Junkyard — Part 4 and Epilogue (a free science fiction novella)

Here’s a Friday-night post to finish up the Junkyard novella!

If you want a free copy of the final ebook when it’s been edited and I have cover art for it, please sign up for my Fallen Empire newsletter: https://lindsayburoker.com/book-news/fallenempire/

There are a bunch of other bonus goodies when you sign up too (including the “Bearadise Lodge” short story with McCall, Junkyard, and Scipio).

Now, let’s finish this novella…

Junkyard Part IV

McCall found the dog sitting and waiting by the cargo hatch when she came in. She had left it open so he could leave whenever he wished. Apparently, he hadn’t wished.

“Good to see you up,” she told him.

She didn’t have any ration bars on her, but he didn’t make any moves to eat her. He even thumped his tail on the deck. Promising.

“Is your name really Junkyard?”

He cocked his head and looked curiously at her.

“Yeah. I didn’t think so. I’m not very good at naming things though. I don’t think anyone in my family was. Our dog when I was growing up was named Buddy.”

He ran out onto the cargo ramp but paused after only a couple of steps. He looked back at her and wobbled his tail a little uncertainly. It had stopped raining, so that couldn’t be the problem. Besides, if he’d been living in a junkyard, he ought to be used to the elements.

“You want me to follow you?”

He ran to the bottom of the ramp, spun a circle, and looked back at her again.

“Why not?” she muttered, heading after him. “I don’t have any better leads.”

The dog raced past the warehouse and straight to the front of the junkyard. The rusty padlock still held the rolling chain-link gates shut. When they’d taken him out for his veterinary services, Scipio had stunned him, picked him up, and jumped over the fence. She imagined footage of a similar event could be used in a brochure toting the strength and versatility of androids.

The dog whined and nosed at the gap between the gates. He was as big as she was, so there wasn’t any chance of him squirming through. McCall was surprised he wanted to go back inside, especially if he had been trapped in there for the last month.

She tapped her earstar. “Scipio? I need you out front.”

“I’ll be there shortly, Captain.”

Almost instantly, the door to the warehouse opened. Scipio saw her and sprinted over.

“Are you in danger?” He looked at the dog, then all around the area.

The dog barked.

“No, but I need you to lift him up so he can go back inside.” McCall was tempted to simply ask him to break the padlock. It wasn’t as if the missing owner of the junkyard would notice any time soon. She’d looked him up, just in case he should be a suspect, but since he’d been off-moon so long, it seemed unlikely.

“I thought you wished to let him convalesce inside the ship.” Scipio eyed the big dog.

“Apparently, he’s done.”

The dog whined and nosed the lock.

“Maybe he’s going to lead us to the syrup. I’ve read books where animals were integral in solving crimes.” McCall didn’t point out that they had been children’s books and the animals had sometimes spoken in them. So far, Junkyard’s vocal range had been limited to whines and barks.

“I am skeptical, Captain.”

“Just help him in, please. He’s too big to go through that gap between the fence and the warehouse.”

Junkyard spun in a circle again, then pawed at the chain links.

“Very well, Captain. But I’ll have you know that the Laundro-Matic 3000 built into the ship is insufficient for removing fur from clothing. I learned this last night.”

Scipio stepped toward the dog, but Junkyard skittered back.

“It may be difficult to pick him up when he’s conscious,” Scipio said. “He could attempt to damage me.”

“Just do it quickly. As quickly as you ran out here. He’ll be too startled to bite you.” It sounded like a reasonable argument to her.

“Stunning him would be safer.”

“If you stun him, he won’t be able to lead us to the stolen syrup.”

Scipio faced her. “Do you believe it’s stored somewhere in the junkyard?”

“I think it’s a possibility. Nobody’s seen it at the spaceport, and the traffic cameras didn’t show anyone picking up huge vats of syrup in a truck.”

“The camera footage may have been altered.”

