A Fistful of Trouble (Outlaws of the Galaxy Book 2) Read online

  “Shoot it, sheriff!” Jeb urged, but the sheriff needed no urging. He aimed the rifle and squeezed the trigger.

  Lightning snaked from the zap gun towards the robot, striking it squarely in the chest. It was hard to miss a target that big. When it hit, the lightning spread, becoming a net of writhing, shimmering energy that covered the robot’s body.

  “I’ll show you who’s boss, you big ugly scrack!” the sheriff yelled, fighting the bucking rifle like a fireman with a hose.

  The robot let out an inhuman scream, though whether from anger or agony I couldn’t tell.

  The crackling spark of energy that shot from zap gun to robot disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared, but it left an after-image on my retinas. The sheriff lowered the rifle, its charge spent.

  “Is it dead?” Jeb whispered.

  The robot stood motionless, frozen in its angry King Kong pose. Heat haze and smoke rose from its casing into the night sky. Then it moved. The robot tilted its head slightly to one side, staring straight towards the sheriff. It took a step towards the Charger.

  “Scrack! All you did was swazz him off!” Jeb didn’t wait around to see what happened next, he turned and ran.

  Sheriff Maddox stood transfixed, staring at the advancing metal monster.

  The robot reached for the Charger and lifted the vehicle off the ground as if it was no more than an empty cardboard box. The sheriff’s car sailed through the air and crashed into the jail, demolishing what was left of the weakened structure. The Charger was written-off too – a smart move, as this would prevent the sheriff from leading a posse anytime soon.

  The sheriff stood exposed, staring up at the angry blue robot. If I was him, I’d have swazzed my pants. He tossed the zap gun aside, turned and ran.

  The robot made no move to follow him. Instead, it headed out of town, aiming for the hills where he and I had arranged to rendezvous.

  I was still holding the remote control that had reactivated the robot. It showed a steady green light, so I guessed the charge from the zap gun hadn’t done any serious damage to the robot’s systems. Our plan had worked perfectly.

  Chapter Two

  I had named the big blue robot Floyd. This was back when he was still big and red and just after he’d tried to kill me. He’d been defending his turf from invaders, so I understood his motives and had more or less forgiven him. We’d teamed-up in order to fight a gaggle of pirates and had been hanging out together ever since. Our short-term goal was to put together enough cash to get off the planet Saphira and head back to civilisation. I’m not sure either of us had a long-term goal.

  Floyd had a fire going when I reached the spot where we’d arranged to meet. I pulled open a pouch of self-heating chicken curry and screwed the top off a can of instantaneous coffee. He didn’t mention the new scratches on his casing but I knew he wasn’t happy about them. He never was. We’d run the fake robot hunter scam about a dozen times so far in little towns all around the desert and each time he ended up looking a little worse for wear. On the up side, our stash of cash was looking pretty healthy.

  We sent the drones up to keep watch. Gnat and Mozzie had been with me longer than Floyd and had saved my ass more than once. They would warn us if a posse from Vulture’s End rode out after us. I didn’t think they would. If they did, I’d give Floyd his big gun back and he’d scare them off. I had a rule about not killing folk and the big blue robot was reluctantly playing along. For now.

  “When we get off this rock, we’ll get you a proper paint job,” I said. “Base coat, a layer of metallic flake, and a top coat of diamond glass to keep it shiny.” Floyd rarely says much and I just keep talking to fill the void. “You should think about what colour you want to be. Or maybe you want a custom design – something fancy, like flames, a snake wrapped around your arm, or maybe an eagle across your chest.”

  “How soon will it be?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “How long until we get off this planet? We already have more than twenty thousand dollars. Isn’t that enough to buy two tickets?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why not?”

  “We need to charter a ship with a captain that won’t ask awkward questions.”

  “What sort of questions?”

  “Like – Why are you trying to smuggle an illegal military robot off Saphira?”

