The h'Slaitiarr Conundrum

By Wayne Austin

US Edition

Book One of The Rodan Trilogy

Rodan Tyson has wasted two lifetimes studying the hated h’Slaitiarr. But now, at the start of his third, he is at last over his obsession with the question mark hanging over his missing father. Did he deliberately betray Earth while a prisoner of war? Only the h’Slaitiarr know, but they want nothing to do with Rodan. And yet, in their own enigmatic way, they want something from him.

When a h’Slaitiarr is murdered, Rodan is seconded by Wandar Kryzansky, a sexy control-freak, to help investigate, but after two attempts on his his life, he wants out. That is, until he discovers that Aisev is involved.

That damned h’Slaitiarr knows the truth and maybe this time he can make it talk.

Accompanied by Princess, his jealous robot, Rodan grabs his chance. There is a woman, Marla Brown, working with Aisev and she holds the key. But there is something about her that intrigues him. Now, if only Princess would stop interfering...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9781447827672

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

You’ve changed for the worse, Princess said in her best petulant voice, but Rodan refused to rise to the bait. Let her suffer.

Though he could feel her staring at him, he kept his gaze straight ahead, concentrating on the alien vista enveloping him. It was unusual, the h’Slaitiarr allowing such an unrestricted view of their home world. A sea of creatures slid past amidst a backdrop of clicks and chirps and rustling sounds, just the tip of an iceberg that ascended into the ultrasonic. With a dour smile, he rested his chin on his left palm and scratched his cheek as Liebermann’s holographic report played in his living room. Some people had all the luck.

Something must have gone wrong with your rejuvenation. You’re not the Rodan Tyson you used to be. You should be ranting by now. ‘How dare those damned slaters ban me from Kharwaisheeyarrn!’ she said in a deep voice. And what about your father?

Rodan’s eyelids flickered, but he fought back the urge to retort.

Did he or didn’t he? she teased. But that’s not the crux of it is it?

No, he had to admit after all these years. That his father must have betrayed Earth after being captured ... many had. And it wasn’t even the rumors from those released that his father had done so willingly that he claimed was the fuel for his obsession. No. It was the inuendo and the far too public criticism of him, especially from close family. Estranged family.

Like father, like son!

Rodan tensed as the old anger flickered. As if he would! But then he let it go.

That was all in the past.

Instead, he concentrated on a small cluster of elephant-sized plants — this was the closest analogy to any terrestrial life form that seemed to fit — which oozed past, bulldozing their way through any of the dark-blue undergrowth that refused to budge. Still, he couldn’t help but marvel at the statesman-like way these flat, sausage-like creatures navigated their way through all that chaos. Not that he would ever get to see them in person. But he had to admit it was hypnotic, watching the small, bluish-black balls flip-flop back and forth on the tips of those stubby tentacles that carpeted the backs of their brownish-gray boles. Alien. Truly alien.

He let out a soft sigh and stared into the distance. What a wondrous panorama.

It wasn’t fair! That faint surge of anger reared its ugly head again. How dare the h’Slaitiarr ban him—! Damn Princess.

Rodan tried to stifle a scowl and directed a fierce gaze at a bunch of smaller plants fidgeting out of the way of their elephant-sized cousins. They made it with millimeters to spare by turfing aside even smaller variants that made up much of the undergrowth in the foreground. He watched as the undergrowth quivered like a stiff jelly and moved like molasses. How many times had he watched Lieberman’s report since she had delivered it to him? Four? Five? And the landscape still fascinated him, the way the undergrowth just coated the floor of an amazing open forest of giants — yellow sequoias barely able to keep pace with a snail and with fractal branches whose purple tips speared the murky red sky.

His anger faded and Rodan felt his tension give in. Yes, he had to admit, he still felt annoyed at the injustice of it all, but his second rejuvenation had blunted his anger, just like his first had blunted his hatred.

And the same applied with respect to his father if the truth had to be told. Except ... except he didn’t want to give up. He just wanted to know. Was that too much to ask?

His anger simmered once more before dying. Princess was such a bitch at times. He grimaced at having taken her bait and concentrated back on the report.

All across the forest floor, hordes of creatures — animal equivalents this time — burrowed through, scurried around, or clambered over the moving vegetation. He leaned forward to study a crab-like creature that clambered onto a wombat-sized plant and reared up on its twenty-or-so legs, its round body tinged gray-green and ringed atop with yellow tentacles.

Fascinating ... it would be so easy to lose himself.

I hate it when you ignore me, Princess murmured.

Rodan glanced across at her hologram, lazing beside him on a virtual recliner. Though Rob had created Princess as a close likeness to Rodan’s first and only love, he had continually adjusted her settings to his changing likings. Unfortunately, she had railed at her beautiful prisons.

