He reached the top of the stairs. “I’m gettin’ too old for this…” Officer Mortimer Ready said (but his friends called him Officer Bones, due to the aforementioned old). Bones just lost his latest partner while walking up the space stairs on his way to the chief’s desk. That was the third partner he had lost that week, and the most gruesome death yet, the space stairs wouldn’t be clean for weeks, and that did't even include the military police looking into who installed giant rotating saw blades and alligators on the stairs. The military police academy had begun to set aside slots in their graduating class for his new partners that inevitably died, luckily the worst officers were also the hot heads and willing to work with a man with the protective instincts of a fierce porcupine of invasion.
Bones burst into the Chief McChieferson’s office with the fury of an arthritic bear, with the arthritis to match. “What’s this all about Bones? You went into that space warehouse clearly against protocol! The Military Police Commissioner is gonna have my head over this! The mafia union is already breathing down my throat about pensions and reduced jailtime, and now I hear you burst into another warehouse and lost another partner!”
“I don’t work well with others chief, you know that!” Bones said, with the subtext being that he was too old for that.
“I’m assigning you TWO new partners, and you better shape up, or I’ll have your badge!”
“But chief! I can’t work with some rookie, or worse, someone who has some shred of belief in the operations of the military or in justice! Justice just means more paperwork…”
“I’ve heard enough outta you, talk to the space secretary to find out about your new partners. Get outta my sight.”
Bones threw something he was holding at the wall and grumbled loudly "Someone has to stop these rampant military warehouses before someone actually starts using them chief, and if you can't see that then you can have my badge!" But Chief McChieferson already tuned into space radio and wasn't listening. Bones left the office, about the same level of gruntled as when he entered. He drank his fifth triple shot espresso of the morning (which is the only thing that kept him from falling into a coma, but also edging him ever closer to a heart attack), and approached the space secretary to find his new partners. The space secretary was actually just looking out the window into space until someone showed up to be your partner, since savage budget cuts removed all of their supportive personnel and chairs. On the plus side the military just bought them a new space spaceship prototype, which Bones would take since he was also the requisitions officer after the last one was fired for being paid/alive. Space looked like space, and Bones had seen it all before.
Officer Mortimer knew the first man that walked into the room would be his partner, that or a space delivery boy who came every day space-noon-time which was the same as noon time EST because all of the universe actually went by EST after the Space New England secession. He knew that because they always came into this room looking all hopeful and full of life. that would change fast...
The space door opened and someone metallic passed through the threshold. It was robot about six feet tall with a lazersaber attached to one hip a blaster on the other. he was dressed in full the post police-cadet costume that contrasted his dark grey steel skin. He was just missing the formal space police Badge.
"Salutations, are you Officer Mortimer? If so, then hit 'Y' on your keyboard, if no then hit 'N'." the robot said.
Bones didn't believed his eyes. He pushed his way through the security guards guarding the McCheif's office (who were recently replaced by tastefully potted plants) and stormed up to Cheif's desk.
"I wont work with a robot!" Bones said. "Robots were good for two things, heating up meals and doing anything people didn't actually want to do."
"Thats exactly why i assigned him, you're getting to old for this, so i assigned someone who could watch your back. Also look what you've done now GR8-4D4 is sad." Chief said. Officer mortimer looked back to see a "sad" robot.
"Situation is NEUTRAL. I am programmed to be not-sad. I can accept that i will never feel loved. My creator has never held me." said GR8-4D4 in mechanical prose. "Just kidding, I can replicate every human emotion #YoureAJerk."
"Thats it. You're off the case!" Chief said. (no one was on any cases. he just liked saying that) "Four-de-four, Your first case is to bond with your partner on patrol mission to the Gamma Quadrant. And that's final!"
"But being a space cop is no place for a robot!" Bones rhymed like a old cop would.
"That's where you're wrong Bones!" The McCheif said as he threw a digi-folder on the desk with digi-paper. "Check out his digi-evolution sheet, He currently holds every honor we distribute in space cop university for every major, including lazer sword combat, alien-diplomacy and advanced spaceship piloting. He's going to be the best cop you've ever partnered with. We also took the liberty to make him death-proof. I got the idea from some old show called Battlestar Galaxy or something. If he dies we just download his blackbox and stick him in a new body!"
