A FAVOR FOR A FELLOW ADMIRER

The Scrapster man's eyes darted between the three of them and the pile of scrap. The wind whipped up clouds of red dust that spun and petered out as quickly as they started. He took a deep breath and growled.

"The bot," he said. "It's a newer model. I'd just like to know why it's so beat up. It makes me angry that fine Scrapster work is in such sad shape."

"Oh, uh, we're not exactly sure. We found it while out scavenging."

"Really? Tch. Probably abandoned by some cheapskates who didn't want to pay for repairs."

His shoulders dropped, and his grin widened. "My apologies! I'm still working on my temper." He motioned to the hut. "Please, let's get that bot inside and look at it. You're wanting to sell it, correct?"

Tereine nodded. "Aye, that's the plan."

She followed the giant man into his hut, with Albany close behind.

Milo's heart pounded in his chest, and he took a moment to breathe deeply through his nose. The pain in his right hand made him realize he'd been gripping the collar of his suit, his thumb poised to mash the two-way radio button. Slowly, he lowered his hand to his waist and exhaled.

"Milo? Everything all right?"

Albany poked her head back out. He waved a hand at her.

"Coming! Sorry, the heat's getting to me."

"Well, it's a lot cooler inside, so come on in!"

Milo walked about halfway to the door and stopped. A dull pain formed in his wrist, right in the center of the diamond. He grasped the diamond.

(Behind you.)

His eyes narrowed, and he whipped around.

But nothing was there. Just the empty clearing and some knocked over trash cans. His shoulders tensed, the hairs standing on end as he scanned the distance. He shook his head and turned to head inside.

(What exactly was that? It sounded like Lucianna's voice, but…)

(I guess it was nothing.)

***

There was a saying back on Earth: what one saw as messy, another saw as spotless.

Heaps of parts were piled wherever an open space was available: the floor, the tables. Nets bulging with cogs and wires hung from the ceiling. A pungent mix of oil and grease hung in the air and stuck to everything. The building possessed a certain newness to it, but a thin layer of dust had gathered on some of the scrap piles while cobwebs formed in the ceiling corners. Milo sneezed, groaning.

The big man sat at a workbench, comparatively clear from piles of scrap. He reached into a compartment under his workbench and produced a toolbox and some papers covered in dark stains. He grunted.

"Lucky for me I just finished cleaning the place up! I wasn't expecting customers today, so I took some time to tidy."

Tereine pursed her lips, her eyes scrutinizing every pile, every speck of dust, every oil stain. Her hands clenched and unclenched, the fingers on her right hand twitching with the urge to clean. Albany placed a hand on hers and gave her a look. Tereine rolled her eyes.

"It's a nice place. Spotless!" Albany said.

The Scrapster puffed out his chest. "I take pride in my work. Name's Krol, by the way."

"I'm Tereine. This is Albany, and that's Milo."

"A pleasure. Now…"

Krol rose and stomped over to the pallet with the robot. He hunched over, squinting his eyes as he studied the gaping hole in the robot's head. Mumbling to himself, he turned his attention to the robot's mid-section. He dragged his fingers through his magnificent beard.

"This model is supposed to have four arms. Do you have the other two?"

"Aye, afraid not. Will that bring down the resell value?"

"Not much. After all, parts are parts."

He pulled a small flashlight from his toolbox and shone it into the robot's chest cavity.

As Krol continued his evaluation, Milo wandered around the shop. It seemed Krol lived alone. A roll-up bed mat lay in a corner next to a table. A plate of half-eaten food sat next to a yellowed sheet of parchment. Tilting his head, Milo peaked over his shoulder. Krol continued to examine and discuss with Tereine, paying no mind to him.

He grabbed the paper and unfolded it. The writing was in a language Milo didn't understand, but everything was written in an elegant print.

(Whoever wrote this must be very refined and dainty. A lover, maybe?)

Something fell out of the letter. Raising an eyebrow, he stooped down to retrieve it.

(Is this…?)

He picked up a double-sided card with a picture on either side. Each picture moved as if they were alive.

The Scrapster woman on the card stood in a proud pose, flexing one of her biceps, smiling as her white hair tumbled down to her waist. Her eyes shined and glimmered like gems on a sunny day. Something hot itched at Milo's groin.

(I'm kind of scared of Scrapsters, but she's really pretty. This guy's lucky to…)

He flipped the card onto its other side. His heart skipped a beat.

On the first side, the woman dressed in battle armor that exposed her midriff, displaying her sharp abs in all their glory. On the second side…

(ARE THESE THE SCRAPSTER VERSION OF NUDES???)

Krol burst into laughter, and Milo nearly dropped the photo. He peaked over his shoulder, but Krol, Tereine, and Albany happily chatted and laughed amongst themselves.

