Robots versus Slime Monsters

by A. Lee Martinez

  “What do you think you’re doing, Terran?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You aren’t worthy of him.”

  “Who?”

  The server rumbled her displeasure like a miniature earthquake rolling out of her throat. “Wasn’t our defeat and the near destruction of our world enough for your people? Dare you humiliate our greatest warriors by taking them on as your concubines?”

  “Okay, first of all, you invaded Terra. We were just defending ourselves. Secondly, he asked me out. Thirdly, this is not a date.”

  Cragg came over, and the Saturnite server quickly lumbered away.

  “Was Ignis bothering you?” replied Cragg.

  “Do you know her?”

  He nodded.

  “Wow. Small world, huh?”

  The Saturnite server glared at them with her topaz eyes.

  “What’s her problem?” asked Cindy.

  “Ignis has always had a temper, and she was extremely territorial. It was why we broke up, I suppose.”

  “Wait a minute. You used to date?”

  “For about a year.”

  “Oh, that’s not . . . wait. Are we talking Terran years or Saturn years?”

  “Saturn,” he mumbled.

  “Great. That’s like thirty Terran years, right?”

  “Twenty-nine point seven,” he said.

  “Oh hell. I need a drink.”

  She went to the bar and cut in front of the line. A few people grumbled, but she felt it was justified. She found a seat by herself and sipped her Jack and Coke. Cragg gave her some space, and Anthony circled like a hungry vulture waiting for the right moment to strike. Ignis disappeared into the kitchen and didn’t return.

  When she was finished, Cindy quietly sneaked out of the party and sat on the curb outside the restaurant. She stared at her cell phone, considering whether to call a taxi or not. It’d be better to just hit the abort button and call it a night. She could explain everything to Cragg next time she saw him. He’d understand. It wasn’t like this was a date.

  “Hey, babe, what’cha doing out here, all alone?” asked Anthony from behind her, his smarm dialed up to twelve.

  “Not now,” she said. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “Babe, I’m hurt.” He sat beside her. “Y’know, I’ve always liked you. I’ve always had this thing for meatier women.”

  “Holy hell, Anthony,” she said before she could stop herself. “Are you a moron or something?”

  He looked absolutely puzzled. “What? It’s a compliment.”

  “I’m going to give you some advice,” she said. “Don’t take it as any kind of encouragement to keep hitting on me because—and I want to be absolutely clear about this—you and me, it just isn’t happening. Ever. Never ever.”

  “Babe—”

  “Don’t call me Babe. I hate that. And when a woman tells you she hates something, don’t do it. Hell, if a guy tells you he hates something, don’t do it. It’s just basic common courtesy. It’s how most Terrans make an effort to relate to each other.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she kept going.

  “And for heaven’s sake, don’t call a woman meaty. Just don’t do it. Even if it’s meant as a compliment. It’s stupid. And I’m not meaty. I’m just not a size zero, and I’d appreciate it if you stopped trying to make me feel guilty about that.

  “But the most important thing I’m going to tell you is this. I am not a conquest. I’m a person, and I don’t need to be conquered. When I tell you to buzz off, I’m not playing coy. It’s not meant as encouragement. We are not playing a game of seduction here. You are an idiot, and I’ve dated enough idiots in my life to know better by now.”

  Anthony frowned. She doubted he could absorb much of what she was telling him, but if even a sliver got past his obtuse defenses and made things easier on the next woman he set his sights on, she’d consider it a major victory.

  There might be reprisals. He was her superior. She’d deal with them if she had to.

  “Oh, and either learn to grow a real mustache or shave that thing off,” she said.

  He walked away without saying another word, and Cindy put her phone away. “You can come out now.”

  Cragg stepped out of the shadows where he’d been hiding. “How long have you known I was here?”

  “A while. You’re not exactly the stealthy type. Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “It is disrespectful to interfere in another warrior’s battles,” he said. “You handled yourself ably.”

  She smiled. “Ah, thanks.”

