The Pink Heist

by Adam El Shalakany

  "My pupil has a point." Zenbot said. "Only one in a thousand survive. And those who do, compete on their times."

  "Why don't they just do it inside a game?" VII shook her head in disapproval.

  "They do." Mancy said. "They do it over and over again. But it's sad to say, no matter how much processing power we pour into planets like MO4 they can never seem to replicate the real thing."

  "Who cares about the real thing?" VII snapped. "What's real anyhow? You think this is the final topside. You gotta be crazy. We've just forgotten that's all. There are some games like that, and why would I want to leave the safety of MO4 and go and do it in 'real' life? Why do people have to be so crazy? Ain't that right, Algy?" VII leaned in to scratch the white mouse behind its ears.

  "I think I can answer that." Zenbot's eye slits flared up deep blue. "It's the finality of failure which gives the race its true purpose. It's easy to risk your 'life' in MO4. But no one can call you a hero. No one whispers your name. Skyburner, Bonecrusher, muck-raker it's all the same thing up here."

  "Muck." Qruise groaned.

  "All these names mean nothing outside of MO4's small circle. But everyone knows Wu Shadowsail." Zenbot continued.

  "One might say the same about the Zenbot." Mancy raised an eyebrow.

  "One might. One might." Zenbot's eye slits returned to their normal orange glow. "We know name's like Wu because they've risked it all. That is why they do it, VII. They're simply fulfilling their purpose."

  "To die?" VII didn't look convinced.

  "For some, yes."

  "Fucghing….idiots" Mr. Qruise added.

  "If you'll excuse me," Zenbot said, standing up, "I will take my pupil and attempt to reform his shattered mind. Into something stronger hopefully. How long till the Seven Sisters, Ms. La2x?"

  "About a week, Zenbot. You have all the time in the world to bring Mr. Qruise about."

  "I will need the week, I think." It looked to Mr. Qruise who was picking his nose, dumbly. "We'll be in the holo-deck." Zenbot dragged Mr. Qruise to the exit.

  Freedman stood up to join them.

  "No. You should remain here Freedman. You must find your place in this journey, somehow. Mancy's not going to let you tag along for long unless you convince her. Can you do that for me?"

  "Yes, master." Freedman bowed apologetically and sat back down next to Mancy and VII. Algy was running happily in its wheel.

  Zenbot pulled Mr. Qruise, who'd been holding tightly onto the door frame, out of the lounge.

  "A fair question I believe, Freedman? don't you think?" Mancy asked. "What exactly will your role be on this little journey of ours?"

  "Well… Well…I was thinking I could be one'a Zenbot's students."

  "I'm sorry, but that role is already being filled by our resident coward." Mancy bared her canines.

  "Then maybe I could be the…the…cook?"

  "The cook?"

  "Yes. My administrative duties on MO4 included dining administration. I can cook a mushroom anyway you like it. I can fry it, I can grill it, bake it, boil it. I can… fry - no I said that already. I was also a chef in a couple of my lives on the inside. A pretty good one at that. I had the best bistro-resto in all of the City of Shining Light, well before it was annihilated by the darkness. But ask anyone, Dejouro's was one'a the best in the city. Ain't that right, VII? You were there, weren't you?"

  "You ran Dejouro's? Never went…" VII said turning towards Mancy. "It was all a bit high class for my tastes. But everyone swore by it, it's true, boss."

  "So, you're a virtual cook? I don't think that'll work out, besides we already have a replicator." Mancy pressed a button on the replicator at the table, replicating herself a slice of cake.

  "Ah, well I know my way around a replicator." Freedman said cockily. "Don't you worry. But they're never the same as the real thing."

  Mancy coughed.

  "I mean, the imagination of proper cook."

  "Whatever you say, Freedman. Just try to find some use for yourself on this mission or we'll have to drop you off on the way, no matter what Zenbot says, and whatever you do don't get in my way."

  Zenbot, a traditionalist, had programmed the holo-deck to simulate a virtual dojo. Paper walls surrounded a large open space with a large square mat at its center. Outside the windows, small immaculately pruned shrubs and cherry trees surrounded idyllic fountains. Snow capped mountains could be seen on the horizon.

