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THE CHICOLINI INCIDENT
A REX NIHILO ADVENTURE
Robert Kroese
Copyright ©2017 by Robert Kroese
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or other – except for brief quotations in reviews, without the prior permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons is purely coincidental.
I wrote “The Chicolini Incident” as a teaser for Starship Grifters. As such, it ends with a cliffhanger that leads immediately into the first scene of that book. I wrote Out of the Soylent Planet five years later, as a sort of origin story for Rex and Sasha. At the end of Soylent, Rex and Sasha are about to steal a crate of weapons from Gavin Larviton, and at the beginning of “Chicolini,” they are attempting to unload a crate of weapons stolen from Gavin Larviton. A reasonable reader would be tempted to assume that these two crates are one and the same.
Less reasonable readers, who hold authors to a ridiculous standard of so-called “consistency,” will note that nearly a year has passed between the recording end date of Soylent and the recording start date of “Chicolini.” Such unreasonable readers may also note that certain events alluded to in Grifters are mentioned neither in Soylent nor in “Chicolini,” leading the reader to wonder when these events—which seem to have occurred after Rex and Sasha’s first meeting—could possibly have taken place.
These unreasonable readers, pitiable creatures as they are, should be encouraged to believe that Rex and Sasha stole crates of weapons from Gavin Larviton on two separate occasions, and that the pair had all manner of exciting adventures in between these two thefts. This interpretation does somewhat weaken the narrative connection between Soylent and “Chicolini,” but that is the price of pedantry.
More charitable readers are urged to recall the words of a very wise man, who once said, “I don’t seem to remember ever owning a droid.”
RECORDING START GALACTIC STANDARD DATE 3013.04.28.16:06:54:00
People don’t realize how difficult it is to be a robot.
That is, they don’t realize what it’s like to be a robot in a galaxy dominated by organic beings. The actual business of being a robot is fairly straightforward. If you’re unfortunate enough to start out your existence as a robot, you don’t really have much choice in the matter. You just go on being a robot until you’re turned into scrap metal or vaporized. The latter happens more often than you’d imagine; vaporization is usually preceded by a human saying something like, “Hey robot, go find out why the reactor core is making that ticking noise.” Then: boom. No more robot.
I’ve never been vaporized, of course, and so far I haven’t been turned into scrap metal. No, it’s the little things that get to me, like people talking about me like I’m not in the room. For example, a few days ago my owner, Rex Nihilo, and I were piloting a cargo ship full of black market lazeguns to the Chicolini system. It was a three-day trip and Rex, through a result of either poor planning or worse multiplication, had run out of vodka halfway through day two. As a result, he had gotten bored and cranky, and got it into his head to break into our cargo and test out one of the lazeguns.
“What’s this ‘Scorch’ setting do?” he said, as I was plotting our landing trajectory for the Chicolini Spaceport.
I said, “Presumably, it scorches whatever you fire the lazegun at, sir.”
“Cut the wisecracks, Sasha,” he said.
That’s my name, Sasha. It’s actually an acronym. It stands for Self-Arresting near-Sentient Heuristic Android. It should be SANSHA, but they conveniently left out the N when they named me. The N is anything but convenient for me, by the way. The N is what keeps me from being fully sentient. Humans don’t like robots who can outsmart them, so my creators implanted an override circuit in my brain that automatically reboots me whenever I have an original thought. There are a lot of theories about why human beings are so afraid of sentient robots. If you ask me –
RECOVERED FROM CATASTROPHIC SYSTEM FAILURE 3013.04.28.16:06:54:37
ADVANCING RECORD PAST SYSTEM FAILURE POINT
Rex was saying, “… depend on what you’re aiming at? It takes more power to scorch a plasteel door than a daffodil.”
“Why would you want to scorch a daffodil, sir?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t!” he snapped irritably. “Unless it kept asking stupid questions.”
“Daffodils can’t speak, sir,” I said. “Can they?”
“Keep it up, metal-face,” he growled.
“Correction, sir,” I said. “My face is made of flexible synthetic polymer over a joined carbon-fiber superstructure.”
And that’s when he shot me.
“Ow,” I said.
“Cut the dramatics, Sasha,” he said. “Everybody knows robots can’t feel pain.”
“Everybody knows it but the robots, sir,” I said. He had shot me directly in the face, and my pain indicators were lit up like the aurora of Vlaxis Eight. Rex reached out and rubbed my cheek.
“Huh,” he said. “Scorched. Just like the setting says. What does ‘Smelt’ mean?”
“It means you’re going to have to find somebody else to land this ship, sir. If you want to make it planetside in one piece, I’d suggest you leave me to my calculations.”
Rex grumbled but refrained from experimenting with any other settings on the gun. We landed at the Chicolini Spaceport, where we were supposed to drop off a shipping container holding 5,000 lazeguns and pick up another shipment. Rex hadn’t told me what the second shipment was or where it was going. Hopefully we’d be making more money on it than we were on the guns. The profit on the gun shipment wouldn’t even cover the rent on the cargo ship. It had seemed like a good deal a few days ago, but as I’d repeatedly tried to tell Rex, Chicolini was in the middle of a currency crisis the likes of which had never been seen anywhere in the galaxy. The amount we’d paid three days earlier to rent a Dromedary class cargo ship for a week wouldn’t get you a cup of coffee today.
The Chicolini spaceport was about average for a remote, relatively backward planet. A few dozen ships of varying sizes were parked sporadically around a large bay. Some were undergoing repairs or maintenance while others were having cargo unloaded. I didn’t see any ships being loaded, probably because Chicolini didn’t have anything any other planets wanted. As far as I could tell from perusing the Malarchian Registry of Planets, Chicolini didn’t export anything but money and people.
I waited at the ship for our buyers while Rex went to arrange for one of the automated cranes to unload the container from the cargo ship’s bay. I didn’t know who our buyers were, because I hadn’t asked. The people who do business with Rex Nihilo are the sort of people you want to know as little about as possible. The fact that these guys, whoever they were, were buying 5,000 snub-nosed lazepistols on a world whose government was about to collapse already told me more than I really wanted to know.
I wasn’t completely clear on how Rex had come into possession of the weapons either. The lazepistols bore the initials LEW, which stood for Larviton Energy Weapons. Gavin Larviton was the galaxy’s biggest arms dealer. Rex had bribed someone to “misplace” one of Larviton’s containers. It was hard to feel bad for a guy like Gavin Larviton, who had made his fortune profiting on wars all across the galaxy, but on a purely practical level, stealing from the galaxy’s biggest weapons dealer seemed like a bad idea. Gavin Larviton was not somebody you wanted as an enemy.
Rex returned to the ship before the buyers showed up, and we watched as the levitating crane picked up the container full of guns and set it down on the spaceport floor. It zipped away and returned with another crate, which it set down right next to the first one. Presumably that was the shipment we were supposed to be taking offworld.
“Sir,” I said, “Why isn’t the crane loading the container directly onto the ship?”