  “I can still crush him for you if you would like.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Would you mind if we called it an early evening? This thing has been a beating.”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  The Saturnite’s face was difficult to read, but Cindy was getting the hang of it. Enough to see hints of disappointment. “Oh, it’s not you, Cragg. If it was just you and me, I think it could’ve been fun.”

  “Perhaps we could do something else sometime then?” he asked

  “Yeah. Maybe.” She hated that she didn’t have the guts to just tell him no. She was fairly certain he’d accept the answer, but she wasn’t in the mood for the conversation if he didn’t.

  The front doors of the restaurant were flung open with enough force to break their hinges. Ignis came barreling out, her red flamenco skirt billowing.

  “Terran female!” bellowed Ignis. “I challenge you!”

  “Oh, hell,” said Cindy.

  Cragg intercepted Ignis. “This is Terra. Our traditions don’t hold here.”

  “If she’s dating a Saturnite warrior, she must prove herself worthy,” said Ignis.

  “She’s worthy,” said Cragg.

  “Then have her face me in single combat,” said Ignis.

  Cindy measured her odds of surviving a one-on-one battle with Ignis as below calculating. Cindy had some self-defense courses under her belt, but they mostly involved kicking her attacker in the crotch, maybe gouging out their eyes with keys, and then running for safety.

  “That’s not the Terran way,” said Cragg.

  “Then you admit she’s weak?” asked Ignis.

  “Weak? She toils without glory in a world without the sense to appreciate her. She faces trials every day, an endless series of insults and ordeals that she has no true power over. Her enemy is stronger than her, overpowering, undefeatable, and still she continues to fight it. She can never win. She can only fight. And she fights on, even after knowing a hundred defeats. If she were a Saturnite, her quiet courage and endless endurance would be enough to defeat the Great Hordes of the Black Stone Dessert by will and stubborn resolve alone, and should it not be, I would be honored to stand with her in that magnificent battle and be crushed to rubble by her side. Where you see weakness, Ignis, I see only strength worthy of the greatest soldiers I have ever known. Do you think she fears your physical might?”

  “Actually, I kind of do,” mumbled Cindy.

  Cragg laughed. “You can smash her frail fleshy body easily enough, but you will never destroy the warrior’s magma that boils in her core.”

  He stepped aside.

  Cindy and Ignis stood before one another.

  “I hate to say anything after that inspiring speech,” said Cindy, “but I’m rather fond of my frail fleshy body.”

  Ignis grunted.

  “It’s not even really a date,” added Cindy.

  Ignis bent down. Cindy could see herself reflected in the Saturnite’s polished obsidian face. “Crushing you is beneath me.” With a huff, she turned and marched back into the restaurant.

  Cindy allowed herself to breathe again. Cragg was already lumbering toward his truck. When he heard the clopping of her heels, he stopped to allow her to catch up.

  “I thought for sure she was going to kill me,” she said.

  “She was testing me, not you. She knows there’s no glory in squashing an unarmed Terran.”

>   “Oh. That’s a relief. You could’ve told me that.”

  She grabbed his sleeve, and he stopped.

  “All that stuff you told her, did you mean it?”

  “Yes.”

  She motioned for him to lean down and planted a kiss on his cheek. Or the right side of his square head, which was the closet equivalent. It was like kissing smooth pavement, but not quite as gravelly.

  “Thanks. That was a really sweet thing to say. So are you doing anything Saturday?”

  Smiling, Cragg said, “I am now.”

  She took his arm as they strolled toward his truck.

  ###

  IMOGEN’S EPIC DAY

  Helen and Troy’s Epic Road Quest

  The original novel explores the idea of a heroic journey, updated for the modern world and well aware of itself. This story, featuring Troy’s sister, Imogen, is the hero’s journey squished into a concentrated narrative. It’s The Lord of the Rings without all the walking and The Epic of Gilgamesh without all the angst. In a thousand years, will it still be told around campfires by the robots that inevitably destroy and replace us? Who can say?

