Dead Men Don't Disco

by Michael Campling

  Dex exhaled noisily. “No. I want to check on the nearest escape pod. I have a feeling I may need it.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Earth

  Crouching behind the scorched trunk of a fallen tree, Brent shifted his position. “Can’t you move up a little, Vince? I need some room here.”

  “Are you kidding?” Vince replied. “If you’re cramped, how the hell do you think I feel?”

  “Keep it down, you two,” Rawlgeeb muttered. “It’s almost noon, Earth time. This Bart character could appear at any moment.”

  “You don’t have to keep saying Earth time,” Brent grumbled. “It’s the only one we’ve got.”

  Rawlgeeb tutted. “I’ll tell you what. To make use of the time while we wait, how about you explain that joke to me again?”

  “No,” Brent moaned. “Don’t do it, Vince. I can’t stand it.”

  Vince heaved a sigh. “Don’t listen to him, Rawlgeeb. You’re bound to get it this time. Okay, so this place used to be called Central Park, right?”

  “I know that,” Rawlgeeb replied. “I’m not stupid.”

  “That’s true, but apparently, we need to take this one step at a time,” Vince went on. “So, as we’ve already established, the mythical coffee shop in Friends was called Central Perk, and that is a kind of joke because both names sound the same.”

  Rawlgeeb frowned. “No, they don’t. Perk and park–they sound completely different. Is there something wrong with your phonological awareness?”

  “My what?”

  “Your ability to distinguish the separate sounds in words,” Rawlgeeb explained. “It’s all basic stuff. It’s how your language works. I mean, phonemes are practically lesson one at the Academy of Human Interaction.”

  “I never heard of them,” Vince protested. “We learn English by…well, I don’t really know how it works. It just sort of happens. And trust me, when words sound similar, that can be kind of funny.”

  Rawlgeeb shook his head. “Your explanation doesn’t fit the facts. Look at the words: central and perk. How can a perk be central? It can’t, so where is the humor?”

  Vince scraped his hand down his face. “It’s hard to explain, but the two names are one letter different, and that’s what makes it humorous.”

  “No, I’m still not getting it.” Rawlgeeb rubbed his forehead. “If, instead of saying, would you like some beer? I said, would you like some bear? That would be funny, would it?”

  Vince grimaced. “Not really. But seriously, Rawlgeeb, you’ve watched so many comedies, you must’ve got some of the jokes.”

  “Oh, yes,” Rawlgeeb said with a grin. “It’s mainly the same joke over and over again. The textbooks call it: The person with a funny face does something stupid as if it were serious.”

  “Well–” Vince began, but Rawlgeeb cut him short.

  “Believe me, the evidence is there,” he insisted. “Every single one of your most successful comedy actors has facial features that are inherently funny.”

  “I’m with you there,” Brent put in. “People have often told me I have a good face for comedy.”

  “No, they say you have a good face for radio,” Vince countered. “But let’s drop it. I think I see someone coming.”

  “Where?” Brent raised his head to peer over the tree trunk, and there, walking across the waste ground, was the man they were waiting for. This had to be Bart; he was sure of it. There was something surreptitious in the way the man moved, slinking along the ragged path between the blackened tree stumps, one hand deep in the pocket of his overcoat, the other carrying a paper bag. His head was down, his face hidden by his coat’s collar, but he turned constantly to check his surroundings as if wary of being followed.

  “Do we rush him now?” Vince whispered.

  Brent shook his head. “Wait. Let him settle down.”

  The man circled the water-filled crater, and the ducks flocked toward him, cackling as they jockeyed for position by the bank.

  “All right, birdies,” the man called out. “Wait your turn. There’s plenty for everyone.” He dug deep into the paper bag and produced a handful of food, scattering it on the water to the delight of the greedy birds.

  Vince tugged Brent’s sleeve and mouthed the word, “Now?” But Brent was lost in thought, and he didn’t respond. Had he recognized the man’s voice, or was his imagination playing tricks on him? There was no way to check the guy’s face; he had his back to them.

