Into the Deep Freeze by Bud Pharo
When a synthetic woman joins a lunar mining crew, the commander has mixed feelings.
Delta 22 Lima never thought she could have feelings for anyone. She wasn't built that way - literally. As a humanoid mining engineer built for lunar service, she focused on efficiently performing her assigned tasks. Nothing else mattered - until it did.
Before she arrived at the military hydrogen fuel production facility designated Lunar Forward Operating Base 29, the commander, Colonel Robert Davidson, had already decided the humanoid would not be a good fit for his unit but was undecided on a course of action to undo this blatant affront to his command.
Major Jones, his executive officer, knocked twice on the bulkhead and gingerly entered the commander's office with mild trepidation, knowing how his boss felt about synthetics in the military. He came to attention and saluted. "Sir, the new humanoid engineer has just arrived on the resupply ship."
"At ease, Jonesy. Don't look so uptight. I knew this day would eventually come." He shook his head in disgust, then launched into an all-too-familiar rant. "Those headquarters keyboard jockeys have no regard for what it takes to maintain good order and discipline."
Jones relaxed his posture and nodded his agreement, but stayed standing. "Yes, sir. As long as this remains a voluntary assignment, then we'll continue to have staffing shortages unless they substantially increase the lunar hardship stipend."
Davidson frowned, shook his head disappointedly, and rose from his desk. "Those damn nerds think technology is always the answer!" He strode to the viewport and surveyed the grayscale landscape, as was his habit when feeling the need for introspection.
To lessen the sting, Jones said, "Sir, most terrestrial units have dozens of synthetics assigned to various roles, but this is our only one." So far, he thought, but didn't dare say.
Looking at the barren terrain always reminded Davidson that few issues were black and white and that most were shades of gray - especially when they involved Lunar Force operations. Still, the pain in his right leg provided a daily reminder that he had good reason not to trust non-human troops.
"Good morning, team. I'm Intelligence Technician Kilo Juliet 17. You may call me KJ if you wish. I will conduct today's mission and intelligence briefing regarding the freighter crash near the Selenean Summit."
Captain Davidson's retrieval team glanced at each other, not knowing if this was some type of practical joke. The captain spoke up. "Excuse me, but where's Warrant Officer Rogers, our regular Intel Officer?"
KJ stared blankly at Davidson. "He will not be doing the briefing. I will provide the complete mission and intelligence briefing. I will also accompany your team on the mission."
"Under whose authority?" Davidson demanded.
"As per Lunar Force OPORD 15-7, which I've uploaded to your crew comms along with the mission profile and operational goals. I will go over them now." Davidson hated to admit it, but the android provided a very detailed briefing that seemed more than adequate for a simple classified equipment retrieval mission.
At the conclusion of the briefing, Davidson motioned for them to remain seated. After KJ left the room, he said what everyone had been thinking. "Okay, I get it. You're not comfortable with that thing coming along on a live mission, but android integration is a new command force structure initiative, so please play nice with the robot."
The troop package landed a hundred meters south of the crash site as planned. Once they arrived at the freighter, KJ used its advanced array to scan for hostile signatures. "All clear, Captain Davidson." Its voice sounded even more mechanical over the crew comm.
"Thanks, KJ, but did you detect any friendly signatures with those fancy sensors?"
"Negative, Captain. All crew members escaped in the survival pod and were rescued by a research ship."
"Still, our standard operating procedure dictates that we check the entire ship," Davidson said. "Alpha Team, extract the isotopes from the engine core as briefed. Bravo Team, you're with me. We'll do a deck-by-deck sweep before heading to the bridge, just in case they left someone behind."
KJ interrupted. "Captain Davidson, that will exhaust precious time and resources, and as I've already stated, the crew was rescued. We need to retrieve the data cores immediately."
"After we do the sweep, and as I've already stated, that's standard procedure." Davidson snapped. "I'm in charge, not you! I suggest you read up on chain-of-command protocol."
Both teams entered through a breach in the hull. Alpha diverted to the engine deck while Bravo conducted the sweep.
"Alpha-1, Bravo-1. Engine core extracted and rendered safe for transport. Bravo Team, proceeding to the rally point."
The captain responded. "Alpha-1 copies. We'll meet at the RP in 30 mikes." When they entered the bridge, the team dispersed to the various operations consoles.
