by M. D. Cooper
“What are you looking for?”
“A way to get even.”
Ben thought about the man’s words for a moment, but could not think of anything to say. Instead, he shoved his hands into empty pockets and began to walk towards his ship. Well Mr. Rodgers’ ship. “Have a good evening,” He said as he walked out into the night. When he was several paces away, he thought he heard the old man say, “You’ll be back.” When he turned to look back, the man was gone, and Ben was greeted by empty shadows.
He shook his head, hoping to rattle the feeling of regret from his brain, but it persisted. It was the only thing he knew he could rely on in life.
Regret.
Chap+er Two
Ben’s life being as it was, he thought he should feel used to being defeated at every turn, learning from the plethora of past mistakes. But instead, as he approached the mess that was once his ship, he still questioned why these things happened to him. So many people in his life seemed to be born with horseshoes up their asses, lucky despite their ignorance and mistakes. Ben felt his horseshoe had been inserted broken because his whole life felt like he was being taken from behind and he was powerless to do anything about it. Life was just like being farked by a gorilla: you’re not done until the gorilla is done.
He stood outside the bay door, hesitant to enter for what would be the last time. His heart ached with loss, but the broken feeling in his chest was mucked by the rage coursing through his veins. That son of a bitch, he thought as he pressed his hand against the console, unlocking the bay door. He had me from the start. It was a realization that came hours too late.
Ben was greeted by an upbeat sex robot, who thankfully was still wearing his pants as he stood, hands on his hips, seeming to marvel at what he had done. “What’s going on, Chip?” Ben asked when the robot did not turn to look at him.
“I’m fixing her up,” Chip replied, pointing at the bulkhead with a flamboyant wave of his hand.
Ben hadn’t noticed at first, but when he looked where Chip was pointing, what he saw stuck out like a boner in sweatpants. A glittered banner mounted to the bulkhead read “World Famous Shistain.” Truer words had not been rendered considering his crash-landing on Earth after his bout several weeks prior was the only remarkable thing the world seemed to be talking about of late. Ben silently wished the fame and fortune behind the name of the Shistain extended to him as well. The ship appeared to gloat in its glory to spite him.
“Nice banner,” Ben said as he fell backward into the lumpy cushions of the battered couch.
“Thank you. I made it myself.” Chip made flutter hands beside his face.
“I can tell. The sparkle and gleam just scream ‘Chip made me’ from the rooftops,” Ben replied dryly.
Chip turned to Ben with a furrowed brow. “There’s something wrong?”
“No,” Ben lied. “I like the banner. Thank you for caring enough to decorate this place.”
“You’re lying.”
Ben didn’t respond. Instead, he sat with his hand on his chin and fought back the urge to cry. Everything in my life is shit, and now I’m about to lose that.
“I can take it down,” Chip said, his voice shaky as he simulated an appropriate emotional response to the negative energy in the room.
“It’s not the banner,” Ben said under the strain of a heavy sigh.
“Then what is it?”
Ben looked at his companion, the only person who had truly been there for him through the worst times in his life. His voice cracked when he tried to speak, but he forced himself to say it, “I lost her.”
“Her?”
Ben waved his hand to indicate where they were. “The Shistain; I lost her in a poker game.”
Chip’s furrowed brow turned to another expression, one that appeared to mix surprise and anger. “You lost the ship in a card game?” The upward inflection had the distinct tone of an accusation to Ben’s ears, but he didn’t argue because he felt he deserved it.
“More or less.”
“More more, or more less?”
“Mr. Rodgers took me to the bank. I lost everything and the ship too.”
“Surely, he does not see value in a ship this damaged,” Chip suggested. “There is several months of work required just to get her worthy of flight again.”
“He has the money and the means to do it.”
Chip sat next to Ben and placed a friendly hand on his knee. “It may be a blessing in disguise; a new chapter in our lives.”
“How’s that?”
