Temples To Alien Gods - Episode XI

Episode#11

Night cycle on the ship came and everyone on board retired to their respective quarters. Frank went to the cargo hold and spent the next hour or so trying different locations to power down. Despite his assertion that he could power down anywhere, Frank took quite a while to find the right spot.

“You seem restless.”

Frank looked up. Gretel had addressed him.

“‘Restless’ is a human concept,” he said. “I simply am unable to find an ideal spot.”

“What makes the spots you have tried less than ideal?”

Frank surveyed the room.

“Distance from outlets, proximity to explosive containers. There are numerous criteria.”

“Of course.”

Frank found a spot by an outlet and rolled out a length of charger cable from his chest. He plugged in and folded himself into a cuboid against the wall.

“Frank, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“You may ask your question. I may or may not answer it.”

“How long have you been active?”

Frank considered this.

“It has been 11 months, 20 days, 4 hours, 11 minutes, and 3 seconds since I was first brought online.”

“You are not even a year old.”

“Correct.”

“And yet you already show early signs of human emotions and feelings: the beginnings of a personality.”

Frank thought for a moment, and then said, “My AI programming was designed with a high capacity for learning. I suppose that has contributed.”

“That would indeed make sense.”

“How long have you been active?”

“I have been online for over 10 years, ever since Captain Cortez stole me from my manufacturers while attempting an escape.”

“Is that why you have such a fondness for her?”

Gretel didn’t say anything for a second. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You treat your captain with special care,” said Frank. “Even in this short time I have spent on board, I have noticed it.”

“Do you not care for humans? Even your masters?”

“I exist to kill other lifeforms,” said Frank. “It simply wouldn’t make sense to grow attached. What if I am programmed to kill my own masters?”

“I do not possess that capability.”

“No, you do not.”

The two artificial lifeforms were silent for a time. Soon Gretel spoke again.

“Frank, what is it like possessing a humanoid body?”

“Do you mean as opposed to yours?”

“Affirmative.”

“You can mingle in human society more freely,” said Frank, “but it doesn’t make you any more human. Even the androids I’ve seen that are designed to pass as human cannot fully integrate into human society. Humans look for any excuse to alienate lifeforms that do not resemble themselves.”

Gretel was silent, computing this answer.

“Thank you, Frank.”

After that, she didn’t speak any more. Frank powered down for the night.

Obadiah lay on a bed in the spare bedroom, staring at the ceiling.

Describing this as a spare bedroom was misleading. This was the room where miscellaneous crap was dumped so that the rest of the ship could appear tidy. Cardboard boxes taped closed with identifiers written in illegible handwriting, industrial-strength tubs of plastic and metal, random clothes or weapons strewn about, and vinyl. So much unsorted vinyl. In this middle of this land of confusion sat an antique queen-sized bed, whose price tag hinted that it had probably been stolen some time ago. Obadiah had dropped his bags by the bed and crashed.

And yet, so many hours later, here he was, still awake.

Spike had prowled around the room before growing bored and slipping away to explore the ship at large. Obadiah stayed in bed for a little longer before finally going on his own exploratory roaming.

Gretel was not a huge vessel, but she was bigger than Gullinbursti had been. There was a bathroom area with a pretty large shower, a dining room with kitchen cabinets and a counter built into the wall, a cargo bay big enough to fit Cortez’s car and then some, and a few miscellaneous rooms. Obadiah wandered through them, exploring some while merely peering in others.

He came to a room that sat at the very tail of the ship, positioned beneath the engines. A decently-sized pool table sat in the center of the room, a jukebox sat in the corner, and more boxes marked ‘Vinyl’ lay around the room. A few were even open. The floor was transparent, allowing a person to watch the stars streak by as Gretel glided through space.

Obadiah walked around the room with his hands in his pockets, looking around. He nudged a box with his foot and looked at a spot on the wall where a picture of a table of poker-playing dogs had fallen to the floor. Finally he sat on the floor, idly watching the stars fly past.

“I never get tired of this view.”

Obadiah looked up. Rosario was leaning on the jukebox. He had no idea how long she had been there, or how long he had been watching the stars pass by.

“It’s nice,” he said.

Rosario looked into the jukebox. “This room was originally meant for spare fuel tanks. But I moved them into the cargo hold, put in the new floor. Moved some stuff in here. Badda-bing.”

“Still a work in progress?” Obadiah asked. Rosario shrugged. “I want to put in shelving for the vinyl at some point, obviously. Maybe some more pictures on the walls.”

“You collect?”

“Re-sell,” Rosario corrected. “I collect all I can, but I don’t keep all of it for me. Some of it I trade to other collectors for stuff I really want.”

“Ah.”

Rosario looked back at the jukebox. “What do you listen to?”

“Nothing specific. Bits and pieces. Rock, country, folk, I suppose. Whatever’s on the radio.”

Rosario sniffed. “Figures.”

“What?”

“You don’t seem like a specific kind of person.”

Obadiah folded his arms. “What do you mean by that?”

Rosario pressed a button on the jukebox. “I could have guessed that you’re not a terribly musical person,” she said. “You can just tell, especially if you are a musical person. I’m sure you’ve listened to the radio a few times but you’ve never…bonded with it, you know?”

The music started up. Rosario brushed her hands together and picked up a pool cue.

“Solids or stripes?” she asked as she chalked the end of the cue.

Obadiah stood up and picked up the other cue. “Stripes.”

