CHAPTER SEVEN

1

The escape vehicle’s navigation system contained detailed information about every planet in the galaxy. The EV’s original programming directed it to, upon launch, identify the nearest planet, target a population center on the surface and then land as close to that as was safely possible.

But the Activists didn’t have much of a budget for IT, which meant that the navigational software was old and buggy. One of the reasons the cause of Activism hadn’t taken hold as quickly as it might have was that the movement’s EVs had a bad habit of landing on the homes and/or persons of potential supporters. While any idiot could grasp that the main reason the Activists operated from a secret base was to avoid capture by the IP, only a select few understood that the other reason for staying in hiding was to elude all the lawyers representing people whose lives and/or property had been crushed under errant escape vehicles.

Fortunately for Activism, the EV that landed on Tanix did no damage to anything but itself. The planet was 9,999,999 parts sand and one part civilization. Some thought that last to be an overstatement, but they knew better than to give voice to their opinions. Call a Tanixian uncivilized and he’d shove your mouth up your ass.

2

"I hate sand," said 88-XOR. He and Lita had been trudging through the very same for quite a while.

It doesn’t matter, commented the other android. Only the mission--

"You know I love you, girl, but this mission business is immensely boring."

To say the androids were surrounded by sand would be to make a colossal understatement. To reveal a pathetic penchant for the obvious, not to mention a profound lack of imagination.

Well, frakk it. The androids were surrounded by sand. Even the goddamned sky was sand-colored. Don’t ask me how.

Oceans of sand, interrupted only by mountains of the stuff sticking up here and there. (Some call these mountains dunes, but we will not traffic in such elitist terminology.)

Winds full of sand, plaguing the androids’ moving parts. Sand to the east, sand to the west, sand to the north, sand to the south. Not that either android knew which direction was which. Their sensors were glitchy due to the...you guessed it...

"I HATE SAND!" Eighty-eight repeated. "It’s coarse and rough and irritating and gets everywhere."

Eloquent, Lita said.

"Well at least I tried to express myself. You’d rather just sit back and find fault. Anyone can do that. It’s easy and risk-free. Meanwhile the few of us who take risks, who dare to create, who choose action over passivity, are held to impossible standards and punished disproportionately for our failures."

Lita stopped trudging and looked at her friend. Something is seriously wrong with your processor.

"Sand, possibly?"

Lita emitted a grunting laugh. She patted Eighty-eight’s chassis and received a similarly affectionate gesture in return. The androids resumed their trudging.

Minutes passed, and then, at a seemingly random point, Lita veered off to the right.

"Hey," Eighty-eight called.

He’s this way.

"Hiro? How can you know that?"

By knowing it.

"Oh dear lord. Do you see how the sand, in that direction, looks all shifty and unstable? That’s a broken servo-joint waiting to happen, don’t you think?"

Lita gave no reply.

"This way, by contrast," Eighty-eight said, "the way we were headed, the sand is packed down firmly. Makes for fast, easy movement. Wherever the hell we’re going, I bet we get there a lot sooner if we go my way."

Betting is for humans and other irrational beings, Lita said.

"Don’t you throw shade at me, honey. I’m as inhuman as you any day!"

Then demonstrate it by making the logical choice.

"Logical? You have no idea where you’re going. Neither do I. The Princess fried your circuits with that data transfer, or she gave you a virus, and now you’re leading us to our doom. And what’s so funny about that? Why are you smiling?"

You said ’data transfer.’

Eighty-eight smacked his forehead.

You’re being melodramatic.

"And you’re delusional! We’re hopelessly lost and it’s just a matter of time before our moving parts stop working. You want to die alone, be my guest. But I won’t be joining you!"

That’s redundant.

"GO TO HELL!" Eighty-eight called after her.

"Unless this is already it," he added forlornly, as his friend grew smaller and smaller.

3

Time passed. Eighty-eight moved steadily in the direction he’d chosen. The sand was firm and relatively easy to walk on. The gusting winds had died down. The color of the sky was now hazy white instead of hazy tan. Clearly, the android had made the right choice.

So why wasn’t he any happier?

He stopped and did a slow 360, straining his optical sensors for any sign of Lita. She should be crawling back on her hands and knees, begging for forgiveness, acknowledging how stupid and stubborn she’d been.

There was nothing to see.

"Whatever," Eighty-eight said.

He marched on in the desert heat, his coolants and ventilators operating at max levels. He knew, of course, exactly how long he had until these systems could no longer function. He didn’t know what he would do then.

The logical course of action was to return to the EV. It was damaged but it could provide shelter. It might even have enough power left for Eighty-eight to charge his cells.

But then what would he do? Wait for someone to come along?

"Hah!" he said. "Who would that be?

"Oh dear lord," the android went on. "Now I’m talking to myself."

Overhead the sky darkened, and all at once the winds picked up again, bringing lots and lots of sand.

"If I believed in the Whibmask," Eighty-eight said, "this would be the time for him to intervene on my behalf."

The Whibmask, or WHIte Bearded MAn in the SKy, was one of the deities worshipped by humans and other primitive life forms. According to legend he had created the entire universe eons ago, and it must have taken all his energy because ever since then all he’d done was sit around watching stuff happen. I mean, sure, every once in a while he’d whip up a miracle, or render a judgment in dramatic fashion, or put some poor slob through an ordeal to test his faith, but mostly he seemed content to let things be. And yet his followers continued to pray to him, certain that he would hear them and give them their hearts’ desires. Despite quite a bit of evidence to the contrary.

Eighty-eight’s programming did not allow him to participate in mass delusions such as religion, but he was sophisticated enough to understand why some organisms did.

He had also been imprinted with a decent sense of irony, which is why all he could do was laugh when, during a sudden lull in the sandstorm, a vehicle appeared far off on the horizon.

A moving vehicle.

"Hey!" the android yelled, waving his arms. "Over here! Damsel in distress!"

Next Chapter: Chapter Eight