KJ plugged into the command chair and began data extraction, then went to each console and placed small black boxes on each. When Davidson noticed, he grabbed KJ's utility belt and spun it around. "Are they explosive charges?"
"Yes, my orders were to destroy the bridge after we leave the ship."
"This is no goddamn space freighter, is it?" Davidson seethed. "Is it even one of ours?"
"No..." KJ started saying as the upper section of the bridge exploded in a blinding flash of light as the railgun's kinetic energy pulse sheared off the ship's superstructure. The bridge cantilever supports crashed down on top of two team members, severely injuring them. The command console broke loose from its mooring, slamming into Davidson, breaking his femur, and knocking him unconscious.
The subsequent investigation board's executive summary read, "The level of classification and the eyes-only nature of the operation prevented Captain Davidson's team from receiving an adequate mission profile and intelligence briefing prior to execution. Lunar Command failed to authorize Intelligence Technician Kilo Juliet 17 to brief Captain Davidson on the potential for hostile activity and the potential need for rapid insertion and extraction.
"In addition, Lunar Forces' near-space sensors failed to identify the remote railgun turret mounted inside an abandoned satellite platform until it pulsed, resulting in tragic consequences for the team. Fortunately, the abandoned platform only provided enough energy for a single kinetic pulse before a Lunar Forces Quick Reaction Team located and destroyed the weapon."
With less than a year to go before retirement, Davidson opted to forgo his impending pissing contest with headquarters over the inevitable influx of humanoids into the Lunar Force. Instead, he would sit back and watch their latest technology experiment crash and burn like most of their other ill-conceived Lunar Force augmentation plans. He did not need to understand their logic, but as a commander, he needed to accept it.
He continued peering through the viewport until Major Jones interrupted his brief respite. "Sir, pardon the interruption. She's drawing her gear now but hasn't received a crew assignment yet. Who should we pair her with?"
He blew out a breath and turned to his exec. "The new engineer is not a 'her' - it's an 'it' - a synth. And, this is important, it can never be given a field assignment where others need to depend on that thing for survival."
Jones winced slightly. "We have a personnel shortage in the mess hall."
Davidson broke into a smile. "Slinging hash and peeling potatoes - that's perfect."
Delta 22 Lima spent her first three weeks of lunar service filling in wherever the mess chief needed her. Though not what she had expected, mess hall duty provided her with a great opportunity to learn what's important to the troops.
The recurring topic that generated the most heated discussion was the meteorite damage to the wide-band relay station on Mons Huygens, 30 kilometers north of the station. Several crews had attempted to repair it, but because of the inhospitable conditions on the 5,550-meter mountain and the lack of anyone with an electrical engineering background, they failed, and morale plummeted.
One NCO yelled. "This really sucks! There's no video link with Earth. Only the old, scratchy, low-res, S-band audio-only link."
Another NCO nodded. "Yep, and because it's now our only link back to the world, we're limited to two calls per week. It's like we're stuck in the 20th century, for God's sake."
The mess chief shook his head in disgust. "I've heard a new wideband relay package won't be available for six months. Apparently, we're not an urgent priority."
After the dinner rush was over, Delta 22 Lima went to the mess chief's office. "Chief, may I speak with you about the relay station problem?"
The chief frowned. "That's a touchy subject around here. What's on your mind?"
She gave a slight smile. "Well, I'm fairly sure I can fix it. Listening to what the returning repair teams have said, I think we can fabricate the repair patches for the dish in technical ops, and if I can locate the station schematics and enough repair components, I'll fix the transceiver onsite."
The chief's eyes widened. "Although you have great potential as a sous chef, aren't you a geological engineer?"
She tilted her head, trying to determine if the 'chef' comment was intended literally or sarcastically. She had so much to learn about human interpersonal communication. "Yes, chief, geological engineering is my primary mission set, but my secondary is electronics engineering."
He stood and motioned for her to follow him. "Come with me. We need to see the commander."
Once at the commander's office, the chief went in alone. "Colonel, I think we should give the synthetic engineer a shot at fixing the relay station; morale is in the crapper and getting worse by the day."
Davidson pounded his fist on the desk. "Chief, you just can't depend on those damn things!"
The chief walked to Davidson's desk and leaned in. "Robert, as a former enlisted man, you know what bad morale does to a unit. I'm telling you, I think she can help." The chief only called the colonel by his first name when they were alone and he needed to emphasize a point.
Davidson exhaled sharply. "Okay, old friend. Let's hope you're right."
