“Yeah, and I invited you because you said you were an engineer.”

  “What has that got to do with anything?”

  Nesha ran her fingers along the bulkhead. “Menagerie needs help.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  The old woman darkened, leveling a finger almost as scary as her expression. “You’re an engineer in need of a ship. I own a ship in need of an engineer. We work together, we both win.”

  “Look, I’m seriously in debt. I know where a cache of minerals is, but I’m not the only one who knows where they are. I’ve got to get back fast.”

  “Not used to pirates who walk around unarmed.”

  Heat rose beneath the halo wrapped around the back of my neck. “I’m not a pirate.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “Why do you even need a ship? You’re just floating out here.”

  “Only because the ship won’t fly.”

  “Because you ran her engines into the ground.”

  She rolled her eyes, gesturing away my comment like an errant insect. “I may have pushed her a little, but for a worthy cause.”

  “What could possibly be worth stranding yourself in space?”

  A light in her eyes that matched her cackle sent shivers through me. “They’re out there waiting for me.”

  “Um, who is waiting?”

  “Hopping and floating, shambling and oozing,” A mad zealot looked back at me, “The universe is filled with wondrous life yet to be discovered.”

  “Ooookay.”

  She crossed the space between us too fast for someone so old. Wrinkled hands grabbed my space suit in a vice grip. “We can find them—a universe of knowledge for the taking!”

  Her gaze softened, shifting to landscapes no one else could see. I edged away toward her comm array to call back the shuttle.

  “I’ll rent you the Menagerie.” Nesha said. “One month for fifteen thousand MU.”

  When I’d been buying the old scout, certain questions hadn’t been a priority, but renting Menagerie, and at such a staggering cost, made them matter. “The rover in your vehicle bay, does it work?”

  She shrugged.

  “Comms?”

  “On and off.”

  “I’d need the cargo pods emptied.”

  “My specimens?!”

  “I need the capacity.”

  “I suppose I could reorganize my cabin.”

  “What? No. You’re not coming along if I am renting this ship.”

  “Where do you expect me to live?”

  I laughed. “Anywhere else.”

  She shrank, somehow becoming the old lady I’d imagined originally. “You’d evict an old woman from her home?”

  I closed my eyes. “Fine, you can stay, but for fifteen thousand you’re replacing the engines.”

  “I’m sure with a little repair—”

  “No, they’re dead. They need to be replaced.”

  “Fine, but you’re stocking the food printers,” she demanded.

  “Only my crew eats if I am buying.”

  “I am a dab hand with the sensors.”

  I sighed and nodded into my hands.

  She clapped, cackled and literally picked me off the deck in an embrace. “We’re. In. Business!”

  Great, another partner.

  Rent and replacing cargo pods that Nesha couldn’t empty cost me seventeen thousand. Another five thousand went into buying endurium to fuel our trip. The rover in Menagerie’s bay wouldn’t start, but I didn’t have enough left to replace it. If I couldn’t fix the old terrain vehicle on route, I’d have to use it to repair the one Eyal left behind.

  Unfortunately, Nesha’s idea of navigating consisted of wandering out into space in a random directions and eventually using nav logs to wander back the same way. My navigator skills were pretty rudimentary, but if I used my limited funds for training, I needed engineering knowledge far more than navigation for an in-system trip.

  Nesha wanted a doctor on the crew in case of injuries, but I couldn’t afford to pay out shares. In some ways, I saw her point. She seemed like a tough old broad, but old bones broke. Hedrin, just watching her try to lug specimen jars across Menagerie evoked sympathetic muscle pain.

  I might not need a doctor per se, but some muscle to help out—especially if we were reduced to mining without a rover—seemed an excellent investment for the last of my MU. If I could manage some useful skills along with that brawn, so much the better.

  While hunting for a cheap ship, I’d run across rumors of a...let’s call him a man of curious beliefs. He presided over what amounted to an android graveyard—not a junkyard where old android parts went but some kind of holy mausoleum for interring dead androids.

  I couldn’t afford an android, but if this madman thought of his charges as living beings, then someone who could bring them back from the dead ought to be his new best friend.

