GETING IN

Rasheeta Rankore stumbled into a narrow ally and stopped, listening and looking for a place to hide. There were four small trash cans, an inert vending machine and no way out. She heard the slap of boots on pavement and made for the vending machine, flattening herself against the wall on the far side of it just before three men ran past.

Rasheeta had been working space ships since she had signed aboard a cargo ship at fourteen. Since then, she had taken a variety of crew positions and been trained to do nearly everything. She had been hired as a pilot on a craft headed to Owenia, which meant better pay and higher demand for her services. She had been celebrating, but had found out the hard way that some crews would try to press an inebriated pilot into service. She remembered drinking at a dance club and than nothing until she woke up while being carried and hearing her bearers discussing her unwilling recruitment. She bolted. Now, it was sometime between midnight and dawn and she had neglected to find a room. She considered slipping away when she heard one of her pursuers nearby.

"I don't know!" He sounded frustrated and loud.

"look around," said someone else in a harsh whisper.

"Get in." It was a mechanical feminine voice, using an enticing tone with the volume down, barely audible. The lower front panel on the vending machine slid open and an empty compartment yawned invitingly. Rasheeta moved quickly. Small as she was, she fit inside with her knees touching her chin. The panel closed.

Silence. "May I take your order?" the voice invited. It was louder, giving Rasheeta a start that made her worry that they would hear her move.

"That thing's working," came a cheerful response. It was one of the pair of mercenary types that had carried Rasheeta. Muscle, not brains.

"Not now," someone said quietly. It was an officer-type. Brains, not muscle.

"She's not here," said the third man. "I think we lost her, sir."

"Keep looking," said the officer. "Quietly."

Time went by. After a minute eternity, the machine spoke again. "They are gone." Something hummed and a fan hissed to life, blowing in cool morning air. Then the machine began to move, slowly. Rasheeta began to wonder if she was being abducted again and considered calling for help. The streets had been abandoned and she did not hear anyone. Besides, she did not know how the machine would respond. She began to feel sick and concentrated on her breathing in the hope that she would not add regurgitated vodka to the cramped compartment. The machine continued onward, slowly, turning occasionally. It stopped and started again, moving upward.

The machine stopped again and the panel snapped open, letting in a blinding light. Rasheeta crawled out, blinking. As her eyes adjusted, she could see that she was inside a spacecraft. Aft, a ramp hummed upward, closing the exit. Fore, a large treaded vehicle stood blocking the main passageway. A narrow, empty corridor ran port and starboard, both ends turning fore. Rasheeta tried to stand and drunkenly failed. "I'm going to be sick!" she blurted.

"Cola," the machine offered.

Rasheeta made a second cautious attempt to stand and succeeded. Then she moved to retrieve her bank card. "My purse!" she moaned as her hand groped the empty space where it normally was. She knew she had it at the dance club. Either it was in the ally or they had it. Her sickness worsened as she thought about her would-be abductors having her identification.

The vending machine turned and opened a side panel. A small shelf eased out, resembling a tongue being stuck out at her, and her purse rested on top. Flooded with relief, Rasheeta slowly took the purse. She could hear the machine working.

As she checked the bag to make sure nothing was missing, another small slot opened and she took a plastic bottle of black liquid, opened it and drank. It was carbonated enough to settle her stomach.

"Thank you," she said. She felt silly thanking the thing, but it didn't act like a vending machine. She took another swig. "I'm going." She watched it warily.

"If you choose," said the machine. "If not, guest quarters are available."

Rasheeta paused. On the one hand, she would be trapped if the ship took off. On the other, she had not arranged for a place to sleep and those guys could still be looking for her. Spending the night was the least risky option. "How much?" she asked.

"Complimentary," it answered. It began to roll starboard and stopped where the corridor turned. Its menu lit up, flashing on and off. Rasheeta followed slowly, wondering what the catch was. As she rounded the bend, she saw four closed doors on the port side of the corridor. "Number two," the machine intoned.

The door slid aside when she pressed a button next to it. Inside, the room was just large enough to hold a bed consisting of a mattress on a large shelf and a set of three drawers. A door on the port wall led to the bathroom. Rasheeta dropped her purse and lay down fully dressed. She drifted off, wondering about the vending machine's unusual behavior.

