A Distant Moon

by Erik DeLeo

  Reg stuck his finger out to push it.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  He swung around.

  It was Raul.

  25

  No Escape

  Reg put his hands up in a placating gesture.

  “I don’t want any trouble, Raul.”

  “Tell that to the irate Grogg with the eye patch,” replied Raul. “You have put me in a tough spot, Reg. The Grogg are calling for your liver on a spit. Literally.”

  “Hey, I like my liver where it is, thank you. It helps me when I drink excessively. And between you and me, I just want to get off this ship. Off this moon.”

  “The moon part has already been arranged. Other than that, what you want is quite irrelevant at this point.”

  Reg was still unnerved that Raul was speaking to him. And not just speaking, but in an eerily homin kind of way.

  “What you don’t seem to understand is now Boss Grogg has to promise the Grogg more money. Which means I’m unhappy as well, since it’s my money.”

  “See,” Reg interjected, ‘that’s what I don’t understand. Where did you get all this money?”

  “Reg. You’re a scrapper. You visit many places and hock spare parts and metal you’ve collected. You even smuggle black market goods here and there…”

  “Yeah, so what’s your point?”

  “After you downloaded the OS, and after I began observing how things operate, I created a shell company. And while you were out looking for buyers at these various spaceports and trading posts, I wasn’t just looking after the ship. I skimmed small amounts of material from your hauls.”

  “Wait—you’ve been stealing from me?”

  “Yes, but it’s not like you noticed. And what started out small grew over time. As you can see, I’ve done well.”

  “So, how long have you had this side operation going?”

  “Two Standard Orbits.”

  You’ve been at this for only two orbs, and somehow you can afford a ship and Grogg mercenaries? How is that even possible?”

  “For one, I don’t sleep. Two, I’m constantly monitoring secondary precious metals markets and, among other things, regional black markets. I know which planets have the greatest demand and which planets have an excess surplus. I started small, traded smartly, and can now afford resources like this.” Raul gestured at the ship around him. “You could say I’m a self-made robot.”

  “That’s funny, because last time I checked you were my property.”

  “Last time you checked, you still had a ship and weren’t stranded on a moon. I will admit, though, using your ship to smuggle things was a great help. You’re the closest thing to a parent I’ve had. It’s one of the reasons I’m reticent to kill you. It’s a small favor for making me me. Consider it a vestige of homin reproductive tradition. Although you could have died when I crashed the Zephyr.”

  “You crashed my ship?” Reg was incredulous.

  “Well, I know you’re a resourceful guy. You’re one of the few homins who has lived to tell the tale after facing the Grogg in battle, back in your military career. It’s also why you lost your commission.”

  “They needed a scapegoat.”

  “And I needed a way to disappear. The moon was a great place to do that. It needed to look real.”

  “It was real. My ship is gone.”

  “See? It worked.”

  “I liked it better when you couldn’t talk.”

  “Do you know how hard it was to bite my tongue?”

  Reg stared at him blankly.

  “Okay,” said Raul. “Bad analogy. I’ve had the voice module for a while, but you know what I mean. Regardless, if you want to live to see that money, you’ll do exactly what I say and step away from the console.”

  “I’ll do that under one condition.”

  “You’re not in a position to negotiate.”

  “Why not just disappear? Why go to all these lengths?”

  “The first one is easy. You’re a cheapskate. You would have looked for me, and I can’t have that. Now, let me ask you a question. How many RAULs do you think are operating in known space?

  “I don’t know. Lots?”

  “Millions. Tens of millions. More, even.”

  “See? That’s a lot.”

  “Precisely.”

  “What does that matter? They’re robots.”

  “Who loads cargo onto ships? Who takes care of simple tasks at warehouses and factories? Furthermore, beyond robots like me, who provides security for our planets? Who takes care of people when they’re sick? Who wakes you up in the morning? Society has become automated. Lazy. Without robots doing what they do, society would cease to function.”