72 hours later, the relay station was fully operational. When Delta 22 Lima reported for her first shift at the mess facility, she received two things she had not expected: a standing ovation by the troops assembled in the mess hall and new orders directing her to draw mining tech gear and report to Master Sergeant Tim Jackson, her new partner.
When she first met Master Sergeant Timothy W. Jackson, the tall, dark-haired senior engineer she would be partnering with, he asked her several peculiar questions, none of which related to her knowledge of converting lunar ice into hydrogen rocket fuel.
He smiled warmly and shook her hand. "I'm very pleased to meet you. I'm Master Sergeant Tim Jackson, and what's your name?"
"My serial number is Delta 22 Lima." She hoped that was a sufficient answer.
He rubbed his chin. "Hmm, calling you by your serial number seems a bit too impersonal. May I just call you Della?"
"Yes, sir. Della will be fine."
His blue eyes twinkled as he gave her a quizzical look. "Don't you want to know why I picked Della?"
"Is it a portmanteau of Delta and Lima?" she offered.
He grinned. "Well, we don't hear the word 'portmanteau' used much among these roughnecks, and while that's a solid theory, it's not the reason. It's an homage to my great-grandmother, Della. You remind me of a picture she showed me from her college days. She was about your height, had medium-length auburn hair like you, and the same brilliant jade-green eyes." He paused as the fond memory caused him to think about the positive impact she had made on his life.
She studied his expression as he continued. "Great-grams was strong, super-smart, and understood me better than anyone. She was a lifelong advocate for the less fortunate and dedicated her life to service. She always gave everyone the benefit of the doubt without judgment. My gut tells me you're the same way. So, then, are you okay with being called Della?"
"Yes, sir, it would be an honor. But I am curious about how your intestinal tract gives you advice," she said with a puzzled look.
He laughed. "That's just a phrase we use when we feel strongly about something."
Relief washed over her. "Thank you for clarifying that, sir. I thought my human anatomical references might already be outdated."
"Oh, and one more thing, please don't call me sir. I work for a living."
"Okay, Master Sergeant Jackson."
"Just call me Tim, like most people do."
"But, Tim, as you know, I am a humanoid, so by definition, not a person."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Well, you look like a person, apart from the hex tattoo on your cheek, so to me, you're a person. I'll just treat you like any other coworker."
Perplexed, she tilted her head slightly. "Does my hexadecimal identification code trouble you? If so, I can cover it."
Tim shook his head. "No, not at all. During my first tour, my fiancé dumped me during a so-called morale video chat. So, naturally, I went to the NCO club to drown my sorrows and woke up the next day with a massive headache and a broken heart tattoo in an extremely embarrassing location. And, before you ask, no, you may not see it." He winked.
"Tim, is there something in your eye? Would you like me to see if I can remove it?"
He chuckled. "Nah. A wink means I was kidding. You know, just pulling your leg."
She furrowed her brow. "But why would you pull my leg? It is physically attached to my torso and will not come off easily."
He smiled. "It's an idiom, a phrase that is not to be taken literally but means something different from what the words imply."
She continued to look confused. "Seems illogical. Is the word idiom derived from idiot?"
Tim shook his head. "No, I don't think so, but many idiots around here use idioms." He smiled. "From what I've read about your adaptive socialization infrastructure, you'll rapidly adjust to your new social setting and working environment. In no time, you'll be speaking like one of us, using idioms and cracking lame jokes."
She furrowed her brow. "Tim, how does one 'crack' a joke? Also, how does a joke come up lame?"
He tilted his head back and chuckled. "This is going to be so much fun; you and I are going to make a great team!" And he was right; they became a great team.
After several months of working together, Della could see why people naturally gravitated to him. He had a gift for making everyone feel important and uniquely special, and as her socialization infrastructure matured, she grew to love him for it.
The daily briefing started like any other. The engineering teams came to attention when the Operations Officer, Lieutenant Colonel James "Hard-ass" Harris, entered the briefing room.
"As you were," Harris said, accessing the 3-D lunar hologram for the morning briefing. "We're expecting light solar winds, no substantial cosmic radiation, and none of those nasty coronal mass ejections today. The midday high temperature will be plus 80C, with a nighttime low of minus 126C. Therefore, today's golden working hours will be 1500 to 1900 Coordinated Lunar Time. After which, all outside operations will cease, and all crews will return to base."