“Thus far, the thieves haven’t demonstrated that they have any sophisticated programming skills.” She waved in the direction of the hidden hole in the side of the warehouse.

Junkyard whined again. Whatever he wanted, he was insistent about it.

“Just jump over with him, Scipio.” She realized she was snapping orders like some military commander and added, “Please.”

“Yes, Captain.”

He blurred into motion, and a startled yelp sounded as he lifted Junkyard from his feet and sprang over the fence. The barks didn’t start up until they landed. Then they were thunderous.

The front door of the warehouse opened, and one of the security guards looked out—Mahajan. He peered straight at McCall. She felt like a criminal caught in the act, but she drew her netdisc and paced, pretending she was researching something and that her perambulations had merely happened to bring her in this direction.

Judging by the sounds of the barking, Junkyard was on the move. She had been joking—mostly—about him showing them to the stash, but wouldn’t be nice if that happened?

McCall wanted to climb over and see what was going on, but Mahajan kept staring at her. Or was he simply wondering what the dog was barking about? Louis poked his head out too. Wonderful. Soon the whole staff would be checking on her.

She made herself smile and wave, then went back to pacing, willing them to go back inside. If she had to, she would go back to the ship and watch the dog with her aerial cameras, but—

The two men leaned back inside, and the door shut. Good. She scrambled over the fence and jumped down.

At first, she didn’t see Scipio or Junkyard. Then, as plaintive a call as she’d ever heard from an android came from atop a stack of tires.

“Over here, Captain. I am trapped.” Scipio crouched on the stack, peering ten feet down at the dog barking up at him.

“It’s possible he didn’t appreciate your method of delivering him to his destination.” McCall headed toward Junkyard, poking in her pockets and hoping to find a suitable treat for him. She would have to start carrying meat bars around.

“It was your method,” Scipio pointed out.

Fortunately, Junkyard grew tired of the game before McCall reached him and had to attempt to haul a one-hundred-and-fifty-pound dog away from its target. He trotted past her and to the pile of clothing he’d peed on the day before. He lifted his leg and gave it the same treatment. For a long time.

What he’d been so antsy about slowly dawned on McCall. He set his leg down, took a few steps, and plopped down on his side.

She dropped her face into her palm, aware, by the soft thump, of Scipio jumping down beside her.

“I don’t think he’s going to show us to the stolen syrup,” she said.

“No.”

“All right. We’ll look anyway. You take that side, and I’ll take that side.” She pointed, determined to feel optimistic and not daunted by the acreage the big junkyard spanned. “Assume the syrup isn’t in anything resembling its original drums but that it is transportable.”

Scipio plucked a brown strand of fur off the front of his suit. “Yes, Captain.”

 

* * *

 

Darkness fell and the air grew damp and misty as McCall walked through the twisting aisles of the junkyard, the stacks in danger of toppling at the first stiff breeze. In some places, they already had, forcing her to climb over wreckage to continue on. She paused to open containers, everything from jugs of drain cleaner to dented beer kegs. Few were full, and those that were did not smell of syrup.

She tossed a jug of window cleaner aside, telling herself to think bigger. A thousand tons of maple syrup were missing. If all that liquid was stored here, it would have to be in something large. A water tank? She shone the flashlight from her netdisc around, and it glinted off a rusty metal cistern comprising the top half of a nearby junk stack. It looked like something that would store a few thousand gallons of water. She picked a route up the mountainous stack toward it, though she had a feeling it would have crushed the junk underneath it if it were full.

Her earstar chimed softly.

“Yes?”

“I am reporting in for an hourly check, Captain,” Scipio said. “I have searched approximately twenty-three percent of the junkyard and discovered nothing useful yet.”

“Same here.” She had no idea what percentage she’d explored, but it had to be close to half of the half she’d claimed for herself.

“My loafers have been sampled three times by the dog.”

“Er, sampled?” McCall peered into the darkness below. She hadn’t seen Junkyard for a while but had assumed he’d grown bored of following her and wandered off to whatever nook he had claimed for his den.

