Rigel

by Eli Ingle

  “Sorry, children,” said Rusty. “My calculations did not account for old women at the bottom of the stairs.”

  “Never mind,” said Rigel, looking at his watch. “We need to be getting tickets, I think.”

  The robot nodded before taking them over to a ticket machine by the wall. He pressed several buttons to select one way tickets to Porter’s Place. A light flashed up, indicating that it wanted money.

  “We don’t have any money!” realised Rigel.

  “Do not fret, young one,” said Rusty. With a flick of his wrist, his hand had turned into a device similar to a computer hard drive. He slotted this into the hole where coins were supposed to go. After a moment the machine beeped and three tickets fell into the shoot below. Rona clapped.

  “Oh, clever Uncle Rusty!”

  “Thank you, miss. It was nothing.”

  Rigel found the idea of an underwater boat ride very exciting. Hurrying along to the platform, he looked around eagerly at the smoke-filled little station bustling with people aiming to commute or travel to other parts of the city. Rigel was hoping to see other parts of the station but Rusty was already leading them to one of the platforms at the other side of the hall.

  “I calculate that the boat will be here in one minute,” he said. “If we wait here we are in the optimum place to obtain seats.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “People will filter to either side: one end or the other. In this way we will obtain the best seats.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  Sure enough, a minute later they heard the heavy clanking and puffing of the boat as it pulled into the station. It was a maroon paddle boat with cream decking and compartments. Once it had stopped, the doors were opened and people clambered either on or off the boat.

  Rusty helped them on deck and then opened their compartment door for them. They went inside.

  The interior of the carriage was pleasantly furnished with maroon covered benches along either side. Rails were raised up to the roof and also ran parallel to the floor higher up, providing a bar that could be held by people who were standing up. There was one old woman sitting on the bench in the middle. Rigel heard Rusty sigh before waddling over to her, the pistons in his legs working over to get him there.

  “Excuse me. You are in our seat,” it said. The old woman looked up.

  “I’m sorry?” she quavered.

  “I did not calculate your presence in this seating arrangement. Please move.”

  “No,” she said, clutching her handbag near to herself. “This is my seat!”

  “Just leave it, Uncle Rusty,” said Rona, unsuccessfully trying to pull him away from her.

  “Silence, Rona,” he said, picking her up and putting her back next to Rigel.

  “Oi! Don’t you talk to me like that!” she protested.

  But he was not listening; he was arguing with the woman again. “Look, you obviously don’t have long left to live, so you might as well give us the seats as we’ll appreciate them more!”

  “How dare you?! If I ‘don’t have long left to live’ you should give the seats to me! Not the other way around,” she complained.

  “You obviously need some help understanding,” sighed Rusty. He picked her up and threw her across the carriage.

  “Rusty, no!” cried the children, horrified as the robot dusted his hands off.

  “There we go,” he said.

  “Are you alright?” asked Rigel, trying to help her up.

  “Stay away from me!” she screeched, scrabbling away.

  “I’m just asking. Are you okay?”

  The old lady, however, was not listening. She picked up her handbag and hurried out of the carriage, not looking back. The door shut with a thud and Rusty took the place where she had been sitting a moment before.

  “Come along, children,” he said, patting the seats on either side.

  “That was really bad, Rusty!” said Rona, folding her arms.

  “Yeah, you can’t just attack old ladies!”

  Rusty was silent for a moment except for the clicking in his body. They could tell he was attempting to calculate something.

  “But she wasn’t part of the plan,” he almost whined.

  “That doesn’t matter! Sometimes plans don’t go how you expect them to. You can’t just attack people who scupper it for you – otherwise the whole world would be filled with beaten up people.”

  “I see,” he said eventually. “Attacking old ladies or people who interfere with the Plan should not always be attacked. Okay….”

  “I feel really bad now,” said Rigel, sitting down.

  “Me too,” admitted Rona. “But I don’t think we can do anything ….”

  “I suppose.”

  A horn tooted loudly, echoing down the tunnel. The boat started with a jerk and began to move out of the station with a hiss of steam and the paddles turning at the back.

  Rusty coughed as if to clear his throat before speaking, but Rigel stopped him.

  “Don’t bother,” he said. “We’re still cross with you.”

  Rusty was silent for a moment, except for the clicking of the mechanisms in his bodywork.

  “Be that as it may,” it said, holding up a hand. “My circuits insist that I ask whether you feel fully prepared for your speech later this afternoon.”

  “Oh. I hadn’t thought about it really,” said Rigel, scratching his nose.

  “Me either,” admitted Rona.

  “I suppose we should have,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Let that be of no concern to either of you,” said Rusty. “I have been calculating every possible question that could be asked and every outcome of every answer to every possible question. I have compiled a document that might be helpful to you both if you would care to read it?”

  “Oh, thank you very much,” said Rigel, smiling. “That is helpful.”

  “Yes. Thank you, Uncle Rusty,” Rona said, hugging the robot.