She woke She opened her eyes and then quickly closed them again. The room was well lit and spinning. The previous night's events slowly came back to her. She concentrated on the feel of her surroundings. The gravity felt natural. Still parked. She sat up and listened. There was the familiar background hum of an air system and a muffled, rhythmic pounding. She went to the bathroom and drank from the faucet, then made her way to the exit, realizing that the pounding noise was just her hangover. She waited for the door to open. It did not, until she pushed the button on the wall.

Someone was standing against the starboard wall. Person? It was either a humanoid robot or an empty space suit. She studied it, blurrily. Slim, gray and smooth with a spherical head sporting two tube-shaped mechanical eyes as its only feature.

"Good morning," it said.

"Ah!", Rasheeta exclaimed involuntarily. Her head pounded faster. The voice was artificial, slightly masculine and even. "Good morning," she answered with quiet caution.

"Come to the galley for a concoction," it continued. Rasheeta could not tell if it was an order or an invitation, but she followed. Concoction was crew slang for a hangover cure. Ingredients varied. It led her to the room next to her quarters. There was a table with two chairs in the center and a couch by the door, all secured to the floor, and the far wall was lined with panels about the size of pantry doors. As she sat at the table, it opened a panel, retrieved a thick plastic cup of brown liquid, and placed it in front of her. She took a tentative sip. It was hot and tasted like salty coffee. "Thanks," she said.

It loomed over her, waiting. "I am called Kirby," it said.

"Rasheeta," she responded reflexively. "Nice to meet you. Are you, um..."

"I'm wearing my space suit," it answered.

Rasheeta nodded and did not ask why. "Breakfast," it offered.

She perked up. "Yes. Yes please." Kirby stood, unmoving. "The Cassandra has departed," it said. "You have eluded capture."

"Good to know," Rasheeta answered. "Maybe I shouldn't stay here too long."

A panel slid open revealing a small conveyer belt carrying a plate of scrambled eggs and hash browns, which Kirby served. It stood behind her. "I'm hiring if you are interested."

"I'm a pilot," Rasheeta blurted. "I mean, I am glad for all your help and I'll consider your offer, but I had planned on a pilot's salary."

"At least let me show you around my space suit," Kirby answered.

Rasheeta stopped eating. "What?" she exclaimed. Kirby repeated the request.

She laughed derisively. "Seriously?"

"I'll show you my equipment," Kirby said.

"No," she mumbled definitively. "Keep it in your pants!"

"My equipment is in the fore section of my space suit," Kirby answered.

Rasheeta tried to make sense of that. "Fore?" she wondered, pointing.

"This is my business suit, which I am operating remotely," Kirby explained. "We are inside my space suit, in the galley section."

"Oh," Rasheeta said, still unsure. She could not tell if the artificial voice was amused or condescending or both. "You're not even here?" she wondered.

"I'm wearing my space suit," it said again.

"Whatever that means," she said with resignation.

"Eat," it instructed. "How are you feeling?"

"A lot better," Rasheeta answered, realizing that her hangover was nearly gone. Kirby's business suit just stood there while she ate, and spoke when she stood.

"Ready?" it asked.

Rasheeta nodded, curious.

The suit walked out, turned fore and opened a door in the port side of the hallway. Rasheeta followed without clearing the table. Inside the door was an open area with several robots lined up like shoes in a closet. The tracked vehicle stood to her left, the aft, and to her right, the fore, were what looked like storage tanks with an access corridor in between. Kirby's suit went from item to item, naming each before moving on. Three of the robots were what it called work suits, and the vending machine, or sales suit, was also there. The treaded vehicle was his security robot. Rasheeta took a closer look. It looked like a old-style tank with the cannon replaced by a retractable mystery inside a small, modern turret. The storage tanks held water, fuel, milk, coffee and milk chocolate. Beyond that was a miniature automated factory and an enclosed hydroponic garden which Kirby's business suit said grew wheat, peanuts, chocolate, coffee beans, sugar cane, potatoes and unfamiliar plants.

