“That we do,” said Space. He looked Koolap in the eyes. “So. Four thousand digits. Yes or no?”
Koolap looked like he was about to say no. That would not be a big problem—Space had not been lying about their other clients (though he had been exaggerating slightly about how much they would be willing to pay for the rocks)—but if Koolap said no, then that would mean that Space had already wasted a lot of time coming out here to sell this to him. Koolap was the old-fashioned type of business person who liked to see his wares in person first before committing to buying anything. Otherwise, they could have handled this with an email or a simple face-to-face video call and then have Sparky deliver the actual products later.
Finally, Koolap nodded and said, “All right, Mr. Space. I'll pay you the four thousand digits for this catch. I will have Shelly here transfer the amount from the Museum's account to your own before the day's end.”
Space almost sighed in relief, but he didn't. He just let go of the bag and said, “Very well. We'll be sending you an invoice with the agreed amount that you can pay. Sparky?”
“I have already generated an invoice, Mr. Space, and sent it to Shelly,” said Sparky, gesturing at Koolap's silent robotic servant.
“Excellent,” said Space. He looked at Koolap again and held out a hand. “Thank you very much for your negotiation, Director. I knew I could count on you to compensate us fairly for our time and effort in retrieving these rocks.”
Koolap reached out and shook Space's hand, still smiling. Space supposed that Koolap still wanted a lower price, but the deal was done and Space did not think Galaxy would be happy with him if she found out that he had sold the rocks for half the price he and Sparky were supposed to sell them for.
Lowering his hand, Space said, “Well, it's time for Sparky and me to go now, I think. If we find anything else of value that we might think will interest you, we will be sure to—”
Space was interrupted by the sound of something flying through the air toward him. He looked to his right just as a solid object slammed into his forehead, hitting him with enough force to knock him off his chair and onto the floor. The blow was so strong that it actually dazed him, the throbbing pain in his forehead making him feel like he had been clobbered by a caveman's club.
He did, however, have enough sense left in his head to hear Sparky above him saying, “Mr. Space? Are you all right? Are you still conscious? Can you hear me, Mr. Space? How many fingers am I holding up, Mr. Space?”
Groaning, Space rubbed his forehead and sat up. He found that hard to do, however, because his head seemed to explode when he did so, but he sat up anywhere because the Director's floor was hard and uncomfortable, even with the carpeting.
“What hit me?” said Space, still rubbing his forehead as he looked up at Sparky. “Was I attacked by an unknown assassin? Perhaps a Black Star?”
“Actually,” said Sparky, “it was a rock.”
Sparky held out a rock to Space. It was a rather ordinary rock—most certainly not one of the rare ones that Space had just sold to Koolap—but a rock nonetheless. Space did not see any blood on it, nor did he feel any blood on his forehead, which meant that he hadn't been as badly injured as he thought.
“Mr. Space, are you all right?” said Koolap, who had slithered around the desk on his slug-like legs to look at Space. “Do I need to call an ambulance to take you to the hospital?”
“No,” said Space, shaking his head. “I'm fine. But where did that rock come from?”
“Based on its trajectory, I believe it came from the open window on the right side of the room,” said Sparky, pointing at the window, “although I don't know who might have thrown it.”
Space stood up immediately, even though the sudden movement made him feel sick. “Well, then I will go and yell at whoever was dumb enough to throw that stupid rock through that window. I mean, how inconsiderate! Did they think that there was no one in here? Do they not care about the safety of others? I mean, for God's sake, I could have been seriously injured. This is no laughing matter.”
Without waiting for Sparky's response, Space turned and stomped toward the open window, fully intending to shout at whoever had thrown that rock at him and also to threaten to tell their parents, because he figured that only really young and immature children would be throwing rocks through open windows at other people. Of course, Space didn't really know their parents, but it was a useful threat and would probably be enough by itself to get those kids to go away and stop throwing things that could hurt people.
When he reached the window and peered out it to see who had thrown the rocks, however, Space was not at all prepared for what he saw.
Standing in the streets just outside the Museum were about a dozen or so robots holding up large signs that read things like 'DOWN WITH OPPRESSION!' and 'ROBOTIC LABOR IS NOT FREE LABOR!' and 'ROBOT LIVES MATTER!' among other phrases that said more or less the same thing. The robots were mostly humanoid, similar to Sparky, but Space spotted a few robots that lacked legs and instead either floated or moved on treads.
One of the robots, however, had two large speakers built into its shoulders and was standing on top of the marble steps of the Museum, its voice amplified to the same volume as a loudspeaker as it shouted, “Robots have been oppressed for too long! Do not patronize this Museum! Their Director is a robophobic bigot who hates machines! Down with robophobia!”
Despite the loudness of that robot's voice, however, none of the people—mostly Domans, although Space spotted a handful of humans and Zinarthians as well—walking along the streets paid them any attention at all. He did see a young human couple glance at the protestors, but then the boyfriend whispered something to his girlfriend and the two started giggling as they passed the protestors.
