3

"I can't remember! Why can't I remember?!"

She watched him as he paced.

"You!" He spun and grabbed her shoulders. "Your people did this to me!"

Calmly, she looked up at his terrified dark eyes. "Why don't you start from the beginning- what do you remember?"

He tried to contain his panic. "My name is Sam. I don't know my last name. I don't know where I'm from, where I live, how old I am, who my parents are, if I have a dog, or what my favorite color is." He frowned. "Oh wait. Blue."

A small smile played across her lips. "You're kind of funny."

He stared at her. "What about you? You never told me your name."

"Lyia."

"Where'd you come from?"

"Honestly, I have no clue."

"Why are you here?"

"I'm here to be your partner."

Silence.

"Have you ever been sky diving?"

"Only a couple times."

"What haven't you done?"

"I've never met anyone who asked so many questions without a shirt on."

"Oh. Is that all?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

More silence.

"Hey, where is my shirt?"

Lyia laughed. "You'll be fun to work with." She stood and said, "The fitters will be here in a minute." And she left the room.

:::::

Soon enough, three men came into the room. All were tall and thin; they reminded Sam of pencils. They regarded him for a minute, talking back and forth with clicking noises. That's when Sam saw the pincers were mouths should have been. He yelped as one of them came forward and grabbed his arms with a surprising, wiry strength. He closed his eyes as they moved around him in a jumble of bony fingers and disgusting, beetle-like faces.

Five minutes later, they all backed away and went out of the room, the door locking behind them.

Sam opened his eyes and looked around. The room looked the same as before, except for the pair of pants on the bed.

Those were his pants.

Startled, he looked down at his body to see a tight-fitting jumpsuit. It was matte black, with shock-absorbing gel under a layer of flexible but rock-hard plastic. Sam suddenly realized that Lyia had been wearing the same thing. He examined the thick rubber soles of his new boots, then turned to the belt. There was a holster, several clips, and quite a few buttons. Experimentally, he pressed one. Something covered his head, dousing him in black, dark as night. His vision returned, but it was different. There was a screen with the words STATE YOUR NAME before his eyes.

He had to be wearing a helmet.

"Cool," he muttered.

IS THAT YOUR NAME? the screen flashed.

"Um, no."

THEN PLEASE STATE YOUR NAME.

"My name's Sam..."

CONFIRM NAME.

"Sam?"

WELCOME, SAM. I AM YOUR FULL-BODY PROTECTION SUIT, OR F.B.P.S., BUT YOU MAY CALL ME FUHBUHPUHESS.

Sam snorted. "How 'bout C-3PO?"

THAT WOULD BRING US INTO A COPYWRITING WAR, SAM.

"So you're an artificial intelligence?"

INDEED.

"Well, you'll need a name."

FUHBUHPUHESS ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH?

"It's kind of a mouthful."

THEN CALL ME RICKY.

"Okay...."

I'VE ALWAYS LIKED THAT NAME.

"Well, it's good enough for me. Here's a question- Where am I?"

YOU ARE ON AN ASTEROID IN THE ORBIT OF THE PLANET RU'UR.

"There's no planet called Ruhooyer."

IT'S PRONOUNCED ROO-ER.

"Whatever."

AND OF COURSE RU'UR'S A PLANET. YOU JUST NEVER KNEW IT EXISTED.