A Fistful of Trouble (Outlaws of the Galaxy Book 2), Paul Tomlinson [bts books to read .txt] 📗

I wouldn’t let either of those turd jugglers anywhere near a food preparation area, but I just smiled and nodded. I figured that if Happy was going to try anything, he’d wait until his second tyre was replaced. The look in his beady eyes made me think he would try something and that meant he had something up his sleeve he thought would allow him to defeat both me and Floyd. That sort of confidence was worrying. I don’t like nasty surprises. Four more brrrps and I’d have to be ready to rumble.

Brrrp.

Brrrp.

My eyes were on the old man and his were on me. Showdown.

Brrrp.

The attack could come from any direction. My fingers were near the pistol, ready to draw.

Brrrp!

Nothing happened. Was this a trick? The old man was still watching me. I heard the sound of the wind and a big crow cawed overhead – probably attracted by the smell from the trailer. I glanced towards Floyd. He didn’t move. Time seemed to be frozen, waiting for someone to make the first move. Did I mention that I’m not big on patience?

“I guess that about does it,” I said, my eyes locked on the old man’s once more. He didn’t respond. Not giving anything away. No hint of where an attack might come from. Dammit, I should have had the drones covering us. I thought about just shooting Happy. If I’d been carrying the zap gun, I might have done. Zap guns aren’t lethal weapons. Not usually.

A flicker of the old man’s pupils – the briefest glance towards the trailer. I drew my pistol and aimed it towards the open door. Happy Hawkins looked at my gun and unveiled his nasty green-brown teeth in a nasty green-brown smile. He thought my weapon wasn’t big enough. That sort of look does nothing for a man’s confidence.

A sound inside the trailer and a robot appeared in the opening. It was some kind of top-end security robot. Almost new. Its chassis was gleaming chrome and the plating on its chest and legs was a matte blue-grey. It didn’t have any hands – both of its forearms were machine guns. Red eyes and a face like an Art Deco skull completed its intentionally disturbing persona. I hated security robots. It leapt down to the ground and its movements made me think of spiders.

Happy was still smiling. I guess situations like this were where he’d earned his nickname.

“Don’t expect your robot pal to save you this time,” the old man said. He held up a device that I recognised immediately. It was the kind of remote control that the old pirate Jack Sterling had used to deactivate Floyd. Of course, a robot scavenger would have access to such a thing.

I looked from Happy Hawkins to his security robot and back to Happy. I grinned as if I liked these odds. I grinned even more when I saw his smile falter.

“Kill him!” Happy yelled.

“Gladly,” I said. I lowered the pistol and brought Floyd’s cannon round. I had one shot. And for once, it was all I needed.

The cannon was meant to be used by a hundred and fifty-pound robot soldier. The recoil almost dislocated my elbow and it knocked me backwards on my ass. I’d aimed for a spot just under the security robot’s breastplate and the blast was angled up slightly. The robot’s upper torso was carried up and back into the trailer, clattering inside. Its legs stood where they were for a moment and then pitched forwards. The skull-like head bounced back out of the trailer and rolled to a stop near my left boot.

Happy didn’t look so happy now. Floyd had his massive hand wrapped around the scavenger’s throat. The old man’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out. Happy’s skinny clown-bots both stood with their hands above their heads.

“Don’t kill him,” I said.

“Am I allowed to damage him?” Floyd asked.

“Let me think about that,” I said. I held my breath and climbed up into the trailer to see what else Not-So-Happy was hiding. I was relieved to see that there were no human remains in there. But it did look like a robot mortuary had been dynamited. There were mechanical limbs and torsos and heads scattered everywhere. A sort of repair shop had been set up at one end of the trailer and there were some more or less intact robots hanging on a rail – presumably these were to go on display for sale at the next town Happy pulled up in. It wasn’t going to be much of a beauty pageant. The stench was coming from a barrel of artificial flesh that had been stripped off an old android. Who knew that it rotted like that? And apparently the maggots loved it. I’d seen enough.

Happy and Floyd were standing exactly as I’d left them, like contestants about to begin some sort of murder-themed ballroom dance.

“Put his feet back on the ground,” I said.

Reluctantly, Floyd did as I asked, but he kept his hand around Happy’s neck.

I took the remote control from the old man’s numb fingers and held it up for Floyd to see.

“Recognise this?” I asked. “Aren’t you glad I gave you that upgrade?”

“You disconnected two wires,” Floyd said.

“And you told me I was wasting my time because no one else would have one of these things.”

“You were right and I was wrong,” Floyd said. “It had to happen eventually.”

“Apology accepted,” I said.

“What are you going to do to me?” Happy croaked.

“What are we going to do with him?” Floyd asked.

I looked the old man up and down. “He doesn’t look like he’d make good eating,” I said. “We should probably just let him go.”

“You don’t want him as your personal slave?”

“Nah,” I said, “I’ve got you.”

“No, you really don’t,” Floyd said.

“If you want a house robot, take one of mine,” Happy said.

The two clowns looked startled by this offer. One pointed at the other. That one