The Basher Brothers

The van crept along the blacktop, the driver peering into the darkened woods, listening to the faint beep coming from the tracker. His passenger squinted at a handheld, occasionally holding it out his window and rotating it slowly.

“Signal’s weaker,” said the passenger, who called himself Billy.

“Battery’s nearly dead,” said the driver, who called himself Bart. “They know better than to leave them out here at full power.”

Billy tapped his fingernails on the screen. “Don’t be shy, little bottie,” he cooed. “The Basher Brothers are going to give you a new life.”

Bart eased to a stop and shut off all the lights. “There,” he cried, the word breaking in two and ending on a falsetto note. He pointed into the trees to a faint red light. “He’ll be dead by the time we get there.”

The boys jumped from the van and jogged carefully through the dark brush, Bart with his toolbox, Billy with his ever-present backpack. It took them a few minutes to find the bot, hidden as it was among a forest of abandoned refrigerators, microwave ovens, flat screens, foam mattresses and the other flotsam of life in the Thirties.

“It’s a toy,” Billy said. “I don’t think it’s a bot at all.”

“He’s a bot alright,” Bart said. He pulled a small metal device with two long probes from his box. “Don’t want to get fried again.” He touched the probes gingerly to the bot. Nothing. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice pitching upward.

The bot stood about four feet tall, rolling on five wheels. Billy dragged a cargo net from his pack and laid it on the ground. The boys carefully tipped the bot into the net and wrapped the ends over their shoulders to create a stretcher. They picked their way through the fallen limbs and rusted metal to the van. They lashed the bot to the walls in the rear, gave each other a gleeful fist bump, and headed to the Bunker.

* * *

The Basher Brothers hunted out of Bart’s grandfather’s bomb shelter the old alzie had built to protect himself from terrorists. Now all he needed protection from were custom care bots running him over in the assisted living facility.

The boys carried the bot awkwardly down the steep staircase and bolted the steel door behind them. Foot-thick concrete walls effectively blocked any wireless signals from coming in or getting out. That was essential for what came next.

Billy climbed into the hot box and helped Bart lower the bot in. The box was a wooden packing crate big enough for a small car with lead-lined walls Bart traded an old Zeus supercomputer for. Billy quickly hooked up the power cable and hi-def line and clambered out. He sealed the box with steel straps and slid into his seat at the console.

“What kind of bot is it?” he asked Bart. “Did you see the colors? It’s all pink and purple.”

“It’s rose and lavender, amigo. Big about five years ago. Don’t see them anymore.”

“So it’s a sexbot? They dressed it up in a tank top and short shorts?”

“Not the right anatomy.”

“It’s the right height.”

“For you maybe.” Bart watched the power levels. “Some kind of home security system. Like a guard dog or something.”

“Maybe a cleaner bot. You can take it home and it’ll vacuum your room for you.”

“Gosh, my mom will love that. Oh, wait, I don’t have a mom.”

“What do you think we’ll get for it?” Billy slipped on headphones.

“Who knows? If it’s got personal info, maybe a thousand. Otherwise, Jimmy’ll give us a couple of hundred if he can do a refurb.”

“I hope he paints it a nice glossy metallic black unless he’s got a nine-year-old girl lined up for it.” Bart pulled the headphones down around his neck and leaned back in the chair. “Don’t you think it was kinda ranked the way we found that bot? We’re just riding around and there it is?”

“A little.” Bart adjusted the sliders. “It happens. We got lucky. For once.”

“Not like last time.”

“It turned out alright.” The boys had got a lead on a tax accountant who put his companion bot in for repairs. They broke into the repair shop to boost the robot but, when Bart tried to move it, the bot knocked him unconscious with a taser blast.

“What did Sylvie think when she saw you glowing like that?”

“She kept saying, ‘Why are you so staticky? Stop shocking me.'”

“You’d think she’d like a little jolt now and then.”

“The only jolt she likes is the one when we get to Vegas with the money Sid gave us,” Bart said. “You gonna take that redhead, chico?”

“Mindy? Don’t think so. She’s not into deviance.” Billy checked the video feed. “When are we going?”

“Next month maybe,” Bart said. “After we see what happens to Sid.”

