fiction

by Stephen DiFranco

Detroit Catholic Central High School

“Navigation…offline.”

“Communications…offline.”

“Life support…offline.”

“Engines…offline.”

“Launch thrusters…offline.”

“Weapon systems…offline.”

“Oxygen level depleting… 73%”

“Energy cell… depleted.”

“Emergency cell… active.”

The calm voice echoed through the red cabin, flashing in sync with a piercing siren. The cabin was dark, the only light the red glare and the occasional volley of sparks from loose wires. The voice continued repeating its warning waiting for its pilot to wake up as the Drifter, slumped over the control panels of the cockpit’s dashboard, remained motionless.

An hour passed before movement from the Drifter stirred the cockpit. The man groaned and grasped his head, removing the slick white combat mask and dropping it to the floor. The Moonbeam’s voice began its self-diagnosis again and, hearing the status, the Drifter found his voice.

“MB, what the hell happened?”

The AI paused its diagnosis and spoke. “Drifter-347, you have crashed me. I have received heavy damage to the navigation, communications, life supp—”

“I got that, MB. Where did we crash?”

“Unknown regions. Searching for beacons… no signs of planetary civilization.”

The Drifter hastily unhooked his safety belt and began shuffling around the cabin. The cockpit was almost big enough to stand in, and behind the single pilot seat was a compact living area. Inside an airtight glass tube centered at the back of the ship hung the Drifter’s lifesuit, an FGN-issued compact design made to withstand the vacuum of space and any unfamiliar planetary environments. He slammed his fist against a glowing button and, with a cloud of icy vapors, the tube slid open.

As he began grabbing the suit out of the tube, MB spoke up again. “Sir, I strongly advise you against this course of action. The cockpit is the safest place to be.”

“I’m just taking a look, MB.” D-347 stepped into the thin suit and pulled it over his shoulders. Once his sleek white helmet had been locked over his bruised head, he walked to the back of the ship and, punching another button, opened the back of the Moonbeam. As its ramp descended into the glacial earth, snow billowed into the cabin and even the UV-protected visor of the Drifter’s helmet failed to block the blinding light.

Just prior to crashing on this planet, The Insatiable had been attacked and Drifter-347 was called into duty. Usually, combat never required his immediate and direct involvement, and he certainly never sought to fulfill the dangerous duty anyways. This time, however, with the increasingly frequent and detrimental Koaexian assaults, they had found themselves in the midst of the action. Seeing the green-blue explosions of other Moonbeams all around him, 347, in his impulsive panic, decided the only plausible action was to punch in random coordinates into the Moonbeam’s navigation system in hopes that hyperspace brought him to a safe system.

Clearly it had not. Once in the new system, it was impossible not to notice the overwhelming presence of Koaexian ships circling the nearest moon, and hyperspace landed the Moonbeam so close to the planet that, with the ship having taken as much collateral damage as it already had, escape from the gravity well was impossible.

Hurling towards the planet, MB hadn’t seen any signs of civilization or life; there was no green stretched atop the surface and beyond the glowing violet haze of the frozen atmosphere, the only colors were ice cold shades of blue and white. Looking out now across the landscape through the visor of D-347’s helmet, MB guessed he had also just confirmed the theory he was the first man to ever step foot here.

“Don’t go far, sir,” MB called out as the Drifter stepped out of the Moonbeam. He trudged through the deep snow and let his eyes adjust to the brightness for a moment before looking out. The ship had crashed onto a snowy bank where a valley of massive ice formations sat between two glacial mountains. Littering the ground were grand formations of ice, all of them reflecting the sun in bright sparkles of light. D-347 took a deep breath and looked out upon the barren wasteland. The bitter cold of the atmosphere made its way into his heated suit and the dry wind tested his balance.

The Moonbeam itself was half buried into a wall of snow, the cockpit fully underground. Steam rose from where the thrusters had burrowed into the snow, and a great deal of black smoke made its way to the sky. Pools of oily substance were leaking from large bullet holes on the ship’s side, turning the white snow into a green sludge.

Drifter-347 made his way back up the ramp into the interior of the Moonbeam where MB quietly waited.

“The whole damn thing’s in need of serious repair. Even with all the tools and oxygen tanks that I don’t have, this would take me a week at least.” D-347 spat as he removed his steamy helmet, the oxygen replenishing inside the sealed Moonbeam.

“I am sorry sir, I will help the best I can. I can run a full diagnosis to detail the repairs needed. I calculate the sun will set in approximately 3.53 hours and I advise you to wait until morning when solar power can be obtained to begin repairs.”

“And oxygen? How long do I have?”

“I am diverting 75% of system power to air recycling; oxygen will last for approximately 97.65 hours.” D-347 sat on his small bed, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. “MB, can you run a planetary bio scan?”

“Bio scans… offline.”

“Can you attempt to contact the FGN? We need to tell them about the Koaex. Every minute they don’t know that we stumbled into their home system, the longer those ugly bastards have to mount another attack. I didn’t crash on this planet for nothing.”

“Communications… offline.”

He punched the side of the ship’s pristine interior.

“Can you run a system wide scan at least?”

A minute passed by as MB tried. “It appears the atmosphere is too thick for a signal to get through. We would have to be in space for that to function.”

A static feedback filled the Moonbeam’s cabin and MB interjected. “Wait, it appears I am receiving a signal. Zeroing in…” The pitch of the static rose and fell as MB tried to find the source of the signal. A few seconds later, the static gave way to a deep, gravelly voice.