"I make my own brand of coffee and candy," Kirby was saying. "My egg and cheese muffins are popular. All I have to buy is milk and eggs." It paused to open a refrigerated bin with racks of eggs. "Most of my income comes from local establishments who place orders, but I also sell to the public using my sales suit. My generator runs on alcohol," it pointed to a small distillery, "and I also make vodka. Some residents pay me to pick up their trash, which is where I get plastic to print bottles and wrappers."

"And in a spaceport like this one, you have no competition," Rasheeta observed.

"A little," it said. "But they depend on shipments, rather than growing their own ingredients."

She nodded. "What's that?" she wondered. The corridor led around the garden and along the fore wall to what looked like a dog door about waist high.

"Beyond there is private," the business suit responded.

"OK," she conceded. "All this is automated, I don't know what my job would be."

"I need someone to deliver orders," Kirby responded. "Some customers will pick up an order here, but that is not a competitive practice."

"It shouldn't be hard to find someone," she answered. His business suit did not respond. "A pilot like myself would be overqualified."

"The job pays half my net in addition to quarters and food," it answered.

"The quarters and food I've seen?" she wondered.

"Correct," it said.

"For how long?" she asked.

"As long as you will stay," it answered.

Rasheeta paused. "Maybe," she said. "I'll need the check the Registry." The Registry is a listing of available crew positions and departure times. She had already been vetted and served as a pilot, so she could take her pick.

"Do let me know." said the business suit before leading her to the aft exit. Rasheeta had not set up a connection to the Owenian internet, so she had to go to the Registry during business hours and wait in line. The next pilot position was in twenty-three days. Then she went looking for a place to stay. The port's few hotels had small rooms that she would have to share with one or two strangers and crowded lobbies. Apartments required a 200 day lease and boarding houses had no vacancies. Then she came to the Pamelonia, a large, clean establishment with bellhops, maids and room service. She went in and asked the uniformed desk clerk the price. Twenty thousand pence a night for a single room and everything from drinks to WiFi cost extra. She had a little over sixty thousand pence on her card and a half-dozen small jewels in a case in her purse, which she had not planned on selling to pay a hotel bill. As the reddish sun became a purple sunset, she made her way back to Vessel Parking and looked for Kirby's sleek, metallic craft. There, she would only have to trust one stranger, odd as it was.

As she approached, the rear entrance ramp clattered and hummed open. She strode up to it and stopped. A mechanical voice from somewhere in the ceiling said "welcome, Rasheeta" before she was able to ask for permission to come aboard.

"Hello, Kirby," she responded, boarding.

"Kirby is out," said the voice. "Preprogrammed communication is available."

"Can I leave a message?" she wondered.

"Voicemail open." said the voice.

"Hey, Kirby," she began. "I checked, and I'm going to be here for over three weeks. I'll work for you if your still interested."

"End Message?" the voice asked after a pause.

"Yes," she answered. "I still need a place to stay," she mumbled to herself.

"Guest quarters and galley are prepared," the voice offered.

"Thanks!" she said, surprised. "Same as last time?"

"Please rephrase," said the voice.

"Never mind," she said cheerily, walking back to her quarters.

"Please rephrase," it repeated.

"Um," she began. "End communication?"

"Say 'on-com' to begin and 'off-com' to end." it instructed.

"Off-com" Rasheeta decided as she settled into her quarters.

She was eating and listening to an audio book in the galley when the voice startled her. "Voicemail message from Kirby," it informed. "Greetings, Rasheeta. I hope you are comfortable and I am glad to have your help for three weeks. Assuming you can start tomorrow, I will ready deliveries when I return. I will provide payment once a week if that is acceptable to you. If you are in need of an advance, feel free to ask. End message."

The voice had not changed at all as it read Kirby's voicemail. "That's fine," she answered. Silence. She paused her book and said "on-com."

"Yes?" it answered.

She thought for a moment. "Is Kirby expecting a response?" she wondered.

"An answer has not been provided for," it said.

"Off-com" she dismissed. She finished her book and slept. The next morning when she woke and showered, she found that everything she needed and a few things she did not had been left in the bathroom. As she left her room, the voice observed "you are awake."

"Is Kirby in?" she wondered.

"I am here," said the voice.

"OK, boss," she said cheerily. "Show me the job."

"Today's deliveries are waiting by the aft exit. When you are ready, load my app from the work suit outside. Please send a voicemail when you are done or if you have any trouble."