  (I can. Yes. Yes, it will be.)

  The delivery guy stood ramrod straight with the exaggerated smile of a mannequin. His teeth were so white, Imogen was fairly certain they were all plastic, and his skin was so smooth, it could’ve been made of wax. There wasn’t a wrinkle on his green uniform, and if he didn’t move, it would’ve been easy to mistake him for a statue. He might’ve been good-looking if the universe had bothered to upgrade his resolution, but right now, the only thing completely human about him was his smoldering gray eyes. Nestled among his other features, it only made him more unsettling.

  “Miss Imogen Kawakami?” he asked. His voice was deep and smooth, entrancing.

  She nodded. “That’s me.”

  “I have a delivery for you.”

  He held out a small package wrapped in brown paper to her, but she didn’t take it.

  “I didn’t order anything,” she said.

  “Is your name Imogen Kawakami?” he asked, never dropping his smile.

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then this is for you, Ms. Kawakami.” He thrust the package at her again, more insistently this time.

  “But I didn’t order—”

  Imogen’s roommate, Virginia, called from the living room. “Oh, just sign for it already! How many Imogen Kawakamis can there be in this world?”

  Imogen couldn’t dispute the logic, so she signed.

  The delivery guy tipped his hat to her. “Good luck, Ms. Kawakami.”

  Distracted by the package wrapped in brown paper, she didn’t notice it was a weird thing to say. “Thanks.”

  Whistling, he strolled away, swinging his arms and swaying his shoulders in a manner more befitting a cartoon character than a human being. He climbed into his green truck, waving at her, friendly if a bit mechanically, before driving off. Imogen closed her door and joined Virginia in the living room.

  Imogen sat on their old sofa, and Virginia looked over her book and lowered her glasses to the end of her nose.

  “What is it?”

  Imogen shrugged. “Don’t know.” She turned it over. “This doesn’t even have an address on it. Doesn’t even have my name. The guy must’ve made a mistake.”

  “Maybe it’s an asp,” said Virginia. “Have any enemies I should know about?”

  Imogen smiled and batted her eyelashes. “Who, me? I’m delightful. Everybody loves me.”

  “Must be nice.”

  Virginia was a cute nerd in exactly the way Hollywood liked to portray them. She was short but adorable with blonde hair tied up in a scrunchy-bound ponytail and freckled cheeks. She even dressed in slacks and button up shirts with suspenders to complete the look. But this wasn’t a movie, and everybody knew she was beautiful. Technically, Imogen was the “hot” one of the pair, but Virginia was never hurting for attention.

  Imogen put the box to her ear and shook it.

  “You should open it,” said Virginia.

  “Okay, but don’t blame me if there’s a poisonous viper running around.”

  She tore open the paper and opened the small box. It took some effort to tear through all the tape, and she would’ve saved herself a lot of trouble if she’d just grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen. But by the time she’d thought of that, she’d already invested a bunch of time in tearing away the tape with her bare hands, and it seemed a shame to admit defeat at that point. What could’ve been accomplished in seconds with a sharpened edge took her four minutes of frustrated muttering, but it also felt all the most satisfying when she got it opened.

  It was a cheap blue vase. She thought it was empty at first, but some dirt came spilling out of it when she picked it up, and when she shook it, the contents shifted.

  “Weird. There’s no note or anything.”

  “Weird,” agreed Virginia.

  Someone rang the doorbell. Imogen set the vase on the coffee table and answered the door. A woman in a buttoned down black suit stood on the porch.

  “Can I help you?” asked Imogen.

  “No, but I can help you.” The woman flashed a strange badge, but it was one Imogen had a passing familiarity with. “Agent Campbell, NQB.”

  “You’re with the Questing Bureau.”

  Campbell nodded so subtly, Imogen didn’t even notice. “I believe I just said that Ms. Kawakami.”

  Imogen said, “Oh gods above, don’t tell me my brother is on another quest.”

  “No, Ms. Kawakami. You are.”

