Tiki

An Earth tourist on an alien world buys an unfortunate souvenir.

Tiki


“That’s a curious thing,” I remarked, picking the 6-inch figurine from amongst a table of otherworldly collectibles. Touring the streets of Orvilon, I’d stumbled upon a local bazaar, and the packed alien flea-market was exactly what I was looking for on holiday.

I turned the statuette over, studying its craftmanship - like a little tiki man, only from outer space. A pearlescent grimace glaring over four arms tucked tightly into its chest, two obsidian eyes stared back at me. “How much?” I asked.

“Huh,” the alien vendor huffed, snatching it away. “Don’t remember this one.” Adjusting his optics, he explained, “I’m not sure I can part with such an exquisite item, unless...”

“Unless the price is right,” I knew.

“You Earthers are smarted than you look,” he winked, handing the item back. “20,000 tekgulies.”

About seventy-five bucks. “Sold,” I agreed, and he wrapped it in paper and twine.

Continuing down the aisle, I heard, “We need to leave,” whispered from behind me. Not thinking much of it, I skirted past a group of Enforcers – the planet’s cybernetic lawmen. They stood motionlessly in a circle, silently exchanging information. Then, I heard again, “We really need to go,” this time more desperately.

Suddenly, the area’s lighting shifted red, a booming mechanical voice announcing, “Zonal lockdown. Proceed to the nearest checkpoint for inspection.”

“Great,” the mysterious voice lamented.

“What is that?” I questioned, glancing all around. “Where are you?”

“In your pack, useless Earther.”

Dozens of hovering probes dropped into the crowd, slender arms projecting a virtual image that looked almost exactly like the little tiki I’d bought earlier. Below its likeness, scrolled, “Wanted – Microassassination Thrall – Series Theta – For the unlawful termination of the Omaj of Reltan.”

“Is…is that you?” I marveled, turning the nearest corner into the shadows. Pulling the object I’d bought from my bag, I unwrapped and set the thing down upon a nearby ledge. Legs and arms extended, transforming into a far more slender, almost gracile little white robot. “Did you kill someone?”

“I merely fulfilled the contact as agreed,” it answered. “The Omaj of Reltan was a ruthless despot who had enslaved countless billions.”

“And that makes it okay?”

“Okay is irrelevant,” the robot replied. “He was in violation of his agreement, which compelled me to obey my programming.”

“So, you feel nothing about what you did?”

The little thing leaned in. “Do they not have robots on your world, useless Earther?”

“Of course they do,” I replied, “but our robots help us.”

“Like defending your planet and guarding your dignitaries?”

“Well, sure, but…”

“Sounds like they kill people to me.” A security probe passed the nearest intersection. “You need to smuggle me out.”

“I should turn you in.”

“Not if you value your life,” it remarked, and a chill ran down my spine. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to completely power down.”

“I could turn you in when you’re deactivated.”

“I would escape, as I always do, and my ‘no-loose-ends’ directive would immediately make you the next target on my list.” The thought was chilling, so I reluctantly agreed. As the bot tucked itself away, it said, “I’ll be seeing you.”

Nervously, I rewrapped my purchase, placing it back into my bag, before heading for one of the nearest checkpoints.

“Identity?” the Enforcer on point asked, scanning my visa-chip. “Peterson? What kind of name is that? Sounds made-up,” he chided. Next, a beam shot from his arm and inspected me fully. “No energy sources detected,” it noted. “What’s in the sack?”

“Just souvenirs.”

“Let’s see ‘em.” He dumped my bag onto a nearby table. Picking through it with a thin rod, he asked, “What’s this?” prodding the wrapped curiosity from my assortment.

“Back home, they call it a tiki. They’re supposed to be good luck.”

“Right,” The cyborg doubted, noting the line behind me growing. “Alright, get outta here,” he commanded, and I eagerly complied.

Several blocks away, opening my pack must have triggered a reactivation sequence. “Are we clear?” my package asked.

“Clear enough.”

“Excellent. I owe you a debt.”

“That’s not necessary.” I just wanted to be free of the thing.

“My programming compels it,” it explained. “For your service to me, I shall now be of service to you, until you regrettably reconsider this agreement. Besides, I no longer have a master for whom to serve.”

“What happened to him?”

“He died.”

“How?”

“Killed by an assassin droid.”

“Let me guess,” I grimaced, almost afraid of the answer.

“The Omaj of Reltan, of course.”