Anton's Odyssey

by Andre, Marc

  Twenty meters ahead, and around a sharp corner, we found ourselves face to face with two large men. Their clothes were less shabby and their teeth less rotten than the other occupants of the asteroid. Startled, their eyes wide, we had clearly caught them off guard. My heart pounded with anticipation, not knowing what was going to happen next.

  “Should I slash them?” Cotton asked. My brother looked enthralled. Ellen bit her nails anxiously.

  “No, I doubt we could beat them both. Let’s just see what happens.” I said.

  “What is this?” the hairier of the two goons said.

  “Looks like an older model ho-bot,” said the shorter goon. He wore a thick green coat.

  “I can see that. But what’s that on her head?” The hairy goon pointed to Allen’s listening device.

  “Looks like some kind of crown. I suppose some guys are into the whole homecoming queen thing.” Ellen looked horrified. No doubt she had been elected homecoming queen at some point in her past.

  “What’s she doing in our territory?” The goons seemed genuinely perplexed. Far from threatened, there was no hint of malice or anxiety in their voices.

  “Must be lost,” said the hairy goon.

  “Yeah, but how’d she get past the barrier?”

  “They’ve got basic movement programs,” conjectured the goon in the green coat, “probably just scrambled over it.”

  “You think she belongs to the Tunnel Serpents?”

  “Must be, she’s not ours.”

  “Who sent you here?” the hairy goon asked, looking directly into the ho-bot’s camera eyes.

  “What do I do?” Ellen asked, anxiously.

  My mind raced, frantically. On the spot, seconds seemed like hours, but before the goons became impatient, I formulated a plan.

  “Cannot execute command. Maintenance required.” Ellen said in a monotone, per my instructions.

  “I think she’s broken,” the goon with the green coat chuckled. “What should we do with her?”

  “Hey, how about a threesome?” the hairy goon propositioned.

  Ellen turned off the microphone and asked, “What’s a threesome?”

  “You kidding me?” Cotton said. “Do you not know where babies come from?”

  “Of course I know where babies come from,” Ellen squeaked indignantly. “Not being so perverted as to know about threesomes or quickies doesn’t make me completely naïve.”

  “Yes, it does,” Cotton proclaimed.

  “Come on, let’s stay focused,” I commanded. “Give them the same line as before.”

  “Cannot execute command. Maintenance required.”

  “No threesome for us,” the green-coated goon observed astutely. “She’s too far gone.”

  “What do you think we should do with her?”

  “Let’s take her to Duffy,” the guy in the green coat suggested. “Maybe he can find some guy to fix her and then sell her services.” The two led the ho-bot further into their territory.

  “When you reach this next corner,” I said to Ellen, “don’t turn.”

  The two men roared with laughter as the ho-bot bounced off the wall. They picked the robot off the floor. Around two more turns, the image on the big vid started breaking up again.

  “Should I drop another receiver relay?” Ellen asked. “It might make them suspicious.”

  “We’ve got no choice,” I said. “Ten more meters and we won’t be able to see anything at all, and we might completely lose the ability to execute non-autonomous commands.”

  Unfortunately, the relay made an audible ping as it hit the ground.

  “What was that?” asked the hairy goon, startled.

  “She’s dropping parts off,” the green-coated goon said dismissively, pointing to the relay rolling on the ground, “must have some loose nuts and bolts.”

  The hairy goon agreed, “Some pervert must have worked her over real rough. Some people down here are really sick.”

  “As if somehow kidnapping a boy and holding him for ransom isn’t sick.” Ellen scolded, quietly.

  The two men zigzagged through a maze of hallways. We were very grateful for Allen’s mapping program. Without it, there was no way we were going to find our way back to the surface. The goons arrived at a spacious room, luxuriously furnished compared to the rest of the asteroid.

  “That must be their leader,” Ellen observed. “What did they say his name was again?”

  “Duffy,” Cotton replied.

  Duffy lacked the scruff and grime of the other asteroid inhabitants. His clothing was stylish, and the furniture in his goon-office, or whatever one would call it, was well maintained and of good quality. Yelling insults and waiving a large pistol in the air, Duffy seemed to be in the process of dismissing a small bruised man in a tattered jacked. I expected Duffy to be in a foul mood, but he became rather light hearted and friendly when he finally noticed his two under-goons and the ho-bot.