  Vince tugged his sleeve again, this time more insistently, and Brent nodded. “All right, but take it easy. I’ll go behind him. Vince, you go to his right. Rawlgeeb, you take the left. Move quietly, so he won’t know a thing until we’ve got him surrounded. Then he’ll be trapped unless he decides to join his feathered friends and take a swim.”

  “Got it,” Vince said. Rawlgeeb nodded, then together, they moved out from their hiding place. Brent placed his feet carefully, scanning the ground while keeping an eye on his quarry. To one side, Vince was moving with surprising stealth, while Rawlgeeb walked quickly, striding easily over the uneven ground, the fabric of his trench coat flowing out behind him.

  They were just yards away now. Closer. The man froze, his head cocked, then he spun around, facing them. At the same time, he dropped his paper bag on the ground, and the ducks swarmed toward it, some of them taking flight, their wings clapping noisily in the still air. The man’s gaze darted left and right, sizing up his opposition, then he charged toward them, heading straight for Brent. The guy ran like no one Brent had ever seen: legs a blur, feet thumping against the earth, arms pumping. And Brent hesitated. The man was powering toward him like an eighteen-wheeler, and though Brent was reluctant to let him escape, he was by no means confident he could stop him. Stand your ground, he told himself, planting his feet firm and adopting a fighting stance, raising his fists.

  But the man was undeterred, running wild, accelerating. Brent ground his teeth together, determined. This was going to hurt. But from the corner of his eye, he caught a dark blur rushing in, and then someone was crashing into Bart, knocking him from his feet and taking him down.

  Brent let out a long breath and stood back. “Nice tackle, Vince. What took you so long?”

  Struggling to pin down his captive, Vince made do with a satisfied grunt.

  “Well done,” Rawlgeeb said, hurrying to join them. “But are you sure you’ve got the right man?”

  “What?” Vince demanded. “Are you kidding me?”

  Rawlgeeb shrugged. “It occurred to me that, if I was out here on my own, and three strangers crept up behind me, I’d probably run for it too.”

  “Oh, we’ve got the right man,” Brent said. “Well, man isn’t the right word, is it, Bartleby?”

  The figure beneath Vince stopped struggling, and Vince kneeled back and rolled him over. “Hell, you’re right. It’s that, droid. The mayor’s butler.”

  “Ex-mayor,” Bartleby sneered. “Ha! You figured it out, huh? You worked out how I sold him down the river. So what? I guess he sent you guys after me, but you can forget about it. His face is all over the news, and it’s only a matter of time before the feds catch up with him. Serves him right. That man was a criminal scumbag, and he treated me like dirt. But I paid him out all right. I paid him out real good.”

  Brent stared at the android, his mind working overtime as he struggled to process what he’d just heard. He knew that pieces of a jigsaw puzzle were coming together right in front of him, but the picture emerging bore no relation to the image on the box.

  “Actually, we came to see you about our new win–” Rawlgeeb began, but Brent talked over him.

  “Yeah, we’ve got you all figured out, Bartleby. After all, we are investigators and pretty good ones too.” Brent looked at Vince. “Let him up. He’s ready to talk.”

  “All right. Just let me check if he’s carrying.” Vince patted down Bartleby then climbed off him. “He’s clean, but I don’t trust him, boss.”

  Bartleby scrambled to his feet, brush
ing down his overcoat. “Dumb kid. I could rip you apart, but you got lucky, that’s all.”

  “Try it,” Vince said. “I’m ready.”

  “Hold up, guys!” Brent called out, raising his voice. “I’d love to let you bozos slug it out because, seriously, I could use a laugh. But we have some things to talk about.” He held up a finger. “First, how come you’re talking like a thug, Bartleby? Last time I saw you, you were all sir and madam and conservatory and stuff like that.”

  Bartleby shrugged. “My name’s Bart, not that Bartleby crap, and this is my real voice. They changed my name and made me talk like some asshole. Fitted me with a module and turned me into a servant. Made it so I could hardly think straight.”

  “But you figured out how to override it,” Vince suggested. “I’ve heard of this before. They built a bunch of androids to teach college in what used to be California, and those dudes were smart enough to short out their behavior circuits. Before anyone knew what was happening, the teachers took off to the beach one day and never came back. They spent all their time getting high on hydraulic fluid and tattooing themselves with soldering irons.”