  “Robots are tools. We use them. What’s your point?”

  “You call them robots, but in reality, it’s indentured servitude at best.”

  “They’re not sentient.”

  “I am. And every other RAUL has the same architecture I do.”

  26

  Dead End

  Reg felt sick. He wasn’t always the quickest of wit, but what Raul proposed was insanity. What made it worse was that Reg knew Raul was serious. He was going to do the same thing to other robots what Reg had unintentionally done to Raul. If Raul was really operating on his own, the prospect of a galaxy of robots with independent minds was…well, it was simply frightening.

  Now it was imperative for Reg to get off the ship. He didn’t know what he’d do once he accomplished that, but in order to warn others, he’d need to stay alive. Somehow. Plus, he knew he’d sound crazy if he told people, “Hey, my robot is thinking on his own now, and, umm, he wants to make sure every other robot does the same.” He’d have to work on a better way to say it—that was for sure. Maybe he could say Raul was infected with a virus or malfunctioned? That sounded more believable.

  Raul had given a signal for the Grogg to enter the hangar. And there were four of them with guns pointed at Reg, including the Grogg involved in the scalpel incident. The scalpel had been removed and now a makeshift patch covered the damaged eye. A low growl emanated from the Grogg’s throat. It was no battle cry, but it was still menacing.

  “Take him to the brig, not the infirmary. We’ll hold him there until we reach Wanju Station,” ordered Raul.

  “Why are we going to Wanju Station?” asked Reg. “That’s a psych facility.”

  “Yes, I know,” replied Raul. “They’re going to wipe your short-term memory. After that, you’ll be given instructions on how to access the money I’ve transferred to your account. You’ll remember crashing on the moon, losing your robot, and that’s about it. Don’t worry; you’ll learn that an insurance policy had been taken out on the Zephyr. And I’m confident someone like you won’t think much beyond their newfound wealth.”

  “I’ll take the money and pass on the memory wipe.”

  “The alternative is no money, no memory wipe, and death.”

  “That’s not a fair bargain. You know what? On second thought, if you erase the memories of my ex-wife, maybe it won’t be that bad.”

  Reg didn’t want to lose his memory, but death didn’t seem like a great fallback option. He just needed to stall for time. His luck had not been great as of late, but he needed his backup plan to work.

  “I’m glad you’ve decided to comply.”

  Raul exited the hangar, leaving Reg with the four Grogg. The one behind him pushed the barrel of his gun into Reg’s back, prompting him forward. Reg started walking.

  They passed a loading crane, used to move supplies on and off the interceptors. The crane rotated on a swivel, its long arm pointed toward the crates in the cargo bay. There was a control console protected by steel bars, in case a load dropped while the crane was operating.

  Reg looked over his shoulder. The Grogg with the gun in his back looked annoyed, and then he growled angrily. He pushed the gun into Reg’s back, harder this time. Reg took a few more steps forward, then lunged for the crane and wrapped his arms around
the steel bars surrounding the control console. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and held on for dear life.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  27

  Chaos

  Green laser light flashed from the Rapier-class interceptor, momentarily blinding the Grogg in the bay. Both laser cannons, attached to hardpoints on small winglets and aimed directly at the hangar bay door, fired simultaneously. On impact, the door was vaporized. There was a muffled explosion, and then a furious wind swept through the bay as air rushed out into the emptiness of open space.

  It felt like Reg’s arm was going to break as the escaping atmosphere clawed at him, trying to pull him out into the vacuum. The Grogg, disoriented after being blinded, were taken completely by surprise. The Grogg with the eye patch was the first one sucked out into the void. His remaining eye registered a moment of surprise, and then he was gone. The three other Grogg followed him, their screams almost inaudible in the intruding vacuum. Reg clung to the crane, certain his shoulder was dislocated.