  Floyd went back to saying nothing. He didn’t have emotions, but sometimes it seemed like he did. He was certainly more than just a dumb robot. There was an artificial sentience hidden in his chest, salvaged from a battleship. That’s who I was talking to. The robot was just a vehicle – Floyd’s equivalent of my Trekker.

  “We just need to hit a couple more towns,” I said. “Then we’ll have enough to buy-off a freighter captain and bribe any spaceport officials that come sniffing around.”

  If truth be told, I was extremely nervous about heading for even the most out of the way spaceport on the planet. There was a price on my head and at least one bounty hunter knew I was on Saphira. The last time I’d been in prison, the warden had taken great pleasure in telling me that O’Keefe was on his way. I hadn’t seen any sign of him, but O’Keefe was so good that I would never see him. Until it was too late. He was bound to have all of the spaceports staked out, even those that only handled freight.

  And it wasn’t just the cops and licensed bounty hunters I was worried about. I hadn’t mentioned this to Floyd yet, but I had once made the mistake of crossing one of the galaxy’s biggest Mister Bigs. His people were also looking for me. And they had a red hot poker with my name on it.

  When Floyd and I did make our dash for freedom, I wanted to make sure we were prepared for all eventualities. And the best way to do that was to have a big fat emergency fund.

  “We’d only need to hit one town if I turned you in for the bounty,” Floyd said.

  The jury is still out on whether Floyd has a sense of humour. In this case, I don’t think he was joking. The bounty on my head was ten times the best price I was getting for him – maybe even more than that by now. While the thought of all that cash was attractive, I had a major problem with this idea. I would have to depend on Floyd to get me out of jail. And while I liked him, I didn’t exactly trust him. He’d fired his big gun at me too many times to count. He’d tried to feed me to a dragon – twice in one day. And he had attempted to put a cleaver in my skull. I guess I’ve always had trust issues, but in this case I feel justified. And it’s not just a case of anti-robot prejudice. I don’t trust Floyd in the same way that I don’t trust either of my ex-wives or my ex-husband. It’s personal.

  But how do you explain that to an eight-foot, fifteen hundred pound ex-military robot? You don’t. And you don’t try lying either. Floyd had sensors that could pick up my vital signs and that meant he could tell when I was lying. Most times. The only option I had was what my grandpa used to call obfusticatin’.

  “We could do that,” I said. “But what if something happens to you and you’re not able to break me out of prison?”

  He stayed silent and I took this to be scepticism.

  “Two towns back your cooling unit failed and that robot suit of yours shut down. No movement. Nothing. I had to drag you to a repair station. And they said the fix they put in there was only temporary. We need to get you to a proper robot engineer – get you the repairs and upgrades you need.”

  “He would have to be an engineer that didn’t ask awkward questions,” Floyd said.

  “Yes, he would. And that costs good money.”

  “And after the repairs are done, you will trust me?” he asked.

  “Of course not,” I said. I was thinking of those sensors. “I don’t trust anyone except myself.”

  He gave me the silent treatment again. Maybe he’d figured out that it made me uncomfortable. And he had infinite patience. Unlike me. I sighed.

  “We’ll do one more town,” I said. “I’ll figure out some way to get us the extra money. Then we’ll leave
. We’ll be off this planet before the end of the month.”

  I should know better than to say things like that – it’s practically begging fate to deal us a sqitty hand.

  *

  I don’t always drag Floyd behind the Trekker, there’s a small flatbed behind the rear seats where he can sit and dangle his legs off the back. All that weight back there affects the handling, but it helps conserve his batteries. And if the Trekker runs out of juice, he can get off and push. When he’s sitting on the back he can turn his head a full hundred and eighty degrees like an owl and watch where we’re heading. The first couple of hundred times you see that it freaks you out, but I figured I’d get used to it. Eventually.

  “Someone up ahead,” he said. His eyes are better than mine. The sensors on my dash confirmed what he said – it looked like a truck. A big one. It was stopped on the side of the road.

  We were on a long, straight stretch of inter-county highway. The highway passed through a couple of towns along its hundred-mile length and parts of it were even paved. The big truck was probably just delivering supplies to the towns, but it pays to be cautious. I told Floyd to lose an arm and fit his cannon in place of it – just in case.

