He picked up a card next to one of the robots, reading it as it practically rested on his round, tuxedo-clad stomach. The numbers were more than even projected, more than he might have hoped for, and he smiled briefly before returning it to his place. As master of ceremonies, he reserved the privilege of making the winning announcements, congratulating the new owners of one of the most advanced — and mysterious — robots in the known galaxy. After all, it had been some time since any were produced.
“Sir,” a voice interrupted from behind him.
“Yes, yes, what is it?” Yardley said in a booming, commanding voice. He’d earned his post after decades of shuffling as a groundsman, then a valet. He was a master of ceremonies, precise in every detail, and he suffered no fools who might muck it all up.
“Sir, a gentleman is complaining about the Creme du Pont. He said it’s distasteful that such a dish should be served with a yellow, rather than a red sauce, sir.”
“And do you propose that I personally make him a red sauce, Stanley?”
“No sir, of course not sir, I just —“
“Well go on, Stanley. If the man wants red sauce, and we have red sauce, get it to him. No need to bother me about it.”
“Yes, sir,” the man said as he scurried off. Yardley shook his head, wondering whether he’d ever been so young and foolish. He made a short grunting noise and turned back to the robots.
He picked up another card, and nearly dropped it in surprise, fumbling it in his hands a moment. He rubbed his eyes, put on his glasses and peered down through them as they rested on the edge of his nose.
His eyes went wide as they read the number on the card, which hadn’t changed any. It still said 5 credits. The cost of a pack of gum.
“Stanley!”
***
MaBrown strolled onto the bridge, taking a seat at an empty chair on the far side of the console. Porter watched the monitor and Isellia poked her head up every so often to see check on it as as she replaced some burned out wiring under the console. Every so often she dropped something and it made a clang that broke the relative silence.
“So, how much longer until we get to the Inner Circle?” MaBrown asked.
“Why, you like danger?” Isellia said, as she started to replace the control panel.
“Well,” MaBrown said, but didn’t finish the thought. “We stopping anywhere? I should really check in with my editor. Not that I have much to report.”
“There’s a supply station not far from here. It’ll be our last stop before hitting the Inner Circle. You might want to pick up some things for yourself, and you can use a station comm device to check in."
“Right on,” MaBrown said, leaning back in his chair. “So, do you know that Veda racer?"
Isellia paused. A little of the smoldering hot metal dripped from the gun where she held it absently onto the deck before cooling into a little ball.
"I saw you guys talking before. Man, she's quite the racer! And so popular. I swear, I see her face everywhere. Billboards, magazines. You can't hop on the Buzz without seeing ads with her in it, or articles. It's cool that you know her."
Isellia sat silent for a moment, then sighed, took the panel and locked it into place, covering her work. “It’s noisy in here. I’ll fix this later.”
MaBrown watched her leave, mouth agape as if about to say something. “Something I said?” he asked after she left.
Porter put up his finger, signaling that he would explain MaBrown’s faux pas later.
Suddenly, a forceful explosion jostled the ship out of balance. It rocked the side of the ship, sending Porter and MaBrown into the armrests of their chairs. They struggled to regain their balance as the ship’s anti-gravity plating did the same.
“What the hell was that?” MaBrown asked.
“Gotta be bandits,” Isellia said, charging back onto the bridge.
“Bandits?” Porter asked. “Why didn’t our sensors pick them up?”
“What the hell do you think I was just working on?” Isellia said.
MaBrown looked around. “Are we damaged?”
Porter shook his head. “Just a shot across the bow. They don’t want to damage the ship if they don’t have to. They want to take it.”
“Well then what do they do with us?” MaBrown asked, wide-eyed.
Porter said nothing, but gave MaBrown a look that told him everything he needed to know. “Isellia, time to put your pilot skills to the test. Joey, man the nav system.”
Isellia gasped, covering her hand with her mouth.
“Don’t even tell me,” Porter said, both staring at each other wide-eyed.
“I can re-install them! Just buy me 10 minutes.”
“Install what?” MaBrown asked.
“I have to take the guns off to race, Porter!”
Porter rubbed his forehead, as a comm light flashed at his console. “You got five, get down there and get those guns installed. Stephen!” He yelled into a headset he grabbed as Isellia ran for the hangar.
“S-s-sir, this is Stephen, sir,” came a voice over the intercom.
“Stephen, listen—“
“Sir, how may I help you sir?”
“Stephen! Stephen, I’m gonna max the engines. I need you to monitor them and keep ‘em from overheating.”
“S-s-sir, I — I recommend against that. Sir, there’s no reason we should do that.”
“How well can you breath in space, Stephen?”
“Sir?”
“Just keep the engines cool, whatever you have to do. Keep an eye out.”
“Yes sir.”
“And stop calling me sir!”
“Yes si- uh, I mean, uh —“
Porter pushed the mute button on his headset. He stared at the viewscreen with a grim expression. MaBrown watched him in silence.
“All right, let’s see if I can buy Isellia some time without wrecking my ship.”
