by Erik DeLeo
Raul looked at Reg but didn’t move. Reg’s eyes got wide.
“Did I stutter? Go open the damn door before I change my mind and leave you here!”
Raul turned around and headed toward the cargo bay door, navigating around any debris that blocked his path.
With the anti-grav skids on, it was easy to push the ship outside the large container. Reg worked quickly to open the wings, prime the rockets, and boot up the command computer. The system was taking what seemed like forever. Reg balled his fists and yelled, “C’mon, you stupid thing! Hurry up!”
BOOM!
Reg jumped. And so did his heart. Something had impacted the outside of the Zephyr. After a few harrowing moments, Reg realized it was most likely the main communications antenna burning up and falling off its mounts. He worked even faster.
“Hurry the heck up, Raul!” shouted Reg into the inky black of the cargo hold. There was a loud thud, followed by a crease of piercing, white light invading the inside the bay. Reg squinted hard and looked away, his eyes watering. Wind began buffeting the inside of the ship as the cargo hold door began to open. His hair blew wildly from the rush of incoming air. He blinked a few times and wiped at his eyes. Reg could make out Raul working the mechanism for the cargo door. It would have taken two humans to operate it, but Raul made quick work of it by himself. Thank goodness for robots. Even annoying ones.
With the moon’s atmosphere rushing in from the outside, Reg hurriedly located a breathing mask in the scout ship’s supplies and put it on. Once he secured it, he noticed the computer systems were finally online. Now that the interior of the cargo hold had some light, it was apparent the scout ship was blocked in by debris and overturned containers. Reg ran over to Raul.
“Move those out of the way,” he yelled through the mask, pointing at the various obstructions. Scrap metal from the most recent job on Plim and other miscellaneous things, like a case of Ghuavarian rum still intact. Reg would have grabbed it if they weren’t hurtling toward certain death.
“I’ll slide the ship backward, and then you jump in right before she glides out the back!”
Raul went to work moving the containers and debris out of the way. The heavier ones screeched as he pushed them across the bare, metal floor. Reg pulled himself over the side of the scout ship and climbed into the pilot’s seat. Still squinting, as much from the wind as the bright light, he strapped himself in and activated the repulsors. The ship began moving slowly backward.
“Now this is what I’m talking about,” said Reg, admiring the scout ship’s controls and having flashbacks to his days as a fighter pilot. “A little on the small side, but this girl is gonna be fun to fly.”
Since there wasn’t enough space to turn the ship around, Reg continued to back it up carefully. There weren’t more than a few mons left before the Zephyr crashed into the moon at terminal velocity. He added power to the repulsors and edged closer to the cargo door.
Raul finished moving the debris and walked quickly over to the scout ship. It was moving backward slowly enough that Raul was able to grab the handles on the cockpit ladder and pull himself up. He climbed awkwardly up and over the side of the ship and collapsed heavily into the copilot’s seat. There was a clunk, as if something had broken. Reg laughed, and looked back over his shoulder toward Reg.
“You won’t get any style points for that one, but better alive than dead. Or functioning, in your case.” Reg turned around and adjusted himself in his seat, pulling the pilot’s harness tighter. “Hold on, and if you can, strap yourself in.”
Reg pushed a button, and the canopy closed. It gave a firm click as it locked into place. He pulled back on the joystick, and the craft gained speed. The scout ship glided over a small metal lip on the edge of the cargo bay and slipped out the rear of the Zephyr into the atmosphere. There was a brief moment of weightlessness. Reg’s stomach knotted up, and then gravity grabbed hold of the ship.
Now that the scout was free of the Zephyr, Reg could see that both he and Raul were dangerously close to the moon’s surface. Reg waited a few secs to make sure they were out of the cargo ship’s wake.
The old freighter, its hull smoking, plunged away from the scout. Reg hit the thrusters, full power, and pulled up on the stick.