Princess stared into the distance and her jaw set firm. "I hate this body!"

Rodan closed his eyes for a moment and hoped she wasn’t going to start another rant. He turned to her with a placating smile. Princess, please! I like you like that.

But I look like a deformed second-juver!

You look beautiful.

"But I hate it! I died a third-juver. I want my old body! How can you love me like this?"

Rodan sighed and slumped back in his easy chair. She just wanted to needle him and get a reaction.

He looked up as a h’Slaitiarr burst into view from the right. In a vague way it did look similar to a slater, the terrestrial insect, which had become the colloquialism used to disparage the creatures. This was the section in the report the h’Slaitiarr had demanded he see, but they had refused to say why.

Typical h’Slaitiarr. Enigmatic to the end.

Back on Armstrong, Rob had suggested that the slaters had finally learned how to make jokes. And if anyone knew about jokes, it was the Robert Burton. At the back of his mind, he still harbored the suspicion that Princess was one of Rob’s little practical jokes, given her worsening attitude. And like the slaters, Rob liked to play a long game. Blue and yellow whorls raced along the h’Slaitiarr’s flank as it clambered and shimmied over those creatures it could not toss aside with its tentacles. He wasn’t surprised it was so agitated given what was about to happen to it. This was the crux of the report. The reason why was important and yet it eluded him.

Some expert he was.

Aren’t you tired of this? I know I am.

Rodan flicked a glance across at Princess. You don’t have to stay.

It’s because of Liebermann, isn’t it?

It was like she could read his mind. Rodan ignored her as the h’Slaitiarr turned and clambered toward him. Six more h’Slaitiarr dashed into view and cut across, waving laser pistols in their main tentacles.

What did you expect me to do? asked Princess. "She is a first-juver. You’re a second-juver now; you have standards to maintain. No self-respecting second-juver would be seen dead sleeping with a first-juver, especially one that isn’t that attractive."

Rodan tensed and tried not to scowl. She’d had no right to interfere. The first h’Slaitiarr was close enough now for the green splotches on its tentacles to show up. Its progress slowed to a halt. Strange... he muttered.

If you had just wanted to sleep with her, I could have let it pass, but no! You kept fawning all over her just because she’s been to the slater’s stupid home world. Somehow, she got the impression you were interested in taking out a contract — you can’t blame me for what I did. Someone has to look out for you. It’s not fair I have to love you.... She looked across at him and pouted. You still love me, don’t you?

After Armstrong he had begun to wonder and yet he had to admit he couldn’t imagine life without her. Not after all she had done for him. Still, it seemed only fair that she suffered a little. Let me think about it, he decided. She turned away in a huff and played furiously with one of her long purple braids.

The six h’Slaitiarr caught up to and surrounded the first. Rodan grasped the arms of his chair and leaned forward to study the same small pattern that repeated along the sides of all seven creatures — a mixture of orange spirals with flickering blue and lime-green tips. He hadn’t noticed it before, but they all belonged to the same group. Then the first h’Slaitiarr reared up and shrieked. Orange splotches on blue and violet shimmered and played along its body as bright green lightning flickered and danced across its flanks in one last plea. Then six lasers carved it up, killing the light and sound show. Rodan sagged back in his chair and scratched his head. Never before had he ever seen or heard of such a thing within a h’Slaitiarr group. It was like someone cutting off an arm because it had a birthmark.

"Why do they kill it?" he wondered out loud.

"Why do you care?"

Rodan chewed on his lower lip as the six h’Slaitiarr left the body to scavengers and reversed back the way they had come. His right index finger tingled.

What the? Ow! Rodan snatched up his right hand and shook his fingers, stopping long enough to watch several white filaments disappear back into his fingertips. Princess! He glared at her. You promised you would stop doing that.

Rob is calling. It’s urgent and since you’ve decided to ignore me, I had to get your attention somehow.

Yeah, sure. Pierce could’ve announced him.

You don’t need Pierce when you’ve got me, Princess purred. Some virtual assistant! He’s so limited.

At least he does what I ask. Rodan squeezed and flexed his fingers, then massaged the tips with his thumb until the tingling began to ease. I don’t know why I let Rob implant these things. I’ll never use them.

You never know, Princess countered. They could come in handy, especially if you got your hands on a slater.

At least I drew the line at scanners, Rodan grumbled. Nano-bionics? He wants to turn me into a robot.

There is nothing wrong with being a robot. Look at me! Now, if you would just set me free, imagine what I could do for you, she purred, seductively. "I mean, really do for you."

