By David C. Daoust
The massive rover was on the move, rumbling through the desert dunes that made up the desolate environment of the small moon, Twin Crown. The russet plated vehicle was large enough to dwarf most common structures built on such moons. It was basically a ‘spaceship on wheels’, or tracks to be a bit more specific and slightly less banal. The wide rolling plates churned through the desert sands leaving a long trail that would surely be reclaimed by the environment in just a matter of time. The tracks of sand trembled down to fill themselves in as the rover’s steady pace sent the small hodgepodge crew within, northward.
Only some of this was apparent to the small holobot, Hamlin, that just returned to the bridge where the helm was located. A place one may expect to find a ‘helmsman’ stationed. Of course, this vehicle was highjacked by the eight-legged battle drone that took up so much space within the bridge. An action which rendered the normal helm useless. The fact the rover was once again moving, told Hamlin that they had finally reached a score high enough to trick the drone’s interface into allowing Ratchet’s account to take control of the entire vehicle.
Hamlin had assumed the crew would return to the Bridge upon this goal being reached. The Aspirant was now assuming that he was wrong. He would say the problem, if there was one, was that they were not using the route he had plotted… Checking the navigation terminal, at least they were headed north.
The large spherical device known as Ferguson was still there, hovering in the corner, completely dormant. Hamlin was not sure if the server they were using was part of the Rover’s systems or part of the Ark Device itself. Hamlin was fairly certain, however, that their comm-systems inability to communicate with other such systems on the moon, had a lot less to do with the battle drone’ splicing into the rover, and more with the fact that Ferguson was running from people bent on destroying him…
In an attempt to get his attention, Hamlin knocked on the device.
The forward lens popped open, and the whole device turned slightly to face the small holobot, possibly quizzically, Hamlin could not say it was not merely himself projecting an assumed reaction on a smooth metallic device, devoid of human expression.
“We’re on the move?” Hamlin asked simply.
“Northward,” Ferguson’s voice confirmed.
Hamlin felt that the work he had done was being ignored, but was at a loss with how to express it. “They are all still in the family room?” he asked skirting his issue, though quickly changed his mind and pressed his concerns, “Can they even access navigation from there? This desert is not without its ridges and canyons! And the sooner we head slightly east, the easier we’ll hook around those northern mountains.”
“Yes,” Ferguson answered the first question, “They are within the family room. I had assumed you had discussed the route with Hugo…”
‘Clearly everyone was making way too many assumptions,’ was the thought that crossed Hamlin’s mind as another of his own assumptions was proven wrong. Hugo was driving. Hamlin was somewhat relieved. The old Jinn should be a lot easier to contend with.
Though before the Wayward Aspirant could say anymore to the seemingly distracted Ferguson, Hamlin spotted outside the windshield, that wrapped around the outcropped circular bridge, a half-buried star-ship within the sands…
A light-freighter if he had to guess.
Hamlin considered racing down to the Family Room, warning the lizardman therein. Suddenly the vehicle came to a halt. He felt it was safe toassume, Hugo had spotted the abandoned star-ship as well. He thought they should really, all, just be on the Bridge. But he also knew Hugo did not really move about all that well.
The thought gave him something to stew over as he headed down to the family room…
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