Didi and the Gunslinger

by Larsen, Patti

  They’re above her, too, ready to leap on her head. Didi’s shock is more powerful than her fear. If she’d been asked just this morning how she’d die, it wasn’t at the teeth of a stupid pack of squealers.

  Her back thuds against the hard place behind her, sounding hollow, echoey. “Pip!”

  “I won’t leave you.” He settles on her shoulder as she half turns and scans the barrier. Yes, a door. How did she miss it? The controls are even faintly lit under the panel when she pops it open.

  “I didn’t ask you to, coward,” she says. “Get ready.”

  “For what?” He’s quivering his fright. “Didi, this is my fault, I got you into this, forgive me.” His throat vibrates, a warble of distress escaping. “I’m a terrible, terrible friend.”

  “Some days,” she says as the door hisses open under her touch. “But not today.”

  He shrieks protest as she grabs him bodily from her shoulder and throws him into the dark passage beyond, throwing herself after him. She can hear the skitter of claws approaching, knows she has a mere second to save them, leaping to her feet and for the inside of the door. Her fist finds the interior panel, pounds on it and she grins in the face of the queen whose wriggling nose she catches in the whoosh of the sliding door.

  ***

  Chapter Three

  “Didi,” Pip whispers as she turns, back to the closed portal while the squealing outside goes on. It’s pained squealing, and though it disgusts her, she can’t help but flick her finger at the still twitching tip of the queen’s snout. It thuds to the ground at her touch, severed from its owner, rolling softly to one side, leaving a smear of red behind.

  “That’ll hurt, I reckon,” Didi says.

  “Didi.” Pip’s voice is choked, stuttering. She bats at him as he flops on her shoulder.

  “Heard you the first time,” she mutters before spinning to look where they’ve found themselves. And stops, frozen and stunned, as the crow has been for the last minute or so. Now she understands why.

  Dim light illuminates the interior of the tube of metal, eerie and cold. They line the walls, their metal bodies upright, seated in rows on both sides of the interior. Some kind of carrier, she figures, three metal stairs leading down into the main chamber where the silent, still forms wait, staring into nothing with their empty eyes.

  “Gunslingers.” Didi breathes the word out, one boot ringing on the metal steps, the second’s deflector setting off a soft buzzing, her feet carrying her down without her knowledge. She’s too caught up in the sight before her, stretching out twenty feet wide, over fifty feet in depth. So many silent cyborgs all in a row.

  Pip lifts off, settles on the head of one. Didi hisses at him, the disrespect of his act making her wince. Sure, these are still and empty now. But once their massive metal bodies strode the galaxy dispensing justice, or fighting wars to keep softies safe. Pip taps the gunslinger’s temple with his beak before squawking and flying to her again, settling on Didi’s absently raised arm.

  “They’re dead,” he says.

  “Weren’t alive to begin with.” Didi drifts forward, though she corrects herself. “Least, their metal parts. Been what, fifty years or so since the gunslingers were decommed?” She hesitates next to the seated form of the closest gunslinger, a woman by the shape they’ve given her. The temptation to open the face guard is so tempting Didi has to wipe her palms on her thighs to eliminate the slick of sweat raised there.

  “At least,” Pip murmurs. Like he’d know personally, though she’s downloaded the history of the galaxy into his cyborg brain. Beats having to call up deets on her system. “What do you think they are doing down here?”

  “Beyond me.” Didi exhales and skims her fingertips over the surface of the female gunslinger’s shoulder. The body is silent and the metal cold, long since shut down. Feeling braver, she leans forward, examines the propped open front panel hovering about heart height on her chest. The center slot is empty, the place for a power chip now vacant. “Wouldn’t think gunslingers were trash.”

  Pip tuts softly, sadly. “We’re all trash in the end, Deeds.”

  “Got that right, I suppose.” She straightens, pushing her hair back, using her goggles to hold her bangs out of the way. She doesn’t need them to see, and from what the lenses showed her, the only power in this place is the tube itself, barely there, shielded from the outside. Just a curiosity. Though, she could take advantage of this bounty, couldn’t she? Spare parts were hard to come by and gunslinger tech, outdated or not, could give her some fun toys to play with.