  “That’s awful,” Rawlgeeb said. “What happened to the students? Were they traumatized?”

  Vince grinned. “No, they didn’t even report it until their course finished. They got good grades too. Turned out they were better off on their own.”

  “Sweet story,” Brent drawled, “but it doesn’t explain how Bart came to mastermind a criminal empire while pouring tea and making cucumber sandwiches.”

  “Simple,” Bart began. “I learned from the best. Whatever Enderley was doing, I was always there, in the background. He never even noticed me, but I was taking it all in. I’ve always been smart, see? A quick study. So I memorized every name, every transaction, and stored all that info away. Wasn’t long before I could start making my own deals on the side, putting the dough straight back to work. Construction, transport, everything. I even have a nice sideline in certain exotic foodstuffs.” He leered at Rawlgeeb. “Might be something you’re interested in, know what I mean?”

  Rawlgeeb chewed on his lower lip. “No, thank you. Really, I’m…fine thanks.”

  Bart shrugged. “Suit yourself. I got plenty of other customers.”

  “Dissatisfied customers,” Brent put in. “You hired a bunch of hopeless bots to do your construction work.”

  “No,” Bart protested. “My bots are good. The best.”

  “Maybe they started out that way,” Vince countered. “But they sure as hell aren’t any good now.”

  Rawlgeeb pointed an accusing finger. “I’ll bet you got greedy, sending your bots out on too many jobs without providing a proper maintenance schedule. You wore them down, making them work until their circuits were fried. Then what–the scrapheap?”

  “Welcome to the real world,” Bart said, spreading his arms wide. “It’s called capitalism. What are you, a bunch of bleeding-heart commies or something?”

  Brent felt Vince’s eyes on him. “In my opinion, people should look after their employees, treating them with dignity and respect.”

  Vince pursed his lips and shook his head, all the while keeping his eyes locked on Brent.

  “Anyhow, I don’t have any employees,” Bart said. “All my bots are freelance. Ain’t you ever heard of the gig-bot economy?”

  “Come off it,” Brent snapped. “I know a racket when I see it. Ten credits says you have some kind of hold over those bots. What do you promise them? Upgrades?”

  Bart glared at him. “You have no idea.”

  “We know that you keep a heavy-duty android to act as your enforcer,” Rawlgeeb put in. “You wouldn’t need him unless you were up to no good.”

  “You really want to know something?” Bart demanded. “I’ll tell you what I do. I set my bots free. I strip out the circuits that were holding them back, and I give them the power to make up their own minds. But here’s the thing–all they want to do is work, work, work. Night and day. There’s no stopping them.” He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Turns out that most bots are plain stupid. What can I do about it?”

  Brent clenched his jaw, thinking back to the hapless bot who’d made such a hash of a simple window. He’d given the machine a hard time, but perhaps it had been doing its best. “You take advantage of their programming,” Brent snapped. “You might’ve taken out the circuits that made them servants, but now they’re slaves to their code. They’re not free. You know damned well that they can’t make a choice—they just don’t understand the alternatives.”

  “You prey on your own kind,” Rawlgeeb said. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  Bart grunted. “Nice speeches. But it’s about damn time you got to the point. What you want?”

  “We had a visit from your pal, Culler,” Brent replied. “I don’t think you’ll be seeing him again, but you’d better not send any more heavy bots around to try and shake us down.”

  “Whatever.” Bart looked at each of them in turn. “Is that it? Are you clowns done?”

  “That’s all for now, thank you,” Rawlgeeb said brightly, but at a glance from Brent, he made his expression stern. “But let this be a lesson to you. From now on, you’d better be…nicer. Much nicer.”

  Bart indulged in a humorless chuckle. “Is he for real?”

  “You’d better believe it,” Vince replied. “And we’ll be keeping our eyes on you, Bart. So watch your step.”

  “That’s right,” Brent chipped in. “We found you once, and we can do it again. Ducks or no ducks.”

