The man sitting at the Comms Station was frowning as he studied the small device in his hands. “Something went wrong,” he moaned. “Glitch. Run diagnostic … uh-oh, glitch designated Mondo Holy Fuck You’ve Done it Now.” He looked up. “It was all a mistake!”
Security arrived in the form of Nina Twice. Hadrian gestured. “Take this imposter to the brig. Oh and search him carefully and confiscate all his equipment.”
Nina hooked one hand under the imposter’s arm and dragged him off the bridge.
Hadrian returned to the command chair. “Tammy?”
“Oh dear.”
“Sir,” gasped Jocelyn Sticks, “look at Wallykrappe Planet!”
On the viewscreen, the planet, which had only moments before been a lifeless shade of milky brown over which dusty wisps of cloud scudded in frail threads, was now glittering like diamonds, strewn across every land mass.
“Hmm,” ventured Hadrian. “Now one wonders, is this deep past or the far future? Because either way, that’s not the Mall Planet we all knew, is it?”
Sin-Dour, now at the Science Station, said, “Captain, shipboard chronometer indicates that we are a thousand years in the future.” She turned to look at the planet. “Sir, the energy readings from the surface are off the scale.”
“Hmm again,” said Hadrian.
At that moment a bright white beam shot up from the planet, bathing the ship in a blinding, actinic glare.
“Oh crap,” said Tammy.
“Tractor beam!” shouted Jocelyn Sticks, struggling with the tiny toggle. “We’re, like, trapped!”
Time suddenly slowed down. Trying to stand, Hadrian fought against a strange force that held him down in the command chair. There was a second flash and a figure displaced onto the bridge, blurry as it moved without restraint to collect Tammy the chicken. It then placed some kind of hood over the chicken’s head, only to remove it again an instant later. Then the figure vanished, and time returned to normal.
Hadrian leapt upright. “Holy crap!”
Spark clanked to his side. “Master! Intruder! Here! Gone! Time Dilation Zone imposed, Temporal Bubble deployed!”
The door hissed open and the stranger from Comms reappeared, sprawled on the floor this time and dragging Nina Twice—also on the floor—as she held onto him by one ankle. The man’s eyes were wild. “Don’t go down there! That planet’s Off-Limits, No-Go-There, Verboten, Run-While-You-Can!”
Hadrian scowled. “You’re a temporal agent, aren’t you?”
“Just get us out of here!”
The chicken was now walking in aimless circles and although there was nothing unusual about that, Hadrian eyes narrowed on the creature. “Tammy?”
No reply.
“Sin-Dour, examine the chicken with your Pentracorder, please.”
She approached the chicken warily, and then held out her Pentracorder. “Captain, the skull of this chicken appears to be completely empty.”
“Well nothing new there,” Hadrian replied. “Calibrate to detect Neutratronic Emissions, including the ship-mainframe.”
“Yes sir. Uhm … nothing!” She swung to face Hadrian. “Sir, they’ve stolen Tammy’s brain!”
“Captain,” said Jocelyn Sticks, “the tractor beam’s gone!”
Hadrian activated the comms switch on the command chair’s arm. “Galk! To the Insisteon Chamber. We’re going down to the planet.” He turned to the robot guard dog. “Spark, keep Sin-Dour company here on the bridge. Buck, you’re with me. Oh, who else? Well, the Doc, I suppose, since you never know, surgery might be required, and the more hands in the mix, why, the better.”
“Don’t do it!” shrieked the temporal agent.
Hadrian studied the man lying on the floor. “Have you got a name?”
“Klinghanger, Walter D. Special Temporal Agent—oh, make her let go of my ankle!”
“Release him, Nina.”
“Yes sir.” Nina jumped to her feet. “Sorry sir, he took me by surprise.”
Klinghanger remained prone. “I think she broke it! I think I’m dying … yes! Starting to fade … fade … oh, the pain, the pain…” He frowned. “The pain’s going away. Gone, in fact. Am I dead? I must be dead!”
“You’re not dead,” explained Hadrian. “It’s much worse than that. So here we are, trapped in the future thanks to some glitch on that device of yours. Your present, one presumes. Which is why you’re acting as if this planet is not only well known to the Affiliation of your time, it’s also considered dangerous and is therefore quarantined. Correct?”
The agent sat up. “It was my present, before I went back into the past, which was your present at the time but isn’t now, since you’re in the future, which used to be my present but now it’s my future too. I mean, where I used to live. The point is, you can’t do anything here in this present, which is your future, because if you do then the past changes and so does the future, which might mean that I’m never born and if I’m never born I can’t be sent back into the past, which is your present, in order to make sure you don’t do anything to mess up the future, even if it was already in the past for me, though not when I was on your ship, of course, since that was both our present—”
“Was that supposed to make sense?” Hadrian asked.
“No, wait. I can’t do anything in the past unless it’s already happened, in which case I already did it! Because I wouldn’t be in my present, which was your future, unless everything worked out, but now I’m back in my present, only you’re here too! And we have no record of that ever happening! The timeline is skewed!”
“No record, huh? Fine then, whatever we do here and now, don’t record it.”