  Where Menagerie had been an old scout, the ship which housed the android graveyard looked like a Frankenstein’s reject from a starship junk pile. Multiple heavily damaged hulls had been fused together, many without regard to aligning their engines in any single direction. Even more bizarre, weapon turrets actively swept back and forth through firing arcs as if someone might come steal Deacon’s dead.

  Unlike Nesha, Deacon wasn’t inside or even outside the airlock where the shuttle dropped me. With Menagerie undergoing engine replacement, I couldn’t use her to transport me despite my financial preferences. Deacon’s craft had no name—bad luck among spacers, but was it really a ship if it just floated in orbit? Whereas Menagerie had resembled a swap meet, the android graveyard actually felt like a mausoleum. Large lockers covered every bulkhead, each adorned with an inventory display. Several displayed silent android faces through transparent panes.

  Cold reached through my suit enough that I checked the external temps.

  Hedrin, there’re ice planets that’re warmer.

  I wandered through the ship. If most of the artifacts had been on display rather than behind locked doors, Deacon’s ship might’ve felt more like a museum dedicated to android history. From what I could see, someone had either been running the place for decades or scavenged every junkyard in known space.

  Eventually, I found Deacon himself. He knelt on the captain’s dais of an otherwise gutted starship bridge. Long flaxen hair shot through with silver fell about his bowed head to shoulders covered by slate grey robes. Mostly whole android bodies knelt around the periphery, their hands together or placed on the deck in some kind of prayer. Dismembered but not decapitated torsos hung like dead-eyed busts between their kneeling brothers.

  “Uh, are you Deacon?”

  He rose slowly, the sound of gears and metal on metal escaping his voluminous robes. He turned to face me, lifting his head to reveal the face hidden by the long, straight hair.

  I gasped and stepped back involuntarily.

  Deacon wasn’t Human, at least not all Human. Robotics covered his lower face. A goatee of obviously artificial hair surrounded a thin section of mesh grating which served as a mouth. One mechanical eye anchored by screws into swollen skin dominated an eye socket opposite a Human eye all but consumed by black pupil. He placed mismatched mechanical hands together and bowed at the waist. The robe fell open enough to reveal more swollen battle lines of flesh and machine. The area of torso containing his heart remained organic as did another lower swath probably housing a kidney, stomach and some shoehorned intestines.

  How does he even eat without a mouth?

  A sonorous basso filled the room. “Welcome, wanderer. Are you a true believer?”

  I almost asked him, ‘a believer in what,’ but caught myself. Rather than commit myself, I inclined my head, leaving it bowed so that the movement didn’t actually complete a nod.

  He strode off the dais to me in three quick steps, cold steel hands shoving my head forward even further as speakers relayed his words. “I see. Clumsy, but hard wired—proof of your devotion. Child, your sacrifices are yet insufficient. How can you expect the Spark’s blessing if you hold onto so much of the flesh?”

  He thinks I fused the remote halo on purpose?

  “Why have you journeyed to us, pilgrim? Are you prepared to sacrifice in earnest?”

  Hedrin, this might’ve been a bad idea. How do I even talk to this madman?

  “Humility through silence.” He nodded, pulling back one sleeve. A long blade unfolded from his forearm, taking the place of a clamp-style hand. Articulated fingers drew up my arm. “Hold steady and be at peace. Know this—crying out to the Spark carries no shame.”

  “Wait!”

  Deacon’s expression darkened.

  “I, uh, I’m not worthy—not yet.”

  “Then you must be discipled.”

  “Yes! That’s it. I must be discipled, but the androids for sale on the station are mindwiped, empty. Here though, here dwell elder souls filled with experience.”

  “These have passed on, their life reclaimed by the Spark.”

  “What if I could—if I worshipped the Spark with my skills? By tending to the fallen, I might convince the Spark to quicken an elder that he might disciple me during my travels and help me spread enlightenment to the darkest corners of our galaxy.”