Sid was the Basher Brothers connection to real criminals, people who paid massive cash for Social Security numbers, tax PINs and credit card info. That’s why they scored the accountant’s bot. Things got rankled when Sid was arrested a week later for drugs.

“Power’s up,” Bart announced. “Watch your monitor.”

“I’m on it.” Billy waited for the boot up.

“Power’s on, screen is live.”

“Ready for data dump.” Billy leaned toward the screen. “Temp is a little high. Everything looks good. Why do you think they bandied this unit?”

“The usual; they got a new one and no one wanted the old one.”

“That’s rankled too. Everyone gets a trade-in these days.”

“I’m in, muchacho,” Bart squealed. “Data is downloading. Looks like coordinates. You got video coming.”

“I see it. Very low rez.” Grainy black and white images wavered in the static. “Whoa, what is that?”

“Weird siggy on this unit,” Bart complained. “Maybe old government issue. Heavy retrofit.”

“Take a look at this.” The image cleared a little to reveal the backs of two men watching television, or maybe two televisions.

Bart leaned across the console. He stared at the monitor. “Duh, stupido, that’s us.”

The boys turned slowly to gaze at the box and then at the monitor.

“How can it see us through the box?” Billy asked.

“Geez-oh-crap,” Bart yelled. “Is it transmitting?”

Billy swiveled back and forth in his chair, looking at the walls and ceiling. “How can a signal get out of here?”

A loud thumping came from the outer door.

Bart jumped out of his chair. “We’ve been set up, compadre. It’s a flippin’ spybot.”

“I told you lavender wasn’t your color.” Billy tore the power cord out of the server and pried open the case with pair of scissors, the first sharp thing he laid his hands on.

“Grab the hard drive and let’s go.” Bart stubbed his toe on a chair and hopped to the rear of the bunker.

“Got it.” Billy slung his backpack over his shoulder and followed his partner. “You gonna torch it?”

“You know it, hombre.” They pulled a shelving unit away from the wall to reveal a metal plate about two feet square and an electronic keypad. Bart handed Billy a crowbar from the shelving unit. Billy worked methodically, popping each of the screws holding the plate. Bart punched a five digit code into the keypad to set the explosives.

The plate clattered to the floor. “We got sixty seconds to get clear,” Bart yelled. They crawled for about ten feet, then were able to baby step their way in a crouch. They bounced off the walls and scraped their heads on the ceiling.

“It’s pitch black in here,” Billy whined. “Are we gonna make it?”

“Stay calm, amigo,” Bart shouted. “We’re almost there.”

Then they were standing in an opening with a metal ladder leading upward. Faint light lingered ten feet above them.

“We’re in the storm sewer,” Bart said. “When we get topside, we’ll be in the street so muy cuidado.”

“A little late for that advice.” There was a bang and a flash behind them, then a rush of heat and smoke. The bashers covered their mouths to stifle the coughing.

Bart climbed up first and pushed on the manhole cover, lifting it only a fraction of an inch. “Why do they make these friggin’ things so heavy?”

“So deviants like us can’t steal them,” Billy said.

Bart wrapped his legs around the ladder and heaved with both hands. The cover lifted and slid out onto the street.

“Don’t run,” Bart said. “Be muy frio.”

They strolled along the side of the road avoiding the streetlamps. Sirens screamed a few blocks away.

“Where should we go?” Billy asked. “There’s that abandoned garage over by Sylvie.”

“No,” Bart said. “We can’t hang here anymore. Our exploits are going to be swirling the cloud in a couple of hours.”

“There’s that mob over in Northdale. They were looking for a couple of hunters.”

“We’re the Basher Brothers not The New Boys in the Burb. We wouldn’t fit in over there.”

“Where then?”

“I got an uncle in Atlantic City. He’ll put us up for few weeks.”

Billy laughed. “What’re we gonna do? Rob casinos?”

“No, we’re gonna switch sides,” Bart said. “People are always losing their bots down there. We’re gonna help get them back — for a fee, of course.”

Billy nodded. “This could be the start of a beautiful relationship.”

“Muy bueno, Renault.” The boys fist bumped.

Billy thrust his arms into the sky and danced a little jig in the street.

“The Legendary Basher Brothers,” he announced to the world.

END