  As we got closer, a man stepped out into the road and waved his arms above his head. He wasn’t dressed like a delivery driver and his truck was just one step up from a bombed-out wreck. He was a scavenger. And there was a good chance he wasn’t alone. I slowed and came to a halt some way short of him, made him walk towards us to talk. He stopped when he was within hailing distance.

  “Hello, there!” he called.

  I waved a friendly greeting out of the open window. He took this as a signal to move closer.

  “Thanks for stopping. I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a pickle.” His arm swept towards the truck that was leaning at quite an angle on the side of the road. “Trailer blew a tyre a few miles back.”

  The highway was littered with debris – bits of twisted metal, dead coyotes, and curls of shredded tyre. You ran over the small bits and swerved around the big ones – it helped break the monotony.

  I flicked a glance towards the truck. There was no sign of anyone else there, but that didn’t mean it was empty. The trailer looked like something from a carnival show – the whole side of it could drop down to make a sort of stage. It was covered in filth and rust but there was a sign painted across it. It was too dirty and faded to make out.

  “That’s me,” the man said proudly. “Joseph Hawkins, Robot Salesman.”

  I’d been right, he was a scavenger. I opened the door of the Trekker and stepped out. The old salesman scurried toward me, hand outstretched.

  “Joe Hawkins,” he said. “But most folks call me Happy.”

  Folks can be ironic like that. His face looked like it hadn’t cracked a smile since before the War. The wrinkles in his face were filled with road dust and his lips looked dry and chapped. His bushy grey beard might have been made from wire wool and his eyebrows were the same. He wanted people to see him as some sort of road-punk Santa Claus, but his real character was revealed by his dark beady eyes. Not a man to be trusted.

  “Quin Randall,” I said, shaking his hand.

  “Travelling alone?” Happy Hawkins asked, peering over my shoulder to see if there was anyone else in the Trekker. From where he was standing, he couldn’t see Floyd. When I didn’t answer him, he carried on talking as if I had. “Ain’t safe to ride the highway alone. You should get yourself a robot travelling companion. I’ve prob’ly got just the thing you need. Got all kinds in my trailer.”

  Behind me, the springs of the Trekker creaked. Happy’s eyes narrowed as Floyd came around and stood behind me.

  “I see you’ve got that covered,” Happy said. “Haven’t seen one of those since the War. And it’s got the original accessories.”

  He was referring to the canon Floyd was carrying in place of his left arm. There was a glint of avarice in the old man’s eyes. Floyd was the kind of hardware scavengers dreamed of finding and I bet Happy had to stop himself licking those chapped lips.

  “I’ve got fresh water, if you need some,” I said.

  “Thank you kindly, but I have a supply in my cooler. Water is not what I have need of.” He was talking to me but his eyes were on Floyd the whole time.

  “You said you’d lost a tyre?”

  “Losing one wouldn’t normally be a problem, but the fact is I’ve now lost two on that side and my trailer has taken to leaning something alarming. I’m afraid she’ll topple right over and spill my livelihood across the highway.”

  I nodded my understanding. That would be a lot more debris for drivers to swerve around.

  “Trailer has a jack built-in but the darned thing’s busted,” Happy said. “I’m a little past due on the servicing, I’m afraid to say. You don’t carry a heavy-duty jack in that vee-hickle of yours, do you?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. But I’ve got the next best thing.” I nodded back towards Floyd.

  “You reckon that robot of yours can lift the trailer so my robots can put a tyre on?” Happy asked.

  “I reckon he could lift it and throw it down to the next town, if you wanted him to.”

  Old Happy cackled at that and I saw why he didn’t smile too often. I’m guessing he couldn’t decide whether to have his teeth taken out or not so he had them pull every other one. Those he had left were a mottled green-brown like snail shells.

  “I guess I’m not going to be stuck here all night after all,” he said. “I’ll get the robots to bring out the fresh tyres.” He stomped off towards the trailer.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Floyd asked.

