Junkyard Page 7

  The helicopter rose high enough for the massive tank, now hanging from its hook like a giant pendulum, to clear the junk piles. It rotated and flew toward the fence.

  The water tank bumped against one of the taller junk piles, and heavy pieces of debris tumbled down in its wake. Some smashed against the fence, knocking down several boards. The helicopter sailed onward, the tank swinging underneath it.

  Switching to her comm, McCall called, “Scipio!” again. “Jump down. This isn’t worth getting yourself killed.”

  She had no idea if he heard her. He was crouching on the landing skid and reaching for the belly of the craft. Trying to unhook the chain? At this point, it had to have too much weight on it for even him to disturb.

  The helicopter was on the verge of flying out of her sight. She scrambled up one of the junk piles in time to see the door in the side of the cabin open. A dark figure leaned out. Was that a BlazTech rifle in its hand?

  “Get down, Scipio,” she tried again.

  The helicopter turned, the angle and the dark night sky stealing him from her view. As the craft continued out over the trees, she lost sight of it completely.

  The junkyard grew very still and quiet. She was about to comm law enforcement when she remembered Junkyard. Was he still alive? What about the other android?

  She ran back, yanking out her netdisc and activating the flashlight. A whimper greeted her as she entered the aisle.

  Junkyard was on the ground next to the remains of the android. His head and one arm had been torn off. She had no idea if the dog had done that or Scipio had been responsible, but Junkyard chomped savagely on the dismembered arm. With all his shaggy dark fur, she couldn’t tell if he was bleeding or badly injured, but she found it encouraging that he was chewing instead of lying there unconscious.

  “Junkyard, boy? Are you all right?” McCall bent and patted him. “I appreciated your help there.”

  He thumped his tail a couple of times and chomped harder on the arm.

  “I can’t imagine that tastes very good,” she said and knelt beside the unmoving android.

  Even though it was a machine and not flesh and blood, seeing the decapitated head lying to one side was unnerving. She made herself pat down the android’s pockets, hoping for something that would hint at the owner and where that owner was located. Would the helicopter fly the tank to that location? Or head straight for the spaceport? No, the pilot must have some interim destination in mind. Another spot to hide the syrup until it could more easily be transported off-world.

  McCall tugged down the android’s collar in the back—that was where their serial numbers usually were. A plaque was affixed to the skin that gave its identification number and marked it as property of Veridian Rental Androids and Robots.

  Sirens sounded in the distance. Maybe she didn’t need to comm law enforcement after all.

  Her earstar chimed.

  “Scipio?” she answered.

  “No, this is Dunham.”

  Her belly sank.

  “Tate said you found the syrup.”

  “A helicopter just took a big tank of it,” she said, not volunteering more information since he was still a suspect.

  “Any idea where? Or who’s responsible?”

  “Comm up Veridian Rental Androids and see if any of your employees checked one out. I—” Realization slammed into her like a wrecking ball.

  Androids are way too expensive for me to buy. Have you seen what they cost just to rent?

  Louis had said that. Why did he know what androids cost to rent? Unless he’d recently done that and it had been on his mind.

  If he was the one responsible for everything, the mastermind behind the theft…

  McCall grimaced and sank to her knees. She didn’t want him to be the culprit.

  She fiddled with her bracelet and shook her head slowly, fearing she had just condemned him by accident. If she hadn’t, maybe she wouldn’t have said anything. She wasn’t a law enforcer. She wasn’t obligated to turn in criminals. Maybe she could have turned her back or simply found the syrup and pretended she couldn’t figure out who’d stolen it in the first place.

  “Will do,” Dunham said. “We’re heading for the crash, and then we’ll come talk to you.”

  “Crash?”

  But Dunham didn’t answer. He cut the comm.

  “Why is everyone hanging up on me today?” McCall grumbled and stood up.

  Junkyard stood up too.