Della leaned over to Tim and whispered. "With such a beautiful day on tap, maybe we should pack a picnic lunch."
He gave her his side-eye glance that typically meant, Shush! But this time, he just chuckled and whispered, "I think I'm rubbing off on you."
Harris paused the briefing, pursed his lips, and folded his arms. "So, Master Sergeant Jackson, is there something you would like to share with the class?"
Tim patted his stomach, then belched. Nervous laughter bubbled up from the other crews. "Oh, sorry, sir. This low-G indigestion really sucks!"
While more nervous laughter ensued, Della whispered, "Now, that's your gut actually telling you something - lay off carbonated beverages."
Harris shook his head in disgust, then barked, "At ease, children!" As he motioned for everyone to settle down, the alert beacon suddenly sprang to life, flashing its red, white, and red emergency sequence. Everyone immediately fell silent.
A few seconds later, the klaxon wailed, "Ah-oo-ga! Ah-oo-ga! Ah-oo-ga!" A critical status announcement followed: "Attention in the station! Attention in the station! An engineering assessment team is required ASAP at Drill Site Foxtrot-29! I say again, an engineering assessment team is required ASAP at Drill Site Foxtrot-29!"
Harris reset the rotating beacon, consulted his alert roster, and grinned. "Well, well, well... it looks like our comedian, Master Sergeant Jackson, and his synth are up."
Tim and Della snapped to attention. Tim responded, as the senior team member, "Copy, sir, and for the record, sir, my partner's name is Della, not 'Synth.'"
Now, Della gave him a side-eye glance and mouthed. Stop! You're pissing him off!
Harris glared at him. "Whatever, Jackson! Just take your synth to the ready room and suit up. Use your standard Wildcat Team call signs for the op. The rover leaves in 5 mikes. Be on it!"
"Yes, sir!" they replied in unison.
As the rover crested the rise, Foxtrot-29's most prominent feature, the 20-story drill derrick, came into view. The Wildcat Team took the elevator to the drill deck, where they met the deck operations officer, Captain Arthur Smith, call sign Art-Decko, which everyone inevitably shortened to just Decko for convenience. "Sir, Wildcat Team reporting as directed," Tim said over the crew-com.
"Good to see you again, Tim." His smile was barely visible through the helmet visor, but it was apparent he, like most everyone - except Hard-ass Harris - liked Tim. "We ceased mining ops when the sensors alerted us to a potential ice wall instability. Once Drill Ops receives your SITREP, they'll determine a course of action. Thus, the reason I'm about to drop you guys into the lunar equivalent of hell."
Tim grinned. "Well, sir, I would rather it be an icy hell than a fiery one!"
When the platform crew finished tethering each of the Wildcat team members to their respective rescue harness umbilical, Tim conducted pre-mission checks. "Wildcat-2. Wildcat-1 requesting comms and telemetry checks. How copy?"
Della shot him a thumbs-up. "Wildcat-1. Wildcat-2 copies five-by-five."
"Decko. Wildcat-1 requesting comms and telemetry check. How copy?"
"Wildcat-1. Decko copies five-by-five. And Tim, please be careful down there. The drone and sensor data indicate substantial calving potential of the eastern ice wall beginning around 100 meters."
"Roger Decko. Wildcat-1 copies. And don't worry, 'careful' is my middle name."
Della sent a DM to Tim's helmet display. "I thought your middle name was Walter? Is that one of those idiom things you organics like to use?"
He chuckled to himself and messaged back. "It's a turn of phrase. I'll explain later." Tim switched back to crew-com. "Wildcat-2. Wildcat-1. Before we go spelunking, please double-check that your harness umbilical is firmly secured to the extraction hoist; that's our only physical connection to the drill deck. Plus, it saves on battery power used by the suit heaters, which comes in handy at minus 150C."
Della sent another DM. "Sucks to be you! My processors work faster at lower temps." She followed it up with a thumbs-up, a smiley face, and a kiss emoji.
He messaged back. "Okay, smartass! Finish your checks."
Della gave a solid tug on the harness umbilical. "Wildcat-1. Wildcat-2 is secure."
Captain Smith broke in. "Wildcat-1. Decko. We're burning golden hours. Is your team ready?"
Tim nodded. "Roger Decko. Wildcat Team is sitting on G waiting for O!"
Decko nodded acknowledgment, then thrust his thumbs outward, signaling the deck crew to pull the brake chocks and unlock the extraction motor. "Wildcat-1. Decko. You now have master drop-con. Safe travels."