“Now you don’t have the burden of trying to repair the ship so we can find work and a new place to live,” Chip answered.
“Yeah, I suppose that’s something.”
“So, what was he like?”
“Who?”
“Mr. Rodgers.”
Ben shrugged. “He’s just some old guy with an epic beard who likes to whistle while he farks you out of money. He also had a thing for watches.”
“How’s that?”
Ben thought back to the old man who referred to himself as Buck even though the name made no sense. “I don’t know, he just wore one on each wrist is all. I thought it was weird when I first met him, but as the night progressed I didn’t think about it as much.”
“I wonder why that is.” Chip tilted his head at Ben.
“Probably because I was too busy watching my stack of chips dwindle into nothingness. What’s with your fetish for the man’s watches?”
Chip smirked. “Ben, I don’t have a fetish for watches, but anyone peculiar enough to have quirks they aren’t afraid to hide is usually hiding something else.”
“Yeah, I could have told you that by his poker face. Can you believe the asshole took his own brother’s house in a game? Now the dude is homeless, living outside his dick-bag brother’s residence.”
“Wow, what a dick, and I’m not talking about what’s in your pants,” Chip said without a hint of a smile.
“Yeah,” Ben replied, not moved in the least by Chip’s comment. He remembered a time when Chip’s homoerotic comments used to get under his skin. Now, they just fell like leaves in the wind of a perpetual autumn. Often, Ben thought of clever things to say when Chip was not around. It was the kind of friendship he now had with the sex-bot, and he was happier in that platonic relationship than he had been with any human connections he had in the past. Sometimes he wondered what that meant about himself, but he always brushed the thoughts away.
“Do you think he will want to keep the banner I made?” Chip asked, with the slightest hint of mourning in his voice at the impending loss of the Shistain.
Ben crinkled his nose at the thought. “Let the asshole make his own sign.”
Chip smiled. “We might as well leave it up so he can see the pride we have in our ship. I’ll take it down before we leave.”
“Sounds good,” Ben replied. “Well, shit, I guess I should settle in for the night and get one last rest on this lumpy couch. Mr. Rodgers will be here at noon. Can you wake me an hour before he arrives?”
Chip stood up and stepped into the middle of the room, grabbing his charging cable. “Sure thing, Captain.”
Ben smiled, but it was a sad smile. Without the ship, he was no longer going to be a captain. Instead, he was just plain-old Ben, the unluckiest guy in the world. “Goodnight, Chip.”
“Goodnight,” Chip answered as he plugged the cable into the port on the side of his neck. The lights inside the ship dimmed into darkness and Ben was left in silence.
Ben watched the blue lights illuminate behind Chip’s eyes as he went into charging mode. Lying on his back, turning his face towards the ceiling of the ship, Ben had nothing but time to think about all the things that went wrong that night. I should never have taken the risk, he thought as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room. If only I had a time machine, then I could go back a stop myself from walking into that farking room.
Chap+er Three
A jabbing sensation woke Ben from his slumb
er. As he rolled over on the couch, the harsh, white lights in the room blinding him, he was taken aback by what he saw. Standing over him was not his companion Chip, but Buck, glaring at him and tugging at his whiskers. “Buck, what the hell? Chip, I thought I told you to wake me up at eleven?”
“That was the plan, but Mr. Rodgers arrived early,” Chip replied.
Buck merely grunted and stepped away from Ben, taking a seat at what served as the eating table. Ben sat up from the couch, rubbing at his eyes and trying to calm his nerves. The night before had been restless, and daylight had already started to break by the time he finally fell asleep. Looking at the battered clock on the bulkhead, he saw that Buck arrived more than an hour and a half early.
“I thought you said noon?” Ben asked, wishing he had some coffee in him before having to deal with the bullshit of the day.
“I’m a businessman, Mr. Dale, I always arrive early.”
“Chip, you could’ve at least woke me before you let him in.”
