A Distant Moon

by Erik DeLeo

  The container was full of military rations. Considering Reg thought he might die on this backwater moon, he continued to laugh. Giant Grogg seemed confused.

  “Eat, yes?”

  Reg couldn’t argue with such brilliant logic.

  17

  Recovery

  “Brrraaaap.”

  It was a most satisfying burp. Reg’s stomach hurt, because carpet-bombing your insides with fistfuls of military rations will do that to anyone’s gut. But Reg didn’t care. He was full. He was out of the heat. His arm was on the mend. And he was going to be able to walk again very soonish. Reg wasn’t the religious type, but in the moment, he offered up as much gratitude as a jaded, penniless, former military pilot could.

  The medbot still hovered around him like a doting mother, minus the maternal bedside manner. It poked and prodded Reg methodically, checked and inspected. It was thorough and efficient.

  “Your arm and back are healing well,” it said without emotion.

  “So, when will I be able to walk again? Like, normally?”

  “You are on target to be up and walking in six Standard Rotations,” replied the bot. “The healing serum is working quite well now that you are no longer dehydrated and have recovered from heatstroke.”

  That was a relief. Reg knew the break in his arm had been bad. The doors to the infirmary slid open and interrupted him mid-thought. In walked Giant Grogg, who looked briefly at the medical equipment hooked up to Reg, and then walked over to Reg’s cot. He looked at Reg for a moment and then broke into a large, toothy grin.

  “Full? Yes?”

  Reg could feel the bass of the voice rattle in his chest. It was intimidating.

  “Yeah,” was all Reg could manage.

  “Good, good.”

  There was a long pause as Reg and the Grogg regarded each other. The medbot worked away, off to the side.

  “I’m Boss Grogg.”

  “That name seems rather unoriginal.”

  “My true name is unpronounceable for homins.”

  “Try me.”

  “Rquakllifkthyyykdrch.”

  Reg took that in for a moment.

  “Yeah. You’re right. I’m not going to try to repeat that. I might choke.”

  Boss Grogg snorted.

  A laugh?

  “Besides the obvious translation problems, why the name Boss Grogg?”

  “All Grogg report to me.”

  “Like, ALL Grogg?”

  “No. Grogg here report to me. Not concerned with other Grogg.”

  “Can you answer a question for me?”

  “What is question?”

  “How come you never see more than three Grogg at a time?”

  “Because you’ve never seen Grogg boss before. Someone keep order. Here, that someone is me.” Boss Grogg chuckled.

  “Well, now that you’ve had your medbot patch me up, what do you plan on doing with me?”

  “We plan on killing you after you answer questions.”

  Boss Grogg unholstered a particularly nasty-looking blaster. Reg’s throat suddenly got very dry. That feeling when you know you’re in deep doo-doo began to grow in the pit of his stomach. Boss Grogg chuckled again. It sounded like a large animal dying. He put the blaster back in its holster.

  “Was joke. Choice to kill not mine. Choice my employer.”

  Reg was trying to recover. Both from the idle threat of being murdered and the fact this huge Grogg had a sense of humor.

  “So, you’re mercenaries?” asked Reg.

  “No. Mercenaries are whores. They only value money.”

  “What do you value, then?”

  “Jobs that challenge.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  “Employer not important. Mission was interesting. Unique.”

  Reg didn’t like the sound of that. There were too many things going on that didn’t make sense. It was a well-known fact that Grogg didn’t work in groups larger than three. Yet, here he was, on some distant moon, with a large contingent of Grogg on a mission from some mysterious puppet master.

  “So, are we still on the moon?”

  “Location not important, either. You rest. We talk later.”

  As Boss Grogg turned to leave, Reg asked him one more question.

  “By the way, I’m looking for my robot. It’s a RAUL with a buggy OS. No voice module. Can’t talk. Have you seen it?”

  “No, no robot like that.”

  “So that’s a ‘no’?” asked Reg pointedly. “I saw Grogg battleboot prints next to those of my RAUL.”