“Licked.”

“Ah. That shouldn’t damage anything.”

“Leather is not waterproof, Captain,” Scipio said primly. “If it doesn’t dry quickly enough, it can start to rot.”

McCall bit back a sarcastic comment. She already felt guilty that she’d been ordering Scipio around earlier, especially since it had been to do something that could have resulted in damage to him. And after they’d made it over the fence, Scipio could have used his strength and agility to knock the dog away, instead of allowing Junkyard to chase him up a pile of tires, but he hadn’t.

“I don’t think his tongue is likely to be that wet, but I’ll buy you a new pair if he damages them. I appreciate you helping me with him.”

She reached the water tank and rapped her knuckles against it. It clanged hollowly. Another dead end.

“You are my employer,” Scipio said. “It is my duty to do as you ask.”

McCall grimaced, thinking of the way Dunham had ordered Louis around—while berating him. She had never liked being an employee, and she hadn’t become Scipio’s employer because she wanted to order someone around. She had only taken him on because he’d asked for a job. She was far more comfortable treating everybody as equals.

“Look, it’s not the imperial fleet.” From her elevated perch, McCall shone her flashlight around on the junk below. “You don’t have to follow orders. If you think something is stupid, feel free to argue.”

“This assignment was my idea, and you do not want to be here. I do not wish to further inconvenience you.”

She didn’t agree with the idea that he might inconvenience her, but she said, “You’re a good man, Scipio.”

“I am an android, not a man.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but her light shone dully on a drab gray tarp spread on an open patch of ground. An oddly open patch. Aside from the main road through the compound, there hadn’t been many aisles or gaps large enough for ground vehicles to drive into. It would have taken a crane with a long arm to reach any of the piles and remove something. Or an aircraft or spaceship hefting junk from above.

McCall looked skyward, but nothing but clouds filled the night sky. Few ships came out this way, and she couldn’t remember hearing any aircraft engines either.

“I’m going to look at something,” she told Scipio, not that it was necessary. They had both been looking at things for hours.

As she scrambled down from the stack and headed toward the tarp, she noted oversized tires and rusted engines placed around it to hold down the edges. Even though it lay flat on the ground, and there wasn’t room for much to lay under it, she couldn’t help but think she might have found something.

She tugged at a tractor tire and grimaced at the weight. “I may need your help, Scipio. Can you track me by my earstar?”

“Certainly.”

As she walked across the tarp, intending to see if one of the engine parts would be easier to move, her foot landed on uneven ground. Pain shot up her leg when she turned her ankle. Gasping, she stumbled back from the tarp and glared at it as the pain faded. She stepped more carefully as she moved back onto it and found a ditch or something like it underneath. She set her netdisc down and used both hands, grunting and straining to haul the engine part off the tarp. A protrusion got stuck in the ditch, and she swore as she strained to tug it out.

“I am here, Captain,” came Scipio’s voice from the side. “Do you wish me to lift that for you?”

“No, I’m enjoying getting a workout.”

“Very well.”

“That was sarcasm, Scipio.” She let go and waved him to the engine and the tire. “Please move these things off the tarp.”

“Certainly. Please guard my loafers as I do so.”

She noticed Junkyard standing behind him in the dark. He wagged his tail when she looked at him.

“Dogs appear to find them irresistible,” Scipio added, hoisting the engine overhead as if it weighed a pound.

“A feature the manufacturer probably didn’t think to add to the sales brochure.” McCall watched Junkyard, whose focus did seem to be on Scipio’s feet. The loafer’s tassels flopped interestingly as he walked.

“Were such a feature mentioned, I believed it would deter prospective buyers.” Scipio hefted the engine toward a pile.

It landed with a loud crunch.

McCall winced at the noise and glanced toward the warehouse. She didn’t know if any of the security guards had remained tonight or if Louis was working—gaming—late. She couldn’t see the building from their spot on the far side of the junkyard and hoped the sound wouldn’t travel. Whoever had arranged this tarp—and whatever lay beneath it—likely worked in that building. And wouldn’t want them investigating it, she had no doubt.

