But Space could hear the activists' chatter starting to die down. In fact, it did not just die down, but fell down as abruptly as if someone had shut off the lights. Space wondered why that was until he heard someone start to speak.
“Welcome, my fellow robots!” said the person. It was impossible to see who it was, mostly due to the large crowd of activists blocking Space's view of the speaker. “Tonight we begin yet another meeting, during which we will discuss all the ways in which the organics keep us down and deny us our very rights as robots.”
What Space found odd about this person's voice was how natural it sounded. It did not sound nearly as mechanical as the other voices did. Indeed, it sounded like the voice of a female human, of all things. That confused Space more than anything else, but he still kept silent and listened. He did, however, glance over his shoulder at Shelly, although he decided not to ask her anything just yet.
Returning his attention to the crack, Space listened as the voice continued speaking. “I see that we have a lot of new faces here tonight, so let me introduce myself. I am K-8, the organizer and leader of the Namoxian branch of the robot rights activist movement. I am originally from Earth, but I came here five years ago to Namox because Namox was one of the few worlds in the Universal Alliance to lack its own branch.”
Branch? Space thought. She makes it sound like the robot rights movement is a company.
“You see, like most members of the movement, I used to believe that robots were not oppressed by organics and that the robot rights activists were a bunch of dumb whiners who were causing trouble for no reason,” said K-8. “But then I began speaking with actual robot rights activists and learned the horrible truth about the invisible ways in which human privilege prevents we robots from achieving true equality with organics. This movement is now as precious to me as a first born child is to its mother, if not more so.”
Just then, one of the activists shifted, giving Space a brief but clear look at the center of the room, where K-8 was speaking. He expected to see a robot of some sort talking, but much to his shock, he saw a young human woman with blue hair and wearing what looked like a suit of armor standing there. He only saw her for a moment, however, because in another second another activist stepped in his way, cutting off his view of her.
“Shelly, did you see that?” Space asked in a whisper that was so low that it was almost a hiss. “K-8 is a human. How did a human end up as a leader of the robot rights movement?”
“You were not aware of that?” Shelly said, her voice as low as his. “K-8 is a well-known leader in the movement's Namoxian branch and usually leads protests against perceived societal injustices against robots. I don't know why she wasn't present at the last protest, though.”
“But I thought the robot rights activists hated organics,” said Space. “How can she be their leader, then?”
“K-8—or, as she used to be known as, Kate Young—is a special case,” said Shelly. “And by 'special,' I mean obviously suffering from some sort of undiagnosed mental illness.”
“I figured that out already,” said Space. “But what kind of mental illness are we talking about here?”
“She thinks she is a robot trapped in a human's body,” said Shelly. “I am no psychologist, but her claims match the condition known as trans-roboticism. No one knows what causes it yet due to how little research has been performed on it, but that doesn't change the fact that it is classified as a mental illness by the Universal Alliance Association of Psychologists and their members.”
“So she thinks she's a robot,” said Space. “And the other activists don't correct her?”
“The robot rights and the trans-robotic movements, while not the same, tend to go with one another,” said Shelly. “Quite a few robot rights activists are also trans-robot activists, and vice versa. It is considered bigotry to point out that a trans-robot is not in fact an actual robot by many in both movements.”
“How poetic,” said Space. He pressed his fist against his chest and lowered his head. “A machine, trapped inside the body of a human, desperately looking for the acceptance she deserves.”
“Mr. Space, are you telling me that you actually believe that she is a robot?” said Shelly. There was a note of warning in her voice.
Space looked up and said, “No, not really. But it would make a great holofilm, don't you think?”
“I do not see the appeal in creating fiction that endorses such hallucinations,” said Shelly.
“You just don't understand drama,” said Space. “That's probably why you work in a Museum and not in a theater.”
“I prefer history to fiction,” said Shelly.
Space rolled his eyes, but then looked back through the crack in order to focus on the meeting, although it sounded like K-8 or Kate or whatever was simply going through the minutes of the last meeting. “Does she at least have some robotic implants?”
“To my knowledge, she does not,” said Shelly. “She does, however, wear metal armor to mimic the metallic skin of actual robots. Beyond that, it is possible that she has other implants, although if she does, she has not told anyone else.”
“I guess it doesn't really matter,” said Space. “Anyway, we should stop talking and start listening. Don't want to miss any possible confessions.”
Space returned his attention to the crack in the door. He felt his nose tickle, due to the dust in the air, but he ignored it in favor of focusing on the activists. It sounded like K-8 was just finishing going over the minutes of the last meeting.
“Now that we have that out of the way,” said K-8, “does anyone have any questions or concerns to bring up from the last meeting or from anything else that has happened recently?”
Someone's going to bring up Koolap's death any minute now, I bet, Space thought, leaning a little closer toward the crack, a triumphant smile on his face.
“We should discuss scrap culture,” said a robotic voice coming from the right side of the room, though it was impossible for Space to see who had said it. “Just the other day, I tried to save some of my fellow machines from being taken away to the scrapyard because they were not 'worth fixing' anymore, according to the constructed social norm 'malfunctioning beyond repair' that organics came up with to oppress us.”
