by Marc Landau
You mean the alien that’s going to destroy the Earth, the little voice said.
“Shut up. You’re worse than the bot.”
Speaking of the bot, if there was any chance of saving Kat, getting the life support fixed, and shutting off the self-destruct sequence, I was going to need to do the one thing that was worse than death. I was going to have to reboot the thing.
Hopefully its system would recalibrate and it would stop being a killing machine. If I was wrong, it would start trying to zap me again. All my plans would be for nothing. If I couldn’t get the walrus back to its factory settings, I might as well have blown up the ship in the first place.
I might be able to retrieve Kat on my own. But no way I could get the life support working or the self-destruct to shut off. They never taught us any of that important stuff at the academy. Just the simple stuff. All the complicated things were left to the robot.
“One.”
There was no other option. It was time to cross my fingers and reboot the robot. It had been offline long enough that the system would auto-boot when I turned it back on, but for good measure, I pressed the reset sequence on its neck appendage. I did it twice just to be sure. That should reset the thing back to before any virus or contagion entered its system.
At worst, it would have some memory gaps from wiping the virus from its programming. It should still remember everything else. At least, that was how it was supposed to work. But with the way things were going, I was half expecting the reset to send it back to its factory settings. It wouldn’t know who I was, where it was, or what its function was.
If that happened, I’d have to remap its entire data system to get it back up to speed. That would take hours. Maybe even days. That’s if I could even remember where I put the damn data chips. Who’d imagine ever having to do a clean wipe on an Outpost’s helper-bot?
I think I put the manual and the chips somewhere easy to find, so I wouldn’t forget it in case of an emergency. And this was definitely an emergency. Guess what? I couldn’t remember where the hellvian I put it. Why does that always happen?
It didn’t matter. I didn’t have hours. Or days. And Kat didn’t have that kind of time either. Most likely she was already dead. Still, I had to try.
I checked the monitors to see if she’d changed but there was no activity of any sort. Nothing. But the systems could be malfunctioning, so I couldn’t trust them. But my gut was telling me the alien was running out of time.
I pressed the ultra-reset one more time for good luck and asked the universe to help me out. A few moments later, I heard the whirs and beeps of the walrus waking from its nap. When I saw its lights start to flicker, I smiled. It was good to have the thing back. Don’t ask me to ever admit that out loud. I’ll never give the bot the satisfaction.
Chapter Sixteen
The bot’s eye slits started blinking more rapidly than a hummingbird who’d just found a flower overflowing with nectar. All of its lights and appendages flickered and flopped. Soon it looked like it was having a convulsion. The entire bot started shaking, rocking and rolling like Elvis on twenty cups of espresso.
It was a sight to see. I wished I could’ve recorded it and shown the bot later how goofy it looked. Even Poka just stood there wide-eyed, watching in amazement.
Then it suddenly stopped. All of its lights went out. And everything was dead quiet again.
Shat. It didn’t work.
Poka slowly moved closer, the way she did when she saw something new and different that fraked her out. She did what I called her scaredy-cat investigation. She had that “What the hellvian is it?” look on her face. She’d take a cautious step closer, stick her schnoz out to sniff it, but was always ready to jump backwards in case anything happened.
When cats do that, if you make any sudden moves they jump straight up a hundred feet in the air. It’s impressive. They don’t even bend their knees. They shoot straight up like a rocket. Dogs either bark or run for the hills.
Poka got close. Real close. She gave the bot a big dog sniff right on its face appendage. It was enough to tell her the bot was not threatening. Once she realized that, she gave the walrus a big ol’ Poka kiss right on its mouth hole.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
The bot wiped its mouth. “Biohazard detected.”
Ha. That was the second time in a day the walrus was wiping saliva from its face. Poor walrus. It was probably dying to take an hour-long ion bath and clean the bio-material off its pristine mechanical elements. There was not much that the bot hated more than biological substances. It was repulsed by them. It was a mech-snob.
“Humans have too many fluids, mucous, and overall wetness.”
We were too wet and it hated wet. I get it. We are pretty disgusting. I can admit it.
I didn’t care. I was so excited to see the dang bot again, I jumped right in with Poka and kissed the thing on its mouth hole. I’d totally forgotten that the reset might not have worked and the bot might wake up and try to zap us again. Now I was sure it would zap me either way. I deserved a zap for kissing the thing.
But it didn’t power up its orange hand. It was too busy wiping our saliva from its face.
“Why are you attacking me with saliva?”
“We’re just happy to see you.”
“I did not go anywhere.”
“Oh, boy, you certainly did.”
“Where did I go? I have no recollection.”
Shat! Was this a total memory wipe? I couldn’t bear the thought of having to reinstall its systems and update its data. There just wasn’t enough time for that. Then it struck me that it knew me so at least it wasn’t a total wipe.
“The dog’s saliva has E. coli in it,” it said as it sprayed its face with some type of sterilizing agent that squirted from its finger appendage. Impressive how much of a Swiss army knife the bot turned out to be. Just when I thought I’d seen all of its appendages and abilities, it would pull a new one out. I guess it never needed to sterilize itself before now.