  Feels too wrong to contemplate. Not with them looking so abandoned. Like no one cares they used to be people.

  “We need to get home.” Pip tugs at her hair with his beak, the heat of his cyborg eye warming her cheek. “This place creeps me to my bones.”

  Didi doesn’t respond, moving deeper into the cargo hold. That’s what this has to be, some kind of shipping section of a ship. At least, the design feels right, the rounded walls, the markings for decontamination and life support. It’s been stripped down, the faint lighting in the ceiling tucked beneath a fine veil of plasglass, just enough to cast an eerie glow over everything. “Just need a bit of time alone down here,” she says. “This is a gold mine, Pip.” But not to strip, oh no. As she wanders the quiet cargo hold, her mind turns to a larger plan than she’s ever considered.

  A gunslinger. Of her very own. Imagine.

  Pip shakes, feathers fluffing, claws digging in. “You listen to me, Divinity Solace Duke,” he says in his best attempt at bossiness. She almost giggles, though it’s out of character for her. If only he knew how comical he was when he tried to make her do what he wanted. “You don’t even think for a moment you should be messing about with gunslinger tech.” Pip’s voice dropped in volume as she slowed to a halt near the end of the cargo bay, near a circular chamber, the door partially pried open. More light, but from the floor this time, shining outward from the crack. Looks to her like someone tried to get inside, only to meet with the kind of resistance that makes quitters walk away.

  But Didi is no quitter, not in this lifetime.

  “Gunslingers were decommed for a reason, you silly girl.” Pip’s beak chatters. “Near the end, they had issues.” Like he knew what he was talking about. Issues. “Their cyborg brains couldn’t handle the pressure, you recall?” She seemed to remember something like that in the history archive. How the gunslingers were created to keep the peace only to be redesigned to fight the wars of the Galactic Conjunction. Their poor human brains couldn’t take the reversion back to peacekeeping. Made them crazy. Didi planted one booted toe inside the crack of the door and peeked inside.

  “Well,” she whispered at the sight, heart pounding, skin tingling in fresh excitement. “Hello there, handsome.” He is, too, a perfectly preserved specimen, from what she can tell, still shiny, unlike his counterparts in the cargo bay. Even the seat he occupies looks like something special, a throne or a captain’s chair meant for a leader. Is that it? Was he their leader?

  “Didi!” Pip nips her ear. “You listening?”

  She smacks him, softly but with irritation. He squeals at her, settles into place. “Not until you stop yammering at me,” she says. “Considering you’re a cyborg, little crow, you might want to be a mite more understanding of your bigger, stronger and, dare I say, smarter kin.” She grins at him while he chatters his unhappiness. “What you think his thing was?” She jabs at the gap. Pip hops forward, takes his own look, cyborg eye whirling.

  “No good,” he mutters. “Sad to see them here, but that’s as far as I’ll go.” He settles his wings like the conversation is over. Well, let it be. Not like she needs him around to harvest parts, combine them in a specimen she might be able to resurrect. This one looks like an excellent candidate, she reckons.

  First, she needs to figure out just what this gunslinger’s about. She’ll take Pip home, get him settled, herself fed and Dad looked after. Then, tomorrow, she’ll set Pip up for a diagno
stic before returning to do some unhindered exploring.

  “Weird,” Didi says to herself, “how there’s power down here.” If the gunslingers are trash, why leave them with auxiliary backup systems in place?

  “Stupid, you ask me,” the crow mutters. “Boles and such wandering about, looking for electric systems to feed them.” It’s part of the reason everything with power is shielded, from her house to the bottoms of her boots. She shivers at the thought of one of the giant undertrash creatures coming to sniff out a snack. But, the hum in her one working boot tells her the shields are intact around this cargo bay. Have to be, or the gunslinger’s home would be long ago trashed and drained. Feels like, from the piles around it, it’s been here a space. Makes her wonder about the clear channel to the door, though.

