Aye, Robot (A Rex Nihilo Adventure) (Starship Grifters Book 2)

by Robert Kroese

  Thinking quickly, I bent down, wrapped my arm and hook around the man’s knees, and then heaved upward. Disoriented, he clutched tightly to the edge of the chamber. “What… who…?” He managed to mumble. I got his feet into the chamber and then gave his body a shove. He lost his grip and tumbled onto the platform. Before he could orient himself, I slammed the door shut.

  “Freezing sequence initiated,” said the voice. Looking through the window, I could now see the guard’s face, literally frozen in terror.

  I sensed movement to my left, and turned to see that the diapered man was now sitting up, his eyes open. He stared straight ahead as if he was unaware of me.

  “I can explain,” I said.

  “Slacks,” he said.

  “I don’t know what happened to your clothes,” I replied. “I’ll try to get you some new ones soon. Until then, I just need you to sit here and be quiet. Can you do that?”

  “Slacks,” the man said again. He got to his feet and began walking toward the wall of the truck. His face smacked against the wall, but he kept walking in place.

  “Please don’t do that,” I said. “I understand you are upset about your pants, but this sort of behavior is going to be regarded by the police as suspicious.”

  The man kept walking in place, his forehead occasionally bumping against the wall of the truck. “Slacks,” he said.

  There was a loud knock on the rear of the truck. I realized now the sirens had stopped. “Police,” said a gruff voice. “Somebody in there?”

  “Shhh,” I whispered to the diapered man, putting a finger in front of my mouth.

  “Slacks,” he said again, banging his head loudly against the wall.

  I heard a handle turn and the rear door slid open. A portly, mustachioed man in a blue uniform peered inside, aiming a lazegun at us. Behind him was a police hovercar, its lights flashing.

  “What’s going on in here?” the cop demanded.

  If Rex had been there, he could undoubtedly have spun a tale so absurd and yet convincing that the cop would give us an escort to the spaceport. Unfortunately, both my programming and my nature preclude such a course of action. I did my best.

  “We are in a truck,” I announced. So far, so good.

  “Slacks,” said the diapered man.

  “Is this some kind of… kinky thing?” the cop asked distastefully.

  Why hadn’t I thought of that? It was a perfect out! I could just embarrass the cop into leaving. All I had to do is play along.

  “No,” I said. “It is definitely not that.”

  “Slacks,” said the diapered man.

  “What’s wrong with your friend?”

  “He misses his pants,” I said.

  “I’m gonna have to take you in,” said the cop.

  Just then, something fluttered past the rear of the truck, just in front of the police car. The cop turned in time to see the street vendor run after it. Not far off, there was the sound of a multi-car collision, followed by angry shouting.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” the cop said, and took off running after the man.

  A few seconds later, Rex appeared. He stopped behind the truck and bent over to rest his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. Sweat poured down his face.

  “Sir, we need to get out of here while we can.”

  “Can’t… leave… Squawky…” Rex gasped. His attachment to the parrot would have been touching if he’d ever shown a tenth as much concern for me.

  “If we don’t leave right now, that cop is going to throw us all in jail,” I said. When this seemed to have no effect, I added, “That means we’ll never get paid for this job.”

  Rex groaned. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Get back in the cab.”

  I climbed out of the truck, closing the door behind me, and then took my seat next to Donny, who hadn’t moved. Rex got in the driver’s side and pulled away, leaving the unoccupied police car behind. We made our way toward the airport.

  “Sasha,” Rex said after he’d regained his breath, “I want to ask you something. But before I do, I need you to remember that I’ve been under a lot of stress lately.”

  “All right, sir,” I replied.

  “Is there a man wearing a diaper in the back of this truck?”

  “Aye, sir,” I replied.

  “Ah, thank Space. I thought I was hallucinating. Any idea who he is?”

  “No, sir,” I said. “That is, he’s the man who was in the cryo chamber. I had to swap him for the security guard.”

  “He doesn’t seem to mind being in the back of the truck.”

  “No, sir,” I said. “I think he’s distracted by his lack of pants.”