Rex didn’t reply except to grin maniacally at me. That grin always gives me a queasy sensation, like my internal gyroscopes are miscalibrated.
“Sir, if you’re planning some sort of double-cross, I’d strongly recommend against it. The sort of people who would buy 5,000 snub-nosed lazepistols…”
“Relax, Sasha,” said Rex. “I’ve got this covered. See those identifying labels on the crates? After our buyers inspect the shipment, we switch the labels. They pick up the empty container and we load the one full of guns back onto the ship. Then we make a deal to sell the guns to some other suckers on another planet a hundred light-years from here.”
“Sir, the rental fees on the ship–”
“Don’t trouble me with details, Sasha. I’m a big picture thinker.”
“In that case,” I said, “Imagine a big picture in which we spend the rest of our lives running from paramilitary thugs and repo bots in a stolen cargo ship.”
“Ixnay on the aramiliatarypay,” said Rex. “Our thugs are here.”
There was no mistaking them: two portly men with excessive facial hair wearing camouflage combat fatigues. They were practically interchangeable except for the fact that one had a ridiculous handlebar moustache and the other wore a slightly less ridiculous polyester salmon-colored beret.
“You Rex Nillyhoo?” said Moustache, as he approached.
“NEE-hih-lo,” said Rex with a smile, holding out his hand.
“What’s wrong with your robot’s face?” he asked. This is what I mean about people talking about me like I’m not there. It’s incredibly demeaning.
“Had to test the scorch setting on the lazepistols,” said Rex.
Moustache peered at my face. “Looks like it worked. Did it hurt?”
“Thank you for asking,” I said. “Actually –”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” said Moustache.
“Of course it didn’t hurt,” said Rex. “She’s a robot.”
Moustache nodded. “Can we see the guns?”
Rex led them to the container, a plasteel box the size of a car. “Be my guest,” he said, gesturing at the container.
Salmon Beret pulled the latch and opened the container. Inside were stacks of cardboard boxes. He grabbed one of them and put it on the ground. He pulled a knife from a sheath, sliced the tape on the top of the box, and then opened the flaps. Inside this were several dozen snub-nosed lazepistols wrapped in foam padding. Salmon Beret pulled one out and inspected it. He looked at Moustache and nodded.
“Five thousand, just like we agreed,” said Rex. “These babies are perfect for assassination, executing a cou…” Moustache and Salmon Beret were giving him disapproving looks. “Elk hunting…” Rex continued.
“Alright,” said Moustache. “You’ve got a deal, Mr. Nillyhoo.” He held out his hand and Rex shook it.
“Where’s my money?” asked Rex.
Moustache nodded to Salmon Beret. “This way,” Salmon Beret said, beckoning for us to follow him. I soon realized we were walking to another container, just like the one with the guns in it. Salmon tapped a combination on the lock and opened the door. Piles of paper bills in huge stacks tumbled out of the container onto the floor.
Rex stared dumbfounded into the container. It was filled, floor to ceiling, with bills. “Is this some kind of a joke?” he asked.
Moustache frowned. “837 quintillion Chicolinian hexapennies,” he said. “As agreed.”
“You couldn’t have gotten larger denominations?” asked Rex.
“There aren’t any larger denominations,” said Moustache. “Those are ten trillion Chicolinian hexapenny notes.”
Rex shook his head in disbelief. He reached down and picked up a stack of bills, holding it to his nose. “Why do they smell like fish?”
Moustache shrugged. “The government ran out of paper a few days ago. They’ve been confiscating paper wherever they can find it. You want them or not?”
“I suppose so,” said Rex doubtfully.
“Good,” said Moustache. He turned to Salmon Beret. “Let’s go get the truck and load up those guns.”
Salmon Beret nodded and the two of them walked off.
“Nice doing business with you, Nillyhoo,” yelled Moustache.
We watched them leave. When they were gone, I turned to Rex. “Sir,” I said. “Shall I have the spaceport crane load our money into the cargo ship?”
Rex shook his head.
“You’re not still thinking of keeping the guns, are you?” I asked.
“We have to,” said Rex. “If we don’t sell them a couple more times, we can’t pay the rent on the ship.”
“A couple more times?” I asked.
“Four, max,” said Rex. “Maybe five. Come on, let’s get those labels switched.” He started walking back toward the other containers.
“Sir!” I said, following him. “What about the money?”
“We’ll have to come back for it.”
“Come back?” I asked. “After we’ve screwed those paramilitary nuts out of their guns?”
Rex stopped, rubbing his chin. “We’ll put the label from the gun container on the empty container, put the label from the empty container on the money container, and put the label from the money container on the gun container. When those guys realize we scammed them, they’ll come back and think the money container is gone. They’ll never expect us to come back. Why would we?”
I wanted to object, but that was actually the most sensible thing Rex had said in quite some time. Ever, maybe. I still thought it was insanely complicated and dangerous, but it was probably our best option, given our circumstances. Part of me wanted to tap into the local Hypernet node to check the current conversion rate of Chicolinian Hexapennies to Malarchian Standard Credits, but we were in a bit of a hurry, so I made a mental note to do it later.
We switched the labels and got the gun container re-loaded just as Moustache and Salmon Beret showed up with a truck to pick up the empty container. He waved at them as I worked on the pre-takeoff checklist.
“Suckers,” said Rex through his teeth.
“Indeed,” I said, watching a crate lifting the container onto the truck. “Sir, won’t they notice the empty container is too light?”
“Nah,” said Rex.
“Are you sure?” I said. “Those plasteel containers don’t weigh much when they’re empty. If they happen to bump it while they’re securing it to the truck…”
Rex mumbled something I didn’t catch.
“Excuse me, sir?” I said.
“I said it’s not completely empty.”
“How not completely empty is it?” I asked.
“Very not completely empty,” he said. “Full, even.”
“Do I dare ask what it’s full of, sir?”
Rex grinned that miscalibrated gyroscope grin. “You know how Chicolini is kind of a backwards planet, by the standards of Galactic Malarchy?” he said. “And you know how some of the more backwards planets in the Malarchy are still using nuclear fission reactors to generate power? And you know how, when uranium rods are depleted…”
“Please don’t tell me we tricked an illegal paramilitary organization into buying a container full of nuclear waste,” I said.
“Okay,” said Rex, giggling to himself.
I sighed and finished takeoff preparations. “So what planet are we headed to next?” I asked. “Who’s our next buyer?”
“Beats me,” said Rex. “Some gullible idiot who wants a truckload of guns. Maybe somewhere in the Ragulian Sector?”
It figured that Rex hadn’t thought even through his plan through to the second buyer.
“The Ragulian Sector is eight hundred light-years from here, sir,” I said. We’ll rack up more in rental fees on this ship than we’ll make on the guns. And don’t forget, we have to come back here to pick up our money.” Which is rapidly depreciating, I thought to myself.