***
Yardley stood in front of the empty black desk, hands folded in front of his sizable stomach. Yardley was not an easy man to rattle. He’d fought in the War X-2, sometimes called the Galaxy War, working as a sniper and a cook. It had been his insistence, when not out in the field, that he be allowed to cook, and his commanders found it easier to comply with him rather than to argue.
As he stood in the darkened room, its only light entering from the hallway through a partially opened door, Yardley shook so much his coattails twitched from side to side in small waves.
It wasn’t that he was afraid, exactly. Yardley had stared death in the face on several occasions. He’d fought and talked his way out of a rebel prison, led an outnumbered battalion into a siege on Outpost 349, and caught a flu that nearly killed him. Yardley wasn’t afraid to die, and had been prepared each time. It wasn’t that he wanted to — he simply accepted that it was part of his duty. To Yardley, duty was everything.
Yardley shook at the thought of not honoring his duty, his responsibility. He was put in charge of the auction, and its success — or its failure — was his responsibility.
So a five-credit bid on an auction item that was supposed to fetch billions was certainly an indication that something had gone very wrong.
The chair in front of him, empty as he stood and waited, Yardley suddenly noticed that it was actually filled by the man with no face. Yardley had seen a lot in his years, but the man’s lack of any kind of facial features unnerved him as much as it did anyone else. The man’s presence drew Yardley’s otherwise perfectly calm countenance forward, drawing his attention into the void that was the man’s face. Yardley caught himself leaning in, shaking his head a little before resuming his practiced countenance.
“Ssssomething obvioussssly did not go according to plan, Yaaaardley,” the man said, looking not at Yardley but — what, at the desk? One could never quite be sure, but somehow you knew when he was looking at you.
“Sir, I believe you are correct, sir. I will get to the bottom of this at once!” Yardley managed with as much sternness
as possible.
“Relaxssss, Yaaardely,” the man said, folding his hands.
“Sir?”
The man leaned back in the chair, a flash of light shining across his empty face, finding nothing to reflect, no shadows to cast, no highlights to feature. Yardley shuddered slightly.
“Thissss could be ussssseful,” the man said. “Yesssss, very usssseful. I think I know exssssactly what happened.”
Yardley stood quietly, awaiting an explanation, but none was forthcoming.
“Yaaaaardley, I don’t want you to think another thought about thissss. Understood?”
“But sir, I feel it is my responsibility to—“
“No Yardley. It isss not. Leave thingssss as they are for now. Ensure the remainder of the auction continues as planned.”
Yardley swallowed, but said nothing. The thought of not trying to correct an error that occurred under his leadership itched like a tick in the middle of his back. “As you wish, sir.”
“That will be all, Yardley. Carry on.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Oh Yardley,” the man called as he was leaving. Yardley stopped. “See that Underow is punissssssshed.”
“Yes sir, as you wish, sir,” Yardley said, turning back toward the man. But he was already gone, a habit that unnerved Yardley to no small degree.
Chapter 43
Isellia drilled the last bolt onto the side gun, locking it into place on the wing of her XR. The torque wrench made a whirring sound as it fastened the bolt tight, and she turned frantically to grab the other gun. She’d gotten it on quicker than she thought she’d be able to, and not a moment too soon — the ship shook with another impact. Isellia stumbled with the large gun barrel in her arms as she made her way to the other side of her XR.
Her headset buzzed as she carried the large assembly cradled in her arms. Feeling its weight gave no doubt why she'd removed it — technically she'd only need to remove the barrels, but removing the assembly gave her ship a huge weight advantage, which helped with fuel consumption during races. It also meant the work of putting it back on once she was done. The barrel was heavy and clunky, and she'd had to learn a few tricks to manage to get it on herself.
She grabbed the buzzing headset and flung it onto her head as she hoisted the assembly up toward the fittings on the left wing.
“I’m a little busy right now, Porter!”
“ETA on your launch?”
“Just getting —” she strained as she lifted it into place with a clank. “— the second one in place, then we fly.”
“Good, ‘cause these guys aren’t listening to reason.”
“I’ll have two good reasons for them in a minute,” Isellia fit the side piece onto her ship. The XR-13 was one of the few models ready-fitted for weaponry — most needed some aftermarket fittings to take on the gun's assembly.
“K. Quick as you can.”
“Oh, really, Porter? Cause I was going to take my time.”
Porter sighed. “Just let me know when you’re in the air.”
Porter wiped the sweat off of his bald head. “We’re never going to hold these guys off long enough,” Porter muttered to himself, eyes searching the room.
The robot looked at him, its LED flashed green a couple of times, then it was silent.
***
Underow leaned against the dingy cell room he’d been thrown into. His back felt grimy just leaning against the metal frame of the small 12-foot-by-12-foot cell. He looked with resignation at the bunk on the other side of his cell, a narrow metal frame with a mattress that looked like it was pulled from a garbage barge only moments ago. A long cylindrical object appeared to serve as a pillow, based on its position on the cot. No matter, Underow thought. I don’t sleep anyway.
It wasn’t the cell itself that got to Underow. It was the failure. And the fact that he now had nothing to occupy his time — none of the work he spent 18 hours per day or more toiling over in his office-condo. Shivers ran up his spine as he thought about the amount of work that must be piling up, the requests coming in, while he sat in this hole doing nothing, able to accomplish nothing.