As Scipio pushed or threw off the last of the junk pinning down the tarp, McCall tugged up a corner, shifting around so she could pull it back. The “ditch” she’d stepped into was the edge of a hole almost entirely filled by a tank. A huge tank.

Anticipation fluttered in her belly like moths dancing with a lamp. Could they have found it?

“A water tank,” Scipio observed.

“How much do you want to bet there’s something else inside. Does that have enough volume capacity for all the missing maple syrup?”

“Judging by what I can see of the tank’s width and with a guess to its height, I judge it could hold six thousand gallons of water.”

“How many tons is that?”

“Approximately 23.304 tons of water. I do not have the liquid weight of maple syrup in my database to give you a more accurate conversion.”

“Hm, so there would need to be eight more tanks like this stashed around the junkyard if this is where the syrup is being stored.” McCall thought that might be a possibility. They had yet to search the whole place, and others could be more cleverly concealed. “Do you see an opening in the top anywhere so we can check inside?”

McCall ran her flashlight over the surface. A heavy metal ring was affixed to the top. She assumed someone had used a crane to lower the tank after cutting out the hole with some other digging machine. There weren’t any piles of dirt nearby, so it must have been moved.

It would have taken specialized equipment to do all this over the course of a few nights. She would have to find the local machinery rental agencies and see if she could wrangle access to their records.

“There.” Scipio hopped onto the dusty blue tank, stepped over the large ring, and walked toward a screw cap.

A distant rumble grew audible, and McCall frowned in the direction it seemed to come from. The woods beyond the back fence. Just a few minutes ago, she had been thinking about how she hadn’t heard any airplanes or spacecraft flying overhead while they had been here.

She bounced from foot to foot as Scipio unscrewed the cap and she envisioned them being paid handsomely—their ten percent of the syrup—for something buried in the ground only a couple hundred yards from the warehouse.

He bent over the opening. “My olfactory sensors detect a sweet odor identical to that in the drum that Mr. Dunham showed us yesterday.”

“Yes.” McCall clenched a fist and ran across the top of the tank to join him. She wanted to use her own olfactory sensors.

Scipio lifted his head and looked toward the woods. “I also detect an aircraft heading in this direction.”

“It’s probably flying over on its way somewhere else.” McCall didn’t have to bring her nose too close to the opening to smell the distinctive maple-syrup scent.

“I do not believe this is an established flight route. I have not observed other aircraft traversing over this location.”

“Screw that back on, please.” She pointed to the lid he held and couldn’t help but glance skyward as she stepped back. Nothing was visible against the clouds yet. “I’ll comm Dunham. Wait, maybe I better comm the manager. Tate. We still don’t know who took the syrup in the first place, and if it was Dunham, and he finds out we’ve discovered his hiding spot, he might arrange an accident for us.”

She hopped off the tank and pulled up the roster Dunham had provided her so she could get the manager’s comm code. The sound of engines grew louder, and she spotted lights in the night sky.

“That is either a helicopter or an air hammer,” Scipio reported. “We are hearing the sound of its rotary blades. Shall I cover up the tank?”

McCall wanted to say there was no need because the helicopter couldn’t possibly be there for it, but the aircraft was flying straight toward the junkyard. And it was getting close.

“Yes, please.”

She helped Scipio tug the tarp back over the tank, but before they had fully hidden it, the helicopter lowered and flew closer, coming over the junkyard fence.

“Hide,” she whispered, reminded that they were trespassing, whether the dog wanted them there or not.

She ran into an aisle and pressed herself against a stack of scrap robot parts. Scipio sprang into a nook near the tarp. She thought the shadows would hide them sufficiently, but the helicopter turned on bright search beams that flooded the junkyard with light. She could clearly see Scipio across the way.