  “Let’s see if we can find whatever crash they’re talking about.” She hoped the helicopter had gone down and that Scipio was standing triumphantly on the metal carcass of another rental android.

  Remembering the portion of fence that had been knocked down, she jogged toward it. Junkyard followed, limping.

  “You can stay here.” She lifted a hand. “I’ll come back for you.”

  He walked toward the hole where the tank had been, and she thought he might have understood somehow and intended to obey. But he only stopped to pick up something brown. Scipio’s loafer.

  “I’m afraid you won’t have much luck tracking him through the air.”

  Nonetheless, Junkyard carried it in his mouth and followed her, his gait lopsided but determined.

  As soon as they reached the broken fence, she saw what Dunham had meant. Flames leapt somewhere in the forest of bare-branched maple trees, and the orange glow lit the night.

  “Come on, buddy,” she whispered and ran toward it.

  The first thing McCall saw among the burning wreckage was the tank lying amid several trees that had been knocked down. The helicopter was among them, too, its hull bashed in and its blades bent or broken off. A tree trunk stuck through the open door of the cabin—the door that man or android had opened when he leaned out.

  She scanned the ground, not seeing Scipio. She didn’t see anyone else, either, not yet.

  “Can you find him, boy?” she asked. “Find Scipio?”

  Junkyard still carried the loafer in his mouth. Probably because he considered it his prize rather than because he intended to track down Scipio. Still, he walked off to one side of the tank, heading into the trees.

  McCall started after him, but voices made her pause. Two men ran into sight, Dunham and someone wearing a black law-enforcer uniform. Dunham headed straight for the tank, but the law enforcer veered toward something lying on the ground between two trees. A body?

  He picked up a decapitated head, and McCall puffed a relieved breath when she saw that it was identical to the one in the junkyard. Another rental android must have been piloting the helicopter.

  “This didn’t happen in the crash,” the law enforcer said in a dry tone.

  “I think my friend—my android friend—did it,” McCall said.

  The man twitched in surprise when she spoke.

  She lifted her hands to show they were empty, but Junkyard barked, and she forgot about the law enforcer. She ran through the trees, shining her flashlight around until she spotted him.

  “Captain,” came a plaintive call. “Your dog is sitting on me.”

  McCall rushed up, checking to see if Scipio was all in one piece. That was difficult to ascertain with a large dog sitting on his chest.

  The side of Scipio’s face was blackened, and his shirt was torn in numerous places—one sleeve was completely missing. He must have been thrown out when the helicopter crashed.

  “He’s not really my dog,” McCall pointed out.

  “I may have only known you a short time, Captain, but I am positive you will not leave him behind in that junkyard.”

  McCall started to object, but she wasn’t sure she could. “Maybe we can find a good home for him somewhere… large.”

  Junkyard dropped Scipio’s loafer next to his shoulder, looked back at her, and cocked his head.

  McCall, eyeing the shaven fur on his side and his healing injury, had the protective urge to keep him so she could ensure he was treated well. A spaceship might not be the ideal environment for a dog,
but there was room to run around in the cargo hold, and she did stop to visit planets and moons now and then. She could make sure he got to run among trees periodically. And surely, she could arrange some sort of dog latrine for his use. She’d met freighter operators who carried their families, complete with family pets, through the shipping lanes from destination to destination.

  Scipio gently pushed Junkyard to the side and groaned melodramatically as he rose to his feet. “I am in need of lubrication.”

  “If a human said that, I’d assume he meant vodka or wine.”

  “Alcohol? That would be poor lubrication. I use a mixture of aliphatic hydrocarbons and mineral oil.”

  “Equally refreshing, I’m sure.”

  Scipio gave her Inquiring Head Tilt Number One.

  “Never mind.” She patted his soot-covered and sleeveless arm. “Thank you for your help. Am I right in deducing that you attacked the pilot and forced him to crash?”

