Right Hand of the Pirate Queen

14. A FAVOR FOR A FELLOW ADMIRER

The Scrapster man's eyes darted between the three of them and the pile of scrap. The wind whipped up clouds of red dust that spun and petered out as quickly as they started. He took a deep breath and growled.

"The bot," he said. "It's a newer model. I'd just like to know why it's so beat up. It makes me angry that fine Scrapster work is in such sad shape."

"Oh, uh, we're not exactly sure. We found it while out scavenging."

"Really? Tch. Probably abandoned by some cheapskates who didn't want to pay for repairs."

His shoulders dropped, and his grin widened. "My apologies! I'm still working on my temper." He motioned to the hut. "Please, let's get that bot inside and look at it. You're wanting to sell it, correct?"

Tereine nodded. "Aye, that's the plan."

She followed the giant man into his hut, with Albany close behind.

Milo's heart pounded in his chest, and he took a moment to breathe deeply through his nose. The pain in his right hand made him realize he'd been gripping the collar of his suit, his thumb poised to mash the two-way radio button. Slowly, he lowered his hand to his waist and exhaled.

"Milo? Everything all right?"

Albany poked her head back out. He waved a hand at her.

"Coming! Sorry, the heat's getting to me."

"Well, it's a lot cooler inside, so come on in!"

Milo walked about halfway to the door and stopped. A dull pain formed in his wrist, right in the center of the diamond. He grasped the diamond.

(Behind you.)

His eyes narrowed, and he whipped around.

But nothing was there. Just the empty clearing and some knocked over trash cans. His shoulders tensed, the hairs standing on end as he scanned the distance. He shook his head and turned to head inside.

(What exactly was that? It sounded like Lucianna's voice, but...)

(I guess it was nothing.)

***

There was a saying back on Earth: what one saw as messy, another saw as spotless.

Heaps of parts were piled wherever an open space was available: the floor, the tables. Nets bulging with cogs and wires hung from the ceiling. A pungent mix of oil and grease hung in the air and stuck to everything. The building possessed a certain newness to it, but a thin layer of dust had gathered on some of the scrap piles while cobwebs formed in the ceiling corners. Milo sneezed, groaning.

The big man sat at a workbench, comparatively clear from piles of scrap. He reached into a compartment under his workbench and produced a toolbox and some papers covered in dark stains. He grunted.

"Lucky for me I just finished cleaning the place up! I wasn't expecting customers today, so I took some time to tidy."

Tereine pursed her lips, her eyes scrutinizing every pile, every speck of dust, every oil stain. Her hands clenched and unclenched, the fingers on her right hand twitching with the urge to clean. Albany placed a hand on hers and gave her a look. Tereine rolled her eyes.

"It's a nice place. Spotless!" Albany said.

The Scrapster puffed out his chest. "I take pride in my work. Name's Krol, by the way."

"I'm Tereine. This is Albany, and that's Milo."

"A pleasure. Now..."

Krol rose and stomped over to the pallet with the robot. He hunched over, squinting his eyes as he studied the gaping hole in the robot's head. Mumbling to himself, he turned his attention to the robot's mid-section. He dragged his fingers through his magnificent beard.