THE AMAZING, INCREDIBLE, MIND-BOGGLING ADVENTURES OF TABLE-HEADED SERVICE DRONE BOB!
Part Six: I'm on my break!
Bob had spent the day trawling junk. That was the only way he could describe the stuff he was carrying to and from the hut. If fused lumps of metal was worth something to SOMEBODY, then he wouldn't imagine they would be very good smugglers. But as it happens, it was all in the name of TOURISM. Yep, for every couple of arms dealers, narcotics smugglers, illegally-acquired SIR slave-units and slaves like him, there was at least one tourist. They went here for the 'atmosphere', and their extra income was helping people whose business revolved around the death or incapacitation of other beings in some sort of profit, by simply picking up any old piece of space debris and selling them as 'legitimately smuggled merchandise'.
The tourists tended to be Irken soldiers on holiday. Bob hated them already.
On his way to and from the Central Market, he managed to take in his surroundings. There were, indeed slaves like him, though they didn't tend to be Irken. There were very few Irkens there on the whole, except as the people doing the trading. Even at this arse-end of the universe, the height-determines-status principle was still very much in operation, and since Irken service drones rarely made it off-planet, let alone all the way to Sirius Minor, Bob had found himself as the only Irken slave on the planet.
Or so he thought.
After some three dozen trips he was utterly exhausted, and not exactly satisfied since whatever money this crap actually made would never get to him. He took the trolley back to the hut and practically collapsed once he made it inside.
"All-right, that does it for today," Slig had said to him, "you can have the rest of the day off, but don't you fucking well try to run away from me. This thing has a range of 10,000 miles, so try anything shitty and you'll find your vital signs permanently fucked."
Bob had limped away from the hut, past the slave-programmed SIR units, relics of Operation Impending Doom 1 that couldn't even act as a decent thermos, and their Irken masters, running things here like they did everywhere else in the Empire. If not for a few feet, he could have been one of them. He eventually found himself a nearby bar, which as far as he could tell was where the slaves went when off-work. This wasn't often, since being a slave was practically a mark of failure on their master's part, not being successful enough to own their own robot, and they often took out their frustration on their property.
Bob entered the bar and looked around with an uncertain eye. All the other slaves, all of which were aliens, looked up at Bob with a look of scorn. After all, Bob was Irken, and in the eyes of the other slaves that practically made him the enemy. Isolated by other Irkens on account of his height, isolated by other slaves on account of his race, the worst of both worlds. Bob sat down in as inconspicious a spot as he could and tried to attract the attention of the bartender. Or rather, bartendress.
She turned around, and turned out to be Irken.
Bob couldn't help but blink. He was surprised by the fact that she was Irken, he was surprised that the Irken in question was actually the same height as him, and he was finally surprised by the fact that, despite her height, she was actually quite attractive. Light purple circular eyes, diagonal eyelashes, curled antennae, she immediately struck him with the kind of feeling you reserve for the attractive girl you pass randomly on the street.
"I said what'll it be!?" yelled the Irken girl. Bob woke up from his momentary infatuation and tried to regain some semblance of rational thought. Oh yeah, he remembered, she's been looking at him with an annoyed expression for the past minute or so.
"Uh...er...wh...what d...d'you have? Yeah! Uhh...yeah," there was a momentary pause in Bob's confused ramblings, "who are you!? What are you doing here!?"
"My name's Chak, and I'm serving drinks," said Chak, getting increasingly annoyed, "what are YOU doing here?"
"You got 5 hours?" Bob asked with a smirk appearing on his face...
TO BE CONTINUED...
Part Six: I'm on my break!
Bob had spent the day trawling junk. That was the only way he could describe the stuff he was carrying to and from the hut. If fused lumps of metal was worth something to SOMEBODY, then he wouldn't imagine they would be very good smugglers. But as it happens, it was all in the name of TOURISM. Yep, for every couple of arms dealers, narcotics smugglers, illegally-acquired SIR slave-units and slaves like him, there was at least one tourist. They went here for the 'atmosphere', and their extra income was helping people whose business revolved around the death or incapacitation of other beings in some sort of profit, by simply picking up any old piece of space debris and selling them as 'legitimately smuggled merchandise'.
The tourists tended to be Irken soldiers on holiday. Bob hated them already.
On his way to and from the Central Market, he managed to take in his surroundings. There were, indeed slaves like him, though they didn't tend to be Irken. There were very few Irkens there on the whole, except as the people doing the trading. Even at this arse-end of the universe, the height-determines-status principle was still very much in operation, and since Irken service drones rarely made it off-planet, let alone all the way to Sirius Minor, Bob had found himself as the only Irken slave on the planet.
Or so he thought.
After some three dozen trips he was utterly exhausted, and not exactly satisfied since whatever money this crap actually made would never get to him. He took the trolley back to the hut and practically collapsed once he made it inside.
"All-right, that does it for today," Slig had said to him, "you can have the rest of the day off, but don't you fucking well try to run away from me. This thing has a range of 10,000 miles, so try anything shitty and you'll find your vital signs permanently fucked."
Bob had limped away from the hut, past the slave-programmed SIR units, relics of Operation Impending Doom 1 that couldn't even act as a decent thermos, and their Irken masters, running things here like they did everywhere else in the Empire. If not for a few feet, he could have been one of them. He eventually found himself a nearby bar, which as far as he could tell was where the slaves went when off-work. This wasn't often, since being a slave was practically a mark of failure on their master's part, not being successful enough to own their own robot, and they often took out their frustration on their property.
Bob entered the bar and looked around with an uncertain eye. All the other slaves, all of which were aliens, looked up at Bob with a look of scorn. After all, Bob was Irken, and in the eyes of the other slaves that practically made him the enemy. Isolated by other Irkens on account of his height, isolated by other slaves on account of his race, the worst of both worlds. Bob sat down in as inconspicious a spot as he could and tried to attract the attention of the bartender. Or rather, bartendress.
She turned around, and turned out to be Irken.
Bob couldn't help but blink. He was surprised by the fact that she was Irken, he was surprised that the Irken in question was actually the same height as him, and he was finally surprised by the fact that, despite her height, she was actually quite attractive. Light purple circular eyes, diagonal eyelashes, curled antennae, she immediately struck him with the kind of feeling you reserve for the attractive girl you pass randomly on the street.
"I said what'll it be!?" yelled the Irken girl. Bob woke up from his momentary infatuation and tried to regain some semblance of rational thought. Oh yeah, he remembered, she's been looking at him with an annoyed expression for the past minute or so.
"Uh...er...wh...what d...d'you have? Yeah! Uhh...yeah," there was a momentary pause in Bob's confused ramblings, "who are you!? What are you doing here!?"
"My name's Chak, and I'm serving drinks," said Chak, getting increasingly annoyed, "what are YOU doing here?"
"You got 5 hours?" Bob asked with a smirk appearing on his face...
TO BE CONTINUED...