit for you from here.”
We thanked the officer and left. Cotton followed me back to our living unit where I grabbed one of our slate grey mock canvas travel bags and hacked back into Command Central briefly to locate Bob Blunt’s living quarters. Asking the officer where Bob lived would have been a dead giveaway that we were up to no good.
“We’re going to be late for class,” Cotton protested, “and we haven’t even had breakfast yet.”
“I am sure Jackass Bob has some food in his living unit,” I reassured Cotton, “and I am equally sure the nice officer lady can write us an excuse for class.”
“She was nice,” Cotton said lustily.
In the passageway, Cotton asked me, “Who do you think’s going to be the new steward.”
“It’s going to be mother,” I said.
“Really, she’s been promoted?” Cotton said with disbelief. “How do you know?”
“I just do.” I didn’t want to tell Cotton that I figured out the Captain’s password because I doubted he could keep the secret to himself. Once Sorca and Stronzo knew, the whole ship would know.
“Do you think she’s up for it?” Cotton worried. “I mean, do you think she can figure out how to program a jano-bot?”
“We can help her.” I said.
“We don’t know how to program a jano-bot either,” Cotton pointed out.
“We can get Allen to help us,” I said.
“You sure?” Cotton asked. “I mean he sort of stopped inviting us over. Even before the accident he hardly ever talked to us anymore.”
“Don’t worry about that.” I said. “He’s just working through some issues. He will help us if we ask him nicely.”
Bob had lived in an impressively large living unit. I suspected he had abused his position and assigned himself quarters normally designated for an able starman with a large family.
“Look at the size of this place!” Cotton said. “Are we going to live here?”
“I suppose you can if you want to,” I said, “but I’m planning to stay at our current place.”
“Really why?”
“To get away from mother.”
“What’s wrong with mom?”
“She snores.” I said, citing my inspiration for one of my more brilliant acts of mischief. “Also, I think Mr. Fox is interested in her, so it would be nice to have her out before she invites him over.”
“Mr. Fox, the social studies teacher? The guy with the weird hairdo that looks like some sort of crash helmet?” Cotton asked incredulously.
“Yeah, that guy.”
“Oh that’s gross!” Cotton cried.
“Yeah, it is,” I agreed, “but on the bright side, I doubt he’d drink Thurgood MacDougal’s Southern Style Bourbon until he passes out and then piss himself on our couch.”
“Well, yeah,” Cotton said. “That’s ‘cause we don’t have a couch”
“I suppose not.” I agreed. Still, for some reason Mr. Fox struck me as a teetotaler.
After a brief pause, Cotton asked, “Do you think mom will get mad?”
“Mad at who? Mr. Fox?”
“No, mad at you for not living with her.”
“I don’t know why she would,” I said. “I mean back home we spent four nights a week at Billy’s place and she never seemed to care.”
“That’s a good point,” Cotton agreed.
Cotton located and devoured a packet of tapioca pudding while I ransacked Bob’s closet. He had four orange jumpsuits and two orange hats. I figured he was only officially issued three jumpsuits and one baseball cap, and when he was vented out into space he was fully uniformed, so I placed both caps and two jumpsuits into our slate grey mock canvas travel bag and two jumpsuits into the purple box. I packed Bob’s underthings and the rest of his clothes into the green box.
Cotton had been contemplating his own future living arrangements as he ate his unhealthy breakfast. “Can I live with you?” he asked meekly.
“Sure,” I said.
“Can I still have the top bunk?” he asked optimistically.
“I was going to move into mom’s room once she moves here,” I said, “so you can have both bunks if you want. Now that I think about it, you can have our whole room entirely to yourself. Just try and keep it reasonably clean.”
“Sweet!” Cotton cried gleefully. As far back as I could remember, we never had separate rooms.
Bob had a pretty sweet deck, not as nice as any of Allen’s but nicer than anything Cotton and I had ever stolen before. There was a gummy residue across the front where Bob had removed the label that read “property of Magic Sky Daddy.” I stashed the deck in our slate grey mock canvas travel bag.
Under Bob’s mattress we found a stash of skin mags. “Check this out,” Cotton cried, “Guns and Gals Magazine!” On the cover a woman shouldered an auto carbine, her giant fake boobs busting out the sides of a tiny forest green camouflaged bikini.
“We should give that to Allen,” I said. “He likes guns, and I think he might even like girls too.”
“Naw,” Cotton protested, “lemme keep it.”
“We’ve already made out pretty good from this haul of loot,” I said. “We really should spread the wealth. Allen’s been having a rough time ever since you poked that guy’s eye out. Kind of freaked him out. I think the mag might cheer him up.”
