interior. "Who's he?"
"Our engineer," Melissa replied happily. "And a good one too! Daddy says we're lucky to have him. Cy keeps everything up and running."
That's when a silvery ball appeared at the far end of the corridor and zoomed toward them. Lando threw himself against the wall and reached for his slug thrower. It was halfway out of its holster when Melissa grabbed his wrist. "Don't shoot! That's Cy!"
And just as Melissa spoke the silver ball came to a stop, hovered in front of them, and extruded a second vid pickup. Lando didn't know for sure but assumed the globe was equipped with some sort of fancy antigrav unit. "Hi, Mel. Who's this?"
"Our new pilot," Melissa answered seriously. "His name is Pik Lando. Pik, this is Cy Borg, our chief engineer."
"Their only engineer," Cy replied cheerfully, "but what the heck, with me around one is enough." There was a soft whirring noise and an articulated arm appeared.
Much to his amazement Lando found himself reaching out to shake with a three-fingered metal hand. It was cold and very strong.
"It's a pleasure, Cy. I hope you'll forgive my reaction. I had a run-in with an airborne robo-laser not long ago. It tried to slice, dice, and cook me for dinner."
"Perfectly understandable," the silver globe said reassuringly. "Happens all the time. I'm used to it."
"Cy had a body once," Melissa said soberly, "but he gambled it away."
The metal sphere bobbed up and down in apparent agreement. "That's right⦠and the moral is?"
"Don't gamble," Melissa replied automatically, "no matter what anyone says."
"That's right," Cy said approvingly. "Being a brain in a box has some advantages⦠but not many." The cyborg spun toward Lando. "I sometimes wonder who's got the rest of me⦠and how they're doing."
It was meant as a joke but Lando didn't laugh. Like most smugglers he'd spent a good deal of time in sleazy dives, rim-world saloons, and smoke-filled gambling dens. In some of them you could lose all your money, sell an arm or a leg, and keep on going. There was a good market for bio parts, and while most settled for one or two replaceable organs, some went all the way.
Those who did ended up as brains floating in a bath of nutrient liquid. For such as those there was little choice, a life of total isolation within themselves, or continued existence as a cyborg. Most became cyborgs.
Cyborgs came in all sorts of shapes and sizes, their forms frequently following function, and such was apparently the case with Cy. Though why he'd chosen to call himself Cy Borg, Lando couldn't imagine. Whatever the reason it didn't seem polite to ask.
"So how long have you been with the ship, Cy?" Lando inquired. "I notice that she's in pretty good shape for aâ¦" he almost said, "pile of junk," but looked at Melissa and thought better of it. "For a tug," Lando finished lamely.
If Cy noticed, there was no sign of it in his cheerful response. "Well, thanks, Pik. I do my best. I guess I've been with Cap and Mel for a couple years now, ever since I ran into a little trouble on Joyo's Roid. She's a good ship, and now that we've got a pilot, I'll feel a whole lot better."
The cyborg turned in Melissa's direction. "Where's your father? Sick again?"
Melissa nodded. "You know how it is, Cy, I tried to stop him but he wouldn't listen."
"That's okay," the metal sphere replied. "It's not your fault, Mel. You hear me? It's not your fault."
"Sure, I hear you," Melissa replied easily. "It's not my fault. Hey, you wanta race me to the end of the corridor?"
"Not right now, honey," Cy replied. "I've gotta repair the number four pressor housing before we break orbit. You know how your father is when he wakes up. 'All hands man your stations!' and that sort of stuff."
Cy's vid pickup turned toward Lando. "Nice meeting you, Pik, welcome aboard, and let me know if there's anything I can do to help." And with that the cyborg used a jet of compressed air to squirt himself down the corridor.
"Wanta
"Our engineer," Melissa replied happily. "And a good one too! Daddy says we're lucky to have him. Cy keeps everything up and running."
That's when a silvery ball appeared at the far end of the corridor and zoomed toward them. Lando threw himself against the wall and reached for his slug thrower. It was halfway out of its holster when Melissa grabbed his wrist. "Don't shoot! That's Cy!"
And just as Melissa spoke the silver ball came to a stop, hovered in front of them, and extruded a second vid pickup. Lando didn't know for sure but assumed the globe was equipped with some sort of fancy antigrav unit. "Hi, Mel. Who's this?"
"Our new pilot," Melissa answered seriously. "His name is Pik Lando. Pik, this is Cy Borg, our chief engineer."
"Their only engineer," Cy replied cheerfully, "but what the heck, with me around one is enough." There was a soft whirring noise and an articulated arm appeared.
Much to his amazement Lando found himself reaching out to shake with a three-fingered metal hand. It was cold and very strong.
"It's a pleasure, Cy. I hope you'll forgive my reaction. I had a run-in with an airborne robo-laser not long ago. It tried to slice, dice, and cook me for dinner."
"Perfectly understandable," the silver globe said reassuringly. "Happens all the time. I'm used to it."
"Cy had a body once," Melissa said soberly, "but he gambled it away."
The metal sphere bobbed up and down in apparent agreement. "That's right⦠and the moral is?"
"Don't gamble," Melissa replied automatically, "no matter what anyone says."
"That's right," Cy said approvingly. "Being a brain in a box has some advantages⦠but not many." The cyborg spun toward Lando. "I sometimes wonder who's got the rest of me⦠and how they're doing."
It was meant as a joke but Lando didn't laugh. Like most smugglers he'd spent a good deal of time in sleazy dives, rim-world saloons, and smoke-filled gambling dens. In some of them you could lose all your money, sell an arm or a leg, and keep on going. There was a good market for bio parts, and while most settled for one or two replaceable organs, some went all the way.
Those who did ended up as brains floating in a bath of nutrient liquid. For such as those there was little choice, a life of total isolation within themselves, or continued existence as a cyborg. Most became cyborgs.
Cyborgs came in all sorts of shapes and sizes, their forms frequently following function, and such was apparently the case with Cy. Though why he'd chosen to call himself Cy Borg, Lando couldn't imagine. Whatever the reason it didn't seem polite to ask.
"So how long have you been with the ship, Cy?" Lando inquired. "I notice that she's in pretty good shape for aâ¦" he almost said, "pile of junk," but looked at Melissa and thought better of it. "For a tug," Lando finished lamely.
If Cy noticed, there was no sign of it in his cheerful response. "Well, thanks, Pik. I do my best. I guess I've been with Cap and Mel for a couple years now, ever since I ran into a little trouble on Joyo's Roid. She's a good ship, and now that we've got a pilot, I'll feel a whole lot better."
The cyborg turned in Melissa's direction. "Where's your father? Sick again?"
Melissa nodded. "You know how it is, Cy, I tried to stop him but he wouldn't listen."
"That's okay," the metal sphere replied. "It's not your fault, Mel. You hear me? It's not your fault."
"Sure, I hear you," Melissa replied easily. "It's not my fault. Hey, you wanta race me to the end of the corridor?"
"Not right now, honey," Cy replied. "I've gotta repair the number four pressor housing before we break orbit. You know how your father is when he wakes up. 'All hands man your stations!' and that sort of stuff."
Cy's vid pickup turned toward Lando. "Nice meeting you, Pik, welcome aboard, and let me know if there's anything I can do to help." And with that the cyborg used a jet of compressed air to squirt himself down the corridor.
"Wanta
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