7.
Angel.
Long as I kin remember, I've had this dream of fallin'.
It's the squares, you see. The feelin' of bein' reborn. I'm lookin' into the light and it's lookin' right back, and when I wake I hurl meals from the last damned week all over my goddamned boots.
Voice from the next room over. Smell of bacon; greasy air. "You havin' a bad dream sugar? Maybe you don't be wantin' these beans, these taters, this hog, those eggs . . ."
Even as I puke my last, the list goes on an' on.
Sanctuary's a relative term.
Place right here, it ain't flyin' 'tween the clouds. Ain't no undercity neither, no highly-fortified flyin' saucer in the ground. All it is is an outpost, far from the madding crowd.
Suits my host just fine. "See you emptied yer belly," she says, hauling her plate in from the kitchen-near enough to start me off again. Waffles, pancakes, three types of fried bread, four kinds of condiments. Ellie's appetite's a fierce one.
Table groans under weight of her platter. She sets aside a plate fer me, just in case.
"Got coffee, or whatever. Ground up firebeans. S'pose a milquetoast like you never tried firebean coffee before. Do you good, get it down."
Shaky hand as I pour. Helluva week.
"You're feelin' better," she says through a mouthful of breakfast. "Pale as death last night. Thought you'd up an croak, 'fore you upped and chucked. Don't mind 'bout the carpet, by-the-by. Got a pal of mine on it."
"Thank you kindly, Miss Ellie."
"Oh, don't mention it! Wouldn't be worth having no Claptrap nearby if it didn't help with the chores none. Hey, Clapper-trapper! You done moppin' up D.P.'s puke yet?"
Robot comes in, wheel skiddin' in oil. Breakfast is served in the garage proper, empty of all but oil stains for the moment. "Mistress Ellie!" robot says. "I was just thinking about what you told me regarding stains, puddles, messes, mistakes. So deep was I in thought regarding-for the moment at least-the fastest and most efficient way to erase the acidic mass of proteins, enzymes, animal and vegetable matter currently coagulating on the office carpet, I'm afraid the mass itself had completely slipped my memory circuits. You have my deepest apologies and heartfelt reassurances I shall attend to it post haste; that is to say, without further dawdling, procrastination, consideration, or indeed confabulation, I shall go about my duties, be duty-bound and dutiful, re: your houseguest's foetid puke-pile."
"Yeah? Well see that you do. An' stay the hell away from my piledriver."
She calls this out with the robot wheelin' outta sight. "Momma recently sent me some demolitions gear, on account of her guilt over how things is sour between us at the now. Technically speakin' the piledriver's for construction work, flattenin' ground, that sorta thing. I use it to flatten folks who piss me off. Ever since Claptrap came out here on an exchange program, whenever my back's turned he's been tryin' to get amorous with her. Just has a thing for larger ladies, I guess." She chuckles. "Guess I can understand that 'n' all. You be wantin' a slice o' this headcheese? Fried it myself."
"No, ma'am."
"Oh, you 'n' your 'ma'ams'." The fried head cheese is crispy; crunches when she speaks. "Ain't no madams here, thank you very much. Must be thinkin' 'bout my momma."
I met Ellie's momma, once upon a winter. There's some girls as makes you pay for it, and some as gives it up for free. Moxxie's not exactly particular as to who she gives it up for, but make no mistake: money don't necessarily exchange hands but there's always a price to be paid.
Ask how she is, just makin' polite conversation. Pretty sure the Claptrap cleanin' up my sick's the same one whose keister I got up inside back at Sanctuary.
"Oh, same old, same old. 'Ellie, when you gonna settle down? Ellie, when you gonna find yourself a man? Ellie, when you gonna start eatin' celery 'stead of candy-bar bolognese?' Your Momma ever nag on you to an irresponsible degree?"
"Reckon she doesn't, ma'am. Truth be told, she always seemed at odds as to what to do with me."
"Maybe that's for the best." Another forkful, syrup dripping down her chin. Must be feelin' better 'cause breakfast's startin' to smell mighty tasteful. "Problem with Momma is how she thinks her baby girl oughtta grow up in her image. Scooter, my brother, he was left to get on with bein' a man, but I was s'posed to be graceful 'n' ladylike. Used to give me women's mags, all beach bodies 'n' sex tips. Know why they call 'em 'magazines'?"
Can't say I do.
"It's 'cause they're full of ammunition, all aimed at girls like me. Hell, I'm just as much a mechanic as my baby brother, but he's the one off on the Crimson Raiders' flyin' island while I'm down here playin' with m'navel. Not that I begrudge yer company of course, sugar. You know better'n that."
"Maybe it's better folks like us have a place like this," I says. Take the plate Ellie set aside an' a bottle of maple ketchup still warm where she dropped it in a hot jug of water. First forkful's the headcheese. Damned good. "Folks who don't erstwhile fit in. You. Me." Stick a thumb at Claptrap, dancing the fandango with a dirty mop. "Him."
