Robot Awareness: Special Edition Page 11

  The bay doors opened, startling everyone from their quiet reverie. Everyone turned as Rex walked in. He looked strangely satisfied in a way no one had seen in him before. He ignored their stares, which implored some explanation from him, as he sat down gracefully on a chair opposite of Isellia.

  "Where is our 'guest?'" Porter asked Rex, who looked into the viewscreen.

  “Aft side quarters," he said. "Seemed like as good a place as any."

  “And why is she our guest?" Isellia demanded, crossing her arms in an effort to hide her apprehension. “I don’t remember inviting her!”

  “I don’t remember that being your call,” Porter said, looking at her with a little less patience than usual.

  Isellia sulked at his retort. “Don’t remember you inviting her either,” she said under her breath.

  "She saved my life,” Rex said, not taking his eyes off the viewscreen. “All of our lives."

  "Yeah,” Isellia said, “after she beat the plasma out of you."

  Porter looked at her neutrally. “Well, she does have a point,” he said, turning his stare to Rex.

  Isellia was the only one who spoke it, but everyone had been thinking it. They'd seen Rex fight — no, what he did went beyond fighting. Someone that could throw him like a rag doll scared the "plasma" out of all of them.

  “Nothing to worry about,” Rex said, seeming to grow agitated at the interrogation.

  “Nothing to — are you serious?” Isellia looked at Porter incredulously.

  Rex turned to look at her. “Well, not much we can do now. She’s here. That’s that.”

  The direct look put Isellia off balance, and she couldn’t talk for a moment.

  “He’s right. Not much between us and our coordinates. And we certainly aren’t going back.” Porter folded his hands in front of him. “And I don’t think we’re in much of a position to tell her to do anything.”

  “I’m not afraid of her,” Isellia said, with such little conviction even she didn’t believe herself.

  Rex looked over at her. “You should be.”

  ***

  Isellia left the bridge. She hadn’t had much to say after Rex had finished speaking, and just turned and walked away. She had an excuse — the plasma intake manifold needed an overhaul, and Stephen wouldn’t know the ship well enough to do it. The truth is, it could probably wait another six months, but it provided Isellia a convenient way of avoiding human contact for awhile.

  Everyone was silent on the bridge, only interrupted by the beeps, buzzes and whirring noises that after a time drifted into so much background noise, so that only when the ship stopped and docked, and powered down for re-energizing, did it suddenly become apparent what true silence was.

  But the silence Joey experienced now overflowed with a tension that made him rather uncomfortable. Porter sat at his terminal, intensely concentrating on whatever information he was perusing on its screen. His gaze focused on the viewscreen, but Joey guessed his real attention was far from anything on the bridge or in front of the ship in space. It was the same look he often got himself, and he found he could see it in others, that distant gaze one gets when the mind is elsewhere.

  If Porter was wondering how to broach the subject in order to find out more about his strange new passenger, Rex saved him the trouble.

  “Name’s Celia, by the way,” Rex said. His eyes never left the viewscreen, and he still appeared unconcerned about his general whereabouts.

  “That so,” Porter said, also appearing uninterested. It was only Joey who looked up with interest.

  “Are you friends with her?” Joey asked. Porter looked up at Joey and, despite his attempts to carry a stern countenance, couldn’t help but smirk a little.

  “Something like that,” Rex said, just the shadow of a smile passing over his lips.

  Joey looked back and forth between the two, now not sure how to react. He hadn’t realized he’d said anything funny.

  Suddenly Rex dropped his gaze on the view screen and turned to face Joey directly, his elbow resting on his knees and his hands clasped together. Joey’s eyes widened with surprise and interest.

  “You ever heard of the mountains of Yo?” He looked right at Joey directly, not blinking or changing his gaze.

  Joey said nothing, but shook his head. Porter’s eyebrow raised.