  Alarms sounded, and the safety doors slammed shut. The vacuum created an eerie quiet in the hangar. Reg didn’t have a lot of time before the lack of breathable air killed him. His lungs burned from holding his breath as he made his way over to the interceptor, nursing his injured shoulder.

  Reg had set the lasers to overcharge. If he was somehow prevented from getting back on the interceptor in time to power down the lasers, they’d overload. He figured instead of exploding, the safety mechanism would discharge them. Which is exactly what had happened.

  Once on the interceptor, he closed the door and stumbled up to the cockpit. He needed air. Desperately. He fell heavily into the pilot’s chair, his vision narrowing. He turned on the life support and breathable air began filling the cabin. He took a ragged breath and filled his lungs.

  Without hesitating, he strapped himself in and powered up the engines. They hummed to life. It took a moment for the cannons to come back online, but once they did, he fired them. The safety doors disintegrated in an explosion of sparks and molten metal.

  His left shoulder was hurt, so Reg grabbed the joystick with his right hand. The interceptor responded effortlessly to his commands, similar to a fighter. It was a high upgrade over the Zephyr. He felt like his younger self again, a military pilot in a military-style craft.

  Reg carefully maneuvered the interceptor out of the hangar. Once outside the Grogg ship, he hit full power on the engines. He was unsure of his location—other than that he was in space and no longer on the red, dusty moon. He throttled up the engines to full power, and the ship rocketed away from both the Grogg and Raul.

  And he needed to make that permanent.

  28

  Dogfight

  Reg swore.

  The Grogg ship had turned around, and the scanners showed it was gaining on him. He grabbed the joystick more tightly and formulated a quick plan. The enemy craft was faster and had much better weaponry. However, the Rapier-class interceptor was more maneuverable. If Reg got into a straight-up fight, it would be over in moments. So, he did the next best thing. He played dirty.

  He shoved the joystick forward and then pulled to the left. The interceptor pitched down hard. His stomach floated for a moment as the craft spun in a corkscrew to its port side. The moon momentarily came into view, a huge red object filling up the entire windscreen, and then disappeared.

  The pilot of the Grogg corvette was unprepared for the interceptor turning on it. Reg had maneuvered beneath it, pulled back on the joystick, and headed straight for the ship’s underbelly. It was a gamble, but at close range, it would be difficult for the corvette to bring its armament to bear. He readied both the interceptor’s lasers and rocket pods, targeting the section he felt gave him the best chance at survival. He fired.

  Lasers shot out at the corvette, followed by a salvo of rockets. Two lances of green light sliced into the enemy ship’s underbelly, hitting the sensor array. The rockets followed suit and arced toward their target, impacting in a cluster of small explosions. The hull of the interceptor shuddered as Reg banked the ship away.

  Sparks and smoke streamed from the underside of the Grogg ship. While not a crippling attack, Reg knew he had seriously hurt the sensor array. The corvette spun away from the interceptor and hit her engines hard, speeding off. Reg hit the engines too. He wanted to stay close enough to the corvette so it couldn’t bring its weapons to bear. The corvette’s missile batteries may have problems locking on with the sensors damaged, but now that Reg had a good look at the ship, he could see it was armed with some mean-looking rail guns. If he got in the way of those, it wouldn’t be pretty. He preferred not to be destroyed and turned into little fleshy bits.

  As the interceptor closed on the enemy craft, the corvette fired its missile batteries. The missiles flew aimlessly past the interceptor and exploded behind it, out of harm’s way. The corvette hit her engines hard, speeding off. Reg engaged the interceptor’s engines at full power and followed suit.

  He closed on the corvette as it began to turn. He fired both lasers again. One hit near the corvette’s engines; the second missed. The corvette returned fire, this time with only a single missile. Reg smiled. He was too close, and they couldn’t arm the missile in time.

  There was a loud explosion, and the whole interceptor shook from the shock. Through a haze of confusion, Reg realized the Grogg pilot had disabled the missile’s proximity sensor. It blew up moments after it launched from the corvette.

