A Toaster on Mars

by Darrell Pitt

  Blake didn’t know whether to feel flattered or worried.

  ‘I like to know what’s happening with our agents,’ Pomphrey continued. ‘You used to be one of our top people.’

  ‘Still am,’ Blake said. ‘I might not be as fast as I once was—’

  ‘I’m not talking about speed or agility. I’m talking about judgement, the choices you’re making.’ Pomphrey stopped at the window and stared out. ‘You’re the only agent in the entire PBI who works without a partner. You’re out there alone, facing death, terror and horror.’

  ‘Everyone’s got a hobby. Mine’s carnage.’

  But the assistant director wasn’t so easily diverted. ‘Things have got to change,’ he said. ‘You’re getting a partner.’

  ‘I don’t need a partner,’ Blake objected. ‘I work better without one.’

  ‘You almost got killed today. I won’t have you risking your life out there alone. Not again.’

  ‘I can’t take a partner out with me,’ Blake said. He felt a terrible tightening in his chest.

  ‘Is it because of Bailey Jones?’ Pomphrey asked, his voice softening. ‘It’s not your fault she got killed. It’s not anyone’s fault. This is a dangerous job.’

  Blake swallowed away the pain. ‘I don’t want—’ he started.

  ‘There’s no discussion on this.’

  ‘Damn it! I’m all right—’

  But he felt a sudden tug on his left leg and watched it fall to the floor. Blue and red liquid spurted over the sheets.

  ‘Take it easy, Blake!’ Pomphrey growled. ‘They had to reattach your leg with bioplastic bonds!’

  ‘A severed leg doesn’t scare me,’ Blake said, although he hated the sight of blood, especially when it was his own. ‘I’ve had worse.’

  Zeeb says:

  I won’t bore you with Blake Carter’s entire medical history, but I will say that if it weren’t for the invention of bioplastic, he would have been dead a dozen times over.

  Bioplastic not only sticks things together but it also keeps the things doing what they’re supposed to be doing. So blood keeps circulating in humans and chlorophyll keeps absorbing sunlight in plants. Once bioplastic sets, it stays stuck.

  This probably sounds like a good idea—and essentially it is—but there have been terrible accidents involving people sticking themselves to other living things: trees, cows, sharks. A man in New Zimbabwe has been stuck to a cheetah for over twenty years, which has made for a difficult life, despite never missing a train.

  ‘Don’t move!’ Pomphrey boomed. ‘I’m getting a medic for you, Blake—and I’m sending in your new partner.’

  Blake stared at the ceiling as the assistant director hurried from the room.

  I can’t work with a partner, he thought. Not after Bailey.

  A distant tapping interrupted his thoughts—the sound of high-heel shoes. Someone was coming down the hallway.

  Not a female agent!

  The woman who entered the hospital room was six feet tall. She had a perfect nose, sparkling blue eyes, and lips that men would die for. Her burgundy-coloured hair was cut in a fashionable bob, and she wore a grey suit jacket so trim it had to be made to measure. Marilyn Monroe would have been jealous of her measurements. The woman’s skirt rode high above her knees. Too high. It couldn’t be regulation.

  And her skin was golden.

  Because she was a robot.

  ‘So, you’re Blake Carter.’

  ‘What the hell are you?’

  ‘It’s who,’ she said, thrusting out a hand. ‘Special Agent Nicki Steel.’

  Blake shook without thinking. Her hand felt human. ‘You’re a special agent with the PBI,’ he said, dumbly. ‘But you’re a robot.’

  ‘I’m not a robot. I’m a cyborg.’

  ‘Cyborg?’

  ‘Part robot, part human, all woman.’

  ‘How much…of what is which?’

  ‘I’m nine per cent human,’ Nicki said. ‘Sections of my brain, nervous system, half a heart, a few bones.’

  ‘How…why…?’

  ‘Don’t you worry about that.’ She peered down at him. ‘I hear you used to be a good agent.’

  ‘Used to be… I still am. Better than good. I’ve closed more cases than you’ve had…grease and oil changes.’

  Nicki Steel rolled her eyes. ‘I don’t need grease,’ she said. ‘Or oil.’