She had breakfast and went to the aft exit. Outside, a rectangular platform on wheels waited, loaded with plastic crates, with a raised bench in what she assumed was the front. It hummed as she approached and her palmtop chirped for permission to load an app, which she gave as she climbed on board. It opened and displayed a recommended route and inventory that matched cargo and destination. She tapped yes and the robot moved carefully. She made the deliveries easily. The robot responded to voice commands, although it did not simulate speech. Candy and coffee to a book store here, ingredients to a restaurant there. Nothing was particularly heavy and the customers helped unload. It was early afternoon when she arrived at the Palace of Games. Her app recommended that she go to the rear and ring the doorbell.

A muscleman about twice her size in an expensive suit opened the door and studied her, looking puzzled. "Kirby?" he asked.

"Hello sir, " she answered. "I'm Rasheeta. I work for Kirby."

The man smiled a customer service smile. "Nice to meet you," he answered. "Yuan Ki, owner and manager." He offered an enormous hand for her to shake, told an employee to unload and moved aside. "So, you've met Kirby," he said.

"He hired me," she answered warily.

"Is he.. What's he like?" he wondered.

"I don't know him real well," Rasheeta answered. "First day."

The man chuckled. "Nobody's seen Kirby, unless you count the robot he tells people is a suit he's wearing."

Rasheeta grinned. "His business suit," she said. The man looked at her intensely, wanting more. "I haven't seen him in person. He gave me room and board. Having looked around, I'd do the job just for that."

"Smart lady," he said quietly.

"And he offered me half his net, however much that is," she said.

The man whistled. "The POG offers platinum membership to wealthy clients."

"And a fool and her money are soon parted," Rasheeta observed cynically.

"Smart lady." he said again. "That's Kirby, honest and generous until someone lies to him or tries to lean on him. Then he's... unpredictable."

"Yeah?" Rasheeta said.

"He's the only businessman on this crooked planet who can be counted on," Yuan Ki declared. "And I don't even know what he looks like."

Rasheeta shrugged. "That don't matter," she said.

"I was going to bribe you, but I can't keep up with Kirby," he mumbled conspiratorially.

Rasheeta laughed uncomfortably. "What for?"

"We've had a betting pool going for four years now. What Is Kirby? I put my money on corporate owned AI before I knew his moves. He doesn't act corporate. I could come out on top with a little information."

"You guys really will bet on anything," she answered, her eyes dancing with amusement. "And I'm not telling you didly without asking Kirby if he's cool with it. He is my boss."

"Deal," he said.

"Mister Y," an employee called from the open door. "The game is ready."

"I've got to go," Mister Y said. "See you next time."

"See ya," Rasheeta said to his back as she used the app on her palmtop to confirm that the deliveries were done. The robot slowly folded itself into a smaller shape, one she had seen on board Kirby's space suit. She ordered it to return and went to find somewhere to eat. Afterwards, she went to Brook's Books, a bookstore on her delivery rout. There was a comfortable lounge where Brooke, the owner, and a few friends sat chatting. A teenaged girl acting as hostess recognized her and introduced her to Brooke, an older lady with an artist's air who said "Join us, please" warmly. Her friends were locals who acted surprised that Kirby had hired Rasheeta. She told her story carefully, that Kirby had saved her from being pressed into service on board the Cassandra while leaving out that he was a vending machine at the time. Jose, an attractive off duty bartender, asked her if she'd seen Kirby, and she wondered if he had placed a bet in Mister Y's pool.

"I haven't actually seen him," she explained. "We talk through his robot-suit-thingies and voicemail."

"Whoever operates Kirby's persona does that with everyone," Brooke added. "He or she wants to remain unknown."

"If there is a person behind Kirby at all," contradicted Ken, a middle aged working man.

"He's an alien," the hostess, Ming, interrupted. She played with her raven hair as she spoke. "If anyone finds out, they'll dissect him."

Ken laughed. "Right! People have been in space for over a century and nobody's seen an OWL."

Rasheeta asked Jose what an owl was. ”Other World Life form," he mumbled.

"It's the only way to hide from the Cassandra while running a business," Brooke was saying.

"Is the Cassandra here often?" Rashest asked.