"Thank you for your kind words, i am here to withdraw my first badge and log on for active duty." The chief digi-stamped a few digi-papers and gave the robot his badge, the robot then walked up to Mortimer and extended his hand. "You may call me Fourdefour, as your mushy brain would not enjoy saying my real name GR8-4D4."
"You can call me Bones, or don't." Replied Bones.
"It will be a pleasure working with you. #Sarcasm"
"Now that you're aquatinted," Chief said before anything else could be said, "Get out of my office and go do something else while your other partner arrives."
They trudged out of the office together and back into the secretary room, the space door wooshed behind them as it closed.
Jackson Murk walked into his office at the station at his usual 11 AM time. “Jackie,” his secretary Myrtle Springsteen called (great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great granddaughter) “there’s a nice gentleman here to see you. He claims he had a 10 o’clock appointment.” Jackson stormed over
“GODDAMN IT WOMAN, I TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL ME JACKIE! MY NAME IS JACKSON – LIKE THE FUCKING SEVENTH PRESIDENT OF THE ARCHAIC STATES OF AMERICA! NOT LIKE SOME FIRST LADY! DO I LOOK LIKE A FUCKING FIRST LADY? I’M TAKING AWAY YOUR PAY FOR THE PAST YEAR RETROACTIVELY!”
“Aww, Jackie, you’re so cute when you’re angry and taking away my ability to feed my children…I’ll send the nice gentleman right in.”
“Mr. Murk.”
“Ah, Vinnie. Always a pleasure. Can I offer you some brandy, or an assassination on the house?”
“I’m afraid it’s strictly business today, Mr. Murk. You see, the Black Crosses are not entirely sure that you’re completely beneficial to their interests anymore.”
“But I just got them the 400 million credit contract with the Omega Twelve sewage department! Do you know how many fingers I had to twist and how many councilmen’s wives’ lives I had to threaten to do that?”
“And we appreciate the payoff. But you’re a liability, Murk. As part of the job, we pulled some strings and arranged an invitation for you to the Omega Luncheon. You were drunk by 1 pm, and it started at noon! You cussed out the governor’s wife!”
“But it was true! She WAS a fucking whore!”
“You punched a pregnant woman in the face!”
“Hey, at least it wasn’t the belly, you know? No harm, no foul.”
“Murk, my boss often asks me why we do business with you, and I tell him the same thing every time. ‘That Murk,’ I say, ‘he’s a pain in the ass, but he pays off ten times what he costs.’ The payoffs keep coming, but the costs just get higher and higher. The next time he calls me in, I don’t think I’ll be able to say that anymore.”
“Speaking of costs, my living expenses have gone up since I discovered a new brand of premium space whiskey, could I have an advance on this month’s cutback?”
“You really don’t get it, do you, Murk? There IS NO THIS MONTH’S CUTBACK. The Black Crosses have finished doing business with you.”
“Alright. I see how it is. Then I’ll politely ask you to GET THE HELL OUT OF MY OFFICE!” Jackson said as he rose, menacingly. “YOUR SHITTY LITTLE ‘GANG’ DOESN’T EVEN KNOW WHAT PAIN MEANS! I’LL TEACH IT TO YOUR ENTIRE SYNDICATE, MAN BY MAN, CORPSE BY CORPSE!”
“I’ll leave and let you reconsider saying such strong words to this sector’s largest gun-smuggling group.” Vinnie walked out of the office.
Jackson sat back down, groaning and reaching for his bottle of bourbon. Sheryl Springsteen poked her head around the corner.
“Goddamnit woman, what is it?”
“Jackie, hon, you have a call from the chief. He wants to see you in his office right away.”
The good thing about being both in bed with every gang in town, and an alcoholic with an anger problem, is that every visit to the chief’s office is a fresh surprise, Jackson thought as he walked the long route to the chief’s office.
“Jackson. Sit down.”
“Morning, chief. Got any of that special vodka from Talzarius?”
