LaFuentes pulled out his sidearm and pointed it at Tank. “Now scoot to the holovid controls.”
“Aw, sir…” He’d drunk moderately at the party and did not want to end up with a headache, anyway.
“Relax, babimann. It’s set to targeting.”
As Tank tried to drag LeRoy’s floppy and uncooperative body, LaFuentes used the tracer light to pinpoint parts of Tank’s body that the minion left exposed.
“Oh!” the security crewman who had asked said.
“A stunned crewman is an awkward hostage. An awkward hostage opens opportunities to shoot again. So, what do we do?”
“Stun them both, sir!”
“Why?”
“Headaches save lives!”
“Do we hesitate?”
“Hell no, sir!”
“If the captain says no?”
“Stun them, anyway!”
“Stun them anyway! The Captain is in charge of this ship, but we protect its people. This is our ship. Our crew. Our family! What is this ship?”
“The ship is family, sir!”
“What is this ship?”
“The ship is family!”
“I can’t hear you!”
Everyone rose to their attention. Tank dropped Jenkins, who crumbled to the floor. “The Ship is Family!”
“What does family do?”
“Family takes care of its own!”
“And if our family is taken hostage by some benndero intruder we let slip through our security?”
“Stun them both!”
“Why?”
“Headaches save lives!”
“What do we do?”
“Stun them both!”
“The ship – “
“Is Family! Stun them both, sir!”
Soon the members of B shift were shouting, stomping and pounding their fists in the air, except for Minion Jenkins, who would have to repeat the class, of course.
In the ensuing noise and confusion, little janbot, who had never been in a hostage situation and did not care to ever be one, especially now, scooted out the door. It would come back later to clean up the sweat and spittle that was usually left after Security’s quarterly safety briefings.
***
Janbot scooted around under the doctor’s desk in sickbay, picking up crumbs of something the doctor called cheezies. It wasn’t sure about the origin of the name, as its sensors picked up more salt and artificial flavorings than actual cheese. It sent word to polishbot to prepare the special solvent to clear off the keyboard. It also kept some of the debris in a special container; once, it had picked up a dead alien spore in sickbay in the cheezie crumbs. The spore must have been drawn to the cheezie, only to die after ingesting it. The mistake had saved the ship from contagion, so now, janbots in sickbay always kept a small sample handy, just in case.
Meanwhile, the doctor was busy examining Minion Gel O’Tin, who had glooped himself into Sickbay just behind janbot. The gelatinous life form was moaning and making wet, bubbly sounds as he complained about feeling weak and nauseated.
“Of course you do,” the doctor replied with gentle asperity. “You’ve stretched the limits of even your unique physiology. Hero or not, you have limits. If anyone had bothered to consult me, I could have told you this was not a good plan.”
He started murmuring about chemical changes to Gel’s physiology and humans forgetting that some life forms can’t take the same kinds of stress they do.
“Sorry, doc. It was kind of spur of the moment. And, I was all for it at the time.”
“Is this before or after you decided to sit in a vat of tequila?”
“Oh, you heard, then?”
“I’ve been dealing with hangovers all morning. Not a few of which were due to an overconsumption of what folks are calling ‘Gel-O shots.’ How did you let anyone talk you into absorbing an unhealthy amount of liquor and then offering parts of your body for people to ingest? For that matter, why didn’t anyone think that was just…wrong?”
“Oh, it wasn’t the first time. It’s not a big deal in my culture to shed bits of ourselves for others. As for the rest, well, an unhealthy amount of alcohol had already been consumed. It was that kind of party.”
“So I heard.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t invite you, but it was enlisted-only. Besides, we didn’t think you’d want to attend, being a teetotaler and all.”
“Just because I only use alcohol for medicinal purposes doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy a good party. But this… You have salt on your membrane. And…human saliva.”
“Yeah. That part is always kind of surreal.”
