by Erik DeLeo
Nothing happened. Reg looked back and forth between the screen on the ship’s console and the display on the back of Raul’s head.
“This seriously is not my day.”
Then, there was something. But not what Reg wanted. Somehow, the new OS was experiencing some kind of feedback loop with the ship’s computer. Reg tried to override it but couldn’t.
“No! No, no, no, no, no!”
He tried to kill the link between Raul and the Zephyr. But every time he tried to access the ship’s computer, it locked him out. Reg didn’t want to yank the cord and damage either his onboard computer system or his new (used) robot. He hesitated.
Wait. Was something burning? He put his hand on the back of Raul’s head. It burned his fingers, and he quickly pulled his hand away. Then he noticed smoke coming out of the port on the ship’s computer. Without thinking, he yanked the cable out of the access port. When he touched it, he felt a weird sensation of energy run up his arm. Then, everything exploded.
The rush of electricity caused his hand to clench tightly for a split second before his body rocketed across the cargo bay. Reg let out an involuntary gasp when he landed roughly on the floor, knocking the wind out of him. His body spasmed. His ears rang. The skin on his hand holding the now broken cable smoked.
His breathing was shallow. As Reg lay there on his back, momentarily paralyzed, he noticed one of the internal cooling vents on the ceiling had become disconnected. He had been chasing that cooling problem for a long time. It was a weird, brief moment of realization that he had finally found the answer before he promptly passed out.
9
Awakening
Reg’s mind was floating. Something didn’t feel right, but it was a mental itch he couldn’t scratch. Slowly a vague awareness pierced the peacefulness. Pain. Reg avoided that feeling and refused to focus on it—instead, floating along the waves of his dream state. Then a wave of pain came rolling in, and carried his consciousness back to the present.
A pressure started to build at the back of Reg’s throat, becoming progressively stronger. It filled his mouth and became unbearable as it approached his lips. Reg’s eyes snapped open. His mouth opened. He screamed.
Nearly in his face was Raul. Reg’s scream was muffled by some kind of breathing mask, which was haphazardly attached to his face. He pawed at it, but Raul reached out and firmly restrained his arms, holding them at Reg’s sides.
Reg’s head was swimming, and his entire upper body ached. His right arm felt like it was on fire. He couldn’t feel anything below his waist. Reg was outside, lying flat on his back and looking up at the reddish haze of MO-1038-5’s sky. Planet 1-1038, a blue gaseous giant with hints of purple due to the crimson atmosphere, took up a large section of the sky. It was huge and beautiful. How had they landed? Reg couldn’t remember if he had uploaded a flight program to Raul’s OS.
Other than being alive and Raul being functional, Reg didn’t know what their situation was. The breathing mask itched. He couldn’t feel his legs, and his arm was more than likely broken. His mind was still cloudy.
“Did we make it to the landing site?”
Raul shook his head. Reg’s mind was still cloudy, but he was starting to get his bearings.
“Wait, did you land the ship? How did you land the ship?”
Raul looked at him but indicated nothing.
“I mean, did we at least make it near the landing site?”
Raul nodded affirmatively.
“Can you let go of my arms? I need to adjust the mask.”
Raul released his grip on Reg’s arms and backed away. Thanks to organic compounds degassing from the moon’s core, MO-1038-5 had an atmosphere with high levels of breathable molecules. However, it was thin, and not all the compounds were safe, which made the mask necessary. Thanks to the proximity of the gaseous Planet 1-1038, most of the moon was shielded from the main sun, Star 1038.
Reg tried to lift his head, but felt nauseated when he did. He lay back on the ground, which was covered with fine, red metallic oxides. He couldn’t ask Raul how long he’d been unconscious because—no voice module. He cursed himself for his decision not to buy one for Raul. One thing was certain; Reg’s hindsight was way better than his foresight.