  ‘I don’t need a partner—’

  ‘Because I’m a cyborg? That sort of prejudice—’

  ‘Being a cyborg’s got nothing—’

  ‘So you’ve met.’ Cecil Pomphrey appeared in the doorway. ‘Good.’

  ‘Assistant Director,’ Blake stammered. ‘I can’t take a toaster out on a case.’

  ‘A toaster?’ Nicki gasped. ‘Well, I can’t work with some washed-up—’

  ‘Washed-up!’

  Cecil Pomphrey held up a hand, cutting Blake and Nicki off.

  A doctor walked into the room. He was a Telubrian, a three-foot-tall species that looked suspiciously like white rabbits. He took advantage of the silence and inspected Blake’s leg. ‘Oh, voy!’ He shook his head. ‘What havt you done?’

  ‘It’s nothing, Doc,’ Blake said, still glaring at Nicki. ‘Just needs a little reattaching.’

  ‘You policemen.’ The doctor started working on the limb. ‘You’re all ze same. Too toukch for your own zoots.’

  Blake frowned. ‘Too toukch for our zoots?’

  ‘Tough for our boots,’ Nicki explained.

  ‘Assistant Director,’ Blake said. ‘I can’t work with a robot.’

  ‘A cyborg.’

  ‘You can,’ Pomphrey said, ‘and you will. You’ll treat Agent Steel like any other agent. Yes, she’s a cyborg, but that makes no difference. She had the highest arrest rate in the south-west.’ He turned to Nicki. ‘You will treat Agent Carter with the utmost respect. You have brains, but he has experience. Years of it. In the past he has brought in some of the most dangerous criminals this planet has ever seen.’

  Then Pomphrey turned to Blake, scowling.

  ‘You’ll take Nicki Steel as your partner or you’ll be walking a beat on Pluto.’ He leant in close. ‘Pluto’s very cold this time of year.’

  Zeeb says:

  It’s worth pointing out that Pluto’s cold at any time of year. A pleasant day on Pluto is minus 460°F. That’s pretty cold. Still, it’s not all doom and gloom. It has some rather nice restaurants as well as a diner that makes a mean burger. And the planet remains one of the Terran system’s prime skiing destinations.

  Having said this, I’d rather have a Drabonian bat inserted into my left ear than go there.

  Blake nodded, but he was already thinking, I’ll ditch her as soon as I can. Then I can get back to the Badde case.

  ‘Looks like I’ve got a partner,’ he said.

  ‘Good man,’ Pomphrey said, slapping his shoulder. ‘And one more thing. You’re not working on the Badde case.’

  ‘What? That can’t be!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Blake. It’s for your own good.’

  ‘But I’m the expert!’

  ‘You’re in no condition to go chasing after criminal masterminds. The whole agency’s following up on the information you’ve put together. If thousands of agents can’t track him down, then no one can.’ He paused. ‘You’re on light duties until further orders.’

  ‘Light duties…’

  ‘Show Agent Steel how we do things in Neo City,’ he said. ‘That’s an order.’

  Giving them one last nod, Cecil Pomphrey left. Blake fell back into the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

  I’m off the Badde case. How can that be? I’m the expert on Badde!

  He had to get out of here and back to work.

  Struggling to sit up, he said, ‘Hey, Doc, you finished there?’

  The doctor stepped back from his leg with a satisfied grunt. ‘Goot as new,’ he said, admiring his handiwork.

  Blake started to climb out of the bed but felt an o
dd tugging at his leg again.

  What the—?

  ‘Sprot!’ Blake snarled.

  The leg was on back-to-front.

  ‘Vell,’ the doctor muttered. ‘Nobody’s perfect.’

  5

  Blake and Nicki left the hospital. Although Blake didn’t have a bounce in his step, he at least had an air of satisfaction. He was free of the hospital. Now he just had to get rid of this robot—correction, cyborg.

  ‘It’s quite a town,’ Nicki said.

  ‘It is.’

  Blake gave her a sideways glance. The assistant director might have placed him on light duties, and given him a toaster to babysit, but there were times when you had to follow the rules, and times when you had to screw them up and throw them away. This was one of those times.