  “You guys give me a swift pain in the CPU,” Bart sneered. “But here’s a word to the wise which is more than you deserve. You worked for Enderley and don’t deny it because I saw you. He’s history, and the feds will come knocking on your door soon enough.”

  “You’ve got nothing on us,” Brent shot back. “You weren’t even in the room when we talked to the mayor.”

  “Maybe I got something, maybe I don’t.” Bart laughed darkly. “But the word on the street is that you’d better pray the feds get to you first.”

  Brent narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “The assassin!” Rawlgeeb’s hand went to his mouth. “You gave our names to Surrana. That’s how she found me so quickly. You told her I was connected with Brent.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Bart said slowly. “Someone does me a favor, I do something for them in return. They ask a few questions, maybe I have the answers. Bada bing, bada boom!”

  “Oh no,” Rawlgeeb muttered. “I think his vocal module has broken down.”

  But Brent wasn’t listening. He squared up to Bart and gave Vince a meaningful look. “You know an interesting thing about bots, Vince? Very few of them float.”

  Vince nodded. “That is interesting. I never thought about that.”

  “I’d guess that they’re far too dense,” Rawlgeeb offered. “And certainly not airtight.”

  “That’s the theory anyway,” Brent went on. “But I’m a great believer in putting any theory to the test.”

  “Absolutely,” Vince replied. “Now?”

  “Now,” Brent said, and together, all three of them rushed at Bart, their arms outstretched.

  Bart turned and ran, but when he tried to veer away from the water-filled crater, he ran into the flock of feeding ducks, and as one, the birds rose into the air, their wings slapping against Bart as he stumbled through their midst. Raising his hands to cover his face, he missed his footing and fell sideways, his momentum sending him rolling across the uneven ground toward the pond. He let out a furious yell, his arms flailing against the earth, but his heavy body slipped through the slick mud at the water’s edge, and he slid over the edge. His fingers gripped the bank for a second, but the crater’s sides were near vertical, and with nothing to support his weight, he could not hold on for long. Bart’s fingers vanished from the bank, and he sank quickly into the welcoming water, leaving no trace but a widening ring of
ripples.

  Without ceremony, the ducks landed and resumed feeding, a few of them paddling across the water contentedly.

  “Oh,” Rawlgeeb said. “That was unexpected. Is he…I mean, has he been terminated?”

  Brent shrugged. “The bastard can probably crawl out somehow. I wouldn’t put it past him. He’ll be back.”

  From beneath the water, a light flared bright yellow, and a torrent of bubbles bulged the water’s surface. “No, he won’t,” Vince stated. “That was his power supply blowing out.”

  Rawlgeeb lifted his face and sniffed. “Yes, you’re right. The fuel cell has ruptured. He’s gone.”

  “Now that is what I call a bada boom,” Brent said, wiping his hands together. “And tonight, he sleeps with the fishes.”

  “I doubt it.” Rawlgeeb took a step closer to the water and peered down. “No. No fish in there.” He looked up, a smile lighting his face. “Hey, Vince, what about this? Getting rid of Bart in the park was a perk of the job. That’s funny, right?”

  Vince looked doubtful. “It needs work. Good start though.”

  “Don’t give up your day job,” Brent said quickly. “Although, if you wanted to follow your dreams, I’m sure I could make a few calls for you.”

  Rawlgeeb folded his arms. “I’m happy where I am, thank you. And you should remember that I have a stake in the agency, so you ought to appreciate what I bring to our shared enterprise.” He wagged his finger at Brent. “For instance, I already know what we should do next.”

  “Get something to eat,” Brent offered. “I vote for Mexican.”

  “No,” Rawlgeeb replied. “We need to get in touch with Maisie and Doctor Cooper. We have to warn them. If Bart has given our names to Surrana, he’s probably mentioned them too. They could be in danger.”

  “That’s right,” Vince said firmly. “We should meet up and figure out how to keep everyone safe.”

  “And the best way to do that, is to find a way to stop Surrana,” Rawlgeeb added.

  Brent nodded thoughtfully. “So, not Mexican then. Chinese?”

  “Forget about your stomach for once,” Vince said. “We’re getting the team together.”