Shaking his head, Milo returned the two-sided photo to its resting spot inside the letter. He lifted the second page.

His eyes narrowed.

While he couldn't read the language, Milo noticed that, while most words looked like cursive hieroglyphics, there was a repeating word that he thought he vaguely recognized: Krol, the Scrapster of this shop. That made sense, seeing as this letter was probably addressed to him.

What Milo struggled to grasp, as his breathing caught in his chest, was that the sender, whose name they had printed boldly at the end of the letter, seemed to read, "Rivra."

"It's rude to rummage through another's belongings."

A giant hand plucked the letter and photo from his grip, and Milo wheeled around to face the towering Krol. The Scrapster chuckled, admiring the photo card before tucking it and the letter away in his apron.

"Clumsy me. I shouldn't have left that out. You probably got an eyeful, didn't you?" He smiled, revealing his sharp teeth. "I can tell you're an admirer of the female form, aren't you? Can't say I blame you for gawking at such a lovely piece!"

"O-oh, yeah…She's, uh, something else!"

"Well, if you liked that one, get a load of these!"

He retrieved a large, three-ring binder bound in leather from underneath the side table. The binder was in pristine condition, well taken care-of, and as Krol cracked it open, he waggled his brow at Milo.

"Proud to say I have the finest collection of Scrapettes in the whole universe!"

Within the binder lay rows upon columns of two-sided cards. Each Scrapster woman stunned Milo with their raw beauty and power. Some of them flexed well-toned muscles, others, like him, had more rounded features. Without fail, however, each time Krol flipped to the opposite side, Milo faced a sea of varying nude beauties waving and blowing kisses at him. His cheeks burned as if he had a fever.

"Well, what do you think? Pretty great, right?"

"O-oh yeah! Absolutely! So many…uh…"

"Beautiful women, yes? Here, I have a few extra copies of some of them, why do I give you some of my favorites?"

"Oh, you really don't—"

"Nonsense! It's not every day I get to share my little hobby with someone! I can tell you really enjoy them!"

(Is that what my face is saying? Good lord…)

As promised, Krol fished out a handful of Scrapette cards and handed them to Milo. He winked.

"Keep them safe! It's hard to come by these cards so far away from Scrapstar!"

Krol patted Milo on the head and scooted him back toward the bench, where Albany and Tereine both cocked an eyebrow at Milo. He avoided their gazes.

Krol leaned against the table and beamed at the crew.

"Well, normally I'd only pay out about fifty percent of market value for scrap. But because your matey here has such fine taste in women, I'll up it to fifty-five percent!"

Tereine's jaw dropped. "Fifty-five? Most places only do thirty-five to forty! Are you sure?"

Krol clapped Milo on the shoulder.

"I'm positive! Gets kinda lonely out here, and meeting a fellow admirer is a treat!"

Albany squinted her eyes at Milo, mouthing "What is he talking about?" Milo shrugged and ducked his head.

"Well, if you say so. We'll gladly accept."

"It's a deal, then. I'll grab the credits and write up the paperwork."

He returned to his bench and fished around in the drawer until he pulled out a small card and a stack of invoices.

Tereine wrapped an arm around Milo's shoulder, her chest pushing against his face. A refreshing pine scent wafted inside his nose.

"I don't know what you did, but I'm glad Faith sent you along!"

Milo chuckled. "I-I didn't really do anything…"

A knock came at the door. Krol's brow knitted together, and he stopped writing.

"Why always when I'm busy?" He lifted his head. "Come in!"

The door opened.

The dull pain in Milo's wrist returned.

(Run, Milo! Run!)

Three armored guards entered the shop. Their tongues flicked and tasted the air, their eyes darting around. Their leader strode into the shop, hands behind her back. She beamed as if she owned the place. Milo gulped.

(It's the woman from the gate!)

"Ah, Grandmaster Des. How may I help you?"

The lizard woman passed by Milo, only pausing long enough to flick her yellow eyes in his direction. A hint of a smile played at her lips, but it quickly disappeared as she closed the space between her and Krol. She cleared her throat.

"Krol, was it? I've received word that you've been dealing with criminals. And as the ruler of this fine merchant town, I can't have that."

Krol cocked his head back. "Criminals? I do no such business. I buy scrap and fix people's bots. Just as our contract dictates."

"Ah, yes, you have been a very good boy, following the contract and whatnot." She wheeled around, her eyes pinning Milo to his spot. "That was until today."

Krol looked over at Milo. He laughed. "Him? A criminal?! He's so puny! He couldn't possibly get up to any mischief!"

Tereine stood between Milo and Des, crossing her arms.

"We're just customers trying to sell scrap. What'd we do wrong?"