  “Grogg say you were delirious. Heatstroke. Shock. Even gave one Grogg baar wurms.” Boss Grogg chuckled again.

  “I know what I saw,” countered Reg.

  “Rest,” Boss Grogg reiterated. “We talk soon.”

  “I don’t need rest. I need my robot.”

  Boss Grogg didn’t respond, Instead, he left the room.

  18

  Rolling

  Reg woke up to the medbot once again working on his wrist. It felt nearly healed. He tested it by moving it slightly. It cracked.

  “Your wrist still needs a full Standard Rotation to heal.”

  Reg tested it again, rotating his wrist slowly. It didn’t crack. Feeling emboldened, he stretched out his fingers. His muscles were tight, but the stretch felt good. Then, his forearm spasmed and cramped. Reg sat up and cried out.

  The medbot glided over to a table, grabbed an instrument that resembled a prod, and returned to Reg’s side. The medbot touched the instrument to Reg’s forearm, and the muscles instantly relaxed. Relieved, he collapsed back onto the bed.

  “You should let the healing process continue on its own. You are not yet ready for such efforts,” chided the medbot.

  “And you’re a medbot,” replied Reg. “You don’t know what it’s like to be cooped up like this.”

  “I am programmed to treat and heal patients. I do not experience wanderlust and impatience.”

  Reg turned to face the bot. “Well, I need to get up and stretch, move around a little, and get out of this room. Even if my wrist isn’t healed and I can’t walk yet.”

  “You are not authorized to leave this room.”

  “Says who?”

  “If you attempt to leave, I will need to alert the ship’s crew.”

  Reg sat up in bed, albeit slowly. “Listen, it’s not like I can get far. I’m still paralyzed, and I’ve only got on this stupid medical gown. If I bend over the wrong way, you’ll see a white moon and not a red one. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?”

  The medbot looked at Reg with its one computerized eye. The aperture refocused as it studied his face.

  “I am not programmed to answer that question. I am programmed to heal and attend to patients.”

  “Well, you’d be attending to this patient if you let him walk around,” Reg shot back.

  That response seemed to freeze up the medbot’s limited AI. This robot was an XD-2 unit built by Rigga Robotics, Limited. The XD-2s were a cheap replacement for the XD-1s and had a bad habit of processor overload. Rigga had struggled with reduced margins when low-cost competitors flooded the market after the success of their XD-1. When Rigga tried to match the new inexpensive models, they were forced to use an inferior processor, which had a tendency to get overloaded easily. Their engineers came up with a sloppy fix—an external fuse. If the XD-2 ever went into systems failure, you could pull the plug easily.

  Reg had been injured more than a few times while a military pilot. And, earlier, he’d noticed this particular medbot was an XD-2 unit. He leaned over quickly and popped the fuse on the back of the medbot’s head.

  “All right, little guy. I won’t be gone for too long. And I’ll make sure I put this back in when I return. Right now, I need to go poke around this ship, because I don’t trust Boss Grogg. I don’t trust any Grogg. They know something, and I’m gonna find out what.”

  Reg rolled himself into a sitting position and swung his legs over the side
of the cot. He undid the various hoses attached to him. Then, with a lot of effort, he managed to slide himself into his pants, but he couldn’t find his top. So, he kept the medical gown on, but at least his ass wouldn’t be hanging out.

  There was a hoverchair just out of reach. Reg tried grabbing for it, but the chair was too far away. He stretched out farther, lost his balance, and fell on his face. That perfectly summed up his experience on the moon up to this point. He crawled into the hoverchair, turned himself around, and adjusted his legs with his arms.

  With his worn pants, medical smock, and hoverchair, Reg glided over to the door. Nervous, he reached out and pressed the button to open the door. It slid open silently, and Reg slipped out of the room.

  19

  Bluff

  “Son-of-a-Grogg!” said Reg through clenched teeth, rubbing his arm to alleviate the pain. He had bumped it against the wall while navigating around a corner.

