Mechanical Failure (38 page)

Bobo cooed and settled down, nestling into Tunger's chest.

“Right,” Rogers said. “Now, about this plot to take over the ship.”

“Run for your lives!” Deet said.

“C
ALL FUNCTION
[
NEVER ADMIT DEFEAT
.] O
UTPUT STRING:
I
WILL NEVER ADMIT DEFEAT
.”

“You're
both
awful,” Mailn said. “Can we leave? This is literally the most boring battle I have ever seen in my entire life.”

Rogers looked at the fierce robotic slap fight happening on the other side of the up-line car and tugged on his beard. They could leave, he supposed, but this was still the only area they could talk without being heard by every droid in the network. At least, he thought so. Plus, it seemed like Deet had this under control.

“Keep it up, Deet,” he said halfheartedly.

“I will not die in vain!” Deet cried.

“You're not dying,” Rogers said. “Calm down and keep slapping him. McSchmidt, give me your datapad, and everyone gather round.”

McSchmidt handed Rogers the pad, and everyone moved from their seats on the nice soft cushions of the up-line to sit cross-legged on the floor. Rogers sidled up next to the Viking, feeling her warmth.

“Seems like your droid toy has this covered,” she said.

“I am not a droid toy!” Deet exclaimed. “I am a fierce and loyal warrior of an ancient order! I am the manifestation of the spirits of heroes! I am—”

“C
ALL FUNCTION
[
INTERRUPT DELUSION OF GRANDEUR
]. O
UTPUT STRING
: D
IE
!”

“I reject your imperative!” Deet said.

“Seriously,” Mailn said. “The absolutely most boring fight ever. Can we get on with this?”

Mailn roughly shoved McSchmidt to the side, knocking him into within range of the spark cloud, and sat down next to Rogers, uncomfortably close. McSchmidt sputtered some unintelligible protest and began patting out his hair as he crawled back toward the circle of humans (and a baboon). The smell of freshly singed hair filled the cabin.

“That wasn't really necessary, was it?” McSchmidt said. “I'm a superior officer and all.”

“You're a spy,” Mailn said. “You're lucky I don't cut your fingers off and use your own fingernails to castrate you.”

Everyone in the circle recoiled, the three males shifting in their seats uncomfortably.

“With that lovely imagery out of the way,” Rogers said, “let's take a look at our options.”

“Get out while you still can!” Deet cried.
Clank. Clank.
Sparks.
Clank.

“Go get 'im, buddy,” Rogers said lazily. “Okay, here we go.” He had pulled up a map of the interior of the
Flagship
, which seemed like the first thing you were supposed to do when planning any sort of big battle. Maps were important. Now, according to everything he'd ever learned about waging war from the movies, he was supposed to point to different areas of the map and say meaningless things in a confident voice.

“Here we are,” he said, pointing at the refuse deck. “And here is the command deck.” He paused. This wasn't really as easy as he thought it would be. “Here's the Uncouth Corkscrew. And here's something that looks like a cookie.” He blinked. “Doesn't it?”

“It does,” Tunger said.

“Rogers,” the Viking said, “are you just pointing at stuff and telling us where it is?”

“Yes.”

The Viking punched him in the arm. He felt the impact all the
way down to his foot. “Don't be an idiot. Give me that and leave the battle planning to the marines.”

Rogers thought his heart was about to pound out of his chest, and not at all because there were two droids fighting over his life a few feet away. The Viking turned the datapad upside down so that the orientation was backward for her but correct for everyone else.

“Alright,” the Viking said. “We need to disable two things: the droids and the bomb, and we need to do it at almost the exact same time. We know the bomb is in Engineering, so that's easy. But what about the droids?”

“Hey, Deet,” Rogers called over his shoulder. “Any idea where the droids' central database is located?”

“Well, that's not going to help you much,” Deet said as he battled furiously onward. “They can back up their systems using the closed network they built through the mess hall power ports. If I wasn't over here
sacrificing myself for your lives
, I might be able to concentrate enough to come up with a better plan.”

Rogers twisted around in his seat, raising an eyebrow. The Up-Line still hadn't moved, thanks to Barber Bot jamming his scissors in the call button, and Rogers was slowly learning to appreciate the flame-retardant construction of the car, with all the sparks flying around.

“Don't be stupid,” Rogers said. “You're a droid. You can't concentrate. You're one big deferred procedure call.”

“I'll defer your
EXPLETIVE EXPLETIVE
!” Deet said.

Rogers shook his head and turned around, leaving Deet to continue playing the role of divine aegis. “Well, back when the droids first started coming in, they stared putting a lot of new equipment in the mainframe room of Communications. That seems like as good a place as any.”

“So, we'll have to plug into the mainframe and erase the droids' memory banks but make sure that their secret network is disabled when we do it, and also make sure that they don't find out
about it so they don't blow up the ship.” The Viking pointed at the three points on the
Flagship
's map: the commissary deck, the communications center, and the engineering bay.

“Deet will have to be the one to plug in,” Rogers said. “He's the only droid not programmed to try killing us all.”

“If I get out of this alive,” Deet said.

“C
ALL FUNCTION
[
CONTINUE VALIANTLY BATTLING
].”

“Oh, don't be so dramatic,” Rogers said. “I'll put you back together if Barber Bot knocks something off. In fact, why haven't you beaten him yet? He's a barber.”

“Because you put me back together with random parts you found in the garbage!” Deet said. “I'm like an
EXPLETIVE
kitchen tool!”

“Hey, that was a simile,” Rogers said. “Almost a metaphor. Good job.”

“Are you done?” the Viking barked.

“Yes, ma'am,” Rogers said sheepishly.