Furthermore, Reg wasn’t sure exactly how close they were from the mining colony and had no idea where they’d landed. He turned his head to either side to try to get his bearings, but Raul had laid him in a depression on the ground. All Reg could see were his immediate surroundings and the hazy sky. Raul squatted awkwardly off to the side.
Eventually, Reg composed himself to the point where he could lift his head. Raul regarded him intently. At least it seemed that way, for a robot.
“Water,” croaked Reg. “And some painkillers.”
Raul, his hydraulics whining as they activated, got up and came back with a canister of water in his hand. He held it out to Reg, who took a quick breath, pulled up his mask, and drank. The water cascading down his throat had never felt so good. Reg put the painkillers in his mouth and took another drink before he pulled the mask back down—but not before getting a nose full of foul-smelling gas. Ugh, rotten spoiled ova. The moon reeked like one gigantic intergalactic garbage dump.
It took a bit for the painkillers to take effect. Once they had, Reg had enough wits about him to inspect his arm. It still looked like his arm, which was good. No grotesque fracture. No bone sticking through his clothes. But it was probably broken in two places, because both his forearm and wrist hurt.
Now that he was beginning to get his senses back, Reg looked around. Even with his head up, he could barely see over the lip of the depression. He could barely make out pieces of a mangled mess a short distance away, which he assumed was what remained of the scout ship. Reg motioned to Raul.
“Here. Help me up.”
Raul approached, shook his head, and as carefully as a robot could, pushed Reg’s head back to the ground. Reg’s vision narrowed for a moment, but he didn’t pass out.
The day, which had been dusk-like earlier, continued to brighten. Reg wondered where they had set down. The scout ship’s trajectory had been slightly north of the moon’s equator. Considering how close to the moon’s surface they had been when they escaped the Zephyr, they should be close to the landing zone, hopefully. But without the larger cargo ship, Reg was worried.
The life-support systems on the cargo ship were powerful enough to keep temperatures safe while on the moon’s surface. However, the scout ship wasn’t equipped to deal with the oppressive heat.
On the horizon, what started as a muted glow, was getting brighter. That meant, very soon, things would get hotter. Reg became acutely aware he was in danger. Again.
10
Cover
“Raul, I think my lower spinal cord is severed.”
Raul looked at him but didn’t move. The glow on the horizon was steadily growing brighter. Reg had come to the grim realization that the paralysis in his legs was likely permanent. He wasn’t sure if his back was broken, but his arm certainly was.
“So I’m going to need your help to make a splint for my arm. Can you find something for me?”
Raul continued to look at Reg, unmoving.
“Hmm. Maybe you don’t have the word ‘splint’ in your voice recognition firmware.”
Last time Reg checked his software, Raul had over 30,000 words programmed into memory. Reg’s arm was beginning to hurt again. And he was running out of time before they were directly exposed to the full force of the ever-closer approaching sunlight.
“I need a straight piece of metal, about half the length of my arm.”
Raul regarded him for a second, which seemed odd to Reg. Then again, he wasn’t exactly his normal self at the moment, considering he was probably in shock. That’s the thing about shock. You almost never know you’re in it. Reg knew he was injured. That was obvious. But perhaps he had a concussion or was becoming delirious.
After a few secs, Raul got up and made hi
s way over to the scout. His metal feet made a crunching sound on the moon’s surface as he walked. Raul stopped and looked back for a moment before continuing. Reg thought that maybe he wasn’t the only one with a banged-up head. Perhaps Raul’s processor was damaged during the landing, which by all accounts, had been a little rough. Both he and Raul could be equally messed up. It had been that kind of day.
Reg could hear Raul scavenging though supplies on the other side of the rise. There was a tinny crack. Probably the piece of tubing Reg needed. Hopefully Raul didn’t break off anything important. Like an antenna.
Raul came back with a few items, including the ship’s emergency kit, rations, a temporary shelter, and some metal tubing. As Raul was handing the emergency kit to Reg, the remaining painkillers spilled out and hit the ground in little puffs of red. Reg groaned. The increasing heat had caused the capsules to become soft, and chances were the soil contained toxic compounds. On the horizon, the ominous bright glow was getting more intense.