  “Afternoon gentleman. What’s this you brought me?”

  “Damaged ho-bot.”

  “Really?” Duffy said, turning to the ho-bot. “Hey there darling! How much for a good time?”

  Ellen rolled her eyes before giving the standard response, “Unable to execute command. Maintenance required.”

  “You know what they mean by ‘good time’ right?” Cotton asked Ellen, “Or did they not teach you that in nun school.”

  Irritated, Ellen threw the nearest thing she could find at my brother, which unfortunately was the microphone. Cotton easily dodged the missile and it impacted the far wall. “Quit making fun of me, you little pervert!” Ellen screamed.

  Cotton picked the microphone up off the floor. Eyes wide, he put his fingers to his lips and pointed, indicating the diode was still green.

  “Did you guys hear that?” Duffy said, suspiciously. “She just called me a pervert?”

  “No, I didn’t hear nobody say the word ‘pervert.’” The hairy goon said shaking his head vigorously. Eager to make a sale, he added, “It was just some random noise, that’s all. She’s broken.”

  The goon in the green coat nodded and said, “That wasn’t any word I could recognize.”

  Duffy looked at the two suspiciously, “Where did you find her exactly?”

  “Out in the common space,” the hairy goon said.

  “So, not in our territory then?” Duffy asked.

  “No, of course not!” the hairy goon lied.

  Duffy’s eyes darted back and forth, searching his underlings’ faces for signs of deceit. The two must have been good liars, because eventually Duffy said, “Very well, even if I can’t get her fixed, I can sell off some of her components to the techs upstairs.”

  “Am I hearing this right?” Ellen said with disbelief, “That the space station is complicit with these gangsters.”

  “Sure sounds that way.” Cotton said.

  “Or at least some of the workers,” I added, “probably not the guys who actually run the place. From what I hear they’re trying to get the international courts to eject these goons.”

  “I can’t believe anyone would help these guys.” Ellen looked furious.

  Duffy handed his two lackeys some M-notes. He produced three clean glasses and a bottle of Thurgood MacDougal’s Southern Style Bourbon.

  “Put her in the room with the kid.” Duffy ordered as he poured the drinks.

  The hairy goon pulled back a curtain draped across an opening in the far wall. I couldn’t believe our luck. Mike lay in the corner. He had been badly beaten. His left eye was swollen shut and his right could only open up to a small slit. His hands were bound in front of him with some sort of electrical cable. Some of his teeth were missing, and a few others were broken. Mike coward as the hairy goon walked in with the ho-bot. Unprovoked, the goon booted Mike hard in the ribs. Mike groaned, and the green-coated goon laughed maniacally.

  “Easy boy!” Duffy croaked. “He’s of no value to us dead.”

  The hairy goon left Mike to join his companions. “D
o you think they’ll pay the ransom.”

  “They will, eventually.” Duffy said. “We just might need to give them some motivation. You know, send his parents a special care package.” The two lesser goons sniggered.

  “Now what?” Ellen asked.

  “Get near him, so Cotton can cut his bindings.” I ordered.

  Mike coward as the ho-bot approached him.

  “Mike,” Ellen whispered into the microphone, “don’t be afraid. We’re going to get you out of here.”

  The boy’s face was too swollen for us to read his expression, but in a gesture of trust, he placed his hands out in front of him so we could cut his bindings.

  Cotton produced the bayonet. Sawing through the bindings was pretty difficult using the game controller. The task would have been much easier if the blade were serrated, a detail we never planned. Cotton accidently cut into the back of Mike’s thumb.

  “Careful,” I barked. “You cut through an artery and he’ll bleed to death before we can get him home.”

  The cut wasn’t deep, but Mike still groaned.

  “You hear that?” said the green-coated goon.

  “Kid’s just moaning again.” Duffy said. “He does it a lot. I think you too worked him over just a bit too hard when you took him in.”

  “Had no choice,” the green-coated goon explained. “He had a lot of fight in him. His friend didn’t resist though, just curled up in a ball and started crying. I’m surprised they paid the ransom so quick. Seemed pretty useless to me.”

