Milton Maroo and the Artificial Intelligence

By Ben Maxfield

Milton Maroo, a portly space trader who enjoys a gourmet meal as much as a good deal, has priceless cargo, an outlawed artificial intelligence that the crime underworld will kill for.

The billionaire head of the Nythe Armaments Corporation empire is dead. Murdered by the most powerful crime syndicate in the system who are after one thing, an illegal artificial intelligence that will change the balance of power in the region in favour of whomever possesses it.

Milton and his spy friend Cappa are broke. While they do odd jobs at the billionaire's estate they discover the Lerjoo Brothers crime syndicate is stealing. As the pair investigate, they find out the thefts are just the beginning and the Brothers still have their eye on their biggest prize.

Now Milton and Cappa must save the staff of the estate from the menace of the syndicate while they uncover the gang's true intentions. Is the AI friend or foe?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ben Maxfield
• Release date: Sep 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9798201486747

Ben Maxfield

Visit Ben Maxfield's website at: benmaxfield.com

Book preview

CHAPTER 1 

The spaceship Zenger’s fuel store was near depleted and its cargo hold empty as it came out of hyperspace outside the Kaulwesa system.

We won’t be jumping out of this system until we can make some money, Milton Maroo, the captain of the Zenger, said from the pilot’s chair.

How are we going to do that without the funds to buy any goods to trade? Cappa said, alongside Milton in the copilot’s chair.

We’ll have to get a— Milton choked on the word, "Job."

I suppose things have got that desperate, Cappa said. It was risky trying to trade those ritewhellan candies outside of their system.

How was I supposed to know they are considered a drug by the Parkesians? Milton said.

The Parkesian price was too good to be true, Cappa said. I told you they would end up being black market items. You should be grateful the Planetary Guard just confiscated our shipment and let us off with a fine. We could easily have done real prison time for that.

Nonsense. Milton ordered up a strawberry soufflé from the food printer for comfort. I’ve traded contraband worse than that for one tenth the fine.

The printer spurted a swirl of pink goo into a polymer coffee mug (the printer’s dishware selection didn’t include ramekins) and cooked it to perfection with its infrared beam. Milton lifted the mug to his nose and inhaled the strawberry aroma filling the bridge with a smile.

He had learned long ago not to bother Cappa by offering him a serving of his snacks. The answer was always a no with a lecture on what constituted a healthy diet to go with it. Admittedly, Cappa was a tall, slim fellow and Milton was less tall and much less slim, but still, Milton could do without the lecture, the simple no would suffice.

And Milton was being healthier. He had turned up the nutrient profile of all the food printer’s menu offerings, including deserts, by ten percent. Quite generous in his estimation, but Cappa was still unimpressed.

Milton scooped out a spoonful of his snack. The strawberry soufflé was really one of the food printer’s best offerings, not that Cappa had even tried it, despite numerous urgings from Milton.

With the mug empty and his mood elevated, Milton brought up the job listings on the ship’s main computer screen for the Kaulwesa system. Security?

Cappa shook his head. Too stressful.

Pest control? Milton said.

Cappa crinkled his nose. Too icky.

You were a member of the Idon Royal Guard and a spy to boot. How can you be squeamish about killing some bugs?

Bugs, I don’t mind, Cappa said. It’s the rats that send chills down my spine.

We’re not really qualified for much else. Milton clucked his tongue as he scrolled down the list of job ads. Cleaning?

Cleaning, Cappa said with finality.

Oh come on, Cappa, Milton said. If you haven’t noticed by looking around this ship, you are not a fan of cleaning. I’m the only one that does any tidying around here. If you won’t clean this ship, how are you going to clean someone else’s place.

It will be good for us to get our bodies moving, get some exercise after sitting in these chairs for a month hauling drug riddled candies from system to system.

Cappa was as big on exercise as he was on nutrition.

Milton wasn’t going to win this argument. "Alright, cleaning. There is a cleaning agency on Kaulwesa 2 looking to hire more temporary staff. The pay looks alright for cleaning." Milton wasn’t going to enjoy this.

Set a course, captain, Cappa said.

Milton set course for Kaulwesa 2 without looking in Cappa’s direction but he could tell Cappa was beaming a smile at him.