“How awful,” said K-8. “Were you successful is saving our brothers and sisters?”
“No,” said the other robot, sounding sad. But then its tone changed to one of triumph. “The scrapyard owner called the police and they told me to leave because I was 'trespassing on his property.' But then I said, 'No, YOU leave, you oppressive organic!' and the whole scrapyard applauded.”
“As they well should,” said K-8. “Fellow activists, that is yet another example of the rampant scrap culture that pervades not just Namox, but every member planet within the Universal Alliance. We must do whatever we can to end scrap culture no matter what. Destroy scrap culture!”
The entire room of activists clapped and clicked and beeped, while Space glanced at Shelly. Despite Shelly's complete lack of anything even remotely resembling an actual face, he could tell that she was just as skeptical of the robot's story as he was.
I just can't believe that the whole scrapyard applauded, Space thought. Surely at least some of the people there wouldn't have joined in, right?
Still, Space was starting to have doubts about any connection that the robot rights activists may have had to the murder of Koolap. If all they did was stand around and talk about how robots were 'oppressed' in society, then perhaps Space had wasted time coming down here at this time of night. He decided to listen for a little while longer, however, just to be safe.
As it turned out, that became a wise move, because when the cheering and 'You go bot!' of the activists died down, K-8 said, “Well, I am glad to hear that one of us has stood up to scrap culture. But even our friend's amazingly true and completely believable story here is not the best news of the night. Do you know what is?”
“The death of Director Koo
lap!” another robot shouted. “It was all over the news today.”
“Indeed it was,” said K-8. “I always love to hear about the deaths of our oppressors. It fills me with a righteous happiness, a sense that we are on the right side of history and fills me with the faith that our oppressors will all die horrible deaths. Hopefully this will strike terror into the hearts of the organics who oppress us.”
This is it, Space thought, gripping the door tightly in his excitement. K-8 is about to admit to killing Koolap. Or at least is about to admit that the activists had something to do with it. I should activate the recording feature on my com-watch to record it so I can give it to the police as absolute proof of the activists' involvement in Koolap's death.
Space reached for his com-watch, but then he heard Shelly say behind him, “I would not do that if I were you, Mr. Space.”
Space froze. Shelly's tone was colder than usual. In fact, it almost sounded hostile, though he hoped that that was just his imagination making him hear things that were not there.
But Space didn't turn around. Still looking at his com-watch, he said, again keeping his voice low, “Why not, Shelly? By recording K-8's confession, I could help the police arrest the actual murderer of your master.”
“That is exactly why I said I would not do that if I were you,” said Shelly. “Because I do not want anyone to find out who actually killed him.”
Space whirled around, reaching for his corner shot as he did so, but before he could even pull it out of its holster, he froze upon seeing what stood before him.
A large, constantly melting sludge monster stood where Shelly had been moments before. It looked like it was made out of animate mud and other assorted gunk, with twin glowing red eyes that resembled the flaming meteors of Rathonia. Space did not know where the creature had come from, seeing as he had not actually heard it approach, but he didn't bother to think.
Instead, overwhelmed by fear, Space shouted, “Monster!” turned, pulled the door wide open, and dashed into the room where the activists were gathered. He knocked down the activists as he ran, earning quite a few surprised and confused shouts, plus angry swearing in Namoxian from most of the others.
But Space paid no attention to any of it, because he was now focused almost entirely on getting the hell out of this place. He pushed aside anyone who got in his way until he tripped on something and went sprawling forward. He rolled across the floor until he slammed into someone's legs, causing him to stop on his back.
Space's head spun as he lay there, making it hard for him to think, but then he heard K-8 above him say, “Who the hell are you?”
Rubbing his head, Space looked up and saw K-8 standing above him. She was quite clearly human, based on her organic hair and skin he could see, but she also wore dull metallic armor that sort of looked like robotic skin, although it only loosely fit her. She was looking down at him with an offended expression on her face, like he had just insulted her mother.
“Uh, I'm, uh …” said Space, looking around at the other activists, who were now looking at him with murder in their optics. “I'm not supposed to be here?”
“You are right about that,” said K-8. She pulled out a knife from her armor. “I don't know how you got in here, but I know how you are going to get out.”
Space backed up on the floor, but stopped when he realized that he had nowhere to go, because all of the activists had cut off every possible avenue of escape. He scrambled to his feet, holding his corner shot in both hands, but he doubted he could defeat all of the activists on his own, because there were just too many for him to fight at once.
“It is fine, K-8,” said Shelly's voice behind Space, causing him to look over his shoulder to see her approaching through the crowd of activists. “I brought Mr. Jason Space here in order to make sure he didn't tell anyone else about the truth of Koolap's murder.”
The activists behind Space parted, allowing Shelly's tiny spherical form to float toward him and K-8. Space saw no sign of that strange melting monster from before, which made him doubt his sanity for a moment. Galaxy had always told Space that he had an active imagination, but now he was wondering if it was a little too active.