  “Well that’s not a problem at all, kids,” said the robot, looking about as pleased as it was possible for a robot to look. “Would you like it disseminated to you or printed off?”

  “What’s ‘dissessimated’?”

  “Disseminated. To distribute information. In this case through the manner of speaking,” recited Rusty.

  “Oh I see. No, I think we’ll have it printed please. That way if we want to look at it in the interview we can read it rather than have to try and remember it.” Rona nodded in agreement.

  “Very well. Please wait whilst the document is printed,” said Rusty.

  He grew still and sounds like a computer printer could be heard within his bodywork. After a moment the rhythmic whirring of the printer filled the carriage and the document began to be printed. The sheets of paper were all linked together, forming one continuous reel of paper.

  The printing continued for some time.

  When the document reached the fourteenth page, Rigel was beginning to grow concerned. The writing was very tiny.

  “How much more is there?” he asked, trying to fold up the sheets that were already printed.

  “This is page fifteen of seventy-four,” recited Rusty, continually printing as he did so.

  “Seventy-four?!” exclaimed Rona. “That’s ridiculous!”

  “You just said it was helpful!” said Rusty, sounding hurt. “I calculated every possible outcome to the questions.”

  “Well maybe you should have narrowed it down to the most likely,” retorted Rona, looking annoyed. “What are we supposed to do with all of this?”

  “The printing process cannot be cancelled now,” said Rusty, sounding petulant. “You’ll just have to use it as best as you can.”

  Rigel shook his head whilst continuing to try and keep the document under control.

  Rusty sat stolidly printing off the document and making no other sound. The boat continued to paddle through the other stations and
tunnels, stopping occasionally to let other passengers on or off.

  “We’ll be there soon,” commented Rigel, looking at the map displayed above their heads. “There are about three more stops to go. Rusty? Rusty? How many more pages are there to print off?”

  “Ten.”

  “Great … will they be finished by the time the boat stops?”

  “I can speed up the process a little to coincide with this event.”

  “Thank you.”

  On the boat sailed until they finally arrived at their station. The final piece of paper was printed, allowing Rigel to tear it off and add it to the pile of amassed papers.

  “Come along, children,” said Rusty, holding out his hands. They took them and were led off the boat and onto the platform.

  They must have travelled to a more wealthy sector of the city, as the station was far grander than the one from which they had travelled. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling and there were pillars of marble holding up the roof. The platform was spotless, dotted only by wrought iron benches. A band was playing at the far end, making a strange sound that Rigel had never heard before. There was a woman plucking a double bass whilst another man tapped a device that looked a little like a xylophone. It consisted of seven glass bubbles of varying sizes that each produced a different note and lit up when hit. Another woman was playing a clarinet that forked off from the mouth piece, forming two identical looking bodies. She had a hand on each part and was playing different notes on each, creating the effect of two players although there was only one. Rigel was so distracted that he would have stayed there for several minutes longer.

  “Come along, Master Rigel,” said Rusty, tugging his sleeve. “You don’t want to be late for your conference.”

  Allowing himself to be dragged along, Rigel climbed the steps and blinked as he was bathed in the warm sunlight of the afternoon. Rusty’s head was swivelling 360 degrees again as he attempted to locate transport. Bringing his hand up, he signalled a cab that pulled over a moment later.

  Rigel thought it was a cab but as he looked he realised it was a huge tricycle that had a seating area on the back. One strained-looking man was pedalling the bicycle device at the front.

  “Where to?” he asked, panting heavily.

  “Please take us to Porter’s Place,” said Rusty, clambering into the carriage with the children.

  “But that’s really far away!” complained the driver. “I can’t get that far!”

  “You shouldn’t have taken the job then, should you?” replied Rusty, unsympathetically. “Now mush!”

  “Mush yourself,” muttered the driver as he began pedalling down the road.

  “Rusty, stop it!” said Rigel, scowling. “When we get home we’re going to have to talk about how rude you are to people.”

  “I see,” replied the robot. “It appears I have much to learn.”

  There was a few minutes of silence filled only with the panting of the driver.

  “Do you think you ought to look over your questions and answers?” Rusty asked the children, who were too busy looking at the street around them.

  “I suppose so,” sighed Rona. “Give it here.”

  “We’ll share it,” said Rigel. “Have that bit.”

  “The questions are marked from most relevant to least,” Rusty told them. “The questions are in capitals; the answers are in italics.”

  “Okay, thanks,” said Rigel vaguely as he scanned the questions.

  “These seem quite good,” agreed Rona, also looking over them.

  “And these.”

  “Shuffle it a bit further down.”

  Turning through the pages, they worked half-way down the list. The questions however, seemed to be growing a lot less relevant.

  “Why would they ask me what brand of toothpaste I use?” asked Rona, looking at page seventeen.

  Rigel was on page twenty-nine. “And what’s a haemorrhoid?” he asked.

  “These questions are awful!”