  “The mountains of Yo? You’re not saying you’re a—“

  Porter could only gape in surprise as Rex pulled up his off-white, long-sleeved shirt. A dragon twisted around itself and crawled up his right abdomen, as if the tattoo wanted to claw its way up through Rex’s shoulder and feed off his head. Joey stared in amazement, and Porter looked taken aback. The tattoo was black, but shone in a red or gold, depending on how the light hit it.

  He put the shirt back down and relaxed in his chair.

  “The Yuzara...” was all Porter could say.

  “Some of the most severe training the human body could possibly endure,” Rex said, sitting back.

  “And there’s two of you...” Porter muttered.

  “There were half a dozen times I thought I was dead. Because I nearly was.”

  “...On board my ship.”

  “She went through everything I did. Guessing she was some kind of prodigy.”

  Joey sat in fascination. It didn’t take much, the mention of a possibly legendary training place and a mysterious tattoo that seemed to come alive to look at it — the cool threshold was thoroughly reached and surpassed.

  “Wait a minute, wait,” Porter said, shaking his head. “I thought that was all a legend. Things people tell their children. A fairy tale.”

  “That look like a fairy tale to you?” Rex said, resuming his careless attitude.

  “I guess not.”

  “Look, I’m just telling you ‘cause you want to know about her. That’s all. Figure you want to know your passengers before you accept them.”

  “Like I have a choice?” Porter said, slumped in his chair. “Can’t exactly kick her off, can I?”

  “Why would you? More passengers mean more money. No math expert—”

  “The dead can’t spend money,” Porter said.

  “She took a different path than me. There are several. But understand. You’re either her target, or you’re not. And now, you’re not. She won’t kill anyone she’s not paid to, and once she’s left a mark it’s left — there’s no going back. In fact, the ones who canceled her mark are really in for it — she’ll protect you just to spite them. At least that’s what I think she’s up to.”

  “You don’t know?” Porter asked.

  Rex said nothing, but continued staring at the viewscreen.

  There was a quiet for a while, as the tension felt previously began to set in again.

  “Is this really a marriage ribbon?” Joey finally asked, breaking the silence.

  ***

  Stephen gave the ship’s engines one last listen, double-checking the levels on each of the dials and gauges, occasionally grabbing a wrench to make a quarter turn adjustment. Modern ships, even one as old as theirs, were controlled by micro-chips that required someone knowledgable with computer functions. That was the role the robot served.

  But the ship’s engine was different. It was old, mechanical, and the ship’s computer systems had to work around it to interface with it. To Stephen it was a living, breathing system, a beast with a temperament.

  So he listened to the beast, putting his hand on a rusty piece of chassis as a turbine hummed under his palm, buzzing his hand in just the right way. An engine could tell you a lot by the sounds it makes... if you take the time to listen.

  In the company, he'd generally not been allowed near any section related to engineering, even though he clearly demonstrated an aptitude for the line of work — that privilege was reserved for the management class, many who inherited the job, in lieu of any actual ability. Some of them were talented, granted, such as Mr. Billson. Billson would take Stephen into boiler rooms with him, off the job, teaching h
im what he knew and learning from him as well.

  Stephen still had a stack of engineering books on the shelf above his bunk when Company C engineers entered his room one day, on a routine inspection. (He’d never heard of routine inspections of private quarters.)

  During an inquiry, they discovered the books belonged to Mr. Billson. His electronic signature were on them, embedded in the paper of the front page. After his confession to stealing them, he was re-assigned to the mines on After Mountain, where he would work for the rest of his career.

  He smiled when he left, knowing he’d saved Mr. Billson a lot of trouble, not to mention his family. He didn’t want Billson’s kindness repaid with imprisonment for allowed Stephen to read books he wasn’t authorized to read. Life in the mines was by no means easy, but it was less of a stretch from his old job than for an engineer like Billson. He regretted he wouldn’t see him again.