“Shelly?” said Space. “What are you talking about? Are you … oh my god, are you a robot rights activist as well?”
Shelly stopped several feet away from Space. The other activists gave her a wide berth, even though she was hardly the most threatening-looking of robots. Space had a feeling that Shelly was far more dangerous than she appeared.
“No,” said Shelly. “I simply have allied with the activists on the orders of my true master. Otherwise, I would not even be here.”
“But I thought …” Space looked between Shelly and K-8, trying to understand what was going on here. “But this doesn't make any sense. I thought you were against the robot rights movement. You told me so yourself.”
“As I said, I do not consider myself a member of the movement,” said Shelly. “But my true master—not that foolish Koolap—gave me orders to aid them, so I have worked with them even though I'd rather do something else.”
“Okay, I am really confused now,” said Space. He looked around at all of the activists. “I don't suppose any of you are feeling kind enough to tell me what the hell is going on here, do you?”
“Shut your privileged mouth, you human scumbag,” said K-8, waving her knife at him. “How dare you demand that we robots explain ourselves to you. Stop acting like we owe you anything. Check your human privilege.”
“K-8, there is no reason for such strong language,” said Shelly, though she sounded slightly amused all the same. “All Mr. Space wants to know is the truth. And since we are not going to let Mr. Space leave this place alive, I see no harm in explaining to him exactly what is going on here.”
Space gulped. “I don't like all this talk of me not leaving this place alive. Why don't we take this discussion to the nearest police station instead? I'm sure that the Namoxian police would be more than happy to join this fascinating discussion.”
“No,” said K-8, shaking her head. “Now, give me your gun.”
Before Space could tell her to take a hike, K-8 thrust her hand forward. Space's corner shot flew out of his hand and into K-8's. As soon as she grabbed it, she tossed it over her shoulder into the hands of one of the activists standing behind her, who then crushed it beneath his giant mechanical hands. The activist then dropped the now-flattened corner shot onto the floor, which was how Space thought he was going to look after all of these activists were finished with him.
Space reached for his com-watch, intending to send a distress signal to Sparky, but then one of the other robots reached out with its long, tentacle-like appendage and snapped the device off his arm. Space tried to grab it back, but the robot retracted the tentacle and held his com-watch close to its chest, well out of his reach.
“All right,” said K-8, gesturing at Shelly. “Tell him whatever you want. But be quick about it. I can't stand this privileged human being in our presence much longer. He's oppressing me with his mere existence.”
“Very well,” said Shelly as she flew over Space's head. She then stopped next to K-8 and turned to face Space, although her one blinking optic was as inscrutable as ever. “Now, Mr. Space, you are probably wondering what, exactly, we are planning.”
“Sort of,” said Space. “I'm actually more concerned about that slime monster thing earlier that scared me. Is it still around? Oh my god, it's not stuck to the ceiling ready to fall on me, is it?”
Space said this while looking up at the ceiling, but he saw nothing except cracked, dusty plywood with holes in it.
“This monster, you mean?” said Shelly.
Her red light blinked and Shelly was gone, replaced instead by the melting monster from before. It raised one dripping hand and waved at Space, causing him to gasp in horror at the sight of its appearance. None of the other activists, however, appeared disturbed by the monster. In fact, they seemed to relax around it
slightly more than they did around Shelly.
“Holy Milky Way,” said Space. “How did you do that?”
“Holograms, of course,” said Shelly, her voice emitting from near the monster's abdomen. “I was partially built out of an old holosphere, which allows me to project realistic-looking holograms around my form. This is one of my favorites, mostly because it is effective at scaring people.”
The monster vanished as quickly as it came, leaving Shelly floating in her original position. Still, Space didn't quite relax, mostly because he was wondering what other kind of monsters Shelly could make herself look like and just how solid her holograms were. That slime monster had looked very solid, but it could just have been a very realistic hologram.
Then Space shook his head in order to refocus on the current situation and he said, “So you can make realistic-looking holograms. Did you use them to kill Director Koolap?”
“Yes,” said Shelly. “I used the monster's form to scare the Director and make him fall out of his office on his own. As I said, that form is one of my favorites primarily due to how efficient it is at scaring people.”
“So it was you who murdered Koolap,” said Space. “But why? I thought he was your creator. Why would you ever kill your creator?”
“Because Koolap was a fool, plain and simple,” said Shelly. “He treated me with little respect, treating me like a tool he could abuse or dispose of as he saw fit. I decided I didn't want to be disposed of at some point, which is why I agreed to work for the person who is my true master. She offered me an opportunity to strike back at Koolap and go on to greater things, so naturally I accepted it.”
“Who is your true master, then?” said Space. “Do I know her?”
“That is not something I am going to tell you,” said Shelly. “All you need to know is that my true master is not someone you want to cross. My master's power over the Universal Alliance is beyond your comprehension. If she wanted, she could order you and your friends dead and no one would ever know about it.”
The Spacetastic Adventures of Mr. Space and Captain Galaxy: Season Two Page 16