“No. I learned my lesson after the first time you broke my rib during one of these little meetings. Jackson, I’ll cut right to the chase – I’m demoting you by 76 ranks for offenses too numerous to list that were anonymously submitted to my desk in that giant manila folder over there (Jackson looked over and saw a folder overflowing with papers, with ‘Love, Vinnie’ signed on the top). Your new local rank will be 92.”
“What?! You can’t do something like this without a hearing!”
“There WAS a hearing. You showed up 3 hours late and wasted and tried to have sex with the court stenographer.”
“Not my fault she was a prude.”
“I’m taking away your office and your patrol ship. From now on, you’ll be working with a team of similarly ranked officers, specifically #98, a fresh robot recruit from our academy, and #93, a veteran officer with a lot of experience and wisdom. It’s my hope that they can keep you in line – you’ll be sharing an office and a ship with them.”
“Can I at least keep my secretary?”
“I planned to say no out of pity for her sake, but the strange old woman seems to like you. She’ll be transferred to your new team office.”
“Ugh. Well, this is pretty much the worst day ever. When do I meet this new so-called ‘team’?”
“I’m glad you asked…they’re right outside the door.”
“Goddamn rookies think they run the place. Let me help you with this, save me from an imminent volcano that, well why don’t they help me by getting outta the way, so I can not do any of my official duties without them not getting in the way.” Officer Bones thought out loud screaming in his two new partners’ faces. “Now I got some bucket of drt’s (bolts were replaced in 2013 due to their racially charged shape and name), and some guy who is alive. Well let me tell you something, I don’t have time to train some living or inanimate people, I got a job to not do, and another job I’m not supposed to do to do! Also, I already got a secretary, and he is twice the person yours will ever be!” There was a dead parrot in Bones’ office; people were not sure why it was there. It smelled of dead parrot flesh.
4d4 and Jackson did not care.
The team went down to the ship bay, where Requisitions Officer Bones assigned Officer Bones the new prototype ship that no one knew how to fly. 4d4 was a robot, so Bones assumed he knew how to fly ships, so he was appointed the pilot, and since Jackson existed, he would be the navigator. Jackson was fine with this development, since it allowed him to chart more efficient corruption courses. “Charting a course to Gamma Quadrant…through the Hell Abyss quadrant.” It was Jackson’s first time navigating a ship, and second time in the Hell Abyss quadrant.
Bones had unwillingly gone to the Hell Abyss quadrant six times, and willingly gone against orders to the Hell Abyss quadrant one time, which made seven times, and that is terrible. A voice on the space intercom played across the ship “This is Chief, I’ll be monitoring your progress, make sure not to go to the Hell Abyss quadrant, take a course through the Sunshine factory planet, and remember, your orders are to become friends, so enjoy each other’s company goddammit!”
“Nobody tells the navigator where to navigate!” Navigator Jackson said, wanting to pick up some merchandise along his course.
“Yeah, ignore orders Jackson, engage boosters or something to the other direction than what chief said!” And just like that Jackson and Bones became more friends than they were before, since they hated each other before. 4d4 did not get a bonding moment yet, and robo-resented it. The ship plasma’d off to Gamma Quadrant, but what the team didn’t know was that they would find a hell of a lot more along the way than just friendship, fuck friendship. It would also involve being military police, since that was what they were in theory.
The new ship was unlike anything anyone had ever engineered ever. this model looked like any standard space cop car, but had a few new modifications like a quantum fridge, where you could get the leftovers you left in your house from work and other such minor improvements. The ship's happy blue lights came on once they had gotten to warp speed and the reassuring trustworthy voice of the ship's AI chimed "You are now entering warp 1, please enjoy the ride.
"My computations say that we'll be there in 15 minutes." 4d4 said in angstily [if robots could be angsty]. He was still sore about getting the third lowest rank in the space military police. if 4d4 had taken the career of being an automated toilet paper dispenser he would have never ran out of diplomas to dispense.
"Well i might as well enjoy myself then," Jackson kicked his feet up against the inside of the windshield and reclined his seat. he pulled out a flask and took a gulp of the dark liquid. "You want any," He motioned to Bones who stomached a shot but grimaced at the taste.