  Maybe he could send her out for coffee. He knew a really good place—on Jupiter.

  Except Nicki Steel didn’t seem the type to take orders. It was hard to believe they would hand a badge and a weapon to someone made of metal and plastic. What was the world coming to?

  Blake’s stomach growled. He took out his two bottles of food. One was bacon and eggs, but the other—

  Sprot.

  Sighing, he swallowed one of the bacon and eggs pills.

  ‘Do you ever eat any healthy food?’ Nicki asked.

  ‘That’s none of your business.’

  ‘Are you always this painful, Agent Carter?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I hope that isn’t going to affect our working relationship.’

  ‘We don’t have a working relationship.’

  ‘You’re a funny guy. About as funny as that movie Snakes on a Space Station.’

  Zeeb says:

  In case you didn’t see the film, she’s referring to the version made in 2455, not the later one starring the Harrison Ford/Charlie Chaplin clones. It was a good film, but not as good as Rubatars on an Asteroid. Let’s face it—few things are as scary as rubatars.

  ‘We’re working together,’ Nicki said, ‘whether you like it or not. So maybe you should start acting like a cop and ask me some questions.’

  ‘Like what? Your favourite oil?’ Blake shook his head. ‘Look, I don’t want to offend you. I’m sure you’re very skilled, but if I wanted a partner—which I don’t—it wouldn’t be a robot.’

  ‘Cyborg. And why not?’

  ‘You can’t shoot suspects,’ Blake said. ‘Robots can’t kill people.’

  ‘What part of “I’m not a robot” don’t you understand? I’m a cyborg. I can shoot, maim and kill—and I might start with you!’

  That stopped Blake. ‘I’ve never met a…er…cyborg before,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know we made them.’

  ‘You make me sound like a can of beans.’ Nicki turned away. ‘I wasn’t designed on Earth. I was built… elsewhere. I was found on Vargus Four. I had no name. No memory. It was as if I had been wiped blank. A family took me in and raised me as their own.’

  ‘Even if I were ready to work with a toaster—’

  ‘Which I’m not,’ Nicki said through gritted teeth.

  ‘—I’d need someone who can do everything a human can.’

  ‘I can—and more. I’ve got double the strength, speed and agility of a normal human. Plus my brain is built from pure quazitone.’

  ‘Quazitone. That’s amazing.’

  ‘You don’t know what it is, do you?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘It’s a compressed substance made from the residue found at the event horizon of a black hole.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like you can buy it at a supermarket.’

  Two guys walked past, looking Nicki up and down.

  ‘You get a lot of that?’ Blake asked.

  ‘It’s not easy being a sex goddess, but I live with it.’

  Some people used robots for companionship, but Blake had always considered it weird. A person dating a toaster, even one with a high-spec AI, might as well date a photocopier.

  ‘Anyway,’ Nicki said, ‘I’d rather look like this than…’

  ‘What?’

  She nodded at him. ‘You’re hardly a movie star.’

  ‘What’re you saying?’

  ‘How old are you? Sixty?’

  ‘Forty!’

  He looked for a cab, but then caught sight of Sally. The assistant director must have organised for her to be brought to the hospital.

  Nicki stared at the car. ‘It does fly, doesn’t it?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course! What do you think I am? A Neanderthal?’

  ‘Is that a rhetorical question?’

  ‘Blake!’ Sally exclaimed as they climbed in. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Around,’ Blake said, evasively. He introduced Nicki and started the engine. ‘We’re going to PBI headquarters.’

  Nicki stared at him, aghast, as he gripped the steering wheel. ‘Uh, what are you doing?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re not driving this car, are you?’

  ‘I’m a good driver.’

  ‘He wrecked his last twelve cars,’ Sally said. ‘I live in constant fear for our safety.’

  ‘Shut up!’ Blake said.

  ‘You don’t need to be rude!’

  Blake resisted the urge to thump the dashboard. ‘You’re a motor vehicle,’ he said. ‘I don’t need to be polite.’

  ‘Why are you so stressed? Have you had a hard day on the streets?’

  ‘Blake was in hospital,’ Nicki said.

  ‘Hospital! My little Blakey Wakey was in hospital!’