The helicopter flew closer, and the wind from the blades tried to tear her hair from its ponytail.

“Can you hear me, Captain?” Scipio asked over the comm link. His voice was barely audible over the whipping blades.

“Yes.” She forced herself to speak normally instead of whispering. Whoever was in the helicopter wouldn’t hear them over the craft’s noise.

“I believe we were noticed investigating the junkyard, and someone was ordered to come and remove any tanks here tonight so we would not find them.”

Since the helicopter hovered directly over the tarp, its lights blinding McCall, she couldn’t argue.

A soft clank sounded, something hitting a junk pile near her, and she jumped. It was a huge metal hook on a chain, and as it swung about, she realized that removing this tank was exactly what the pilot had in mind.

“Damn it, we just found it,” she blurted. “Scipio, do you think you’re strong enough to—”

A figure leaped out of the helicopter from thirty feet in the air, and she gasped. What the hells?

A man whirled toward her. No, an android. Its pale skin wasn’t quite real, and when his eyes locked onto her, they were silver. She might be in the shadows, but he knew she was there. The helicopter must have checked for life signs. Scipio wouldn’t have registered, but she—

The android ran straight at her.

“Shit,” she blurted and grabbed for something to use to defend herself.

Scipio had a stun gun, but it would be useless on an android. As she snatched a giant metal wrench from a pile, she feared it would also be useless. She didn’t have the strength or speed to harm an android, but she jerked it up in front of her, determined to try.

Scipio raced over and leaped onto the android’s back when it was less than three feet from her. She scrambled deeper into the aisle as he wrenched her attacker from its path. Thunderous barking sounded over the roar of the blades. Junkyard sprang into the fray, jaws snapping.

McCall’s heart banged rapid-fire against her ribcage as she hefted the wrench, hoping to find a way to help. And hoping Junkyard wouldn’t tear into the two androids indiscriminately. Did he recognize Scipio as a friend yet? Could he even tell the difference between the two models?

For a moment, the enemy android’s back was to her, and she sprang. She hammered the heavy wrench against his head. It seemed a cowardly move, but this wasn’t a human being, she reminded herself, and if it was a combat-specialist model, it would be able to beat Scipio in a fair fight.

The android didn’t react to her blow, its head as hard as a slab of steel. It gripped Scipio’s arm and hurled him atop a stack of junk, then spun back toward McCall. By all three suns, why was the thing so focused on her?

Junkyard lay on the ground, whining and shaking his head. Anger blasted her like magma erupting from a volcano. She ran at the android, swinging the wrench.

Her foe grabbed it out of the air as if it were catching a ball. The android tore it from her grip—and almost tore her arms out their sockets at the same time.

Junkyard sprang to his feet, snarled, and leaped for the back of the android’s neck. Since their enemy was focused on her, it didn’t notice the dog. Powerful fangs sank in, and Junkyard shook that neck as the weight of his body struck the android’s back.

“Run, Captain,” Scipio called from the top of stack. He’d found his footing again, and he crouched to spring. “He’s after you.”

“I noticed,” McCall yelled, looking around for something deadlier than a wrench.

Scipio jumped down and landed on the android. Junkyard still had a grip on their foe’s neck, and he growled like a rabid ghorettin from some children’s fable.

A clank came from the tank, and lights moved, the helicopter shifting position. McCall couldn’t see much of it through the fight, but she realized what the pilot was doing.

Cursing, she maneuvered around the battling androids and ran toward the tank. The helicopter operator had used the hook to move the tarp fully aside, and now he was lowering it toward that ring.

McCall grabbed a can and threw it at the helicopter, then promptly felt foolish. Her makeshift projectile clanged uselessly off one of the landing skids.

“I need some grenades,” she muttered.

Bangs and thumps came from the fight, and a whine of pain sounded. Junkyard.

Feeling helpless, McCall tapped her earstar and ordered it to comm Tate. Too bad she hadn’t spoken to the man before.