  “I did attempt to pull him from the pilot’s seat. When I saw he was another android, I felt few qualms about tossing him out the door. The crash, however, was unintended. I simply wished to land the helicopter back in the junkyard after taking over the controls. However, the android pilot objected to being thrown out.”

  “Odd.”

  “We battled, neither able to throw the other out. The helicopter flew wildly with nobody manning the controls. We clipped a tree, bounced off a second, and went down soon after.” Scipio shook his head. “It did not go as smoothly as I had hoped.”

  “I think that can be said of this whole mission.” McCall gazed at Junkyard, who had settled down next to Scipio’s loafer, his head on his paws. Unlike Scipio, the dog’s injuries from fighting the android would cause him pain, and she regretted that he’d suffered again.

  “It is my hope that the tank was not destroyed in the crash and that Mr. Dunham will recover his syrup. Also, I hope the other tanks are buried in the junkyard and will be more easily found now that we know they are there.” Scipio lifted his arm, as if testing its mobility. “I believe I now understand why you prefer missions that allow you to work from a distance and have no interaction with clients or those they seek.”

  McCall thought of Louis, who might even now be facing a squad of law enforcers at his door, and doubted Scipio quite understood. But she wouldn’t naysay him. If it kept him from volunteering her for more missions like this, that was fine with her.

  After all he’d done, all the self-sacrifice that she highly doubted was part of his programming as a personal assistant android, she couldn’t berate him for choosing this one. Further, she felt like a heel for her earlier regrets about hiring him. What human assistant would have flung himself into the paths of not one but two enemy androids to save her and complete the mission?

  “Do you want a promotion, Scipio?” she asked.

  “Pardon?” He lowered his arm and issued one of his puzzled expressions.

  “If you agree to let me go over all the potential cases before accepting them, I would like to offer you a permanent position in my little business. As my partner.”

  “A business partner?”

  “Yes. A fifty-fifty split.”

  “A business partnership involves two or more individuals sharing management and profits while cooperating to advance their mutual interests.”

  “Thanks for the definition.”

  “Captain, I am an android. I have no need of your profits, nor do I have any interests to advance.”

  “Don’t you want to make money? To buy cufflinks? And—” McCall looked down, noticing Junkyard had shifted his head to draw something into his mouth. He was licking Scipio’s loafer and nibbling on the tassels. “And to purchase repairs to damaged portions of your wardrobe?”

  Scipio looked down, gasped with even more theatrical flair than he’d given the earlier groan, and snatched his loafer away from Junkyard.

  “Think about it,” McCall said.

  Epilogue

  McCall had to endure two hours’ worth of questions from two law-enforcement officers before being allowed to go back to her ship. She walked across the pavement with Scipio, and Junkyard trailed behind them. Scipio had retrieved his saliva-drenched loafer and put it on. There’d been no retrieving the missing sleeve.

  Tired of dealing with people, McCall wanted to retreat to her cabin and take a long nap. But Dunham stood at the base of her cargo ramp with Mahajan. She forced herself to smile, though seeing them made her feel inept. They were two people who she had considered suspects a few short hours earlier. Two people who’d likely had nothing to do with the theft.

  Junkyard barked at them, but when Scipio hurried up the ramp, no doubt wanting to change into clothing less perforated, the dog followed. He seemed to have already decided the ship was his new home.

  “As agreed,” Dunham told McCall, “we’ve loaded full drums of maple syrup equivalent to the ten percent that we’re in the process of recovering into your cargo bay.”

  McCall blinked and peered through the hatch. “Oh?”

  “The maple syrup survived the crash, and we’ve already found one of the other tanks hidden in the junkyard. I have faith that we’ll find the rest.” Dunham pointed into the cargo bay. “I suggest you sell your share straight to Imperial Distribution Headquarters on Arkadius, accept their set rate, and report the income, since I’ll be reporting that I traded the drums to you for your services when I fill out my taxes. The imperials, as you know, keep meticulous records. But it’s up to you.” He shrugged. “Black market prices are higher.”