  “Me?” Imogen laughed. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  Agent Campbell’s face remained an inscrutable blank. “May I come in?”

  Imogen invited Campbell in, guided her into the living room, and introduced her to Virginia. They offered Campbell a seat, but she refused. She stood with her hands behind her back.

  “I don’t want to tell you your job, Agent Campbell,” said Imogen, “but I don’t think I’m on a quest.”

  “The package you signed for,” said Campbell. “Did you open it?”

  Imogen pointed to the vase. “Yes, but that was all it had in it.”

  Campbell removed a notebook from inside her jacket and scribbled something in it. “And tell me, did you at first refuse the delivery?”

  Imogen nodded.

  Campbell made a noncommittal noise and wrote something else down.

  “What are you writing there?” asked Virginia.

  “Oh, nothing important.” Campbell tucked the notebook away.

  “I don’t want to sound skeptical,” said Virginia, “but didn’t Imogen’s brother already end up drafted on a quest? What are the odds that she’d also end up with one?”

  “Better than you might expect. Those associated with greatness often end up picking up some of that greatness themselves.”

  Imogen leaned back and smiled. “Hear that? I’m great. Officially.”

  “Bully for you,” said Virginia. “But I bet transitive greatness isn’t as great as original greatness.”

  “Oh, you’re just jealous. Although if I’m transitively great, then you’re probably transitively transitively great right now.”

  “So you’re suggesting I’m really really good.”

  “Better than nothing,” said Imogen. “Where am I off to, Agent Campbell? What exotic location shall I discover? What strange and mysterious artifacts shall I seek?”

  Campbell said, “We believe you won’t have to go anywhere on this one. All indications are that this shall be a micro event.”

  “Micro.” Virginia chuckled. “Way to go, Great One.”

  Imogen’s smile faded. “What’s that mean?”

  “It’s a bit technical,” said Campbell, “but not all quests are epic journeys. Some are more localized.”

  Something thumped overhead.

  Campbell reached into the pocket on the other side of her jacket and offered Imogen a small flashlight. “You’ll ne
ed this.”

  Then she checked something else off in her notebook.

  ***

  Virginia had been living in the old house for about a year longer than Imogen, who had answered her ad for a roommate when the previous one had moved onto greener pastures. But neither had set foot in the attic. It was a dark and spooky place, and while neither woman was especially superstitious, they’d struck an unspoken agreement to leave the forbidden space to the mysteries that dwelt within that shadowy realm.

  Now they stood beneath the trapdoor, and listened as something moved around up there.

  “What is it?” asked Virginia.

  Campbell offered no reply.

  “Is it a monster? Is it a hydra? A lion with skin that cannot be pierced?” Virginia whispered. “Some manner of attic-dwelling medusa?”

  “Gorgon,” said Campbell. “Medusa was the name of a specific monster. Gorgons are the broader category. Like Pegasus was a specific winged horse, not a name for all winged horses.”

  The unnamed thing in the attic caused a floorboard to creek.

  “Oh, we are not going up there,” said Virginia. “It was bad enough when I thought there were only rats up there.”

  Imogen pulled down the extendable ladder.

  “You can’t be serious.” Virginia grabbed Imogen’s arm. “I’m not letting you go up there.”

  “Somebody has to,” said Imogen.

  “So we’ll call an exterminator. Let the pest control guy fight the minotaur.”

  “Hey, my brother is dating a minotaur. She’s cool.”

  “Sorry, but you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, it’s like that story where Thor had Bob’s Big Bug Busters come and fight the Midgard Serpent for him. I love that one.”

  Imogen climbed the ladder and pushed on the trapdoor. It opened easily without even a squeak of its rusty old hinges. While Virginia mumbled from below, Imogen stuck her head into the attic and swept it with her flashlight. It was still pretty damned spooky, and even a little spookier considering she now was on a quest. Before she could talk herself out of it, she entered the dark space.

  “Are you still there?” shouted Virginia. “Or did it eat you yet?”