  ‘Don’t call me that!’

  ‘Sally,’ Nicki said, smirking as she shot Blake a look. ‘Have you got a little crush on Blake? Is that what it is?’

  ‘I’ve got a subroutine that makes me fall for bad men! They can slam my doors as hard as they want and I just keep coming back for more.’ Sally paused. ‘Is it that obvious?’

  ‘Only to me. Blake’s not the brightest star in the sky.’

  Blake groaned.

  Zeeb says:

  I should mention that humans and AIs have come a long way, but Earth is still one of the many planets where they’re forbidden to marry. The reasons against automotive-human marriages are varied, but authorities often worry where it will lead. For example, a man on Trigor Nine trying to marry his neighbour’s ride-on lawnmower was disallowed by the courts. The whole incident ended in tragedy when, faced with separation, the man drove himself and the lawnmower off a cliff.

  If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.

  Blake slammed his foot on the accelerator and they took off. Sally and Nicki chatted away as he gloomily navigated his way through the traffic. Badde was somewhere out there. The PBI might be trying to track him down, but they didn’t know Badde like he did.

  ‘Thinking about the investigation?’ Nicki asked.

  Blake frowned. ‘How’d you know?’

  ‘I would be if someone stole a case I’d worked on for years.’

  Blake sighed. ‘Badde is the galaxy’s most infamous criminal. He’s committed robberies from one side of the Milky Way to the other: the Sirus Four bank job, the Mars gold depository, the First Interstellar platinum heist. The robberies were always carried out after-hours, and no one was ever arrested.’

  ‘So he’s always stayed in the shadows.’

  ‘Until now. We’re lucky he’s finally surfaced.’

  Zeeb says:

  Evolutionary scientists on Earth have long debated the importance of luck in the development of life there. They believed that atoms bumped into atoms. Amino acids were created. Lightning struck. Things climbed out of the sea. Legs were grown. Things did things with other things.

  The theory was bounced on its head and kicked out the door by a five-billion-year-old race called the Xengonia, who turned up one day claiming they had created life on Earth with a kit they bought from their local hardware store.

  They had just wanted to see what would happen.

  ‘I haven’t seen the Bad
de file,’ Nicki said.

  ‘There isn’t much to see,’ Blake told her. ‘But I’ve got a current photo of him.’

  ‘Blake, darling,’ Sally groaned. ‘Not the photo.’

  But he’d already brought it up on the internal monitor.

  Nicki stared. ‘It’s a picture of an elbow,’ she said.

  ‘I know it’s an elbow! I’ve been showing that photo around for fifteen years and it’s gotten me nowhere!’

  ‘That’s a pretty nasty-looking elbow. Maybe people are afraid to ID him.’

  Blake rubbed his unshaven chin. ‘This whole extortion gig is new for Badde,’ he said, thoughtfully. ‘It’s the one thing I don’t understand. Why do it? It’s not his style.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll really use the Super-EMP?’

  ‘I don’t know. The Earth might never recover if he does.’

  ‘What would people do without power?’

  Blake shrugged. ‘It could be a good thing,’ he said. ‘They would do what people used to do in olden times.’

  ‘Like what? Die from leprosy?’

  ‘People would get to know their families. Start talking to their neighbours. Read books. Be active in their communities.’

  ‘That’s the biggest load of sprot I’ve ever heard,’ Nicki said. ‘It’s pure nostalgia, like that song from the Sunbarrows.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘They’re a retro group. They write new lyrics to old songs, add a drumbeat and synthesiser. Their song ‘What’s So Good About Now?’ is sung to the ancient tune of ‘Oh, You Beautiful Doll’.’

  ‘I don’t know it.’

  ‘It goes like this,’ Nicki said, and sang it:

  What’s so good about now?

  What’s so good about now?

  Spaceships, plastics, teleportation,

  Cloning, face swaps, biodegration.

  What’s so good about now?

  What’s so good about now?

  We’ve got cryogenics and time machines,

  Terraforming and aging creams.

  Now! Now! Now! Now!

  What’s so good about now?

  Blake sighed.

  Exactly what I needed, he thought. A singing toaster.