The little man sat quietly in the back of the bar, under the shadows of a balcony where the occasional peanut or kernel of popcorn dropped through his line of vision, an edible flurry. Judging by the amount of sake missing from the bottle and the half-eaten bowl of peanuts, one might think him well on his way to an alcohol-induced stupor.
One would be wrong.
The day had long since passed since even a full bottle of sake would dull the edge of Tochiro Oyama. Years of rotgut during the Illumidas Occupation, and more years of drinking whatever was available to a fugitive pirate had long since armored his gut and his reflexes. Far from the best or worst he had ever tasted, this bottle served its purpose, to leave him with a dull glow to light the quiet corners of his being.
He looked up as a barmaid placed a large sandwich, stacked deep with meat that looked sumptious, even if he couldn't identify the life form it had originally come from. Better not to ask, here on Gun Frontier. It was enough to know that he hadn't been involved in any conversations with it before it wound up on a counter in the back.
The barmaid was sumptious in her own right as well. Short of stature, not much taller than himself, but fully and pleasantly rounded, and with a curtain of sable hair that hung to the small of her back. The red of her dress might be a little faded, but it was clean and well-kept, and contrasted delightfully with the darkness of her hair and eyes.
Digging into the pouches of his belt, he found a coin and placed it on the table, giving her his best "Yes, I'm a letch, but I would never hurt you" smiles. She returned the smile shyly. It was rare to see a man in this place wear an open expression, and she found it a bit embarrassing. She palmed the coin then opened her hand in surprise when she felt the weight.
"I'll be back in a minute with your change," she finally stammered.
"No change," he said, his face split with a broad smile. "It's all yours."
For a second, her face ran through a gamut of emotions.
She can't decide if I'm drunk, or just planning to take the balance out in services, he thought.
He picked up the knife from the table setting and balanced it on the tip of his forefinger long enough to convince her his reflexes weren't compromised before flipping it over and using it to cut a big slice from the sandwich. He chewed the meat thoughtfully, and determined it really was from an animal most people were used to considering food. He washed it down wish a swig of sake and smiled up at her.
"I'll be sleeping alone tonight," he said. "There's a lady who's waiting for me, and I can't disappoint her." He looked her up and down in an appreciative way that was somehow lusty but not threatening, and left go a quiet sigh that told her that he certainly appreciated her charms, but he had promises that had to be kept. "Now you'd better stash that before someone notices it."
She reached for the seam of her blouse to stash the coin in the traditional place, then, realizing its size and weight, decided on the waistband of her skirt instead. She flashed him one of her own few genuine smiles that she had bestowed while on Gun Frontier, and turned to go back to the kitchen.
Harlock had better get back here soon, he thought as he attacked the sandwich with gusto, or I'll soon be a street beggar myself. Money meant little to him, and he had made and lost several fortunes in his life. Smiles were the only thing it purchased that were of any value to him, though, and he had bought a good many this trip. Judging by the lightness of his pouch, though, there weren't many more in there, and it just might be a while, yet. before his friend and the Arcadia returned. He had recognized the deep-throated whistle of Big One as it replenished three days ago. If the Sirius Platoon was in the area and had stopped for supplies, the problems might keep Arcadia away for a while as well.
But for today, my belly is full, and my pockets aren't quite empty, so life is good, he decided as he sopped up the last of the rich, brown gravy.
He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed the entrance of the machine man until his bulk blocked the light from the chandelier. He stepped over the back of the chair facing Tochiro, and plopped his bulk into it. The wood groaned in protest at the sudden weight of the machine body.
Not very bright, Tochiro thought. No one takes the chair with its back to the room on Gun Frontier unless the man facing him is someone he knows he can trust.
The machine man picked up Tochiro's sake bottle and drained it.
Not much in the way of manners, either, Tochiro lamented, I had planned to make that bottle last the entire evening.
The machine man leaned across the table menacingly toward Tochiro, who maintained his mask of friendly indifference.
"Do you know who I am, little man?" he snarled.
Tochiro thoughtfully sipped at the sake he had left. Going to have to make it last, he thought.
"No, I can't say I do," Tochiro admitted, "But I'm always willing to make a new friend, and since we've already shared wine..."