  The harsh, overhead artificial lights made everything, including Reg’s skin, look washed out, and they were giving him a headache. The air in the ship was making him cold. For a moment, he wished for the hot, red sand outside but quickly told himself it was a dumb idea.

  He was beginning to have second thoughts. The longer he was out, the greater the chance he’d run into someone. And he still hadn’t seen any Grogg, which made him wonder exactly how many were actually on board.

  Based on what Reg could deduce, he was on a warship. It was bigger than a corvette but smaller than a frigate. Which made him think it was a custom commission. A ship this size could pack a punch if it needed to. It wasn’t a capital ship, but what it lacked in absolute mass, it made up for it in speed and maneuverability.

  And since the ship wasn’t a standard-sized hull, it meant it was expensive. And whoever operated this craft had money. Which made them dangerous.

  So, where would I keep a robot if I had stolen a robot?

  Reg responded to his own thoughts.

  Not the cargo hold. That would be too obvious.

  He pondered. Why would the Grogg steal his robot? Or not tell him if they’d just stumbled on it? Raul’s OS wasn’t working worth a damn, and the only one on board who spoke Standard was Boss Grogg. Unless there were another group of Grogg on the moon, which seemed highly unlikely.

  The crew quarters would be too dangerous to investigate. And Reg didn’t think he’d find Raul his first time around the ship. Frankly, he was more likely to walk into a Grogg, which was exactly what Reg almost did as he rounded another corner.

  There, with his back to him, was a Grogg. A second Grogg stood beyond him, but luckily the first blocked the second’s view of Reg. Reg pulled back on the hoverchairs control stick, backing up silently. His heart pounded in his neck and chest.

  Both Grogg were stationed in front of a door, ostensibly guarding it. Each held a menacing-looking gun. Reg hoped they were guarding a room with Raul in it, but his luck was never that good. Reg needed a plan. One that wouldn’t put him back in the infirmary or, worse, get him killed. An idea popped in his head, and he thought it was his best option on short notice. He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and guided the hoverchair around the corner.

  “Hey, excuse me. Mr. Grogg?”

  Both Grogg whipped around, guns pointed directly at Reg’s head.

  Okay, maybe this was a stupid idea.

  Reg held out the medbot fuse with one hand and pointed at it using his other hand.

  “Do either of you know where I can find another one of these? You see, the fuse on the medbot broke, and now my ankle can’t get fixed until I get one that works. And frankly, my ankle is killing me.”

  He tried to look as pathetic and injured as possible. He hoped being in the chair helped. The Grogg grunted and looked at each other, not sure what to do. Reg plowed ahead.

  “Do you speak Standard? I need a new fuse. See? Fuse?” He pointed vigorously at the still-functioning fuse. One of the Grogg snatched the fuse from his hand. He held it up to his beady little eyes, inspecting it.

  “Broken. Not work. Understand?” Reg spoke slowly, emphasizing it was broken by shaking his head vigorously. The Grogg holding the fuse shifted back and forth uneasily and looked at the other Grogg. It grunted something unintelligible and shoved the fuse into the other Grogg’s hand. The second Grogg looked unhappy at having the focus shifted to him. Sensing an opportunity, Reg held out his hand.

  “Hey!” shouted Reg, trying to match the attitude of the Grogg. “I need that fuse back. You two are gonna be in big trouble if I can’t find a new fuse for the medbot. Is this a supply closet?”

  Reg made a move for the door the Grogg seemed to be guarding. Both guns were very quickly leveled at his head again. Reg held up both hands, and then he cautiously extended one hand in front of him, while keeping the other hand up in the air.

  “Okay. Okay. But I need my fuse back.”

  The Grogg holding the fuse reluctantly dropped it back into Reg’s outstretched hand. It pointed toward a door farther down the hallway. Reg managed a “thank you” and moved down to where the Grogg pointed.