Rodan grunted as he fingered the comp-ring on his middle finger. If Princess had her way, she would have complete access to the computer net in his ring and be free to do whatever she liked. But the Interstellar Alliance just wasn’t ready for her — Rob had been adamant. Just as he had been when he insisted Princess remain their little secret even though she wasn’t actually sentient.

So, urgent, is it? Rodan rubbed his eyes and sighed. What’s he done this time? Okay, put him on.

A hologram of a man’s head popped up. He could have been Rodan’s twin, but born to a different mother, the main difference being the mishmash of different colored splotches, which danced about the purple spirals that surged across his blond coiffeur, their tips tainted with yellow. Rodan grimaced in disgust. This new fashion must-have, at least as far as third-juvers were concerned, was a homage to the h’Slaitiarr and their unique alienness. That was third-juvers for you. What any sane, rational person didn’t like, they loved. Rob wasn’t a third-juver, but that didn’t stop him keeping bad company.

Rodan, Rodan! he called out as his face failed to contain his excitement. You won’t believe it. I was scanning the net when my agents picked up a report of fighting slaters and one was killed, but then everything was wiped! Only slaters can do that.

Rodan, Princess cut in, You have another priority call. It’s John Hu. Your esteemed boss.

Rob grinned in anticipation. I bet it’s about this.

Time to go. Princess disappeared.

A full-sized head with delicate Chinese features popped up before Rodan. What’s this? John frowned at the alien landscape around him. I might have guessed. I heard about Liebermann. At least you apologized to her before you left.

I know. Rodan shrugged. I just thought I’d go over her report one more time. Pierce, ‘Liebermann Kharwaisheeyarrn Vid Twenty-four’ off. The alien landscape faded away.

I’m in Beijing, John continued as his head turned to take in the tropical theme decorating Rodan’s living room. For the game. Flew in from New Delhi just before the start. Adelaide’s got its nose in front. Talk about good timing, it’s Quarter Time. Bemused, he studied each holographic piece in the hodgepodge of art, which covered the adjacent walls. Hmm, unusual. Not to my taste though. Then he stopped and scowled at the head floating by a rather macabre piece. I should’ve known.

Rob grinned back. Hi, Boss.

I heard about Armstrong.

They kicked me out for no good reason! Rob protested.

I think you’ll find that inviting third-juvers into the conference is a good reason. So. Where are you now?

Approaching Earth orbit. Once I’ve landed, I can join Rodan to help investigate that murdered slater — that’s why you’ve called Rodan, isn’t it?

Ah! John sucked in his cheeks and didn’t bother to hide his annoyance. You are correct. He turned to Rodan. I’ve had a request from Alien Affairs. A slater’s been killed — it hasn’t been announced yet. In Phoenix ... North American Sector.

Rodan’s mouth tightened a fraction. The embassy.

Yes ... I thought you’d be pleased. They’ve asked for someone to conduct a non-invasive autopsy. Your name came up at the top of the list of those available.

When do they want us there? Rob asked.

I can virt it, Rodan suggested.

Not you, John said to Rob. Only one person is allowed. That’s the slaters. He turned back to Rodan. Alien Affairs has agreed to you, but you have to be physically present.

But why? I can just as easily—

That’s what the slaters stipulated. They didn’t say why. Still, your being back here is fortunate. We only have twenty-four hours before the body has to be turned over to the embassy. Besides, I know you wouldn’t want to miss this opportunity to study a slater close up.

Maybe, Rodan conceded, "but it is dead."

Dead is better than nothing, Rob teased.

But it’s only for Rodan. Don’t you get involved, John warned Rob. Now. Please? He cocked his eyebrows until, begrudgingly, Rob’s head vanished. Satisfied, his voice changed to a more business-like tone. I’ve sent you some documents. I don’t know what’s in them, but they want you to study the vid closely. Your travel arrangements are set. He smiled an apology. I could only get you a first-class seat — lucky you — but only to New Angeles. You’ve ... got forty minutes to catch the sub-orbital. Sorry it’s such a rush. Oh, and your equipment will meet you in New Angeles. Ah, the game’s restarting. Good luck, see you when you get back. John’s head vanished.

Rodan stared at the far wall, which merged into a golden sunset on a deserted beach. What good was a dead h’Slaitiarr?

CHAPTER 2

Pierce, play report, Rodan ordered, and the lighting dimmed as a darkened room that belonged to someone with truly bad taste took over his living room. A whimper startled him, and he looked to his right. The statue of an ugly woman whimpered again as a half-man, half-beast statue jerked on her nipple clamps, and each time its enormous erection speared her rump, the heavy weights attached to her genital jewelry clanked. Further along the wall, more life-sized sculptures glimmered and played out similar cruel scenes.