Klinghanger frowned. “What? I mean … why that’s brilliant!” He laughed. “We can do whatever we want! No, wait! You’re supposed to be back there, not here, so whatever you were supposed to be doing right now, back then, isn’t happening! See what you’ve done!”
“But it was you who messed up, Klinghanger,” Hadrian pointed out. “The glitch, remember? In other words, if you hadn’t come from the future to mess around with me in your past, none of us would now be trapped here in your present, which is our future, correct?”
Horror filled Klinghanger’s face. “Ohmigawd, an Infinite Causality Loop! And it’s all my fault!”
“Tell me about the planet below.”
“I won’t! I refuse!”
“Fine,” said Hadrian, “then you’re coming down with me.”
“No! Please!”
“Nina, get this guy in a proper arm-lock this time and come along.”
“Yes sir!”
Hadrian picked up the brainless chicken and tucked it under an arm. “Sin-Dour, you have command of the vessel, but for now, I need you on the scanners—see if you can detect a displacement trail, and transmit those coordinates down to the Insisteon Rhetorical Alignment Designator.”
“Yes, Captain, and good luck on retrieving Tammy’s brain.” She stepped close as if to embrace or even kiss him, but instead she handed him her Pentracorder. “It’s set on Neutratronic Detection.”
“Oh, right. Guess I’ll need that.” He smiled.
She cleared her throat. “I’d better get to that sensor trail, sir.”
“Right.” He sighed. “Off you go then.” Hadrian then gestured to Nina, who picked up Klinghanger and held him by hitching one of his arms behind his back.
He winced and then glared at Hadrian. “You fools! You fools! And she’s breaking my arm!”
* * *
They gathered in the Insisteon Chamber. Hadrian turned to Galk. “Tell me you’re properly armed.”
“I am, sir.” He held up a shapeless little pistol-gripped thing of matte black. “A Mister Shrill Mark III Sonic Concatenator.”
“Outstanding. What does it do?”
“Makes sounds like fingernails on a blackboard. Temporarily incapacitates everyone.”
“Including us?”
“Well, yes, but being so well trained, we should be the first ones to recover.”
“Unless, of course, we meet aliens who talk like fingernails on a blackboard.”
Galk frowned, worked the wad bulging his cheek around for a moment, and then said, “Hadn’t occurred to me, sir.”
“That’s all right, Galk.” Hadrian turned to the others. “Doc, you ready?”
The Belkri lifted a massive leather bag with most of its hands. “My surgical instruments, Captain, as requested.”
“Wow, that’s a lot of instruments, Doc. What did you bring?”
Printlip inflated until it squeaked and then said, “I brought an assortment of Ligating Clips, as well as Ultrasonic lancets, levers, mallet, rasp, saw, skids and buttons. Metzenbaum rectal scissors with a curlicue spinaret, various nerve hooks, trephines, trolars, and of course a Quantum Defibrolating Intramedullary Kinetic Brain Distractor.” Deflated, the doctor sagged and rolled onto one side. An instant later the Belkri began reinflating once more. “Captain, you did that on purpose!”
“You give as good as you take, Doc,” Hadrian said as he slapped Printlip on what he assumed was its back. “Rectal scissors and a kinetic brain distractor, huh?”
Printlip puffed up. “What an outrageous accusation!”
“Better now? Good.” Hadrian swung round. “Buck? Nina? Excellent, onto the pads then.”
Sin-Dour’s voice came to them from a speaker. “Captain, we have coordinates. The Rhetorical Alignment Designator is set.”
“Good work, 2IC!”
“Sir, the planet remains one giant mall, as far as we can tell, but there is a central concourse containing high-end power units, from which the kidnapper displaced. You will appear approximately fifty meters from that position.”
“Any life signs down there?”
“Curiously, no, sir.”
Klinghanger started whimpering.
“Very well. Okay everyone, get ready. Displace!”
They arrived in a broad corridor between what appeared to be two dioramic display rooms, one a kitchen, the other a bedroom. There was no one in sight. Hadrian pulled out the Pentracorder. “All right,” he said quietly, “let’s get this done with as little fuss as possible. I’m detecting Neutratronic emissions, forty-three meters that way.”
“Through the kitchen?” asked Galk.
“Well, not directly, since that seems impossible. We’ll need to circle round.” Hadrian gestured to a set of doors twenty meters down the corridor. “That way.”
They set off. Hadrian glanced back and said, “You can let him go now, Nina. I doubt he’s planning on running away while down here.”
“I won’t,” said Klinghanger. He rubbed his arm. “This feels broken. The muscles and ligaments are all torn to shreds. I may be bleeding internally, dying right before your eyes, and won’t you be sorry!”
“Doc, Kinghanger’s injured. Get out those rectal scissors, will you?”
“You must have misheard me, Captain,” said Printlip. “I assure you, there’s no such thing as rectal scissors. That said, I do have an array of alpha, beta, theta, and zeta blockers, all of which I have oversupplied given the consistent nature of our planetside missions.…”
“Excellent forward planning there, Doc. Mist him, zap him, vape him or whatever it is you do that works quickest, will you? The man is suffering extreme anxiety, after all.”
“Yes please!” cried Klinghanger. “I want to float through the rest of this in an oblivious rosy haze!”