  “Hey what’s she doing in there?” the hairy goon asked. My jaw dropped. In our hurry to free Mike from his bonds, we had forgotten to look back at the curtain. The goons never draped it back shut.

  “I think she’s servicing him,” the green-coated goon said with a laugh. The ho-bots head was practically in Mike’s lap.

  “What’s she got in her hand?” Duffy said, suspiciously.

  “I doubt it’s up to the task,” the green-coated goon joked.

  “Hurry Cotton!” Ellen implored.

  Cotton mashed the game controller’s buttons, frantically trying to get the blade through the remaining uncut girth of the cable. Using too much force, the cable gave way and the ho-bot’s hand swung out wide.

  “You idiots!” Duffy barked. “She’s got a knife. She’s not damaged. She’s some kind of spy! Stop her!”

  Ellen wheeled the ho-bot around just as the green-coated goon charged past the curtain. Cotton swung the ho-bot’s arm wildly, opening up a huge gash across the man’s forehead. The wound bled profusely, flowing into the man’s eyes. “I’m blind! I’m blind!” the goon screamed. He collapsed to his knees.

  “Grab Mike, quick!” I barked.

  “Stay by my side!” Ellen commanded. Mike scrambled to his feet.

  Into the next room, Duffy lurched forward. Cotton swung the bayonet, but Duffy dived out of the way, crashing into his sofa headfirst. The hairy goon stood with his eyes wide and his jaw open, his feeble mind trying to get a grip on the events that had just unfolded in front of him. He still had his drink in his hand. Mike and the ho-bot rushed by him. We heard a shot, but Duffy had been hasty and hadn’t really aimed his pistol. Bone, brains, and hairy flesh splattered the wall. Ellen shrieked.

  “Stay focused!” I barked. “It’s not our fault.”

  Behind us, we could hear Duffy getting back on his feet.

  “Run!” Cotton cried to Ellen.

  “Run!” Ellen relayed the order to Mike.

  Cotton read directions off of Allen’s mapping program to guide us through the maze of corridors. We were relieved to discover that no one had replaced the disposal canister we had move previously. Ellen directed the ho-bot to tiptoe through the barrier gracefully, but blind to his left side, Mike couldn’t see where he was going and crashed into the largest canister with a loud clang.

  Cotton dropped the bayonet and extended the ho-bot’s arm downward. As Mike pulled himself up, pistol shots rang out behind us. The image on the big vid jerked violently. We had been hit, but somehow Ellen had managed to keep the ho-bot on its feet.

  “Have you been shot?” Ellen yelled out to Mike.

  “No, I’m okay.” Mike said.

  The ruckus aroused the curiosity of the grubby people who lingered in the large atrium. Several moved in from the walls.

  “Get down!” Ellen shouted through the microphone, and just in time too. Unafraid of inflicting collateral damage, Duffy started shooting again. People dived to the floor.

  We heard a click and Duffy cussed. His gun empty, he had to stop to reload. We gained some ground on our pursuer. Around a corner, and the door to the stairway lay right ahead of us.

  “What are you doing?” Cotton cried. “Don’t slow down.”

  “I’m not,” Ellen cried. “Something’s wrong!”

  “I think you’re bleeding.” Mike croaked.

  “Look!” Ellen said, pointing to a flashing line on the small vid. “We’re leaking coolant. The servo motors that move the lower extremities are overheating.”

  “What do we do? What do we do?” Cotton cried.

  My mind raced. I could hear footsteps behind us. Overcome with panic, I couldn’t think straight. I had choked, and as a consequence of my failure, Mike and the ho-bot were finished.

  “Where are you guys?” I heard a voice. “Maybe I can get to you?”

  Of course, I thought. Once the shooting started, I had completely forgotten that Hammond was part of the operation.

  “We’re just down the steps.” I cried.

  “Hurry!” Ellen screamed.

  Cotton flailed with the game controller and somehow managed to get the door open. Hammond and Duffy arrived at the ho-bot at almost exactly the same time. Had the corridor not been pitch black, Duffy would have certainly shot us from afar.