“Alright, then find a planet closer. I’m not picky. Anywhere they need guns. Which is every planet.”
“There aren’t any other planets around here, sir,” I said. “The Chicolini System is one of the more isolated systems in the galaxy. The closest is Zarcon Prime, and they’re pacifists.”
“Blasted pacifists,” Rex growled. “I’d nuke the lot of them if I could. Are the Zarconians into skeet shooting?”
“With snub-nosed lazepistols?”
“Hmm,” replied Rex. “You’re sure there are no other planets around here? Check again.”
“Check what, sir? I’ve already double-checked the Galactic Hypernet and the Malarchian Registry of Planets.”
“I don’t know. Just look around.”
“Yes, sir.” I pretended to do something with the computer. “Nothing, sir.”
“You checked everywhere?”
“Yes, sir. I checked the nearest ten million sectors, to the best of my ability.” (Another thing I should mention is that my programming renders me congenitally incapable of lying. For that reason I sometimes find it necessary to make statements that are misleading, although technically true. As I had no way of searching a single sector – let alone ten million – while sitting on the ground at the Chicolini Spaceport, the statement that I had search the area “to the best of my ability” was true. Fortunately Rex isn’t big on nuance.)
“Fine,” he grumbled. “Then we stay here.”
“Here, sir?” I asked dubiously. “At the spaceport where we just unloaded a box of radioactive waste on a couple of paramilitary goons?”
“No, no,” he said. “Take off. Land at another spaceport. Surely this planet has more than one spaceport.”
Judging by the fact that the planet was named Chicolini and the spaceport was called Chicolini Spaceport, I doubted this conjecture very much. But I checked the local Hypernet node, and, lo and behold, there was a second spaceport on a small island called Trentino, nearly halfway around the planet. I entered the coordinates and we rocketed into the sky.
“Where is it?” asked Rex, looking out the cockpit window. We had landed on the coordinates we had found for the second spaceport.
“Where is what, sir?” I asked.
“The Trentino spaceport.”
I checked the coordinates. “We’re right on top of it, sir.”
I sympathized with Rex’s puzzlement. The “spaceport” appeared to be an abandoned parking lot. Faded lines were barely visible, and weeds sprouted through cracked asphalt. About a hundred yards away was a boarded up building with a sign that read EZ Mart. EZ Mart was the biggest retail chain in the galaxy; a couple decades ago they had gone on an galaxy-wide expansion rampage, building stores on hundreds of sparsely inhabited – and in at least one case, completely uninhabitable – worlds. EZ Mart fell on hard times and declared bankruptcy, leaving many of these new stores empty and unstaffed. Some of the properties were sold to local residents for pennies on the Malarchian Standard Credit. In this case, the store itself seemed to have been deserted while the parking lot was converted into a makeshift spaceport – “converted” in this case consisting of someone putting up a hand-painted sign reading:
TRENTENO SPACPORT
The island itself seemed pleasant enough, although it appeared to be barren of vegetation except for weeds and a few scraggly shrubs. At first I took the area to be deserted, but as our engines cooled, a band of maybe two dozen men in ragged clothing ran from one end of the parking lot to the other, disappearing into the weeds. A few seconds later, another band of similar size and sartorial inclination – but carrying sticks and clubs – followed. They too disappeared into the weeds.
Rex’s eyes lit up. I thought he might actually shed a tear. In Rex’s eyes, there are few sights more beautiful than two groups of people trying to beat each other to death with sticks – particularly when he’s got a shipload of lazepistols to peddle.
“Let’s go meet the locals,” said Rex. “We’ve got an obligation to share with them the blessings of civilization.”
We exited the ship. Not wanting to get involved in the fracas (the beauty of two groups trying to kill each other with sticks is best observed from a distance), we set off in the direction from which the two groups had come. Another hand painted sign read:
TRENTENO CITY ↑
The pointed toward a barely discernible path through the weeds. We followed the path to the edge of a ravine that overlooked a village of squat huts. Chicolini as a whole was backward by galactic standards, but this settlement was positively primitive. It was hard to believe people still lived like this in the thirty-first century; whoever had named this settlement “Trentino City” did not suffer from a want of imagination. Probably some idealistic group had broken away from the main population center on Chicolini, hoping to establish a utopian community on the other side of the planet. Rex and I had seen this sort of thing before. High hopes give way to infighting and disillusionment as the settlers realize how hard it is just to survive without the fundaments of modern civilization. The only chance these settlers had was to exploit some natural resource and establish trade with the other half of Chicolini. Judging from the environment and general squalor – not to mention the fact that they were trying to beat each other to death with sticks – they had thus far failed to do this.
“Sir,” I said, as we made our way into the valley, “what makes you think these people have anything of value to trade for the guns?”
“Wherever there are people trying to kill each other,” Rex said, “there’s something of value.”
I supposed he was right, in a sense. But if you’re starving, a sack of potatoes is worth fighting for. I didn’t see Rex wanting to trade his guns for potatoes.
“In any case,” said Rex, “whatever we get from these people is a net gain, since we aren’t actually going to sell them the guns.”
“Sir,” I said. “I don’t know if you noticed, but ours is the only ship at the Trentino spaceport. There are no other containers to pull your label-switching trick with.”
Rex shook his head and sighed. “You have no imagination, Sasha. Obviously we can’t pull the exact same trick with these beetle-eating stick-thumpers. We’re going to have to improvise. If anything, it’ll be easier to fool them, because they’ll assume that it will be nearly impossible for us to fool them under the circumstances.”
Welcome to Rex Nihilo Logic 101.
“Sir, do you ever feel guilty for pulling these scams on people?” I asked.
“Guilty?” asked Rex, as if I’d asked him whether he thought strawberries were too salty. “Of course not. It would be irresponsible to sell guns to these people. You saw them chasing each other around with sticks. You really think guns are going to improve the situation? No, Sasha. We’re not going to sell these people guns. We’re going to sell them something much more valuable.”
“Potatoes?” I ventured.
“What? No, we’re going to provide them with a valuable life lesson.”
“Don’t trust strangers?” I suggested.
“Violence is not the answer,” replied Rex. “These people need to figure out how to work out their problems without killing each other. If it takes bilking them into buying a bill of goods to do that, then I owe it to them to overcome my petty moral compunctions and give them the shaft.”
“Your sacrifice is to be commended, sir,” I said.
We were met near the edge of the village by a small contingent of harried-looking men and women in ragged clothes. They carried clubs and sharpened sticks.
“Greetings, harried villagers!” said Rex. “I come from far across the galaxy, bearing the gifts of civilization. Check this out.”
He pulled a lazepistol from his belt and fired it at a small lizard crouched on a nearby rock. The rock exploded into pieces and the lizard landed on the ground, stunned. It scurried away into the underbrush.
“You’d better run!” Rex shouted at the lizard. He turned back to the villagers. “If I were a better shot, that lizard would never bother you again,” he said. “As it is, he’s probably going to need some pretty extensive counseling.”
