I didn’t really have anyone besides Mandy here, and a fresh batch of the gas pumps into the room as the ship seems to sense the mood in the room shift, but I will miss Matt, the guy with the long beard who makes my cappuccino at Starbucks every morning. Or is his name Mark?
Rolanda doesn’t take it as well. “What?” she asks, rolling her sleeves up her thick forearms as she stands up. She glares at the robot as the little nozzle that’s sticking out of the wall begins pouring gas into the room like a fire hose.
It’s too much even for a tough one like Rolanda. She slumps to the floor as I close my eyes dreaming about cleaning pineapples.
***
Tin Tom is standing over me as I open my groggy eyes. “Good daytime to you, earthling women,” he says again. I have no idea how long I was out. There are no windows in this room and even if there was the sun is millions of light years away. It might have already exploded. Or imploded. Whatever it was that gave me nightmares as a child after learning on Bill Nye the Science Guy that the sun was going to be gone one day.
“Ah,” I say sadly when it sinks in. “Bill Nye is long dead.”
Mandy shakes her head. “Yeah, so is my dog and all of my family. But Bill Nye. Let’s not forget about him.”
Mandy’s getting agitated. I think we need more pineapple/bleach. Right on cue it comes pumping out of the little gas nozzle sticking out of the wall and I instantly feel better.
Tin Tom blinks. “How about that hip music? Isn’t it great?”
“What music?” I ask, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
“Shirley Temple,” Tin Tom says in a crackly voice. “Rudy Vallee. What a hunk!”
“What are you even talking about?” I ask, shaking my head. “Do you have some wires loose or something? Did someone spill a glass of water on you?”
Tin Tom just blinks his lights. “Tom is programmed to be relatable to the young breeding-aged generation. He makes pop culture references to make you feel at ease in his presence.”
“Shirley Temple?” I ask in disbelief. “Why are your pop culture references from the nineteen thirties?”
“Tom was programmed eighty years ago,” he continues. “How about those Brooklyn Robins baseball sport team? Baseball batting is my favorite earthling sport. What about Babe Ruth? What a hunk!”
“Can you just leave us alone?” I beg, rubbing my throbbing temples.
He doesn’t listen. “I sense that you are irate. Humans enjoy comfort when they are irate.” A panel opens from his side and a metal claw buzzes as it unfolds out. He smacks my head hard three times. “There. There.”
“Leave her alone,” Rolanda says, giving him a kick that sends him rolling across the room. Did I mention that I like this chick?
But he’s a persistent one. He rolls back over, blinking his lights as if nothing happened. “You look extremely beauteous this day. Would you like pancakes?”
My stomach growls at the mention of pancakes and it’s right then and there that I realize that we haven’t eaten since we’ve been on the ship. I did eat some popcorn in the movie theater but we’ve been on this ship for over twenty-four hours at least. Come to think of it I haven’t gone to the bathroom either. None of us has.
“I want pancakes,” I say, shooting my arm into the air. All of the women follow, sticking their hands in the air too like the teacher just asked an easy question and is about to get to the hard ones next.
“My apologies,” Tin Tom says. “We’re all out of pancakes.”
Rolanda huffs out a breath. “Then why did you-”
“Would you like France toast?” Tin Tom asks, interrupting my mixed martial artist friend.
“Yes!” we all spit out at the same time.
“My apologies,” Tin Tom says. “We’re all out of France Toast.”
The women just glare at the tin piece of crap. We’re not amused. It’s one thing to kidnap us from our friends and families and rocket us to the other side of the galaxy but it’s crossing a line when you tease us with food.
Rolanda stands up with her chest heaving out angry breaths. “I’m going to kick your metal face in if you don’t get away from me this second.”
Tin Tom doesn’t know when to stop. He rolls right up to Rolanda, within swinging distance, and blinks his lights at her. “I sense that you are irritable this day.”
She just glares down at the robot. “Ya think?”
Tin Tom blinks and a hiss fills the room as more gas begins pumping out of the nozzle.
“Not this time,” Rolanda says, lunging at it and grabbing the nozzle in her strong hands.
“Please unhand that at once,” Tin Tom says, rolling towards her. “That is an organic desideratum compound. Constructed to fill all of your biological needs during space travel. You are not authorized to touch that.”
“Fine,” Rolanda says as she slaps her hands together and sits back down. The nozzle is bent in half. No more pineapple/bleach gas for us.
A red light on the wall flickers on and off. The pineapple/bleach smell of the gas begins to wear off and my stomach starts growling with hunger.