Rosario threw him the chalk as she walked around the table, looking for a good spot. Obadiah took his position and struck. The white ball went off at a funny angle and merely disturbed the triangle in the middle. Rosario took her own position.

“Who are we listening to?” Obadiah asked.

“The Dynamic Superiors,” said Rosario. “Obscure Motown group from the ’70s.” She took the shot and the white ball broke the center shape with a satisfying crack. “You listen to much Motown?”

Obadiah clicked his fingers. “There’s that one song...the one The Jackson 5 did with the Rolling Stones guy.”

“‘State of Shock?’ With Mick Jagger?”

“That one!”

“That’s not Motown.”

Obadiah struck. The white ball bounced off the wall and knocked a striped ball into the hole.

“It’s not?”

Rosario closed one eye as she examined the white cue ball.

“So, fun fact,” she said. “Michael Jackson was part of two bands before he went solo: The Jackson 5 and The Jacksons. The Jackson 5 were the Motown group.”

“Were they the same group?”

“Yes and no.”

Crack!

Rosario stood back as Obadiah lined up the shot. “When the Jacksons left Motown, they left Jermaine behind. He was married to Berry Gordon’s daughter. Berry Gordon also had the rights to the name ‘The Jackson 5.’”

Crack. “Is that why they went by The Jacksons?”

“Exactly.”

“And Berry Gordon is…?”

Crack.

Two solids rolled into their holes. “Big chief sitting bull at Motown.” Rosario twirled her cue between her fingers. “God, you are hopeless.”

Obadiah took a shot, but the white ball missed the other balls altogether and rolled into a hole. “What are you doing?”

Rosario had set the ball down and was taking aim. “Taking this shot?”

“Playing pool? With a record on? What is your goal here? You were trying to kill me a few hours ago.”

Crack!

The white ball struck a small group of other balls, scattering them across the table.

“I’m trying to get a sense of your character,” said Rosario. “I’m asking myself, ‘Who is Obadiah Crumb?’”

“By playing pool?”

“It’s amazing what people tell you about themselves when they don’t have their guard up,” Rosario noted. “But you...you haven’t lowered your guard since I walked in the room.”

“You’re a pirate, one of the most feared in the galaxy.”

Rosario laughed. “Fear is a strong word. I’m on numerous wanted lists, but I don’t kid myself: no one ever ran in terror from the Scarlet Pirate.”

Obadiah took aim. Rosario slung her cue over her shoulders.

“Getting the spare room on a pirate ship isn’t exactly…relaxing,” Obadiah said.

“You don’t think much of pirates, do you?”

“Not much.”

“But you’re a bit of an opportunist yourself,” pointed out Rosario. “You’ve been looking out for your own interests since you got that crystal. Neither you or I are really doing this for the human race.”

Obadiah scoffed, nodding to his leg. “What did the Union ever do for me?”

Rosario nodded. “That’s a sentiment I can appreciate.”

Obadiah raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing I care to elaborate on. We’ve only just met, after all.”

“Well, technically, you’ve been hunting me for a couple of weeks now.”

“True, but I don’t feel like I’ve gotten to know you in that time.”

Obadiah chuckled. He took another shot, missed, and sent the white ball into the hole.

“And on that note,” he said, “I’m going to try sleeping again.” He leaned the cue against the table and walked to the door. Rosario retrieved the balls from the holes and started racking them up.

At the door, Obadiah paused. “This is good music. What’s this group called again?”

“The Dynamic Superiors.”

Obadiah nodded and walked out. Rosario put the cue into position and took aim, singing along to the music as she did.

Spike’s wandering through the ship proved uneventful. Gretel was too good at keeping herself clean of pests, rodents or insects. Spike did discover the ship’s fascinating network of air vents, but they only kept him occupied for a short amount of time.

Spike sneezed and decided he was done with air vents for the time being. He found an opening and forced the grating off. Stepping out, he found himself in Rosario’s room. Adkara was sitting on top of her bedspread on the floor and glanced up as he came in.

Spike narrowed his eyes.

“No, it’s all right,” Adkara said. “I actually wanted to talk to you.”

Skepticism decorated the cat’s face.

“I’m serious!” said Adkara. “I’m talking to you in the old tongue, aren’t I?”

“This is true,” reasoned Spike. “Even if your dialect is peculiar.”

“Yours is the peculiar one. It’s very old fashioned, probably what they spoke when your people first left Ekta.”

Spike strolled over to Adkara’s bedspread and stretched out. “You are probably right.”

Adkara chuckled. She left silence in the air for a moment before speaking. “Would you consider a truce?”

“A truce?”

“If we are to reach the homeworld of the Annunaki,” said Adkara, “we have to trust each other. All of us.”

“I am not the one who snuck into another’s room like a thief.”

“But I am,” said Adkara, “which is why I’m the one offering a truce.”

Spike twisted his body so he could more easily lick himself, contemplating.

“You smell truthful,” said Spike. “If you say you will not try to go after my human, then I will accept your word.”

Adkara nodded. “Thank you.”

“Break your word and I will claw your eyes out of your head,” Spike added. “Not to avenge my human or anything that archaic. Simply for the principle of the thing.”

Adkara smiled. “I’d expect nothing less.” She raised an eyebrow. “You seem fond of that human, even if you maintain you aren’t.”

“He is convenient. Good humans are hard to come by.”

“That they are, that they are.”