Metallic Genealogy

The ship was plain, small and dirty, and smelled of some acrid, distasteful odor. The general mumbled something incomprehensible when asked what it might be, and quickly changed the subject.

"Jeeps," he said. "You've got a certificate to drive this thing, don't you?"

Jeeps nodded as she always did. Whether or not this was the case was beyond the point. Jeeps knew it was usually safer to fly a ship she knew nothing about than to respond in the negative to General Quock.

"Well, then," Quock shouted, "get into the confounded seat and let's be out of here while we've still got our backs behind us!" He turned to his remaining officer. "Seatbelt, man. This may be rougher than we're used to. This ship, as I recall, doesn't offer any shielding."

"Or weapons," Jeeps added.

Heebers appeared quite frightened, as though he was now wondering why he had not also shot himself when he had the chance. "How about a drink service?" He began to lick his lips and massage his head.

"Use your brains, boy," the General said. "If a ship doesn't have shielding or weapons, it MUST have a libation distributor! How else to keep up morale?!"

Jeeps attempted to analyze the situation. "We've got a good chance. The aliens' ship has already landed and is doing planetary damage. I'm sure they're not going to bother re-boarding and lift off just to get a shot at us!"

Quock was chewing nervously on his fingernails. "Unless, of course we're the reason they came."

Jeeps rolled her eyes. The General tended to be a tad self-centered, and always imagined the something that was going on -- be it the men laughing in the mess hall, or even a war he was commanding -- was directed at him personally. "Why would you think that?"

"Because," the General said, in a quivering voice.

"Why, General Quock. What did you do?" Jeeps turned and glared at the man. It was only when the General was in this piteous state that Jeeps could speak to him so sternly, and it was an opportunity Jeeps did not want wasted.

"I didn't do anything!" His voice was becoming child-like.

"You must have done something to think that. Why else would robots be coming to kill us?"

"BECAUSE THEY ARE ROBOTS! THEY DON'T NEED ANY OTHER REASON! THEIR ONLY GOAL IS TO KILL, KILL, KILL AND KILL SOME MORE, AND THEY WON'T STOP UNTIL..."

Suddenly the General stopped screaming and slumped forward, and it was then that Jeeps caught sight of Heebers removing a needle from the General's arm.

"What did you do?" Jeeps said. "He was just about to confess."

"Salipain!" Heebers said, sticking the needle into his own arm and injecting the remainder of the chemical into his body. "I was tired of listening to him." He tossed the needle thoughtlessly towards a square garbage receptacle beset into the console.

(In the lackluster attempt, the heavy-gauged needle banged against the instrument panel, and bounced against a small, white button before tumbling to the floor. A computer eye came out of a panel and looked around the room. Finding nothing out of the ordinary it zipped back into its recess.)

"Besides," he continued, "do you think that he's really going to tell you anything personal? Really. I think that you'd have a more interesting conversation with a head of cabbage."

"Perhaps," Jeeps said, quickly pressing a mass of buttons on the panel in front of her. She rapidly punched the glowing circles the way others might type up a memo, and flipped switches and turned gears with great precision. The shuttle lurched and rattled a bit, but soon enough the engines roared and the ship came up off the ground.

Heebers was mesmerized by this seemingly random display. "Or any other vegetable for that matter," he continued. Suddenly he looked around the room frantically, and said, "I just remembered that I hate space travel.” He ran into the bathroom and remained there for the rest of the trip.

None of the problems the General had anticipated occurred. In fact, the trip to the prison world of Pince-Blatten-Wencer was pleasant and quiet, save for Heebers' constant whining and retching – or the brief moment the General woke up and tried to strangle and consume the ship's computer. (This, an entranced ritual to which the body succumbs upon awakening from the Salipain drug.)

"Do you have a plan ready?" Jeeps asked the General, who still had a small, red wire stuck in his teeth.

"I guess we just tell them that all of the prisoners must be allowed to go free."

"All of the prisoners free?" Jeeps shouted, with a raised eyebrow. "For what reason?"

"A national emergency! A universal catastrophe! Whatever works! I was hoping that you'd do the talking, Jeeps. You've always been good at talking! Plus you have a feminine quality that some people find soothing.”

Jeeps cringed, ground her teeth together but instructed the ship into orbital control, cursing the day that robots had ever been invented.