The expression simulators of Chip’s face moved to one of confusion. “He let himself in,” he replied.
Ben looked up at the old man and the snide grin on his face. “You really should consider locking your door; this is a dangerous part of town,” Buck said nonchalantly.
Ben merely shrugged before rising from the couch. “It’s New York—every part of this place is a dangerous part of town.”
Buck chuckled, but it didn’t sound sincere. “All the more reason for me to claim what is mine and be on my way,” he replied.
“So, you’re going to evict me already?”
“I do have the papers drafted if that answers your question,” he replied with no hint of a smile.
Typical, Ben thought as he ran his hand through his hair, opening the refrigerator to find nothing waiting for him to quench his thirst. “Fark.”
“It’s not that serious, son,” Buck said.
Ben shoved closed the refrigerator door and took in a deep breath. “It’s not about the eviction, it’s about the fact I could have sworn I had an iced coffee waiting for me in the fridge. Now, my entire day it’s going to be farked up due to a lack of caffeine.”
When Ben looked over at Buck, he saw evidence of a frown on the man’s face. It didn’t appear to be anger, just deep thought. The old man stood from his seat, and shoved a hand into one of his pockets, pulling out a piece of plastic and placing it on the table next to him. “Don’t say I never got you anything,” he said as he sat back down on the chair.
Without taking it, Ben asked, “what is it?”
“It’s a gift card for Starbucks,” he answered, “hell, you might get two or three coffees with the credit on this thing.”
Ben leaned against the bulkhead, crossing his arms over his chest, nervously tapping his fingers against the shiny exterior of his left arm he called Gli+chy. “Thanks, I guess.”
“Yeah, sure,” Buck said, glancing up at the overhead of the ship. “You’re not much of a housekeeper, are you?”
“What do you mean?” Ben asked, letting his arms dangle at his sides as he looked in Buck’s direction with derision.
“The cobwebs in the corners. You’re not going to get that in space, so I’m assuming you left Earth with a dirty ship.”
“So.”
‘So, dirt leads to corrosion, leads to structural damage—beyond the fact you crashed this heap,” Buck said, pointing at each blemish he noticed. “This is going to cost me a fortune,” he groaned as though his reference to Ben’s having done a poor job maintaining the ship had not been driven home.
“Yean? Well, it’s your problem now, I guess,” Ben said, stepping towards the cargo bay to grab his belongings and leave the old man with the ship. “Let’s go, Chip.”
“Not just yet,” Buck said, causing Ben to turn and face him.
“What do you mean?”
Buck smiled. “The robot can fly, correct?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, he comes with the ship then.”
“I don’t think so,” Ben shot back.
“Oh, well you would be mistaken, then.” Buck handed a stack of papers to Ben before speaking again. “You’ll notice in paragraph three, subsection ‘c’ that any mechanical features or AI with piloting capabilities are considered shipboard equipment. Thereby, I am entitled to it.”
“That’s bullshit,” Ben said, fighting the urge to crumple the paper in his hands.
“You might think so, but you’re the one who programmed the robot to pilot the ship.”
“Perhaps,” Buck said. “It doesn’t change matters, though.”
“What use do you have with a gay sex-robot, Mr. Rodgers? I would like to know.”
The old man grinned. “I don’t have any use for a gay sex-robot, but a machine that can fly my ship would prove quite useful.”
“You can’t have him, he’s my friend.”
“Is that what you’re calling it?”
Ben balled his hands into fists and fought the urge to swing. “You know what I mean,” he seethed.
A light chuckle escaped the man’s lips before he stifled it. “Perhaps, but that’s none of my business. I’ll have my ship and the robot. It’s in the contract you signed.”
“And what if I don’t want to sign it?”
The smile on Buck’s face faded to a look of contempt. “Son, I’m not a man to be farked with. When I want something, I will have it. You will either do as I say, or I will make your pathetic little ass disappear.”