"He's getting his ass bounced back to Sanctuary, 'less he stops leaving dirty tyre tracks in the suds. But thanks, sugar. I ain't too concerned 'bout being left to fend fer myself. But a lady can get lonely without company, and since Loggins went 'way with that friend of yours . . ."
Which is how I came to be here, if you was wonderin'. Ex he might be, but Loggins left me in no uncertain terms that he meant to get back into Maggie May's pants.
Not that she'd let him, 'course. I mean, I don't believe she would.
"Thought he was something of a blowhard myself." I says. "Always wearin' that dumb airman's suit. Liked volleyball way too much too, ask me. Like, what would you call a man likes volleyball that much? How'd you even communicate with a feller like that?"
Shrugs, makes a noise like Iunno through her breakfast. Good breakfast as it happens. Cook, greasemonkey, cyber-frickin'-genius. There anything Miss Ellie can't do?
I'd smoke, after, only there ain't so many w33d-sticks left. Coulda woulda shoulda replenished when there was still time. Don't remember cold turkey bein' anything to be 'fraid of, though it has to be said, I been stoned so long it's practically my way of livin'. Helps me understand my dolls better, I reckon.
My dolls, gone same way's my stash. Sad, alla sudden.
"Aww, hun. You dry those tears." Misconstruin' the situation; just got the memory o' smoke in m'eyes. Ellie flaps a napkin in m'face. "There'll always be another woman on the horizon, tell you what. Why, you take my baby brother. Face like a chimpanzee an' he don't let nothin' get him down. Women, they come 'n' go. Friends? Well, they'll stick by you through thick 'n' thicker. That's how you know what true friendship's all 'bout."
S'what I'm contemplatin' whilst out reclaimin' scrap off the desert. Ellie ain't got much in the way of credits but keepin' my head down's payin' fer itself. Always carry Donna with me, but the nearby bandit tribes is bein' quiet-wildlife too. Even the skies breathe easier, just a few rakk wheelin' off in the distance, prob'ly thinks to some ol' fashioned family feud 'tween Hodunks and Zafords, two identical bunches of assholes live none-too-distant. Ellie cackles 'bout their misfortunes sometimes. An' there are always vault-hunters cruisin' through on commandeered vehicles, pickin' off stragglers. Reckon they make work easier for me, pickin' through fenders an' busted up shootin' irons left behind in their wake. Lost my own taste fer killin', for the moment.
Eventide, I like to sit out on them big striated rocks out of varkid's way, watch fiery, glowy spider-ants frollick 'mongst bandit bones, consider whether or not to blaze, whether the evenin's beautiful enough to make it worthwhile, and think about the sky. How it's, like, everywhere, man. Holdin' Pandora in its hand.
An' it goes on forever: that's the thing. Loggins made heap big talk 'bout bein' smart enough to get them off planet. I'll get you where yer goin' he says, an' last I sees him he 'n' Maggie May are lookin' over their shoulders, makin' sure I stay put, an' Junior's there too, wavin' his li'l fists, sayin' so long, 'less that's all in my 'magination. If he fulfilled his promise they could be anywhere right now.
There's so many worlds, each with its own unique features. Who knows what they hold? You'd have to be smarter'n me to guess. Like, maybe this vault every hunter'n his tabby cat came planetside lookin' for, maybe there's more of those things out there. Maybe the rare and precious eridium Handsome Jack's tore half of Pandora up looking for, maybe it's bountiful as air an' he just ain't lookin' in the right spot.
Hard not to think 'bout Jack, his initial in the sky like a giant turd with wings. H-I know that one. I ain't so great with readin'. Bounties is easy enough, I want this guy dead, yadda yadda yadda, but I don't read no literature like Miss Ellie, who always has her nose in a novel. What's that one about? I ask, 'n' she says it's like, backwards religious folk who don't use technology gettin' all hot under the collar 'cause they don't have ess-ee-ex. It's m'steamy book, she says, an' fans herself with a hand.
I went back home, just the once. Din't want to tempt fate. Found Lorelei out in the dirt, though her features was so burnt took a while 'fore I recognised her. Motor centre was scorched; musta pulled herself outa the building still on fire, lookin' fer safety. Miss Ellie says she's beyond repair, but I take her out to the rocks with me an' it's like a picnic. Two lovers, feelin' the night breeze, starin' at the sky.
One heard you can make wishes on fallin' stars. Always plenty of those with Jack's station up in heaven.
"Y'ever think of procreatin'?" I asks. Lorelei don't say nothin', but then, she never was one fer talkin'. "I'd've made a good father, woman gave me the chance. Not too strict. Not too lax. Teach my kids respect without beatin' shit outta them. Teach 'em how to shoot a man, but also-" an' here I take a puff; might not be much left but damn if it ain't knock-yer-socks off powerful "-how to make a kill righteous. I mean, work's work and a dollar's a dollar, but y'gots to follow through. Or leastways, know when to quit. Doff yer hat when yer outclassed. Acknowledge the superior force."