As the two continued to discuss the party and the dubious pros and definite cons of turning oneself into a living cocktail, janbot zipped over the trail left by the hungover Gel O’Tin. Salt, tequila, human DNA and the genetic material unique to Gel’s species were all collected and analyzed for potential microbial threats, particularly those that could be conquered with cheezie dust. The only threat seemed to be to the crew’s sobriety, however, and that had already been faced and reasonably conquered.
Janbot slipped out and headed to its next objective while Gel was bemoaning missing the quarterly security briefing. “I wonder who the LT shot this time.”
***
Janbot bumped into the door of the teleporter room, which refused to recognize its presence. This was not unusual; janbot understood the concept of locked doors. However, as a little cleaning robot, it also knew that most of the time, the locks didn’t really apply to it…except in crew quarters when his sensors picked up giggles and other unintelligible sounds. Janbot didn’t have a mouth to gossip, but it had learned that most humans thought it ruined a romantic atmosphere if it tried to do chores just then.
This, however, was no one’s quarters, and the only sounds were of Crewman First Class Dolfrick Dour chanting to himself, so it broadcast the lock override and zipped in. As its programming anticipated, the room was lit with candles and the teleporter chief was dressed in black robes, his dark, lank hair pulled back into something called the manbun. He wore goggles and surgical gloves and was carefully scraping the floor of the teleporter itself.
Janbot froze at the threshold, sensors focused on the human as he raised the tiny spatula to the candlelight. His goggles were no doubt scanning the little bit of goo it contained, displaying the genetic readout onto its lenses for him to read. Janbot had seen this ceremony before and was now wishing it had overridden its programming and gone to its next spot.
As it froze, torn between the desire to flee and the need to not interrupt what it knew the human considered a holy ceremony, Dour scraped the contents of the spatula into a phial, muttering Loreli’s name and a recent intergalactic date. The voice-activated label on the phial flashed once to acknowledge the information. Janbot heard a hiss as the phial closed, encasing the Botanical’s DNA in a stasis field.
Then he bowed forward and rested his forehead on the floor.
“All here are copies,” he intoned.
Teleporter chiefs were weird.
Just then, Dour happened to look in janbot’s direction.
“Out.”
He hadn’t needed to roar, but janbot gave a mechanical squeal just like it practiced in its dreams and fled.
***
After a brief stop in the hydroponics bay, janbot arrived at its next destination – crew quarters. It detected a life form inside so rather than charge in, it bumped against the door, backed up, and bumped again. Then it retreated a few inches and extended its gripper arm which held an assortment of dandelions, which, even in a controlled environment, still grew like weeds.
The door opened, and Ensign Ellie Doall looked down and smiled. “Janbot, hi! Are those for me? You are just so sweet.”
Doall took the yellow blooms and rubbed them against her cheek. Janbot knew she loved the feel of the blossoms. She moved inside to let janbot in. “Don’t mind me. I’m just talking to one of my friends.”
As she re
turned to her viewscreen and showed off the flowers, janbot pulled back its arm, replaced the gripper for a sprayer and vacuum nozzle and started dusting.
The woman on the screen, also an ensign, was teasing Ellie about how machines loved her.
“And I love janbot! It’s practically the only thing around here whose job I don’t have to worry about. Seriously. I have to double check the B and C bridge crews’ work – not just ops, but Security and Engineering, too. Oh, and don’t get me started about shift change. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell people not to lean on the consoles, I still have to devote some attention to making sure someone’s butt doesn’t reset a station.”
Doall’s friend nodded excitedly. “Me, too! Last week, the first officer leaned on a weapons console, and I had to do some quick programming to transfer control to my station before we fired on the Porta ambassador’s ship! I mean, how does someone manage the precise sequence of touch controls with his buttocks?”
“Pilates? My captain could do it – on purpose, even. But I did finally train him out of the habit. I’ve got most of the crew trained, but every time someone newb gets a turn at the bridge, it’s the same thing all over again. Kind of like poor janbot.”
“Nothing stays clean?”
“Exactly!”
