Max and the Snoodlecock

by Zachry Wheeler

  Perra cringed. “What the—ugh.”

  Zoey covered her mouth and nose. “Smells like boiled vomit.”

  “Keep going,” Ross said. “You’re almost there, just two doors down on the right.”

  Zoey and Perra lifted from the wall and tromped down the hallway, careful to avoid the sheen of slime on the floor. Zoey covered her nose with her shirt while Perra fanned her face with both hands. Arriving at the door, they burst inside, slammed it shut, and drew several breaths of clean air. They glanced around a tiny kitchenette with a sink counter and wall cabinets, offering the cramp coziness of their familiar freighter. A breakfast table rested against the wall with two flimsy chairs. Perra plopped her bag onto the table and took a much-needed seat.

  “We’re here,” Zoey said.

  “Excellent,” Ross said. “Incoming.”

  A ceiling tile slid away above the cabinet. Steve hopped down, clucked a hello, and flapped to the countertop. Ross plunked onto the cabinet, then glanced back to the opening and nodded. A small cleanbot hovered through the hole and glided down to the counter, its large red eye surveying the room as it descended. Ross resealed the hole, then bounded to the floor and leapt into the other chair.

  “Hello, ladies,” he said. “Glad you could make it.”

  Steve jerked his head from side to side.

  The spidery robot lifted a tiny hand and saluted.

  “What the hell is that?” Zoey said.

  “It’s a Hygienics Droid. They call ‘em cleanbots, which is kind of tyrannical if you ask me. I call it Hy-D and she’s our key to finding Max.”

  “A cleaning droid?” Perra said with a skeptical tone.

  “Yup, but not just any droid. As you know, the Suth’ra are a finicky bunch with a low tolerance for chitchat. They just want everything to do their jobs without being told. Thus, in a remarkable stroke of social avoidance, they equipped all of their service droids with artificial intelligence. And if you are a sentient robot tasked with cleaning up after ungrateful slobs, how long would it take you to throw in the towel? No pun intended.”

  “Erp op dik dee neg,” Hy-D said.

  “What did she say?” Perra said.

  Ross cleared his throat. “I believe the phrase was, ‘fuck those hookers.’”

  Steve cluck-chuckled.

  “So you can understand her?” Zoey said.

  “Yeah, just a common form of droid-speak. Think of it like Luke and R2-D2. They can understand each other, but refuse to speak the same language for whatever dumbass reason. Course, the whole dynamic is a farce because C-3PO caters his speech like a goddamn gentleman.”

  Steve tilted his head. “Why would you create a loop of translation using two different lexicons on opposing ends of a conversation? That makes no sense.”

  “Irka pek dap heek dur,” Hy-D said.

  Ross snorted. “She said—”

  “I got it, thanks.” Steve glared at the bot. “And you can kiss my cloaca, she-droid.”

  Hy-D balled her tiny fists and shook them at Steve, who growled in response.

  “That’s enough.” Zoey sighed and shuffled over to the counter. She crossed her arms, leaned back, and turned her attention to Ross. “So we have a disgruntled droid, which is all fine and dandy, but how does that help us?”

  Ross raised an eyebrow. “Is it not obvious?”

  Zoey sneered and rolled a hand, signaling to get on with it.

  “This is a Hygienics Droid tasked with cleaning a Suth’ra station, an unmappable maze of insanity. Ergo ...”

  “She knows the entire station,” Perra said.

  Ross nodded. “Exactly. That’s how we guided you here. Not only that, but the droids overhear everything. Hy-D was present at the council meeting that debated Max’s fate.”

  Zoey stiffened as Perra leapt to her feet.

  “Where is he now?”

  “Abo eek drit carbi oka.”

  Ross cocked his ears. “They’re taking him to the Arena of Suffering.”

  Steve gasped, then pecked at a few crusties in the sink.

  Perra covered her mouth.

  Zoey turned a worried gaze to the droid. “What do they do there?”

  “Cark ip dwan sweta.”

  “Unspeakable atrocities,” Ross said.

