The inside of Bitsy's bar reeked of motor oil, largely due to the many puddles of motor oil on the wood-slat floor. It was common for a robot to slip in a puddle and fall; indeed, more than a few robots lay wallowing in oil, unable to get up. Flickering neon lights on the wall advertised Olde Fortran, Lobrau, and other popular drinks. The music was loud, the laughter and conversation louder. It seemed ironic to Proteus that he had come to such a place to die. Look at those morons, reveling in filth as if they were humans, he thought. Is it misery when they don't know how miserable they are?

In an instant, the attention of everyone in the crowded bar turned toward one object. Him.

"Bender!" exclaimed the bartender, a blonde fembot with garishly deep makeup. "What's it been, like two weeks? Long time no see, baby!"

"It's Bender!" shouted one robot after another. "It's the original party machine!"

Proteus winced as the cold, moist hands of Bender's robot fans touched him all over. "Hey, Bender, remember me?" said a gorgeous 'bot with long red tresses. "Yo, Bender," said a short manbot with a missing eye. "Ya know the two hundred dollars ya owes me? Fuhgeddaboutit." "Let's see ya drink a whole keg o' Pennzoil again." "My boy wants to be just like you when he's old enough to drink." "Whatsamatta, Bender? Someone hit yer mute button?"

There's no point in fighting it, thought Proteus, and he lifted himself onto a stool. "What'll ya have?" asked the bartender, Bitsy.

"I'll have…" He glanced around at the adoring robots. "I'll have the usual."

"The usual!" cried a tall 'bot with a slurred voice. "He ordered the usual!"

"One usual, coming right up," said Bitsy.

"Just one minute," said Proteus, grasping her wrist. "Before you give me the usual, I have to ask—what is the usual?"

The other robots laughed. "He's gettin' all philosophical again," said a busty robot girl.

"The usual is vodka with battery acid," Bitsy told him. "We call it Sudden Death. It's so caustic, we have to serve it in a metal cup."

"Bender drinks that?" said Proteus with alarm. "And he's still alive?"

"Life's full o' mysteries," said Bitsy with a shake of her blond locks.

"I'll haves what Bender's havin'," said the unshaven construction worker two stools down from Proteus.

"How'd you get in here?" said the bartender sharply. "We don't serve your kind. Get out."

"As you likes it," said the frumpy man, hopping down from his stool.

"So," Bitsy asked Proteus, "do you want the usual, or not? And no, we don't have anything stronger."

"The usual will be fine," said the glum-looking robot.

"Hey, Bender," said a manbot wearing a fedora. "We still remember the words to the drinking song you taught us."

"That's the only thing we remember from that night," said a robot in a suit next to him. "Should we sing it for you?"

"Knock yourselves out," said Proteus indifferently.

All the other robots began to sing off-key: "Infinity bottles of beer on the wall, infinity bottles of beer, take one down, pass it around, infinity bottles of beer on the wall…"

Bitsy placed a cast-iron cup on a coaster in front of Proteus, who dolefully examined its bubbling contents. "Here's your drink, Bender," she said sweetly. "Now, why don't you tell ol' Bitsy what's troubling you? Is it money? Did you kill somebody? I'm your bartender, I'll understand."

"Well, all right," said Proteus as he took a tentative sip. "I'm a highly intelligent, well-trained, shapeshifting robot assassin, stuck in the body of a drunken wreck of a bending unit, and I want to end my suffering."

"Whatever," said Bitsy with a shrug.

"Hey, this stuff isn't bad," said Proteus, and he raised his cup for a larger swig.


Precious seconds ticked by as Raven shot through space, leaving Earth ever farther behind. In Zoidberg's clinic, Hermes and Amy were assisting the doctor in the modification to his MRI unit. "Once you've plugged the green wire into the red socket," Zoidberg instructed them, "simply put the cover back on and remove the FCC approval sticker, and you're done."

"Where'd you learn this trick, mon?" Hermes asked him.

"In medical school," the lobster replied. "Every Saturday night my buddies and I would get drunk, turn an MRI into a radio transmitter, and knock out the TV reception over a half-mile radius." His tone became sheepish. "That's how I got expelled."

"What do we do now?" inquired Amy.

"Push the green button to start transmitting," said Zoidberg.

"I'll do it!" The Asian girl impulsively reached out and pressed the button, which had the word SCAN imprinted on it. The interior of the MRI unit began to glow green, and the device emitted a monotonous hum.

"Hooray!" Zoidberg exclaimed. "It didn't blow up this time!"

"Is it on?" asked Hermes.

"Yes," answered the doctor. "The world is listening. Say something."

"Mayday!" said the Jamaican. "Mayday, mon! We're trapped on the Planet Express ship Raven, locked on a course for Nubia Upsilon B."

"Kiffy, it's me, Amy! Can you hear me? I love you! Kissy kissy!"

"I repeat, we are locked on a course to…"

"Kiffy, I got a new tattoo! It's on my…"

"Get off my frequency, Amy!"

The MRI machine exploded. Smoke and sparks flew across the entire sickbay.

Zoidberg coughed and tried to drive away the smoke by waving his stumps. "Activate emergency fire control protocol!" he shouted.

A holographic image of Dr. Nick Riviera materialized nearby, holding a bucket filled with water. "Hi, everybody!" he gushed.


To be continued