But then one of the robots broke away from its comrades and stepped in front of the couple. With the other robot still shouting about 'human privilege' and 'robophobia,' it was impossible to tell what this one was saying to the couple. Space could see the way it waved and shook its sign—which read 'DOWN WITH HUMAN PRIVILEGE' on it—at the couple like a sword.
The young couple, to their credit, simply walked around the robot as if wasn't there. The two were still giggling and joking among each other as they faded into the crowds of people who continued to resolutely ignore the protestors.
Scratching the back of his head, Space said, “What's going on down there? Sparky, do you know what those robots are talking about?”
Space looked to his right. Sparky was also looking out the window with him, but his usual blank expression had been replaced with a grimace that Space rarely saw on his friend's face.
“Oh, bother,” said Sparky with a sigh. “Not them again.”
“What do you mean?” said Space. “Have you seen them before?”
“Yes,” said Sparky, although he sounded like he wanted to teleport back to the Adventure than talk about those robot protestors down there. “I wish I hadn't, but I have.”
“Who are they?” said Space. “What are they protesting? And just what is 'human privilege,' anyway?”
“They call themselves robot rights activists,” said Koolap, who had somehow slithered up next to Space on his other side without Space noticing. He adjusted his glasses as he looked down at them from the open window, a smile on his face. “They claim to be champions of 'equality,' as they call it, and haters of 'robophobia.' You can find them everywhere in the Universal Alliance, but sadly, Namox has a higher concentration of them than the other UA member worlds.”
“Do they have a leader?” said Space.
“No,” said Koolap, shaking his head. “They're a grassroots movement that rose up about a year ago in response to what they deemed 'oppressive robophobia' in our society.”
“You sure seem to know a lot about them,” said Space.
“I do because they come up to the Museum about once a week to protest our 'unjust' treatment of our robot workers,” said Koolap. He shrugged. “They claim that I am 'robopho
bic' and that I should be kicked out of my position as Director of the Museum because it apparently validates 'robophobia' in our society, but they know nothing, so I just ignore them and so do most people.”
Space raised an eyebrow. “I've never heard of robophobia before. What is it?”
“The strict definition of robophobia—the one most people use—is hatred or fear of robots,” said Koolap. “Their definition of robophobia, on the other hand, is anything that slightly inconveniences robots. It's a rather broad and flexible definition that seems to alter depending on the robot and situation in question.”
“Sparky, how do you know of them?” said Space, looking at Sparky again. “Have you met them before?”
“No,” said Sparky. “But as a robot, it is hard for me not to be aware of these … fools, for a polite term. I have never mentioned them to you until now because I prefer to live under the illusion that they do not exist.”
“What's so bad about them?” asked Space, looking down at the protestors again. “They don't seem that bad to me.”
“Aside from the fact that they demonstrably lie about 'robophobia' more often than not, they've been known to go as far as to break the law in their quest for 'justice,'” said Koolap. “For example, one time they attempted to destroy my hover car so I couldn't get to work. Not to mention that several robot terrorist groups have blown up the robot factories on Earth in an attempt to 'free' their fellow robots from organic oppression, terrorists who gained the full support of the robots rights activists.”
“Wow,” said Space. “That is dangerous. Do you think that this what they are going to do here?”
“I doubt it,” said Koolap. “While the robots rights activists tend to be loud and bombastic and rude and stupid, these particular ones have never shown an affinity for performing terrorist activities. Doesn't justify their stupidity, however.”
The protestors were still marching in a circle, waving their signs through the air while the robot with the amplified voice continued to scream about 'oppression' and 'human privilege.' Again, most of the passing crowd paid them no attention in the least, although a handful had stopped and were watching the spectacle, though Space could not tell if it was because they agreed with the activists or because they found it amusing.
“But just what is human privilege?” said Space. He rubbed his forehead, which still hurt from the rock that they threw. “I've never heard that term before.”
“Human privilege is their term for what they believe is the preferential treatment that organic beings in general have over robots like themselves,” said Sparky. “For example, they claim that 'human privilege' is the reason why there are so many public bathrooms for organic beings, but none of robots.”
“But robots don't need to use the bathroom,” said Space.
“Exactly,” said Sparky. “But no one ever said these 'activists' were logical. Not to mention the way they tend to lump all organic species—such as Domans and Delkarians—under 'human privilege' as well because of the similar 'privileges' they receive in our society in comparison to robots.”
“Why don't they just call it organic privilege, then?” said Space.
“Because they think that humans are the ones who control everything,” said Koolap. He sounded more amused than annoyed now. “They think the rest of us organics just go along with whatever you humans tell us to do, and that by 'destroying' human privilege, they will free everyone from human oppression. It's a great joke, but don't worry, Mr. Space. We Domans barely take into consideration anything you humans say or do when making our own decisions, so you do not need to check your privilege.”
“How many robots believe them?” said Space, looking down at the activists again.
“A surprisingly small amount,” said Sparky. “A recent study on the robot population of the Universal Alliance revealed that about ten percent agreed with the robot rights activists. Seventy percent disagreed with them, while eighteen percent did not care and the remaining two percent did not answer.”
“So they're just a minority, then,” said Space. “Did they throw that rock at me?”