  "Now, Mr. Qruise. We have a few weeks before you have to 'pop' inside the vault." Zenbot paused whenever it said the word 'pop', choking on the word. "I'd like to take the opportunity to sit down and understand your abilities. We haven't really had much time to talk and get to know one another. Please prepare some tea."

  Zenbot sat cross legged in the middle of the dojo. Mr. Qruise looked around for a tea set.

  "Ummmm?"

  "You must learn to look, Mr. Qruise. There is a small furnace over there, with provisions." It pointed at a corner of the dojo. When Mr. Qruise looked again he found a small clay tea set and a bunsen burner.

  "I swear it wasn't there before. You're playing games with me. You've programmed this thing to mess with me."

  Zenbot stayed silent.

  Mr. Qruise made the tea and filled two small clay cups placing them between them as he sat in front of Zenbot.

  "So can you even drink tea? You know, being, a….?"

  "An inorganic." Zenbot picked up a cup and sipped from it slowly.

  "Yes."

  "Obviously I don't need tea. And I don't metabolize organic matter but I do have sensory apparati. It's enjoyable for me to 'taste' the tea. Besides, it's more about the ritual. This is all unreal anyway." Zenbot waved its hands pointing out the dojo.

  "Fair enough. So what do you want to know?"

  "Tell me what happens when you disappear from the 'verse."

  "Well…I'm not entirely sure." Mr. Qruise scratched his head, squinting his eyes in thought. "No one's cared to ask me that before and I haven't cared to ask myself now that I think about it. I try not to use it so much because, well… it's not pleasant. But when I have to, I snap my fingers and focus on getting the hell out of the place I'm in. And then it all goes….wonky."

  "Elaborate, please. I can't understand 'wonky'."

  "I feel myself going and everything around me just fades away to, I can't explain it really… to nothingness." He said exasperated trying to find the words.

  "And then?"

  "And then everything reappears but different. I assume it's because I've rematerialized in another place, usually running. Sometimes some things are mixed around, my shoes are on the wrong feet, or I'm barefoot, my underpants appear on top of my trousers, that sort of thing."

  "Excellent, Mr. Qruise, Excellent."

  "Excellent? It's downright horrifying. You can't imagine what it feels like to disappear."

  "But I do Mr. Qruise. I do. And what's more you've given me hope that this thing can be done."

  "I have?"

  "Yes. Two things are apparent from your process." Zenbot raised two slender fingers for emphasis. "The first," it grabbed its first finger with the other hand, "is that you do have some control over your gift, otherwise you'd simply re-materialize in space, or in a wall or underground. Your mind must somehow be able to navigate where it will re-appear."

  "I never thought of that before."

  "The second thing," it said grabbing the second finger, "is that your process is as similar to mine as I had hoped. When you disappear from the 'verse it is not unlike meditation. The difference being that when I meditate, my mind extinguishes, disappears, 'pops'," Zenbot paused at the word, "as you would say, but my body remains. You have the uncanny ability to become no-mind AND no-body. It is a gift I'm enviable of."

  "You don't understand…"

  "I think I do. I think it is you, who still doesn't. Your fear is in charge. Your subconscious navigates when you 'pop'. You're still in control of the process but you're not in control of yourself. We wi
ll attack the problem head on. You must learn to accept the state of no-mind. We will meditate together. Have you finished your tea?"

  "Ye…yes."

  "Excellent. Now, close your eyes and empty your mind of all thought. It's difficult. Will you try?"

  Mr. Qruise nodded and closed his eyes and followed Zenbot's instructions, emptying his mind of all thought.

  "Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus only on your breathing. Nothing else exists. Focus only on your breath. In and then out. If a thought enters your mind, destroy it."

  Ten minutes later Mr. Qruise lay flat on the floor, deep in sleep and snoring.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Seven Sisters Race

  The Seven Sisters are named after seven stars revolving around each other in a cosmic ballet. Fat ballerina's twirling and jumping about, narrowly missing each other. For the past few billion years the Seven Sisters have pushed and pulled each other without any of them getting the better of the other. Their gravitational orbits erratic and random, there is no way to know when they'll finally collide and the whole system will go ka-blooey.