  “I calculated all possible outcomes,” whined Rusty. “Get rid of those pages if you think they’re going to be so unhelpful to you.”

  “Whatever.”

  They folded up the stack again and placed it between them.

  “How much further?” asked Rusty. The driver was swearing.

  “Five minutes,” he panted. “But if you keep asking I’ll make it ten!”

  “That’s the first time I’ve asked!”

  “If you think it’s so easy, you come and do it!”

  “I probably could, you know,” replied Rusty evenly. “I do not fatigue – ”

  “Shut up! No, you know what? Get off.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me, get off. I’ve had enough of your lip. Go on, get off. Now!”

  “Well, really ….”

  The driver stopped and refused to take them any further. Rusty and the children climbed down off the cart and watched as the man pedalled away, swearing as he went.

  “Rusty, you’ve got to learn to be more polite to people,” scolded Rigel.

  “Why?” the robot seemed genuinely confused.

  “Because otherwise this kind of thing happens.”

  “I see.” Clicking from inside his body indicated he might be reprograming something.

  “We better start walking,” said Rona, grabbing their hands and pulling them along.

  After some minutes of walking, they finally arrived at Porter’s Place. There was a heavy brass gate guarded by a porter in a brown overcoat with silver buttons. As they approached he stood to attention and addressed them.

  “Welcome to Porter’s Place. How may I assist you?”

  “We’re here for the press conference,” replied Rusty. “This is Rigel and Rona. I am their escort.”

  “Very good. Please step this way.”

  He turned a key in the gate. A moment later the angular brass design opened in the middle with each side folding in on itself, pulling towards the left and right of each gate post. Passing through, Rigel watched as it unfolded back into place behind them. The porter led them inside the courtyard that lay beyond the gate. In the middle was an ornate fountain that was spraying water high up into the air. The actual building was circular, encompassing the courtyard on all sides. The porter, seemingly impassive to the sights, led them across the gravel courtyard and through an archway.

  In the gloom inside, they did not see the door to which he had led them. Opening it with a set of keys from his waist, he held the door open as they went inside.

  Leading them past back rooms where other staff members were resting and drinking tea, he took them to an entrance hall and up a set of grand carpeted stairs so wide that five people could have walked abreast up them.

  As they arrived at the top, he led them around the side of a large room and then through a side door.

  “Through that door there,” he said, pointing, “leads you into the conference room where you’ll be sitting. There is water on the table.”

  “Thank you,” replied Rigel.

  “You go first,” said Rona.

  “No you!”

  “I don’t want to! You go first.”

  “Ladies first, Rona!”

  “Then why aren’t you going first?”

  “Oh har-har.”

  “Please hurry up, children,” urged Rusty. “You only have thirty seconds before you are late.”

  “Ugh. Fine, I’ll go,” said Rigel. “Could you give me those papers? Thank you. Okay.” He took a deep breath before opening the door and walking through it.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “So do you believe that you pose enough resistance to the Shadow that is threatening Kozenia in these troubled times?”

  The questions were increasingly complicated and all very similar. Rigel was growing tired of the constant questioning and there appeared to be no end in sight. Rona appeared equally strained and was answering less and less helpfully. />
  “Well we think that there is hope in us,” attempted Rigel, trying to make an effort. “We need to be trained properly of course – that goes without saying – but I do think that we will be able to lead forwards with the resistance.”

  “But you say you’re not even from here?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You’re not from Kozenia?”

  “Yes, I already said that.”

  “Then how will you know what the country needs in order to defend itself properly?” asked the persistent journalist, pen poised helpfully.

  “I don’t know! That’s why we’re going to get trained!” snapped Rona.

  “What my friend means,” said Rigel, looking uneasily at her, “is that we will be doing our best to adapt to the situation. It’s not easy for us either.”

  “When did you find out you had the powers?” asked another, jumping in as soon as possible.

  “When the Shadow began taking over my home,” said Rona. “I found that I could hide more easily and defend myself when the creatures were around.”

  “And you, Rigel?”

  “I found out when the crew of the Persefoni landed in my home. A Fallen One broke through and I found that I could just sort of … destroy it. I still can’t explain how I did it, though,” said Rigel.

  But the room had gone deathly silent. All the journalists were looking at him uneasily and appeared to be very uncomfortable. He glanced sideways at Rona.

  “What did I say?” he whispered. She shrugged.

  “You … you saw a Fallen One?” asked one of the braver journalists.

  “Er … yeah. What’s so bad about that?” he replied. The journalists gasped. “I mean, er … is that bad?”

  “You don’t even know?”

  “Know what?”

  There was more muttering among the journalists. Rigel did not have the heart to say anything to them about the extent of their ignorance regarding the Darkness or even their own abilities as Light Ones. This interview was not going well ….

  “The Fallen Ones are some of the most evil creatures that are roaming the inter-worlds,” said the journalist. “Until now we only knew of their existence; there had been no reports of any actual sightings. This means they’re getting stronger … that they’re breaking through.”