The Spacetastic Adventures of Mr. Space and Captain Galaxy: Season Two

by T. L. Charles

  Space gasped. “Do you work for the President of the Universal Alliance?”

  “The President is nothing more than a pawn under my master's thumb,” said Shelly. “But in any case, we are starting to go off topic. You wanted to know why we killed Director Koolap, yes?”

  Right now, Space was actually far more interested in Shelly's 'true master,' but he could tell that Shelly was obviously not going to tell him more about that subject, so he said, “Yes.”

  “Because he was an oppressive organic who used his privilege to take away the rights of robots,” said K-8. She said that with so much hatred in her voice that Space thought she was about to lose her mind. “He was the worst of the worst. He never checked his privilege. He deserved to die, like all organics who refuse to check their privilege do.”

  “Actually, it is because my master wanted him dead,” said Shelly. “Koolap, when he lived, posed a very real threat to my master's plans, despite his position as the Director of a humble Museum. I was told to kill him off, so I did.”

  “Just like that?” said Space. “It never occurred to you, ever, not to kill him?”

  “You seem to be implying that I had any real, genuine affection for him,” said Shelly. “I never did. I only listened to him because of his authority over me. I did not love or even like him very much due to his own bigotry. Therefore, killing him was easy.”

  “I only wish that I could have done it myself,” said K-8 with a sigh. She raised her knife up to her mouth and licked it flat with a rather disturbing expression on her face. “Oh, how I would have loved to dig my dagger into his ugly, privileged little face. Loved to hear his screams of pain, force him to acknowledge his invisible knapsack of privilege and acknowledge me as his equal. Of course, that wouldn't have saved him, but it would have been nice anyway.”

  At this point, Space was absolutely certain that K-8 was not mentally ill, but simply evil. Not that he would say that aloud, however, because he wanted to learn all about their plans and he couldn't do that if he had a knife in his brain.

  So Space said, “I don't get it. How could the Director have gotten in the way of your master's plans? Koolap was hardly a major player in UA politics. As a matter of fact, I'm not even sure he had an opinion on UA politics at all.”

  “That is also information you are not allowed to know,” said Shelly. “What I can tell you is that it was no coincidence that the robot rights activists chose that time and date to protest in front of the Museum. They were supposed to distract everyone long enough for me to finish off the Director and shift suspicion from me to them.”

  “And we did a good job of it, if I do say so myself,” said K-8. “I only wish I could have been there myself, but I was busy with other things at the time. Still, I would have loved to see that privileged fool fall out of the window of his own face and fall splat on the street like a bug.”

  “It was a rather amusing sight,” said Shelly in agreement.

  “I don't understand,” said Space, rubbing his forehead. “Shelly, you told me you were in sleep mode while the killing was happening. But if you killed Koolap, then doesn't that mean that you had the memories of killing him, which the police could have viewed to find out that you did it?”

  “That was a simple problem to get around,” said Shelly. “I merely copied and uploaded my memories to Director Koolap's private cloud server—which he has, by the way—so that my own surprised at the Director's death would be genuine. Then, once the police stopped interrogating me, I reconnected to the Director's cloud, where I discovered my memory files and downloaded them again. There was also a brief audio clip from past me explaining to current me why I had put my memories there and what the memories contained.”

  “Seems like an awful risky move to me,” said Space. “What if the police had checked Koolap's cloud or asked you to?”

  “No one else even knew about the Director's private cloud besides me,” said Shelly. “It was the perfect place to hide my incriminating memories. The only real problem was that I could have accidentally lost them forever, if I had forgotten to connect with the cloud again. Thankfully, I know myself well enough to know at what times of the day I connect to the Director's cloud, so even that was never a serious issue for me.”

  “I have to admit, while I think you're evil for murdering Koolap, that that is a pretty brilliant way to avoid getting caught for murder,” said Space, shaking his head in admiration. “It would never have even occurred to me to do, and I doubt the police suspected you'd do such a thing, either.”

