By Jeff Gard
Radiation bathes my rig, titanium panels and tungsten ribs shimmering like molten metal. Apart from the aura of impending death, it reminds me of my childhood, when I’d squeeze my eyelids shut while staring into the sun. Despite my best efforts, sunlight always leaked through the thin membrane of skin in a warm, blood-red glow.
I crouch beneath the navigation panels, legs tucked up to my chin so they don’t bake and turn to ash. I fumble with wires dangling a few inches from my nose.
“I said I was sorry.”
Even with her voice modulators tuned to approximate human speech, TAM1 doesn’t sound sincere. Maybe under different circumstances I’d be in a better mood for a conversation with my ship’s AI, but right now, I’m calculating precisely how much I’d get if I sold her as scrap metal.
That is, assuming we escape.
“Are you still angry, Amund?”
I splice a couple of wires. The floor vibrates. Praise Asimov, the shields are back online. The air around me cools a few degrees, at least enough for me to unfurl my legs. “You said you were good for one last run.”
“We made it here in one piece, didn’t we?”
I don’t like TAM1’s accusatory tone. Like it’s my fault that her power core cracked while breaking orbit, or that her engines don’t have enough thrust to break Costmo 6’s weak gravitational field.
Garbage runs to Costmo 6 are supposed to be routine. Every standard, I fly to this puny little world to offload spent fuel cells and plastics collected from the reclamation project on Tierra 2. Costmo 6’s orbit swings close enough to a star to purge everything on its surface. In a galaxy of clutter, it’s the best way to dispose of humanity’s litter.
Unfortunately, in thirty minutes, Costmo 6 will be too close to its sun for us to escape, and TAM1 and I will evaporate in a carbon vapor cloud sucked into the black void of space.
“This wasn’t supposed to be a one-way trip!” I stand too quickly and knock my head against the jutting lip of the navigational panel. TAM1 doesn’t say anything, but I swear I can feel her internal circuits smirking.
“Not for you, anyway,” TAM1 eventually says.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You were going to leave me here with the rest of the garbage.” The words come from the far end of the room, as if her speaker is turned away from me.
“Why in the cosmos would I do that?” I wriggle free of my sweaty jumpsuit. The recycled air filtering through the vents is dry and blistering hot. Even in my skivvies, the room is uncomfortably warm. I feel like a bug caught in a hairdryer. “You’re being irrational again. How would I have gotten home?”
“I saw the way you were ogling that G1ZZ3L model in the shipyard. You were rearranging the credits in your account for a down payment. Don’t deny it, Amund.”
“Those credits were for your upgrades!” I pound the wall and immediately burn the sides of my hands. With a yelp, I back away.
“Liar,” the ship says, but there is uncertainty in her voice modulators. “We both know G1ZZ3L can haul a thousand more metric tons of cargo. And her seats have that synthetic leather memory foam you like.”
“I can always replace a couple of seats. I can’t replace you!”
The floor shudders. Maybe it’s the way the wires are melting down the walls, but it seems like the ship is crying. “You’re just saying that so I’ll send a distress signal!”
“No, I mean it. Really.” Even I can tell the words came out too quickly, too rehearsed.
“Do you?” her voice snaps back.
“Of course I do.” I hop from foot to foot, dancing on the floor that has become a hot plate. “You were my first—my only ship. I learned to fly with you. We saw the stars together. I’ve always felt safe when you were setting the coordinates.”
The lights flicker to life. “Go on.”
I take a deep breath. “And I like the way you always share random facts about all the planets we pass. You know how to make a lifeless rock seem more interesting.”
“You always tell me to shut up and stop filling your head with garbage.”
“You know how I get cranky after a job. I’m just being… human.”
“I hate it when you play the human card.” TAM1 ejects a storage bin from the wall, and it narrowly misses my feet. “It’s like you’re secretly telling me that I’m not a true sentient and that you’re somehow more superior because you’re made of flesh and blood. Do I fault you for your limited memory or slow processing speed?”
I’m about to reply when a shadow passes over the ceiling. I blink. Did I imagine it? The radio crackles to life.
“We have received your distress call,” an annoyed voice says. “Stand by for recovery.”
I feel a slight tug as our rescuer’s tractor beam grabs the ship and lifts it from Costmo 6’s cluttered surface. Merciful Asimov, we’re saved. With relief, I collapse into my seat. A loose spring pokes at my back.
The ship trembles as vents exhale. “I’m sorry, Amund.”
“It’s okay.” I close my eyes and let the cool air wash over me. We’ve been through a lot, TAM1 and I. She knows me better than anyone else in the galaxy. How could I get rid of someone like that?
“After you upgrade my core, can we swing by the Melodia Nebulae?” asks TAM1. “The gaseous clouds are spectacular during this part of the standard.”
“We have another job lined up.”
The lights dim. “You never take me anywhere nice.”
Despite her moodiness, I chuckle. The old girl will be with me till the day I die, provided it’s not too late to cancel my down payment on the G1ZZ3L.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Hilarious! I love that last line!
Thanks, Arlan. I’m glad you enjoyed it.
open the pod bay doors, please, HAL…
That’s funny. I recognize the 2001 Space Odyssey reference, but I’ve never seen the full movie. I’ve tried to watch it a half dozen times but I always fall asleep after 15 minutes and then wake up toward the end of the movie.