The machine man laughed, an unpleasant sound. Either he had only recently been converted, or he simply had not bothered to try to make his vocal apparatus sound human.
"You won't make a friend here," he snarled, "I have little use for fleshlings. "
Ah, he hasn't bothered to learn, Tochiro thought.
"And I took your wine."
Hasn't bothered to learn manners either, Tochiro thought, punctuating the thought with a mental sigh. He let his hand drop to the butt of the Cosmodragoon at his hip.
Several people at nearby tables noticed the maker's mark on the stock, and slowly began to back away. The machine man didn't move, and if he noticed the change in the crowd, didn't acknowledge it. He regarded Tochiro with glowing, unblinking eyes, Tochiro met them with a look of bored indifference that by this time was no longer feigned. Finally he heard the tiny "pop" that was the equivalent of a machine man clearing his throat.
"Too poor?" the machine man asked sarcastically. Tochiro noted that he had practiced sarcasm quite well.
"Too poor for what?" Tochiro asked innocently. To himself, he thought, What a waste, for, as any true samurai would, he already knew the outcome of this conversation.
"To afford a real body," the machine man crowed. "To buy a body that doesn't feel pain. A body that never grows old."
"A body that will never feel a loving touch," Tochiro countered. "A body that cannot show the signs of a life well and heartily lived."
"A body that is immortal!" the machine man roared.
Tell that to Count Mecha, Tochiro thought. Or to Queen Andromeda Promethium. To the machine man, he simply smiled disarmingly and asked, "Who wants to live forever?"
I will live forever!" the machine man roared. "What can your flesh do that I cannot?"
"It can feel the warmth of a child cradled in its arms," Tochiro countered casually, remembering the laments of his friend, the conductor of Galaxy Three-Nines, whose adopted son's touch he would only know as readings collected by pressure receptors.
"Meaningless data!" the machine man snarled.
"It can share a smile of pleasure and accomplishment at a shared task."
"A task which can be done more efficiently and effectively through network coordination, " the machine man gloated, "not to mention with many times the strength and speed of your flesh."
By this moment, a ten-foot section of the bar directly behind the machine man had been cleared. Tochiro did not acknowledge the movement. He had known since the machine man had sat down how this would end. He thought of the noble machine people he had known, who used their abilities to help organic and machine people alike.
It's sad how many of them are just bullies who see a machine body as a way to bully even more efficiently, Tochiro mused. As he expected, his weak, organic reverie infuriated the machine man.
"Well, no more arguments?" the machine man asked. Ironically, gloating seemed to be the one emotion he had learned to imitate quite well.
"Only the coup de grace," Tochiro said with a hint of wistfulness. "You see, the one thing you have never experienced, and I'm sorry you never will, is the warmth of a lover, the sweet, salty taste of a woman you have loved long and well, and you will never know the joy, months later of cradling the product of that love, your one true immortality, between you."
Tochiro paused to look into the machine man's visual receptors, a look of supreme sadness on his face as he thought of those nights on the Queen Emeraldus when he and the Pirate Queen might as well have been the only people in the universe; the night in the sickbay of the Arcadia when the doctor had delivered their immortality to them, and they had named her for the woman they had all loved, but his best friend most of all. He remembered his friend trying to hide his joy behind his mask of detachment when they had asked him to be their daughter's godfather.
Poor deluded fool, Tochiro thought, You took a machine body to protect your fragile ego. When I take mine, it will be to protect those I love.
"Oh you humans and your stupid biological functions," the machine man crowed. He reached out and snatched the arm of Tochiro's barmaid and dragged her, struggling to him.
The Cosmodragoon was already clearing the holster as Tochiro thought, You never learned not to encumber your dominant hand.
It was leveled at the machine man's head before he calculated the possibility of a human, especially one so harmless-looking, moving that fast.
As his finger closed around the trigger, Tochiro thought, And now you never will.
The last sound the machine man ever heard was the "clink" of the Cosmodragoon's firing circuit closing.
Tochiro stepped out from the table and gently comforted the barmaid. He looked down at the metallic corpse of a man who had died far too young, and lamented what he might have been if he had only chosen to use his advantages for good.
Sadly, he uttered the machine man's only epitaph.
"What a waste."