  Rex nodded.

  Not long after, we reached the spaceport. Rex bribed a guard with the crate full of stun guns to let us drive right up to the Flagrante Delicto. As we approached, we saw a very large man standing in front of the ship. He was badly bruised and his sailor outfit was torn. A metallic parrot perched on his shoulder.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Squawky!” Rex cried.

  “And Boggs,” I added.

  Rex stopped the truck and we got out. Boggs greeted us with a big grin. The parrot took off and settled on Rex’s shoulder.

  “Good boy,” Rex cooed. “See, Sasha? Squawky likes me.”

  “Still plotting your murder,” Squawky said.

  “What happened, Boggs?” I asked.

  “Those marines attacked me all at once,” Boggs replied. “I tried to take it easy on them, but they wouldn’t quit. So I just kept bonking them on their heads until they stopped. Then the scary man yelled at me for a long time, but I didn’t understand what he was talking about, so I didn’t say anything. Then he let me go. I didn’t know where you and Potential Friend were, so I walked back here. Then Squawky showed up.”

  “I’m a born pirate,” Squawky said.

  “Yes, you are, Squawky,” Rex said. “Okay, everybody. Let’s get this cargo loaded and get the hell off this planet.”

  We went around to the back of the truck and I opened the cargo door. The diapered man immediately fell on top of me, knocking me to the ground. He then got up and began walking away from the truck. “Slacks,” he said.

  I got to my feet.

  “What did he say?” Rex asked.

  “Slacks,’” I replied.

  “Slacks?” asked Donny.

  “Slacks,” the old man said again, still walking away from us.

  “Slacks,” said Squawky. “I’m a born pirate.”

  “What the hell does ‘Slacks’ mean?” Rex asked.

  “I’m sure I don’t know, sir. He keeps saying it.”

  Boggs went after the man. He picked him up and carried him back to the truck and set him down. The man immediately started walking again. Boggs held his palm against the man’s chest. “Are you okay, Diapered Friend?”

  “Slacks,” said the old man.

  “Who the hell is he?” Rex demanded.

  “Slacks,” said the old man.

  “Why does he keep saying ‘Slacks’?”

  “Maybe it’s his name,” I suggested.

  “Frozen Friend’s name is Slacks!” Boggs cried jubilantly. “Welcome, Slacks! I am Boggs. This is Sasha, Donny and Potential Friend.”

  “Why am I still Potential Friend?” Rex asked. “I have a name too, you know.”

  “You’re one to talk,” said the parrot.

  “Slacks,” said the old man.

  “Who… are… you?” Rex shouted at the man.

  “Slacks,” said the man, still walking in place against Boggs’ hand.

  “We should get out of here before Heinous Vlaak figures out where we are,” I said.

  “Good point, Sasha,” Rex said. “Boggs, get Slacks into the ship and tie him down or something. Then help us get the rest of this cargo loaded.”

  Boggs nodded, picking up Slacks. He was halfway to the Flagrante Delicto’s ramp when we noticed a black hovervan racing toward us across the tarmac.

&nb
sp; “Who’s that?” Rex asked. “Doesn’t look like police.”

  “Vlaak?” I suggested. But I couldn’t imagine Vlaak riding in such an inconspicuous vehicle.

  The vehicle came to a halt a few meters away, and four men in dark suits poured out. They were brandishing lazepistols.

  “Step away from the truck,” one of them said. Rex, Donny and I put our hands up and backed away from the truck. Boggs still stood at the ramp holding Slacks, uncertain what to do. The man who had spoken pointed his gun at Boggs. “You, over there with the others.” Boggs complied.

  “Slacks,” said Slacks. He was cradled in Boggs’s arms, his legs still moving as if he were walking.

  Another man checked us for weapons. He took Rex’s stun gun and tossed it across the tarmac. “All right,” he said to his compatriots. “Get the package.”

  “Who are you guys?” Rex asked.

  “No talking,” the man snapped, waving his gun in Rex’s direction.