5
Gravity
Reg was confused. The secondary systems showed the ship was running on empty, but during pre-check, the fuel gauge read full. The gauge still read full. He vigorously tapped the gauge with his finger. First nothing happened, and then the needle dropped to empty. Reg craned his neck to glare at Raul sitting in the copilot’s seat directly behind him.
“Of course you smuggled a ship on board with next to no fuel.”
Reg tapped a few commands into the interface, looking for a suitable landing zone that was within reach.
Out of the insta-flash pan and into the flames.
The computer showed he only had about 30 secs to fire the thrusters and get the ship on the right trajectory if he wanted to land within a reasonable distance of the old mining colony on MO-1038-5. If he missed, he’d be trapped on the moon’s arid plains or, worse, torn apart by the jagged lunar mountains.
Turbulence from the ever-thickening atmosphere made it hard to concentrate, so Reg activated the Heads Up Display to help guide him while keeping his eyes front and focused on the transparent metal cockpit window. The HUD projected navigational target rings for the scout to fly through, illuminating the way to the landing zone. Thankfully, the nose of the ship was pointed in the right direction. After falling out the back of the Zephyr and a full thruster burn, Reg had gotten the scout straightened out from completely sideways. He had about 30 secs to make it through the landing zone window.
The ship lurched to the side. Reg held the stick firmly. The scout was fighting him. The controls didn’t seem to be reacting correctly.
20 secs. Reg clenched his jaw harder and held the joystick tighter. Everything else faded into background noise as he poured all his focus into steering the ship. His shoulders burned. Sweat began to bead on his brow. Reg’s heart raced.
10 secs. The scout was still slightly off the correct trajectory. Reg had time for one last, desperate move. He pulled both flaps down while releasing the underside airbrake. He hoped it would be enough to jolt the nose of the ship and barely make the LZ target.
“All right, honey. I know we’ve just met, but if we don’t make this, it’s probably over for the both of us.” Reg talked to ships when he was nervous.
5 secs. Reg deployed the brake, and then slammed the controls for both flaps down. The sound of rushing air increased rapidly, and the ship lurched as the airbrake lowered. A new warning light popped on. Only one of the flaps had activated. The ship slowed, but began to roll hard to the right.
3 secs. The cabin was a carnival of warning lights and metallic creaks from the ship’s hull. Reg hoped she would hold together. He gave one last yank on the stick. He straightened the one working flap and—by the tiniest of margins—successfully passed through the targeting window on the HUD.
Ecstasy. Joy. Relief. Those should have been the emotions running through Reg’s body, but they weren’t. Because with everything that had gone right to save himself and the ship, one thing had gone very wrong.
The scout had rolled 180 degrees and was inverted.
6
Upside down
“Now I just have to think backward.”
Reg readjusted his grip on the joystick. Down was up. Up was down. The second flap still wasn’t working, and he was still fighting the controls.
Beneath the scout ship, the red landscape of the moon rocketed past. Reg could hear the whoosh of air rushing across the windscreen as the ship plunged toward the pockmarked surface of the moon. He didn’t want to die on this moon. Getting close to the old mining colony was imperative. There weren’t enough supplies on board to last more than a few standard days.
He managed to rotate the ship closer to right-side up, but it was still c
anted heavily to the left. The moon grew increasingly closer. Reg kept the nose of the ship as close to the targets the HUD provided for the mining colony, but with each target ring the scout ship missed, they were getting farther and farther away.
To the port side loomed a sizeable mountain range, its craggy peaks spearing through a faint red haze kicked up by the lunar winds. To the starboard side were huge craters, klicks in diameter, which made landing there impossible. Reg was navigating through a very narrow valley, its smoother terrain still treacherous with scattered boulders and natural debris.
The ground kept getting closer and getting to the mining colony was beginning to look like an impossibility.
“You know what, old buddy? I don’t know if we’re going to make it out of this. If you’re not buckled in, I’d do it now. I have enough fuel for maybe one more burn, and then we’re going to have to ditch the ship. Get ready for a rough landing.”
