Hawkins was tapping his foot. Elwood knew that meant his partner had expected that piece of information to be important. He pulled out his notebook.
“Just small enough to fit through an alleyway?” said Elwood as he jotted down the note.
“I suppose.”
“Makes no sense,” Hawkins said. “Mid-sized CrushBot up in town proper is about as useful as buttons on a dishrag.”
“Buttons on a what?”
“Hmm?” Hawkins blinked a couple of times and then put on his hat. “Ah, nothin’. Just a sayin’ where I come from.” He got to his feet and reset the chair. “You boys have been quite helpful. We appreciate yer time.”
“Anything to undermine Local,” Pardins said.
Droot sniffed.
Elwood finished his note, said his goodbyes, and then caught up with Hawkins who was in the middle of a sentence.
“...so I don’t see no point in that CrushBot being about unless there’s a fish to be caught.”
Elwood said, “Mmm-hmm.”
“And it’s as clear as a spring that that CrushBot found a fish.”
“You mean Walter Blitterbent?” Elwood asked, wondering how Hawkins could confuse a Mechanican with an aquatic creature. He assumed that there was a metaphor involved somehow.
“One and the same. The question is, why?”
They walked along in silence for a bit. Hawkins would stop and chatter now and again with pedestrians but nobody had seen anything further, or, if they had, they were keeping it to themselves. Any time people saw cops walking the beat, they would move to the other side of the road and pretend to be talking about something that sat in one of the shop windows.
They cut through the alley where Walter had met his end earlier that day. Local Authority had taken down all of their zoning blocks and cleared the area. Elwood kept an eye out for any additional clues, but as they exited into the street the foot traffic was too heavy to thoroughly study the area.
They kept walking for a couple of blocks until Hawkins pointed up to a building that sat at the end of the road. There were Mechanicans zooming from the place at about one every thirty microclicks.
One sped past as Hawkins leaned against a wall. “Ain’t that the old Hughes building?”
Elwood pulled up his VizScreen and thumbed to the maps. “It says here that it was taken over last year by a religion called...”
“Starliner,” Hawkins finished for him. “Yeah, I know. They’s on the news from time to time. Can’t say I know much about them other than they are a purely Mechanican-based religion, which is like a hungry termite nesting in a steel building. “
“I’m sure it is,” Elwood said as he had finished finding the information on his VizScreen. “Yes, it was the Hughes building.”
Hawkins did that thing where he rubbed his face and squinted as he pulled slightly on his goatee. Elwood, of course, could not grow a goatee. Gheptians had never gotten the hang of facial hair.
“Do you see something I don’t?” Elwood asked.
“Hmm? Oh, no, probably nothing. Just thinking that there were two bots a couple of blocks away from a building full of them.”
“Connection?”
Hawkins shrugged. “Not enough information,” he said. “Let’s just say that a person always gets a sense that something’s off when there’s a skunk in the area.”
THAT'S PAT
“DA MAIN FING to remember,” Cleb said to Pat as they walked up the steps to the manufacturing facility, “is dat dese guys are da good guys.”
“Got it,” Pat said.
Cleb wasn’t so sure, but he let it go. If worse came to worst, which it sometimes did, he would rein her in and everything would be peachy. That was how their partnership worked, and after a number of years as a team, Cleb had grown comfortable with it.
From the outside, the manufacturing division on Third and Zupe looked a bit rustic in comparison to the other buildings, but inside it was loaded with modern fixtures, high ceilings, curved walls, and a smattering of Cheskian Crowns.
Pat’s heels clicked across the marble floor as they approached the main desk. A small bell sounded, drawing Cleb to gaze back and find the line of light that they must have walked through. It was an antiquated sensor system that seemed out of place.
The receptionist was quick to greet them. He was a Human male that looked to be fresh out of university, and he beamed as Pat stepped up to the desk. Pat had that effect on a lot of Human males, and many Uknar males, too.