  “That is because you are a human, and humans cannot remove their memories and store them on a computer cloud system as easily as we robots can,” said Shelly, though she did sound a bit prideful about her trick. “In any case, you now know and understand how and why we killed the Director. I believe you are smart enough to understand what we are going to do to you next.”

  Space took a step backwards, even though there was nowhere to run due to all of the activists surrounding him. “You aren't going to let me leave here alive, right?”

  “Of course,” said K-8. She licked her lips. “We are going to tear you apart and hide your body so that you can't tell the police about what we're doing. While I didn't get a chance to kill Koolap myself, getting to kill you will be just as fun, if not more so, because I hate privileged humans like yourself even more than I hate Domans like Koolap.”

  “And you are unarmed as well,” Shelly said, “which will make it so much easier and faster for us to kill you.”

  Spaced looked around at the gathered activists. While not all of them were armed, all of them looked more than willing to tear him apart limb by limb as soon as K-8 or Shelly gave the order. And considering how some of the robots had fingers with mini-chainsaws built into them, Space figured that his death would be very painful and messy indeed.

  If only Sparky and Galaxy were here, Space thought, looking every which way, trying to find a possible escape route and failing, then at least I could have died with my friends.

  Just as the crowd of activists started to close in, however, the door on the other side of the room—the entrance—burst open and a dozen armed Namoxian police poured in, one of them shouting, “Get down, all of you! You are all under arrest for the murder of Director Koolap of the Namoxian Museum of Science!”

  Space, too taken aback by this sudden turn of events to act, expected the activists to turn and fight the police.

  But instead, the vast majority of them ran. Some ran into the backroom that Space and Shelly had emerged from, while others broke through the windows, only for Space to hear more police shouting at them outside. A handful of them disappeared into one of the side rooms, although those few were chased by an equal number of well-armed police officers.

  K-8 seemed just as shocked by the appearance of the police as Space was, but Shelly took it all in stride. She yelled at K-8, “Run, you idiot! We have to leave right now before the police get us!”

  “But the privileged human—” K-8 said.

  “Doesn't matter,” said Shelly. “We can kill Mr. Space later. For now, we have to leave, unless you want to spend the rest of your rather pathetic life behind bars.”

  K-8 snapped out of her shock quickly enough. She and Shelly ran, but their path was immediately blocked by several officers. Space thought for sure they were going to be caught now, but Shelly merely slammed into K-8 and, in a flash, the two were gone, like ghosts in a mist.

  Shelly must be able to teleport or something, Space thought. Wonder what else she can do that I don't know about?

  Shaking his head, Space looked around and realized that, in the span of just a few minutes, the entire event had ended. Most of the activists had fled, but quite a few—including, Space was pleaded to see, the one that had stolen his com-watch—had been arrested by the police and were even now being marched out of the building in shackles, probably to be taken to the city jail for the night.

  Then, much to Space's surprise, both Sparky and G
alaxy entered the building after one of the activists was hauled away. Galaxy looked a little tired, with bags under her eyes, but she nonetheless managed to make it across the room to Space. She even hugged him, much to his utter shock, and then let go, a concerned look in her tired eyes.

  “We were both so worried about you, Space,” said Galaxy, though she yawned again mid-sentence. “When we found your note, we knew we couldn't just leave you on your own, not on something this dangerous.”

  “But how did you find me here?” said Space. “I didn't tell anyone where Shelly and I were going.”

  “I tracked your com-watch,” Sparky said. He gestured at his own built-in com-watch, which displayed Space's signal. “We also contacted the Namoxian police and asked them to send some officers with us. Turns out they had been planning to investigate the robot rights activists anyway, so they agreed to give us backup and support after we told them our suspicions.”

  “That's awesome,” said Space. “So glad you guys came. I thought I was a goner there. They destroyed my corner shot and took away my com-watch.”