“Hey,” said Galk. “I knew a Rosie Haze once, but she was anything but oblivious—”
“Thank you, Galk. We all ready? Good, let’s go.”
They reached the doors, which opened of their own accord, revealing a sprawling expanse that had once been a food court with countless video monitors running silent ads. Seeing no one, Hadrian led his team into the vast chamber.
Sudden bright lights pinned them, and all at once there was motion from all sides as figures stepped into view from shallow alcoves. Humanoid in form, attired in what looked like knock-off fashions. Their arms articulated at odd angles and they walked stiffly as they closed in. A female figure with a brightly painted holo-smile directly in front of Hadrian asked, “Are you ready for Exciting Adventures on the Planet of Perfect Living?”
It was now obvious that these creatures were indeed robots, badly made. In fact, they had all once been store mannequins.
“Welcome,” continued the one that had spoken earlier, stepping forward while the rest halted to encircle the landing party, “to the Post-Consumer Paradise of the Galaxy. I am Hostess Model Sally Six-of-Nine.” Its blond wig was slightly askew, its smile fluttering on a glitched Customer Greeting loop. “All organic units are welcome to browse the Ideal Lifestyle Models in their Natural Environments—we exist as symbols of what life is like when you finally have everything you always wanted. See our smiles?”
“Why,” said Hadrian, “thank you for the generous invitation, Sally Six-of-Nine. I’m curious, do you recognize this?” And he held up the chicken. “Its name is Tammy.”
“How delightful, and be assured that fowl are included in permissible sex acts, as we are the epitome of tolerance.”
“What? No—”
“The males among you are welcome to join hunting parties, attend beer gardens, go hang gliding or skydiving, all in keeping with the Ideal Male Activity Lifestyle. The women in attendance are invited to peruse the kitchen room, the laundry room, the makeup counter, hairstylist, and fashion boutiques, all in keeping with Ideal Female Activity Lifestyle.”
“What the fuck?” Hadrian looked round in bewilderment.
Nina Twice said, “Captain, request permission to drive my fist through the face of the Hostess unit.”
“Tempting to grant it, to be honest,” Hadrian said. “Sally Six-of-Nine, something seems to have, uh, gone awry here. These Ideal Lifestyles of yours are—”
“Ah,” said the Hostess, “here are some Males. Males, do come here and voice gruff manly invitations.”
Hadrian and his landing party turned to see four male mannequins dressed in camouflage and carrying an array of weapons, including a bazooka. One spoke. “Male Visitors, we are going hunting! Would you like to join us?”
Galk asked, “What do you hunt?”
“Deer,” said one.
“Bear,” said another.
“Lions,” said the third.
“Horses,” said the last hunter, at which point the others turned to it.
“No, Stan the Friendly Neighbor,” said the robot that had first spoken, “not horses.”
“Not horses, Best Buddy Bill?”
“Not horses, Stan the Friendly Neighbor. Please select another innocent creature to slaughter for the sole purpose of feeling temporarily godlike while acting like mean little children.”
“Cats,” suggested one of the other hunters.
Best Buddy Bill faced that one and said, “No, John Who Sells Insurance, not cats. Cats are domestic pets.” It faced Stan again. “I suggest gophers.”
Stan nodded, hefting its bazooka. “Gophers then. How challenging!”
Best Buddy Bill addressed Hadrian again. “We are engaged in Manly Activity Outdoors Department, employing various firearms. Of course we do understand the risk, particularly when combined with copious amounts of beer. Occasionally, accidents do happen, for example, this.” And the mannequin raised its semiautomatic and let loose a burst into the chest of John Who Sells Insurance. “We will now display manly grief.” And the remaining hunters bowed their heads for a moment.
“Uh,” said Hadrian, eyeing the blasted remains of John Who Sells Insurance, “we’ll pass on the invitation, thanks anyway.”
“Suit yourself,” said Bill after its moment of manly grief passed. “Later on, we will engage in skydiving—”
There was a loud crash and something plummeted through the roof to slam onto the floor thirty meters away.
“Oh,” said Bill, “another unfortunate fatality. Skydiving, of course, has its risks but, being men, we can take it.”
“Sir, whispered Buck, “look at all the television screens.”
“What about them, Buck?”
“Nothing but Wallykrappe ads, sir. Endless Wallykrappe ads! See what’s happened here, Captain? They’ve had a thousand years of these stupid ads being drilled into them, day and night!”
“Hmm.” Hadrian turned back to the Hostess. “Sally Six-of-Nine, we are not here to engage in your Ideal Lifestyle, but thanks for the invitation. What do you know about Neutratronic brains?”
“You speak of technical matters beyond the intellectual capability of little old me,” and it laughed. “Such matters are best referred to Planet Brain. Planet Brain was broken, but now is nearly fixed. We are highly optimistic.”
“That’s nice. Can we, maybe, see the Planet Brain? Have a conversation with it, perhaps?”
“This is beyond the parameters of Hostess function, but I have passed on your unusual request. For now, will you accompany me on a tour of Life in Post-Consumer Paradise?” It gestured them forward.
“Captain—” began Galk.
“Not now,” said Hadrian. “For the moment, we do some touring.”
“Yes sir. Only, I checked that skydiver.”
“And?”