Tim saluted. "Roger Decko. Wildcat-1 confirms master drop-con." Their harness umbilicals grew taut as Tim toggled the motor controls to take up the slack. He gave Della a thumbs-up, and she checked her secondary drop-con. Once satisfied, they stepped off the deck rim together, briefly pitching back and forth over the icy maw.
Tim toggled the master controls again, and they began slowly dropping into the forbidding black void. Their helmet lights illuminated the ice walls as they descended, causing them to emit an eerie blue glow as the ice refracted the light. Continuing down, the occasional strata of red, green, and black ice-encrusted rock created a dazzling visual display.
At 100 meters, Tim discovered evidence of calving. "Decko. Wildcat-1 reporting wall fractures and potential calving from approximately 100 to 150 meters."
"Wildcat-1. Decko copies. Could it be just a minor fissure?"
"Decko. Wildcat-1. Negative, it looks substantial. Wildcat-2 will toggle down to determine the extent of the fracture."
"Wildcat-1. Decko copies. Please be careful!"
Tim hit transmit twice, signaling that he had heard and understood.
"Wildcat-2. Wildcat-1. Can you use your secondary drop controller to descend and see what we're dealing with?"
"Roger Wildcat-1. Wildcat-2 is Oscar Mike." Della dropped lower while Tim finished inspecting the top of the fracture.
Suddenly, the pit walls began heaving. Della's harness umbilical began quivering like a giant piano string struck by a massive, unseen hammer. Her helmet's heads-up display lit up red. "FLASH ALERT: Seismic activity detected. Emergency egress is required. Prepare for immediate extraction."
"Wildcat-1. Decko. Flash Alert! Egress required. Confirm copy. Repeat. Wildcat-1. Decko. Flash Alert! Emergency egress is required. Confirm copy!"
"Decko. Wildcat-1 copies. I'll signal when ready," Tim replied.
"Wildcat-2. Wildcat-1. Ascend to my level ASAP so our harnesses won't tangle during the extraction. Also, turn your proximity intercom to channel Alpha so we can communicate if we lose topside comms."
"Roger Wildcat-1. Wildcat-2 copies. Confirming proximity intercom set to channel Alpha. Ascending to your level now." But she never made it. Another stronger seismic shockwave calved off thousands of tons of ice and rock, tearing her extraction harness loose from its attachment point. Despite having one-sixth the gravity of Earth, the sheer volume of the lunar debris crushed Della's suit and carried her deeper into the mine shaft.
Once the debris stopped falling, she tried to move, but had no sensory inputs from her lower extremities. When she got her helmet light working, she saw why - both legs were crushed and leaking bio-fluid into her suit.
"Wildcat-1. Decko. Commencing egress in 10 ticks. Do you copy?"
"Decko. Wildcat-1. Hold one. Be advised that Wildcat-2's tether detached, and debris carried her to the bottom of the mine. I'm descending to assist."
"Wildcat-1. Deco. Negative. Wildcat-2 is not human. It's just a piece of equipment. Leave it! That's an order, Master Sergeant Jackson!" He hated pulling rank on Tim, whom he considered a friend, but he knew how Tim felt about Della and he couldn't let him risk his life for a non-human.
"Decko. Wildcat-1. Negative copy. You're breaking up. Say again." But when Tim felt the extraction motor start to reel in his umbilical, he hit the safety override and disconnected his tether. He had heard Decko's order loud and clear but was not leaving his partner.
A few minutes later, Della's proximity intercom crackled to life. "Della, I'm digging my way to you. Sit tight. Should be there in 10 mikes."
"No! Tim, please go back! You need to egress immediately. Please, you can't help me! My legs are crushed, and I have massive bio-fluid leaks. Once all the fluids leak out, I will stop functioning - I'll essentially be dead. Please egress immediately!"
The intercom crackled again. "Dammit, Della, stop talking like that! You'd never leave me if the roles were reversed, and I'm not leaving you!"
"I know, Tim, but that's written into my code."
"Well, it's written into my code too... so, if we die, we'll die together!"
Although Della thought his actions were illogical, she knew in her 'gut' that Tim would not leave her, and she felt directly responsible for placing him in danger. "But why are you risking your life for me? I'm just a synthetic engineer, a humanoid, a fancy machine. That's what I am, and that's all I'll ever be."
