Tripp frowned at Poz and Neg’s faux charm and insistence on making themselves at home, “I can fill you in, if you like?”
“No point,” Poz rolled forward and extended his sensors, “Oxade? Do you read me?”
“Yes, Poz. Please advise.”
“Atmosphere levels are fit for human consumption. Which is more than can be said for her decor. Oxygen set at twenty-one percent. Gas readings remain steady.”
“Good. That suits us just fine,” Oxade’s voice chirped into Poz and Neg’s head.
Tripp grew weary of the behavior of his guests. Worse, he had no idea who Poz was talking to.
“Who are you speaking with—”
“—But I’m also picking up a strange, unknown element,” Poz’s eyebulbs glowed as he scanned the walls, “Possibly a carcinogen of some description. It’s off the charts.”
Tripp held out his hand, “I can explain what that is. You see, we’ve just returned from a place called Pink—”
“—Tripp Healy,” Poz rolled to a stop and retracted his sensors, “How have you and the crew been able to sustain yourselves with such a high toxicity level? I’m surprised your lungs haven’t burst.”
“Well, technically, we haven’t. It’s complicated. I don’t know if you were briefed before you left. Every crew member Beta, bar one, is a Series Three Androgyne.”
“Bar one?” Neg asked.
“Jelly Anderson.”
“Oh, yeah. That stupid little ball of fluff. I forgot.”
“Yes, everyone else is a Series Three unit. I’m one, too.”
“You’re one-two?” Poz spat with confusion, “A previous series I don’t know about?”
“No, I didn’t mean—”
“—Oh, I get it. He means he’s a series three unit, as well,” Neg turned to Manuel, who flapped above her head like a drug-addled bird, “Who the hell is this?”
Manuel shuffled forward feeling his temper draw to a close, “Hello. I’m Manuel. The autopilot.”
“Huh,” she snorted with a metallic whiff, “An old model, right?”
“We’ve been away for five years. I figured USARIC might have made a few updates in the meantime.”
“Hah. Well, you’ll get to meet Manny soon enough.”
“Manny?” Manuel asked and tried to suppress his displeasure at the revelation of his inferiority.
“Manuel-2,” Neg squealed. “She doesn’t take any crap from anyone. Not least previous models, like you.”
Manuel folded his pages, indicating his hurt feelings, “I’m sorry. Have I done something to upset you, Neg?”
“You? Upset me?” Neg blew a recording of a raspberry at him, “You’re not capable of arousing any emotion in me, my friend.”
“Oh,” Manuel slumped in the air and huffed.
Neg darted along the walkway and caught up with Poz, “They’re seriously out of date.”
“Yes, and out-of-touch, too. It doesn’t make sense. Opera Beta is spectacularly unfit for human habitation. There’s a virus of some description present. Nothing I’ve ever encountered, anyway.”
Tripp paced along the walkway and turned to Manuel in confidence, “Have you ever met anyone so rude?”
“Which one are you referring to?”
“Either of them,” Tripp huffed. “Acting like they own the place.”
“Hey, Tripp Healy,” Poz reached the staircase and scanned the first step, “Stairs? Really?”
“Ah, yes. Problem?”
Poz butted his circular stomach against the first step, “Look at the state of this. For God’s sake.”
“Oh, great,” Tripp huffed and shook his head, “The two of you have mastered nuance and sarcasm, but not stairs?”
“Stairs are for idiots.”
Tripp ignored the comment, “No problem. We’ll just take the elevator.”
“Thank God for that,” Poz whistled with relief, “I’m surprised you guys know about the invention of fire, considering the antiquated nature of this useless spacecraft.”
Tripp snorted with sarcasm and went to touch Poz,“I see Manning/Synapse haven’t quite mastered applying manners to their new products.”
He felt an unusual stinging sensation in his palm a mere inch away from his surface.
“Don’t touch me or I’ll kill you,” Poz beeped with unease.
“I’m sorry? Are you threatening me?”
“I’m not threatening you. It’s a fact,” Poz said. “If your hand connects with me, you’ll be killed. I am a death droid.”
Neg swiveled around and hopped on the spot, “We seriously advise you not to touch us. Your skin gets absorbed and… well, let’s just say it gets very messy. We don’t care. It doesn’t affect us. We just melt your carcass and collect the data in your memory. Or your brain, if you’re a human. Which you’re not. Are you?”
“No, I’m not,” Tripp held his hands together, thankful that he hadn’t quite made physical contact with Poz, “And thanks for the heads up,”
“You’re welcome, big boy,” Neg tilted her head and flashed her blue eyebulbs, “Although…?”
Tripp stared at her, waiting for the rest of her sentence, “What?”
“Maybe when we return home, I’ll switch my absorption processor off and we can make sweet, sweet love—”
“—Neg,” Poz slammed his body against the bottom step in a fit of rage, “What did we agree? You don’t flirt with the normal people.”
“Hey, don’t appendage-block me!”
“Less of it, you dirty metal testicle,” Poz spat and swiveled around and tilted his ‘head’ up at Tripp, “I’m sorry about that, Tripp Healy. Neg took a bit of a knock to her processor when we were put together,” he finished with a sarcastic whisper, “Forgot to fit her with a decency chip, if I’m being honest.”
“I heard that,” Neg spun around and harrumphed.
Tripp cleared his throat and pointed to the elevator, “So, the elevator is over here, guys.”
Oxade paced back and forth around the three-dimensional holograph live feed. He slipped himself between Poz and Neg and pointed at the sharp end of the ship.
“Show me Beta’s control deck,” he said. “I want a live display.”
“Understood,” Poz said.
“And Poz?” Oxade watched a fully kitted-out Alex and Nutrene enter the room and gave them the thumbs up.
“Yes?”
“Confirm the coordinates with their autopilot. Absorb them into your data field, please. I want every black box equivalent of their time away from Earth. Search every nook and cranny. Leave no stone unturned.”
“Do you know how long that will take?”
“No,” he said, suddenly concerned, “How long?”
“About fifteen minutes.”
Oxade breathed a sigh of relief, “Well, that’s good. Gives us enough time to take care of business. Now shut up and get working.”
He stepped out of the holograph and snapped his fingers, “Hughes.”
“Yes, Captain?”
“You and Nutrene will board Opera Beta.”
“Understood.”
“Poz and Neg are reporting high toxicity levels. You’ll have to strap your space skins on and keep a consistent check on your oxygen.”
Nutrene watched Tripp and Manuel walk behind Poz and Neg at Beta’s communications panel.
“Look at the state of Opera Beta,” she pointed at the windshield, “It’s cracked to all hell. Look.”
“The windshield will have sealed itself if it sustained any damage. A failsafe designed to buy the crew some time in the event of a disaster.”
“Captain?” Neg’s voice flew around the room, “Are you seeing what we’re seeing? Look at this.”