“Construct the shelter, Raul.”
His robot would be okay in the heat. But without anything to protect Reg from the sun, he would succumb to the heat quickly. Using the tubing Raul had brought from the scout ship, Reg tore some material from his shirt and began making a splint. He grabbed a hold of it with his teeth and ripped the fabric into two strips. Raul came over, placed the splint on Reg’s broken arm, and wrapped the strips around the splint. Reg grimaced as Raul tightened them. His breathing was labored, and his mask began to fog. The pain was intense enough that his head swam and his vision narrowed. Reg almost passed out.
The shelter went up quickly, which was a relief, because the sun had just crested the distant lunar mountains on the horizon. The heat would soon follow the light. Reg had Raul carefully drag him to the emergency shelter, which was essentially a glorified pup tent. But it would do.
Once fully within the confines of the shelter, Reg closed his eyes. He let out a long sigh, muffled by the mask. Reg allowed himself to relax for a sec. He knew Raul had landed them somewhat close to the landing zone—but where exactly? And how? He’d have to check the OS, but he was pretty sure Raul’s OS didn’t have a flight subroutine loaded.
Reg wasn’t sure how they were going to get off the moon, but exhaustion had a way of making even the most basic accommodations seem inviting. Reg lay there a few moments, his breathing ragged. At least the filter in his mask could last a few weeks on MO-1038.
As Reg’s mind wandered, he felt a hot spot on the side of his face. He opened his eyes and turned his head. There was a massive tear in the side of the tent facing the sun.
11
Danger
Never send a robot to do a man’s job.
Unless the man’s back was broken and he was stranded on an uninhabited moon and the only option was to have a clumsy robot set up an emergency shelter before the man died of heatstroke. That, in Reg’s mind, was the lone exception.
Reg ordered Raul to get some adhesive tape. It was a temporary fix for a temporary shelter, but Reg needed to survive the next few hors, as the infrared heat bombarding this hunk of barren, red rock would be intense.
The mons ticked by as Raul went over to rummage through the scout ship wreckage for tape, and the rays streaming into the shelter grew both brighter and hotter. He had downloaded the mining colony logs on the Zephyr before this whole mess started, so Reg knew temperatures could soar into the range where death was possible. This was especially true at or near the equator. Which is probably where they had landed.
As he lay on his back, sweating and contemplating his future, Reg finally heard the whine of Raul’s hydraulics and the crunching of dirt get louder as he approached. The silhouette of the robot cast a growing shadow over the makeshift tent. Suddenly, the edges of the torn fabric were being pulled together, and the sharp sound of tape being unwound broke the hot silence. (RAUL units were equipped with opposable thumbs, so they were quite dexterous.)
With an efficiency that rivaled that of a homin’s hands, the tear was repaired, albeit haphazardly. Once again, Reg was protected from the direct glare of the intense sunlight. The heat was another matter. Even with the soaring temperatures, the adrenaline rush after the crash, and the increasing pain as the meds wore off, Reg fell into a fitful sleep.
He awoke sometime later, unaware of how much time had passed. He was drenched in perspiration. His mouth felt like a desert. It was hotter than before he had fallen asleep, but less bright. He swallowed, and his throat protested. Reg propped himself up on his good arm. It was eerily quiet. Too quiet.
Reg called out to Raul. Silence. Where did that robot wander off to? He waited a few more mons, but Raul didn’t come. Reg managed to one-arm crawl out of the tent, his legs dragging uselessly behind him. There was a bottle of water inside the tent—Raul must have put it there. At least he hoped it was Raul who had put it there.
Along with the bottle of water, Raul had retrieved the survival kit, which the robot had also put inside the shelter. Included in the kit was an emergency condenser that ran off solar. Since this moon wasn’t short of available sunlight (even if it were only for few hot, miserable hors each rot), he wasn’t worried about dying of thirst.