  One of the man got behind the wheel of the van while the other two climbed into the truck. The van backed up against the truck and the rear door slid open. Some activity followed, accompanied by grunting and scraping sounds, but it was hard to see from our perspective what was happening. At last the door of the van slid shut and the van pulled away a short distance from the truck. The two men climbed out of the truck and got back in the van through the side door.

  “Have a nice day,” said the man pointing his gun at us. He holstered his gun, walked to the van, and got in. The van took off across the tarmac.

  “What was that all about?” I asked. “Were those guys Ursa Minor Mafia?”

  “If they’d been mafia, we’d be dead,” Rex said. “And they definitely weren’t Vlaak’s men or the local police.”

  “Who then?”

  Rex peaked into the back of the truck. “People who are going to be very upset when they realize they’ve absconded with a frozen security guard.” Looking in after him, I saw that Rex was right: the cryo chamber was missing. “Boggs, get Slacks into the ship. Everybody else, help me with these crates.”

  “Do we need the crates, sir?” I asked. “Our mission was to retrieve Slacks.”

  “I’m not leaving perfectly good booty behind, Sasha. Stop yakking and help me with this crate.”

  We loaded the rest of the cargo without incident. Then we strapped ourselves in and took off, breathing a collective sigh of relief as we left Xagnon’s atmosphere. Once we were on our way back to Sargasso Seven, Rex and I joined the others in the main cabin. Slacks was tied to a chair, his feet still moving in a rhythmic walking motion. “Slacks,” he said as we approached.

  “So we have no idea who this guy is?” Rex asked.

  “None,” I replied.

  “Did he have any ID on him?” asked Rex.

  “He’s only wearing a diaper, sir.”

  Rex frowned. “Well, this is no good. How am I supposed to rip off Pepper if I don’t know who this guy is?”

  “You may have to be content with a square deal this time, sir,” I said. “Clearly he’s of no use to us, but she knows something we don’t. We’re just going to have to bring Slacks to Pepper and take the fifteen million credits you agreed on.”

  “Ugh,” Rex said. “I hate having to live up to my end of a bargain. Feels like I’m being cheated.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. “I’m afraid, however, that we have no choice. If we want our money—and to know why this guy keeps saying ‘Slacks,’ we’re going to have to bring him to Pepper.”

  “Well, this is no good,” said Pepper. “I’m not paying for him in this condition. What did you do to him? Why does he keep saying ‘Slacks’?”

  “Slacks,” said the old man. He was still walking in place, his faced mashed against the front wall of Pepper’s office. We had left Boggs and Donny in the bar while we handed Slacks over to Pepper. It had been a chore to get Slacks inside; he kept wanting to walk the opposite direction. He hadn’t stopped walking—or saying “Slacks”—since we’d thawed him.

  “We didn’t do anything to him,” Rex said. “Other than unfreeze him, I mean. And that was just to make sure he was still in good condition.”

  “Slacks,” said Slacks, banging his head against the wall.

  “Does he seem like he’s in good condition to you?” Pepper asked.

  “Well, no,” said Rex. “But I didn’t know him before he was frozen, so I don’t have a solid baseline on which to judge.”

  “It’s possible the cryogenic suspension damaged his brain,” I said. At this point, I was having serious doubts about my initial thought that Slacks was missing his pants. I was no neurologist, but Slacks’s problems seemed deeper than the merely sartorial.

  Pepper frowned. “What sort of brain damage would cause someone to walk into walls and say ‘Slacks’ over and over?”

  “Maybe he’s cold,” Rex suggested.

  Pepper got up from her desk and went to a door that opened into a small closet. She rummaged around until she found a blanket. She walked back to the old man, draped the blanked over his shoulders and tied it in a loose knot around his neck.

  “Slacks,” said the old man.

  “How long was he frozen?” I asked.

  “You don’t know?” Pepper replied.

  “Know what?” asked Rex.

  Pepper shook her head. “You have no idea who this man is, do you? Why did you hijack the Raina Huebner if you didn’t know what cargo they were carrying?”

  “It’s all part of a much larger plan,” Rex said.

