Orbiter's Reward

By Greg Wickenhofer © 2008


Greg Wickenhofer wrote this story with his Dad, Rick Wickenhofer, who contributed the best parts of the story. Both Greg and his Dad are from West Virginia.
Greg would also like to thank Ion Newcombe for his excellent editoral suggestions. Greg’s published fiction has appeared AlienSkin Magazine, RevolutionSF, Midnight Times, and The Oracular Tree. His non-fiction work has appeared in The Toastmaster, and Creativity in Action.

Angelo and his wife, Millie, were hard-working merchants. To make a living, they removed CPU cores from deactivated robots and sold the scrapped bodies — and they were always looking for extra hands to help in the shop. Until Orbiter, that is.

Orbiter was junk. He looked like a radiator welded onto an ashcan.

When Angelo first saw Orbiter, he said, "Little fellow, you’re going to give scrap a bad name."

"Very funny," Orbiter said.

"Whoa! You haven't been deactivated yet!"

Orbiter squealed and thrusted away.

"Millie," said Angelo, "a little help please!"

"Wow. He's fast. And cute!" Millie said.

"No, Millie! He's a pain. Grab him!"

Orbiter laughed. "I can do this all day, lady." Orbiter zoomed away.

Angelo motioned for Millie to join him. "Wait until he calms down," he whispered.

"I can hear you," Orbiter said.

Angelo smiled. "You’re going to cooperate, then?"

"Not while you’re brandishing that wrench, you maniac!" said Orbiter.

Angelo dropped the wrench.

"Now, promise you won't deactivate me."

"No. I paid for you, so I have to harvest you."

Orbiter pointed his laser at the Help Wanted sign. "What am I, an apple crop?"

Millie’s voice was shrill. "Don’t even consider it, Angelo!" she said.

But Orbiter did not hesitate. Within seconds, he’d cleaned the floor spotless.

"Not bad," Angelo said.

Orbiter exuded a drill and blow-torch, and in seconds tore down a robot — a full day’s task for Angelo.

"How do you like me now?" Orbiter said.

"Your hired," Angelo said.

"But Angelo, he's too cute," Millie said.

"No, Millie. He's not cute. In fact, don't even think of him as a robot."

***

Orbiter soon proved he could run the entire business, even disassembling the extra robots they brought him each morning.

Angelo and Millie enjoyed their free time. Money rolled in.

Then, one day, Orbiter asked for payment. "I want your shoes." Orbiter said.

"You don't have feet," said Angelo.

"Angelo," said Millie, "if Orbiter likes your shoes, give him your shoes. You got us into this."

"I'm not giving him my shoes."

"Remember, Angelo, you wanted to hire a cute little robot."

"Don't go there, Millie. Nothing cute about Orbiter."

"Cute."

"For crying out loud, Orbiter! For Millie's sake, I'll give you my shoes."

***

The following week, police arrested Angelo for the murder of his neighbouring shop owner. They found the shoes given to Orbiter in Angelo’s closet, and matched them to bloody footprints near the victim.

Millie consoled Angelo in jail. "Remember, Angelo, Orbiter is a cute little robot."

"That helps," Angelo said.

***

Later, Millie returned to the shop. She found Orbiter busy disassembling.

He zipped over to her. "Millie! Now it's you and me. You think I’m cute."

Millie crushed a wrench repeatedly into Orbiter's head. Sparks flew. Millie jumped onto him. She swung the wrench long after she had drenched herself in his oil.

Millie hated robots. Years ago, Angelo had started the scrap metal business to more conveniently conceal the robot bodies Millie dragged home each morning.

Especially cute little robots. She hated them the most.

 


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