Chapter 3

“Are you sure you’re alright BOB?” Adam asked, looking over the fresh holes in his chassis. “We can stop for repairs or have Zenith take you back.”

“Nothing of importance was damaged! My hardware is more resilient than your squishy flesh parts!”

BOB wasn’t sure why the crew was so concerned; the projectiles were at least two centimeters away from damaging its motherboard. Even if catastrophic damage was done, it could still be repaired by a skilled technician. There was no need to poke and prod him as though it were dying of some paltry mortal injury. Humanoids got so emotional over such small things.

The crew had gathered at the entrance of the facility and took positions around the door in anticipation of resistance. Zenith opted to stay on a ridge near the ship in case they needed a quick extraction. BOB approached the access terminal and extended a hacking tool of its own design, but was restrained by a pink glow. Odybrix held out a hand and waved BOB off. Rude organic.

“This one’s not locked, BOB,” the halfling said.

“How do you know this? You have not attempted to open it!”

“Actually, I’m doing that right now. Stand aside in case there’s another chain gun waiting to add some more polka dots to you.”

“As I have stated, I am hardier than you meat creatures!”

“Wouldn’t want that precious coffee maker to get damaged.”

The nearest replacement was a week’s flight away. Moreover, purchasing an AstroLux coffee dispenser might alert EasyBot to his location. BOB needed to stay off-network if it did not wish to be scrapped. The impolite halfling’s assessment of the danger was correct. BOB hurriedly stepped aside.

Pink light filled the seam between the two doors of the entrance and they slid open with a hydraulic gasp. Bullets and plasma did not tear out of the facility as anticipated. The glow of a work terminal broke through the dim red light bathing the lobby—the building was on back-up power.

BOB moved into the space with the characteristic clank of its ambulation, eliciting sharp incoherent rebukes from its companions. There was no cause for alarm, its visual scans of the area indicated no hostiles. It proceeded to the next door with the crew hurrying in behind. Once again, there was no lock engaged. Confident that all hostiles had been eliminated, it opened the door to a chorus of expletives from Odybrix.

The laboratory was a standard affair given what BOB knew of such workspaces: computers, centrifuges, bio-printers. Adam and Buddy immediately began investigating the room to look for a means of restoring communications with the facility. Jim, hands behind his back, observed the workstations with professional interest. Odybrix immediately initiated a flurry of theft and petty vandalism.

Tucked in the corner of the room, back against the wall, was Hoxley. He was muttering to himself and staring intensely at a glass door across the room. BOB ventured to the glass and began a visual sweep. Amorphous objects floated inside large tubes lining the walls. A small vault at the far wall was torn open. Oh, and there was a pile of bodies on the ground. BOB decided that required closer inspection and proceeded to open the door.

“Don’t!” Hoxley shouted.

“There are humanoids on the floor that may require medical attention!”

“Don’t open that door!”

Organics were so prone to inexplicable emotive outbursts. BOB couldn’t blame them. The constant and chaotic chemical discharge of their organs was a profound burden for them. If only they could know the peace that came with machine thinking.

“The fuck is in there?” Odybrix asked, poking her head through Buddy’s legs.

“Maybe they’re sleeping?” Buddy suggested.

Jim glanced over her shoulder, “Dead.”

“How can you tell?”

“Cerebrospinal fluid commingling with blood and brain matter.”

“I see it too,” Odybrix said, “lab coats means they’re the researchers I guess. Oh well, back to ransacking.”

“Those are used for cloning and incubation,” Adam said, pointing at the large tubes. “I’m not sure what’s inside them.”

“Maybe some highly illegal research? Or something that ol’ zombie Cuthbert wants for himself?” Odybrix asked, stuffing the contents of a desk drawer in her pack. “Okay, now I want in.”

“Lots of people use cloning,” Adam said defensively. “It saves lives.”

“Most people don’t use it as a hack for immortality,” Odybrix said, placing a hand on the glass.

A terrified yelp from behind them trailed off into concerned mumbling.

“Are you okay, Hoxley?” Buddy asked.

“He need not be concerned,” BOB said. “The door is locked and someone has destroyed the access terminal.”

Jim, having already stepped away from the discussion, said, “This appears to be the communications terminal.”

BOB shuffled passed the organics to its fellow machine. The doctor, while skilled, was stuffier than BOB preferred—poor upbringing. It made casual conversation difficult and, given BOB was built to have conversations, it tended to avoid him aboard the Sunrunner. However, when a task was at hand the pair functioned with cold mechanical efficiency.