Steph Bennion - Paw-Prints of the Gods

“Is it?” asked Hestia, surprised.

“Cadmus was on their Alien Encounters Board,” murmured Govannon.

“We’re getting off the point,” snapped Ininna. “You have no rights here.”

“We order you to help us investigate!” declared Yima.

Govannon smirked as a seething glare shot from Ininna to a suddenly red-faced Yima. Ininna turned her venomous stare towards the archaeologist. To his relief, her fiery temper collapsed into a weary, exasperated sigh and crumbled before his eyes.

“Very clever,” she said. “Fine, let’s do this.”

“Our investigation,” Yima said firmly. “Not yours.”

“I wouldn’t dare take away your glory,” Govannon declared solemnly.

“Me neither,” said Hestia, then grinned. “But did you mention cake?”

Zotz placed his screwdriver upon the bar, reached to the back of the humanoid robot’s head and flicked its power switch to the ‘on’ position. Quirinus and Momus had left him to his own devices whilst they scoured the deserted depot for clues to Ravana’s whereabouts. As the long Falsafah night wore on, Zotz gravitated towards Morrigan’s Bar and its battered mechanical bar steward. His initial conversation with the robot left him in no doubt it had been tampered with, whereupon he had used more prosaic devices from his portable toolkit to find and remove the AI bypass module fitted by some unknown saboteur.

He heard a reassuring gentle hum from the robot and settled back to see whether his repairs were successful. Beside him, Ravana’s electric cat sat upon the bar top and chewed thoughtfully upon the removed circuit board. The bar steward’s eyes lit up and with a faint metallic groan swivelled its head towards the seated Zotz.

“Welcome to Morrigan’s Bar,” it said. “Would you care for a drink, sir?

“What have you got?” asked Zotz.

“I am able to serve all the usual hot and cold beverages from reconstituted powdered sources,” the robot informed him. “Alternative products are available from the molecularisor in the transit lounge. I am unable to offer you micro-brewery products as your juvenile stature and voice pattern suggest you are not yet of the legal age to be served alcohol.”

“Are you saying I’m short and have a squeaky voice?”

“My intention was not to cause offence, sir.”

Zotz heard a distant yell and guessed Momus had found yet another dead rat amidst the stacked equipment and shipping containers. Quirinus poked his head from the door of the nearby habitation module, stared across the dome in the direction of Momus’ cry, shook his head and disappeared back inside. Zotz had asked the bar steward about Ravana before he switched it off to do repairs but to no avail. He decided to pose the question again.

“They’re looking for Ravana,” he told the robot. “Do you remember seeing her here?”

“Would you like an orange juice, sir?”

“She was with the archaeologists,” said Zotz. “One of the students.”

“I can add ice and a little umbrella if that is to your liking,” the robot offered.

“I don’t want a drink! I want to know about Ravana. Was she here?”

“I have no memory of a person by that name. Doctor Jones and an unknown male were here four days ago. They were the last people to visit this establishment.”

“So you do remember things,” mused Zotz. Four days had passed since Quirinus learned Ravana never arrived to meet the Sir Bedivere , but he recalled from conversations back on the Dandridge Cole that the rest of the expedition assumed she returned to Ascension on the previous flight, a fortnight before. “What about previous visits?”

“Doctor Jones was here eighteen days ago,” the robot confirmed. “The unnamed male also came to Morrigan’s Bar that day but at a different time. He was with a young female.”

“A girl?” Zotz exclaimed. He dropped his voice to an excited whisper. “Taller than me, with dark hair, brown skin and a scar on her face?”

“Your limited description concurs with the visual image in my records, sir.”

“That was Ravana!” cried Zotz. “Where did she go?”

A sudden crash made him jump. Zotz’s exchange with the unsuspecting mechanical bar steward had reached Quirinus’ ears and at the mention of Ravana’s name, the pilot leapt from the cabin and rushed to the bar, knocking over a crate of engine spares on the way. He was not usually so clumsy but the heavier gravity of Falsafah compared to that of Ascension, especially after two days in deep space, was taking them all a while to get used to.

“Where is she?” Quirinus demanded breathlessly, facing the robot’s blank stare. “Come on, you lanky strip of rivets, tell me! You must have seen where she went!”

“I do not have the information you require.”

“You have eyes and a memory!” retorted Quirinus. “Tell me!”

The robot shuffled closer. “Would you care for a drink, sir?”

Quirinus grabbed hold of the bar steward’s neck in exasperation and tried to throttle it into submission. The robot at first appeared blissfully unaware of what was happening, then all of a sudden the light in its eyes died and it slipped lifelessly out of the pilot’s grasp to land face down upon the bar. Ravana’s cat leapt away in alarm.

“I think you knocked the power switch,” Zotz said cautiously.

“Dratted thing,” muttered Quirinus. “Do you reckon it knows anything useful?”

Zotz scratched his head. “Whoever programmed it left things pretty basic. I don’t think it can do much more than take orders for drinks.”

“You’ve still done better than we have. There’s no security cameras in the depot and I’ve yet to make sense of the system data logs,” replied Quirinus, looking glum. “We’ve searched the dome at least twice. There’s no transport in the hangar to get us to the dig, no one listening on the short-range transceiver and not a living soul in sight! I can’t believe we’ve come all this way just to find a dead end.”

Zotz solemnly digested Quirinus’ growing frustration. They were interrupted by the arrival of Momus, who was covered in grime and scowling more than usual. His grimace deepened when he saw the prone body of the bar steward.

“I was looking forward to a nice cold lager when we finished,” he grumbled.

“Did you find anything?” asked Zotz.

Momus frowned. “No.”

“Then we haven’t finished,” Quirinus retorted. “Ravana was here. There must be some clue as to where she is now. There has to be!”

Momus put a friendly hand to Quirinus’ shoulder and sighed when the pilot shrugged it away. Zotz was surprised to see Momus’ expression soften until it almost became a smile. This was the closest he had ever seen him looking kindly and sympathetic.

“We will find her,” Momus reassured Quirinus. “But I’m guessing I’m not the only one who’s tired and frigging starving. Once we’re fit, we’ll do a bit of reconnaissance in that crappy freighter of yours, find this dig and see if there’s any chance of landing a bit closer. I don’t fancy traipsing all that way on foot just to find another bloody empty dome.”

“You’d walk across that desert to find my girl?”

“If it came to it.”

“My dear Momus,” said Quirinus. “I’m almost glad I brought you along after all.”

The aged food molecularisor in the transit lounge was a bulky frontier model with half its nutrient cartridges missing, but Momus nevertheless managed to coax a decent spread from its output tray before Quirinus and Zotz retired to the habitation module to get some sleep. Momus surprised them again by offering to keep watch whilst the pilot and his young charge rested, pointing out that Quirinus had been at the helm of the Platypus most of the way and had not rested once since landing. The heavier gravity aside, it had been a tiring day all round and Quirinus had to agree that he could not have stayed awake if he tried.