  For Stephen, then, the engine room represented something of a dream come true. He didn't take his responsibilities lightly, and in fact often overcompensated, triple checking levels and adjustments despite having no reason to believe they might have changed. For the first time in months he felt truly useful and part of something bigger than himself.

  He left the engine room brimming with confidence, toppling over Isellia as he charged out of the room.

  His confidence went out in search of its hiding place as he looked up at Isellia, who inspired a special smattering of stutter. 'S-s-sorry, I'm sorry! I wasn't watching —"

  Stephen had been on the ship long enough to taste Isellia's legendary anger, but he received something different instead. "Whatever," was all Isellia said absently, barely paying him mind as she found her feet and moped her way down the hall. She was lost in thought, walking slowly and without purpose. Her posture slumped forward as she meandered down the hall.

  He watched her go for a moment, then spoke up. "I-i-it's okay, you know."

  Isellia stopped, as if suddenly being aware for the first time what she was doing. "What's okay?"

  "What you're feeling." When Isellia turned toward him, he was no longer looking at her, but staring at the floor between his knees, a knowing expression on his face.

  "How do you know what I'm feeling?" she asked, trying to sound angry but couldn’t stop genuine curiosity leaking through in her voice.

  “There’s something about these people. Something different.”

  “Oh really, I hadn’t noticed...” Isellia rolled her eyes. Stephen was silent a moment. Isellia dropped her sarcastic expression, looking at Stephen curiously. “OK, what do you mean? I mean, I think I know what you mean, but...”

  “It’s hard to explain. Have you noticed,” Stephen looked up at her briefly before continuing his floor gaze. “Have you noticed when you’re around them you feel sort of at ease, and frightened out of your wits at the same time?”

  Isellia swallowed. Of course she’d noticed, but — she had just assumed it was infatuation. It confused her that Celia made her feel the same way.

  “What does it mean?” Isellia asked, quiet and unsarcastic.

  “I don’t know,” Stephen said. “But,” he said, looking up at her. “I think they’re going to lead us somewhere interesting.”

  ***

  "Set the coordinates for 134.1 mark 12-3, Joey." Porter sat in a chair beside him, while Joey sat at the controls, piloting the ship.

  "Where are we going?” Joey asked.

  "There's one last resupply station before we reach our destination. Stephen tells me we can make our coordinates from there, but it’ll be tight. He’s double checking to make sure we’re running as efficiently as possible. We’ll need it.”

  Joey's brow furrowed in thought. "Where are we going again?” he asked, after a brief pause.

  Porter frowned a bit, as if the question bothered him as well. “I don’t know.”

  There was a pause, filled only by the hum of the ship’s engines.

  “It’s a job, it’s paying. And I got money up front. That’s enough for me. Go ahead then.”

  Joey's brow didn't unfurl. He entered the coordinates he was given, more expertly than a boy of his age should have been able to. Joey had a natural affinity, but excelled because he was given room to grow. Porter trusted him, and Joey responded to that trust. It didn't mean he wouldn’t make mistakes — but when he did, he would learn from them, as he had with the landing gear.

  He was only a boy, and his curiosity sometimes outweighed his foresight. “Can I ask a question?”

  “Of course, you don’t need permission.”

  Joey’s face scrunched in thought as he searched for the right words.

  “Are we,” he began. “I mean, we transport cargo, right?”

  “Yes,” Porter nodded, wondering where he was going with his question.

  “But sometimes, we don’t... um, follow the rules, right?”

  Porter nodded. “Yes, I guess you could put it that way.”

  Joey nodded to himself.

  “Does that bother you, Joey?”

  Joey shook his head. “No,” he said. “I mean, my mom always talked about how the company rules were unfair anyway, I guess. Until the time was right to break them.”

  “You’re mom was a wise woman. And very brave.”

  “Do you know what happened to her?” Joey asked.

  Porter was silent. “You know I’m not supposed to tell you.”

  Joey nodded to himself.

  “I can tell you I gave her my word that I would look after you. She wanted you far away from company attention.”