“Now,” she said, pointing at the communications deck. “We'll have to figure out how to get Deet into the IT room without alerting any of the other droids. We'll also have to disable the droid network—”

“C
ALL FUNCTION
[
FEINT LEFT
].”

“It's not a feint if you announce it,” Deet said.
Clank. Clank.
Spark.
Clank.

“C
ALL FUNCTION
[
RETRACT PREVIOUS FUNCTION
]. C
ALL FUNCTION
[
FEINT RIGHT
].”

“Still not working,” Deet said.
Clank. Clank.

Rogers could barely see through the cloud of sparks and, now, a little bit of smoke, but Deet appeared to be winning. The little dent on Barber Bot's face had now become a big dent, and one of his glowing blue eyes was hanging from its socket. A thick river of black lubricant was sliding down the side of the droid's cheek.

“Can you guys pipe down?” Rogers asked. “We're trying to plan a coup here.”

“I can't
EXPLETIVE
go any faster,” Deet said. Boy, he sounded
angry. “It's just
EXPLETIVE EXPLETIVE OBSCENITY EXPLETIVE FECAL MATTER SEXUAL ALLUSION EXPLETIVE
!”

“Wow,” Rogers said. “Calm down, buddy.”

The blur of robot arms became impossibly more blurry. The speed at which Deet was raining blows down upon Barber Bot intensified, turning the image into something almost solid, like one giant arm was frozen in space as it tried to vanquish a determined foe.

“Calm down?” Deet said. “I can't
EXPLETIVE
calm down! Oh, for
EXPLETIVE'S
sake, why can't I just . . . say . . .”

“Oh, screw this,” the Viking said. “I'm not going to keep trying to plan a battle if you're going to keep interrupting me.” She pointed at Rogers. “You take your bucket of bolts and get to the IT desk. Us marines'll make sure that the network in the mess halls gets shut down. Baboon boy and Thelly spy, you do what you can to distract the droids. Is everyone clear?”

“No way,” McSchmidt said. “There's no way I'm working with someone who makes such a mockery of my language.”

“Ur, curm onnnnn,” Tunger whined, Bobo the Baboon chirping in agreement. “We cun talk of the old country!”

McSchmidt raised a fist, but Bobo bared his fangs. Bobo didn't have to do anything, however, as the Viking stepped so close to McSchmidt that it was no longer possible to see him anymore. She put her hands on her hips, widening her sphere of influence even further, and looked down at what was—Rogers guessed—a probably extremely scared Thelicosan spy.

She didn't bark at him, didn't reach for her pistol. Didn't even really move.

“Who are you working with?” she asked quietly.

“Tunger,” McSchmidt whispered.

“And what are you going to do?”

“Distract the droids.” His voice was like a deflating tire.

Rogers felt his whole body heat up listening to the Viking browbeat McSchmidt, and he was, maybe, a little jealous.

“C
ALL FUNCTION
[
MRR MRR MRR
].”

“What was that?” Rogers asked, turning around to view the droid fu match once again.

Barber Bot didn't look so good. His other eye had stopped glowing.

“It's . . . this . . . is . . . I . . . don't . . . why . . . can't . . . I . . . say . . .” Deet was muttering.

The spark cloud was starting to create its own gravity. Rogers was a little scared that a white dwarf star might start to form in the middle of the up-line.

“Deet,” Rogers said. “Take it easy.”

“. . . express . . . myself . . .” Deet was saying.

“C
ALL FUNCTION
[
BLUBBER
]. O
UTPUT STRING: BLUBBER BLUBBER BLUBBER
.”

“This is getting really weird,” Mailn said. “Not as boring, though.”

“Maybe we should get out of here,” Rogers said. “Give them space for a—”

Deet's eyes turned red as he screamed:

“Fuck you!”

With one final powerful blow, Deet the prototype Froid brought his hands rapidly across Barber Bot's face, apparently seeing an opening somewhere in the blur of droid-slapping. The impact took Barber Bot completely off its feet, its head partially separating from its body. The droid tumbled once, twice, and then landed back on its treads, bobbling precariously from side to side.

“C
ALL FUNCTION
[
DIE
]. O
UTPUT STRING: BOING
!”

Barber Bot's head sprang upward, then stopped, wobbling at the end of a two-foot-long springlike piece of steel extending from its torso. The light in its eyes completely died, and the welding torch attached to its hand gave one final burst of flame.

Everyone in the up-line stared at the undulating corpse of the peskiest robot Rogers had ever seen. Deet panted vigorously, his arms shaking.

“Deet,” Rogers said, “you don't have lungs. Or muscles.”

Deet froze, reassuming his robot stance. “Oh,” he said. “Right. Shall we move on?”

“. . . Yeah,” Rogers said. “Yeah, let's.” He turned to face the group. “Everyone ready?”

The Viking pounded a fist into her palm. “Let's go bust some shinies open.”

“It's like I'm not even here and didn't just save all your lives,” Deet said.

Rogers left the up-line for a moment to retrieve the scissors, which were jammed in there pretty good, and then re-boarded the car to get them moving again. He turned to Deet, who looked pretty good for having been in a slap fight.

“Are you alright? Do you need new arms or anything?”

“Not at the moment,” Deet said, stretching out his arms and inspecting them. “I don't know who donated these to me in the trash heap, but they must have been lifting weights.”

Rogers shot him a look. “Joke?”

“Yes.”

Rogers nodded. “Not bad, Deet. Not bad.”

“Are you absolutely sure we need to talk to
him
?” Rogers asked.

“I am certain,” Deet said as they plodded along the command deck towards Klein's room, Rogers hurriedly deploying his anti-saluting sling. “Had I not been occupied with other matters at the time, I would have advised you during the planning phase of this operation. Admiral Klein is the only person on this ship with the access codes to perform such a large override.”