Rodan scowled. Just his luck, third-juver. A shaft of moonlight drew his gaze to the far end of the room where a naked man and woman, silhouetted against three floor-to-ceiling windows, stared out of the middle window.

His mouth tightened. The man, though a typical third-juver freak — all barrel-chested and lean-waisted, his arms and legs bulging with overgrown muscles — only stood taller than Rodan by a head despite his ragged mane of hair. In contrast, his newbie partner was almost but not quite a pear-shaped midget, just short enough that her head nestled into the crook formed between his left arm and waist as she hugged him around his hips. Rodan felt a touch of disdain and did his best to ignore her. He had been a newbie once and he didn’t need the reminder. Princess tut-tutted as she bent over to scrutinize the woman.

Another woman, a striking first-juver with a jet-black bob, materialized next to Rodan. Welcome, said the avatar, I represent Major Wandar Kryzansky of the Interstellar Bureau of Alien Affairs. This record is for 3:15AM local time, Tuesday 17th March 2731. The man is Travis Dale, owner of the apartment. The woman is Joanna Carlisle.

Rodan drifted over to the couple, Wandar followed but the avatar ignored Princess. A cool breeze wafted in through the window on Joanna’s left and stirred the curls resting on her shoulder. Rodan flinched and his heart jumped a beat. He jerked back a step.

It was a doorway and not a window and it was completely open with nothing to stop anyone falling out. Are they stupid? This apartment’s ten stories up.

Rodan closed his eyes and held his breath to calm his racing heart. No, he was still in his apartment in Brisbane, fifteen stories below ground. His pulse slowed and he let his breath ease out before he opened his eyes.

Princess stared at him with a mocking smile and then turned back to Joanna. "She’s rather dull, not really ugly at all. Beady eyes ... I guess that’s something. But she’s not really fat; it’s mostly on her backside. Small breasts. Flat-chested would have been better. And she’s old. Twenty-two! I bet he’s disappointed. I know I would be, but ... by the look of this apartment, she’s the best he could attract."

Rob Burton popped up beside Rodan and stared at the scene with child-like fascination. Can you believe it? An actual crime.

Rob! Rodan snapped, You shouldn’t be here. If you get caught, we’ll both be in big trouble.

Don’t worry, Rob countered. I’ve filtered myself out. He leaned forward for a closer look. This is incredible! The whole park’s been isolated. Must be the slater.

Rodan scowled at Rob but gave in to the inevitable.

Listen, Wandar ordered.

Shrill sounds and whistles drifted in on the breeze and were punctuated by indistinct human shouts. Rodan drifted to safety on the other side of Travis and leaned forward to peer down at a park bathed in the soft gray glow from a full moon. So serene. And yet, such a deathly pallor suited the crime to come. Faint flashes that emanated from an enclave in the opposite corner of the park caught his eye.

Enhance low light and add infrared, real color, said Travis. The park brightened until two tiny figures appeared, grappling with each other, but trees and bushes hid the source of the flickering rainbow of colors. Rodan swallowed hard. It had to be a h’Slaitiarr.

What do you think? Rob asked. Two slaters?

Could be, said Rodan and that admission only deepened the enigma.

Magnify those people fighting, Travis ordered, and the windowpane warped and thickened until the figures resolved into those of a dark, bald-headed man and a Caucasian woman.

Rodan ignored Travis and Joanna jabbering to each other and, as he wondered if the h’Slaitiarr causing the lightshow was having an apoplectic fit, the head of a pol, one Officer Haskin, appeared next to Travis and the pair exchanged meaningless pleasantries.

This is of interest, said Wandar. Rodan turned to listen in on the conversation.

Travis laughed heartily. But I am a socially responsible citizen. That’s why I’m calling. Where are your people? It’s been a whole five minutes, and no one has shown up, not even a surveillance sensor.

I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t follow you. We have no reports of anything out of the ordinary.

But there’s a man and a woman fighting. In the park!

Joanna poked her head forward until she could see Officer Haskin. They’re making a horrible racket.

Travis nodded. And something else is making this awful screeching. It woke me up.

Just a moment. Officer Haskin looked doubtful, but he turned to the side and spoke some silent words. A few seconds later he turned back to Travis, I’m sorry, Mr. Dale, the sensors don’t show anyone there and, according to the logs, no one has been in that park for several hours.

But there are! Look out my window and see for yourself — you can certainly hear them. Window, amplify external noise. The outside noise grew louder and amidst grunts and gasps, a woman’s voice barked threats and screamed abuse while a baritone voice replied with retorts and counter threats. Rodan glanced at Rob’s perplexed face and cocked his eyebrows. What were these two dancing figures doing down there with a h’Slaitiarr?