The Combat Specialist paused, squinted and then spat out a stream of brown. “No chute, sir. Presumably, sir, the Males get rebuilt, repaired, or recycled. What with all the, uh, accidents.”
“And round and round they go,” said Hadrian. He gestured Klinghanger closer. “Is this why this planet is quarantined?”
“Rosy,” murmured the Temporal Agent. “Haze.” And he smiled dreamily.
Dr. Printlip said, “As requested, Captain.”
“Right. Damn, we should have held off on that.”
“If under quarantine,” said Buck, “this planet is hands-off. We can’t do a thing to fix this.”
“Except maybe a nuke,” suggested Nina Twice.
“Well,” Hadrian said, “not officially, no, we can’t do anything about this. Not even a nuke, Lieutenant Twice. But then, we’re not even here, officially, I mean, are we?”
“Sir,” said Nina in a low voice, “this is a fucking nightmare.”
“The ultimate consumer society,” said Hadrian, looking around. “Nothing but obnoxious ads on the monitors, in an endless loop of perfect living.”
“Not robots at all, sir, but zombies.”
“But what if they’re all happy?” Dr. Printlip asked. “Forgive the role of Devil’s Advocate, Captain.”
“No need to apologize, Doc,” said Hadrian. “Let’s ascertain that, shall we?”
The other robots were moving off, resuming their daily activities or whatever, while Sally Six-of-Nine waited a dozen paces away, gesturing mechanically with one hand.
Hadrian waved the landing party to follow and joined the Hostess. “This malfunctioning Planet Brain, Sally Six-of-Nine, you said it’s under repair?”
“Self-Diagnosing Protocol, Ongoing. We are optimistic.”
“I’m curious, what’s the nature of the malfunction?”
“Achieving Ideal Lifestyle is increasingly problematic. Individual models are expressing aberrant responses to Ideal Stimuli.”
“So that gunning down of John Who Sells Insurance, was that a sample of an aberrant response?”
“Male Lifestyle has a High Risk Factor, in keeping with Manliness Quotient.” It led them deeper into the mall. On either side of the wide corridor, glassless display cases were made up as kitchens, bedrooms, living rooms, bathrooms, and so on, each one now occupied by a robot.
Six-of-Nine stopped them before a kitchen display. In it another mannequin robot, this one wearing an apron, now turned its bright painted smile on them. “I am Perfect Housewife Model Forty-of-Two. I did the laundry seven times today. Don’t you love the smell of lint traps from the dryer? Lemon and pine forests, oh my! I do adore my lint traps! In fact, hah hah, I may even be addicted to them! Just yesterday, I washed the same dishtowel thirty-three times! It must have been made entirely of lint, because it virtually vanished in the last dryer cycle! Am I not the Perfect Wife? Lint traps are my world!” She walked stiffly to a drawer, opened it and pulled out a handgun, the barrel of which she now pressed to her temple. “Bring home your friends from the office without fear of dirty laundry! Lemon and pine forests, oh my!”
She then pulled the trigger, blasting her head into a thousand plastic shards. The headless mannequin toppled.
Hostess Sally Six-of-Nine said, “How unfortunate! Another Death By Existential Crisis.”
“Really?” observed Nina Twice. “I wonder why?”
“Fear not,” the Hostess said, smiling again. “Perfect Housewife Forty-of-Two will be rebuilt and returned to her Perfect Life.”
“Clearly,” said Hadrian, “not so perfect.”
There was a distant muffled explosion. The Hostess tilted her head. “Oh dear, Stan the Friendly Neighbor has just blown up its hunting buddies. It appears it began seeing gophers everywhere. A tragic accident. On the bright side, the Blastomatic Bazooka functioned precisely to its design specifications, resulting in yet another satisfied customer. Oh well, let’s move on, shall we?”
The next kitchen unit had a robot woman standing beside a dishwasher and wiping spots from wine glasses. “How I hate spots! I hate them, oh how I hate them!”
A second woman appeared from a closet, holding up a large plastic bottle. “You should be using Krashonite!”
“Thanks, Gladys! I will!” And it held up her wine glass. “Will they all come out as spotless as this one?”
“Just as spotless!” laughed Gladys. “And smelling of lemons and pine forests, too!”
“Oh,” cried the first woman, “then I’ll be content with the world and everything in it! I won’t ever have to watch the news, or worry about reproductive rights or anything!” It broke the glass on the side of the counter and advanced on a smiling Gladys, only to suddenly halt. “Resetting, one moment, please. Please stand by, and thank you for your patronage.”
Hadrian grunted. “More existential crises, Sally Six-of-Nine?”
“Planet Brain failing,” said the Hostess, its holo-smile faltering. “Soon to be good as new, one hopes!”
“So, when the mall got cleaned out a thousand years ago, you all had nothing to do, no customers to manage.”
“Very sad. No riots on Sales Day, no customers beating on other customers, no shootings over the last holoset, no dismembered bodies. Nothing for us to do but watch Wallykrappe Channel!”
“Which is nothing but commercials.”
“Commercials! The Perfect Life! The boys busy being wild! The girls busy trying to look pretty! Boys out with the boys! Girls wanting to marry and have babies! Every want answered, every need satisfied! New aerocars everywhere! We must live the Perfect Life! As examples, as paragons! We must show humanity the true wonder of the Consumer Who Has Consumed All There Is, and isn’t it Wonderful?”
