By Jeff Gard
“Padre,” says the outlaw next to me at the bar. “I need yer help.”
Gold glints at the corners of his mouth. He reeks of trail dust, manure, sweat, and tobacco. The bartender bot drifts toward the till and a silent alarm. The conversations around us grow quieter.
“This isn’t a confessional.” Whiskey burrows into my stomach.
He leans in closely, conspiratorially. “Listen, I need an exorcism.”
The outlaw drops a sack of gold on the counter between us.
I finish my drink. “My specialty.”
***
The outlaw pushes the creaking hotel room door open and points a shaky finger toward the bed, where eyes glow in the darkness. The part of my soul that still believes tightens its claws around my skepticism. Demons don’t exist, can’t exist, and yet…
Then my eyes adjust. It’s just a grimy droid stretched out on the bed.
“Are you here to cast out my demons?” the droid asks cheerfully. “Spectacular!”
I sigh. “Demons don’t possess machines.”
“This thing is pretending to be a man.” The outlaw licks the corner of his mouth. “What could be more demonic than that?”
It doesn’t matter what I believe. A few phrases in Latin, some holy water, and I’ll have enough gold to move to the central cities where a man can easily shed his identity. Some new clothes and I can be anyone I want.
“Okay. I’ll do it,” I say.
“Before you cleanse it, make sure the demon tells you the location of the Santa Maria.”
I’ve heard tales of the colony ship that crashed eons ago on this world. Most of what’s been spun is just campfire talk of untold riches buried in the hull. If the Santa Maria ever existed, surely it’s turned to dust by now.
A simulated cough echoes in the droid’s hollow mouth. “Excuse me, but I’m a fully autonomous AI in a humanoid shell. I have all the emotions you do, but no pain receptors. I also have a name, Prospector.”
The outlaw licks his lips. “See what I mean? Possessed.”
I turn to Prospector. “Do you really know the location of the Santa Maria?”
Its eyes gleam. “I do, but I’m more interested in this exorcism. Will it improve my sense of navigation?”
I eye the outlaw, then nod toward the door. “Exorcism is a dangerous activity. I’m going to have to ask you to wait in the hall, friend.”
“But,” sputters the outlaw, “the information.”
I smile. “Trust me, ye of little faith.”
The outlaw squints suspiciously. “Okay. I’ll leave, but I’ll not go far. This here demon belongs to me. I found it. What it knows is rightfully mine.”
“Of course.”
As soon as he leaves, Prospector says, “Okay. Let me have it. My body is waterproof, so the holy water shouldn’t damage any circuits.”
“Listen. We both know you aren’t possessed, but I need a change of scenery, and you probably don’t want to be tied up by every half-wit between here and Laredo. So, play along. Give me whatever coordinates you want. We can split the fee, and we’ll both be on our way.”
Prospector drops its synthetic head on the pillow. “This is so disappointing. I was hoping for at least a little bit of Latin. Nobody speaks Latin anymore, not even in the name of God.”
I pull a scrib from my pocket and flip through a few screens. “In nomine patris ego praecipio tibi ut discedas.”
“Your Latin is terrible.”
“I’m using a translator.”
“It’s butchering the language.” Prospector flexes its mechanical fingers. “Perhaps we could switch spots. My Latin is impeccable.”
“Keep your voice down,” I hiss. “That moron in the hall doesn’t understand Latin. Now play your part.”
Prospector’s eyes brighten. “Of course. How silly of me. Continue.”
“Relinque vasculum spiritus immunditi!”
“Please, no. Dear God, no,” Prospector says halfheartedly. “I must have this sweet vessel for my home.”
“Could you at least try?”
Prospector’s voice drops several octaves. “This vessel is my chosen instrument to wreak destruction on the planet!”
Prospector’s eyes turn red as it thrashes around, snapping the headboard in half and freeing one arm. It flings pieces of wood at my head. A few seconds later, it breaks the rest of its bonds.
The outlaw charges into the room and ducks as a lamp hurls in his direction. Prospector crouches on the bed, snarling and tearing up the sheets.
“PULVIS CHRISTI TE HORTATUR!” I pull out a bottle with a cross emblazoned across the front. “RECEDITE SPIRITUS NEQUAM!”
Prospector cackles madly. “Foolish mortals. I’ll never surrender. I will kill both of you!”
Uncorking the bottle, I splash liquid on its flailing limbs as it shrieks, “NOOOOO. NOT THE HOLY WATER!”
A moment later, Prospector falls back on the bed, eyes dimming.
“Did you ask him about the location of the Santa Maria?” Sweat beads the outlaw’s pockmarked forehead.
Prospector lifts its head. “Oh, yeah. I almost forgot about that. Go out to the Esperanza River just past the town of Silver Springs. You’ll find an abandoned mining barge there. From that point, head due west about three days’ journey into the desert. The Santa Maria lies buried in the sand in the shadow of a rock shaped like a crow.”
The outlaw tips his hat and tosses me the sack of coins. “Nice job, Padre.”
As soon as he leaves, Prospector turns to me and points to the wet marks splotched across its synthetic chest. “Your holy water looks suspiciously like whiskey.”
“It’ll burn away your sins, all the same.” I pocket the bottle. “Where did you send that man?”
“Where angels fear to tread,” Prospector says brightly. “A nest of used electro-steed salesmen.”
I spill the coins between us. “There’s good money in this exorcism business. You know, there are plenty of opportunities between here and Laredo.”
Prospector picks up gold coins one at a time. “We’ll need to work on your Latin.”
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Very clever! This exorcist sounds like he could be the main character in a cool adventure novel. Also, nice Latin title!
This was great! I’d like to see stories about their further adventures.
Ooh! Incensepunk!
Clever! I hope there’s more to come!