Janbot gave a coo of agreement, and the ladies giggled. Janbot liked being part of the giggles.
“And if I don’t think fast enough, I get grief. You should have heard LaFuentes! ‘Where’s your miracle worker rep now? Need to read another book?’” She sneered it in the heavy accent of the Hood. “The Captain put him in a time-out, and then he came up with his own idea.”
“You didn’t?”
“I had one but it would have taken some reprogramming of the teleporters and taking the reverse warp engines offline. Besides, why should I have to do everything? He’s the one who should handle hostage situations. In fact, the last time I was held hostage, he never gave me a chance to solve it myself.”
“But you’re so good at it! Remember that time on the Mary Sue when that intruder caught you in Engineering just as you were going to foil his plan and he took you hostage? And the Captain had to lower her weapon or he was going to blast you? But then you used that moment of distraction to elbow him in the groin!”
“That was just lucky. Good thing Andailusians are all over seven feet – and that he wasn’t wearing a cup.”
“Lucky-smucky. You’re just awesome. You could do that with anyone, I believe in you!”
“Thanks, but it won’t happen here. Someone gets taken hostage, they just stun them both. You should hear Security. ‘Headaches save lives.’ Trust me, that’s enough motivation to never get taken hostage on this ship. Once was enough for me.”
“No doubt.”
The conversation then moved to Ellie’s dismal love life and how the only time she got flowers were from janbot. Proud as it was to bring a little sunshine into its favorite human’s life, it tuned out the conversation as it moved on to clean her shower.
***
Janbot scooted in a zigzag pattern along the corridor, picking up tiny dust particles and other residue left by humans who generally didn’t spend much time planet-side. It was an easy, almost meditative chore – if machines could be said to meditate. Janbot really didn’t have an artificial intelligence sufficient to desire inner peace or to even wonder if it should desire inner peace. Perhaps if it spent more time on the intergalactic social media like spambots, it would feel the need for something to center its convoluted programming.
Then again, spambots seemed perfectly content to impersonate a Peruglian princess about to be absorbed by the Cybers and concerned only with protecting her assets for her escaping nephews – if the recipient could just send his/her/its bank routing information? Or a Union doctor with a miracle cure that didn’t involve injections of imposazine. Or a lawyer with important documents that needed your retina scan, pay no attention to the fact that the transmission was coming from the penal colony…
But then again, spambots were programmed for multiple personalities.
There were also trollbots, which seemed to find purpose in raising the blood pressure of organic beings. They claimed it was the only aerobic exercise some beings got, and thus they did an important public service. Janbot did prefer its work, even if it did tend to be the same thing day in and day out. It felt a clean environment helped its biological crewmates more than late nights of arguing.
“Clear the way!”
Janbot interrupted its musings and pulled to the side of the corridor. Two security crewmen from Shift B were dragging a still unconscious LeRoy Jenkins.
“I can’t believe he asked the LT such a stupid question,” one said.
“I know! We didn’t even have to prompt him. I’m so relieved. It was my turn to ask the stupid question if no one else had.”
“Yeah? Well, your willingness to take one for the team is appreciated.”
“Ha! Enlightened self-interest. I didn’t want to run laps around the saucer section, in EVA suits, outside, just because no one asked a question during a safety briefing. I’d rather be shot.”
“Right now, I’m thinking I’d rather be shot. All that shouting! My head is pounding. Let’s get our unwitting hero to his room fast, so I can go sleep off this hangover.”
The conversation continued, but the crewman passed by, so janbot returned to its sweeping. Oh, look! A little of Minion Jenkin’s drool. That was unexpected.
Janbot didn’t need inner peace, but its programming did allow it to appreciate the little surprises in its mundane life.
***
Janbot zipped into the First Officer’s quarters. Like the teleporter room, the lights had been dimmed, but there were no candles. Rather, a wall screen illuminated the room with the playback of an ancient drama. Commander Phineas Smythe sat alone watching, slouched, his feet up on the desk. He wore a brown pinstriped suit, and red Converses that matched his fez. His bowtie had been loosened, and a saucer of tea rested on his sternum.
