by T.L. Charles
hook hand retracted into its arm and the plasma cannon popped out not a moment later, whirring and squealing as it charged with repressed energy.
Damn it, Space thought, walking backwards as the plasma robot advanced on him. This isn't good, not good at all. But I can't run forever. If I don't beat this robot, then Galaxy will die and it will all be my fault.
The biggest question, of course, was how to stop the robot. It was far larger than he, not to mention better armed and armored. Space's laser pistol seemed inadequate to pierce the plasma robot's armor. Even if he aimed for the head, which was the only unprotected part of the robot, it wouldn't do much except maybe annoy it and right now Space could not afford to annoy it even more than it already was.
The robot's plasma cannons were charging with plasma. Clearly, the robot was hoping to incinerate Space with two well-charged blasts of plasma. It wasn't difficult for Space to imagine himself as little more than an ugly little piece of molten flesh and bones on the sand of the canyon floor, which was a very disturbing mental picture, to say the least.
That was when an idea occurred to Space.
He stopped, causing the plasma robot to stop about two dozen or so feet away from him. He drew his laser pistol and aimed it at the plasma robot, which did not seem to understand what he was planning to do.
“All right, robot, you got me,” said Space, using the most masculine, Wild West-style voice he could muster. “Ah see you have cornered me. Ah truly have no way of getting out of here alive.”
The robot tilted its head, as if confused. Yet its aim never wavered, which was exactly what Space wanted.
Space continued speaking. “Since we are both men of honor here, why don't we determine who lives and who dies by having ourselves an old-fashioned duel? The winner shall be named the champion of this old dust bowl of ours.”
The plasma robot just shook its head and raised its plasma guns, aiming at Space with even greater accuracy than before.
Space shrugged. “If that's your answer, then I'll just have to take it.”
With expert aim, Space shot two laser bolts at the plasma robot. Not at its body; no, he aimed for the plasma cannons that contained repressed plasma energy. Space wasn't much of a scientist, but even he understood what happened when laser energy met plasma.
The two laser bolts hit the plasma cannons at roughly the same time. At least, Space thought they did. He didn't get a chance to see because the plasma cannons exploded into a ball of fire and heat, causing the robot to let out all kinds of surprised-sounding beeps and clicks. Space watched as the plasma robot fell over backwards, half of its face blown off by the explosion and a good chunk of its chest, too.
Space spun his laser pistol in his hand, just like in the old Western movies he used to watch as a kid, but he didn't do it quite right and he accidentally dropped it. He picked it up just as quickly, however, feeling glad that Galaxy and Sparky weren't nearby to see that as he holstered his laser pistol.
Then he remembered that Galaxy was still in Zingfree's ship and that the meteor was going to hit very soon.
He turned to leave the valley, ignoring the smoking remains of the plasma robot, but he stopped and remembered the plasma cannon from the Artistic Sail. He still didn't have a way of getting past it. If he tried, he might get killed and if he got killed, then he couldn't save Galaxy (also, that would really suck).
Is this the end? Space thought. Is Galaxy destined to die out here, on this lonely planet in this dark universe?
He looked over his shoulder at the robot. It's body was little more than a smoking wreck now, but Space got an idea when he saw it. A strange idea, but one that might just work if the Artistic Sail's laser cannon worked like he thought it did.
Space would have to work quickly, though, because he could practically feel the time ticking as he walked over to the fallen machine, pulling out his laser pistol as he did so.
-
Six hours left …
The utter silence of the Artistic Sail—aside from the hum of the generator echoing somewhere in the distance—made Galaxy pause. While she was not as knowledgeable about the layout of the Artistic Sail as she was of the Adventure, she had a good memory for these sort of things and figured she was about halfway up to the bridge, where Zingfree, Jeff, and the rest of the crew most likely were.
That was why she paused. She had fully expected to run into one of the crew mates of the ship at some point, but so far she had not run into any of them. Even the robot Metalhead appeared to be missing. She assumed they were all on the bridge, but that was just what it was: an assumption. And she knew that assumptions were always dangerous, especially in situations like these.