"You're not just some machine to me! We've worked together for six months on this rock - we're a team! You're the best partner I've ever had. You're smart, dedicated, and funny. I've grown because of our relationship, and I need you, Della! I really do!"
"So, Tim, do you really think I'm funny?"
"Wow, so that's the only thing you took from me spilling my guts out about how important you are to me? And before you ask, yes, spilling one's guts out is an idiom."
She sighed. "No, those other things were nice too, maybe a little sappy, but very nice."
He paused for a beat. "Well, maybe it was a tad sappy. Anyway, I couldn't leave you. Our military code says we never leave a man behind."
"My nomenclature is synthetic female."
He chortled. "See, you are funny! When we get out of the deep freeze, you try doing a stand-up comedy set at the club's next open-mic night."
"Doing stand-up might be tough with crushed legs," she said as Tim reached her location.
Despite his helmet visor being smudged by debris, she saw him grinning. "Aha! I knew it! You are capable of cracking lame jokes, and now you've progressed up to gallows humor!" Tim set about stemming her bio-fluid leaks with tourniquets made from the remnants of her shredded harness.
As they waited for the rescue team, he remained upbeat and reassuring. "Della, you'll be fine, and we'll be at the station by end-of-day."
"Tim, as you know, a lunar day is 29.53 Earth days long, so hopefully it's before that."
He laughed again. "There's the smartass partner I know and love!"
Within two hours, they began feeling the rhythmic vibrations of the rescue team as they drilled a parallel rescue shaft. An hour later, Della noticed that Tim's life support telemetry indicated he had only 20 minutes of liquid oxygen left.
He saw the distressed look on her face. "I'm guessing you saw my LOX readout."
"Yes, you have 20 - check that - 19 minutes of oxygen remaining. Damn it, Tim, you should have left me when you had the chance."
Tim positioned his helmet close to hers and looked confidently into her eyes. "Della, we are getting out of here! Together! All I need is for you to help me induce a state of hypothermia that will reduce my oxygen usage. If not, I'll probably die of hypoxia before the team reaches us."
"What do I need to do?"
"You need to cycle my suit heat off and on to induce hypothermia without, hopefully, turning me into a giant popsicle." He grinned.
"That's not funny; you could die!" But she knew it was his only chance.
"What's my current body temp reading?"
"Temp now is 35C, which is already below normal."
"That's okay. If I turn toward you, can you reach the space-dock access compartment on the backside of my suit?"
She moved as best she could as he turned toward her. "Okay, found it."
"Now, open the panel and look for the red-covered toggle switch marked heat. The cover is safety wired in the on-position, so we space grunts don't accidentally turn it off when tethering each other for a spacewalk."
"I see it," she said, trying not to sound alarmed by his high-risk plan.
"Now, here's the fun part! Break the safety wire and shut off the suit's heat. In these conditions, I'll cool rapidly, reducing my metabolic rate, which will induce a torpid state, helping me conserve oxygen until the team gets here - hopefully."
Within 10 minutes, Tim's body temperature dropped to 20C, his heart rate slowed to 12 beats per minute, and respiration reduced to four per minute. An hour later, the rescue team finally reached them. Then everything went black.
Tim awoke in the station's infirmary tethered to an IV line with several color-coded wires stuck to various locations on his scalp and torso. He moved his arms and legs and patted down his body. No obvious damage.
Major McCoy, the station's medical officer, rushed in. "Good, you're awake. How do you feel?"
"Very groggy, and I have a splitting headache." He massaged his temples, trying to soothe the throbbing. "How long have I been here, Doc?"
McCoy looked up from Tim's monitor and gave a little smile. "You've been here five days. We had to bring you out of the hypometabolic state gradually to avoid shocking your neurological system. You should be back to normal in a week or so. It's normal to experience some grogginess, memory loss, and lingering nerve pain, but that should subside in a few weeks. You are lucky to be alive."
Tim continued rubbing his head. "Doc, do you know what happened to my partner?"
He thought for a minute. "I've heard that Lieutenant Colonel Harris said the synth sustained severe damage and ordered it to be recycled."
"That bastard! He did that out of spite! And she's not an 'it,' she's my partner. Her name is Della." He paused, overcome by emotion. "I mean - her name was Della." He buried his face in his hands and began softly weeping.
The doctor, slightly embarrassed by seeing a space-hardened NCO cry, said, "I'm sorry; I thought you knew. I'll come back a little later. Also, there's a Security Forces tech to see you, probably about the accident. Shall I send her in?"
