"What's that tune you're whistling?" asked Libby with a frown.
"What tune?" said Mal. He turned from the spellbinding view over the city, and looked over to where Libby sat on one of the plush couches.
"That tune. You know: dun da dun daaa, dun da daa..."
He raised one eyebrow. "Sorry, I didn't realise I was whistling anything."
"But it's stuck in my head now," she complained. "And the only thing worse than having a tune stuck in your head is having an unidentified tune stuck in your head!"
"Oh, come on," he said, "I'm sure there are plenty of things that are much worse than that."
"Well, perhaps," she said. "But that's not the point."
Mal shrugged. "I'm sorry, but I really wasn't aware I was whistling. Must have been some old ditty from a previous life, or something."
Libby stood up and stretched. After a moment, she yawned. She walked to stand beside Mal, and looked out the broad window over the city. The sun was setting, and the sky blazed with orange light which reflected from the many domes and towers and...
She studied one building, and frowned. Domes, and towers, and that.
"What do you make of that?" she asked, pointing out the building.
"Make of what?"
"That building over there, almost behind the cluster of towers."
Mal looked, and shrugged. "How would I know?" he asked. "Do I look like an archaeologist to you?"
Libby turned and stared at him. "What does archaeology have to do with anything?" she asked him.
Mal frowned. "Uh, architect, then. Do I look like an architect to you?"
She shook her head silently.
"Hey, what?" he said. "Archaeologist, architect; I wouldn't know an archetype from an architrave."
Libby blinked. "I really don't know how to respond to that," she said.
"Either way," he continued, "I think I've made my point that I don't know much about the subject matter."
"True," she said. "It's just..."
"What?" Mal turned to look at her.
"It's just that building. It looks like something I should recognise, something I've seen recently, but from an odd angle."
Mal glanced out the window. "Just looks like one more orange building to me," he said.
"Well..." began Libby.
The door to the room hissed open, and both of them turned to see Lardo lumbering towards them.
"Hello, my dear," said the big man to Libby. "Can I invite you to a sumptuous meal, dinner at the top of the world?"
Shaggus grunted suspiciously.
"Oh," said Lardo, "you're all welcome, of course." He swept his hand magnanimously around the room to include them all.
"Why thank you, sir," said Seepy Weepy loudly. "I, of course, do not eat, but I would be very excited to take a look at your place settings. It is a little speciality of mine. Are you using the DeGrabbiner layout? Or perhaps the..."
"Sure, we'll come," said Mal loudly, interrupting the talkative 'bot.
Yeah, bring on the food, whuffled Shaggus.
Lardo moved in beside Libby and, with his hand planted in the small of her back, he guided her towards the door. Mal followed closely, and Shaggus ambled along behind him.
Seepy stood in the empty room for a few seconds.
"Well, how rude," he muttered at last. Since he had fallen in with Mal Single, that was rapidly becoming his new catchphrase. He tilted his metallic head as he rapidly replayed his conversations for the last couple of months through his memory banks. "That makes a total of seven hundred and five unfinished sentences," he said to the empty room. "That is beyond a joke. They better watch out. As the old saying goes, beware the wrath of a patient 'bot! I have my limits, you know!"
Needless to say, the empty room did not deign to reply. "And they haven't even noticed I'm not following," he muttered. "How typical."
Seepy Weepy strode stiffly over to the door, and it hissed open. He stepped out into the hallway, and looked around. "I say," he called, "wait for me!"
There was nobody in sight. The hallway was empty in both directions.
"Typical," he muttered again. "Well, we'll just see how they get on without me for a while, won't we?"
Lardo glanced around, puzzled. "Is somebody missing?" he asked with a frown.
Libby looked around and did a quick head-count. "Uh, no," she said. "I don't think so."
"We're all here," said Mal.
Lardo frowned. "What about your talkative bot?" he asked.
"He's right, uh..." said Libby.
"He was right behind us," said Mal.
Peace at last, whuffled Shaggus.
"I hear ya, pal," said Mal quietly.
"Oh well," said Libby, "he'll be fine. I'm sure he'll show up when we're getting ready to leave."
"Yeah," said Mal. "He's good at that. Last time we got separated, we spent hours being chased around this huge station by Imperial Troopers, got dunked in a sewage pit, barely escaped with our lives, and when we finally get back to the ship, there's Seepy, casually wandering up the ramp."
"At least that won't happen again this time," said Libby.
"No," agreed Lardo. "It won't. I mean, we don't even have a sewage pit as such. Uh, this way please."
He hurried onwards, propelling Libby forward.
