THE SEARCH FOR THE MISSING NEWSDROIDS
by Spam Shovel
I’d had a tough day dealing with a case for the SpyNet organisation, and was looking forward to a long drink and an even longer sleep, when she walked in.
Long dark hair, streaked with white. A dress that clung to her curves, and legs that went on for parsecs.
I recognised her right away - everyone knew that face. It was the face that launched a thousand spaceships. Hazed, the demi-goddess, was in my office. Of all the offices in all the planets in all the galaxy, she had to walk into mine. What did she want with me?
“Are you Shovel?” she asked, glaring at me angrily. I flinched, wondering if I’d done anything to upset her. She had a reputation for turning people who displeased her into small greasy smears on the carpet.
“Spam Shovel, at your service, your demi-goddessness,” I replied, trying not to show my fear.
“I’ve heard you’re the best damned PI in the system,” she challenged me.
I looked at her, smugly modest. She was right. I had solved the case of the Martian falcon, the mystery of the black cat in the night, and the riddle of the dancing droids.
“I have a certain reputation,” I replied. “What can I do for you, your scrumptiousness?”
She softened under my flattery. I knew how to get the ladies to like me, even if they were the second most powerful person in the galaxy.
“All of my newsdroids are missing,” she said. “There’s supposed to be an issue of the Fed2 Star today, but none of them have returned from their vacation. I need you to find them.”
This was intriguing. I usually avoided missing persons cases: errant spouses, runaway children and thieving employees were beneath someone of my skills and more suited to your average, run of the mill PI. But finding the lady’s pack of newsdroids could be fun.
Besides, how could I refuse the demi-goddess? This was a broad who wouldn’t take “no” for an answer.
“So tell me more,” I invited. “You say they went on vacation but haven’t come back. Where did they go?” Actually I knew the answer to that question - it had been in the last issue of the Fed2 Star, but I wanted to hear it in her own words.
“They all went off together,” she explained. “There’s this new droid health spa on one of the exclusive vacation asteroids. This one was called Hamburga - stupid name if you ask me but it looked like a high-end operation. They showed me the brochure.” She tossed the brochure for the joint onto my desk.
“The deal was that they’d be given the full works for free, all the treatments, pampering and makeovers, and then they’d write something up for the Star about how great the place is.”
I flipped through the glossy booklet. She was right - it was a real classy joint. There were no prices, it was the kind of place where if you had to ask how much it cost, you couldn’t afford it.
“They were supposed to report back to office two days ago,” she continued. “I returned from my own vacation and expected to find them all in the Fed2 Star office, working hard on the new issue of the paper, but the place was deserted.”
“So what did you do then?” I quizzed her.
“I tried to comm the resort on Hamburga, of course, but I couldn’t get through. They ignored my tightbeam messages - ignored me, dammit! Don’t they know who I am?”
A look of fury crossed her face. I flinched, even though it wasn’t aimed at me: the lady had a notorious temper and innocent bystanders had been known to get scorched in the past when she let rip.
She got herself back under control. “So, Shovel, will you find out where my missing newsdroids are? I can’t possibly publish the news on my own.”
I didn’t say what I was thinking: that once upon a time she had been quite capable of writing news stories without the help of any droids, but that she’d gotten lazy, and that perhaps it would do her good to have to lift one of her perfectly manicured fingers and do some work for a change.
Instead, I told her what she wanted to hear. “I’ll take the case, your superlativeness,” I said. “I’ll find your missing droids.”
“Thank you, Shovel. I’ll expect a report from you by the end of the week.” She threw a bundle of megagroat notes down on the desk. “Here’s a retainer for expenses. You’ll get your fee when you succeed.”
That’s always the way. Still, it keeps me incentivized.
And so I embarked on the case that would turn out to be the trickiest one of my career: the search for the missing newsdroids.
Tune in next week to find out what happened!