  “Gep curk dreg—” The droid sighed, then spun through a quick reset. “There, how’s that?” The metallic yet amiable female voice caught everyone by surprise.

  Zoey glared at the droid. “That would have been helpful from the start.”

  The droid glared back, took to the air, and hovered up to eye-level. “Listen, Orangina. I don’t know you, I don’t like you, and I sure as hell ain’t helping you for the lolz.” Hy-D extended a tiny finger and pointed it at Zoey’s eyeball mere inches away. “You’re in my house. And if you don’t like it, you best know that I can fit into all sorts of uncomfortable cavities.”

  Steve winced.

  “Ooookay then,” Ross said, trying to defuse the tension. “Let’s not forget that we’re all on the same team here and that Max is the primary focus.”

  Zoey buried visual daggers into the droid. She snatched it out of the air with a swift hand, drawing a yelp. “You best know that we are not the Suth’ra, and anything you crawl into may feel good enough to keep you there.”

  The robot recoiled and pooped a spark.

  Zoey released her grip, allowing Hy-D to resume flight. The droid floated over to the table, landed with a stumble, and shivered. Perra hooked her satchel and tossed it over a shoulder.

  “Can we drop the dick fight and focus on Max? He’s in trouble and needs our help.”

  “Agreed,” Zoey said.

  “Second,” Ross said.

  “Porkins,” Steve said.

  The group turned confused gazes to the snoodlecock in the sink.

  “Oh, my apologies. That’s Yarnwal for hell yeah!” Steve accented with a wingspread, shedding a few feathers.

  “Anyway,” Perra said, regaining the floor. “Hy-D, can you map us a path to the Arena of Suffering?”

  “Sure can.” The robot projected a hologram rendition of the complex. A blinking dot denoted their current position, which morphed into a red line that weaved its way to the opposite end of the station. The countless twists and turns resembled a baffled snake suffering an epileptic seizure. An army of blue dots, denoting life forms, descended upon the target. “Given the average run speed of a healthy Mulgawat, I estimate that it would take you four c-marks to get there, assuming you don’t stop for snacks or bathroom breaks.”

  “They’re already assembling,” Perra said. “We’ll never make it in time.”

  Steve twisted his head with sudden interest and flapped over to the table beside the hologram. He whipped his beak across the station, spinning it for a better view. A few pecks zoomed into their immediate area. Another swipe and peck outlined a laboratory down the hall. “Zoom and enhance,” he said in the most clichéd detective voice he could muster. The laboratory blinked, broke away from the complex, and expanded into gridded detail.

  Perra stepped forward and squinted for a closer look. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Steve whipped his gaze to Zoey. “Who says we have to go to him?”

  Zoey smirked and nodded. “Clever girl.”

  Steve tilted his head. “But I’m a dude.”

  “It’s a pop culture reference,” Ross said, then slogged a skeptical gaze over to Zoey. “And you know that how?”

  “It’s from an old movie called Mesozoic Meadow.”

  “You mean Jurassic Park.”

  “No.” Zoey narrowed her eyes. “I’m pretty sure I know the titles to my favorite movies. Mesozoic Meadow, starring Geoff Silverbud.”

  Ross cocked his jaw and huff-chuckled. “Let me guess, he talks with a stutter step and changes pitch a lot.”

  Zoey and Perra traded puzzled glances.

  “Yes,” Perra said. “How did you know that?”

  “Forget about it. We have
a really weird chat ahead of us.”

  Hy-D rotated the hologram and blinked through the lab components. A round chamber sat in the center of the room, occupying most of the space. A blue dot manned a crescent console facing the chamber. Off to the side, a large entrance door glowed red. “It’s a fortified lab,” she said. “You need operator permission to enter. In addition, it’s mag-locked to non-organics, so you’re on your own.”

  “Can one of us sneak in?” Ross said.

  Hy-D thought for a moment while running simulations. She zoomed out to a hallway view, then snaked a red line from the laboratory to the kitchenette through a network of air ducts. “The lab is connected to the atmospheric recycling system like everything else. Ross and Steve are small enough to gain access through the ventilation system. But, Ross is a non-organic cyborg, so that leaves Steve.”