“We need to talk with security guards, urgently,” she said as she flashed her Internal Investigation Bureau badge.
Cleb sighed as the receptionist blanched.
“She’s joking,” Cleb said, stepping up to the desk.
“I am?”
“You is,” he said with a wink. The wink told Pat that she was doing it again. What the it was didn’t matter. The fact that she had to take time to think about what she was doing wrong was enough of a diversion to let Cleb do his job. “We does want to talk to some of dem security types, but it ain’t anyfing to worry about. Just routine stuff.”
Pat had come back to her senses and was standing cross-armed. She looked at the young man’s fresh face and blinked. Cleb sighed.
“Well?” Pat said.
The fellow jumped. “Sorry,” he said as he started shuffling what would have been papers, had there been any papers to shuffle. “I mean you, um, well…” He cleared his throat and said something under his breath, and took a deep breath to compose himself. “If you take the lift to the basement, you should be able to find them in the break room.”
“Fanks, kid,” Cleb said as he pulled Pat along.
“Why was he looking at me like that?”
“He had da hots for ya.”
“The hots? Really?”
Cleb had picked up over the years that Human females never seemed to believe they were good looking enough for anyone to be interested. A couple of his married Human friends always had to tell their wives how good they looked, how nice they smelled, how thoughtful they were, and a bunch of other things that an Uknar female would punch you in the nose for saying.
The doors opened and he stepped inside. Pat was waving back at the receptionist and tripped over the gap. It didn’t take much to change her demeanor.
For all of her troubles, though, there was something genuine about her. She didn’t play mind games or try to push to the front of the pack. She was just Pat. Simple, yes, but authentic. She kept Cleb on his toes, too. All his bulk and intellect was nothing if he fell back into his youthful ways. Taking care of Pat kept his mind clear, and it was often a full-time job.
“It’s over der,” he said as they stepped off the elevator.
Pat started her normal business-like stride toward the room but Cleb snagged her arm before she could get too far.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he said. “How we doin’ dis?”
“You said you were going to do the talking.”
“Dat’s right.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
Cleb closed his eyes and wiped the drool from his chin, and then motioned her to continue on.
They walked into the break room and found a couple of guards watching a large monitor. Cleb remembered his days working security down at space dock. It had been a different setup than this, but having a special room to escape the mundane for a few miniclicks and zone out was paramount to a security guard’s sanity.
He cleared his throat and the two guards looked back.
“Guard’s break room,” the Gheptian female said with a flick of her hand.
“Yeah,” the Human male added. “Authorized personnel only.”
“Sorry to disturb,” Cleb said. “I’m sure der is others dat will talk to a couple of agents from da IIB.”
The two looked at each other and then jumped out of their chairs. It was widely known that most security guards hoped to one day break into the IIB rankings and would do most anything to get there. Cleb w
as one of the few who had made it, so he understood the mindset, and it would work in his favor.
“Sorry, sir,” the Gheptian said. “Ma’am,” she quickly added with a nod to Pat. “We usually don’t have—”
“Any visitors, you see,” the Human said, pushing a hand through his hair and adjusting his jacket.
“Yeah, right,” the Gheptian agreed. “And, well, you kind of startled us.”
“Not that we’re easily startled, mind you,” the Human said with a stern look at his counterpart. “Well, she sort of gets jumpy, truth be told.”
“Hey!”
The only thing worse than brown-nosing was stepping over friends in order to get promoted. Cleb leaned back and let them go at each other for a few moments while he breathed in the smell of cheap sandwiches that filled his sinuses with memories. His favorite was the Magnerin Hondersnoot with Flebberly sauce on a toasted roll. It had been everyone’s favorite because the Magnerin’s put a little Kornlang juice in that Flebberly sauce. Kornlang juice was a controlled substance on the CCOP because it was as intoxicating as it was delicious, and it was rather addictive. Cleb’s stomach growled at the thought and that brought him back to his senses.