Officer Haskin screwed his face up. That’s odd. I have the right park, but the sensors don’t match your window.... Diagnostics doesn’t show anything. Hmm ... okay, I’ll send a surveillance sensor to check it out. Thank you for your—

What are they holding? Joanna cut in excitedly.

Disruption knives, said Travis. They glow like that in infrared.

The two figures broke apart and circled each other warily, each feinting to draw a mistake. Clearly, it wasn’t an even match. Despite his desperate bravado, the bald-headed man favored his left leg and hugged his right arm to his chest as if it was broken or injured in some way. The woman lunged. But he swayed out of the way as her blade nicked him and then staggered back a few steps until he regained his balance, all the time waving his knife from side to side to keep her at bay.

I’d better dispatch a patrol, said Officer Haskin.

Without the park sensors we can’t get a proper ID, said Wandar, and we can’t make a clear identification from this angle.

The woman circled to face away from Rodan and across her back he saw a bright red line from which seeped a fainter red. Something about the scene didn’t seem right. Why were they fighting each other when there were slaters going berserk in the bushes?

The sensor will be there in three minutes, said Officer Haskin as the man and woman closed and grappled.

But as they wrestled, the man’s right arm wasn’t so injured as it had appeared. The woman lost her grip and stumbled off balance. He lashed out but she swayed back. Still, a glowing red line traced across her left upper arm toward her face but before his knife could rearrange her features, she ducked under. Now she was on his blind side. He turned to slash back, but she blocked his arm, reached over, and slashed in a single, fluid motion. A luminous spray of red shot into the air and the man reeled away, grabbing at his neck to stem the flow. Rodan stifled a gasp as Joanna turned away and gagged.

Princess pushed past to ogle the man. This is fantastic! Don’t you think so, Rob?

Wow! Rob admitted in an awed voice. You don’t see that every day.

I should hope not. Rodan shivered as the enormity of the crime hit him.

As the man staggered away, another man hobbled into view, fumbling desperately in a pocket, and as he caught the first man, he pulled something out and pressed it to the other’s neck. The bright glow dimmed to a faint trickle.

This is the important part, said Wandar.

You mean two people trying to kill each other isn’t? Rodan glanced at Wandar, but she stared at the window.

The noise level and flickering flared in intensity as the trees and bushes shook behind the woman. Rodan felt drawn in, mesmerized. She turned and vaulted a bench in the center of the enclave and as she landed, she rolled and came up holding a shimmering, three-pronged object, which had been hidden by the bench.

Rodan jerked forward to peer at the alien weapon, awkward in her grip. That’s a Zharait! But it wasn’t a human version, it was an actual h’Slaitiarr Zharait and it proved Rob right.

This is crazy! Rob whooped. The slaters should be fighting her. And him!

Without stopping, the woman pivoted and dashed toward the flickering behind the bushes and dived out of view, the Zharait held above her head. A sharp, gut-wrenching squeal, like nothing native to Earth, pierced the air. His breath caught in Rodan’s throat. She couldn’t have. But when the flickering erupted into an explosion of colors and something took hold of the vegetation and tried to shake it to pieces, he knew he wasn’t mistaken.

Then the shaking stopped, and the woman staggered out, the Zharait held before her.

The sensor’s nearly there, said Officer Haskin.

The two men paused and cocked their heads in unison, then, as they turned and staggered out of view, the woman bent down to pick up nothing. Then she draped it over herself and disappeared amid a faint shimmering.

Where’d she go? asked Joanna.

Hey! Travis tapped on the window. Look at this. Something off-white stuck out from behind the shrubbery where the flickering lights and squealing had come from. He zoomed in on a smooth and glistening tentacle, about the thickness of a well-muscled arm. It tapered to a point split into two digits.

Rodan looked at Rob and frowned in disbelief. How could that woman kill a h’Slaitiarr so easily? Especially when she was injured like that?

What is that? Officer Haskin asked. It’s hard to—

It’s a slater! Travis squeezed Joanna and, grinning like a banshee, banged the window with his fist, making the image wobble. I should know, I killed enough of them during the war.

Princess glanced back at the apartment’s interior. Not enough by the look of it, she sneered.

From overhead, a searchlight flicked on, and an intense white flooded the scene. Rodan blanched and turned away. Then the window compensated for the brightness.

Let’s see what the sensor shows. Officer Haskin directed it over the enclave and the window switched to an overhead view of an oval shape made up of five segments, its three tentacles splayed out at either end.

"It is a slater. Officer Haskin turned to the side. I want a squad out there. Now ... right now! And call the chief; this’ll wake him up. And forensics as well. Then his mood soured as he listened. Yes, and Alien Affairs. I guess this comes under their jurisdiction."