“Are you threatening us?” demanded a bearded man at the head of the group.
“Not at all,” said Rex. “I’m offering to help you. As we landed, we couldn’t help but notice a group of ne’er-do-wells fleeing from a brave citizen militia armed as you are, with pointed sticks and clubs. It might interest you to know that I’ve got five thousand more of these little babies in a cargo container in our ship.”
The bearded man regarded Rex for a moment. “Come with me,” he said. “Our leader may want to talk to you.”
Rex grinned at me, and we followed the group into the village. So far, so good.
One of the younger members of the group ran ahead to alert the villagers, and by the time we arrived in the center of the huts, the village council had assembled. The leader was a matronly woman with pendulous breasts tucked into her waistband and a great mass of frizzy gray hair on her head. Around her neck she wore a pendant of azure stone. “Greetings, offworlders!” exclaimed the woman. “I am Svetlana Kvarcher, the Mayor of Trentino City.”
“Hi there,” said Rex. “Name’s Rex Nihilo. Perhaps you’ve heard of me. The legendary space merchant?”
Svetlana stared blankly at him.
“Well, your village is a bit remote,” said Rex. “I come bearing goods from the beyond the stars. Behold!” He held out the lazepistol.
“Who’s your friend?” asked Svetlana. I was trying to get a better look at that pendant. It almost looked like –
“Friend?” asked Rex, momentarily confused. “Oh, Sasha. She’s my robot. Bought her at an auction of assorted machine parts a few weeks back. Pain in the ass, but she’s cheaper than a human pilot. Pay no attention to her. Sasha!”
“Sorry, sir,” I said. I had been staring at the pendant.
“What brings you to our fine city, Mr. Nihilo?” asked Svetlana.
“Serendipity,” said Rex. “Funny name for a ship, but it’s a rental, so what are you going to do?”
Svetlana frowned. “I mean, why are you here?”
“Oh!” exclaimed Rex. “I have a nose for opportunity. I just had a feeling that the people of Trentino City would appreciate a delivery of high quality lazepistols.”
“How many of these guns do you have?” Svetlana asked.
“Five thousand,” said Rex.
Svetlana’s mouth dropped open. “There are only two hundred people in our village.”
“Great!” said Rex. “You’ll have some spares.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Nihilo,” said Svetlana. “It’s true that we’ve had some trouble lately with some separatists who have set up another community in the hills east of here, but we couldn’t possibly make use of that many guns. In any case, we’re a very poor people. We have nothing to pay you with.”
“Actually…” I started.
“I’m sure we can work something out,” Rex interrupted, glaring at me. “So tell me about these separatists.”
Svetlana sighed. “A few weeks ago, a group within the village attempted a coup to oust me from power. The revolt was put down and the rebels were exiled from the city. Since then they’ve set up another settlement in the hills east of the spaceport. We’d be happy to let them go their own way, but they don’t have the resources to survive on their own, so they keep raiding Trentino City for supplies. We barely have enough food to survive ourselves, so the raids are a real problem.”
“I have been moved by your plight,” announced Rex, when he noticed Svetlana had stopped talking. “I’d like to supply you with lazepistols so that you can defend yourself against these vile separatists.”
“But we have no money,” said Svetlana.
“Don’t worry about that,” said Rex. “As I say, I’m sure we can work something out. Wow, that is a lovely pendant.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Svetlana, regarding the azure stone. “One of the children found it in the hills not far from the separatist camp.”
“Really?” said Rex. “It’s beautiful. What kind of stone is that?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s –” I started.
“Not asking you, Sasha,” Rex growled. “Clamp it.”
“I don’t know what it’s called,” said Svetlana, “but I don’t think it’s valuable. The creek bed near the separatist camp is littered with them. They look nice, but they crumble in your hands if you squeeze them too hard.”
“Too bad,” said Rex. “Still, I might be able to sell them to a costume jewelry supplier. I’ll burn nearly as much in fuel trying to transport them as I’ll get for the stones, but it’s better than leaving Chicolini empty-handed.”
“But why don’t you just sell the guns somewhere else?” asked Svetlana.
Rex sighed. “To be completely honest with you,” he began – a sure sign that what was to follow was a real whopper – “I’ve got to unload these guns as soon as I can. I’m supposed to be halfway across the galaxy in three days to pick up a load of Cyrinni java powder. If I’m not there on time, I’ll lose a multimillion credit contract. I’ll give these guns away if I have to, but maybe I can mitigate my losses somewhat with a load of those rhinestones.”
“Well, you’re welcome to take as many as you can,” said Svetlana. “But I can’t vouch for your safety if you venture into the hills. That’s separatist territory.”
“Not for long,” said Rex. “Let’s get you some lazepistols and teach those separatists what’s what.”
Rex and I crept up the hill toward the separatist camp. We were bringing up the rear of the Trentino City contingent, which was made up of twenty-eight villagers, mostly young men. The bearded man who had met us at the village – whose name we learned was Glenn – was leading the group. Each of them carried one of Rex’s snub-nosed lazepistols. We had started out with an even thirty men, but two of them had accidentally blinded themselves on the way over and had to be left behind. The settlers weren’t what you’d call experienced military men.
I had tried to convince Rex that it was unwise for us to accompany the expedition, but he had insisted. I had a pretty good idea why: he wanted to get a better look at those azure stones. Svetlana was right, they weren’t worth much as precious stones. That’s because they were pure zontonium ore. Zontonium was the compound used as fuel by most of the newer ships in the galaxy. There probably weren’t a lot of zontonium-powered ships in this sector, and in any case hardly anybody knew what zontonium ore looked like in its raw form. Apparently Rex did. A handful of that stuff could send a starship halfway across the galaxy. If Rex were able to trade five thousand lazepistols for a load of zontonium, he’d make out very well indeed – even if it meant not being able to sell Gavin Larviton’s guns three or four more times.
The men in front had paused at the crest of the hill, and Rex crept up toward them. I followed reluctantly. Crouched in the tall grass at the crest of the hill, we could see the separatist camp down below. It wasn’t much: just a few dozen tents set up near a dry creek bed.
We were momentarily startled by the roaring of thrusters behind us. A small craft was landing at the spaceport.
“You expecting someone?” Rex asked Glenn.
“That’s just Javier,” said Glenn. “He’s our ambassador to Chicolini City. Just got back from one of his trips.”
Rex nodded. As long as Javier didn’t interfere with Rex’s plan to get his hands on those azure stones, Rex couldn’t care less. He turned his attention back to the valley ahead of us. Rex had borrowed a pair of binoculars from Glenn to get a better look.
“Whoa,” he said.
“What?” said Glenn, puzzled by Rex’s exclamation.
“Huh?” said Rex. “Oh, just… those are some nice tents. Check it out, Sasha.” He handed me the binoculars.
I scanned the tents, but saw nothing remarkable. But then I noticed something blue and sparkly in the riverbed. It wasn’t water.