  He hit the metallic circular button next to the door. It slid open silently. Reg waved and smiled weakly at the two Grogg, and then he went inside. When the door closed behind him, he slunk back in the hoverchair, his stomach turning. He heaved a sigh of relief. That was too close for comfort.

  20

  Parts

  “This will come in handy.”

  Reg, his heart rate having recovered its normal pace after his run-in with the Grogg, was riffling through various boxes. He was in what appeared to be a supply room. It was full of spare parts and tools. He couldn’t believe his luck.

  He had discovered a basic handheld laser-cutting tool. It was small enough that Reg was confident he could conceal it in his clothes. He also found a fuse that looked similar to the fuse on the XD-2 medbot. And that would help aid his ruse with the brutish, but mentally slow Grogg.

  After he had finished rummaging through all the boxes, Reg gave the room another once-over with his eyes, checking to see if he had missed anything useful. His mental clock, which he had been ignoring, reminded him that he was pushing his luck. He needed to get back to the infirmary, pronto.

  He tucked the cutting tool into the back of his pants and pulled the medical gown over it. Taking a deep breath, he hit the button to open the door. He tried to be as casual as possible as he moved back out into the hallway.

  “Found one.” Reg triumphantly held up the imposter fuse, but the hallway was empty. The doorway unguarded. The Grogg were gone. He hesitated. The little voice in his head pleaded with him to go back to the infirmary as he headed toward the formerly guarded door.

  This is probably a bad idea, said the little voice.

  Reg pushed the button to open the door.

  You’re going to get us killed.

  The door slid open. It was dark inside.

  Need we remind you, you’re not a fan of the dark.

  Reg entered the room slowly. His fingers fumbled along the inside wall, looking for a light switch.

  You never learn.

  After a few secs, Reg found the switch. He flipped it, and the room was bathed in flickering, artificial light. It looked to be another storage room, except this one was empty. Actually, empty wasn’t exactly the right description. More like “stripped bare.” Anything that had been in the room had been removed. Whoever had cleaned it out had used saws, torches… whatever means necessary. There were burn marks on the floor where shelving units had once been anchored. Framing had been torn from the walls and random metal bits were sticking out here and there. There was nothing left.

  He let out a sigh. Reg was no closer to finding his robot, after all. He turned to leave, but something caught his eye. It was hard to see, but there was a metal card on the floor. Reg made his way over to the card. He leaned forward, balancing his chest on his thighs, and picked up the card.

  It appeared to be a key card of some sort. But unlike
the ship, it wasn’t new. It was an older electromagnetic card and lacked the advanced digital biometrics that newer designs employed. It didn’t belong on a modern craft like this.

  I think I hear something.

  Reg froze. The little voice finally had his attention.

  Quick. Hide.

  Hide where?

  Sounds of scuffing boots and footsteps floated down the hallway. And they were getting closer. Reg silently cursed himself for thinking that leaving the infirmary was a good idea.

  He hurriedly closed the door to the room and turned off the lights, hoping the footsteps would continue on by. His throat tightened, as he slid along the wall away from the door. He held his breath. Suddenly, light pierced the darkness of the room as the door opened. Reg tried to flatten himself against the inside wall. In walked the two Grogg from earlier.

  “If you can’t find it, then I will,” said a voice from the hallway.

  Then Raul walked into the room.

  21

  Reunion

  “Grab him.”

  Raul had spoken. Confusion washed across Reg’s face. The closest Grogg lifted Reg off his feet, the muscles in its shoulders and back rippling. He hung there, speechless. Raul continued to bark out orders.

  “Search the room. The card has to be here somewhere. You imbeciles couldn’t have lost it.”

  The other Grogg seemed annoyed but complied. Raul joined in, his feet echoing off the metal floor, canvassing the room. After a few mons of the fruitless search, Raul turned to Reg.

  “You have the card, don’t you?”

  Reg, still dumbfounded, responded haltingly. “You…speak?”

  “Always a keen eye for the obvious,” said Raul. “You’re almost as quick as these Grogg.”