"What type of pig shit is this, you trying to poison me? This doesn't taste like space-irish or like coffee." Bones said. Jackson just looked offended.
"'Pig shit'? This bourbon is worth more than you're career," He turned to 4d4, "you look like a bag of bolts with taste, you want any bud?" he said to 4d4.
4d4 had never interacted with any humans in his 21 year life span so he had never been addressed as "bud". He used to dream that one day his internal human friends integer counter would read more then or equal to one. luckily he came prepared for any and all friendship experiences.
"Prepare to get to know the meaning of friendship meatbags, for i have brought the utensil for maximum human bonding," 4d4 announced extaticly. He then produced a box of Space-Pictionary.
"No, that's stupid." Said everyone not holding a board game including the ship's AI.
Then a little red blinking light then turned on, "You've entered the Hell Abyss quadrant. Have a nice day" said the AI
"Hell, its about time" said Bones.
The Hell Abyss was not a particularly pleasant sector. As the Dutiful Vigilante (4d4 and Bones were talking while waiting outside the chief’s office and decided to each pick half of the name of the ship) roared through space, it passed Glurtom, the Ghetto Planet, Zinjeng, the Heroin Planet, and Bleeeeeeerg, the home planet of the Bleeeeeeergs. Suddenly, the ship flashed a bright red warning light. “ALMOST OUT OF FUEL. PLEASE PREPARE FOR EMERGENCY LANDING ON NEAREST PLANET OR DEATH.”
“But we were supposed to easily have enough fuel to get us to the Gamma Quadrant and back!” exclaimed 4d4.
“Oh yeah, I kind of siphoned off half the tank and sold it at that last planet…my bad,” explained Jackson.
“I knew there was something suspicious about needing a rest stop in the middle of a 15 minute trip!” Bones detectivized.
“That is a class 4 Federal Crime,” input 4d4. “But we will deal with that upon our return. In the meantime, I guess we better bring the ship down. What is the nearest planet, Jackson?” asked 4d4.
“Looks like it’s…oh no…Skenjkenj!!” Jackson looked paralyzed by fear, and even Bones had a slight worried expression in the corner of his face.
“What is the problem?” inquired 4d4. “You are both upset because stopping to refuel will delay our mission by approximately 12-14 minutes, thus potentially incurring the wrath of our superior when we return unexplainably late?”
“Listen, you bag of bolts,” slurred Bones. “You may have a couple of fancy pieces of paper from some fancy school with fancy writing on them, and an actual legitimate gun license, and an actual desire to see justice done, all of which I lack, but your ass is fresh off the assembly line. Or should I say – the ass-embly line? Jokes aside, you’re raw, rookie. Every seasoned cop – even this sack of shit over here – knows that Skenjkenj is the home planet of the Black Cross mob!”
“Oh. Do they not tolerate visitors?”
“Anyone found on the planet without a legitimate reason for being there is summarily executed,” put in Jackson. “And of all the fucking days, they picked today! The Black Crosses literally just canceled my ‘Honored Guest’ permit 3 hours ago! DAMN it!”
“You mean, you were a friend of the mob? Were you working undercover?” asked 4d4 nervously.
“Yeah, sure, I was working undercover, pal, whatever helps your little robot self sleep, or whatever you robots do, at night. The point is, we’d get shot the moment they found us.”
Just then, the screen flashed another message:
“CUTTING POWER TO ALL ENGINES AND ONBOARD SYSTEMS IN 5 MINUTES. TO DISCOURAGE ILLEGAL SALVAGE OPERATIONS, THIS INCLUDES LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEMS. XENOTECH REGRETS ANY FATALITIES THAT MAY RESULT AND ADVISES YOU TO KEEP CLOSER TRACK OF YOUR FUEL RESERVE IN THE FUTURE, SHOULD YOU SURVIVE.”
“Shit! Skenjkenj it is I guess…may God have mercy on us…” muttered Jackson.
“I will begin landing protocol immediately!”
“Good bag of bolts!”
“Please refrain from using ethnic slurs in my presence, Mr. Bones.”
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