  Silence and cold filled the bridge. Deacon scrutinized me for long, tense minutes, stains on his machete attachment reflecting crimson in the overhead lights.

  His grip on my wrist tightened.

  He raised his other arm.

  Zeal filled the madman’s one living eye.

  I closed my eyes.

  Void, I’ll be lucky if I get out of here alive.

  His grip vanished.

  I peeked through one squinted eye.

  Deacon’s blade folded back into his forearm as he crossed the bridge. He took down a blaster scarred torso lacking half of its head. Badly scratched numbers denoted its model and serial number as Model I35 Number 1330 “This is I-35, my brother in arms.”

  When I blinked at him, he held up his arm with the articulated hand.

  Oh, right.

  “His crew betrayed him, sacrificed him, weighed flesh more precious than circuitry then blasphemed his sacrifice by sending him for recycling.” Deacon rested the heavy torso in my arms. “You will tend him, restore to him a body that he might show piety in this sanctuary.”

  Okay, build him a body so you can pose him like a doll. Got it.

  “If the Spark deems you worthy and restores I-35’s animus, you may serve and ferry him into the black to spread our divine truth.”

  Hierarchy note: mostly flesh equates to second-class citizen.

  I bowed my head. “I am honored, Deacon. Where might I find what I need to restore I-35’s physical vessel?”

  “You shall follow my voice as it leads you through our sanctuary.” He pointed me out a door I was only too happy to exit.

  The creepy preacher's voice led me through corridors until at last my burden and I entered a large bay lined with transparent-faced lockers and piled with android scrap. It took time to clear a work surface of all the random parts. Once done, I assembled my tools and started a diagnostic on I-35’s systems. As luck would have it, the heavily damaged android proved to be a navigator, though the damaged areas included his memory bank. That suggested I had to replace them, losing his navigating knowledge.

  Or better, combine them with another android’s, maybe even with another useful skill.

  Rubbing my hands together, I started by scanning the readouts on each of the locker doors. Few of the displays enclosed more than a head, but one housed a head, torso and single arm—all but the arm damaged in a kind of yin to I-35’s yang. The inventory listed her as N100011 redesignated as CH4T-R.

  Stars above, it’s an actual comms android.

  Most comms bots had been destroyed or reprogrammed before my birth. The discontinued units lacked empathy, not to mention tact, necessary for dealing with pretty much any race.

  Opening the door, her completely drained state prevented a quick diagnostic, but a little work found her functional enough for my needs. I combined the two torsos, resisting the urge to install both heads and just spackle over the holes. I located a decent head with sufficient hard points for both chipsets, a beefy arm and a cool set of thick legs that seemed to split from two into four. In the end, I had to use some of the head’s original circuitry; I didn’t really need another egghead along for the ride, but without it the other chipsets refused to even power up. My work resulted in a lopsided android definitely outside factory stock, but as long as it didn’t mind walking around with one boob, it didn’t bother me.

  When diagnostics lit green across the board, I powered up the android.

  “V310021 online and awaiting command.”

  “Recognize commander, CT Blake, acknowledge hierarchy.”

  I’d always hated the long, unnecessarily-clinical names used for androids, so I’d already decided to redesignate my new android once it accepted my commands.

  “Commander accepted. Hierarchy acknowledg-g-g-ged. V310021 awaiting comm—” The command was on the tip of my tongue when the clipped mechanic voice vanished, replaced by something between a street evangelist and a used rover salesman. “No. I am I351330, missionary for the Spark.”

  “Redesignate I351330 as P0L-R.”

  The android turned toward me. Its expression became a frown.

  “Acknowledge command.”

  It cocked its head, planted a slender hand on one blocky hip and addressed me in a nasally, rapid-fire feminine voice. “Oh, sure, honey, but first what did you do to your hair? Stars, boy, pick a color. I mean, it’s black, it’s copper, and it’s a tangled mess like you think wild curls are fashionable!” She lowered her voice. “Nobody thinks rainbow pube-head is hot.”

  Blinking several times neither changed my reality nor stopped P0L-R’s chatter.