More good news. It remembered Poka was a dog, and not a bio-AI. So its memory systems must be mostly intact. The best news was that whatever had screwed up its system and turned it into a maniac seemed to have been cleaned out. It wasn’t trying to laser-kill us anymore.
“What do you remember?” I asked realizing it was way too general of a question as it left my mouth.
“I remember every millisecond of my existence since I was booted up in Sector Seven.”
“Right. I meant about the last hour or so?”
The bot blinked it eye slits and made the prerequisite beeps and hums of processing.
“There are significant memory failures. And empty data blocks.”
“What’s the last thing you remember?”
“You asking me the question ‘what’s the last thing you remember’ one point six seconds ago.”
Okay, the bot was definitely back.
“Here’s the short of it. A giant sphere attacked us and turned you and me and the ship into atoms, but alien-Kat saved us. But then your brain was scrambled and you tried to kill me and Poka, so I shut you off, and now you’re rebooted and Kat is floating dead or unconscious outside and the life support systems are down.”
“One,” the ship said.
“What’s that?” the bot asked.
“Right. And the ship is stuck on one second left in the self-destruct sequence.”
The bot made its processing noises but there wasn’t even time for that.
“You have to fix the ship and send the retrieval-drone out to get Kat.”
“There is no logical…”
“No time to argue. I’m the commander. Just do it. Please. You’re the only one who can save us.”
That seemed to do it. Stroking the bot’s ego. Finally, I’d admitted it was better than me. It could do what I couldn’t. I needed it.
It grinned with satisfaction, even though it wasn’t programmed to be satisfied by me begging it to help us. The walrus wobble
d up to its core and hoover-slid over to the main console. Its arms played the main board like an Orglugian piano. The beeps, clicks, and whirs were a concerto of electronica that could be played in any club on Planet Zelph. If the bot ever needed another job, it could definitely be a galaxy-class DJ.
DJ Walrus, I smiled.
“One.”
More button presses and lever switches.
“One. One. One. One.”
Uh-oh. The countdown was getting faster. A skipping record. Vinyl. Still a popular form of music. One of the few artifacts from the past that had stood the test of time. Thanks mostly to something called the “artisan vinyl movement.”
“One. One. One. One. One. One. One. One. One. One”
The ship was repeating the word so fast, I started being unable to even make out the word “one” anymore. It became a melodic drone: “Oooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnnneeeeee.”
Was that a good or bad thing?
“Bot, can you just…”
It waved a dismissive finger appendage at me. The message was clear. Shut up and let it do what it had to do. So I did as suggested, zipped my lip and watched. The walrus’s hands were moving at light speed now. A blur of metal mixed in with the music.
“OnOnOneeOnOeeeeOnnnnOOOOOOOO.”
I became so hypnotized by the sound and motions, I almost forgot the bot was trying to reboot the ship’s main systems without accidentally triggering the self-destruct sequence I’d begun. One wrong move and the entire ship might explode.
And then everything went silent.
And the bot stopped moving.
I waited a second before speaking. “So?”
“So?” the bot replied.
“Did you fix it?”
“No. The auto-destruct sequence initiated and the ship was destroyed. You are dead.”
What the frak? I wasn’t dead. Was the walrus’s programming still fraked up? Then I realized the bot had taken one of my commands a bit too literally.
“You’re being sarcastic.”
“Correct.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “I appreciate you listening to me, but you should work on your timing.”
“Work on timing. Confirmed.”
“Did you fix the drone system too?”
“Yes.”
“Send the retrieval-drone out and bring Kat back.”
The bot pressed a button, and I watched as two oval pods slowly ejected from the ship and headed towards Kat. I was relieved to see them bringing her back, but anxious for them to hurry the hellvian up. It looked like they were moving at negative three prilsecs.
“Can you speed them up?”
“No.”
Beggars can’t be choosers. I’d just have to wait and hope for the best. She’d been out there awhile now. She was either dead, or not. A few more minutes probably wouldn’t make a difference.
“Any chance you can tell if she’s alive?”
“No.”
Okay, so much for that. I was pretty sure “no” meant it couldn’t tell because the data wasn’t in its system. It couldn’t read alien life signs. I’d just have to wait and see.
“Thanks for fixing the ship.”
“You are welcome. But it is still malfunctioning.”
“What is?”
“Life support systems will fail in eight hours.”
“Come on. Before, you said it was like seventy-two.”
“I have no recollection of transferring that information to you.”
It must have forgotten. Probably one of the memory slots that had been wiped clean when it rebooted.
“Doesn’t matter. How long to fix it?”
The bot whirred and hummed. “Approximately eleven hours.”
“That’s three hours longer than we have.”
“Correct.”
Ugh. I wished the bot could at least sound a bit more concerned about us running out of air three hours before it could fix it.
“Any chance you could speed it up so me and Poka don’t die?”
“I will try,” it said with complete blankness in its tone.
“Gee. Thanks”
The bot got to work on the life support systems while I checked the screens. The retrieval-drones had hooked Kat and were slowly dragging her lifeless body back to the ship. I ran down to the dock pod, stopping at the med-bay to grab a first aid kit on the way.
