The Heart is a Spare Part

I realized the town was too quiet just when I reached Gyrocore’s outskirts. No rust-bucket kids running loose, no cyber-centaurs lined up outside the saloon. It seemed I was the only bot on the street, my steel feet corroded after the long stroll from the train station.

Until the Moboz Boyz burst out of town’s every steam vent, all fifty of them. Seemed the whole gang was here. They’d come for a purpose, and I knew they weren’t aiming to rob me; I was a scrapheap on two legs, only extraneous bit being a ten-gallon sensor-hat, to help my perspective. That perspective told me who was behind this ambush before the sun shined off his chrome.

Jagger-9000 stood behind the Moboz Boyz, top hat whirring, a platinum monocle seated at his eye, torso thrumming with extraneous gizmos out his mecha-wazoo. Those doo-dads must’ve cost a fortune, making him one with his riches.

We had history. Troubled history.

I’d been his bodyguard once, before I realized he was dirty. He was supposed to pay me so I could quit, but he wouldn’t let me go. That data was easy to download; seeing him every day on Gyrocore’s streets was hard. Ours became your average “This town ain’t big enough for the both of us” situation.

After clanging noggins enough, we mutually agreed to expand the town. He funded; I built. We added the playground, library, and dramatic theater. Town shack grew into town hall. Part of me became fond of him, and I didn’t need my sensor-hat to see the good he could do when he wanted.

But a scoundrel’s a scoundrel, even when you love him. Not long after Gyrocore’s upgrade, I headed back east to help my MotherBoard fend off some robo-cattle rustlers. A slow journey there and back for a bot of my means.

While I’d been traveling, miserly subsystems prodded Jagger-9000 to ponder all the money he could make from taxing Gyrocore’s new hardware, and there was no sheriff bot to stop him.

The news found me on the road from Mom’s: Exorbitant library fees. Cyber-centaur parking permits. Little rust-buckets being shaken down and thrown off the playground. Really got my gears. Turned out my heart was leaning toward a bad bot after all. Story of my love life.

Now, he adjusted his monocle. “You should’ve stayed east.”

“You should’ve stayed decent,” I said evenly, despite being surrounded by the Moboz Boyz. “We built this town together, partner. Don’t that mean nothing?”

Jagger-9000 got my meaning. “Check your heart’s radiator, RZ-D. Seems it’s overheating again. I keep mine cool with all my new internal tech, but the gang here?” His hands waved his ruffians to charge. “You’ll like them—they run hot!”

I hadn’t expected he’d hire help. He never paid a scrap that he owed me, so I couldn’t see him paying the Moboz Boyz to grind me down.

But grind they did. They bolted themselves together into one giant, hundred-armed, hundred-legged mechani-pede and stomped every heel onto my scrapheap body. Blue screens of imminent demise nearly overloaded my processor. Only my sensor-hat kept me lucid.

“Don’t shut him down completely,” Jagger-9000 said. “Just downgrade him enough to make an example.”

A bot can lose a lot of things before shutdown. The Moboz Boyz might’ve aimed to take my sensor-hat, seeing I didn’t need it. They could really bust my radiator, leaving my heart to overheat and warp. It was a good heart, and I’d hate to need a replacement. My heart is why I ever gave Jagger-9000 a second chance. He didn’t need the Moboz Boyz to bust that anyhow—in his way, he’d already broken it.

But with the Boyz busy beating me, they hadn’t looted my sensor-hat yet. I could still see the decent bot I loved in Jagger-9000. Likewise, I saw the miserly bot he’d let himself become once more.

I wrenched my dented head off the ground and said, “Surprised you got your money in advance.”

The mechani-pede quit stomping. “What you mean?” The Moboz Boys buzzed in unison.

“Never saw a scrap myself.”

The mechani-pede turned to Jagger-9000. “You a cheat?”

Jagger-9000 rotated his monocle. “Gentlemen, I assure you my credit is pristine.”

“Credit?” The mechani-pede’s hundred fists clenched. “Hey, this cruelty ain’t free. Pay up!”

Jagger-9000 tapped his pockets. An echo rang through his core. “I’ve not a scrap on me, Boyz, but we can settle up tomorrow.”

The Moboz Boyz split into their fifty individual bots and surrounded Jagger-9000. “Naw, we settle up now.” They fixed their sights on his chest, where expensive gizmos thrummed. “Looks like you got plenty on you.”

I didn’t watch, only listened to Jagger-9000’s electro-shrieking. Once the Moboz Boyz looted their pay, they ditched Gyrocore post-haste, forgetting the job they’d been brought in to do. I stood up, dirty and dented, but no worse for wear.

Couldn’t say the same for Jagger-9000. The Boyz had taken everything he didn’t need to function—top-hat, platinum monocle, gizmos, even his mecha-wazoo. He was a downgraded scrapheap with two legs, not an extraneous bit to him.

“That was my fortune,” he said. “I’m ruined.”

“Not ruined,” I said. I snapped the sensor-hat off my head and handed it over. “Seems you could use a bit of perspective.”

He took it, pondered its function, and then stuck it where his top hat used to sit.

I offered my hand, and he took that, too. We stood side-by-side, surveying the town we’d built. With the Moboz Boyz vanished into the horizon, the bot-folk were coming out: little rust-buckets running loose, cyber-centaurs heading for the saloon. All was right in Gyrocore once more.

I thought Jagger-9000 could see it too, maybe for the first time. At that moment, I was fixing to give my heart a reboot.

“Care for an oil change?” I asked, pointing to the saloon.

His exhaust vents blew out a sigh. “I’m sorry, RZ-D. Maybe I’d be a better bot if I had your heart.”

My chest’s radiator steamed. “Partner, you already got that.”

© 2021 Hailey Piper

About the Author

Hailey Piper is the author of Unfortunate Elements of My Anatomy and The Worm and His Kings. Her short fiction appears in Daily Science Fiction, Dark Matter Magazine, The Arcanist, and elsewhere. She’s a member of the HWA, and she lives with her wife in Maryland, where the robots love Old Bay. Find her at www.haileypiper.com or on Twitter via @HaileyPiperSays.