Cotton agreed. There were a couple of mainstream skin mags we kept for ourselves. The rest were pretty raunchy, titles I had never heard of. One showed close-ups of people doing it, and another featured farm animals. Between classes later that day, I gave the really nasty magazines to Hammond.
“These are nasty,” he said with feigned indignation. “Why would you think I would want these?”
“Just thought I’d give you first dibs before I tossed them,” I said.
“I can throw them away for you,” Hammond suggested.
“Really,” I said, “I mean it’s no trouble for me to dispose of them if they offend you.”
“No, I can do it,” he said. “I appreciate you thinking of me, and the least I can do is help out.” As Hammond rounded the corner, I heard him turn a page in one of
the magazines and mutter, “Oh, that’s sweet!”
After school, mother greeted me at our living unit. Smiling, she wore an orange jumpsuit. “You like it?” she asked, twirling around as if she were modeling some sort of high fashion nightdress.
“Sure,” I said as if I were truly obvious. “Where did you get it?”
“I have great news Anthony,” she said, beaming. “I’ve been promoted.”
A few days before we were scheduled to reach Libra Station, I got a message from Allen: “Anton, I don’t have all the parts I need to repair the damaged jano-bot. According to orders on Command Central, engineering will commission a patch, so they are probably planning an inside-out approach when they repair the damaged airlock. This means that they will likely have to tear down insulated panels and knock big holes into the walls. It’s going to be a big mess. The point I am trying to make is that the jano-bot might really be missed, and they might come looking for it. I was hoping to repair and replace it before we arrive at Libra Station. I have most of the parts I need, but I still need two servo motors and some high quality compact aluminum alloy to reconstruct the bot’s damaged appendage. I know where I can get the parts I need, but I can’t get there myself. Long story short, I need your brother’s services again.”
As usual the message deleted itself a few seconds after I scrolled down to the last line. I figured, as the new steward, mother might be held accountable if the lost jano-bot never turned up, so I asked Cotton if he was up for skulking around in the ventilation ductworks again. He replied that he was always up for skulking.
I didn’t invite Hammond, and Cotton didn’t invite Ellen. However, she came over shortly after Cotton and I arrived at Allen’s place because she needed help with her math homework.
“I am glad Cotton is wearing fresh underthings this time,” Ellen observed. “What are you boys going after this time?”
Cotton shrugged his shoulders as he struggled to get into Allen’s special issue stealth battle dress uniform. He didn’t care what sort of mischief he caused just as long as it was mischief.
“Parts,” I said, a reply to Ellen’s query.
“What kind of parts?” Ellen asked.
“Robot parts,” Allen said.
“You mean you still haven’t fixed the jano-bot?” Ellen scolded. “But you’ve recovered it weeks ago. What’s the matter with you?”
“I dunno,” Allen said meekly. “I just kept putting it off. I’ve been busy with schoolwork. I’ve also been feeling a bit down since the assault.”
Allen had let his guard down, admitting that he’d been feeling badly ever since Cotton used the bayonet to poke some guy’s eye out. Ellen still had no idea what happened that night after she left.
“What assault?” she asked. “You mean the accident?”
“He means the assault on Joinksmokker that lead to the accident.” I interjected, doing my best to keep Ellen out of the loop.
“Oh, that was pretty distressing,” she said sympathetically. “I had trouble sleeping for a few nights after you showed me that footage. Though, from the stories I’ve heard from other crewmembers, our explosion wasn’t actually that bad, so I’ve tried to put it in perspective and not let it get me down.”
“Always good advice,” I agreed, sincere in tone but insincere to any true sentiment. Other than a mild, brief sense of disgust I got from watching the video feed, I felt nothing. I even felt a sense of relief that two of the biggest jackasses on the ship, Jim Boldergat and Bob Blunt, were no longer around to cause my brother and me any grief. However, a better part of me knew I should feel guilty for not missing them, so I kept any sense of assuagement to myself.
Cotton put on a set of Allen’s glasses, and I slipped the audio piece into his ear. Allen handed Cotton a large roll of cord. “You’re going to need this! Tuck it into the pocket at the small of your back!”
“Hey I didn’t even know that was there.” Cotton said, reaching back and finding the flap. “That’s pretty cool.”
Ready to go, I boosted Cotton up into the vent. I searched through Allen’s closet and found his bayonet, the real one. I slipped it into its sheath and handed it up to Cotton along with a belt.
“No,” Allen protested, “let’s not hurt anyone, this time!”
“What’s he talking about?” Ellen asked me.
“Cotton got a small cut last time,” I lied. “Even so, the blade turned out to be very useful.” Indeed, it had saved Cotton’s life. Allen was a bit out of line by asking Cotton to disarm himself considering my brother, and not Allen, was taking all of the physical risks.