  Someone’s been here before her, right? She registered that truth already. So, someone else thinks these gunslingers have importance. It only takes her a second to connect the territory she’s encroaching with its owner, enough to chill her and cool off her enthusiasm.

  “Can we go now?” Pip’s pathetic whining can be endearing. Sometimes. “Please?”

  Didi shrugs, grins at him so he won’t see her worry. The last thing she needs is to run into the squatter, Ives Jackus. He’s threatened her in the past, but worse, looks at her lately like she’s tasty. Gives her the stomach curls. “Surely,” she says. “Ready to fight the trash rats?”

  He groans. “We’re trapped!” One wing rises to cover his face. “We’re doomed!”

  “Cork it, corbie,” she says, pointing to the hatch at this end, leading outward. And no, she has no proof it opens into safety, but at least it will shut his trap. Never mind she just spotted it herself, feeling a bit panicked at the thought until her gaze made the connection.

  Pip shivers, leans into her. “I don’t like this place,” he whispers. “They’re staring, Didi.”

  She looks around at the gunslingers, feels a shiver of her own. The stale air makes her nose tingle, and for the first time she thinks about the vibration of the power core keeping this place alive and humming under her feet. She could use that core, if she can access it. Not like the dead gunslingers need it anymore. Nothing to attract bole attacks if the core is gone.

  That thought is enough to drive away her heebies.

  But, Pip is right, it’s time to go. She’ll be back with tools. As she accesses the panel to the exit and Pip lets out a whoop of relief at the wash of fresher air that pours over them, Didi looks back once more.

  A gunslinger of her very own. Wouldn’t that be just the best thing ever.

  ***

  He’s been alone for so long, with only brief moments of contact, contact he is unable to respond to, he almost doubts his dimmed senses. The endless darkness he thought he could handle has devoured some of his control. He’s waited so long for the light to come back, for it to burn around the edges of his vision, just enough to cast shadows, to make him wonder if he is being reactivated.

  He shouldn’t care. He needs to remain steadfast and loyal, as always. But, it’s difficult, partially awake, aware, dim but alive. All alone.

  She feels different to him, the girl with the soft voice he’s not sure exists. Hope he’s never thought possible within the boundaries of his programming almost drives him into the vortex of darkness. Subroutines kick in and save him, pulling him to calm, but he isn’t sure how much longer his deprived mind can last. Perhaps, were he still human, he would be saddened by that truth. And yet, she felt real, as real as anything he is able to experience in this state. As much as the man who came first, the one he can’t bring himself to trust.

  There is something about the she—Didi, the second voice called her—who has made the most recent examination of his resting place. Unusual. And gone again, leaving him alone once more.

  He must not hope. He will not give in to such fantasy. He is a gunslinger and his purpose is to serve, no matter how long he must wait. To be ready the moment he is needed.

  He sinks back into the dark as far as he can and returns to the mental exercises allowing him to retain his sanity during long periods of segregation in the silent tomb of his people.

  Even as that dreaded and needed hope forms a warm, soft ball of longing in his damaged brain.

  ***

  Chapter Four

  Didi stops for a few minutes once clear of the cargo hold to perch on the top of a trash heap. With Pip keeping guard, she pulls free her boot and examines her deflector array.

  The thin wiring is severed at the heel, an easy enough repair. She has to find the time to implant the array inside her boot to protect it from accidents like this. It’s a fine balance between enough force to clear her a path and so much she leaves huge gaps in the ground around her. A tweak with her pliers and a reboot of the system and she’s back on her feet.

  Pip swoops over her head, taking his favorite place on her left shoulder once again when she heads for home. She makes notes of landmarks with her goggles, so she can find this place again. The steady tromp of her passing fills their time for at least ten minutes before the crow speaks.

  “Thank you, Didi,” he says. Chokes on the words, cackling his crow cough. “For coming for me.”

  “Always,” she says, stroking his feathers. “Stupid bird. Think next time.”

