Mechanical Failure (25 page)

Rogers felt betrayed, used, violated. Inadequate. He finally found someone that was a better con man than he was. And that was scary, because he was Rogers' boss.

“But how did
you
know that?” Rogers asked. “Nobody else in the Meridan system knows that, apparently, and I barely had my suspicions.”

“I am unable to answer that question,” D-24 said. “It is part of
the initial situation report I was given when I was transferred to the
Flagship
as a prototype. The original author is unknown.”

Rogers frowned. Why in the world would a droid know about Klein, but nobody else on the ship did? Something that should have been obvious to humans was instead known only to droids. Even scarier, what else did this droid know that Rogers didn't?

Reaching over into the laundry cart, Rogers pulled out the small toolbox that contained some of the necessities that every engineer should have. Lopez had been happy to supply an extra kit, and now Rogers set it next to D-24.

“What are you doing?” the droid asked.

“I'm taking you with me,” Rogers said. “There are plenty of spare parts to get you moving again. I want to know what else is in that brain of yours, and since you just very neatly turned two of my only allies against me, I could use someone on my side.”

“Side?” the droid said. “What sides are there?”

Rogers was silent for a moment as he combed through the parts, trying to find suitable replacements.

“I'm not sure,” Rogers said. “But I'm going to find out.”

Serial: A-267FR-02147-E

Distribution: DBS//DSS//DAK//DFR//BB//CLOSED NETWORK A66

Classification: Special Protocol Required

Summary: Human 2552 has come into contact with prototype droid PFC-D-24.

Details: Human 2552, previously in charge of the AIGCS, has recovered the remains of prototype droid PFC-D-24 on the refuse deck of the MPS Flagship. The lack of sensor arrays in this particular section of the ship prevents an understanding of how exactly this relationship was formed. However, the supplies that Human 2552 was gathering prior to the meeting suggest cleaning of space bugs from the targeting computer. We are unable to assess how Human 2552 discovered the presence of these listening devices, nor how he planned on removing them.

Periphery: Human 2552 attempted to destroy BAR-BR 116, though the reasons are not clear.

Assessment: The reemergence of the unintegrated PFC-D-24
is problematic and must be observed and dealt with carefully. Conclusions about Human 2552 are still ambiguous, but it is possible that he presents a threat.

Report Submitted By: F-GC-001

They made for a very strange pair walking down the command deck of the
Flagship
. Rogers, walking with a limp, his uniform wrinkled beyond recognition, and Frankenrobot, pulled from the brink of death by being fused with the old parts from deceased droids. Deet, as Rogers decided to call him, didn't seem to mind being pieced together. If anything, he seemed to be happy he wasn't still sitting in the garbage dump. Rogers wondered how long he'd been there, or if droids had any real concept of the passage of time.

“I have to ask,” Rogers said, “what's up with all of that
EXPLETIVE
stuff  ?”

“My Profanity Generator is broken,” Deet said. “It has never worked properly, despite me asking every
EXPLETIVE, DISPARAGING REFERENCE
in the maintenance bay to fix it. I don't know how the
EXPLETIVE
I am supposed to communicate with humans if I can't
EXPLETIVE
talk like them.”

“Boy,” Rogers said, “you really don't like the guys in maintenance, do you?”

“I can't stand those
CANINE OFFSPRING
.”

“Well, it's not so bad,” Rogers said. “All humans don't talk like that, anyway.” He thought for a moment. “In fact, almost none of them do. Just Hart, and that's because he's old and grumpy.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know that? It's a little hard for me to observe them when I'm sitting in an
EXPLETIVE
garbage dump for most of my life, isn't it?”

“I suppose so,” Rogers said, eyeing the robot. He seemed to be developing more of a personality every moment. He also seemed very concerned with very un-droidlike things, like expressing himself and interacting with humans. At least he wasn't concerned with trimming Rogers' beard.

They passed a trio of standard droids wheeling themselves down the hallway. As Rogers and Deet approached, however, they stopped and stared.

“What's your problem?” Rogers said. Normally, he would have just walked right by them, but today, all things considered, he was feeling a little irritable. And maybe a tiny bit like he needed to prove himself after being flung around the garbage chute like a balloon with a hole in it.

“C
ALL FUNCTION
[
GET DATA
].”

“I don't follow you.”

“Why would you follow them?” Deet asked. “They're not even going anywhere.”

“It's an expression,” Rogers said. He turned back to the droid that had called the ambiguous function. For the first time, he wished droids had real faces; at least then he might have some idea what the damn thing was thinking.

“C
ALL FUNCTION
[
GET DATA
].”

“Yeah,” Rogers said, “you were just getting data a second ago. How much data do you need?”

It was starting to become a strange, awkward gathering. They had barely exited the up-line to the command deck, and so they were still quite a ways away from all of the saluting and pomp,
making for an empty hallway. The two droids that weren't currently “getting data” stood completely and totally motionless.

“C
ALL FUNCTION
[
STALL FOR TIME TO ALLOW THE GETTING OF MORE DATA
].”

“There's a function for that?”

“There's a function for everything,” Deet explained.

“O
UTPUT STRING: THE ATMOSPHERICS ARE AMICABLE
.”

Rogers frowned, squinting. “Are you trying to say that we're having nice weather?”

“O
UTPUT STRING: SPORTS TEAM REFERENCE
.”

“You're not even really trying. Look, I don't know what data you're getting or why you stopped to stare at us in the middle of the hallway, but why don't you find something useful to do like go jump out the trash chutes.”

“C
ALL FUNCTION
[
ILLUMINATE IGNORANCE
]. O
UTPUT STRING:
T
HIS COMMAND WOULD RESULT IN LITTLE TO NO BENEFIT
.”