Des looked down her nose at Tereine. "That's such a nice bot you brought in here." She jabbed a thumb at the pile of scrap. "And, oddly enough, it matches the description of a missing bot some of my contemporaries lost in Sector 707 only a few days ago."

"A coincidence! We salvaged this bot out in Sector 703!"

The lizard woman's smile grew wide, revealing rows of tiny, needle-like fangs. That sweet, decaying musk rolled from her breath. It took all of Milo's willpower not to gag.

"Why come here? All the way across the galaxy? Besides…"

She hooked a claw into the robot's halved face plate and pulled it up. Someone had scribbled a string of numbers along the inside of the plate. Tereine's eyes narrowed as her mouth froze into a small o.

"See this serial number? The Scrapsters recently started adding these. Gotta have a way to track bots in case their internal tracking software gets tampered with. Your crew must have a pretty talented engineer to pull that off."

"What's your point? Are we under arrest?"

"Hm? Oh, no. I have no proof you're the criminals who broke this bot. But…"

She whipped around and snatched up the invoice Krol had been working on.

"Ah, as I suspected." She flipped the paper around, revealing the page to be blank. "Now, why would you leave this page blank, Krol? How are your superiors supposed to know about this bot if you don't fill out the invoice?"

Krol's eyes widened. He flew out of his chair, the wooden stool clattering to the floor. Des held up a finger.

"Now, now, Krol. If I'm not mistaken, your king wants peace between our people. That's why he offered a traitor like you to work for me. Mean you are mine to punish as I see fit."

He snapped his mouth shut and hung his head. Des laughed.

"Now, sit down."

One of Des's guards righted the stool and pushed it toward Krol, who plopped back down.

Des turned back to the group, regarding them with icy eyes. "We govern ourselves here, and my people have fought for thousands of years to cultivate what little peace and prosperity we possess. Understand, it's nothing personal. But I'll have to make an example out of you, Krol."

Her guards drew their rifles and shoved the barrels into Krol's head. Tereine crossed her arms.

"How're you going to do that? Scrapster skin is impenetrable!"

Des licked her lips. "Tell me, since you seem so well-traveled…do you know what my people originally did? How we made our living? We weren't much different from the Scrapsters. We broke our tails mining ore from the Great Mountain that overlooks Coalwatch. They say the prized ore deep inside the mine shafts can make metal strong enough to pierce Scrapster skin."

Albany threw a hand over her own mouth.

"That can't be…"

Milo gripped his wrist so hard his fingers turned white. The pain in his wrist turned red hot and burned his forearm.

(GET OUT OF THERE, MILO! YOU NEED TO RUN!)

(Why do I keep hearing your voice, Lucianna? What does it mean?)

His eyes flicked to Krol, and their eyes met. Any sign of anger fizzled into a sadness that Milo recognized all too well. Krol seemed scary at first, but once they sat and talked to him a bit, he seemed like a decent guy. Even after Milo had snooped through his private things. And he seemed to know Rivra, somehow.

Des raised her hand. Her guards rested their fingers on the triggers of their guns.

"Wait."

Des turned her head toward Milo.

"Something you want to say, little boy?"

Milo swallowed a lump in his throat and looked the lizard woman in her yellow eyes. His leg muscles twitched and shivered. A fine layer of sweat formed on the back of his hands as he took a deep breath.

"Let him live."

"Oh? But he's a criminal. He deserves punishment. I could only spare him if someone took his place…"

Tereine shot Milo a glance, but he focused solely on holding Des's gaze. His legs shook and everything felt hot and cold. The room spun around him, but he clenched his fists and stood straight.

"I'll do it. I'll trade places with him."

Des's lips creeped into an impossibly wide smile. She motioned at her guards, and they lowered their weapons. Krol looked at Milo.

"Why? You don't even know me!"

"Silence." Des turned back toward Milo and slunk toward him. A shiver ran up his calves as she closed the distance between them and took his chin in one of her scaly hands.

She unfurled her tongue and dragged it along Milo's cheek. That hot, rotten stink washed over him, overwhelming his senses. The sting of acid rose in his throat.

"Hey," Albany said, "get away from him!"

She retracted her tongue, a line of saliva trailing between her and Milo before snapping midway. Smacking her lips, she clapped her hands.

"Krol, get these ladies their credits. They're free to go."

"We're not leaving without Milo!"

They tried to move in, but the guards, lightning-fast, held their rifles at each of their heads. Des harrumphed, and she circled around, resting her chest against Milo's back, her arms draping over his shoulders. She lowered her head and lapped at Milo's ear with her long tongue. He scrunched his shoulders together, his stomach rolling and twisting.

She leveled her gaze with Tereine and Albany, bearing her needle-like fangs.

"You will take your credits and leave."

She drew circles into Milo's chest with one of her talons.

"Little Milo belongs to me now."