glowing oval eye. “Clear it away, robot.”
Hunt-R hesitated, tilting his head at Rudy. “Builder Rudy?”
Trip snorted. “Oh, don’t start up with that not taking orders from me shit again, robot.” He stabbed a finger into Hunt-R’s forehead. “Unless you want a nice frontal lobotomy reprograming.”
Rudy took the calabash out of his mouth and nodded at the robot. “It’s all right, Hunt-R.”
Hunt-R nodded back, started in on dissembling the explosives netting.
With an exasperated jog of his head, Trip motioned for Rudy to follow him and walked back towards the Wound . “Seriously, I’m about ready to just wipe his brain and start over from scratch. With a lot less insubordination this time. I mean, I thought it would be funny, but turns out it’s just annoying.”
“Now you know how I feel.” Rudy loped after him, puffing at his calabash. “He’s just hurt about not being invited to the wedding.”
“We were trying to keep it small.”
“There were over a thousand guests.”
“Delores was worried about him hitting on her bridesmaids. And I didn’t want him snaking all the pigs-in-blankets. You know how he gets — it wouldn’t be so bad if he actually ate them, but just to grind handfuls of them into his chest and crotch, that’s just unsettling.” Trip glanced back over his shoulder. The robot was still working, taking explosives out of the netting and bagging them. All with one hand. The other was giving Trip the finger. Trip grunted. “Anyway... I effectively apologized.”
They reached the Wound . Rudy jumped up to sit on the hood. “You erased the memory from his brain.”
“Well, not all of it, obviously.” Trip leaned back against the hood next to Rudy. He popped a caff pill from the bunny dispenser. “How does he remember, anyway? I went in and cut some pretty big swaths through his memory banks. Shatner, I hope I didn’t accidentally erase his prohibition against killing us. Or at least me.”
“Yeah, about that... So, you know how after the operation, he was feeling glum, had this whole general, unfocused out-of-sorts angry malaise going?”
“Did he?”
“Yeah. He started moping and moaning all the time.”
Trip crunched his eyebrows at Rudy. “Is that what that was? I just thought a horny raccoon had snuck into the trunk with him.”
“No, it was unfocused angry robot malaise.” Rudy guiltily avoided Trip’s eyes and looked up at ol’ Willie hanging from the ceiling, inert. “And it was really bumming me out. So... I told him.”
“You told him?”
Rudy nodded. “It was either that or have him moaning the whole trip out.”
“Yeah, better he make my life a living hell of snipe, sarcasm and back-talk.”
Rudy smiled around the pipe bit. “That’s what I was thinking.”
Trip shook his head and sighed, noticed Hunt-R plucking the last stick of dynamite from the netting.
“Explosives. Really?” Trip asked Rudy, then pushed off the hood and walked back towards the vault.
“What?” Rudy slid off the hood and followed. “They get the job done.”
“There’s a reason we crack safes.” Trip lit a cigarette. “Explosions tend to attract attention.”
“Yeah, but it’s almost three. And you weren’t here...”
“I was getting laid. Very well laid, I might add.”
Rudy huffed. “Glad you enjoyed yourself. But thanks to that we’ve only got a couple of hours ‘till sun-up.”
“So?”
Hunt-R was just taking down the netting as they stepped up to the vault door. Rudy pointed the stem of the calabash at the vault’s lock, a slick little number with a hardened keypad and a datajack with a ring of yellow light around it, indicating the jack was protected by heavy encryption. “The lock’s nuerotronic. Military grade.”
Trip sneered. “Again, so?”
“It’s a Mitsubishi 740. Maybe a 750,” Hunt-R said. “You do tend to have troub—”
“I wouldn’t complete that thought if I were you,” Trip warned. “Never met a lock —
Hunt-R hesitated, tilting his head at Rudy. “Builder Rudy?”
Trip snorted. “Oh, don’t start up with that not taking orders from me shit again, robot.” He stabbed a finger into Hunt-R’s forehead. “Unless you want a nice frontal lobotomy reprograming.”
Rudy took the calabash out of his mouth and nodded at the robot. “It’s all right, Hunt-R.”
Hunt-R nodded back, started in on dissembling the explosives netting.
With an exasperated jog of his head, Trip motioned for Rudy to follow him and walked back towards the Wound . “Seriously, I’m about ready to just wipe his brain and start over from scratch. With a lot less insubordination this time. I mean, I thought it would be funny, but turns out it’s just annoying.”
“Now you know how I feel.” Rudy loped after him, puffing at his calabash. “He’s just hurt about not being invited to the wedding.”
“We were trying to keep it small.”
“There were over a thousand guests.”
“Delores was worried about him hitting on her bridesmaids. And I didn’t want him snaking all the pigs-in-blankets. You know how he gets — it wouldn’t be so bad if he actually ate them, but just to grind handfuls of them into his chest and crotch, that’s just unsettling.” Trip glanced back over his shoulder. The robot was still working, taking explosives out of the netting and bagging them. All with one hand. The other was giving Trip the finger. Trip grunted. “Anyway... I effectively apologized.”
They reached the Wound . Rudy jumped up to sit on the hood. “You erased the memory from his brain.”
“Well, not all of it, obviously.” Trip leaned back against the hood next to Rudy. He popped a caff pill from the bunny dispenser. “How does he remember, anyway? I went in and cut some pretty big swaths through his memory banks. Shatner, I hope I didn’t accidentally erase his prohibition against killing us. Or at least me.”
“Yeah, about that... So, you know how after the operation, he was feeling glum, had this whole general, unfocused out-of-sorts angry malaise going?”
“Did he?”
“Yeah. He started moping and moaning all the time.”
Trip crunched his eyebrows at Rudy. “Is that what that was? I just thought a horny raccoon had snuck into the trunk with him.”
“No, it was unfocused angry robot malaise.” Rudy guiltily avoided Trip’s eyes and looked up at ol’ Willie hanging from the ceiling, inert. “And it was really bumming me out. So... I told him.”
“You told him?”
Rudy nodded. “It was either that or have him moaning the whole trip out.”
“Yeah, better he make my life a living hell of snipe, sarcasm and back-talk.”
Rudy smiled around the pipe bit. “That’s what I was thinking.”
Trip shook his head and sighed, noticed Hunt-R plucking the last stick of dynamite from the netting.
“Explosives. Really?” Trip asked Rudy, then pushed off the hood and walked back towards the vault.
“What?” Rudy slid off the hood and followed. “They get the job done.”
“There’s a reason we crack safes.” Trip lit a cigarette. “Explosions tend to attract attention.”
“Yeah, but it’s almost three. And you weren’t here...”
“I was getting laid. Very well laid, I might add.”
Rudy huffed. “Glad you enjoyed yourself. But thanks to that we’ve only got a couple of hours ‘till sun-up.”
“So?”
Hunt-R was just taking down the netting as they stepped up to the vault door. Rudy pointed the stem of the calabash at the vault’s lock, a slick little number with a hardened keypad and a datajack with a ring of yellow light around it, indicating the jack was protected by heavy encryption. “The lock’s nuerotronic. Military grade.”
Trip sneered. “Again, so?”
“It’s a Mitsubishi 740. Maybe a 750,” Hunt-R said. “You do tend to have troub—”
“I wouldn’t complete that thought if I were you,” Trip warned. “Never met a lock —
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