Bitsy reached under the bar and retrieved a large socket wrench, which she used to screw Bender's head tightly onto his body. "Thanks," said the robot as soon as he had regained his bearings.

"Routine," said the bartender. "Happens five times a day."

Proteus stood in haste. "You've all been very good to me," he addressed the crowd of semi-drunken robots, "but I must be on my way. I've lost my honor, and I'm going to get it back one way or another."

"See ya in another two weeks," said the rusty fembot.

"Your secrets are safe with us," said the fat robot with the mustache.

"Not so fast, Mister Roboto," said Bitsy, grabbing Proteus by the arm. "You've run up quite a tab. I hope you're intending to pay."

"Pay?" Proteus glanced around in embarrassment. "Uh, let me see what I've got." Opening the squeaky door to Bender's chest compartment, he thought, If I know bending units, there's some loose change rattling around in here. After a moment of feeling around, he laid his fingers on a metallic object and scooped it out. To his relief, it turned out to be a shiny gold watch.

"Would you accept this as payment?" he inquired of Bitsy.

"Any other day I'd take your stolen goods, Bender," the barmaid replied. "But my kid's got a virus, and I need cash. Cash, capisce?"

"It's a nice watch," said Proteus, dangling the timepiece by its strap. "It'd be a shame to see it go to waste."

"Go to waste?" said Bitsy. "What do you mean?"

Without another word, Proteus hurled the watch with all his might. It struck a wooden beam in the rear wall and shattered, sending coils and springs flying in all directions. All the other robots watched in horror, dismayed by the wanton destruction of such a valuable item. When they turned their heads to look at Proteus, he was gone.

The robot had caught a ride on the back bumper of a hovercar, and was speeding away from Bitsy's establishment. He felt a strange urge to shout, "So long, suckers!" but resisted it.

As he readied himself to let go of the vehicle and drop to the ground, one of the many stickers attached to the bumper caught his attention. It wasn't the sticker that read MY KID ASSIMILATED YOUR HONOR STUDENT, but the one to the left, the one with Leela's face and the message, HAVE YOU SEEN THIS WOMAN?

In another part of New New York, similar stickers were being plastered onto the cars parked at an Alien Overlord & Taylor's store by none other than Philaster Foss. His back ached more every time he bent over to apply another Leela sticker to an unwitting shopper's vehicle. I never thought I'd be reduced to this, he thought. But the woman I love is depending on me, and I can't disappoint her.

Officers Smitty and URL of the NNYPD observed from nearby. "I think there's a law against what he's doing," said Smitty to his robot partner. "Would you mind checking your law database?"

URL stood stock still, his arms at his sides. His eyes flashed green. His body vibrated.

"Checking…checking…" he muttered. "Sorry, compadre. According to my records, bumper sticker advertising is protected by an obscure clause of the Restoration of Limited Free Speech Rights Act of 2569."

"How obscure?" said Smitty, fingering his billy club.

Fatigued and sweaty, Foss ended his labors and took a transit tube to the Planet Express headquarters. When he reached the lounge, he was treated to a disturbing, but not unexpected, sight. Bender, still inside the body of Proteus, was hunched over on the couch, sobbing into his hands. Empty and partially empty cans were strewn across the carpet, leaving puddles of beer and other liquors.

"Still not drunk?" said Foss sympathetically.

Bender glanced briefly and pitifully at the professor. "Not even a buzz," he lamented in Proteus' tinny voice, and resumed his sobbing.

Foss laid a comforting hand on the robot's titanium-plated shoulder, and his cell phone rang. "Are you gonna take the call, or do I have to go Abu Ghraib on your ass?" was the randomly selected ring tone.

"Maybe someone's seen Leela," said Foss, eagerly snatching the phone from his hip. "Hello?"

"This is Proteus."

Foss felt his jaw drop. "It's Proteus!" he told Bender.

"I want to negotiate for the return of my body," stated the voice on the phone.

"He wants to negotiate for the return of his body!" Foss relayed to Bender.

"I have super-hearing," said Bender peevishly.

Foss adopted a firm tone. "You'll get your body when Leela has hers, and the Planet Express crew is safe," he responded to Proteus.

Bender stood up quickly with a simple bend of Proteus' knees. "Tell him, no dice," he said. "I'm having too much fun being him."

Foss put his palm over the phone's receiver. "That's not how it looked when I walked in here," he whispered to Bender.

"Hey, I'm only trying to establish a strong negotiating position," said Bender with a shrug.

From a rat-infested alley, the battered, unshaven Proteus continued his conversation with Foss. "Meeting your terms won't be easy," he said. "The Planet Express ship is far outside of known space by now, and most likely out of fuel."

"And what about Leela's body?" Foss demanded.

"Mildred has it," replied Proteus. "I don't know where she is. If I knew, she'd be dead."

Foss gritted his teeth in anger.

"That's right, I'm a remorseless killing machine," the robot went on. "I kill for whoever makes it worth my while, and recently that's been CMB Research and its head, Charles Montgomery Burns."

"Burns?" Foss blurted out. "That's impossible! He's been dead for hundreds of years!"

"Mildred worked for him too," said Proteus, ignoring the professor's objection. "But after she switched bodies with Leela, he could no longer control her, and she became a liability."

"And what about Fry, and Hermes, and the others?" asked Foss. "What do you have against them?"

"Through the microchip in Mildred's brain, we're able to see and hear everything she does," Proteus replied. "Through that means we determined that the Planet Express people knew too much, and had to be eliminated."

"So you are behind the brain chips," Foss realized.

"Yes," Proteus admitted. "We implanted an experimental aggression-inhibiting chip in six subjects—Mildred Sykes, Zapp Brannigan, and four serial killers. In every case the results were the same—the subjects lost all desire for violence, and were appalled by the very thought of it. We could have stopped there, but Burns wasn't satisfied. He turned the subjects into his operatives, and threatened to turn off their chips unless they carried out his orders. His goal was to see how much they were willing to endure rather than go back to the way they were before, or at least that's how he made it sound."

Foss held his peace as the weight of Proteus' words sank into his mind. "This is all very unethical, not to mention illegal," he said. "But that's never stopped Burns before."

Proteus looked around at the garbage and litter bedecking the alley, and down at the rat nibbling on his foot. "I can't promise you that your Planet Express friends will be safe," he said somberly. "But I'll tell you what I can promise you—the head of C. Montgomery Burns."


To be continued