  He sighs into her ear. “I know better,” he says. “When they call me, they taunt me.” She’s been meaning to create some kind of translator, to see if she can figure out just what they say to him, those jackbutt crows he used to call family, but there are other, shiny things that pull her attention. Like the gunslingers. She’s almost lost in them—in the shiny, hulking form waiting silently for her on that captain’s chair—when Pip speaks again. “I just can’t seem to resist them.”

  Didi thanks the goggles over her eyes at a particularly rough patch, though her nighttime eyesight is excellent and she’s reached a path she knows well. Sure, it’s still outside her territory, and she’s not supposed to be here, but that’s never kept her from slipping through, has it? At least, as long as the squatter who owns this territory doesn’t catch her.

  Not like she helps herself to anything of value the few times she does encroach. Though, that’s going to change, isn’t it? But, maybe Jackus won’t mind her helping herself to a cyborg peacekeeper or two.

  Gunslinger, her mind whispers. Thing is, if she does manage to raise one, Jackus won’t be an issue anymore, will he? She skips a bit in excitement. Dad will freak if he finds out, until she brings the giant thing home. He wasn’t happy about Pip, either, but he’ll get used to having a gunslinger around.

  She bites back a laugh at the image of the towering cyborg cohabitating with her and her father. She can dream, Didi Duke. She’s allowed.

  And, though the idea really is a daft one, she’s well aware of that fact, and likely to fail, it will give her something to do in the long, empty days of Trash Heaven. A project worth getting riled up over.

  And Jackus can kiss her boots. She’ll figure out a way to sneak through, right quick.

  Didi’s grinning as she skims the giant mass of discarded ship’s furniture recently left behind by a dumpall carrier. She wishes her father would agree to a more industrious section to take on as their own—there’s an empty territory just beyond this one. In that the dumpall’s use for computer parts she could have a lifetime of bliss exploring—but he’s always insisted that the trash heap equivalent of a vintage pawn shop is the place for them.

  And, thanks to the ancient tech surrounding them, she knows what a pawn shop is. Or used to be, back on Earth, Colony One. TV shows and movies at least she appreciates, though their way of talking makes her head hurt.

  She wonders as they walk, as she often does on treks beyond her own territory, just how much trash there is on GTR-679. Trash Heaven has been the center of dumping for the galaxy for at least a hundred years. And dumpall carriers appear overhead sometimes on a daily basis. Must be weird living in a place where trash isn’t a
way of life. She’s seen what that looks like, surely, thanks to the vids and films she’s salvaged. But can’t imagine doing it.

  Where would she get spare parts?

  A dumpall rumbles in the distance, the glowing red and green lights flashing on its sides, faint white illumination aimed upward, the ident number visible. It’s over her territory, the last run of the night. She should go take a peek, but she’s tired, finally, all this tromping and the heat and the fight taking it out of her at last.

  And Pip’s right. Dad will be looking for her, no matter her absent brush off to the contrary. He might be hard at work on his new invention, but he does look up from time to time. And if dinner’s not ready, he might even come looking.

  That hurries her pace. Not because Dad will be angry, but because he’s not equipped to be out here on his own. She’s tried a few times to guide him, when he’s needed pieces for his project. She’s never met a clumsier, more absentminded soul in her entire life, though fair to say she’s maybe met a grand total of two dozen others in her sixteen years. Mostly other squatters. Once a crew of a dumpall who broke down nearby, and a couple of shop owners in Trash City. She’s taken it on herself these days to get what Dad needs so she doesn’t have to be so nervous over him trying to navigate the trash.

  Just easier that way.

  Didi scans the sky as she goes, anticipating the next dumpall. Sure, the one over her territory might be negligible when it comes to interest, but its typical partner usually has some fun tidbits to dive through. And, being right on the edge of her territory, it could soften Pip up to the idea she’s forgotten their find.

  As she slips down into a narrow valley, heart pounding all over again, she can’t stop smiling.

  She’ll never forget the gunslingers.