Taken aback, Ben straightened up, glaring at the man. “Are you farking threatening me?”
‘No, I’m not. I’m just delivering a promise to you that I will carry out if you don’t sign the goddamned contract and get the fark off my ship.”
Two men holding ray guns stepped through the cargo bay door. Farking mob, Ben thought. With nowhere to run and no way out, he said the only thing he could think of. “Fine, but can I at least say goodbye?”
“I’ll allow that,” Buck said, “You have three minutes.” Buck and his men stepped off the ship, leaving Ben alone with Chip.
“I don’t know what to say,” Ben said with sorrow in his voice. He wanted to cry but felt ridiculous for it.
“I understand, Captain. You can’t fight a man like that. He fights dirty and not in the way I think either of us would like,” Chip replied.
Ben smiled at the pun that Chip did not seem to pick up on until he saw Ben’s expression. “I’m going to miss you,” Ben said.
“And I will miss you too.”
Ben reached into his bag and pulled out a thumb drive. “I want you take this,” he said, handing the device over to Chip.
“What is it?”
“It’s a way to keep the bastard from changing who you are,” Ben said. “I can tell he has no interest in who you are, but in what you can do. The asshole will probably try to reprogram you. This drive will disable your software from any overrides, so you get to stay the same and not let some fark-nugget make you something else.”
Chip stared at the drive for a moment before responding. “I don’t know what to say.”
“That makes two of us, buddy,” Ben said as he patted Chip on the shoulder.
The two friends looked at each other, sadness in the human’s eyes and a look of longing in the robot’s. “We can’t let this be the end of us,” Chip said.
“It isn’t,” Ben replied, but his heart ached, knowing that he lied. The truth was that in all likelihood he would never see the robot—responsible for saving his life no less than five times—again.
Chip reached out and grabbed Ben, pulling him into a loving embrace, and Ben let it happen.
Buck walked in a few moments later. “Well, sorry to interrupt, but I have a truck ready to load this piece of shit up and take it in for repairs.”
Chip released Ben and the human wiped a tear from his eye. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”
Buck smirked. “Son, I’ve been called that more times than that robot
has been in yours. Now, get the fark off my ship. I have work to do.”
Chap+er Four
Two months later
Ben tapped at the door for the seventh time, resisting the urge to pound on it like a madman while waiting for the resident to answer it. The only thing more frustrating than waiting was knowing the pizzas in his hand were growing cold, and the business had a big guarantee of fresh, hot, and timely delivery. He failed on all counts as far as that was concerned.
“Farking, come on, man,” he said under his breath. The worst part about this job is that I used to love pizza, he thought indignantly as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. Who the fark orders twelve pizzas and doesn’t answer their farking door when they arrive? As he reached up to knock on the door again, it finally opened, and he was met with a pimple-faced kid who seemed to have a chip on the shoulder by the way he looked at him.
“You’re four minutes late, dude,” the little punk said.
“Really? It’s unfortunate you didn’t hear me knocking on the door for the last several minutes. Otherwise, it would appear I was on time,” Ben shot back. The customer is not always right.
“Yeah, whatever, dude,” the little shit said as he grabbed the stack of pizzas from Ben and sat him on the small table next to a store. Ben stood there waiting as the kid looked up at him. “What do you want now?”
Ben’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the kid, thoughts of tightening his hands around his throat flooded into his mind, but he shook away the thought before he had the unsettling idea that it would be a good decision. “I just delivered two-hundred dollars-worth of pizza, I think a tip would be appropriate,” Ben answered.
The kid looked over at the stack of pizzas and then back at Ben. “You are late.”
“I was on time, and I could hear you moving around in there as I knocked on the door. It was almost as if you were waiting to see you could say I was late,” Ben replied, knowing the angle the kid was trying to get at, and wanting the kid to know that he was onto him.
“It is a lot of pizza,” the kid said as if he had just discovered a scientific breakthrough.