"Do I really need to be here?" Fry wondered aloud.
"It's as safe as anywhere else in Little Bitaly," the Donbot told him.
In a darkened alley between a laundromat and an apartment complex, Bender was eagerly filling out the forms presented to him by the Robot Mafia. "Name: Bender B. Rodriguez," he muttered. "Occupation: Weapons dealer."
"Weapons dealer?" marveled Joey, the Donbot's right-hand man. "Why didn't you say so?"
"In that case, you can skip pages 3 through 8," said the Donbot.
Fry looked up and down the vacant alley, fearing that a rival mob or the police would appear at any moment. In the distance a shot rang out, followed by the screech of a cat.
Bender dotted his signature and handed the pen to Joey. "Are there any questions?" said the Donbot.
"Yeah," said Bender. "What happens to me if I can't pay the money back?"
"That's stipulated on page 5," replied the Donbot. "With an interstellar war at our doorstep, I shouldn't worry about such an eventuality."
"Let me read page 5," Fry chimed in.
The contract was now in the clamps of Clamps, who plucked out a page and handed it to the redhead. Fry had read about halfway down the page when he noticed something extremely disturbing. He gasped.
"What is it, buddy?" asked Bender.
"I just realized," said Fry nervously. "This isn't red ink. It's blood. Fresh blood."
Bender telescoped his eyes to have a look. "Yeah, it's blood, all right. Which, to a robot, signifies absolutely nothing."
The transaction completed, Fry and Bender walked away from the site and headed for the transit tube. "You'd better put that money somewhere out of sight," Fry recommended.
Bender glanced down at the conspicuous wad of bills in his metal hand. "You worry too much, Fry," he remarked. "Here in Little Bitaly, anyone who shows off this much cash is automatically assumed to have Mafia connections. No one would dare try to steal it from me."
Their path to the tube was blocked by a tiny, one-legged robot that hobbled toward them on a crutch. "Please, sir," pleaded the urchin, "I haven't been lubricated for three days."
"Here ya go, kid," said Bender, dropping a big boy into the ragged 'bot's hands.
"Thank you, kind sir," said Tinny Tim. "May God bless you."
"If he doesn't, I'll fire him," said Bender, and then he and Fry shot up the transit tube. The instant they were out of view, a half-dozen robot toughs pounced on Tinny Tim, beating him viciously before running off with the money Bender had donated.
Skyscrapers and garish billboards plummeted sideways around Fry as he grilled his friend for further details. "Are you really planning to become a weapons dealer?" he shouted at the robot above his head.
"No, Fry," Bender responded. "A weapons manufacturer."
"That's cool, too," Fry commented. "But how will that help Leela?"
"You'll see," said Bender, "as soon as we get to the mayor's office."
Mayor Poopenmeyer was taken aback by the robot's request. "A list of all the mutants living in New New York City?"
"That's right, bub," said Bender. "I was just gonna hack into your network and steal the information, but I happened to be in the neighborhood, and I thought, 'What the hell?'"
Zapp was almost certain that the laboratory where Foss performed his research was more spacious than the pirate ship itself. Computer consoles and tables covered with futuristic gadgets lined the circular wall, and a porthole at the top of the domed ceiling allowed starlight to enter. "I was about to ask you how much the captain offered you to quit the university scene," he remarked. "Behold, the answer to my question."
"Yes, I've got quite a setup here," said Foss, who had put on a clean smock to welcome Captain Brannigan into his lab. "No longer do I have to spend all my time writing proposals and grant applications—I just ask for a share of the booty, and it's mine."
"Impressive," said Zapp, idly tossing a glossy round object from one hand to the other.
"I'd be careful with that," Foss cautioned him.
"Why?" said Zapp. "Is it an explosive?"
"No," said Foss, snatching the orb in midair. "In the seven years I've served under Captain Balalaika, he's only tortured me once—and that was for breaking one of his Fabergé eggs."
It took several days for Foss to explain all the items in his laboratory, all but one. All along Zapp listened as intently as a delighted child. As the pirate guards dropped him off at the lab entrance for one of his routine morning visits, Foss noticed that the prisoner's face was covered with steely blond whiskers. "Doesn't the captain let you shave?" he inquired.
"Nope," replied Zapp, shaking his head. "No showers, either. And no change of clothes. I didn't think it was possible for velour to get itchy."
"If this were a democracy, I'd complain," said Foss, leading the space captain across the large room to the largest of his consoles.
"It's strange," mused Zapp, "how being locked up in a cell with nothing to do can make one obsess over the silliest things. Last night, for example, I could hardly sleep for all the suspense of learning about the Fossitron in the morning." He reverently rubbed his hand over the metallic surface of the device, which consisted of two seats embedded in a framework of wires and circuit boards. "What does it do?" he asked earnestly.
Foss took a deep breath and began his story. "I developed the Fossitron Mark One while still at Mars University. It worked, but it had some flaws. With the help of Captain Balalaika's generous grants, I spent the past seven years perfecting it. What you see before you is the Fossitron Mark Eight, the most powerful version yet."
"Well, one could hardly expect you to make it less powerful," said Zapp. "But get to the point—what does it do?"
"They say outer space is the final frontier," said Foss ominously. "They're wrong. The final frontier is the space between one person's…"
At that moment a chunk of space rock strayed into the pirate ship's nacelle, becoming lodged in the cooling fan and creating a tremendous clatter before being crushed by the pressure. As a result, the remainder of Foss' sentence and the beginning of his next were not heard.
"…through Madison Cube Garden wearing nothing but panties and a bra," he concluded.
Zapp placed his hand over his square, unshaven chin. "It's incredible," he said, deep in thought. "The potential for good…but also for evil…"
"Good and evil are hardly universal constants," said Foss, pushing his glasses further down his nose. "I prefer to think in terms of power and the lack thereof. Those with power decide what is good and what is evil, and those without power must abide by their judgments."
Zapp shot him a confused stare.
"Sorry," said Foss meekly. "I'm really sensitive about the 'good and evil' thing. Just hearing the words mentioned takes me back to my freshman year, when such antiquated notions were forcibly purged from my mind."
"By your philosophy professors?"
"No, by fraternity hazing."
Zapp grinned knowingly, and then a klaxon sounded. "We've got company," said Foss, and both men heard through the doorway the sounds of pirates scrambling to their stations.
On the outer edge of the Cerulean Nebula, the Planet Express ship fell out of hyperspace and materialized among the fragile blue wisps. Several dozen cigar-shaped raiders emerged from the milky cloud to intercept the tiny delivery vessel, which coasted along as if unaware of them.
Leela was fully conscious of their arrival. You can do this, girl, she told herself while relaxing her grip on the control stick and allowing it to drift forward.
"I'm still not sure if this is a good idea," said Delta, who was busy attaching a white flag to a long metal rod.
"Stop saying that," said Leela.
To be continued