Mal stared after him. "What do you mean, 'no sewage pit'?" he said. "What about the rest of it?"
Lardo was opening quite a lead. Mal and Shaggus trotted after him. "Now wait just a minute, Lardo," said Mal.
"In here," said the big man. He ducked down a short side passage which ended in a doorway. "There's somebody you have to meet."
The door hissed open, and Lardo pushed Libby into the room and ran through the doorway himself. Libby stumbled, and barely caught herself against the table. "What the hell?" she muttered angrily.
Mal and Shaggus followed them into the room, and stopped short.
"Oh shit," said Mal.
Standing at the head of the table, facing the door, was a short man with a large nose and big, bushy eyebrows. He looked harmless enough—his features almost made him seem comical—but the severe grey uniform that he wore was more than enough to wipe any possibility of a smile from Mal's face.
Libby looked up. "Son of a bitch," she said.
The short man was an Imperial Muff. Tucked under his arm he carried a short swagger stick.
Mal dropped his hand to the butt of his pistol, but fast as he was, the crimson-clad Imperial Shock Trooper waiting beside the doorway was faster. An armoured hand clamped over his before he managed to get his pistol clear of the leather holster, and a deadly blaster barrel pressed none too gently against his right cheekbone.
"Let's not have any unpleasantness," said the distorted voice of the Trooper through the speaker box of his helmet.
For just a second, Mal tensed, contemplating his chances. Then, with exaggerated care, he released the butt of his weapon, and a second Trooper slipped it from his holster.
He turned his head slightly, and saw Shaggus standing tensely, gripping his own blaster tightly. The barrel of a weapon was pressed under his chin, and a second was directed at his large stomach.
The walls of the banquet hall were lined with more armoured Troopers, all with their Gemini Mk-III Vaporisers unslung and pointed in the general direction of the small group of Rebels.
"Ease up, big guy," said Mal calmly. "Now is not the time."
Shaggus reluctantly relinquished his weapon.
"Smart move," said the first Trooper.
Mal looked back at Libby. She hadn't moved, and was still staring at the Muff at the head of the table.
"I'd like you all to join me for dinner," said the Muff. "We have so much to talk about."
Mal shot an angry glance at Lardo. The big man was staring at him nervously.
"I'm sorry, Mal old buddy," said Lardo with a shrug. "They arrived right before you did. I had no choice."
"Sure," sneered Mal. "You had no choice but to trade your friends for, what? Thirty pieces of silver?"
"Peace of mind," said Lardo. "Oh, and they said I could have your ship, too."
"You little snake," said Mal. His eyes were cold and hard. Libby heard the anger in his voice and turned towards him. She had never seen him so furious.
"I always thought you'd sell your own grandmother," said Mal, "but this is crossing the line, even for you!"
"Enough," said the Muff. "You, sit. You," and here he pointed at Lardo, "leave. But don't go too far."
Libby took a seat at the far end of the table from the Muff. Mal sat on one side of her, and took her hand in his. She was trembling—memories of being interrogated by Imperial Intelligence, by Barth Vapour, still haunted her dreams. He squeezed her hand lightly, and she squeezed back. Shaggus carefully lowered his huge frame into the chair the other side of her. Only when the two smugglers were safely clear of the doorway did Lardo sidle from the room.
The Muff seated himself, and smiled in what he probably thought was a pleasant, friendly manner. "Now," he said, gesturing at the various dishes of food which were laid out on the table, "try the Carrandian lobster; it really is quite scrumptious."
Seepy Weepy wandered around the endless corridors of the huge, labyrinthine city.
He was lost.
That was not entirely true, of course. Within the memory circuits of his mechanical brain he was mapping his progress as he went. He would be able to retrace his steps exactly, and eventually return to the landing pad where the Serendipity Sparrow awaited. But without human company, he felt useless, and purposeless, and lost.
There were humans everywhere, of course—this was, after all, a large industrial city; its corridors bustled with humans, 'bots, and several alien species. But Seepy was—he had to admit, if only to himself—rather fond of his humans, even if they did tend to forget his existence at the drop of a hat.
"Perhaps they're down here," he said to himself as he turned down a narrow corridor he had not yet explored. The door at the end of the corridor hissed open, and he stepped into a large room which appeared to be some sort of food court. This looked promising; he distinctly remembered a meal being mentioned. Wandering into the room, he looked in all directions, but could see nobody he recognised.
With his attention everywhere but on where he was actually walking, Seepy Weepy bumped into a table. There was a clatter and a startled curse, and the scrape of a chair being thrust backwards as somebody jumped to their feet. Seepy's first horrified thought was that he had spilled somebody's drink. "I'm terribly sorry," he said loudly. "I'm afraid I was looking for some friends of mine, and was not paying attention." He looked around the table, and an electronic sound which might have passed for a gasp escaped from his voicebox.