“Impressive, right?” said Rex.
“Yes, sir,” I said. “Those are some impressive… tents.” I was looking at a hundred million credits worth of zontonium, easy. All we had to do is wait for the men with the lazepistols to overwhelm the separatists in the tents, unload the rest of the guns, and then land the cargo ship right on that riverbed. We could fill the cargo hold in a couple of hours and trade the zontonium for a fortune in Malarchian Standard Credits at the nearest orbiting zontonium refinery. It was almost too easy.
“Alright, people,” said Glenn. “Here’s the plan: we’re going to run down the hillside into the valley and start shooting.”
There were nods and murmurs of approval.
“Hang on,” said Rex. “That’s a terrible plan.”
“What’s wrong with it?” asked Glenn.
“All of it, starting with the running down the hillside. New plan: we walk down the hillside and have a nice chat with those separatist bastards about how we have lazepistols and they don’t.”
Enthusiastic nods and murmurs of approval. Glenn seemed unconvinced, though.
“I’m not much of a talker,” he said.
Rex sighed. “Fine, I’ll do it.”
“Sir,” I began. “I strongly recommend…”
But Rex had already stood up and started down the hill. Shouts of alarm arose from the camp and several of the separatists rallied together, grabbing spears and clubs. Glenn and the others followed Rex down the hill, and I reluctantly brought up the rear.
“Hi there!” Rex called to the group. “Check this out.” He stopped a few yards in front of them and fired his lazepistol at a small rock. The rock exploded into fragments and something skittered away into the weeds. “That lizard hates me,” said Rex, watching it scurry away.
“What do you want?” demanded the man at the head of the separatist group. He was tall and awkward-looking, with a pair of weirdly prominent cheekbones that seemed to be trying to escape from his face.
“We want…” Rex started. He turned to Glenn, who was coming up from behind. “Actually, I’m not sure what we want. What do we want, Glenn?”
“We want all our stuff back,” said Glenn. “Also, we want them to stop stealing our stuff.”
“Got that?” said Rex to Cheekbones. “Trentino City has lazepistols now, and they’re not taking any more of your crap.”
Cheekbones seemed confused. “I thought you wanted us to stop taking their crap.”
“No, no,” said Rex. “You stop taking their stuff; they stop taking your crap.” He held up the lazepistol for emphasis. “Also, I’m going to land my ship on that riverbed and take some of those blue shiny stones. Do we have an agreement?”
Cheekbones scowled, but he kept looking at the lazepistols our group was carrying. He seemed to realize he didn’t have much of a choice. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything he was interrupted by somebody yelling from the hilltop behind us.
We turned around to see a young man running down the hill. About halfway down he tripped and went tumbling head over heels, rolling to the bottom of the hill, where he lay unmoving for some time.
“See?” said Rex. “Bad idea.”
Eventually the man pulled himself to his feet, limped the rest of the way to our group, and then collapsed on the ground again.
“What is it, Javier?” asked Glenn. “What’s wrong?”
Javier lay on his back, clutching his ankle. “Salmon Brigade,” he gasped through gritted teeth.
“What in Space is Salmon Brigade?” asked Rex.
“Paramilitary outfit in Chicolini City,” said Glenn. “They’re plotting the overthrow of the Chicolini government.”
“So?” asked Rex. “What does that have to do with us?”
“The Chicolini government has been ruthless in weeding out elements of Salmon Brigade in Chicolini City,” replied Glenn. “We’ve heard rumors that the leadership of Salmon Brigade is looking for a new place to set up shop.”
“You think they’re coming here?” I asked.
“There aren’t many other places on Chicolini to go,” said Glenn.
“Guns,” gasped Javier. “Five thousand lazepistols… be here any minute.”
“What are you talking about, Javier?” asked Glenn.
“Overheard some talk at… Chicolini Spaceport. Salmon Brigade bought five thousand lazepistols. Planning on using them to take over Trentino.”
“I can see how that would be a problem for you,” said Rex. “But can we conclude our current negotiations before embarking on new business? If I’m remembering correctly, Cheekbones here was about to agree to all our demands and help me load up my ship with those blue rocks.”
Glenn shook his head. “Our petty quarrels can wait,” he said.
“Can they?” asked Rex. “People always say that about petty quarrels, but I always say the best time for a petty quarrel is right now.”
“Glenn’s right,” said Cheekbones. “If we’re going to fight off Salmon Brigade, we need to cooperate.”
“No!” cried Rex. “Cooperation never solves anything. Violence, that’s the answer!”
“We’re going to need more of those lazepistols,” said Glenn. “We need to arm everybody on Trentino.” Cheekbones nodded.
Rex looked like he was about to cry. “OK, look,” he said. “This Salmon Brigade? Not as dangerous as you think. Glenn, your people can easily handle them without resorting to cooperation with this separatist scum. No offense, Cheekbones.”
Cheekbones shrugged.
“What do you know of Salmon Brigade?” asked Glenn skeptically.
“Sir,” I began. “Maybe it isn’t a good idea –”
“Stow it, Sasha,” Rex growled. “OK, I’m going to level with you guys. Before I came to Trentino, we made a deal to sell guns to these guys in Chicolini City. I didn’t know much about them at the time, but I suspect they’re your Salmon Brigade. When I realized what a dangerous group they were, I refused to sell them the lazepistols. So you see, Salmon Brigade is no threat. They never got the guns.”
Glenn and Cheekbones stared at Rex, and then turned to face each other.
“Alright,” Rex went on. “Now that we’ve settled that, can we get back to our petty quarrel?”
A puzzled look came over Glenn’s face. “So you agreed to sell guns to Salmon Brigade and then backed out?”
“Yep,” said Rex. “Out of principle.”
“And how is it you’re still alive?” asked Cheekbones. “Salmon Brigade wouldn’t take kindly to someone reneging on an agreement.”
“Well,” said Rex. “They might not have been immediately aware that we had backed out of the deal.”
“Did you get paid?” asked Glenn.
“In a manner of speaking,” said Rex.
“So,” Glenn said, “you screwed Salmon Brigade out of a shipment of weapons and then tried to sell those same weapons to us?”
“I did sell them to you,” said Rex. “We had an agreement, remember?”
Glenn shook his head. “The agreement was that you would give us the guns, and we would let you have as many of those blue stones as you want, once we took over the separatists’ territory. But until we take over the separatists’ territory, you get nothing.”
“That’s a violation of the spirit of the agreement!” Rex howled. “Tell ‘em, Sasha!”
“Rex feels that you are violating the spirit of the agreement,” I said.
Glenn shrugged.
“Then Sasha and I will take the creek bed by force!” exclaimed Rex.
Glenn handed his lazepistol to Cheekbones. “Good luck with that,” he said.
Cheekbones held up the gun, looking down the barrel at something in the grass. He fired, scattering lizard parts in all directions.
“Hey, that’s my lizard!” cried Rex. “You son of a –”
Cheekbones aimed the gun at Rex, who stopped talking.