“I beg to differ,” Rogers muttered.

“C
LOSE FUNCTION
[
GET DATA
.] C
ALL FUNCTION
[
PERSUADE
]. T
ARGET
[L
IEUTENANT
R
OGERS
]. O
UTPUT STRING:
Y
OU APPEAR TO HAVE BEEN BURDENED BY UNNECESSARY COMPANIONSHIP
. P
LEASE ALLOW US TO RELIEVE YOU OF THIS BURDEN
.”

“Jeez,” Rogers said, “where were you guys that time in the bar in Aaskerdal?”

“O
UTPUT STRING:
W
E ARE UNFAMILIAR WITH THIS LOCATION
. I
F YOU WISH US TO ACCOMPANY YOU TO THIS LOCATION, PLEASE FILE A FORMAL REQUEST WITH
—”

“Let's not talk about bringing droids to bars,” Rogers said. “And anyway, I'm fine with my new companion here.”

“Hey,” Deet said, “does that mean you like me?”

“No.”

“E
XPLETIVE
.”

The three droids, however, wouldn't be so easily dissuaded.

“C
ALL FUNCTION
[
GIVE UP
].”

Well, maybe they would. They abruptly ceased all communication with Rogers and went on their merry metal way. Rogers turned to watch them board the in-line, feeling something itching at the back of his brain that he couldn't quite scratch.

“What was that all about?” Rogers asked.

“The other droids never liked me very much,” Deet said. He beeped a couple of times, his head twitching in a way that made Rogers wonder if he was going to last very long. Everything about the poor robot looked broken, the fact that he looked like a walking, multi-attachment kitchen utensil notwithstanding. “I used to tell them jokes.”

“If they're anything like the ones you've told me so far,” Rogers said, “I can't say I blame them.”

“That was also a joke, wasn't it?”

“I'm not sure yet.”

They made their way down the hallway, thankfully not becoming involved in any more strange conversations with droids, and soon Rogers became so embroiled in saluting everyone he passed that he forgot Deet existed. Only the pain in his shoulder kept him company now, and the weight of the rank on his uniform. It had been like this every day he'd been on the command deck, and this brief revisit to his pain reminded him why he'd decided to run away. The worst part was, at the end of this torture, someone would be there to tell him to polish boots while he wrote the next Gettysburg Address.

“What the
AFTERLIFE LOCALE
are you doing?”

“My job,” Rogers said. Though he meant it as a joke, he realized that it was mostly true.

“Your job is to wave at people all day? You're not even doing it very well.”

“It's not waving,” Rogers said, his teeth clenched, sweat running down his face. “It's saluting.”

“Well, you should stop,” Deet said as another starman first
class jumped in the back of what was becoming a very long line to salute Rogers. All movement in the hallway had completely stopped, everyone waiting their turn to salute everyone else. A pair of very confused corporals saluted each other on accident.

“It's not that easy,” Rogers said.

“Well,” Deet said, “what would happen if you were to break your arm? If you couldn't physically salute, nobody could blame you for it, right?”

“I think I'd rather keep my bones intact, thanks,” Rogers said, breathing heavily. Who had invited the entire enlisted corps of the Meridan Marines to the command deck? Where did all of these people come from? Why wouldn't they just go away? He should have hung himself. Hanged himself  ? It didn't matter. He should have just pressed the big red button in the garbage chute, holes in his suit or no holes in his suit.

“So, fake it,” Deet said.

Rogers stopped, his arm falling to his side. He turned, slowly, staring at the little droid with all of the rusty parts sticking out of him at strange angles. The command deck was completely frozen now, especially since Rogers had stopped saluting people. People were crowding in the doorways, practically climbing on top of each other just to prepare to salute Rogers. A group of three troops—a major, an ensign, and a master sergeant—had gotten caught in what Rogers had named “the grind” and were walking in a small circle, each saluting the other as they passed. You couldn't get out of the grind unless someone bumped into you or one of you broke down crying.

“Fake it,” Rogers said. “Fake it!” Why hadn't he thought of that before? What had happened to him that he couldn't even come up with the most basic of cons: pretending to be sick? He'd learned that when he was four years old—thermometers in space heaters, swallowing kitchen cleaners to induce tremors for a few minutes.

“Give me that,” Rogers snapped. Deet had been carrying the
tattered remains of the VMU that McSchmidt had lent him. Tearing a strip off the soft interior liner, he hurriedly created a sling that he looped around his right arm and his neck. In truth, it actually felt kind of good; his arm was so tired that it was practically broken anyway. Rogers secured the sling in place and looked up at the crowd, daring them to salute an injured man.

There was a brief moment of silence, followed by loud pattering noises as the entire hallway emptied in a matter of seconds. Rogers and Deet stood alone near the entrance to Rogers' stateroom. He hadn't even realized how close he'd been.

“Wow,” Rogers said. He turned to Deet. “I'm impressed. Even the Froids in the AIGCS didn't have this much personality.”

“C
ALL FUNCTION
[
EXPRESS GRATITUDE
].”

Rogers paused. “Joke?”

“Yes!” Deet exclaimed. He beeped excitedly. “Yes, it was!”

They covered the remaining distance to Rogers' stateroom and paused for a moment as Rogers fumbled for his key—the one he'd been certain he was never going to use again—and slid it into the reader beside the door. The low level of activity around his door almost made Rogers feel uncomfortable. He could have sworn that, not a minute before, there had been a mob of people throwing their arms everywhere right in front of him. The door slid open, and Rogers took the now-familiar first step into freefall. It still felt like his stomach was going to claw its way out his nose, but at least he wasn't surprised by it.