That is all for this vid, said Wandar, and the grotesque apartment vanished.

Rodan blinked until his eyes adjusted. I still find it hard to believe she killed it. He studied Rob’s pensive face. Not in her state.

There aren’t any sensor artefacts at all to indicate her presence after she disappeared, said Princess.

It looked like she pulled a stealth cloak over her, Rob suggested, but that’s slater technology.

Maybe the slater was trying to get it back and ... perhaps those men were trying to steal it. Hmm....

Or she’s working with one of the slaters, Rob suggested casually and then a smirk got the better of him. Or ... or perhaps they’ve found a way to control humans. After all, we know they were experimenting on prisoners and not all were accounted for after the war.

Rodan jerked, like he had been zapped by electricity and his eyes lit up. My father! This must be what happened to him!

Who knows? Princess teased. Oh, that’s right! The slaters do.

He might still be alive, Rob conjectured. After all, he’s only thirty-odd years older than you. Wouldn’t it be great if we could rescue him?

That woman would know, Rodan mused. Then he looked down at his casual one-piece template, displaying a waterfall tumbling from a break in a tropical rainforest, and quirked his mouth. No, it was out of the question. This was a job for professionals and only an idiot took on the slaters lightly. I guess I better get going. Pierce, I’ll wear my green suit. In a blink, his template switched to a soft, pastel-green that faded to yellow at the tip of his left shoulder. On his chest, the Alien Studies Directorate’s logo played: an azure comet looping a red giant.

The street sensors in that area didn’t report any vehicles traveling in the vicinity of the park in the same time frame, said Princess. "This is obviously a mystery worthy of your capabilities."

"Our capabilities!" Rob corrected.

No, Rodan countered adamantly. You heard John. They want one person, and that person is me.

But—

But no. C’mon Rob. For once, do as you’re told, Rodan pleaded. Don’t interfere.

For a few seconds, Rob’s jaw worked as if he was going to argue, but then he gave in gracefully. Okay, non-interference it is. With a sly wink, he vanished.

With a wry chuckle, Rodan turned to Princess. Do you think I should trust him? he asked though it was a rhetorical question.

"Absolutely! Besides, Robert would never break the law. Take me. I know you suspect I’m sentient but I’m not and I’m proud of it. I don’t want to be sent to Roboworld. It’s such a boring place, so I’ve heard."

I must have been crazy to let Rob create you, and twice as crazy to let him talk me into taking you.

How do you think I feel? I have to live inside you.

* * *

The sub-orbital flight landed at New Angeles International Spaceport, one hundred kilometers southeast of the famous Los Angeles Museum Park. A cab waited to take him the remaining five hundred kilometers through the New Angeles/Phoenix Interconnect.

As the cab entered the Interconnect airlock, Rodan reviewed the files once more on his corneal implants. That suit looks odd, he mused, "and so does the slater. And what on Earth was it doing in a park at three in the morning?"

Rita Johannson, the city’s senior forensic officer, was to meet him when he arrived at Phoenix Forensic Services. Seventy-one and short for a first-juver, she had a genuine, welcoming smile mismatched with eyes clouded in uncertainty. Rodan sympathized with her. And he would also meet this Wandar Kryzansky in person. The darkened apartment hadn’t done her justice.

Hmmm, not bad, he said to himself.

She’s not your type, Princess teased.

Ha! Neither are you.

In the Interconnect, the tunnel linked with the cab’s superconducting suspension, and it levitated off the floor before accelerating to a cruising speed of four hundred kilometers per hour in the partial vacuum. Traffic was light, just some vehicles ahead, traveling to Phoenix. The cab positioned itself in the third of five vertical sub-lanes in the right-hand lane of two going to Phoenix.

Arrival time in Phoenix will be 7:30AM, the cab announced in a soft, feminine voice. On board there are snacks and drinks. There are forty local news vids, one hundred—

Nothing, thank you, said Rodan and the cab fell silent.

Rodan, said Princess, just over halfway into the trip.

Yes? he murmured as he continued perusing the documents.

I don’t wish to alarm you, but we’re now traveling at five hundred kilometers per hour. If the cab doesn’t slow down, we will crash into another car in six minutes.

CHAPTER 3

What? Rodan looked up, but the cab’s speedometer showed only four hundred.

I have measured our speed by timing the passing of distance markers, said Princess, "and we are doing five hundred kilometers per hour."

Pierce, check the cab’s speed.

The cab’s velocity sensors indicate four hundred kilometers per hour.

I see. Rodan broke into a pained smile. Has one of Rob’s routines kicked in again, Princess? Is this another little practical joke?

I’m hurt, but as time is of the essence, I suggest you check with the Interconnect.