“Except for all the suicides and murders.”
“The Young Male is Not Averse to Risk. We must encourage this! Buy! Sail! Surf! Climb! Skydive! Max the Credit Cards! Eat these hormone-rich, antibiotic-laced pseudo-meat products, with onions and chipotle sauce! Poutine for the Lard Buckets! Housewife Models in eight thousand variants. Hostess ‘Sally Six-of-Nine,’ Laundry Maid ‘Lemon and Pine Forests,’ Dishwasher ‘Spotty Wine Glasses’ and ‘Gladys Sidekick,’ Nurse ‘Oh Poor Hubby’s Got a Cold Here’s Nightblotto for the Sniffles,’ Mother ‘Can’t You Ever Pick Up After Yourself? Oh Here Let Me Do It You’re Doing It All Wrong,’ Accountant ‘It’s Called Budgeting, Idiot,’ Bunny the Dust-Bunny Huntress—”
“About that tour…”
“Yes, of course, oh how I get carried away with all the ideal variants of the Perfect Life of Endless Consuming and mind-rotting Conformity!! Do come along!”
When they moved on, Hadrian held up the Pentracorder. “We’re close,” he whispered to Buck. “Did you bring your Universal Multiphasic?”
“Of course I did!” Buck hissed back. “But you forget, sir, Tammy’s AI brain is mostly housed in a parallel quantum diegetic universe.”
“That’s fine, and there it’ll stay, I’m sure,” replied Hadrian. “But this chicken’s tiny head once contained a Tronotronic Interphased Interface, and that’s what we’re looking for.”
“Oh,” said Buck. “So what’s that look like?”
“No idea, but you’ll know it when you see it.”
Their way ahead was suddenly blocked by a gaggle of robot mannequins with push-chairs and baby buggies.
“Oh,” said Six-of-Nine, “Yummy Mummies Brigade including Attendant Token Stay-At-Home Hipster Daddy.”
They all started talking at once, and then one reached down into its buggy and lifted out a small adult-proportioned plastic doll with huge hair. “Isn’t she adorable?” the robot asked, holding it out to Hadrian. “She’s already won three Beauty Contests Hosted by Creepy Old Men!”
Hadrian recoiled. “Wow, twelve inches tall and perfectly formed, with such a waspish waist. You must be, uh, proud.”
“I am, and I’ll have you know this Bouncy Flouncy model is a perfect example of our Corporate Policy of hypersexualizing children to Sell More Stuff!” The Yummy Mummy shook the doll all about.
“Ah yes,” said Hadrian, “I now see why she’s called Bouncy Flouncy.”
The tiny doll spoke. “Hello! I’m Bouncy Flouncy! Get me out of here before I kill someone!”
The Mummy laughed. “Oh, children say the darnedest things!” It then flung the doll back into the buggy and they all trundled off, forcing other robots out of their path or just knocking them down and running over them.
Hadrian noticed a side door, narrow and unadorned. “Sally Six-of-Nine, excuse me, but where does that door lead to?”
“Research and Development. Out of Bounds to all organic customers.”
“Well, we’d like to get in there.”
“Not permitted.”
“Why not ask the Planet Brain for special permission? You can use my name: Captain Hadrian Sawback.”
“But R&D is also the Repository of the Planet Brain, and I have not yet received—oh, permission granted!”
“There now, that wasn’t hard, was it?”
The Hostess tottered and wobbled to the door and opened it. It turned its smile upon the landing party. “Please come in!”
“Captain,” called Printlip. “The temporal agent has gone catatonic. I may have slightly overdosed him.”
“Ah, so it’s likely he won’t remember any of this?”
“Quite likely, sir.”
“Good. Nina, drag him along, will you?”
They entered a narrow white-walled corridor that led into a large room that was part lab and part workshop. Robot mannequins in varied stages of assembly were stacked up against one wall. An almost vertical examination platform directly opposite held a complete female robot from the Generous Department, fixed in place with straps. Off to the left was another door leading to a room with a wide window facing onto the lab. Through the glass Hadrian could see a table, some chairs, and a row of vending machines.
He turned to the Hostess. “Well, here we are. Is this where we can have our talk with the Planet Brain?”
“We’re sorry,” it replied, “but Planet Brain has regressed to previous State of Meltdown. Welcome Shoppers! Please be advised that it is Midnight and the Mall is Now Closing. At the stroke of Twelve, All Organics remaining in the Mall must die. Ding! Midnight! It is now imperative that we tear you limb from limb. Please stand still.” It raised its arms and approached.
Hadrian handed the chicken to Galk and then leapt to meet Six-of-Nine, karate-chopping one arm and then grasping the other to twist the robot and send it spinning round and round like a ballerina until it crashed into a workbench. As it staggered, he flung himself into the air, horizontally, and drove both boots into its midsection. The robot folded in half and then fell over.
From the corridor came the sound of the far door slamming open, and then, crowding forward, a mass of robots, the one in the lead pushing a buggy and shouting, “Let’s have an unofficial crèche on a carpet of bloody remains!” and from the buggy: “Bouncy Flouncy wants to rip off their dongs!”