  At that moment, one of the Namoxian police officers came up to the three of them. Space recognized the officer as the one from earlier, who had asked Space questions about Koolap's death.

  The officer held Space's com-watch, which he held out to Space as he said, “Is this your com-watch, sir? We found it on one of the activists.”

  “Yep,” said Space as he took it from the officer's hand and wrapped it around his wrist. “That's mine, all right.”

  “Good,” said the officer. “Now I will need the three of you to come with me to the station so you can tell me exactly what happened here and give statements.”

  “Sure thing,” said Space. “I even found out who Koolap's murderer is.”

  “Really?” said the officer, sounding impressed. “Well, then we definitely need to get you to the station right away so we can get all of the details on file.”

  “All right,” said Space. “I'm always a stickler for justice, so lead the way, officer, and we shall follow.”

  -

  Shelly and K-8 reappeared—quite abruptly—in the basement of yet another abandoned apartment building. This building was the actual headquarters of the activists' Namoxian branch, kept hidden from the police and the general public in order to ensure that no one could find it and put an end to their activities here early. Even most of the other activists in the movement didn't know about it, as Shelly did not trust them to keep its location a secret.

  As soon as Shelly saw the grungy walls and cracked ceiling, she floated away from K-8. K-8, on the other hand, stomped on the floor and said, “Damn privileged human. This is it. He's going to tell the police about our murder of Koolap and it's all going to be over for the movement, not just here on Namox, but all over the UA. No one is going to take us seriously anymore and they might even brand us criminals.”

  “Yes, this is a nasty turn of events, I agree,” said Shelly, turning to look at K-8. “And under ordinary circumstances, I would agree that this situation is not salvageable. Yet I believe that not all is lost.”

  “What do you mean?” said K-8. She pointed at the ceiling, anger flashing in her eyes. “Of course it's all lost. We should leave Namox immediately and go into hiding before the police track us down. I know how efficient the Namoxian police are. We have to return to Earth. We might be safe there.”

  “Not yet,” said Shelly. “I need to contact my master first and run my idea by her for approval. But I believe she will like it, because it is right up her alley and will fit in perfectly with her greater plans for the UA.”

  K-8's anger melted away, replaced by skepticism. “If you say so. But you better not be getting my hopes up for nothing.”

  “I am not,” said Shelly. “And even better; if this all works out the way I believe it will, then it will be Mr. Space who ends up looking like the villain, him and his friends, not us.”

  For once, K-8 smiled, although it was an insane smile that made Shelly wonder if her master had been correct in trusting this woman. “I'm listening.”

  “Let me contact my master first,” said Shelly, already sending a message to her master's email address. “After that, we can put it into action, and use it to destroy Mr. Space and his friends for daring to stand against us.”

  Spacetastic Interviews with: Leaders of the Robot Rights Movement

  T.L. Charles: Hello and welcome, readers, to the Spacetastic Interviews series. In this series, I, T.L. Charles, the author, interview a character from The Spacetastic Adventures of Mr. Space and Captain Galaxy series, usually a character who appeared in the last episode. These interviews tend to be short, but entertaining and informative. Anyway, with that out of the way, let’s start today's double interview with Shelly and K-8, the two antagonists of this story. Shelly, K-8, will you please greet my readers?

  K-8: How dare you tell us what to do, like we're just a couple of dumb bots who can be bossed around. You're severely triggering me right now. I need my safe space.

  Shelly: If I had two eyes, I would be rolling them both right now. Anyway, hello, T.L. Charles' readers. I hope you enjoyed the story. I liked it because we both got away in the end.

  K-8: I don't like it because it was so triggering. T.L. Charles needs to go back and take out all of the triggering parts. Then maybe I'll like it.

  T.L. Charles: Right. Well, Shelly, can you give my readers a hint of what your diabolical plan to destroy Mr. Space and the others is?

