Melock stood between Murphy and Øregård in Toebee's living room. The three travelers were fed, rested, dressed, and ready to jump away from the dead world. Melock studied the star chart Toebee had transferred to his mobile device and he focused on an image of a damaged space freighter adrift in the void.
"Now, remember, this is an Ursa Minor shuttle, which means there should be some tiny little people aboard that you can befriend. They've already sent a distress signal that was picked up by the 71EEB8. An octahedron grav-shifter has been dispatched and is on an intercept course."
"How much time do we have?" asked Melock.
"Not much. I picked up the transmission less than an hour ago. Try to keep your teleportation hidden from as many species as you can. As I mentioned, the 71s are aware of you and your abilities based on reports gathered from systems you've visited. The collective remembers everything and every clone has all the knowledge of the entire species at their disposal. Just keep that in mind when dealing with my brothers. Any questions?"
"Nothing that comes to mind," said Melock.
"Thank you Toebee," said Murphy before indulging in a very empowering grandmotherly hug.
"Travel far," said Toebee and they vanished with a wave of Melock's arm.
Light took them and again they lept across a vast interstellar distance, landing just outside the space lanes used for shipping around the Flower Nebula. The light turned to darkness as they found themselves standing on the metal deck of an empty cargo hold.
"Ugh," said Øregård holding his head.
"That was a bad one," seconded Murphy leaning on her gravity hammer.
"Enough bellyaching. We need to see if there's anyone alive on board," said Melock.
The hold was dusty and they followed drag marks streaked across the floor to a large metal door on the far end.
"Door sealed," said a computer voice as red lights flashed around the exit.
"How so?" asked Melock.
"Structural damage to the engine room, hull breach in rear compartments, engines offline, life support negative beyond this point," explained the computer.
"We go the other way, then." Melock turned and led them back across the empty room.
At the opposite end was a smaller doorway that did open. They passed through it into a hall with four rooms off it. The crew quarters were empty and turned over; drawers pulled out, contents dumped across the floor, burnt black markings on the wall, and in one case blood-soaked sheets. There were no bodies anywhere.
"There was a battle here," said Øregård, "I know this type of ship, the bridge should be the next room."
Øregård led them through the next door to what was left of the bridge. There was blood on the floor, an acrid burnt smell in the air, and a single robot standing motionless in the middle of the room. Red and white lights flickered on dashboards and the darkness of space seeped in through the curved front window.
"Makina!" shouted Øregård.
He charged forward drawing his sword and slashing the lone robot across the chest. Sparks flew as his jagged blade screeched against the robot's plating, leaving a bright scratch on the gun gray metal, but doing no real damage. Øregård hauled back and kicked it, sending it crashing to the floor.
"Hey," said a disembodied voice from inside the machine, "I'm working in here."
The voice was stern, accented, with a hint of authoritative attitude, and an underlying kindness.
YOU ARE READING
Space Wizards
Science FictionUsually, they say not to judge a book by its cover but....