"Oh my," he said. "I'm, uh, sorry to intrude, I didn't mean to, uh, no, no, no, please don't get up." He took a step backwards, and raised his arms. "Shock Troopers? Here? Oh no. Please don't shoot!"
Apart from the standing woman, there were four other Troopers seated around the table; another woman and three men. All of them wore their dark grey battle armour, but had removed their face-masking helmets, which lay in a heap in the centre of the table.
The standing Trooper tilted her head quizzically. "Why in Hell's Handbasket would we shoot you?" she asked as she began mopping at the slowly expanding pool of spilled beer before it reached the edge of the table.
"Oh, well, I just, uh," said Seepy eloquently. He had a stray thought and, in his panic, ran with it. "These are not the 'bots you're looking for," he intoned.
"Why would we be looking for a 'bot?" said the Trooper. She dropped a soaked wad of paper into a pile on the table and grabbed another napkin. The other Troopers seated around the table seemed content to watch their comrade mop up the spill and exchange witty banter with the befuddled 'bot. "Oh, sure, we took part in a massive planet-wide 'bot hunt a couple of months back—well, they did, I missed it—but now we're just having an off-duty drink!"
"I see, but, because, uh," said Seepy. "I don't know, but anyway, I'm not even owned by a Rebel or anything."
Several of the Troopers laughed at this non sequitur. "You're funny," said the standing woman. "Why don't you join us for a while?" She pointed to an empty chair.
"Well, I really can't, uh, because I have to, uh..."
Seepy Weepy stopped. Here he was, busy running around looking for the people who had deserted him, and was about to pass up on a perfectly good invitation—from a group who, despite being Imperial Shock Troopers, seemed friendly enough—in order to continue that pointless search. What is wrong with this picture? he asked himself. Screw them, they won't miss me for five minutes. Besides, he added as a salve to his conscience, they probably already know the Imperium is here!
"Actually," he said, "I'd love to if you don't mind."
"Yeah, sure," said the standing Trooper. She dropped another wad of sopping paper onto the pile. "Take a seat..."
Seepy Weepy sat down at the table of Imperial Shock Troopers.
"Thank you for the invitation," he said. "I'm sorry if I was a little startled before, sirs, but, well, I've never really spoken to an Imperial Trooper before."
"Don't worry about it," said the seated Trooper who had spoken before. He had piercing blue eyes, and a shock of hair which was just beginning to show specks of grey around the edges. "We're used to it. The armour can be fairly intimidating at first, but underneath it we're just like you and..." The Trooper frowned. "Well, perhaps not like you specifically," he continued, "but you know what I'm saying."
"Oh yes, sir," said Seepy.
"Nah, you don't need to call me 'sir'," said the Trooper. "I'm just a dumb grunt. We work for a living!"
"Yes sir, sorry sir," said Seepy quickly.
The Trooper sighed. "Well, I guess you've gotta do what makes you comfortable," he said. "But my name's Grunt." He chuckled. "Grunt by name, grunt by profession! I'm the leader of this sorry squad of soldiers."
"Oh sir, that is very amusing," said Seepy. "A pun on your name and your duties. Nicely done! My name is CP..."
Seepy paused. These Troopers seemed friendly enough, but from what the standing one had said, there seemed a good chance that these were some of the very Troopers who had been scouring the city of Moss Iceberg—back on Ratatouille—in search of Arty Farty, and Seepy himself. His correct designation might be known to them.
"... Fah-Q", he continued, selecting letters at random. Barely three microseconds had passed as he'd stopped to think; he doubted any of the humans would even notice the pause.
"CP-Fah-Q?" asked one of the others. He was of slight build, and had tousled blond hair. "That is an unfortunate designation."
"Is it?" asked Seepy. He ran it through his mind, studying it from all perspectives. Finally—after another four milliseconds—he realised what the Trooper was talking about. "Well, yes," he admitted, "I can see how 'Seepy Farkyew' could be misconstrued. But most of my friends call me Farkyew."
There was a burst of laughter at this. "You need to get new friends," said the blond Trooper. "Glad to meet you, Farkyew. I'm Bent. This handsome chappy beside me is Kumm; the lovely chappette beside him is Karrn." Both Kumm and Karrn gave brief waves. "And the new girl, who gets clean-up duty, is Dorn."
"Hello, Farkyew," said Dorn, smiling. She finished wiping down the table, and took her seat.