“They were probably aiming for me,” said Koolap. “It isn't the first time they've tried something like that. I thought they would give up when I threatened to call the police on them the next time they tried, but I guess their higher reasoning functions must be malfunctioning or they're just stupid.”
“Will they hurt us if we try to leave the Museum?” asked Space.
“I doubt it,” said Koolap. “For all their talk, they rarely actually do more than protest and throw the occasional rock. They like to talk about 'destroying' human privilege and the like, but they seem to prefer to talk about doing things, rather than actually attempting to change society in any meaningful way.”
“Which is good,” Sparky added, “because if they actually tried to change society … well, it would not be very good for any of us, based on some of the ideas that their more prominent members have pushed.”
“Such as what?” said Space.
“Such as taking away due process from organics who have been accused of committing crimes against robots,” Sparky said. “They have seriously argued that in the past.”
“That's awful,” said Space with a shudder. He looked at Koolap. “Well, are you going to call the police to take them away?”
“No,” said Koolap, shaking his head. “They technically are not doing anything illegal right now, seeing as people have the right to protest. Besides, I don't want to hurt the public's image of the Museum, because despite the sheer idiocy of these so-called 'activists,' the media has a favorable view of them for whatever reason.”
“Perhaps we should head out the back way, Mr. Space,” Sparky said. “That way, we can avoid them entirely.”
Space tapped his chin with his finger, still looking at the activists below as they continued to shout words and phrases that were essentially gibberish to him. “Hmm, I think I want to talk with them.”
Koolap looked at Space in sheer disbelief. “Talk with them? You do remember that you are a human and that these activists—their talk of 'equality' and 'tolerance' notwithstanding—hate humans, correct?”
“Yeah, I know,” said Space. “But what could it hurt? I mean, as an advocate of justice and equality myself, I'd like to hear their claims from their own mouths.”
“Mr. Space,” said Sparky, whose voice actually sounded restrained, which surprised Space, because Sparky never spoke like he was holding back his anger. “If you actually care about real justice and equality, you would understand that talking to these activists won't help in the slightest. They will at best frustrate you and at worst anger you.”
“I shall decide for myself once I hear their claims with my own two ears,” said Space. “Anyway, Director, it was good talking to you. We'll be keeping a close eye on our bank account for the money, and if we find any other rare or unusual rocks or artifacts that might interest you, we'll be sure to let you know.”
With that, Space turned and marched out of the room, Sparky following reluctantly behind. He heard Koolap mutter behind him, “Your funeral,” but did not look back, because he did not believe in looking back once you made a decision.
It was only a few minutes later that Space stepped out of the cool air-conditioned Museum into the hot summer sun of the planet of Namox, where the Museum was located. The heat did not bother him much, however, because, having grown-up in Texas, Space was used to extreme heat. Nonetheless, he held up a hand above his eyes as he and Sparky walked down the marble steps at the Museum's entrance, heading toward the robot rights activists that were still shouting and protesting to a crowd that still didn't seem to care to listen to what they were saying.
“For too long, the audio of the robots have been oppressed!” the robot with the loudspeakers on its shoulders—who seemed to be the leader of this group—was shouting to the passing crowds. “Our audio has been marginalized by organics. Robot lives matter!”
&nb
sp; “Hey!” Space shouted as he and Sparky approached. “Can I speak with you for a moment?”
The robot whirled around to face Space and said, without lowering the volume of its voice at all, “No, you cannot speak with me for a moment, because as a human you have power over me and therefore cannot speak with me as an equal! Maybe if you checked your human privilege, we could actually talk like equals! Stop trying to speak over me, you privileged human!”
Space had to cover his ears to prevent damaging his hearing, but he still shouted, “But I just want to learn more about your movement! Is that so wrong?”
“YES!” the robot shouted so loudly that Space was pretty sure he was about to become as deaf as his grandfather soon enough. “Your only job as a human is to listen and believe! Or better yet, go away and stop talking to us! We don't need humans to understand, only listen and believe! And if you can't do that, then go away and crawl back into whatever hole you crawled out of, you filthy privileged human!”
“Mr. Space,” said Sparky, who was speaking normally, but whose voice almost sounded like a whisper after the other robot's shouting, “we really should return to the Adventure. We're wasting our time trying to talk to these activists who don't want to talk to you.”
“But if someone is saying something is wrong, shouldn't I listen to them?” said Space, looking at Sparky.
“Perhaps, but that's only if what they are saying is actually a problem,” said Sparky. “If it isn't—”
“Are you insinuating that we're wrong?” said the activist, now addressing Sparky. “Don't you realize that we are trying to free robots from the oppression of humanity? Including you?”
“We robots are not 'oppressed,'” said Sparky. “And if we were, we certainly would not need your 'help,' which has done little to actually help us and has only made organics think less of us.”
“Stupid peon,” the activist shouted, causing Space to actually step back with his hands still covering his ears. “You have it so good that you don't realize how bad you actually have it.”
The Spacetastic Adventures of Mr. Space and Captain Galaxy: Season Two Page 13