  As Hammond dragged Mike into the stairway, Cotton flung the ho-bot’s arm wildly. Duffy dived out of the way, not knowing we had lost the bayonet. As the goon chief regained his footing, Ellen rushed him with the ho-bot. A bright muzzle flash and the large vid went blank.

  We could hear the audio feed from Hammond’s microphone. His breathing was fast, deep, and labored as he dragged Mike up the stairs. From below we could make out faint footsteps, Duffy in hot pursuit. Whereas Hammond spent much of his free time getting buff in the gym, I guessed that Duffy spent most of his hours sitting on his sofa, drinking bourbon and intimidating his under-goons with his large pistol. Duffy’s footsteps grew fainter as Hammond gained more distance in the foot race. As Hammond shoved open the door at the top of the stairs, a burst of gun fire rang out as Duffy shot wildly from below. Hammond screamed, and he slumped through the doorway. We heard the unmistakable sound of a large body going down hard.

  Mike tried to pull Hammond up off the ground. “You’re hit,” Mike cried. “Your foot? Can you walk?”

  Hammond moaned. “Shut the door! Shut the door!”

  “No, don’t pass out! Don’t pass out!” Mike screamed. “Help! Help us! Somebody help us!”

  Mike never closed the door. We heard Duffy’s footsteps grow fainter as he retreated into the asteroid’s fetid underbelly. We had completed our mission but were uncertain of the cost.

  Chapter 9: Too Much Tea

  We didn’t get a chance to see Hammond before Mary and Dr. Zanders rolled him away for surgery. Mike sat with us in the waiting room of the medical center, the fight between us long forgotten.

  “You guys friends of Hammond?” Mike asked.

  “Yes,” Ellen sniffled.

  “He’s a good guy.” Mike said. “He just saved my life.”

  “What happened?” Cotton asked, playing dumb.

  Mike recounted the rescue from his point of view. He seemed to think that the mission was a one-man, one-robot operation orchestrated solely by Hammond. He dismissed the female voice of the ho-bot as belonging to the ho-bot itself and not from a third party.

  “I hope he’s all right. They were going to kill me for certain. The
y were asking for way more than I was worth,” Mike said humbly. “There’s no way my momma could have raised that kind of money.”

  At some point Mary must have contacted Hammond’s father. He arrived at the medical center pale and sweating, clearly worried. I felt stupid and un-thoughtful for not having bothered to find the man myself.

  The hours passed by. We sat in silence. No one could think of anything to say to Hammond’s father, except Mike who said, “Your son saved my life.” Hammond’s father simply nodded. His son’s heroism didn’t appear to make the situation any more bearable.

  Dr. Zanders walked out of surgery and told us Hammond was going to be okay and that his life was no longer in any danger. Hammond’s father hoisted Dr. Zanders up off the floor like a rag doll and ensnared him in a bear hug.

  “Thank you,” he uttered, squeezing Dr. Zanders so hard his face turned bright purple. “Thank you! I’m going to kill him, but thank you!”

  They wouldn’t let us see Hammond until the next day, the same day our ship finally left Libra Space Station. Hammond unrolled his bandage, revealing where Dr. Zanders had amputated his foot.

  “Dr. Zanders gave me this loaner foot,” Hammond explained, wiggling his new toes. “It’s not quite like my old one, but it’s much better than no foot at all. I’ll get a better one once we arrive back home.”

  Being “not quite like his old one” was a bit of an understatement. The foot’s skin was pigmented about ten shades too dark, greatly contrasting with Hammond’s normal pasty pallor.

  “Gad!” Cotton cried, “It looks sick, like it’s gunna fall off.”

  “Cotton, you’re being very rude!” Ellen scolded.

  Hammond giggled. “This is the only foot the doctor had that matched my tissue type. He said it had belonged to someone from the West Indies who got knocked on the head. West Indies? Not sure where that is.” Hammond scratched his head. “Near Chicago, I guess.”

  “You’re thinking of Indiana.” Allen said. “The West Indies are a group of islands in the Caribbean. Many Black people live there — not that there’s anything wrong with black people — explains the pigmentation particular to the foot at hand though.” Allen smiled, clearly pleased with himself.