  “Definitely not,” I said.

  “I’m going to need two hands,” he said.

  “I know. I’ll keep your canon close-by.”

  Floyd disengaged the big gun and handed it to me. He went around the back of the Trekker and re-fitted his other arm.

  “Is this thing charged?” I asked, holding up the cannon. It got its power from him.

  “You’ll get one shot out of it,” Floyd said.

  “One shot’s all I ever need,” I said, grinning.

  The sound Floyd made as he walked away was something like pffft!

  “Hey!” I called after him. “Keep an eye on the old man. I think he wants to add you to his doll’s house.”

  “In his dreams,” Floyd said. “Let’s get this done.”

  Happy Joe Hawkins had the little side door of his trailer open and a couple of skinny robots were trying to get the replacement wheels out through it. They looked like clowns from a rodeo and their casings were stained and patched. I was tempted to stick my head into the trailer to see what other antique automata he had in there, but the smell wafting out made me keep my distance. Could be that Happy was a serial killer who kept his victims hanging in there. I backed away, keeping one hand close to the gun in my holster. The zap gun was stowed back in the Trekker and I was carrying the pistol with the explosive cartridges. Just in case. The other hand I kept behind my back, holding Floyd’s cannon.

  The robot clowns used a power-wrench to undo the nuts on the wheel with the damaged tyre. They chattered to each other in a high-pitched language that only they could understand. Floyd then stood with his back to the trailer and lifted it so they could get the old wheel off the hub and put the new wheel in place. As the trailer rose something inside was dislodged and fell. The sound had my fingers darting towards my gun.

  “Just the cargo shifting,” Happy said dismissively. He’d seen me make my move for the pistol.

  The power wrench made brrrp noises again as the nuts were tightened to hold the new wheel in place. When Happy had said ‘fresh’ tyres, he’d meant ones that weren’t quite as cracked and shiny as the ones that had been shredded.

  “Your guy’s better for this kind of thing than mine,” Happy said. “But I bet mine are better in the kitchen.”

  I wouldn’t let either of those turd jugglers anywhere near a food
preparation area, but I just smiled and nodded. I figured that if Happy was going to try anything, he’d wait until his second tyre was replaced. The look in his beady eyes made me think he would try something and that meant he had something up his sleeve he thought would allow him to defeat both me and Floyd. That sort of confidence was worrying. I don’t like nasty surprises. Four more brrrps and I’d have to be ready to rumble.

  Brrrp.

  Brrrp.

  My eyes were on the old man and his were on me. Showdown.

  Brrrp.

  The attack could come from any direction. My fingers were near the pistol, ready to draw.

  Brrrp!

  Nothing happened. Was this a trick? The old man was still watching me. I heard the sound of the wind and a big crow cawed overhead – probably attracted by the smell from the trailer. I glanced towards Floyd. He didn’t move. Time seemed to be frozen, waiting for someone to make the first move. Did I mention that I’m not big on patience?

  “I guess that about does it,” I said, my eyes locked on the old man’s once more. He didn’t respond. Not giving anything away. No hint of where an attack might come from. Dammit, I should have had the drones covering us. I thought about just shooting Happy. If I’d been carrying the zap gun, I might have done. Zap guns aren’t lethal weapons. Not usually.

  A flicker of the old man’s pupils – the briefest glance towards the trailer. I drew my pistol and aimed it towards the open door. Happy Hawkins looked at my gun and unveiled his nasty green-brown teeth in a nasty green-brown smile. He thought my weapon wasn’t big enough. That sort of look does nothing for a man’s confidence.

  A sound inside the trailer and a robot appeared in the opening. It was some kind of top-end security robot. Almost new. Its chassis was gleaming chrome and the plating on its chest and legs was a matte blue-grey. It didn’t have any hands – both of its forearms were machine guns. Red eyes and a face like an Art Deco skull completed its intentionally disturbing persona. I hated security robots. It leapt down to the ground and its movements made me think of spiders.