“Stop!” Cleb said to the still jousting guards. “Der is no point fighting. I would fank you to answer some questions about da recent layoffs, is all.”
“Layoffs?”
“Yes,” Pat said. “There were nine Mechanicans released from this facility this week. Many more were let go from varying business units in the CCOP, but only nine from this building.”
“Dat’s right,” Cleb said. “And some more a few weeks back, specifically one of dem named Walter Blitterbent. Does you know anyfing about dat guy?”
The Gheptian spoke up. “Never heard of him.”
“Me neither,” the Human confirmed. “I didn’t even know that there were any layoffs going on. I thought it was just some Mechanicans getting fired. They never tell us the deep stuff, you know.”
Cleb did know. While security rarely got told what was going on, they had enough connection to know what was going on.
“We walked the bot out that got fired this morning,” the Human said.
“This morning?” Pat said, referring to her notes and shaking her head. “There is nothing on the docket about this morning. What was its name?”
“Bob,” the Gheptian said.
“Bob?” said Pat. “No last name?”
The Human activated his VizScreen and tapped at it. “Jones.”
“Bob Jones,” said Pat with a nod as she wrote it down.
“Yes, that’s it.”
“Dat’s an odd name fer a Merchanercan,” Cleb said.
“It is?” said Pat.
“Jones? Nobody have dat name. Usually Merchanercans take common names like Blitterbent or Tingbip. I don’t fink I’d ever heard dat Jones name before.”
“Do you think that matters?” the Gheptian asked as if she were learning something.
Cleb thought about it. Probably nothing. Just an odd name for a bot. Either way it would prove useful if they needed to track him down.
“Never know,” Cleb answered. “Did dis Bob say anyfing when you escorted him out da door?”
The Gheptian stepped forward. “He was dropped off to us on the main floor by the other two guards, so we only got a few words in with him. He did the same thing they all do: mumbled a lot. Appealed to us to help him out—saying there was some kind of mistake. Asked us what he would say to his wife and what he was supposed to do next.”
“No, he didn’t do that,” the Human spoke up.
“Do what?”
“He didn’t talk about his wife.”
“He didn’t?”
“Nope. I remember because I thought it was a bit funny. They all say that. Either about the wife, husband, or whatever. Not everyone is married, you know. I remember one guy asking what he should tell his dog. They all do it. All of them. Except this guy. “
Cleb tilted his head. “Did he say anyfing dat may help us figure out what happened?”
“Said something about a Hammer 1,000 and how he was going to get a drink.”
“What is a Hammer 1,000?” Pat said, her pen at the ready.
Cleb crossed his arms wishing he’d had his VizScreen up and recording. He knew full well what a Hammer 1,000 was. Anyone that watched any feeds got inundated with commercials for the thing.
“Um, well, it’s a...hmm...a replacement for his hydraulics,” the Gheptian replied .
“I’m sorry,” Pat said, “I don’t understand.”
“You know,” the Human said while tugging at his collar, “His...um...parts.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” the Gheptian said and cleared her throat, sweat beading on her forehead. “His parts.”
Pat’s eyes started their work again. “Oh, you mean his penis?” Humans were typically a little more coy about these types of talks as well, but Pat was not your typical Human.
“Dat’s what they mean,” Cleb said, relieving the pressure while fighting to maintain his composure. “Okay, fanks. It’ll go in da report dat you two was helpful.”
“Any time,” the Gheptian said, wiping the sweat from her brow.
“We’re here to help the IIB in any way, of course,” the Human called out.
They left the building after Pat had given the receptionist her contact information. The kid was all smiles while Pat acted as if it was a business meeting. Humans were odd.
“What’s next?” Pat said.
“Back to the IIB to share what we know.”
“Right,” she said, eyes darting about. “What we know.”