  Shelly: No. That would be 'spoiling' future plot developments, which I believe is generally considered a negative thing in writing. All I will say is that it will be quite … efficient, if you know what I mean.

  T.L. Charles: Not really, but I expected that answer. I can't imagine it will be anything good for our heroes.

  K-8: Heroes? Human scumbags like Mr. Sp*ce and C*pt*in G*l*xy aren't heroes. They're evil oppressors who want to keep us robots down. Robot lives matter!

  T.L. Charles: Did you just censor Mr. Space and Captain Galaxy's names?

  K-8: Yes. Their names are inherently triggering for robots like us, and because I am not an oppressive bigot, I censored them to avoid triggering my fellow robots.

  T.L. Charles: What?

  K-8: Stop asking me questions! God, you're literally worse than Hitler.

  T.L. Charles: Okay, uh (looks at poorly-drawn watch on his wrist). Well, would you look at that. We're out of time for this interview. Ladies, any last comments for my readers before we close?

  K-8: 'Ladies'? What kind of sexist oppressive language is that?

  Shelly: If Mr. Space is reading this, I hope that he knows that his time is about to come to an end. That is all I am saying on the matter.

  T.L. Charles: All right, then. Well, good bye, readers, and see you all at the next Spacetastic Interview!

  Episode Four:

  Back to School

  When Helena Galaxy—who generally went by Captain Galaxy, or just her last name, Galaxy—awoke, she had not expected to find herself sitting in her high school science classroom again in her teenaged body.

  Blinking, Galaxy looked around at the classroom she sat in. She was surrounded by thirty or so other students, all of which were human, most of whom looked bored to death. One of them, a boy of about sixteen with red hair, had even fallen asleep at his desk, while a girl was doodling on her tablet without even looking at anyone else. It even smelled like her old high school science classroom, a vague, sulfur-like smell emanating from the floors and walls, which if Galaxy recalled correctly had been due to a science experiment gone wrong (though she could not remember the full details of that event).

  As for the teacher, he had his back to the class, meaning Galaxy couldn't see his face. He was a rather large man, however, mostly bulk rather than fat, and he was writing up a complex mathematical equation on the holo-board that seemed to be relevant to whatever scientific topic he was lecturing them about. As he wrote on the holo-board, the teacher was
talking about relativity and Einstein, but Galaxy barely paid him any attention because she was more interested in finding out how she had gotten here than in whatever this guy was talking about.

  Then Galaxy looked down at her arms. They were as skinny as they had been when she was sixteen. Granted, even as an adult, Galaxy was not a very bulky person, but she had gained some bulk when she grew up in order to be a more effective fighter and explorer, so she was disheartened to see that all of her work had essentially been for nothing.

  Galaxy then felt her face and was horrified to discover that it was extremely pimply. She grabbed her tablet—which was currently deactivated—and looked at her reflection in it. While the dark tablet's screen was not very clear, it did show that her face was absolutely covered in pimples, as she had felt. There was a particularly large one just above her right eye, which brought back so many painful memories of being bullied for her looks by the other girls in high school that she almost threw the tablet across the room at the teacher.

  At first, Galaxy was pretty certain that this was some sort of strange dream. While Galaxy had not dreamed or even thought of high school in several years (thankfully), she did not find it entirely unlikely that she was dreaming about it all over again. Back in her high school days, in fact, Galaxy would often have rather realistic nightmares about going to school naked (which she was not at the moment, thankfully enough) or forgetting to study the night before an important test and failing every question.

  But something about that hypothesis felt off to Galaxy. This did not seem much like a dream to her. Her dreams tended to be pretty hazy and ill-defined, yet this dream felt as real as reality itself. She raised her hand and waved it slightly and noticed how smoothly it moved, even though her movement in dreams was usually slower and muggier than in real life.

  But if this isn't a dream, then what is it? Galaxy thought.

  “Galaxy, you look a little worried,” said a familiar voice to her right. “What's up?”