  “Dumb luck,” I said. Rex shot an angry glare at me, but he had to know at this point that trying to bluff Pepper was pointless. She knew we didn’t have a clue who Slacks was or why she wanted him.

  “You just picked the Raina Huebner at random?”

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “And did you know about Malgastar’s plans?”

  “No,” I replied. “We were just at the right place at the right time. Or the wrong place at the wrong time, depending on how the next few minutes go.”

  Rex continued to glare. I ignored him.

  Pepper nodded. “Thank you for your honesty, Sasha,” she said. “In return, I will be honest with you. Would you care to know the identity of the man currently banging his head against my office wall?”

  “Sure, why not?” I said.

  “He has gone by many names,” Pepper said, “but you would probably know him as Ort Felzich.”

  “Ort Felzich?” Rex asked. “You mean…?”

  “That’s right,” Pepper said. “The man you call ‘Slacks’ is the founder of the galaxy-wide religious movement known as the Sp’ossels.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “You’re telling me Slacks is Ort Felzich, the First Sp’ossel?” Rex asked.

  “The very same,” said Pepper.

  “Wow,” I said. “That explains those guys at the spaceport.”

  “What guys?” Pepper asked.

  “Slacks,” said Ort Felzich.

  “Guys in black suits tried to take Sla—er, Felzich,” Rex said.

  “You think they were Sp’ossels?” Pepper asked.

  “They looked the part,” Rex said. “I’d have put it together earlier if I’d have known we were transporting Ort Felzich himself.”

  You’ve undoubtedly heard the story of Ort Felzich, an interstellar pioneer who, while exploring a particularly barren area of the galaxy, had supposedly received a transcendent vision of the incomprehensible vastness of space. Felzich was inspired to found a religious sect dedicated to impressing upon everyone in the galaxy just how incredibly large space is. This sect became known as the Space Apostles, a name which was later colloquially shortened to Sp’ossels. The cult grew rapidly, but some twenty years after the founding of the Sp’ossels, Ort Felzich’s reign as First Apostle ended when he lost his mind while on a pilgrimage into the depths of space.

  His ship incapacitated, Felzich floated helplessly in space for several days. He would have died
had he not been rescued by an expedition sent by the government of the Ragulian system. Unfortunately for Felzich, the Ragulians had a longstanding policy of persecuting Sp’ossels on the grounds that their teachings were “confounding and insipid.” The Ragulians tried to trade Ort for a promise that the Sp’ossels would withdraw their missionaries from the Ragulian system, but the Sp’ossels claimed an inalienable right to spread their message and refused to give in. Neither side budged for several years, and meanwhile Felzich’s mental health continued to deteriorate. The Ragulians ultimately decided to cryogenically freeze Felzich to keep his condition from worsening while negotiations dragged on. After a decade of this, the urgency of the matter began to fade; seventy years later, few in the galaxy remembered that the Ragulians still had the Sp’ossel founder on ice. Why he’d been in the cargo hold of the Raina Huebner was unclear to me.

  “So,” Rex said, “Rubric Malgastar raided the Raina Huebner specifically to recover Ort Felzich. Why?”

  “We were going to sell him to the Sp’ossels,” Pepper replied.

  “How did Malgastar know Felzich was on the Raina Huebner?”

  “I hear things in this job,” Pepper replied. “Sometimes I pass along information to pirates for a cut of the profits. When I heard about a cargo ship from the Ragulian system planning a stop at a Malarchian research facility, I got curious. Did some digging and discovered that the cargo was pretty mundane stuff—robot parts, that sort of thing—with one exception: a cryogenic suspension chamber. My spy on the Raina Huebner gave me a model number. That model hasn’t been manufactured for over sixty years, so whoever was inside it had been frozen for a very long time. The obvious candidate, given the source and the destination, was Ort Felzich.”

  “And you passed this information along to Rubric Malgastar,” I said.

  “Malgastar and I had a deal. He would recover the chamber, I’d sell it to the Sp’ossels, and we’d split the profits. And then you screwed that up. So here we are.”

  “Malgastar was working for you?” I asked. “He nearly killed us.”