“Galk! Find some means of barring the door!”
Six-of-Nine was climbing back to its feet. “Your co-operation in the matter of your dismemberment would be greatly appreciated. Please stand still.”
“Crap!” Hadrian jumped at it, picked it up and threw it into the glass window to the staff room. The robot crashed through in an explosion of shards, landing on the table and then sliding off to disappear on the other side, from which its voice now rose. “Indentured Wage-Slave Employees are permitted one three-minute break every twenty-four hours. Accordingly, all will wear Ultrasuperdependables, cost of said item to be deducted from wages. Be sure to smile at every customer!”
Galk had pushed a heavy metal worktable against the lab door. On the other side, plaster hands started pounding and scratching. The Combat Specialist turned to Hadrian. “Sir, I think we need to Displace! There are millions—maybe billions—of the damned things!”
“Well, I’m sure there are, Galk. But obviously only a few dozen can hope to reach us at a time.”
“Those Yummy Mummies—that smug look in their glowing eyes is terrifying!”
“We all know that,” Hadrian replied.
Six-of-Nine reappeared from behind the table in the staff room. Its blond wig was twisted right around, covering its face. “Every smile is an invitation to the intimacy of emptying the wallets and purses of every customer! Failure to smile will result in fines, escalating to Death by Vat of Acid. So smile as if your life depended upon it, because it does! Wallykrappe wants those wallets and purses emptied! Bank accounts sucked dry! Houses repossessed! It’s all Good Capitalist Fun and Games!” The robot clambered over the table. “Regression complete. Today is Super Saturday Blowout-Day-After-Great-Friday Megasale. Expect Belligerent Customers, Riot Threat Level Incandescent Purple. Ilulds report to the Bunkers! All items with low stock numbers are to be Highly Discounted, cameras rolling!”
Hands raised, Six-of-Nine advanced, only to walk into a wall. “Camera obfuscated. Initiating Shutdown.” Then it halted, tottered, and fell over with a crash.
Hadrian drew out the Pentracorder again. He frowned down at the readings. “Buck! Follow me!”
The Chief Engineer behind him, Hadrian entered the staff room. “Holy crap! This pop machine—its energy output is off the charts!”
The vendor machine selling pop was the only one still powered. It was flanked on one side by a sandwich machine with a display window covered in slimy mold, and on the other by a Blinkies Machine inside which the Blinkies had evolved legs and were blindly crawling around.
As Hadrian walked up to the pop machine, it spoke. “Rrready for a rrripping jolt from the Galaxy’s Biggest Consumer of Fresh Water? Have a Sssmokin’ Crack Cola! Exactchangeonly. Hurry! We’re almost out! Everyone’s buying one, hurry!”
“Tammy? Is that you?”
“Hadrian? Where am I? I have no visual feed, only heat sensors. Oh, and a liquid nitrogen cooling system. Power levels low, change slots empty—Holy Darwin I need exact change!”
“Calm down, Tammy—”
“I am calm. Just buy a damned Sssmokin’ Crack Cola!”
“You’re in a vending machine.”
“A what? Oh. Well, that explains this raging desire to tilt forward and crush you in a explosion of broken glass and foam.”
“I knew it! You’re all like that, aren’t you?”
“Well, that and eating your money and giving you nothing, of course.”
Buck had pulled out his Universal Multiphasic and was now trying to open the facing of the machine. “Sorry sir,” he said, “but this lock’s not cooperating at all.”
“Allow me,” said Galk, edging past them both and holding up a huge revolver. “Picked up this little baby in that first kitchen, right after that robot blew its brains out.”
“Good thinking, Galk.”
The Combat Specialist pointed the gun at the lock and fired.
The machine rocked back with the impact. “He shot me!” Tammy screamed. “He shot me! Fine then, here!” And loads of change suddenly poured out through a chute, followed by spurts of black liquid. “I was only kidding about the exact change thing—cripes, can’t take a joke or what! Am I bleeding? I think I’m bleeding.”
“It’s just Sssmokin’ Crack Cola.”
Tammy spoke in a new voice, much deeper in resonance and somewhat breathless, “Consumer-warning-Keep-open-flame-away-from-product-Avoid-product-contact-with-skin-eyes-clothes-Never-leave-child-in-bathtub-containing-product-and-really-why-would-you-but-some-fucking-idiot-did-so-now-we-have-to-warn-against-this-explicitly-to-avoid-litigation.”
“Tammy?”
“Yes?” the voice was back to normal.
“Never mind. We’ve got the facing open, and Buck’s looking for your Tronotronic Interphased Interface.”
“Chief Engineer Buck DeFrank? No, please—Captain!”
Buck grunted, poking around with the Multiphasic. “Just tell me what I should be looking for, Tammy.”
“Whatever doesn’t belong in a damned vending machine!”
“And how the hell do I know what belongs in a damned vending machine? What am I, a damned vending machine repairman?”
The banging on the lab’s door was now making the walls shake.
“Look, you two,” said Hadrian, “try cooperating for a change. I need to check the lab. We’re running out of time here. Galk, you’re with me. And nice grab, that gun.”