Okay. Rodan sighed. I’ll play along. He hated it when Princess got bored. How could a robot get bored anyway? Pierce, what is our speed according to the Interconnect?

I cannot communicate with the Interconnect. The cab refuses to respond to my requests.

Cab ... cab? Rodan felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. Since when did computers start going haywire? Cab! Answer me. Cab! Respond. He thumped the cab’s door and wrung his hand as pain lanced his fingers.

See! said Princess. However, I did detect anomalous patterns in the cab’s low-level system routines before it cut communications.

What do you mean — a virus?

According to my Analysis.

Rodan stopped massaging his fingers. That was unheard of. Why would...? We need to stop it!

I’m glad we agree, but I cannot access the cab.

There must be ... hmmm. Rodan held up his right hand to study his fingers as the pain twigged a recent memory. Maybe one of Rob’s practical jokes might actually turn out to be practicable. What about physically connecting?

It is possible. Let’s try an interior sensor.

Rodan twisted to look around him.

To your left. Above the door. See the environmental sensor? Try there.

Rodan reached over and felt along until he touched a tiny grating. Stop, said Princess, left ... left. There!

Rodan shivered. The tip of his index finger tingled, and the sensation ran up his arm like a mild electric shock. He should have known better when Rob couldn’t stop chuckling after implanting them. Thin white fibrils sprouted to carpet the surface and after a few seconds they contracted until only five strands remained, clustered around a spot beside his finger.

Can you connect? Rodan asked.

"The cab is resisting.... Aha! I thought so. There is a foreign presence ... well that’s not nice!"

What is? Tell me!

You must have upset someone. It plans to crash into a vehicle ahead so that the cab is ejected up with enough force to overcome the magnetic containment field and hit a support rampart head on.

"What?"

And it has sent a message to Interconnect Security reporting that you have taken manual control. I’m afraid you’re in big trouble. Oh, and the other vehicle is also part of the plan — the virus is communicating with it.

Up ahead, a sedan loomed in the distance. "Well do something about it. Rob bragged about all your abilities. Can’t you create an agent or something?"

If you insist, said Princess. Rodan groaned under his breath. This is a very sophisticated virus. I will try to override it, but it may take some time. Wish me luck — there, my agent is loaded.

The cab slammed on its brakes and Rodan yelped as his fingers were wrenched from the doorframe. The cab shimmied and bucked, then accelerated only to brake and accelerate again and Rodan jerked from side to side as it skittered and bounced around, fighting to break free of the magnetic fingers holding it. Without warning, the cab flipped. Rodan crashed into the door and then tumbled about the cabin but despite being dazed, he managed to wrap his arms about his head. Slowly his thoughts unwound. Someone was trying to kill him! It didn’t make sense. He wasn’t anyone special. The cab accelerated again, and he slammed into the back seat. Then the cab braked and threw him forward. This time he twisted and landed in his seat and its safety restraint snapped around his waist.

"Pierce, call security."

The communications system is not working.

Damn it!

I can access the cab’s communications interface now, said Princess, but the Interconnect isn’t responding. Neither are its sensors.

The cab bobbled and slapped the side of a car in the adjacent lane and Rodan caught a glimpse of a surprised face. Up ahead, the sedan adjusted its speed and position.

"Oh shit! Hurry up, Princess."

The sedan jammed on its brakes and leapt at the cab. Rodan cringed. He was only a hundred and four — far too young to die. The cab tilted and crabbed sideways into the left lane. Not enough. Rodan threw his hands up and screamed. With a crunch, the cab jolted and kicked, then swerved back into the right lane and shot ahead, but the virus slammed on the brakes and the cab juddered to a halt after a few kilometers.

Rodan peered back down the Interconnect where the sedan accelerated toward them. "Come on, Princess," he urged under his breath.

My agent is doing the best she can. Show some faith!

The sedan loomed up. Rodan clenched his teeth, glared at it, and willed it to stop. Then his world twisted. As the cab flipped sideways into the left lane, it shuddered, and a loud screeching drowned out his scream but, just as it seemed the screeching would never end, the cab lurched, and the screeching stopped, leaving his scream to fill the void.

Whoa.... Uh, what happened? He sat up, looked around and flinched. Aah! The car they had touched earlier, it was going to hit—!

Then it was gone in a blink. Rodan heard a thump on the roof and the cab dipped. He twisted around to see the car drop down, its distraught and agitated passenger shaking a fist at him.

"I’m glad you’ve rejoined me, my hero! We are safe for the moment. My agent, remember? The one you complained was taking too long? It has destroyed the virus and saved us for another day, courtesy of that great genius, Robert Burton."