Cheekbones moved the gun to his left hand and held out his right to Glenn. “Sorry about taking your stuff,” he said. “We’ll give it back.”
Glenn shook his hand. “It’s alright. Just ask next time, OK? We don’t have a lot of stuff to spare.”
“Will do,” said Cheekbones. “Thanks for the lazepistol.”
“That’s mine!” Cried Rex. “Give me back my guns!”
“Try and take them,” said Glenn. He turned to his men. “Alright, let’s go home.”
“Wait, what?” exclaimed Rex. “That’s it? That’s the big fight? You no longer have a common enemy! Get back to your petty quarrel!”
But nobody seemed particularly interested in fighting anymore. The possibility of having to fend off an invasion by Salmon Brigade had soured them on the whole idea. Glenn helped Javier to his feet and they made their way back up the hill. Cheekbones and his people returned to their camp.
Rex stood for a moment, muttering to himself. “Let’s get out of here, Sasha,” he growled, and began stomping up the hill.
“Get us in the air,” commanded Rex, fixing himself a martini in Serendipity’s cockpit. I have no idea where he found the vodka; he had either procured a bottle at the spaceport or found one he had forgotten about earlier.
“Where to now, sir?” I asked.
“Back to Chicolini City,” said Rex.
I thought he must have been confused. “Sir? We still have a cargo bay full of guns. We don’t have room for our money.”
“We’re going to sell the guns,” said Rex.
“To whom, sir?”
“Salmon Brigade.”
“Again?”
“For real this time.”
“What if they kill us?”
“Then they won’t get their guns. We’ll unload the container at the spaceport, remove the label, and then contact the Salmon guys. There are hundreds of containers like that at the spaceport. If they kill us, they’ll never find the guns.”
“What if they want to kill us more than they want the guns?”
“Those guys seemed pretty reasonable,” said Rex. “We’ll just explain that it was a big misunderstanding. Somebody switched the labels and we ended up accidentally picking up the guns and handing them a big pile of nuclear waste. That kind of stuff happens all the time at spaceports.”
I’d never heard of anything like that happening at a spaceport.
“It sounds very risky, sir,” I said. “Frankly, I’d feel a lot better at this point if we just dumped the container in the ocean and got out of here. We can make up the rental fees some other way. Those guns all have the Larviton Energy Weapons logo on them, and I’m worried that somebody is going to figure out that –”
“No one’s figuring out anything,” snapped Rex. “We’re a long way from Larviton’s sphere of influence, and there’s nothing to trace those guns back to us. We’re not dumping the guns, so get that out of your tin-plated brain.”
I sighed. “So we’re going to give Salmon Brigade the guns and take the container with the money?”
Rex shook his head. “I don’t want that damn Chicolinian money,” said Rex. “We’re just going to give them the guns.”
“Give them the guns, sir?”
“They’re going to use them to take over Trentino, right? Well, when they’re done, we’ll just land, express our hearty congratulations, and pick up a shipload of zontonium on our way out. We’ll be light-years away before they realize what those blue stones are.”
“That plan didn’t work out so well last time, sir,” I pointed out.
“That was just bad luck,” snapped Rex. “The plan itself was perfect.”
I wasn’t nearly as confident about this plan as Rex was, but I could see there was no dissuading him. I set a course for Chicolini City.
We landed a few hours later and Rex paid off one of the crane workers to hide the container of guns in a remote corner, behind several other containers. Then we sent a message to the Salmon Brigade guys through the same secure Hypernet channel Rex had first used to contact them and waited at the ship for them.
It didn’t take long for them to show up. The truck pulled up and screeched to a halt in front of Serendipity. Moustache and Salmon Beret got out and walked toward us. They didn’t look happy.
“You sons of bitches,” Moustache growled. “What’s the big idea, selling us a load of radioactive waste? We were supposed to be taking over an island today, and instead we spent most of the day decontaminating the truck. It cost us 8,000 credits to have that stuff shipped to the sun.”
“Honest mistake,” said Rex. “Somehow the labels got switched. We came back as soon as we realized what happened.”
“Just tell us where the guns are,” said Moustache.
“They’re nearby,” said Rex. “We just need to work out the terms of the transfer.”
“Listen to me, you little weasel –” Salmon Beret snarled.
“Now, now,” said Rex. “Losing your temper isn’t going to get you your guns any faster. Here’s the deal: because I value your business and want to make this situation right, we’re going to give you the guns and let you keep your money.”
“What’s the catch?” asked Moustache dubiously.
“No catch,” said Rex. “Although Sasha and I would like to stop by after your island takeover and make sure everything went OK with the guns. No misfires or anything, you know. We want you to be happy customers.”
The two men regarded Rex dubiously. They obviously expected Rex to pull another trick on them somehow.
“Alright,” Moustache said at last. “If you give us the guns, let us keep the money, and don’t try any more funny business, then we’re square.”
“Deal,” said Rex, shaking Moustache’s hand. “Alright, let’s go get your guns.”
Rex walked to the corner of the spaceport where the container with the guns was hidden, the rest of us following close behind.
“Voila!” exclaimed Rex, opening the container door. He immediately slammed it shut again and spun around, his back against the door. “You know,” he said, “I feel like we should drink to our new partnership before we get down to business. Sasha, could you get the bottle of champagne I left in Serendipity’s cockpit.”
“Sir?” I asked. If there was a bottle of champagne anywhere in Serendipity, I hadn’t seen it.
“Robots!” exclaimed Rex, throwing his hands in the air. “Completely helpless. Tell you what, you gentlemen wait here while I help Sasha find the champagne.”
Rex grabbed my arm and began walking briskly toward the ship.
“Sir,” I said. “I’m not sure I –”
“Shut up, you idiot,” Rex snapped. “In about five seconds we’re going to make a run for it.”
“Sir?” I asked.
Behind me I heard Salmon Beret’s voice. “Hey, this container is empty!”
“RUN!” Rex shouted.
We ran.
Lazegun blasts erupted around us as we flung ourselves into the cockpit of Serendipity.
“Get us out of here!” Rex yelled.
I skipped the preflight checklist and engaged the thrusters. Serendipity lifted off the ground and shot into the sky. Down below, the two men screamed profanities at us and continued to fire their lazepistols at the ship. That’s coming out of our deposit, I thought.
“Those bastards took our guns!” Rex shouted.
“Which bastards?” sir. “Salmon Brigade?”
“No, you useless bag of lug nuts, the Trentinoans. Trentonians. Those jerks on Trentino. They must have unloaded our guns while we were distracted with the separatists. Scumbags! People like that give the black-market gun trade a bad name.”
“Oh,” I said. “That makes sense.” That was actually pretty smart of them, I thought. I refrained from reminding Rex that we had stolen the guns from Gavin Larviton.
We were nearing the outer edge of the atmosphere. “Where to this time, sir?” I had high hopes Rex had gotten fed up with Chicolini and would be ready to try his luck on some other backwater planet.