Poka, of course, thought it was a chasing game, so she basically slammed into me over and over again as I ran. I was used to it. It wasn’t even annoying to have my calves slammed into every twenty feet or so. It was actually comforting, knowing she was by my side. It was also a moment of normalcy that I really needed.
The dock pod doors slid open and I prayed to the universe she was still alive.
You mean… it’s still alive.
Ugh. The little voice in my head was back again.
Can you please shut the hellvian up? I snapped, and it went quiet. I’m not a fan of yelling, but sometimes there’s no time for clear, honest, open, loving, sharing, caring communication. Sometimes “shut the hellvian up” is the best approach.
Another old quote popped to mind: “It’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission.” Not sure that fit the situation, but it was all I had.
I was still getting off track way too much. Dumb alien telepathy or whatever the hellivan they did to me. I wished I could’ve reset my brain the way I did the bot's. It was like I had the C-flu. The Cruthlon flu. It’s very similar to the ancient illness called ADHD, which was fixed with a nano, but there’s still no cure for the C-flu. Could the aliens be related to the Cruthlons?
Aren’t we all related? We’re all part of the universe.
“Shut up!” I said to the voice in my head.
The exterior dock pod doors thunked open just in time to refocus me. Kat looked so weak and vulnerable dangling from the drone’s netting. Like a rag doll (No, they don’t make those anymore, but everyone still uses the reference). She looked so helpless. All I wanted was to rush in and hold her. But I had to wait until the room depressurized.
Chapter Seventeen
Finally the door opened, and I rushed through and went to her. Kat was cold. Ice cold. Her flesh was so frigid just a quick touch bit into my hand, making me yelp. This brought Poka to my side to check on me. Unfortunately, she wasn’t a chill dog (forgive the pun), so her version of seeing if I was okay consisted of slamming into my side and trying to jump onto my face.
“Not now!” I yelled, and she immediately sat on her butt and waited. Sometimes yelling does work. I immediately felt bad for snapping but the stress was pushing my limits.
At least I knew why I’d brought the first-aid kit. I reached in, found the burn treatment spray and applied it to my hand. It had to be done quickly, or the skin on my hand would go necrotic and need to be replaced. I was pretty sure we hadn’t ordered any extra human skin for the ship’s reserves, so if it melted away I’d be skinless until we got back to civilization.
Luckily, I got to it in time. A few sprays, some bandages, and it was good as new. It burned like a mother-fraker but would be okay. Good thing it was only my hand. If I’d gone in for a kiss, I’d have lost my lips. That would suck. I really needed my lips.
Not that I had any interest in kissing some random alien. I’m not like that. Not that there’s anything wrong with being into aliens. I’m just not alien-fluid.
You’re into her, the little voice said.
“Zip it.”
I almost called to the bot to come and help out with all of its crazy medi-appendages, but I knew they were useless. How on Prime was I ever going to administer emergency medicine to an alien whose life signs didn’t register? How do you do CPR on an unknown alien? I didn’t even know if the thing had a heart.
It looked human. It acted human, at least when it wasn’t turning into a giant sphere that battled and ate other giant spheres.
It looked so fraking much like Kat. I couldn’t bear it. I wanted to hold her, but the fre
sh memory of the ice burn kept me from touching her.
You mean it.
“Shut the frak up.”
She looked peaceful. That was a small comfort. Even if it wasn’t Kat, I was grateful the alien had protected us. For some reason it had saved our lives. Twice. I closed my eyes and prayed for something. Some way to help the thing that had helped us. Some way to get Kat back.
Suddenly a chill flushed over my body. My hairs stood up, and I shivered. I blew out a puff of cold air breath. What the frak?
I looked over at Poka, and her breath was also foggy, like we were taking a crisp fall walk in the woods of the eco-center in Prime Vermont. Did the temperature in here suddenly drop? I patted Poka’s fur, and she was cool to the touch. Checking my own skin, it was also cool.
I looked back to Kat and saw small wisps of fog coming off her. Somehow, she was warming up. Her blue skin and ice crystallized eyes were changing. Condensation began forming on her lips, and skin. The alien popsicle was melting.
I shivered hard. Holy universe, it was freezing in here. Note to self: If this was the alien’s doing, my emotions must have triggered it. I got cold and it started melting just after the intense desire to help her washed over me.
My teeth chattered and Poka nuzzled up closer to get a hit of my body heat. I appreciated the snuggle. Her fur was cold, but a few serious strokes got a little warmth going. I blew hot air on her nose and rubbed her face. “Hang on, Pokes. I think this is a good thing. We’re helping.”
Kat was now flesh-toned again. She still looked like a corpse, but not an icicle corpse, so that was progress.
I hesitantly reached out a hand to test her skin, ready to pull back in an instant and apply the burn spray if needed. But I didn’t need it. Her skin was still cold, but it was no longer a billion below zero.
It had to be the alien drawing heat from us. What else could it be? Unless the robot opened a window that I wasn’t aware of. I’m sure it had thought of sucking me and Pokes out into space. But its preservation of human life commands wouldn’t let it.