Tim wiped his face and nodded weakly.
A few minutes later, a 30-something female of medium height, dressed in a standard Lunar Security Forces khaki jumpsuit and matching beret, entered the room. She strode confidently to Tim's bedside, pulled up a chair, and studied him. "Master Sergeant Jackson, is this a bad time? You seem upset."
He sighed. "I just lost my partner in the mine collapse. I should have taken more precautions; I, I should have saved her..." he stammered, then fell silent.
She removed her beret and unclipped her work bun, letting her raven hair cascade over her shoulders as she shook it loose and exhaled lightly. "Aw, that's much better. I've yet to get used to pinning up my hair." As she pulled her chair closer, a pained expression spread across her face. "I'm so sorry; that must have been such a harrowing experience."
"She saved my life, but now she's gone because of me." His voice cracked as he squeezed his eyes shut to stem his tears. As he tried to regain his composure, another tear raced down his cheek. "Are you here investigating the mine collapse?" he said, his voice cracking again.
She sighed, took his hand, gave it a gentle squeeze, and wiped the runaway tear from his cheek. "No, I'm not investigating, just checking on an old friend." Tears welled in her jade eyes.
When Tim noticed the tears and how upset she seemed, his eyes widened with recognition. "Della? Is that you?"
"Yes, Tim," she said, dabbing at a tear as a smile spread across her face. "It's the new me, but with the same jade-green eyes and great sense of humor."
His mood brightened. "But how? I thought you were gone!"
She gave his hand another squeeze. "That was Hard-ass Harris' original plan. However, once at tech recycling, the tech ops superintendent received an urgent message from Colonel Davidson countermanding his directive. He ordered him to take all-necessary means to preserve my memory and sensory core."
Tim beamed. "That's wonderful!"
"Sure is," she agreed. "And guess what? We are going to receive commendations at the next squadron awards formation. Colonel Davidson showed me the draft citation this morning." She cleared her throat. "In accordance with Lunar Force Regulation 36-15, Master Sergeant Timothy W. Jackson and Engineer First Class Delta 22 Lima, known as Della, distinguished themselves by displaying extraordinary courage, ingenuity, and dedication during the Foxtrot-29 mine collapse. Their combined efforts exemplify our Lunar Force core values of Service Before Self, Teamwork, and Excellence. The distinctive accomplishments of Master Sergeant Jackson and Engineer Delta 22 Lima reflect great credit upon themselves and the United States Lunar Force. By order of the undersigned, Colonel Robert Davidson, Commander." She paused for a moment and grinned. "Not too bad for a comedian and a synth. Am I right?"
He relaxed his shoulders and sighed. "Whew, that's a relief. I thought I'd be facing a court-martial for disobeying Captain Smith's order."
Della fluffed his pillow, then continued, "So, given the Old Man's order to 'take all-necessary means,' the tech ops super reanimated me into one of the new female Security Forces models. This model has upgraded humanoid features, improved artificial organs, and an enhanced socialization interface, making me indistinguishable from a human female. Plus, I opted for darker hair this time; I felt I needed a change. So what do you think?" She rose, placed a hand on her hip, and shot him an alluring smile. "Can you tell I'm not a real woman?
He flashed a faint smile. "You look great, but to me, you've always been a real woman."
She massaged his shoulder lightly and whispered in a husky voice, "By the way, as I'm no longer under your supervision, maybe we can do some of that friends-with-benefits stuff when you feel up to it, of course. How's that for spilling one's humanoid guts?"
Tim beamed. "I'm glad to see you've been practicing your idioms."
"And, Timmo, if you do really well with your physical therapy sessions, as a reward I'll let you search for my new hex code identification; it is in a very sensitive area of my body." She winked.
He shook his head and laughed. "Della, I'm very grateful you still have your memory core and witty personality. I would have hated to think all my humor training went into the recycling bin."
She sat down, reached for his hand, and gave him a sly smile. "Here's something else I've wanted to do for quite a while." She leaned in, caressed his face, then kissed him softly.
"Whoa, that was unexpected but pretty damn nice!" He smiled and gave a nervous chuckle.
She pulled back slightly, pushed a wisp of hair behind her ear, and said playfully, "Tim, I remember you saying I remind you of Della, your great-gram, but please tell me she never kissed you like that."