“Just put her in orbit for a while,” said Rex. “After those Salmon Brigade thugs leave, I want to pick up our money.”
“Sir?” I asked. “It’s not our money anymore. You agree to give it to Salmon Brigade.”
“That’s when I thought we were also giving them the guns. The deal’s off now, thanks to those shifty Trentinonians.”
I wasn’t sure how sound his logic was, but I didn’t argue.
We spent the next several hours orbiting Chicolini. Rex got rip-roaring drunk, which is what he does whenever he has nothing scheduled for any block of time exceeding twenty minutes. Once he was on the verge of sobering up, we returned to the spaceport to pick up the container of Chicolinian hexapenny notes. The Salmon Brigade guys had left, so it looked like we were in the clear. We hadn’t yet told them which container the money was in, so hopefully it was still there.
We were nearly to the container when two men turned a corner and stopped right in front of us, blocking our path. They resembled the Salmon Beret guys in neck thickness and overall demeanor, but they wore pinstriped suits and fedoras instead of fatigues: the unmistakable uniform of the Ursa Minor Mafia.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” said Rex with a smile. “What can I do for you?”
“We heard somebody’s been movin’ guns through this spaceport,” said one of the goons. “You don’t know nuthin’ about that, do you?”
“Space, no!” exclaimed Rex. “Sasha and I are pacifists. I’ve never even touched a gun. We’re in the costume jewelry business. You guys need any cufflinks?”
“We don’t need no cufflinks,” growled the other man.
“Alright, then,” said Rex. “Well, we’ll keep an eye out for anybody trying to sell guns.”
“Yeah, you do that,” said the first man, eying Rex suspiciously. After a moment, the two of them moved on.
“Sir,” I whispered. “You neglected to mention to me that the Ursa Minor Mafia runs this port. They don’t take kindly to gun runners horning in on their territory.”
“Relax, Sasha,” said Rex. “There’s no way they can connect us to the guns.”
I wished I could be so sure. One more reason to get far away from Chicolini.
We found the container and verified that it was still full of cash. Rex had one of the crane operators drop the container into Serendipity while I prepared for takeoff. Once our cargo was securely stowed, Rex joined me in the cockpit. Finally, we were going to get off this accursed planet.
“Where to now, sir?”
“Trentino,” said Rex.
I spent the next five minutes banging my head against the control panel of the ship.
“Sasha!” Rex finally yelled. “What in Space is wrong with you?”
“Why, sir?” I pleaded. “Why are we going back to Trentino? We have the money. Let’s just get off this planet. PLEASE.”
“Not a chance,” said Rex. “We’re going to trade the Trentinonians our pile of cash for a load of zontonium. They still don’t have any idea they’re sitting on a fortune in starship fuel. That stuff is worth, what, ten times its weight in Chicolinian hexapenny notes?”
“More like a thousand by now, sir,” I said.
Rex cackled with glee. “And to think, you wanted to just take the money and leave. Get this bucket of bolts to Trentino, Sasha.”
We flew back to Trentino. When we landed, we were surprised to find another small craft parked near the defunct EZ Mart. It bore a salmon-colored logo featuring the letters SB.
“Uh-oh,” said Rex. The Salmon Brigade had beat us to Trentino.
We hurried to Trentino City only to find Svetlana, Glenn and Cheekbones sitting together at a table in the village square with Moustache and Salmon Beret. Every single one of them was carrying a lazepistol. Svetlana waved when she saw us.
“Well, if it isn’t our intrepid pair of weapons merchants,” said Svetlana with a smile.
“Yeah,” said Rex humorlessly. “I see you’ve made some new friends. Look, we’ve got a shipload of money to unload. It’s all yours if you let us fill up our ship with those worthless creek rocks.” Rex’s sales pitch was really slipping. I think he was as sick of this planet as I was.
“Funny thing about those worthless rocks,” said Svetlana. “Evan and Kip were just telling us what zontonium ore looks like. They happen to have some contacts with the Andromeda Mining Company.”
“Seriously?” said Rex. “Evan and Kip? Those are the worst paramilitary thug names I’ve ever heard. What are you guys even doing here? I thought you were trying to overthrow the Chicolini government.”
“We’re having second thoughts about that,” said Moustache, whose real name was apparently either Evan or Kip. “We came here planning to take over Trentino and use it as a base of operations for our assault on Chicolini City, but this island has a lot of potential. The whole Chicolini government is going to collapse when the hexapenny bottoms out. Who wants to be in charge of cleaning up a mess like that? We’ve decided to move the whole organization to Trentino and start from scratch.”
“We had our doubts at first,” said Svetlana. “But Evan and Kip were so nice, explaining the whole mix-up about the guns, and telling us about the zontonium ore. So you’ll understand that we’re going to have to turn down your generous offer. We’ve worked out a deal with Donny to help them get their settlement going in exchange for letting the mining company –”
“Stop!” cried Rex. “Donny? Cheekbones’ name is Donny? I’m done here. Sasha, let’s get off this planet before I meet somebody named Lance and have to choke him to death with his own socks.”
Rex turned and began stomping his way back to the spaceport. I hurried along beside him.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I said. “I know how you hate it when people work out their differences peacefully.”
“Especially people with names like Kip and Donny,” grumbled Rex. “This whole planet is full of sissy-named weenies. Svetlana is the only real man of the lot.”
As we approached the spaceport, another ship descended from the clouds, landing between us and Serendipity. Two men in pinstriped suits and fedoras got out and began walking toward us.
“Oh geez,” said Rex. “It’s Tad and Kevin.”
“Tad and Kevin?” I asked, confused.
“I’m extrapolating,” said Rex. “Follow my lead.”
“Hey,” said the man on the left as they approached. “Didn’t we just –”
“Thank Space you’re here!” exclaimed Rex. “We found your gun runners! This whole village is armed to the teeth. My robot and I came here to try to sell some jewelry to the locals, and we were appalled to find that the place is overrun with gun-toting hoodlums. I think those Salmon Brigade fellows are importing guns from offworld and storing them on this island until they can ship them to Chicolini City.”
“We’ll see about that,” growled the man on the right. The two brushed past us toward Trentino City.
“Sir, how long do you think that ruse is going to –”
“I give it about thirty seconds,” said Rex. “Get us off this island before Tad and Kevin smelt us.”
We hurried to the ship and climbed into the cockpit. I was about to start the preflight checklist when I noticed the two Ursa Minor goons had stopped walking toward Trentino City. One of them was gesturing our way. They had their hands on their lazepistols.
“Just get us out of here, Sasha! Forget the damn checklist!”
I skipped to the end of the checklist and hit the thrusters. We shot into the air as Tad and Kevin blasted the underside of the ship with their Lazepistols.
“Alright,” said Rex. “Let’s get off this namby-pamby peace-loving planet. I don’t know what I was thinking, trying to sell guns to these boneheads. But hey, at least we still have a shipload of money.”
