Droid Dealer
A Sandbox Earth Story
New To Gibberish? Check out this Navigation Page!
This story is set in the Sandbox Earth Universe and features some recurring characters in this universe. I’ve been on a kick exploring the world of droids in Sandbox Earth and am pleased to share this short exploration in the same theme.
The Adillade Droid Catalog was, perhaps, the most coveted document in all of inner-space.
Gregov had saved up for the privilege of merely getting his hands on a copy. He had saved up with the intent of buying in bulk, being an approved, certified, above-the-board Adillade Droid Wholesaler.
Shame, that. So instead he resigned himself to the life of an under-the-table wholesaler.
Over the years he acquired quite a collection of droids—every sale paid, almost, for another droid he could acquire. He had a dozen or so in stock right now. He’d bought the cheapest ones, ones with specialized uses that no one liked. Eventually he would build up to the premier, in-demand models.
It was dangerous work, but—Gregov had figured it all out, over time. Gotten beat up a few times. Had some product stolen. Every bad encounter, he learned something, he changed something. He learned how to invest, learned how to build up a reputation for himself. He got strong, he got cynical, and above all he got money. As long as he had money, he could buy whatever he needed. Safety. Security. Revenge.
In the underworld on this planet, Gregov had become the man to know. Because droids were ALWAYS in demand.
And now—this guy, this punk shows up. Talkin circles around him.
“Listen, do you want a droid or not? I don’t got time for this nonsense. Shit or get off the pot. It’s up to you,” Gregov huffed.
The stranger dusted off his coat and leaned against the wall, tilting the brim of his hat down over his eyes. “I thought we were negotiating terms.”
“Negotiating?” Gregov scoffed. “Who do you think you’re talkin’ to pal? You don’t come in here and negotiate with Gregov. I tell you the price, that’s the price.”
“Okay yeah I get it. That works for everyone else that walks in here. Not me.”
Gregov smirked. “Think you’re hot shit, huh? What is this? I don’t have to deal with this,” He reached for his phone.
“Not so fast, Gregov!” The stranger interjected. Gregov paused. The stranger reached carefully into his pocket, holding up a hand to assure Gregov that he wasn’t reaching for a gun—and pulled out a folder. He reached into the folder, and pulled out some photographs.
“What, you came here to show me some pretty pictures? You can’t pay me in artistic bullshit—I only take money.”
“You might find these photos interesting if you look at them. Some of my favorite subjects.”
Gregov looked at the photos that were now spread over his desk. They were photos of…of Gregov?
“You stalkin’ me pal?”
“I’m threatening you. Keep looking.”
Rage flared for a moment, until Gregov saw what the photos showed. Gregov, walking down a street; Gregov sitting on a bench; Gregov Counting cash; Gregov handing it to a shadowy figure. Receiving a piece of paper. Walking into an unmarked door. His stomach churned.
“What is this?”
“Did you know the man you gave money to was none other than notorious drug-lord Seamus Horrigan?”
“No, I didn’t—”
“Yes you did. You brought that money to him for a reason. You’ve been paying him in cash every week for nine months. I’ve got more photos than these, you know.”
“You come in here threatening me with this shit? You won’t make it out of here alive.”
“You think I came alone?”
“What’s your game, punk.”
“I want a droid. And I want a droid for half the insane price you’re asking for.”
“You can go fuck yourself, is what you can do.”
“Alright,” the man shrugged. “And afterwards I’ll go to the police and drop these photos off. Maybe they’ll let me keep a droid for free, as some kind of honorarium.”
“What, blackmail? You think I don’t have the police in my pocket?”
“I know you don’t. Not since the new Mayor came in, not since the new Sheriff was appointed. You’ve been playing it safe. Look if I’ve got these photos, you think I haven’t been studying your operation? Frankly, I’m doing you a favor,” The stranger smirked casually.
“What the hell are you talkin about.”
“I need a droid. I don’t want one from the Catalog, so I’m getting one from you. And I’m getting it at half price.”
Gregov was tired of dealing with this man. “I didn’t get in this game to be pushed around by nobodies.”
“I’m not a nobody. I just want a droid. Can we deal?”
Gregov sighed. “Yeah, let’s deal.”
The stranger surfaced a pipe from somewhere in his long coat, and held a match to the tobacco. The light of the match illuminated his eyes for a moment. “Perfect.”
Gregov walked the man through his selection of droids. Many highly specialized, niche droids. Some had strange attachments or extra limbs. Gregov was almost embarassed—these were the unwanted droids that couldn’t sell. Not legitimately, anyway.
The stranger pointed to one, inert and in packing configuration, at the bottom of a stack near the back. “What’s the story with this one?” he asked through a cloud of pipe-smoke.
“Oh, this stupid droid has been sitting in my inventory forever. Got a bunch of features no one wants. An extremely limited run in the Catalog and haven’t seen any since.”
“What can it do?”
“It’s got all kind of optical sensors, stuff like that.”
“Have you activated it?”
“Yeah, once. Gave me all kinds of lip. Even if it had what you needed, it’s personality is a lot to deal with. It’s the cheapest droid I have.”
“I’ll take it.”
Gregov did a double take. “You’ll what?”
“I’ll take it.”
“Don’t you wanna take it for a test drive?” he asked humorlessly.
“No. I told myself I’d know what I was looking for when I saw it. It’s just like me.”
“Cheap?”
“Unlikeable.”
“Alright, let me pull this hunk-a-junk out for you. Meet me back up front. Have your money ready.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t activate it in here, take it outside.” Gregov carted the droid to the front and pushed it onto the floor, where it clattered metallically.
“Thank you sir, pleasure doing business. Oh, and—do you have the certificate for this droid?”
“It’s in the folder.”
“Got it, thanks.” The stranger fished the certificate out. “Serial number DB-431, is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“Great. Thank you Gregov, you’ve been a delight to work with. I’m setting up shop down the street, if you ever find yourself in need of investigative services look for James McElroy, Private Eye.”
Gregov grumbled some plausible pleasantry to the stranger’s back as he walked out of the building. He’ll have to improve his security. I’ve gotten sloppy, he thought.
The End
Thank you very much for reading! If you didn’t recognize him already, this is the origin story of James McElroy and DB-431 from my first major serial, DUEL, which I published last year. I’ve wanted to write a reprise for them and this origin story popped up nicely.
Please consider leaving a like, telling me what you thought in the comments, or sharing this story on Notes. If you would like to read more, please check out my collection of longer fiction at The Volume.
God bless!
AJPM
*applauds wildly*
I thought this was going a whole other way, so well played, oh well played.
When I got to the end and I saw the DB serial number I was like YEAH, it’s DB!! 🤩