"Team Daffodil," Grunt informed him. "Keeping the galaxy safe for truth, justice, and the Coruscate way. One beer at a time. Cheers." He lifted his glass and took a deep swallow. Not to be outdone, the remainder of Team Daffodil quaffed deeply from their own glasses—all except Dorn, whose spilled glass was now empty. She looked around for a server 'bot, but there was none to be seen.
"Um," said Seepy. "Cheers."
"You know," said Karrn thoughtfully, "I can't say I've heard of the CP-Fah series 'bots. You look an awful lot like one of the CP-Oui series to me."
"And you would know," grinned Kumm.
"Oui!" said Karrn, grinning back.
"They, uh, we are a new model," said Seepy. He was starting to find it easy to lie; obviously he had been spending too much time around the wrong sort of people. "Based on the CP-Oui chassis, but with slightly upgraded operating system."
"So can you do anything new that the old Oui series couldn't?" asked Dorn with interest.
"Nothing worth mentioning," said Seepy. "Personally I'm not sure why they changed the name. The Fah series was only a limited run, so not many people have heard of us. I don't know the details, but I imagine it was a marketing ploy more than anything. Probably with an annoying jingle."
"Too true," said Kumm, shaking his head.
"So," said Seepy carefully, "can I ask what you guys are doing out here? Or is it top secret? Only we don't get many..."
"We're chasing someone, I think," said Dorn.
"Nah," said Grunt. "That's what they always say. All the 'rah-rah' talk, all that crap about baiting a trap for—what was that silly name? Slitwhistle? As far as I'm concerned, the Little Fucker can..." He stopped suddenly and looked around guiltily. Talk like that could be dangerous. "Anyway, my guess is it's just some sort of training exercise. Either way, nobody tells us squat!"
"Doesn't matter anyway," said Bent. "We just go where they send us, do what they tell us, and spend the rest of our time drinking!"
"I see," said Seepy. "It sounds..."
"Dreadfully horribly boring?" asked Karrn.
"Well, yes, a little," agreed Seepy. "Perhaps. But on the other hand, you do get to travel the galaxy and meet lots of interesting people."
"And kill them," muttered Kumm.
"Um," said Seepy.
"Don't mind him," said Karrn. "Besides," she added, leaning forward across the table, and allowing the pause to drag out. She looked from side to side, and then whispered loudly, "we only kill the ones we don't like!"
"Oh, goodness," said Seepy.
The Troopers laughed at Seepy's response.
"Don't worry," said Dorn, putting a gloved hand on his shiny metallic forearm. "We like you!"
"Yeah, we do," agreed Grunt. He downed the last of his drink. "But we're gonna have to love you and leave you, I'm afraid. Duty calls. We've got a very boring corridor to guard."
He slammed his empty glass down onto the table, and the others followed suit. Dorn even picked hers up and banged it down again. Armour clattering, they all jumped to their feet and grabbed their helmets from the table.
"Take care," said Bent to Seepy, before placing his helmet over his head and locking it into place with a click. "It was nice meeting you." That last emerged as an electrically modulated growl. The helmets, the masks, removed all trace of humanity and transformed the squad of Seepy's new friends into cold, dreadful killers—the feared Imperial Shock Troopers.
"Be careful out there," said Seepy, lifting one hand in a friendly wave.
"Later, Farkyew," said one of the anonymous Troopers—Dorn, although there was nothing now in the guttural voice emitting from the helmet to distinguish one from the other. The Troopers turned away, each lifting his or her gloved hand in a wave, and Team Daffodil set off across the food court, scattering civilians from their path.
Alone at the table, Seepy watched them go. After almost a second, he replayed the conversation he had just had with the Troopers. Slitwhistle, Grunt had said. Seepy didn't frown, because his sheet-metal face was eternally fixed in an expression of mild surprise, but he might have, had it been possible. "Slitwhistle," he mused. "Goodness, I wonder if he meant ... oh dear. Master Lurk!"
The 'bot stood up and began to retrace his steps. He paused in the doorway of the eating area and turned to look across the crowded space to where the members of Team Daffodil had filed out. "If Master Lurk is coming here," he said to himself, "I hope he doesn't run in to those guys. I was starting to like them!"
Following the map in his head, Seepy headed for the landing pad where the Serendipity Sparrow waited. He was only a 'bot—an ambulatory sex toy, at that—so any attempt on his part at rescuing Mistress Libby and her roguish friends was doomed to failure before it began. There was nothing he could do about the situation. With the city flooded with Imperials, it seemed to Seepy that the best course of action was to return to the Sparrow. Sooner or later, he knew, somebody would come back to the ship and rescue him.