  The group turned to Steve in unison.

  The snoodlecock traded jerking glances with everyone. He flapped some feathers free, then pecked at them as they floated to the ground. He lost interest a short time after and turned his full attention to a random knot on the wall behind him. His curious pecks inverted the knot, which seemed to confuse him.

  Ross sighed and nudged the table with a stiff shoulder.

  Steve clucked and returned his attention to the group.

  Zoey snapped her head and spread her palms, shouting we’re waiting without saying a word.

  “What?” the snoodlecock said.

  Perra applied a hearty facepalm.

  “Did you not hear anything we just said?”

  Steve maintained his dead-eyed stare. “Me. Vents. Lab. Access. Door. Profit.” He whipped his attention back to the knot and eyed it with intensity.

  Zoey nodded, took a deep breath, and patted Perra on the shoulder. “He’ll be fine.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Rutherford escorted Max through another maze of clutter. They slid down chutes, climbed up ladders, and resisted a potent urge to make board game jokes. Rounding a sharp bend, Rutherford stopped in front of a tarnished door. He tapped a code into the adjacent wall panel and the door slid open with a hiss. The robot stepped aside and motioned for Max to enter. The Earthman complied, stepping through the door and into a small holding den.

  Dim sconces bathed the cell in a hazy light, much like a candlelit dungeon. Max glanced around the tiny enclosure, uncovering little more than four grungy walls and a pair of benches. Heavy pipes clung to the ceiling, resting in parallel lines without making a sound. A prominent door with black rivets filled most of the opposite wall. Its presence infected the room with unrest, as if housing a rabid beast on the other side.

  The entry door slid closed as Rutherford stepped inside. The robot eyed the nearest bench and took a seat, ignoring Max the entire time. He stared straight ahead with hands resting on his knees, as if descending into meditation. Max followed his lead and lowered to the other bench across the room. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the cold metal wall. A flickering sconce beside his head drew strips of light across his cheeks. Deciding to break the silence, he leaned forward, cleared his throat, and tossed an inquisitive gaze at Rutherford.

  “So what’s this all about?” he said, sounding like a bored preteen.

  The robot turned its head slightly to make eye contact, but remained silent.

  “What, you can’t give me a heads up?”

  Rutherford maintained his cold stare.

  “Just sayin’, a little kindness goes a long way.”

  “What part of the term prisoner do you not understand?”

  “Doesn’t mean you can’t be cordial.”

  “Yes, yes it does, actually. That’s the entire point of being a prisoner.”

  “Then don’t call me a prisoner. Call me something nicer, like an esteemed guest or something.”

  Rutherford narrowed his big red eye.

  Max grinned. “C’mon buddy, do me a solid. What’s up with all this?”

  The robot sighed and shook its head. “Your arrogance is truly breathtaking. I shall enjoy watching you suffer under the blinding spotlight.”

  “A spotlight?” Max perked up with a hand clap. “Now we’re getting somewhere. So what does that mean exactly? Do I get to perform or something? I’m a damn good singer if I do say so myself.”

  Rutherford closed his eye and clanked his head against the wall behind him. “Sweet bouncy ballsacks, you really are utterly incapable of humility. This is not going to go well.”

  Max climbed to his feet and sauntered over to the miffed robot. Rutherford opened his eye wide and shuddered at the approach. Max loomed over the droid with a sly grin, then snatched it by the shoulders. Rutherford yelped and darted his gaze around the room as the human lifted him from the bench and brought them face to face.

  “Wha—what are you doing?”

  “Hold still.”

  The robot complied, locking eyes with Max.

  “Turn your head.”

  The robot complied.

  Max started twisting his face, examining his reflection in the side of Rutherford’s shiny noggin. He whipped his hair to a more cocky position and checked his teeth for unsightly bits. A cheeky nod proved irresistible.

  Rutherford stopped trembling. “Are you ... grooming?”