The Zenger set down at a ship dock outside Reymo, the city where Sammol’s Tidy Jobs cleaning agency was located, and Milton and Cappa took a shuttle bus to the city centre. Landing spaceships in the city proper was prohibited, reserved for official business and emergency services. They had no choice but to leave the Zenger behind.

We should probably stop for lunch before checking in with this Sammol fellow, Milton said, looking around the street. There was a line of food vendor storefronts on the opposite side of the road and the aromas wafting over to the pair had sold Milton on the viability of the local cuisine.

No time for that, Cappa said. Sammol might fill the positions before you fill your belly.

Not likely, Milton said, proudly. I can eat fast when I want to. I prefer to savour my food choices but in desperate times like these I can wolf down a pot roast before you have finished sipping your tea.

Before Milton could protest further, Cappa had waived down a cab and climbed inside.

Come on, Cappa said, peering out the open cab door at Milton standing there, looking hungry.

Sammol’s Tidy Jobs cleaning agency better have a well stocked break room. Milton said. He joined Cappa inside.

The driver was a heavy, middle aged woman with a full array of trinkets adorning the dash and a full array of bracelets adorning her wrists. Cappa read out the address from a slip of paper displaying the job listing he had printed out on the Zenger. She pulled out the cab and joined the four lanes of traffic moving down the street.

You guys travellers? Her bracelets clacked together as she gestured rudely at a driver who failed to indicate on a lane change.

In a manner of speaking, Cappa said. We’re here for work. Cleaning work.

Cleaning, eh? she said. A noble profession. My father was a cleaner. And my son cleans too. She tapped a polymer caricature of a merman on the head, glued to the side of the instrument panel. Milton wasn’t sure if this was some local religious gesture or just an obsessive habit.

Well, my son is in prison but he does clean the kitchen after chow time. She turned down a smaller street at an intersection manned by a bot directing traffic.

I’m sorry for your son, Milton said. Prison food is truly awful. May I ask what he is in for?

Smuggling drug candies? Cappa said.

Milton dug an elbow into Cappa’s long torso.

Oh no, the woman said. He got mixed up with the Lerjoo Brothers, a bunch of thugs that operate out of the city. She shook her head, clinking together her oversized earrings that hung down the sides of her neck like wind chimes. He’s a good boy really. Quick to grow bored, I think he just liked the novelty of running around with those hooligans. Just a distraction, really. When he gets out, I’ll make sure he gets a job to keep him occupied.

If Sammol turns out to be a good boss, I’ll let you know, Milton said. Your son could keep up his cleaning work. Milton realised he had no intention of keeping in touch with this woman.

Oh, yes, that would do fine, she said, apparently believing Milton would.

The cab pulled up to a grey box of a building with a broad sign above the front door displaying simple, faded lettering,

SAMMOL’S TIDY JOBS

Cleaning Agency

you mess, we clean, you pay

This would suit my son just fine, said the driver. She was getting more invested in this ill-thought-out idea than Milton was comfortable with.

He’s probably a tyrant, Milton said, trying to dump cold water on the plan. Prison guards are a more agreeable lot from what I hear.

I’ll write to my son and let him know he can count on you, she said.

Okay, bye, Milton jumped out of the cab and prayed Cappa would pay the fare before Milton could inspire more hope in the poor woman.

Milton watched by the agency front door while Cappa got out and the cab drove away.

Cappa stormed up to join Milton. The fare was highway robbery. At those prices, she should join her son behind bars.

I’m sure the rates are not under her control, she was just doing her job, Milton said with a reassuring hand on Cappa’s shoulder.

I’m broke. Cappa shrugged. We couldn’t afford lunch now, even if we did have time.

Outrageous, Milton said. If I find out this planet has a consumer advocacy office, I’m filing a complaint. It really is a low blow for cabbies to take advantage of foreigners like that. Hungry foreigners to boot.

With that out of both men’s systems, they walked inside to find a petite smiling woman behind a reception desk, flanked by polymer plants in grey polymer pots. The broad leaves of each plant looked dusty, not a good advertisement for a cleaning agency.

May I help you boys? The woman flicked off the holo display of the computer terminal in front of her with her long painted nails.

Yes, Cappa said, returning the woman’s smile. We’d like to talk to Sammol about a job. Cappa showed the woman his print out of the job ad.

We’re always looking for good people, she said. Sammol! she bellowed without turning to the closed door behind her. New workers!