  Due to the highly fluctuating electromagnetic fields between the stars, solar lights flare at random within a parsec of the system.

  The Big Pink cruised up to the Seven Sisters and the nearby space port, the 'End of the Line', right at the edge of the electro-magnetic field.

  Freedman looked out of the bay window in the lounge. "Is that the Seven Sister's?" He asked.

  "Looks like it Freedman." VII said joining him by the window. "Looks like it. I think though," She said pointing to seven distant pinpricks of light, "the Seven Sisters are the stars over there. What you're gawking at's the port."

  "Oh yeah, yeah. Our pilot's in there?"

  "So says the great and powerful Mancy La2x. I don't like the look of it myself. I'm gonna stay back, have the ship ready to go in case we need a fast exit." VII plopped on the couch by the window, "besides I wouldn't be of no use in there anyway."

  "Why's it I feel that we're all a company of cowards." Freedman rubbed his thick jaw.

  "The better part of valor is discretion, Freedman." VII said pulling out a tablet and playing with it.

  The ship docked at the 'End of the Line' and the crew, minus VII, exited onto the port. The docking station was a vacant deck. Black empty space lay behind them and below the deck, on the other side of which was a small corridor leading to the interior of the port.

  "Where's everyone?" Freedman asked, looking around and seeing no one.

  "We should hurry." Mr. Qruise scratched at his beard furiously. "Something feels… wrong. The hairs on my chin are standing on end. They don't do that unless I'm in trouble."

  "Your beard hairs are always on end, Mr. Qruise." Mancy said.

  "Exactly."

  "I agree with my pupil." Zenbot said as it hurried towards the entrance into the port. Its chrome exterior began to hum, glowing with a bright lime green light. Forks of static electricity zapped out from Mr. Qruise's beard. The rest of the crew hurried to catch up.

  Balls of lightening flashed in the corridors and the walls contracted and expanded, breathing.

  "It must be the Seven Sister's field, let's get inside." Mancy shouted over the rising thrumming sound of electricity. "There's a protective field beyond that door."

  A turn wheel locked door loomed large in front of them at the end of the corridor. "How much is life worth to you?" was hung above the door in a neon lit sign. They opened the door and entered. It closed behind them with a clang.

  On the other side they found a large spinning platform, surrounded on all sides by windows looking out into space. The air was filled with upbeat energetic music. Hundreds of tiny little screens showed a different part of the system and were littered across the platform. Thousands of people thronged the center of the large hall. Waiters and waitresses walked the platform carrying trays of bubbly multicolored drinks. Some of the patrons were dressed in tuxedoes and fancy dresses. Piloting enthusiasts were dressed in racer jackets and high boots. The perennial losers were ragged and hunched over the gambling tables, drinks in hand and smiling idiotically as they placed their bets. All of the patrons were focused on the giant electronic board hovering in the middle of the room where six names were listed along with odds.

  Grumble-gut 10/1

  Shoemaker 11/2

  Al Gambari 32/3

  Seven Sisters Racer Inc. 100/1

  Glok 5/1

  Captain Pippy 25/1

  Mr. Qruise, Zenbot and Mancy made their way down onto the platform and found themselves a table. They didn't notice when Freedman walked off into the crowd to explore. Mancy gestured for one of the waiters to bring her one of the bubbly drinks.

  Mr. Qruise joined her and grabbed a drink off the tray when it came by. "You not going to have anything, Zenbot?"

  "I don't enjoy the taste, Mr. Qruise. Thank you for the thought." It tilted its head in appreciation. "You really should get used to calling me master though."

  "Sure thing 'master'. What are these people betting on and what with for that matter?"

  "These people are betting on the race." Zenbot said curtly.

  Mancy smiled and jumped into the conversation, full of enthusiasm. "Oh Zenbot, don't be such a stick in the mud. Of course they're betting on the races, Mr. Qruise. It's a bunch of fun. If you want to play, all you do is go and buy a chip from the dispenser over there. You might stop moping."