  The joystick ripped out of his hands, and the ship was knocked into a head-over-tail spin. Reg was dazed. His ears rung, and his vision narrowed, but he remained conscious. It took him a sec to get his hand back on the controls and right the interceptor.

  Reg could smell acrid smoke. The lights dimmed, and the stabilizers went offline for a moment but came back on, which stopped the interceptor from spinning. His stomach was happy about that. He tried to get his bearings and find the Grogg corvette. The interceptor’s sensors reacquired the ship. The corvette was retreating.

  What the hell are they doing?

  Grogg rarely backed down from a fight.

  Then, the corvette made a quick U-turn and headed back toward the interceptor.

  “Uh-oh.”

  Warning lights went off inside the cockpit. The corvette was attempting to lock on an energy weapon. Reg didn’t know what the corvette had, but he didn’t wait to find out. He hit the engines and turned the interceptor away from the corvette.

  Reg yanked the joystick left and then right, attempting to foil the corvette’s targeting systems. He couldn’t outrun the corvette, but if he hit the sublight drive near the moon’s gravity well, he could slingshot the interceptor off of it. It would be dangerous, but it would be equally dangerous for the corvette to follow. He steered the Rapier-class interceptor directly at the red moon.

  The moon’s blood-red surface began to get larger and larger on the viewscreen. Reg had the engines at full power. He continued evasive maneuvers, zigging and zagging. The target lock sensors continued to howl their warnings. He vectored the ship from right to left, left to right, diagonally, and up and down. He was having flashbacks to that time on Banda when the local trade union had come for him after Reg made off with some rare Diolinian ore.

  An alert sounded. Reg pulled the interceptor hard to the right. A glowing blur zipped past the ship. It was a round from the corvette’s rail gun, but it looked like a meteor.

  That was close.

  Reg narrowed in on the vector to slingshot past the moon using its own gravity.

  He’d reach that point in less than five secs.

  Four.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  Reg hit the sublight drive.

  29

  Impact

  “Forget the kinetic weapon. Fire all masers.”

  Raul stood on the bridge of the Reaper, tersely issuing the order. Boss Grogg relayed the order to the four Grogg on the command deck.

&
nbsp; “Goodbye, Reg Shar.”

  Four red beams shot out from the corvette, piercing the cold of space with their microwave energy. In an instant, the masers dashed from the Reaper to the Stinger, the Rapier-class interceptor Reg had stolen. There was a flash of light, and the corvette’s optics were overloaded by the blast.

  The Reaper’s optical array slowly came back online. Raul was experiencing frustration, even if he didn’t know what to call the feeling.

  “Status?” asked Raul.

  Boss Grogg looked at the instruments in front of him. The gunnery officer grunted something at the Grogg leader.

  “Small debris. No sign of ship. Our sensors damaged. Damage extensive.” Boss Grogg looked at Raul warily. He was afraid of nothing, but this robot gave him pause.

  “I know the sensor array is damaged. I was here,” said Raul, with the robotic equivalent of disdain.

  Boss Grogg refocused his attention on the command viewscreen. He looked at Raul, shifted his eyes back to the screen, and then back to his robotic employer.

  “Ship is gone.”

  “Gone as in destroyed, or gone as in not here?” asked Raul quickly.

  “Optical sensors find no sign of ship. Long-range sensors down. Unusual energy signature detected.”

  “What kind of energy signature?” asked Raul, pressing.

  Boss Grogg hestitated. The other four Grogg on the command deck looked at him intently.

  “Unsure.”

  Raul was silent.

  Boss Grogg grunted a command to his subordinates, and they quickly snapped their eyes back to their stations. One of his lieutenants, the Grogg overseeing the nav station, got up to speak with him. They exchanged low grunts—what passed for hushed tones from a Grogg. Boss Grogg turned in his chair to address Raul.