  “Look, we can get the roots dyed to match the tips, okay? Maybe even add some straightener. I’ve got the comm-link to the best stylist in this part of the galaxy. Sure, he’s a little expensive, but I’ll get you an appoint—” She stopped. “Oh. Seems he’s been dead for a century and a half. That’ll make getting a slot hard.”

  “Probably.” I chuckled. “And you are?”

  She touched my arm. “You can call me CH4T-R. I know, right? Some engineer’s idea of a joke, giving me that new designation, but hey, you probably didn’t pick your name either, did you honey? I mean CT? What’s it short for? Coppertop? Your hairdo does kind of resemble a furry battery commercial. Oh, probably before your time, I could run a search fo—”

  CH4T-R’s head jerked upright and her stance became rigid. A moment later the body language eased a smidgen and P0L-R’s voice returned. “We must begin our pilgrimage.”

  I opened my mouth, unsure what I should say. Either way, he wanted to leave, and that seemed like a fantastic idea. I’d just have to fix the overlapping engram issue when I had the time.

  “Absolutely. Let’s fly.”

  Deacon directed us to an airlock. He stood between us and the door, an ominous expression on his face. He stepped in close as if whispering even though the hushed menace in his voice still emanated from the speakers. “You are chosen, but know too that I shall hold your flesh responsible for P0L-R’s safety.”

  “I—I, uh,” Oh shit. “I’m honored?”

  “So should you be. I’ll transfer an account number for P0L-R’s and my crew shares.”

  Crew shares? Plural? Oh, hedrin, he thinks he and I are partners?

  “Wait, why am I paying you a share?”

  He lifted one arm. “This arm and that torso are of one body. If the body is on your ship, then this body must be compensated for its use.”

  I opened my mouth to refute his crazy theory, but realized if I wanted to make a semi-clean escape with my navigator-comms bot, I’d best shut up and make myself scarce.

  After all, I only need P0L-R long enough to get free of Phillkh.

  Deacon clapped P0L-R’s shoulder. “Go with the Spark, brother.”

  “I shall find our wayward kin and show them the way.”

  Deacon bowed, and I hurried P0L-R toward the airlocks before things got weirder or worse.

  P0L-R spent the ride back to the spaceport preaching to the shuttle pilot. Hedrin, maybe the android was preaching to the shuttle, I had no idea. A message from Nesha waiting on my slate reported Menagerie docked and ready to fly.

  We were finally leaving—no more running around like a pawn in some 8-Bit scavenger hunt.

  Along the brief trip across the station P0L-R offended three androids and a coffee dispenser, but we made it to the docking bay. Phillkh waited at the bottom of Menagerie’s gangplank, duffel in hand and fangs bared in argument with Nesha. Troubling as that seemed, the real nightmare loomed over the both of them.

  No good, conniving nralt!

  Nesha had replaced the engines, all right. Based on the new engine’s confirmation, she’d replaced the burned-out Class-2 engines with a used Class-1 several generations old. Hedrin, a new Class-1 only ran a thousand MU—she couldn’t have saved more than a few hundred total at the cost of a brand-new, perfectly-tuned engine.

  Heat prickled my neck. I marched across the deck, ready to give the old woman a piece of my mind. Before I could even open my mouth, P0L-R’s body language shifted. CH4T-R perched a hand on her hip. A nonstop blur of nasally criticism assaulted Phillkh’s dental choices, Nesha’s attire, and Menagerie’s paint job.

  I shoved my way between them. “CH4T-R, board vessel, acknowledge command.”

  The android stiffened, turned and walked up the ramp like a stoic automaton. It stopped at the top, amber eyes in an unreadable gaze boring into me.

  I turned to Phillkh. “Nice of you to see us off, but we’re in a hurry. Interest waits for no man, after all.”

  The Thrynn smiled. “Asss I told thisss decrepit old meatsssack, I’m coming.”

  “The hedrin you are. This is my ship,” Nesha scowled. “Lowlife crooks aren’t—”

  I cut her off. “It might be your ship, but so long as I’m renting her, I’m the captain.”

  Phillkh showed his teeth.