Reg lowered the landing gear. The buffeting of the ship increased, as the hydraulics to lower the gear buzzed and hummed. Flashes of memories flew through his mind. He blinked hard. Was this it? Was this how it would end?
As he tried to focus, one of his last thoughts was of the first day he’d met Raul. Now, here they were, at the end. Reg hit the thrusters, full power, and pulled up on the stick. He strained. He screamed. Without a compression suit, Reg’s blood quickly pooled in his lower extremities.
The ground rushed up to meet him. Then he blacked out.
7
Raul
“I’m not paying that much for that damned little.”
Reg was annoyed. The stupid thing wasn’t worth that in either money or hassle.
“You can take it or leave it,” said the parts dealer, a blue-skinned, blue-eyed Altherian, whose two right thumbs twitched nervously.
“Fine. Leave it.” And with that, Reg turned around in mock frustration and walked away. He didn’t make it three steps.
“Wait, wait, wait, wait…” pleaded the dealer, who had far too many teeth for his smug face. To Reg, it made his forced, fake grin even more off-putting. “Tell you what. You take my last price, and I’ll throw in a pair of infrared sensors at no cost.” The Altherian stood there under the fabric tarp, smiling weakly.
Reg wasn’t about to let go of his superior negotiating position. Leverage was a beautiful thing. He turned around slowly for effect.
“Add military-grade night-vision sensors, plus take 300 creds off your price, and you have a deal.”
The dealer groaned. He claimed he needed to feed his family. Claimed that his uncle had just died. Said his wife had left him for his sister, and a handful of other obvious half-truths or outright lies before they settled on 1300 credits with a firm handshake. That included infrared sensors and civilian-issue night-vision optics. In the end, Reg saved a few hundred creds and got the upgrades he wanted—even if the optics weren’t the hardcore military version. He was going to need this robot to be useful at night, and truth be told, he didn’t have much beyond the 1300 creds.
“There you go,” said the Altherian, seeming to smile genuinely this time. “I’m just a man who sells parts and haven’t much use for a robot. I hope he is of good service to you.”
Reg looked over his RAUL unit. It had some scrapes here and there, but otherwise seemed no worse for wear. He exchanged credits with the dealer, and then left with his new used robot.
“Okay, you need a name. And I’m not that original. So I hereby declare your name to be ‘Raul.’ Now, follow me.”
Reg walked off through the market with Raul in tow. It was bustling with travelers, tourists and plenty of unsavory types. Merchants hawked their wares. Behind him, Reg could hear Raul’s hydraulics working with every step.
“Not sure if you’ve gotten out much, but this city is named Kessa, and we’re on the planet Bir,” said Reg, glancing back at his bot. “It’s a planet full of ruins, tourist traps and people looking for an excuse to let loose. Mostly safe, but it can be dangerous if you find yourself in the wrong place. Especially at night. But if you’re looking for deals on most everything, this is the place to be.”
The pair made their way along the dirt-covered streets. The air was dry and heavy with the smell of pungent spices. Birvian merchants (Birvs for short) were a gaunt, vaguely avian race. They were flightless and featherless, bipedal, and roughly humanoid. In typical Birv fashion, they wore loose-fitting clothes made from the thinnest of fabrics to help them stay cool in the heat. Females wore wide-brimmed hats in many different colors and a shawl to cover their short beaks.
As Reg and Raul walked past various vendors, the Birvs, with their toothless beaked grins, held up goods they were selling, trying to cajole passersby to come into their stalls. Reg, with Raul in tow, snaked a path through the bustling crowds and made a right through a narrow alley. It was a shortcut to the hangar where Reg’s ship was docked. A few mons later, they arrived at the entrance to the sprawling complex.
The kid he had hired to watch his ship scampered off after Reg threw him a few credits. He entered the ship’s security code into the keypad, pressed his thumb on the bio scanner, and the large rear cargo door began to open.
The door lowered onto the hangar floor with a metallic clank, and Raul followed Reg into the ship. Almost immediately after they had boarded the ship, Raul proceeded to stop working.