The banquet/auction had not gone as planned, to say the least.
Where had she come from? Underow asked himself. He knew she would be trouble the moment she click-clacked her high-heeled wonders into his office/condo, exciting and terrifying him all at once. She still did. Moreso now.
She had when she cornered him outside the banquet. He’d done as she asked. Swayed all bids away from one of the robots, so that hers was the only bid. He didn’t think she would bid so extraordinarily low. Did she think that would go unnoticed? No, she didn’t care, he thought. In fact, he bet it was part of her plan.
Well, part two of her request would have to wait. He wasn’t going to be able to do anything sitting in this dark, tiny, dingy cell. Unless she planned to bust him out.
He presumed, and hoped, that was not part of her plan.
***
“I’m ready to launch, Port!”
“Gotcha Isellia,” Porter said into the headset. “They’re turning for another run.”
“Good!” Isellia said over the roar of her engines in the background. “I’m gunning these right up their asses!”
Porter turned toward the view screen, where Isellia’s XR launched clear of the bridge, its afterburners leaving a streak across the viewscreen. The two fighter ships didn’t seem to notice her, or at least didn’t know exactly how to respond. They likely weren't expecting an armed racer to be defending the cargo hauler, expecting that if there were one, it would have emerged long before now.
“Say goodbye!” Isellia hammered on her gun controls, pressing the triggers much harder than necessary. She let a cathartic release of pink lasers fly at the two enemy ships as they started to turn to face her.
She caught the wing of the ship to her right, her lasers blasting a hole thought the metal material on its side. The ship started spiraling as it tried to complete its turn, flinging off at a 45-degree angle nowhere near hitting the ship.
“Yaaaaahaaaaa!” Isellia screamed into the intercom. Porter smirked a little at her enthusiasm.
“Stay sharp, Is. You still got another bogey out there.”
“Bogey,” Isellia laughed. “What is this, some cheesy holo movie?”
The remaining fighter blasted blue laser fire toward Isellia, but it missed her ship as she twisted its wings in a barrel roll.
“Oh I’m sorry, was that an age joke?” Isellia returned fire, missing the ship as it took similar evasive action.
“You know, if you weren’t such a good shot...”
“You love me, you know— Shit!” Isellia spun her ship away from fresh laser fire, but not before it tore a small gash in her hull. “That the hell!?”
“You got more company. I’m seeing four, five, no, 10 — oh shit, Isellia.”
There was silence for a moment, save for static.
“There’s gotta be 25 of them out here, Porter.”
“Robot counts 26,” the robot said.
Porter slammed the headset down on the bridge’s floor. “Dammit robot! Why don’t you make yourself useful?!” Porter rubbed his hands over his head, fingers plowing beads of sweat from his skin. He picked the headset back up, placing it on his head while he tried to figure out a plan.
“Calculating,” the robot said, its LED furiously flashing.
***
“Just going to figure it out and disconnect us...” Rex leaned against the doorway, arms crossed and his senses trained on the sound or sight of someone approaching. His body still ached form the jolts of electricity that racked his body. Leaning was his cool guy posture by default, but at the moment, he really did need the support.
It was the second camera lag that allowed them to escape. The second, set up to be much longer than the first, allowed Celia to unchain him and drag him out. She healed him just enough to get him walking. More would come later, he knew.
He watched Celia,
who focused on a pad she had hooked up to one of the robots from the auction house. The crowd in the banquet hall had already dubbed this particular robot the “Five Robot,” simply because it had sold for only five credits. It had become a mini-legend, a nugget of inside information exclusive to those who could say they were at the auction.
The robots had been shuffled away after the auction, held in storage until the end of the four-day affair. Each robot was locked in a separate room, and later would be prepared for their new owners by Company C roboticists.
Celia had no illusions that the auction's organizers would simply hand over their robot for five credits.
“I’m sure they will, Rex. In the meantime, I’m going to glean info as much as possible.”
Rex grunted slightly, saying nothing. He didn’t see what the big deal was — there already were robots in the world — they had one on their own crew, in fact. What’s another 20?
Rex shook his head slightly. When did he start thinking about them as “his crew?”
“Hey, come here a sec,” Celia said. Rex took a quick peek through the doorway before joining her next to the robot.
“I don’t know anything about those things.”
“Forget the robot. Come here.” She took his hand, and pulled him closer to her.
She smiled at him, but he looked away, as if noticing something on the pad Celia held.
“Hey, what is it? You’re not shy all of a sudden?” She brushed his long black hair behind his ear. “You know I couldn’t help you right away, right?” She stared into his eyes, her playful expression replaced by sincerity. He could feel her giving him healing energy as she spoke. “Every second of it pained me, to see you hurt by that little twerp.”
“I know,” Rex said. “Shouldn’t you be getting info off of this?”
Celia took the pad and set it down. “It’s downloading. We got a few seconds.” She touched his shoulder, rubbing it affectionately. “Seriously, what’s wrong. Is it about Porter?”
Robot Awareness: The Inner Circle Page 3