Good. Rodan let out a huge sigh and ignored her sarcasm. I’ll never complain about Rob’s little pranks again. Let’s get out of here.

With a slight wobble, the cab began to accelerate. My agent thanks you for your concern. We’ll be out in ten minutes. However, I’m still not getting any response from the Interconnect.

As the cab reached its cruising speed, Rodan laid his head back and closed his eyes, shielding his face with his hands. What on Earth was going on? He felt his body trembling and a sick feeling settled in his stomach as the strength drained out of him. At least it was over. He was still alive—

Rodan? Do you want the good news or the bad?

His eyes snapped open. What now? He looked around.

It seems our friends haven’t finished with us.

He moaned. What do you mean?

The sedan that tried to ram us? It’s now going the wrong way back toward us and it’s in our lane.

I don’t believe this. Can we avoid it?

I was planning to. There’s also a van behind us. The cab lurched over to the right lane, but both vehicles switched to counter the move. I thought so. It’s involved as well. The cab lurched back and both vehicles followed. Fifteen seconds to impact. It’s been nice knowing you.

Er ... er.... Rodan racked his brain and then his face lit up. I know, I know! Up. Up! Take us up as high as we can go. When the sedan’s about to hit, drop our nose down so we get knocked downwards. It should bounce off us and up into the tunnel roof instead. Two can play this game.

Good idea! I’m surprised I didn’t think of it.

The cab leapt and skimmed along beneath the tunnel roof. The two vehicles matched the move. Rodan tucked into a fetal ball and tried to relax as the seconds took ages to tick by. Then the cab’s nose dipped, and a loud crunch reverberated through the interior as the cab wobbled, twisted, and bucked. Rodan looked behind just in time to see the sedan, its roof caved in, tumble along the Interconnect, and smash into the floor before bouncing up into the van’s path and forcing it to swerve across three lanes before shuddering to a halt. Rodan opened his mouth to let out a victory yell.

Hang on! Princess yelled.

The cab slammed down, and his restraint knocked the breath out of Rodan, but the cab skidded along the floor and slowed to a stop under the influence of the Interconnect’s magnetic controls. For a moment it jiggled and then rose off the floor into a faltering acceleration.

Rodan looked around at the sound of cracking and the breath caught in his throat.

Lines sprouted from the edges of the front windscreen. He willed them to stop but they crisscrossed until they met in the middle, and, with a final crack, the windscreen blew out into the vacuum. His ears popped. He pressed his palms to his ears and let out a silent scream, but the vacuum ripped the breath from his lungs. A safety screen shot up to seal the breach but failed to close and air pumped in to replace the loss was sucked away. His thoughts grew hazy. Why couldn’t the cab’s stupid computer close it properly? Why waste the precious air when he needed it so? Though his suit had sealed itself against the vacuum, that left his head to take the brunt of the assault and despite squeezing his eyes shut, red spots still peppered his vision.

He wanted to suck in a breath so he could scream, but a giant had pressed all its weight on his chest. His eyes flickered open long enough for him to glimpse an alarm flashing a warning, but he clamped them shut to stop the pain from his tears boiling. Desperately, he flailed about. There had to be an oxygen mask somewhere. He couldn’t die now, not when there was so much, he had to—

The cab’s interior flashed up, from his point of view, showing an open compartment to his left with a rebreather highlighted. He wondered where that had come from, and his mind churned through the mud clogging his thoughts — Princess! She must have realized his predicament and patched in her view to his corneal implants.

He tried to concentrate, but the pain ... his head was about to explode. All he had to do ... his left hand came into view, and he forced it to reach over for the mask.

Steady ... don’t snatch.

It seemed like ages — a lifetime and still, the stupid mask refused to cooperate. Even his fingers acted to thwart him. But though his throat burned, and his skin itched, he forced his trembling hand to steady and grab the mask. It should be so simple. So simple! With that, he grimaced. Then, even as his life seeped out of him, he paused to gather himself and lifted the mask up. And do what? He frowned and then it hit him. Pull it over your head! As it sealed with his suit and released a flow of air, he sucked in a greedy breath and began to hyperventilate with short, shallow gasps.

Princess’ voice came to him — muffled and faint. Try to control your breathing, breathe in ... hold ... breathe out ... that’s it, we’re almost at the exit.

Rodan’s heart pounded so hard his chest hurt. Now the giant pulled on his chest to stop him from exhaling. But with each ragged breath, he improved.

Whew! Oh ... my ears. His voice sounded distant, muffled. That ... that was close. I ... I thought I was going to die. Thanks Princess, I don’t know what I’d do without you.

"We’re a team, and I’ll always be with you. Even unto death, unfortunately."

The cab swung into the exit airlock and in seconds they were