  "I wouldn't recommend playing, Mr. Qruise." Zenbot placed its hand on Mr. Qruise's shoulder, keeping him in place. "The odds are quite high but the house always wins."

  "Yeah, but wins what? What are they betting with?" Mr. Qruise gestured for his next glass of bubbly.

  "With their lives." Mancy twirled her drink with a cocktail straw. "Each chip is a year of indentured servitude. You bet a year of your life. You win, you get other peoples' chips and get to form a small army or work crew to start a new business somewhere in the 'verse. You lose and you work for whoever's chips are in or you ride your luck again and bet again, and again and again. If you want to wipe the slate clean you sign up for the race and either win big or lose big. It's a bunch of fun, like I said."

  "Horrible. What a waste of life." Zenbot watched the people around them rushing to place their bets. "These people waste their lives on luck."

  "Don't be in such a rush to judge, Zenbot. How do you think Daddy furnishes the mercenary base? It's races like these that fill the La2x Corporation with hardworking people. Salt of the earth. I think we own a percent of this port in fact. We own a bit of everything, you know."

  "Yes, Ms. La2x, I know. And those you can't buy, you bully into working for you."

  "Just business, darling. Just business."

  "Where's our pilot then?" Mr. Qruise did not enjoy the tension between his two masters.

  "Good question, Mr. Qruise. We wait and see whoever wins the race," Mancy pointed at the space-windows, "and then we try to sign them up for our little adventure. All we have to do is sit back and enjoy for now. It should be starting soon."

  The lights in the gambling hall dimmed twice.

  When Freedman left the rest of the crew at the entrance to the platform, he walked off around the edge of the dazzling hall, with its attractive lights and bouncy music. Elegant men and women danced around him, perfectly in step to the music. Sleek inorganics stood still, coated in black matte paint and staring at the stars. They only turned around and took notice of the gamblers when asked to take thick expensive looking chips and hand back betting slips. They couldn't care less for the bets given to them. This excited the wave of gamblers even more.

  A group of winged beings stood huddled in a corner, tentacles splaying out of their chins. They were playing a game of star, antimatter, black hole with their tentacles. The loser or the winner, Freedman couldn't be sure, walked over to a dispenser and signed a form before being given a stack of thick chips. The whole group then ran to the betting table without a second thought.

&nb
sp; "One minute." An inorganic next to Freedman shouted. The lights dimmed twice.

  A hush fell over the crowd. The screens littered around the hall all showed the same scene. Seven ships were lined up behind a floating line, just outside the port. Freedman stood on his tip-toes to look over the crowd and saw the ships out of the window. The screens then zoomed in on the seven pilots lined up in the direction of the suns. The colors of space beyond them shifted endlessly in and out of the spectrum of visible light. Freedman could swear there were a few colors he'd never seen before. The electro-magnetic field blanketed the entire distance between the racers and the seven stars. Just as quickly as the field came it disappeared back into darkness.

  A scantily clad astronaut with a helmet and a skin tight space suit jetpacked seductively between the ships with a raised checkered flag.

  The lights in the hall dimmed once more.

  "Thirty seconds." The inorganic shouted once more.

  Gamblers rushed silently to the dispensers and then off to the tables to place their last minute bets.

  "Oooooh, I love this part. They're about to go vroooom." A drunken patron next to Freedman drawled as he held onto Freedman for support.

  The checkered flag went down and the ships burst off at near the speed of light.

  The music in the hall cut and the intercom system blared to life. The voice of a well enunciated but annoying commentator came online.

  "And they're off to a start. Now of course folks we're going to slow down the cameras to give us a better view of the racers, so don't be alarmed. We're televising in real time but auto-cutting out all the boring bits. No need to see some ships glide in the dark, ay? Grumble-guts off to a nice start in its slim little cutter. The ol' blob is rushing ahead of the rest. You don't need stabilizers when you're a walking spring system."

  The screens showed the seven ships as they jetted through empty space with the distant stars getting closer in view. The racers were all small one person ships. The pilots could be seen through their cockpits panels. The screen zoomed in onto Grumble-gut's racer. Its cockpit was filled entirely with green gelatin, the pilot's eight eyes floated somewhere inside.