"We're in their territory," Ken answered. "They demand a protection fee from anyone they can catch and get paid or open fire. They also run off any other pirate ships."

"They stop here for a few hours at a time," Jose reassured Rasheeta, who looked worried. "They're gone before security catches them."

"They can't catch Kirby," Ming chimed in. "To fast." Ken shot her a skeptical look. "That's what I heard."

"A person who flies through their territory regularly without paying them makes them look like wusses," Brook added. "They came after him here, once."

"Kirby has at least one tank and plenty of bribe money," Ken added. Rasheeta nodded knowingly, having seen his security robot.

"And whatever else," Ming interjected. "Remember Hassan?" Rasheeta's look asked for more.

"Local businessman," Brooke explained. "He tried to cheat Kirby early on."

"His house and everyone in it vanished," Ming said.

"Bull!" Ken answered. "The house is still standing. Kirby had a friend handle Hassan."

A customer came in and Ming left the conversation. Rasheeta stayed and chatted over coffee and then bought some new audio books. It was still light out when she arrived at Kirby's space suit and Kirby was out.

Rasheeta adjusted to her new life. She came to like Kirby, as he did everything short of making deliveries, left her alone the rest of the time and paid her well. She was making more than she would as a pilot, although Kirby had warned her that his net income varied and there may be a week where she did not get paid at all. When she asked why she was being overpaid, Kirby simply said that money is just a tool. How much time she spent making deliveries was also unpredictable. Anywhere from a thirteen hour shift to a day off, and Kirby did not tell her in advance and was out most of the time. As a delivery person, she got to know Owenia quickly, and found places to spend her free time. She also helped herself to Kirby's food whenever she wanted a snack, although she ate at least one actual meal a day in one of Owenia's restaurants. After thirty days, she realized she had forgotten to interview for a pilot's job. Oh, well.

The locals often complained that Owenia was full of crooks and unsafe, but nobody messed with her. Just about everyone wanted to know who Kirby was or, more accurately, what he was, and she did not have answers. She was getting especially tired of Mr. Y's constant questions. He seemed to think he would wear her down or trick her into letting some tidbit of information slip if he just kept at it.

One night, the lights came on in her quarters for no apparent reason. "On-com," she began. She was about to say lights out when the space suit's artificial voice interrupted.

"Good evening. I have some unexpected work I need you to do," it said.

She came fully awake. "What's wrong?"

"I need you to go to container G-39 and deliver a message," it answered. "There is now a map on your palmtop."

She fished her palmtop out of her purse, opened Kirby's app and the map displayed itself. It showed a stack of storage containers with Container G-39 as big and red as a zit on a face. Kirby gave her instructions and she laughed out loud. She hurried out, suppressing a giggle and being stealthy. She knocked on the container's hatch, using a slow, steady thumping that insisted on a response.

The door slid open. Inside were three people studying equipment. Mr. Y loomed over them in the middle of the cramped container. Rasheeta grinned like a successful hunter.

"Kirby says 'Nice try, Mr. Y. I know you are here.'" Rasheeta announced.

Mr. Y swore profusely, which provoked a belly laugh from Rasheeta. "Tell him we're packing up and leaving," Mr. Y answered, looking like he had just lost a bet.

"Will do," Rasheeta answered before leaving.

Rasheeta strode back to Kirby's space suit, swinging her shoulders proudly. "It's done!" she declared, still giggly.

"What did he say?" Kirby asked, the mechanical voice echoed in the corridor like the voice of God.

"That he's packing up and leaving," she answered.

"No explanation of why he was spying on me," he observed.

"No," she answered. Silence. "He's a gamer," she added. "It's just a game to him, and he would not play with you if he didn't like you."

"It is creepy," Kirby complained.

"People are curious about you," she reasoned. "I've often wondered if I'll get to meet the real you."

"I do not ask to see you naked," Kirby responded. "I would appreciate the same in return."

"I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours," Rasheeta teased.

"Very amusing," Kirby said. "Good night."

Rasheeta went to bed, but lay awake and wondered if she had offended her boss. The space suit's mechanical voice showed as much emotion as a text message. The next morning, she checked his suits and saw that the vending machine was gone. The deliveries were ready and she went to work and then came back and waited. Eventually, she heard the ramp hum open and went to greet the sales suit as it slowly rolled inside.