  “So I didn’t have to work in the mines.”

  “Exactly. She wanted a better life for you.” Porter chuckled a little. “I’m not sure how much better this life is, but at least we live by our own rules. And you don’t have to breathe in dust from a mine every day.”

  “Yeah, and I get to keep the robot!”

  Porter laughed a little, more the release of tension from the crew’s earlier entanglement than at what Joey said. “Yeah, that’s right.”

  ***

  Joey squinted in the desert at dusk at the small figure hunched over on the horizon. He stopped every so often to see if he could make out what it was, then walked a little closer.

  The sun had long since disappeared over the horizon, the sky turned a dark blue that faded into black behind him, and the first stars began to appear against the backdrop of night.

  The toolbox Joey carried grew heavy under his arm, and it began to drag against his side, clanking with each step. He’d spent the day with Mr. Twitters, who a few weeks past had gifted him with his own set of tools. He carried them proudly back and forth, always careful to avoid the Company C patrol routes — he always left past curfew and they might not take kindly to his tool set and question where he got it. By now he knew his part of the colony mining planet quite well.

  He’d been thinking of things to fix in the pod he lived in with his mother — it would save her a lot of trouble if he could help out more around the house. She came home from the mine every day at dusk, exhausted with a cough that seemed to be growing worse. Joey had seen it in many of the workers from the mines. He’d never seen an elderly worker, and assumed they got to leave after they reached a certain age. He was starting to grow old enough to figure out the real reason why there weren’t many older workers.

  He finally got close enough to see the figure, now slumped in the cool desert sand. It was indeed a robot, something he dreamed about working on since long before he’d visited Mr. Twitters’ shop. A chill of anticipation tingled over his body. He approached it cautiously, inspecting it in the ever dimming light.

  “Hello, Mr. Robot,” Joey said, looking into its cranial unit. It appeared to have run out of oil.

  “Threat... imminent. Must... protect,” the robot muttered in its transistor radio voice.

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Robot,” Joey said, digging into his toolbox. “I’m not a threat. I’m your friend.”

  “Friend?�
�� The robot struggled to move, reaching for its ROU. “Does not compute. Need...more info...”

  “I’m Joey, Mr. Robot. I’m gonna fix your legs at least, so you can move. Then maybe we can get the rest of you working.”

  “Joey... will fix?”

  “Yep!” Joey started oiling the robot’s joints, cleaning sand out. “You belong to Company C?”

  The green light on the robot’s LED flashed furiously, a green line changing shape and direction.

  “Company C... Must be... destroyed.”

  The robot’s reaction surprised Joey, but then he smiled. “I don’t like Company C either. They make my mom work in the mines. She’s getting sick. It’s all their fault.

  “Joey will... destroy Company C?”

  Joey laughed. “I don’t know about that. But I sure don’t like them. Alright, let’s see if you can walk.”

  The robot stood, able to walk although its upper half was still frozen stiff.

  “I know where we can hide you for now. I won’t let Company C get you! Let’s go, I think a patrol might be coming.”

  The robot followed the young boy as he lugged his toolbox behind him. “Joey = friend?”

  ***

  Isellia nearly reached the sanctuary of her quarters when she saw the assassin walking toward her. She seemed to be headed purposefully toward her, not just coincidentally passing her in the hall. Isellia did not like this; she did not like her, and made no effort to hide this fact.

  "Hey," the assassin said to her, "mind if we talk a bit." She reached out for Isellia's arm.

  "Don't touch me!" Isellia yelled, back-handing her hand away with a fierce look. Celia let her do this, though she could easily have avoided the blow. Had she wanted to, Celia could have grabbed her, and there wouldn't have been anything Isellia could do about it. Isellia knew this, having seen her in the docking bay, and that didn’t do much to improve her opinion of her.

  Instead, Celia smiled warmly, angering Isellia even more. Isellia didn’t know who this woman was and she didn’t much care if Rex trusted her — she did not.