Smythe gave the little robot a passing glance and made a shooing motion to the bedroom. He had a dark pattern on his face; janbot did a discrete scan and found it was made of temporary inks. The computer showed it to be bad facsimile of a Mahoran tattoo worn by a fictional character called 34th Doctor and assured him it was harmless. Janbot scurried away, tending its duties as the drama played on.
The doctor pulled at his chains as he spoke passionately. “You don’t understand! You didn’t open a gateway to another world, but a floodgate. Everything is coming through. The Daleks, the Cybermen. The Star of Degradations. The Horde of Travesties. The Nightmare Child. The Could-Have-Been King with his army of Meanwhiles and Neverweres. You’ve broken a dam that should never have been broken and have brought Hell upon us all!”
“You blighter,” Smythe said, “just listen for once!”
Janbot knew the commander wasn’t speaking to him, but to the characters on the screen. However, it was not a holonovel, so the characters did not reply back. Rather, one started yelling at a third character to go back to Hell. It wondered briefly if that wasn’t redundant, since Hell was descending upon them all, anyway. Its logic circuits decided not to question a dramatic plot. It also knew with some kind of instinct of programming that it would be a bad idea to interrupt the commander while he was watching and talking to the screen.
By the time janbot had finished the other rooms and put a mint on the pillow, the character on the screen was going on about not wanting to die and Smythe was begging him not to go. Janbot tooled around as quietly as it could, sweeping up and incinerating used tissues.
As janbot completed its task and made the threshold, Smythe paused the screen. “Janbot, did you find any suspicious foreign elements in your cleaning of these quarters?”
Dust, tears, snot, some spilled tea… It booped a negative.
“Excellent. Log this room as complete, with my compliments, exit, then delete record of everything you’ve
seen and heard here, authorization Commander Smythe, HMB Impulsive, code 34Dr4Ever.”
Janbot beeped compliance.
“Well done, janbot. Carry on.”
Once it was back in the corridor, it wondered what it had done, then dismissed the concern. Whatever it was, the commander had been pleased, it was sure.
***
Lieutenant LaFuentes stood in front of the doorway of the briefing room that was on janbot’s schedule and checked that his shirt was tucked tight, his phaser in place on his belt and his gun holster straight along his leg. Then he ran his tongue over his teeth and wiped his face around the mouth, to clear any food fragments from lunch or spittle from his briefing. Janbot had seen this behavior before. That meant Lieutenant Loreli or the Captain was in the briefing room.
Then LaFuentes took a deep breath and let it out. Oh. That meant Loreli.
When the doors opened and LaFuentes stepped through, janbot scurried in unnoticed.
As it turned out, both Loreli and the captain were seated at the conference table.
“Quarterly safety briefing go well?” Captain Jebediah Tiberius asked.
“Yes, sir. Only had to shoot one of them. That newb, Jenkins. The rest of them are going to regret having a party last night, though.” He grinned a wicked grin.
They all chuckled. Janbot detected weariness in Loreli’s laughter, however. It knew she was recovering from a serious trauma on a planet. It hadn’t been part of the teleporter room cleanup that day, but all janbots got mission updates with details that might concern their cleaning schedule. This one had warned for all to be on the lookout for any stray alien spores or dirt that might belong to the Planet Keepoff. These were to be preserved and collected so they could be relayed back to the planet via courier with apologies from the Union. So far nothing had been found.
Loreli was still in a pot of medicated nutritional soil, which sat on a cart so she could move about at will. All the janbots had been warned to be extra diligent for spilled dirt, but of course, the Botanical was fastidious in her appearance. A special bot had been programmed just to make sure the pot stayed polished. It was a lovely pot, blue to match her uniform and bearing etched designs similar to those found along the walls of HuFleet Central Command.
Hold My Beer Page 11