“What the…”
Reg, irritated, hit the side of Raul’s head with his hand. Nothing. He hit Raul again, harder. Still nothing. Then he launched into a profanity-laced tirade that was loud enough to cause other pilots in the complex to turn their heads and gawk.
When he was all out of colorful words, he kicked Raul, sending the frozen robot toppling over. He stared at the useless piece of metal lying there on its side. That bastard ripped me off! The dealer had taken most of the creds he had left, and Reg wasn’t about to stand for it. It was close to sundown, and the street urchins loitering around the hangar had all but vanished. He didn’t have time to sit on Bir another day, and he couldn’t afford it, either. If he wanted to get his money back, he would have to chance it and leave his ship unattended. He closed the cargo door and sprinted.
People yelled at Reg as he weaved his way through the throngs of tourists and looky-loos, bumping into many. He even knocked a Birvian vendor to the ground—exotic yellow and orange fruit burst from the top of their woven basket as it fell from the Birvian’s head. He made it to the parts dealer’s stall right as the market was beginning to close down for the day.
“What. The. Heck?”
Reg stood there, breathing heavily, hands on his hips. Sweat beaded his face, and his brow crinkled in confused frustration.
There was no sign of the parts dealer. Literally, no sign. The bolts, spare parts, and various hoses, belts and other small pieces had been entirely cleared. All that was left was dirt and scraps of paper. The Altherian had packed up and disappeared.
“That rotten, no-good, blue-skinned cheat!”
Reg looked around, fuming.
“Hey, what happened to the guy that was here?” he asked the merchant in the next stall.
“What guy?”
“You know, the junk dealer guy. Blue skin. He was just here.”
The merchant shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t see anyone.”
Reg sighed and turned. “I bet you didn’t see anyone, either. No guy with a robot for sale?”
The Birvian merchant in the other stall held out his hands, almost in supplication.
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t recall anyone of note.”
Reg spun around and walked away in disgust.
8
Reboot
“Aaaaaaaargh!”
Reg hit the side of Raul’s head. For the fourth time. It appeared as though Raul’s system had crashed. Again.
After storming back from the market, Reg had tried restarting his malfunctioning robot’s “brain” to no avail. The parts dealer had seemingly sold him a buggy RAUL unit. The proces
sor looked to be functioning properly, but the OS was definitely corrupted. It was a surprise Raul had even made it to the ship.
It was a tough break for Reg. He was tight after spending most of his remaining creds on the robot. He lacked the funds to pay one more day of hangar fees. He had one option. Well, two options, but robbery was out of the question. For now.
Reg went over to the systems console in the cargo hold. He quickly accessed the Kessa servers and then trolled through a few of the RAUL sub-forums of various robot owner databases. After a brief search, he found something he thought might work. There was an unregistered, likely pirated OS available for download. It wasn’t an exact match for Raul’s serial number, but it should work. Perhaps some teenager had pilfered it from somewhere. Or it was a hacked ROM. Regardless, Reg was going to use it.
Using a heavy-duty lift, Reg maneuvered Raul onto a cargo dolly and strapped him down before wheeling the robot over to the console. He then grabbed a computer cable and inserted one end into an access port on the systems console. The other end he plugged into the back of Raul’s head. A few minutes later, everything was synced. Now came the tricky part. Since it was an unregistered OS, there was a chance the ROM could be buggy. Reg scanned through the files. Things seemed to be okay, but he was no programmer. Reg accessed Raul’s system through the Zephyr’s computer. It was time to cross his fingers and hope everything worked.
“I’d say, ‘Here goes nothing,” but actually, if this doesn’t work, I’ll be saying, ‘Here goes 1300 creds.”
Reg began downloading the OS into Raul’s hardware. After a few tense moments, a few prayers, and numerous beeps and boops, Raul seemed to have booted up properly. Reg entered the command for the OS to initialize and hit ENTER.