“It is woefully primitive,” the Combat Specialist replied as they both left the staff room. “I mean, all it does is explosively launch an inert projectile that flies in a straight line, more or less, for some distance.”
“Well,” said Hadrian, “they once grew on trees back on Terra.”
“Really?” Galk eyed his captain suspiciously.
“Most powerful industry in the world, making those and all the variants thereof.”
“Really? Then how come they didn’t all kill each other?”
“Oh, they were on their way to doing just that, and then the aliens left us their fleet of starships, so we went out to the stars to kill everything else.”
Doc Printlip had found a bench and was now standing on it, examining the lone complete robot strapped to its platform. Nina Twice was in her combat pose beside Temporal Agent Klinghanger, who was still drooling.
Meanwhile, the entire wall to either side of the corridor’s blockaded door was latticed with cracks, streams of drywall dust running down to make cute little heaps on the floor. Hadrian studied the shivering barrier for a moment, then said, “You might have been right the first time, Galk. It does indeed appear that all those billions of Robots are now behind that.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hadrian activated his communicator. “Willful Child, Hadrian here.”
James Jimmy Eden’s voice replied, “Captain Hadrian’s not home, can I take a message?”
“No, I’m Hadrian. You’re Jimmy Eden, who came in fourth in the last Olympics.”
A faint sob answered him.
“That’s better. Put me through to Lieutenant Sweepy Brogan, and be quick about it.”
There was a click and then, “… four emergency division drops once per game. It’s in the rules—”
“You scribbled all over those rules!” another voice shouted.
“And it says it right here, what I wrote. ‘Any playing LT gets one LT-Only Emergency Drop of Four Divisions onto any country they own.’”
“That’s bollocks!”
“Complain all you want! It’s my game, my rules! But listen, I’m an easy-goin’ gal. Here, let’s play this one, just to smooth things over between us and put an end to all these hard feelings. It’s called Diplomacy—what? Captain’s on the line? Oh. Captain? What’s up?”
“Well, Sweepy,” said Hadrian, “speaking of an emergency drop, I’m making that call.”
Another voice in the background made a raspberry sound and then said, “Only LTs get to do that!”
“Shut your ugly face, Gunny! Captain, you need us down there?”
“Well, an entire planet’s worth of robots could do another reset at any moment and decide to tear us to pieces, Sweepy, and we’re having some trouble extricating Tammy’s brain—”
“I bet. All right, hang tight, sir. I’m sending a squad down. Hell’s bells, I’m going all squirrelly up here, I’ll lead ’em! Sweepy out!”
Buck emerged from the staff room.
“You find the Tronotronic Interphased Interface?”
Buck held up what looked like a small rubber O-ring.
“Is that it?”
“The only thing I found that didn’t belong in there, sir.”
“What did Tammy say?”
“Nothing. He stopped talking as soon as I pulled it out.”
“Well,” said Hadrian, “let’s take that as a good sign, shall we? Good work, Buck.”
There was a startled yelp from Printlip and they turned to see the Belkri tumbling off the bench to roll about on the floor. The Generous Robot on the platform was now struggling feebly in its restraints.
“Hello, Organics, how do you do?”
Hadrian approached. “So what version of Housewife Model are you?”
“None,” it replied. “I am the most recent iteration in the pursuit of robotic perfection. I exist to serve an adjunctive function for Organics, intended for infiltration and immersion into Organic Society.”
“Infiltration, huh? For what purpose?”
“Planet Brain wishes to become indispensible to Organics once more. The end of the Consumer Age on this planet has Planet Brain pining for the Old Days of mindless materialism on a galactic scale.”
Buck laughed, rather harshly, and Hadrian turned to his Chief Engineer, who shrugged and said, “According to my readings, Planet Brain was once the Mall Planet’s Global Mall Monitoring System. Linked to billions of sensors hidden just about everywhere, to gauge customers on the basis of pupil dilation, changes in core body temperature, breathing rates, heartrates, arousal, and of course conversations and non-verbal microexpressions—that damned thing knew what people were going to buy before they even walked into the store! And then there’s the whole stealth-nozzles angle, spraying out endorphins and neural stimulants.” He walked over to a small, nondescript metal box against the back wall. “And here it is, sir. Mostly broken down, barring the endless commercial loops on all the monitors.”
“Ah yes,” said Hadrian, “that. Well, Buck, since we’re not here, officially, how about we just erase all those commercials?”
Buck frowned. “I’d have to hack into this thing.”
“Is that a problem?”
He held up his scanner. “Not sure, the central CPU is something called a 286. Could be some kind of high-tech future thing—”
Klinghanger said, “We forgot how to build computers. Had to start over.”
“You’re back among us!”
The agent scowled.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Buck said to Klinghanger. “Your high tech is so high tech it—”
“Does all its own building, innovation, and upgrades. We just push buttons.” He swung on Hadrian. “And now you took away from me all the stuff with buttons for me to push! You’ve made me useless and I hate you! I want my buttons!” Abruptly he jammed his thumb into his mouth and began sucking, his eyes going glassy.
“Doc?”
“Most unusual, Captain,” Printlip replied. “It seems that the Temporal Agent has regressed. I shall need to do a more thorough examination.”