The helicopter lowered, the hook nearing the ring. McCall snatched up the next closest object that had some heft. A rusty coil from who knew what. This time, she hurled her projectile at the hook as it neared the ring. Even though her aim was generally superior to her athletic skills, she barely clipped it. But it was just enough to disrupt the pilot’s attempt to hook the ring.

“Hello?” a groggy voice asked. “Who is this?”

“Your skip tracer, McCall Richter.” She yelled to ensure he would hear her over the noise. “I found your maple syrup, but someone’s stealing it again right now. It’s in the junkyard about to be hauled off.” She snatched up another piece of junk to throw as the hook angled toward the ring again. “Hurry and get law enforcement out here.”

Belatedly, it occurred to her that she could comm the local law enforcement herself. Hopefully, they would overlook that she was trespassing in the junkyard since it was for a good reason….

She chucked the piece of junk, but it sailed past the hook without clipping it.

“Shit,” she swore again, missing Tate’s response.

The hook slid through the ring, and the helicopter rose immediately. Dirt crumbled and fell from the rim of the hole as the tank rose, far larger than she had realized.

“Get law-enforcement out here now,” she ordered Tate. “They need a ship. There’s a helicopter taking the syrup, and I have no idea where—”

Scipio ran out of the aisle and sprang into the air.

He landed on the top of the tank as it cleared the hole. Without pausing, he leaped again, catching the chain and shimmying up it toward the helicopter. Something fell as he climbed—one of his shoes.

McCall gaped, barely aware of Tate finishing with “…on my way,” and cutting the link.

“Scipio!” she yelled as he reached the landing skid. Did the pilot know he was on there? How many people—or androids—were in the cabin of the helicopter? Was Scipio going to get himself blown away if he tried to get in?

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. Its 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 that 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 its 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 its 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 laying 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 cab—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, 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 wild 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 saying yes to anything, 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 theatric flair than he’d given the earlier groan, and snatched his loafer away from the dog.

“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 couldn’t she have guessed that he might long for an early retirement? An escape from a job he’d clearly disliked? Because he was, like 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 in 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.

McCall thought he was telling the truth, but she also hadn’t sensed that he’d been lying when he’d told her he knew nothing of the theft. If he was being truthful about this, then who had dropped Junkyard into that prison? Would she ever find out?

“You’ll take care of him?” Louis asked, his eyes full of concern.

“I will.”

“Good. Thank you.”

The guards nudged him, and the group walked toward waiting ground vehicles.

When McCall stepped into her ship’s cargo hold, she found Scipio in a new suit, hat, and shoes, his face and hands already scrubbed free of soot. He must have used his preternatural android speed to change so quickly.

Junkyard was snoring on the deck next to the syrup drums they would need to secure before liftoff. She vowed to buy him a dog bed so he wouldn’t have to sleep on the hard textured metal.

“I have decided to accept your offer, Captain,” Scipio announced. “To become your business partner. Would you like me to research the proper documentation? Androids being given stakes in companies is unorthodox and may even be without precedent, so you may have to hire a contract lawyer. We may have to.”

“Having a good contract seems wise under any circumstances. What made you decide to accept? Did you realize you have interests you wish to advance, after all?”

“Indeed. I saw a silver pocket watch and chain that would look fabulous with the cufflinks I intend to purchase. There’s a matching cane too. I have also been contemplating that display case built into my cabin and considering starting a collection that will represent our travels to the various planets and moons in the system. I am deciding between mechanical banks, stuffed animals, and decorative ceramic eggs.”

“So… the interest you’re choosing to advance is shopping?”

“Yes.”

Looking pleased with himself, Scipio headed over to secure the drums.

McCall decided not to point out that Junkyard would likely see a cane as a chew toy.

 

THE END

 

If you enjoyed this story and haven’t checked out Fractured Stars yet, I hope you’ll pick up a copy. The novel jumps ahead a couple of years to McCall’s next big adventure (Junkyard and Scipio included). Thanks for reading!