ROUND AND ROUND
TELIAN WAITED FOR the two IIB agents to clear the area before she led Bob toward the back entrance of the manufacturing division. The agents seemed to have been comparing notes as they walked down toward the tubes, but even with her auditory sensitivity set to full, Telian hadn’t been able to make out their discussion.
“What are we doing here?” Bob asked incredulously.
“As I told you before, Friend Bob, The Leader has a mission for us.”
“But what’s it got to do with this place? I don’t much want to be here right now.”
Telian shushed him and walked solidly around to the back edge of the building toward the loading docks. She tried to walk as though she knew exactly what she was doing. Nobody seemed to notice, which was amazing since Bob was stumbling along behind her like an overgrown Noopybeast.
The place was bustling with activity. Boxes and crates flowed in and out of the building like the erratic pulses of an abnormal heartbeat. Conveyor belts, tunnels, hover carriers, and a slurry of humanoids made up the procession. The Mechanicans were doing most of the heavy lifting, but there was one Human male that looked to be all muscles, and he was holding two large boxes.
“You there,” she called out to the man. “These boxes need quicker shuffling. We can’t have delays on our schedules.”
“Talk to the boss,” the Human grunted.
“I’m talking to you.”
“Talk to the boss,” he repeated dully.
“I’m talking to you, and since I am your superior I would expect you to—”
“Look, lady,” the guy responded, flexing to show the bottom half of the scantily clad woman he had tattooed on his arm, “the union box shuffling quota in this place is enough to make me question why I took this stupid job in the first place, so don’t push me. I’m already sick of this joint and I’ve been here less than three weeks. Now, like I said, talk to the boss.”
“I won’t be talked to in this manner. You work for me and if you want to keep your paltry little job you’ll show some respect!”
The man threw the boxes on the ground and stuck his finger right in Telian’s face. “I give respect to people who deserve it, and that doesn’t include some desk-jockey with a big metal ass that runs around trying to feel all important by micromanaging dock workers!” He kicked one of the boxes, te
aring a hole in it. “Screw this, I’m going back to Galactic Parcel Services. At least there a handler can come up with all sorts of creative ways to damage boxes without having to deal with this crap.”
Telian was in shock. “Big metal ass,” he had said. And venomously, too. Granted, she did have an overlarge back end, due to the BootyPlus-219 she’d had installed some years back. It was all the rage with customers at the time. This muscle-bound freak, who, she had to admit, had somewhat of an allure, had said it like it was a bad thing. Sure, the standard desire patterns had moved more toward the scrawny supermodel direction since her installation, and the cut of today’s attire rather hugged the more voluptuous persons, but she still got tons of looks and comments on the amount of junk she carried, as they say, in her trunk.
“Bob?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think it’s bad? I mean, you know, having a...a big metal...um...”
“I rather appreciate that you have a big metal...um...”
“Thank you,” Telian said with relief while patting his arm.
A petite Gheptian male approached them. He was wearing an apron and gloves, and he didn’t look happy.
“I’m not happy,” he growled. “That was my best worker you just cleared out of here. You executives aren’t supposed to come down here. It’s in the bylaws. But you don’t think the bylaws apply to you, do you? I don’t know what goes through your tiny little minds, but what I do know is that I’ve just lost a solid worker off my docks!”
Telian tried to maintain the ruse. “I thought that it was idiocy to leave a union job.”
“Oh, he didn’t leave the union. He just left my dock. GPS is under the same union.” He pulled off his gloves and stuck them in his apron pocket. “It took me two years to get him over here,” he said as he ran his hand through his bushy mop of hair, “and it took you idiots just a few weeks to get him to leave. I’m only gonna tell you this one time, lady, so listen tight. If I catch you or any of your silly executive buddies down in my docks again, there will be a strike. You got that? A strike. Is that what you want?”
“Honestly,” Telian said, hand on hip, “I don’t think you’ve got the guts.”
Starliner (The Intergalactic Investigation Bureau Book 1) Page 7