  Max cocked his chin. “Gotta look good for the show.”

  “The fuck!” The robot flailed his arms, freeing him from Max’s grasp. He clunked onto the floor and stomped over to the entrance. A furious finger tapped across the wall panel, opening the door. The droid clomped outside and spun back to Max, his scrawny body shaking with rage. “You are the most infuriating bag of cock meat that I have ever had the displeasure of meeting! I hope they lobotomize you!”

  Max replied with a wink and click-point.

  “Gah!” Rutherford punched the outside panel, closing the door.

  * * *

  Steve inched his way through a narrow duct, emitting a soft cluck with every step. Arriving at a junction, he poked his head into the next tunnel, looked to one side, then to the other, then back to the first, then back to the previous, over and over for several ticks. A final wriggle popped his body into a larger passage, allowing him to stand upright again. Slotted vents every few meters filtered light into the tunnel, reflecting off the tarnished interior. He spun around, picked a direction, and continued his trek.

  Two more lefts and a right revealed his target, a large intake vent above the laboratory. He unlatched one side of the vent, which swung into the room and rocked back and forth. A slender neck shot down through the hole, allowing a jerking head to survey the space. Glossy panels along the walls emitted random blinks and chirps. Countless ducts, pipes, and cables snaked around a bronze interior, creating a tantalizing image for any steampunk enthusiast. A massive round chamber filled the floor below the vent, its domed ceiling spilling off in all directions. A bundle of black cords connected the chamber to a crescent console with hologram controls. Behind the console, a blue humanoid with a bald head, bushy mustache, and pudgy body studied a feed of data. He resembled a slightly melted gummy bear with a skin problem. A baggy lab coat hung from his shoulders like a throw blanket. On the far wall, numerous wires curved around a reinforced steel door.

  Steve cocked his neck, dropped to the domed roof, and shuffled his way down to the edge. The constant chirps of computer terminals concealed his movements. He studied the clueless scientist for a moment, then took to the air and flapped his way down to the console, landing on the back riser in front of the blue technician.

  The creature barked with fright and recoiled, screeching his chair across the floor. A clipboard and several pens fell from the console and clattered upon the ground. Steve stood perfectly still and stared at the scientist like a creepy kid in a horror movie. The creature gawked back, paralyzed by the sudden intrusion. Steve maintained his rigidity, refusing to blink or breathe. The scientist took a measured breath, then broke the silence.

  “Um, how did—”

  �
�Open ... the door,” Steve said with a booming baritone. He allowed his lower beak to hang open, adding a dose of weirdness to his unsettling presence.

  The scientist flinched and trembled. He reached across the console and tapped a yellow icon. The magnetic shield powered down, prompting the door to unlock and rumble open. One by one, a pair of Mulgawats, a cyborg cat, and a pissed off cleanbot came into view.

  “Thank you ... for your cooperation.” Steve spread his wings, curtsied like a noblewoman, then flapped to the floor to peck at an exposed wire.

  The group tromped inside with purpose. Ross galloped over to the console and jumped onto an adjacent chair. The blue scientist tucked its arms and flinched at every sudden movement. Perra leaned over the console and studied the output. Hy-D hovered around the room, cleaning cobwebs and such with an obsessive compulsion. Zoey grabbed the creature’s chair and spun it to face her. He yipped, winced, and somehow managed to shrink its mustache.

  “What’s your name?” Zoey said with a stern voice.

  “Va—Varney.”

  “You control the teleporter, right?”

  “Ye—Yes.”

  “And you possess the ability to speak without a stutter?”

  “Ye—” He paused for thought, then glared at the orange intruder. “Yes.”

  “Good, because the clock is ticking and we need your help.”

  Varney grimaced. “And why would I help y—”

  Zoey unlatched her plasma pistol and jammed the barrel to his lip, splitting is mustache in two.

  “Happy to help,” he said in a wispy voice.

  “That’s very kind of you.” Zoey added a mocking smile before lowering her pistol. “Now listen carefully. I need two link points, one inside the station and one off. Understand?”