By A. C. Williams
Etta Mae grimaced at the curtain of cigar smoke at the entrance to the Golden Stars Space Casino. Her worn loafers crunched on the carpet.
My engine room floor is cleaner than these carpets. Where are the janitor droids? She clutched her slot machine tokens. Focus, girl. You have a mission.
She passed the cards, the dice, and the wheels, her gaze set on the slot machines.
Sue and Nel said they were a waste of time and money. Bernie said they were rigged. Gussy said they were of the devil. But the crew didn’t know what Etta Mae did: today was her lucky day.
The yellow vinyl stool creaked as Etta Mae perched on it. She hung her handbag on the provided hook and held up her three chances to prove her theory right.
It was all she could afford with her cut of profits from their last job. Not many people in the system wanted to hire a crew of septuagenarian bounty hunters.
Her crew didn’t appreciate her skill, so today she’d prove her luck.
Etta Mae beamed at one token, the janky one with a scar cutting through its face. How often did a person get a slot machine token like that? It had to be lucky.
A waiter in an ill-fitting white suit approached her with a broad smile, showing off his missing teeth. He was a youngster, probably forty, and wore the most ostentatious blue alligator boots Etta Mae had ever seen. “Welcome to Golden Stars, madam.” Gator Boots bowed. “What are you drinking?”
“Brennevin.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Brennevin?”
“Brennevin. Liquor flavored with dill, carraway, and turmeric.”
“Sounds terrible.”
“It’s disgusting.” Etta Mae handed him a credit. “But it’s lucky.”
Gator Boots stomped off, and Etta Mae focused on the slot machine. She propped the scarred token against the screen; she’d save it for last.
Etta Mae balanced on one foot, humming a Norwegian lullaby as she pushed the first token into the slot and pulled the lever. She held the pose as the screen flared with blinding golden light and displayed three rolling wheels of sunflowers in different stages of blooming.
None of them matched.
Etta Mae let her foot drop. “Drat.”
Something slapped into her ankle.
A round janitor droid slathered her loafers with honey-colored cleaning foam and wiped her dry foot with a wet rag.
“Ew! What are you doing?” She nudged it away.
It spun in a confused circle and bounced off a wall. Its cracked casing was rusty, so grimy that its original golden-yellow chassis had faded to a dull shade of dirty cream.
If this was their cleaning droid, no wonder the floors were nasty.
“Here is your drink, madam.” Gator Boots appeared at her elbow with a small shot of amber-colored alcohol.
Etta Mae took it, wincing in anticipation of its dreadful taste.
Gator Boots pointed to the scarred token. “What’s wrong with that one?”
“It’s lucky.” Etta Mae steadied herself. “I’m saving it for last.” She pinched her nose and threw back the shot. Through the acidic burn, she grappled for the lever.
The machine spun and settled. No matches.
She sighed. “So much for my natural luck.”
But now she could use the scarred token. It was sure to win. She’d show the crew that she had what it took to win.
But the token wasn’t on the machine.
Her stomach flipped.
Not in her pocket or her handbag. Where had it gone?
She turned a panicked circle and spotted Gator Boots running at top speed across the casino floor. “That little turd! He stole my luck!”
Etta Mae leaped off the stool and winced as her sciatica flared with sharp pain down her right leg. Getting old wasn’t for wimps.
How was she going to catch Gator Boots when she couldn’t even stand up straight?
A wet rag against her ankle startled her again. The dirty little janitor droid was back.
“Aha!” Etta Mae snatched the droid off the floor. She flipped it upside down on her stool and popped open its access hatch.
No wonder the droid was so confused. It hadn’t had maintenance since Etta Mae had stopped dyeing her hair.
Her fingers might have been bent with arthritis, but she could still reprogram a droid. In moments, she had reset its scanners to seek and destroy anything obnoxiously blue colored.
She set the droid on the dirty carpet, and it flared to life, yellow lights blinking furiously. It scanned the room and took off like a bullet.
Gator Boots didn’t know what hit him.
The droid knocked his feet out from under him and sprayed cleaning fluid all over the boots, the waiter, and the floor. The crowds shrieked in terror and fled.
Gator Boots couldn’t find purchase in the crunchy carpet, now slick and soapy with cleaning fluids. The dye from his boots had soaked into his pants, and the droid attacked his knees with dual rags like a demented whirligig in a windstorm.
Etta Mae approached at her own pace and grinned. “You have something that belongs to me.”
“Here! Take it!” The waiter threw the token to her. “Get this thing off me!”
Etta Mae scooped up the droid and hit its rusty reset button. Instantly, its angry lights switched off, and it glowed like a neon dandelion.
“What a good little droid.” Etta Mae cradled it under her arm. “You can come home with me.” She shook her finger at the waiter. “Next time you try to scam an old lady, remember this moment.” Etta Mae pocketed the token and strode toward the exit, carrying her new droid friend.
“I thought it was lucky,” Gator Boots whimpered after her.
Etta Mae beamed cheerfully. “Who needs luck when you’ve got skill?”
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