  “I understand. I’ll keep it official. Thank you.” McCall nodded, pleased the man wanted everything to be handled legally. And also that he’d already delivered the syrup to her cargo hold. After seeing Dunham berate Louis, she had wondered if he would truly come through and give her the share they had agreed upon. He might have said that the unorthodox transportation and the crash had rendered the syrup unsalable, and she wouldn’t have known if that was true.

  “I must admit, I don’t feel the smartest for hiring someone from three planets away to come locate syrup that was three hundred yards from my facility.”

  “It was well hidden. And my ship was in orbit when you contacted us.”

  Dunham snorted. “I’ll pretend that makes me feel better.”

  The door to the warehouse opened, and two armed law enforcers walked out. Louis Desmarais came behind them with intellicuffs binding his wrists and his head down. Two more law enforcers strode behind him.

  That many men seemed so unnecessary. Defeat slumped Louis’s shoulders, and he didn’t look at anything except the pavement in front of him. McCall was glad he didn’t look at her, for she was certain there would have been an accusation in his eyes. She acknowledged the sentiment was selfish, but that didn’t make it go away.

  “He rented the androids?” McCall asked Dunham.

  “Yes. Weeks ago. He had the bad luck—my good luck—of timing his theft right before the bombing of the spaceport. He’s been waiting for weeks for the security there to lessen so he could arrange to have the stolen syrup transported off-moon. Apparently, he saw you and your android sniffing around in the junkyard this evening, and he realized he couldn’t simply wait out security. He had to move the syrup somewhere else tonight. I don’t know why he didn’t just give up and leave it there to be found. I never would have guessed he was the one who’d stolen it. Or did you already know?”

  “Not yet, but I believe I would have figured it out before long.”

  She wouldn’t lie, but she didn’t want to admit that Louis hadn’t been on her suspect list at all. Looking back, she wasn’t sure why he hadn’t been. She’d witnessed him being yelled at by Dunham and ignored by his colleagues. Why hadn’t she guessed that he might long for an early retirement? An escape from a job he clearly disliked? Because he was, as Scipio had said, one of her kind? And she couldn’t imagine someone similar to her committing a crime?

  Though maybe she could. If she felt
trapped in some job—some life—she hated, and the opportunity to vastly improve her situation presented itself, and if she believed nobody would be hurt, maybe she could have contemplated such a thing. She was relieved she wasn’t in that situation and didn’t have to worry about temptation. Thankfully, she’d found a way to make her own path, one where she didn’t have to answer to anyone except clients, and even with them, she’d reached a point financially where she could refuse to work with those who were difficult. She decided she was fortunate and regretted that not everybody else was.

  “I’ll let you go, Captain.” Dunham nodded to her and waved for his man to accompany him back into the warehouse. “Good evening.”

  As they walked away, McCall rubbed her face, weary from more than the night without sleep.

  She turned, intending to find the comfort of her cabin, but the law-enforcement officers walked over, apparently at Louis’s request. He was still sandwiched between them, but one stepped aside and waved at her.

  “Make it quick.”

  McCall held back a grimace, fearing Louis had come to make some accusation.

  “Captain, will you take care of Junkyard, please?” he asked. “I don’t think anyone else will.”

  “Oh.” That wasn’t what she had expected him to say.

  “I saw him go into your ship with your android. Will you keep him? Nobody else feeds him, and he’s lonely.”

  “Are you the one who ordered him dropped into the junkyard to guard it?” She would take care of the dog, but her feelings toward Louis would definitely change if he’d been responsible for that botched dog drop.

  But Louis frowned, his forehead creasing. “Dropped? No, he just showed up. But, uhm, I thought he might have gotten in through the hole…” He glanced toward the narrow alley with the gap in the warehouse wall and the matching gap in the fence. “And then been stuck and not able to get out. I felt bad and started feeding him. I mean, I would have anyway, but…” He shrugged helplessly.