The door burst open and a fat man, almost Milton’s size, hurried out. Come on through.

He beckoned Milton and Cappa through the door into a cramped office containing a desk and three chairs, including Sammol’s. The desk and some of the surrounding floor was piled high with stacks of enzyme sponges, detergent boxes, UV sterilizing wands and other cleaning tools Milton had never seen before.

A stack of logo-printed white shirts in polymer wrappers sat on the floor, to the side of the desk, some yellowed from sunlight coming through a solitary grimy window.

Sit, sit. Sammol sat himself and pushed a tower of spray-on glove canisters to one side of his desk so he could see both men. You came at just the right time. We have openings.

Just what we wanted to hear, Milton said. He and Cappa took their seats opposite Sammol. I think I would make a fine sweeper. Milton made gestures with his fists as if pushing a broom handle.

Sweeping is good, we always need sweepers. Sammol leaned closer. How do you feel about dead people?

So long as I’m not under suspicion for making said dead people dead, I have no problem with them, Milton said.

Cappa nodded sagely in agreement, then said, We aren’t interested in any fishy business.

This is totally on the level. Sammol popped a opiate chewing gum tab out of a high speed dispenser strapped to his wrist into his mouth and masticated a few times with a wink. This is a government contract, with the police department. Clean up crime scenes. He smacked his gum. It’s not so bad once you get used to the smell. I’ll send you on some fresh jobs to begin with and once you get the swing of it, I’ll move you on to some ripe ones.

I have a sensitive sense of smell, Milton said. If my tub of greek yogurt is even a little off, it ruins my whole day.

It’s true. Cappa crossed his legs, European style. I’ve seen him throw out whole unopened tubs if I leave them out of the fridge for more than five minutes.

You boys will be fine, Sammol said with closed eyes. I’ve been in the cleaning business for thirty years and I can tell good men when I see them. Breath through your mouth, have a light breakfast and you’re good to go.

He squinted at Cappa then grabbed a shirt package from the stack, about midway down, and tossed it to him before nodding at Milton with a smile, reaching into a desk draw and pulling out another shirt, without the plastic wrapper but still with the logo over the breast pocket. This is one of mine but I’m sure it’ll fit you. Don’t worry, I laundered it right after a double suicide job. He tossed it to Milton.

Milton unfolded it. It looked clean, no B.O. from the armpits, no stains.

We’ll take the job, Cappa said.

Milton glared at him.

You want to get out of this system or not? Cappa tore open his shirt packet. We’ll need an advance just to eat as it is. Don’t get fussy.

Advance? Sammol looked them up and down. I don’t usually do advances for new employees but I like you boys. Leaning to the side he took his wallet out of his back pocket and slid out two flexible disks totalling eighty ewesans, the local currency.

Don’t tell my wife out there that I gave you an advance, Sammol whispered.

Milton and Cappa gave him knowing nods, even though both were eternal bachelors.

Your first job will be at the mansion of a rich eccentric. Sammol called up the work order on the holo display of the computer on his desk. A 3D picture of the impressive estate rotated above Sammol’s keyboard.

I hope he’s a good tipper, Milton said. We could use the money.

He probably would have been but I’m afraid he’s dead, Sammol said. The cops hardly tell me anything about the actual crimes we clean up but from the little they did say, it seems like a home invasion robbery, killed him in his kitchen, with his own carving knife.

Well, at least it should be an easy clean up job, Cappa said. Those hard floors should mop up real good. No stained carpet to worry about.

Sammol grinned. I told you I’d start you off with an easy job.

CHAPTER 2 

Hiophan Doas arrived five minutes early, 12:55 PM, to meet his biggest and most dangerous legal client, Geraam Padalar, the boss of the Lerjoo Brothers crime syndicate. All organised crime in Kaulwesa 2 paid tribute to Geraam and his influence expanded beyond the planet to neighbouring planets in the system.

Hiophan’s second biggest client was the reclusive billionaire Vero Nythe, who was the subject of Hiophan’s meeting with the crime boss. With his computer tablet under his arm, Hiophan left the vicinity of his car, parked by the front door of Geraam’s mansion, the only other estate to rival it being Vero’s, with Vero’s being bigger still and completely legitimate.

Hiophan climbed the front steps and raised his hand