Allen sighed but didn’t continue his line of protest. Cotton vanished down the ductworks. On his computer, Allen brought up the ship’s schematics hit a few keys and put on a second set of glasses.
“I thought that makes you sick?” I said.
“Normally, yes, but this time I‘ve blocked input from the set Cotton’s wearing.”
“How are you going to guide Cotton?” I asked.
“I’m not,” Allen replied. “You are.”
“What? I don’t know how!” I protested.
“There’s nothing to it.” Allen said, beckoning for me to take his seat. He pointed at the ship’s schematics on the small vid. “This green dot is Cotton. This yellow dot is our destination. Now keep in mind the vents aren’t marked very well on the schematic so you’re going to need to check the big vid periodically to see what Cotton sees.”
“Okay,” I said. “What are you going to do?”
“I am going to help Ellen with her math homework.”
The task at hand was actually pretty fun. At first I made mistakes, telling Cotton to take a left when he should be heading right, and sometimes Cotton would turn the wrong direction when I actually gave him the correct order. Eventually, we got the hang of things. As we neared the yellow dot, I saw something on the schematic that really interested me. I knew it would interest Cotton too.
“Cotton,” I said softly, “take a right here.”
“Why are you talking so quiet?” he asked.
“We are going off mission,” I said. “Allen doesn’t know.”
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Cotton said, always eager to cause trouble.
“Okay,” I said, “see the second grate on the left – no don’t look through it yet.” Cotton paused as ordered. “Hey guys,” I said turning to Allen and Ellen, “this is really hard for me, and I know you guys are talking softly but it’s very distracting. Can you study out in the living room or something?”
“Yeah sure,” they agreed. They gathered up their study materials and left.
“Are they gone?” Cotton asked.
“Yes.”
“Where are we?”
“Officer women’s washateria.”
“Sweet,” Cotton said, “commence operation naked lady.” Cotton peered through the gate. “Hey, I think that’s that lady that gave us those boxes when we raided jackass Bob’s place.” I looked up at the big vid and found that our mission was successful. The symmetry was perfect. It was almost as if I were watching a math program about concentric circles, and the educators finally found a pair of examples that could hold my attention.
“You sick perverts!” I heard Ellen scream from behind me. Apparently she had left something behind and returned to get it, and evidently she was not impressed as I was by the symmetry on the big vid. “I cannot believe you two! You two are perverts! Perverts! How would you like it if some woman spied on you when you took a shower?”
“I wouldn’t mind.” Cotton said, which was true; he had no shame.
It depends on if the water was cold enough to give me shrinkage, I thought.
Ellen stormed out. I knew I only had a moment before she came back with Allen.
“Okay, Cotton,” I said, “we better get back on mission. Take a left at the T-junction ahead.”
“Operation naked lady aborted,” Cotton said with a chuckle.
The perfect boo
bs vanished from the big screen a second before Ellen returned with Allen.
“What’s this I hear about you too violating some woman’s privacy?” Allen asked.
“They’re perverts!” Ellen cried, “Perverts!”
“It was an accident,” I lied. “We were lost, and I heard running water, so I asked Cotton to look through the grate to see if we were above the washateria. I thought we were here.” On the small vid, I pointed to a block a few centimeters over that read “officer men’s washateria.”
“Perhaps, I should take over from here,” Allen said. I had no choice but to comply and got up out of Allen’s chair. Ellen glared at me accusingly, unsure if she should believe my explanation.
“Well, you guys aren’t too far off,” Allen said, removing the glasses from his face. “We are just around the corner from our destination.”
“Hey this one grate’s been blocked off.” On the big screen, Cotton was trying to peer through a grate but there was an opaque panel blocking the far side.
“Don’t worry about that,” Allen said. “Our destination is the next grate.”
“Still, this is strange.” Cotton replied. “I’ve peered through hundreds of grates, and I’ve never seen one like this before.”
“It’s not really that strange,” Allen countered. “They must have placed insulated panels over a hundred grates during the hasty retrofit.”
“That’s not an insulated panel.” Cotton jammed the point of the bayonet through the grate. The clicking sound indicated the obstruction was metallic. “Somebody tack welded a piece of sheet metal over the grate.”
“Okay, that is strange,” Allen conceded. “Still, this isn’t where we need to be.”
“Where are we?” I asked.
“A utility room,” Allen said, “one of the many utility rooms sealed off by mistake during the hasty retrofit. It’s not the one we need though. They used to keep a broken robot in the next one down, and I suspect it’s still there and that all the parts I need are in it.”