Three flashes, bright as stars on the Hyperion H. Three loaders, fallin' like angels.
If Breeg could see me now.
Squeakin' of a tire catches my attention. Light dances over the stripes of the earth like one o' the glowbugs escaped the trench in the caldera where me 'n' Maggie May hid. Bounces back 'n' forth from Ellie's garage, gettin' closer, accompanied by a romantic tune hummed off-key, out of time.
"Evenin' Claptrap."
Squeakin' stops, as does the singin'. "Master D.P.! I didn't expect to find you out in the darkness, where harm might befall you courtesy of thieves, bandits and synthe-jackals."
"No? Then why y'out here? Ellie send you?"
"Yes!" he says. "Yes, that's precisely why I'm out at such a late hour, dancing under the moonlight and suchlike. I'm certainly not making romantic gestures in hopes of ensnaring a paramour."
"Now Claptrap, you know well as I do Miss Ellie'd be just livid were she to catch you mountin' her ground-poundin' death machine."
"That old slut?" Robots could spit he'd be hoikin' under the stars. "Puh-lease! I have my sights set on hardware that's far more nubile. A rare beauty, she is, such as the robotic world has seldom seen. I'd burst my tyre on thumbtacks, then crawl on my casing through a nest of hungry starving rust-beetles just to take one of her exhaust emissions into my ventilation system."
"An' who might this lucky woman-bot be?"
"Alas, she has no designation that I know of. But-oh, there she is, now!" Points with a manipulator. "Is she a friend of yours? You should put in a good word-I . . . I'm not used to socialising with such high-class framework." As I'm startin' to figure out just who in hell the poor fella's so head over wheels for, he turns, gives himself a pep talk: "Okay buddy, act cool and for the love of God don't let her know that for a robot of your model and sub-build your retractable data outlet is inadequately sized."
This point, s'pose I should be sayin' somethin' to Lorelei. Harsh reality of it is he an' her is a far better match than we ever was. Took her face bein' burned clean off for me to see it. I mean, she's still pretty to me an' all, I still love her, but we're different she an' I. What I'm feelin', what I felt, that ain't part of her programmin'.
I'll still box his antenna in, if she wants. Women appreciate a good show of strength, and there ain't nobody stronger than D.P. Benet.
But I can't keep her with me. Even a robot's heart goes where it will.
All this I should be tellin' her an' more. But them angels I saw flyin' out from heaven? The ones that looked like wishes when so very far away?
They're closer now, an' they don't look like wishes at all.
"Fer Christ's sakes, you robotic dumbass, git the hell down!"
We brought mosquitos to Pandora. Hitched a ride on livestock, thrived on local wildlife. Drier climate than Earth-that-was, but I guess they mutated. Bothered Breeg more'n me; always slappin' his neck, arms, legs, bitten all over, lump-ridden sumbitch.
An' y'always knew when one was near, 'cause of the whinin', see, far off and needle sharp.
Needles on metal. Needles on bone. Screamin' so loud it's like the night found its voice, an' seein' what's happened to its dear child Pandora, it stretched flaming fingers and gouges up the land.
Three of 'em hit with barely a breath between as I'm runnin. The screamin' stops, the world bounces-swear to God. Three sucker punches, smashin' the desert with merciless fire, an' the picnic plateau shatters to flinders an' Lorlei's razed to dust, an' the heat they're givin' off burns my skin even as the contents of each fireball unfurls and stands tall.
Maybe I feel responsible, 'cause I rescued his butthole from the Vault Hunter, or maybe it's simple reflex 'cause it's me an' Maggie May been rescuin' each other back 'n' forth forever. She's gone now; I watched her go. Her an' Loggins and sweet little Junior. Just me an' Claptrap left, couple losers with a predilection fer lifelike skin.
Maybe I'm panicking, an' maybe I'm oversharin', an' maybe m'dick ain't so big as I always claimed it was. Maybe I don't even care what I'm sayin'.
Thing is, I kept my head down. Spite of soldiers, Hyperion, the whole shebang, all I ever wanted was my gun back. Hang Maggie May! Hang Crazy Eddie! And sure, hang the littlun, too! They took m'farm, m'home, m'last remainin' girl.
An' now?
Now they're comin' for me.
It's robots from the moon, see. Ain't nobody gets loaders flung at 'em, less Handsome Jack's pissed.
'Tween inarticulate yelps, 'cross a desert littered with rocks that make each step a tripping hazard, Claptrap finds voice enough to yell back into the flame: "We'll come back for you, my beloved! We'll still find time to save yooooou-owch."
"Shut up." Wish there was more I could say as I drag him on. Something smart. Something funny.
But right now the robots are gainin', and life don't seem so hilarious no more.