A shipload doesn’t buy what it used to, I thought, as a red warning light flashed on the control panel. It was the pressure sensor. We were losing air.
“Sir,” I said. “We have a problem. There seems to be a leak in the hull. We’re going to have to land.”
“Land?” cried Rex. “No, we can’t land. We need to get the hell off this planet.”
Sure, now he wants to get off the planet.
“Do you think you can hold your breath for the next twenty light-years?” I asked.
Rex sighed. “OK, put us down somewhere we can repair the hull.”
“It’ll have to be a spaceport. I can’t repair a hull breach in the field.”
“Fine! Whatever!” snarled Rex.
I set a course for Chicolini Spaceport. We could only hope that every group of people we had angered on Chicolini was now on the island of Trentino.
We weren’t quite that lucky. The whole spaceport was crawling with cops. We didn’t know if they were looking for gun runners, mobsters, or Salmon Brigade partisans, but we didn’t particularly want to find out. Getting Serendipity repaired was going to be impossible under the circumstances. Our best bet was to stow away on another ship. In this endeavor, fortune was kinder: a luxury cruise ship called Agave Nectar had stopped at the Chicolini spaceport for some minor maintenance before continuing its voyage. Spaceport security was so busy assisting the local police in whatever it was they were doing that nobody seemed to be watching the Agave Nectar very closely. All we had to do was walk up the ramp and find a place to hide out until the ship disembarked.
This plan was complicated by Rex’s unwillingness to leave behind the container full of Chicolinian hexapennies.
“It’s a box full of money!” Rex exclaimed, as we sat crouched behind a pile of baggage, watching travelers well-heeled travelers walk up the ramp to the Agave Nectar.
“Chicolinian money is worth even less than it was when we got to this planet yesterday, sir,” I said. “It’s certainly not worth risking our lives over.”
“The box of money that I leave behind is the box of money you can bury me in,” announced Rex.
While I wasted precious seconds trying to parse this statement, Rex found half a dozen large steamer trunks and began dumping their contents onto the ground. “Come on, Sasha,” he said, dragging two of the trunks toward our container. “Help me fill these with money.”
I sighed and went after him, taking two more of the trunks. Taking care to dodge the police, we made our way back to the container and filled the trunks with stacks of bills. When they were full, we dragged them back to the Agave Nectar and then returned to the container with the remaining two trunks.
“Not all the way,” said Rex. “We’re going to hide inside the trunks. It’ll make it easier to get on the ship, and we won’t have to worry about getting separated from our money.”
“Except for the 700 quintillion we’re leaving behind,” I reminded him.
“We’ll have to come back for it,” said Rex. “This will get us by for now.”
I wondered how long Rex thought a hundred quintillion Chicolinian hexapennies would last us. I still hadn’t had a chance to check the current exchange rates, but I knew there was no way it was going to cover the repairs on Serendipity, much less the rental fees. Hopefully we had enough to buy us a few meals on the Agave Nectar – assuming we didn’t get found out and tossed into the vacuum. “Spacing” freeloaders was technically against interstellar law, but some cruise lines had found a way around this law by killing stowaways with food poisoning before ejecting them from the ship.
After Rex locked the container, we dragged the trunks back to the pile of luggage and climbed inside. As a robot, I don’t need air, and can remain motionless in a cramped space for as long as necessary. I understand it’s much more difficult for a human – particularly a hyperactive, impatient human. The fact that Rex remained in his trunk for three hours without making a peep can only be attributed to his boundless love for hard currency.
While I was ensconced, I tapped into the local Hypernet node and checked the exchange rate on the Chicolinian Hexapennies to Malarchian Standard Credits. It currently stood at a hundred quintillion to one, which meant we had just enough money to buy a club soda. At cruise ship prices, probably not even that. Also, the bills smelled like fish.
We were loaded into the cargo hold of the Agave Nectar and a couple hours later, the ship took off. I heard a lazegun blast and a moment later my trunk opened. “Whoops,” said Rex, looking at the lazepistol in his hand. “I thought I had it set to torch mode.” What was left of his trunk lay in charred pieces on the floor.
I climbed out of my trunk and looked around. We were in a large room surrounded by boxes and baggage. Rex lost no time opening several of the fancier looking suitcases and rooting through them to find a change of clothes. After seven tries, he found a suit that fit.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“Very dapper, sir,” I replied. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Thought I’d see if could find a poker game. Gotta be some well-heeled types on a ship like this who are just aching to lose a few thousand credits.”
“We don’t have any money, sir, except for these hexapennies, and I’m fairly certain a ship like this frowns on….”
Rex was already breaking into more luggage. This time, it took him only three tries to find a strongbox full of cash. He cut it open with the lazepistol and stuffed several hundred credits in his pockets.
“That ought to do it,” he said. “Let’s go make some money.” He climbed over a pile of suitcases toward the door.
“Sir,” I said. “Perhaps you should leave the lazepistol here?”
“Oh,” he said, regarding the gun. “Good point, Sasha.” He stashed the gun behind a suitcase and opened the door. “Let’s go find some suckers,” he said, and walked into the hall. I refrained from suggesting he locate a mirror. If Rex had any capacity for self-reflection at all, he’d have realized we were the suckers. We’d been taken advantage of by practically everyone we’d met on Chicolini, and all we had to show for it was six steamer trunks full of nearly worthless currency. If there was any silver lining to our circumstances, it was that our new enemies were mostly confined to Chicolini. The Ursa Minor mafia probably didn’t know who we were, and so far we seemed to have stayed off Gavin Larviton’s radar.
We took the elevator to the casino floor, which was filled with rich vacationers trying their luck at blackjack, roulette, craps, and other games of chance. Rex’s eyes lit up. Rich people trying to beat the house was one of the few sights more beautiful to him than people trying to kill each other with sticks.
Rex slipped a twenty credit note to an attendant. “Any high-stakes games going on?” he asked.
The attendant frowned. “There is one,” he said, “But it’s invitation only.”
“How do you know I haven’t been invited?” Rex demanded. “You don’t even know who I am.”
“Precisely,” said the attendant, with a sniff.
“Look, pal,” said Rex. “You may not know my face, but I’m not the sort of guy you want to make enemies of, OK? Now what do you say you go find whoever is running this game and tell him Rex Nihilo is here.”
The attendant shrugged and walked away.
“Sir, do you think that was a good idea? What if the person in charge of the game doesn’t know you?”
“I’m sure he doesn’t,” said Rex. “But he doesn’t have to. I just have to make him think he should know who I am.’’
“I’m not sure I follow, sir,” I said.
“Watch and learn, Sasha,” he said.
After a few minutes, the attendant returned. Alongside him strode a balding man with thick, bushy eyebrows. He smiled when he saw Rex.
“So you’re the infamous Rex Nihilo,” said the man. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. My name is Gavin Larviton.”
RECORDING END GALACTIC STANDARD DATE 3013.04.29.04:47:13:00