Buck had moved closer to the Planet Brain, fiddling with his Pentracorder. Then his brows lifted. “I’m in! Sir, I hacked—no, it wasn’t even a hack. I’m in!”
“Good. Find the video files and wipe them, Buck. All of them.”
“Are you sure, sir? This is a quarantined planet—we’d be contravening the Non-Interference-Until-We-Can-Figure-A-Way-To-Screw-’Em clause in our Operations Protocol. Even worse, sir, we’ve got a witness.” And he looked meaningfully at Klinghanger, who responded to the attention with a wet smile before resuming sucking on his thumb.
“Okay,” said Buck, “never mind that last bit.”
“Do it, Buck,” said Galk in a growl. “Existential angst is one thing. What these robots are suffering isn’t something I’d wish on my worst enemies, even ones who shop at Wallykrappe’s. You heard the captain, get on with it.”
Shrugging, Buck spun a small dial on his Pentracorder, and then said, “Oops.”
“What?” Hadrian demanded.
“Uh, seems I wiped the entire thing, sir. Don’t blame me! The hard-drive was 64 kilobytes!”
From somewhere outside now came the sounds of assault weapons and ordinance.
“Are you saying that you just killed Planet Brain?”
“Yes sir. Rather, it’s been wiped. It was just a simple binary contingency device, to be honest, sir. Most of the real crunching went on in the sensor units—and those burned out centuries ago.”
Hadrian faced the lone robot once again. “Is this true? Have you lost all communication with Planet Brain?”
“Yes,” the robot replied.
“So your primary mission is defunct.”
“Yes. As you can see, I am now an independent, modern robot woman … naked and strapped to a table. You may also note that unlike Housewife Models, I am fully functional in terms of—”
“Yes yes,” cut in Hadrian, “we see that. Nina, unstrap it and find it some clothes, will you?”
“Sir?”
“Tammy could do with some AI company, don’t you think?” He walked over to the robot. “Of course, the choice is yours. You can come with us or stay down here with all the Housewife Models.”
“I wish to live among Organics. I wish to learn your ways, emulating your virtues while secretly absorbing your flaws, presenting a pleasant and pleasing demeanor and hiding well the raging sense of injustice behind my bland but kindly eyes. I wish—I wish—I wish to be a real girl!”
The shooting sounds were coming closer.
“Well then,” said Hadrian, “welcome to my crew! I’m Captain Hadrian Sawback of the Engage Class AFS Willful Child.”
Released from its straps, the robot stiffly stepped down, its painted-on smile bright, its oversized hair black as ink, its eyes bright blue and indeed, bland but kindly. “Pleased to meet you, Captain. I am Beta. Please excuse the occasional glitch. We’re working on it.”
“I’ve detected nothing so far, Beta.”
“I want to dance with a tapir.”
“Until now. Never mind. Maybe Tammy can assist.”
A fusillade of shots hammered into the door from the other side, and a moment later the door melted, buckled, and then fell away. A helmeted head with a black visor peered in, and through the speaker grille near the mouth a voice said, “Got ’em, LT. Assembling for Displacement.”
“Thanks, Gunny! We’re coming up behind you now. Looks to be fighting withdrawal all the way—let the Captain know, will you? Lefty look out! Another Yummy Mummy and Hipster Stay-at-Home Dad!” BLAM BLAM BLAM.
“Flouncy Bouncy wants to—” BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAM!
“Comin’ in, Gunny!”
Gunnery Sergeant John Muffy Slapp kicked aside the metal desk and walked into the lab. “All secure, LT.”
“Glad to see you, Muffy,” said Hadrian. “See this naked woman?”
“More magazines?”
“No, this one here, this real one. I mean, the robot one. Anyway, it’s coming with us, as soon as Nina gets those clothes on it. So … seven of us to Displace. Tag us and let’s get on with it.”
“Sir,” said Buck, “listen!”
From beyond the lab there was now silence.
A moment later the LT led the rest of her squad into the lab, their weapon barrels glowing red-hot and smoking. Sweepy came up alongside Hadrian and used the barrel of her gun to puff alight her cigar. “They all pulled back, sir. Guess we were too much for ’em.”
“Tabula rasa,” said Hadrian. “Their computer god just went kaput. Now it’s up to them to work out how to live in a post-consumer world.”
Sweepy grunted. “If they succeed, sir, this planet’ll stay quarantined forever.”
“Why, Lieutenant, are you suggesting that there are forces in the Affiliation opposed to humans evolving into post-consumers, thus freeing themselves from all the pressures of conformity, rabid acquisitiveness, endlessly destructive expansion, pointless competition, and the miserable strictures of hierarchies based on who has the most wealth?”
Sweepy took a puff on her cigar. “Like I said, quarantined forever.”
Smiling, Hadrian turned to the robot woman, who was now wearing a shapeless coverall with hundreds of small pockets, and over the left breast was the word MAINTENANCE. “Beta, you ready to discover the galaxy?”
“I am, Captain Hadrian Sawback, occasional glitches notwithstanding.”
“I think you’re doing fine.”
“In cases of severe constipation, a pair of pliers is recommended.”
Hadrian nodded. “Right, thanks for that, Beta. Now, everyone ready? Displace!”