She shook her head and kept walking. So what if most of the crew was on the bridge? Galaxy didn't see any reason to worry about that. She, Space, and Sparky often spent most of their time on the bridge of their ship, after all. She imagined that the crew of the Artistic Sail did not have much to do at the moment anyway, what with the holospheres being damaged and all.
It was the silence that bothered her above all else. She heard nothing in the ship aside from the normal sounds one expects to find on these starships. The walls, ceiling, and floor were made out of a thick kind of metal, true, but she thought that the closer she got to the bridge, the more sounds she would hear from the ship's crew.
Whatever is going on here doesn't matter, Galaxy thought. All I need to do is tell Zingfree about the meteor. Then I can leave.
A few minutes later, she climbed the final set of stairs that connected the second deck to the top and found the door to the bridge was closed. It wasn't locked, however, because when she approached it the door slid open as smoothly and silently as the wind. That made her more than a bit cautious, even though there was nothing unusual about such doors and in fact it would have been stranger if the door had not opened for her.
So Galaxy entered the bridge. As soon as she did, she noticed Zingfree, Rinz, and Ezra sitting in the center of the room, tied together, their mouths gagged with rope. They all looked like they'd been beaten, especially Zingfree, whose black eyes and lolling head made him look barely conscious.
“What the …” said Galaxy before hearing the click of a gun's hammer behind her head.
She slowly turned around to see Jeff standing there. He was holding a gun in his hand; not a laser pistol, surprisingly, but an old-fashioned gun that used bullets, the kind used on Earth until the end of the twenty-first century. She would have wondered about the strangeness of such an ancient artifact being here, of all places, if she had not also been terrified for her life.
“Jeff?” said Galaxy, taking a step back as Jeff entered and closed the door behind himself. “What are you doing? Where'd you get that gun?”
Jeff didn't move his gun as he pressed in a code in the control panel next to the door. “Present from my great-grandfather, before he died. It's a M1911 and it still works. Could blow half your skull off and take as many of your brains.”
Galaxy gulped. “That is something.”
Jeff nodded, turning his attention from the control panel to her. “I always keep this gun on hand, mostly to remember my great-grandfather. He was a good man, much better than most men nowadays. In fact, this gun belonged to his great-grandfather, and probably to his great-grandfather as well. It's been in my family for generations.”
“How interesting,” said Galaxy, her eyes focused on the gun's barrel. “But I don't quite see how that is relevant to the fact that we're all going to die in less than six hours if we don't get this ship off the ground soon.”
Jeff smiled; it was a crazy smile, the kind that Galaxy associated with serial killers. “Oh, Captain Galaxy, we're all going to die much sooner than that. At least, you will. Me, I plan to live for many, many more years after this.”
Galaxy tried not to show her fear, but she felt her fingers tremble just the same. “So you're going to kill me and your crew? Why?”
For a moment, Jeff looked like he was going to ex
plain exactly why he was going to kill her. Then he said, “You know what? I don't have time for this. I certainly am not planning to stick around long enough to get blown into itty bitty little pieces by that damn meteor. I'm getting off this god-forsaken planet before we're all killed. But first—”
He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence because Galaxy saw an opening. She lashed out with her hand, karate-chopping the wrist he held his gun in. She fully expected him to drop the gun; however, when her hand collided with his wrist, a loud clang echoed, like she had hit a hollow pipe. Shocked, Galaxy took another step back, while Jeff just grinned even more widely.
“Thought that would work?” said Jeff. “I guess no one told you about the time I lost my right arm and had to have it replaced with this beauty.”
Jeff pulled back the sleeve of his right arm, revealing a shiny mechanical arm that was almost identical in shape and form to his organic left arm, except metal. “But don't worry. I'm not angry at you.”
Galaxy blinked. “You're … not?”
“Oh, no,” said Jeff, shaking his head as he pulled his sleeve back down. “No, no, no. Of course not. Why would I? Most people think I'm completely whole. An honest mistake.”
Jeff's tone, combined with his Southern accent (which Galaxy still found cute, even under these circumstances), was so gentle and understanding that Galaxy forgot for a moment that he