“Sir, it appears we have intercepted a Koaexian transmission.” He sat up quickly and rushed to the front of the ship where the audio display flashed on the holoscreen.

“Can you translate it?” He asked, listening to the jumbled mess of vowels.

MB began translating what it could and although there were many holes in the words, the general message was clear.

“The Koaex are spreading the word that a human vessel crashed on their moon’s planet and they’re sending a search party to find it. We don’t have much time.”

Drifter-347 closed his eyes and said with a tone that sat on the borderline between concern and panic, “They’re going to find us before we get the chance to tell the FGN. We need to get off this damn—”

He stopped. “MB, will the FGN execute me if I come back?”

“Protocol requires immediate termination of deserters. I’m afraid after your little stunt to get us crashed on this planet, you fall under that category. As much as it contradicts my desires, my protocol is to report desertion immediately.

“Additionally, according to paragraph 15 of the Lumen Articles, ‘Any soldier, authoritative figure, or recognized member of status who acts in defiance of these accords must immediately be stripped of any badge, symbol, or visual representation of their loyalty to the Federation of Galactic Nations.’ Drifter-347, please remove your Drifter badge.”

The Drifter reluctantly unclipped the badge from the surface of his breast pocket and placed it on top of the dashboard of the ship. There was no other human present to be the victim of the man’s glare of disappointment and contempt, but the aura filled the cockpit regardless. MB realized, though, that perhaps the emotion was directed at no one but himself.

“Are you going to report me?”

“I cannot make a connection to the FGN until we leave this planet.”

MB discerned through its programming that the face D-347 displayed fell under the category of perplexity.

MB spoke up. “My protocol as Moonbeam also requires immediate report of important enemy information, and that cannot be made possible until I am repaired. Once I am above the atmosphere, I can send the message to inform whatever’s left of the FGN that we’ve finally found their home planet.”

* * *

D-347 spent the next couple days mostly outside the ship, repairing what he could of the crashed Moonbeam. MB waited patiently for its pilot as it replayed different recorded logs of their flights together. At the same time, however, it was trying to find holes in its calculations to prove there was an outcome in which its pilot’s life could be spared. A message could be sent once in space, but soon after, the Koaex would intercept it and find them. MB didn’t want to have to tell D-347 this. Instead, it decided that letting him figure that out himself might be to his benefit.

Long hours passed as MB, reminiscing about their lives together, watched D-347 tediously work on the leaking engines. The first time the ship took any form of damage was during a stealth reconnaissance mission over a Koaexian base. A piece of shrapnel, floating above the asteroid, jammed itself into the side of the Moonbeam and 347 instantly concluded his mission with a decisive turn-around out of fear that his cloaking device had gone down. MB tried telling him there was nothing to worry about, but 347 wouldn’t listen to the AI’s system scans. After landing at a service outpost, the Drifter was surprised to learn that the debris had merely scratched the surface of the ship, and the only serious damage done was in his imagination. It was then that MB realized it had been paired with perhaps a less desirable pilot. The AI decided not to worry about this however. They were paired together for good now and it was its duty to make sure they were an effective team. Some work was to be done, that was all.

Three rotations later, Drifter-347 climbed back into the Moonbeam and removed his helmet. A new face, which MB decided to be that of calmness, greeted the waiting AI. Drifter-347 stood in silence, breathing heavily. His suit had just depleted the last spare oxygen tank. The high pitched squeal of the Drifter’s suit replenishing itself of what was left of the ship’s oxygen was the only thing that filled the silent void. The man was trying to manifest a statement.

“Sending you up in space will give enough time to send out the signal, but the Koaex will gun you down soon after.”

“That’s the attitude.”

“MB, I can’t leave this planet with you. Even if the Koaex happen to spare us at first, we both know they can get anyone to talk. That’s a risk I’m not willing to take.”

“By no calculations will you survive alone on this planet.”

“I don’t mean to survive. I may have deserted this war, but my fight isn’t over until you get that message out.”

“I cannot accept simply leaving you here to die. There must be a better way.”

“MB, I thought your protocol was to report crucial info.”

“I like to think I have a choice.”

“I’ve made my choice.”

A long pause sat between the two as Drifter-347 ran his hand along the dashboard until MB, defeated, said, “If this is your intended course of action, there is nothing I will do to stop you. I will explain your sacrifice in my message.”

“There’s no need for that MB. The message is what’s important.”

“Sir, you may put your badge back on.”

“No, MB, you take it up there. Give those Koaexian sons of bitches what you’ve got and tell them it was from me.”

347 got up, put on his life-suit and opened the door. Upon his request, the Moonbeam’s engines fired up and the silence of the frozen planet was filled with the roar of its thrusters. MB hesitantly raised it from the ground and hovered for a few seconds as the ramp ascended back up.

Through the roar of the engines, MB called out. “It has been an honor flying with you, Drifter 347, Jon Solmor.”

Moonbeam-347, its slick white exterior reflecting the billows of sparkling frost, rocketed through the snowy air and ascended above the clouds, leaving Jon alone on the ice cold planet. As the thinning atmosphere melted the snow off the fiery wings, MB could only imagine him atop the glittering surface, the subzero temperatures seeping into his suit and the beeping of his oxygen warning growing louder and louder.