"Hey, Kirby," she began. "I'm sorry about last night."

The suit stopped. "I still love you," it said, its feminine voice enticing as always. "And you are right. I suppose it is just a game, and Mr. Y is a reliable customer."

The sales suit went fore and returned, settling into its spot. Rasheeta went to the galley and sat on the couch. Kirby, using the space suit's voice, had questions about who else was curious about him. The conversation drifted to her life, and then to a book they had both listened to. She enjoyed the chat.

Later, it occurred to her how strange it had been. Kirby never chatted about anything but business. She wondered who she had really been chatting with. If it was an artificial intelligence, someone must have put a lot of work into programming it to mimic being human, including knowing when to start a conversation. Or, had she been talking to a person? She pictured someone out there talking through a palmtop. Kirby had said he loved her. She wondered if the operator was someone she knew. She inventoried her friends and acquaintances, viewing them as suspects. Realistically, nobody fit.

She decided against being curious in favor of preserving her situation. She tried a peanut burger. Kirby had invited her to try one sometime and tell him what she thought. He was attempting turn peanuts into something like sausage. He had gotten the ground meat texture right but not the taste. She spoke to him about it and suggested other uses for peanut butter, but failed to start a second real conversation. Kirby had gone back to being all business.

One evening almost a week later, Kirby told Rasheeta that he was low on eggs and milk and would go on a run.. He asked her to come and help, and of course she said yes. He was scheduled to leave in two hours. His work suits took her measurements, printed a seat with belts, attached it to the port wall forward and secured everything on board.

Rasheeta had no outside view, but she had flown enough to feel what was happening. The space suit accelerated past the light speed barrier, which seemed instantaneous to anyone on board, and then drifted and slowed the rest of the way in a straight line until decelerating enough to maneuver. She began to wonder how his engines worked as she noticed the absence of noise. The trip had taken less time than she would expect, although she did not know how far they had gone. The space suit eased into orbit around its destination.

"It is safe to un-strap and I linked the view to your palmtop app," Kirby informed her.

She thanked him and unbuckled her seat belts, then pulled her palmtop out of her purse. The planet looked like a typical agricultural world. Blue with green land interrupted occasionally by isolated farms. She watched as the space suit turned gently toward the surface and headed for a flat area with a single yellow light. It was within walking distance of a fair sized farm, but far enough away for a spacecraft to put down without disturbing livestock. Rasheeta waited, studying the surroundings as the space suit gently landed. The farm was automated and she did not see anyone.

"Nobody is answering," Kirby said after about ten minutes. "I will change into my business suit and go look for Sam. Please stay on board and watch."

"Yes, sir," Rasheeta said crisply. She configured the app to show four windows, so she could see the sky and the ground. The rear ramp hummed open.

Rasheeta watched Kirby walking toward the farm in one window and used another to look for people. She saw no one and zoomed in on something buried in a field. It was big and metallic. With a little figuring, she was able to cycle through sensor modes and was soon studying it through transparent soil. It was a space ship, and she could enhance the image to read a word on its side. C A S... An shock of panic shot through her.

"Kirby! Pull out!" she said, her voice trembling. "Cassandra!"

Kirby's business suit turned and strode back toward the ship. Rasheeta rushed to the exit and followed the security robot out. A loud explosion shook the ground and she glanced at her palmtop. Kirby's suit had been blown into chunks of robotic debris in a haze of dirt. Rasheeta ran, ignoring the sound of incoming rockets. Something antenna like extended from the security robot and flashed like lightning, followed by the thunder of rockets exploding in the air above.

She reached Kirby's remains. Movement caught her eye and she saw the head, which lay open like a clam shell. The thing inside looked like a brown, furry ant the size of a baseball, with spindly tentacles for legs and a face, two black eyes and a round, lipless mouth, on its abdomen. As the combat storm flashed and boomed again and the ground vibrated with struggling engine noise, Rasheeta squatted over it and watched the creature pull its limbs out of a row of ports with care. Later, she would think about it. Ming had been right, Kirby was an alien. But now, she had to get him back in his space suit, so they could take off before the Cassandra was free.

She opened her purse invitingly. "Get in!" she said.

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