He took a breath and lifted his mask. Reg wedged the bottle between his body and the upper portion of his broken arm and opened the bottle with his good hand. He drank deeply. The water was hot, but it didn’t matter, as thirsty as he was. Reg let out a sigh and pulled the mask back down over his face.
Even though the heat was stifling, he felt clear-headed. Reg’s arm and wrist throbbed, but the nap had helped his constitution. It was limited relief, but relief nonetheless.
Elbow first, then pull. Elbow first, then pull. That was how Reg managed to crest the lip of the small depression he lay in. He was sweating and panting, but he could finally see his surroundings. Reg scanned the area to get his bearings.
Close by was what remained of the scout ship, with a smoking trail of metal debris and scarred red earth behind it. Only the cockpit remained intact. The canopy was cracked, and the wings sheared off.
Having potable water was good, but Reg was worried about his food stores. There were rations, of course, but after that, he’d be left eating potentially poisonous dirt. As it stood, he could perhaps eke out a week with what he had. Maybe two, if he severely limited his rations.
Man, it’s hot.
Reg wiped his brow. He almost wished he were a robot. And that was when he remembered why he’d left the tent in the first place.
Where the hell is Raul?
12
Absent
Raul was nowhere in sight.
This. Isn’t. Happening.
Except it was. Maybe Raul was on the other side of the wreckage, out of Reg’s line of sight. With much trepidation, Reg did the one-arm crawl again and and pulled his way over to the other side of the scout craft. With each halting move forward, the feeling in the pit of his stomach intensified. Each pull revealed more of the moonscape behind the ship, and with it, the increasing likelihood that Raul was nowhere to be found.
Reg’s body snaked a trail through the soil, clothes stained red. Once on the other side of the wreckage of the ship, Reg stared out into a crimson abyss. He needed to come to grips with the fact Raul was gone. And not just gone—his robot had completely disappeared. In fact, there was no trace of Raul whatsoever. Reg’s mind raced. Where was his robot?
He lay there, looking at the expanse of red dirt and dust. It was empty, much like the feeling in Reg’s gut. Frantic, he started to pull himself forward, again his breathing becoming ragged. There was no sign of Raul. Anywhere. Reg became more desperate with every futile pull forward. He became more manic. The feelings of isolation and helplessness started to grow. His mind raced. The hopelessness of the situation began to flood over him.
“Where are you?” Reg screamed, the mask muffling his outburst.
He rolled over onto his back, panting heavily. He screamed again. He balled the f
ist on his unbroken arm and beat it repeatedly on the ground until his hand throbbed. Eventually, the anger left his body. He lay there sweating, feeling helpless. He rolled his head to both sides, looking around.
There has to be a sign of Raul somewhere, right?
Reg rolled back over to his stomach. He squinted, trying to discern if there were any potential marks or footprints left by Raul. While he hadn’t seen any up to this point, that didn’t mean they weren’t there. The sea of reddish dust extended out before him. Reg pulled himself forward once again, slowly getting farther and farther away from the remains of the scout ship. It was still bright enough see, so Reg kept moving.
Most of the terrain was smooth, with small outcroppings of rocks. One of those, a small pile of rust-colored stones, seemed to have been recently disturbed. The fine blanket of dust on top of them was uneven. Reg inched closer. He thought he could make out part of a footprint. Well, not a homin footprint. A robotic one.
He felt a rush of hope well up inside him. He never expected to feel that kind of emotion about a robot, but being stranded on an isolated moon with little chance for escape will do that to a man. At least, this man.
Despite the heat, Reg was excited for this find. It was most definitely Raul’s footprint. Even the cynic in him put the odds of the print belonging to another RAUL at slim to none. There was enough light left to make out some faint traces of tracks leading off into the distance.
Where the heck was Raul going?
Maybe Raul’s processor had been damaged in the crash. Or maybe the hacked OS was corrupted. Either way, it didn’t make sense why he would just disappear. Was his robot just walking aimlessly toward nothing?