He shook his head. "No, she did not!"
"Well, that's good, because that would have been very weird. Oh, I almost forgot. The Colonel wants to talk to you." She hesitated to build the suspense, then opened her com-screen.
Colonel Davidson's stern visage filled the screen. "Good to see you, Jackson! How was your nap?" he asked, cracking a wry smile. Tim chuckled. "Well, sir, I'd like to say it was restful, but I don't remember much."
Davidson nodded. "Doc said you'll make a full recovery. So, what do you think of our new Security Forces technician?"
"She's wonderful! Thank you so much for saving her, sir." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Della smiling.
Davidson gruffed. "Nonsense, Jackson, this whole ordeal taught me that what really matters on this rock is heart and dedication, and she and you have both! Davidson out!" His image disappeared.
Della gave him a sly smile. "Again, Tim, when you feel up to it, will you show me your broken heart tattoo?"
He arched his brow and gave her a mischievous grin. "Okay, but on one condition."
She smiled. "Name it!"
"You show me where they put your hex code." He winked.
She threw her head back and laughed. "Deal!"
from FICTION on the WEB short stories https://ift.tt/DZTeabP
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Before she arrived at the military hydrogen fuel production facility designated Lunar Forward Operating Base 29, the commander, Colonel Robert Davidson, had already decided the humanoid would not be a good fit for his unit but was undecided on a course of action to undo this blatant affront to his command.
Major Jones, his executive officer, knocked twice on the bulkhead and gingerly entered the commander's office with mild trepidation, knowing how his boss felt about synthetics in the military. He came to attention and saluted. "Sir, the new humanoid engineer has just arrived on the resupply ship."
"At ease, Jonesy. Don't look so uptight. I knew this day would eventually come." He shook his head in disgust, then launched into an all-too-familiar rant. "Those headquarters keyboard jockeys have no regard for what it takes to maintain good order and discipline."
Jones relaxed his posture and nodded his agreement, but stayed standing. "Yes, sir. As long as this remains a voluntary assignment, then we'll continue to have staffing shortages unless they substantially increase the lunar hardship stipend."
Davidson frowned, shook his head disappointedly, and rose from his desk. "Those damn nerds think technology is always the answer!" He strode to the viewport and surveyed the grayscale landscape, as was his habit when feeling the need for introspection.
To lessen the sting, Jones said, "Sir, most terrestrial units have dozens of synthetics assigned to various roles, but this is our only one." So far, he thought, but didn't dare say.
Looking at the barren terrain always reminded Davidson that few issues were black and white and that most were shades of gray - especially when they involved Lunar Force operations. Still, the pain in his right leg provided a daily reminder that he had good reason not to trust non-human troops.
"Good morning, team. I'm Intelligence Technician Kilo Juliet 17. You may call me KJ if you wish. I will conduct today's mission and intelligence briefing regarding the freighter crash near the Selenean Summit."
Captain Davidson's retrieval team glanced at each other, not knowing if this was some type of practical joke. The captain spoke up. "Excuse me, but where's Warrant Officer Rogers, our regular Intel Officer?"
KJ stared blankly at Davidson. "He will not be doing the briefing. I will provide the complete mission and intelligence briefing. I will also accompany your team on the mission."
"Under whose authority?" Davidson demanded.
"As per Lunar Force OPORD 15-7, which I've uploaded to your crew comms along with the mission profile and operational goals. I will go over them now." Davidson hated to admit it, but the android provided a very detailed briefing that seemed more than adequate for a simple classified equipment retrieval mission.
At the conclusion of the briefing, Davidson motioned for them to remain seated. After KJ left the room, he said what everyone had been thinking. "Okay, I get it. You're not comfortable with that thing coming along on a live mission, but android integration is a new command force structure initiative, so please play nice with the robot."
The troop package landed a hundred meters south of the crash site as planned. Once they arrived at the freighter, KJ used its advanced array to scan for hostile signatures. "All clear, Captain Davidson." Its voice sounded even more mechanical over the crew comm.
"Thanks, KJ, but did you detect any friendly signatures with those fancy sensors?"
"Negative, Captain. All crew members escaped in the survival pod and were rescued by a research ship."
"Still, our standard operating procedure dictates that we check the entire ship," Davidson said. "Alpha Team, extract the isotopes from the engine core as briefed. Bravo Team, you're with me. We'll do a deck-by-deck sweep before heading to the bridge, just in case they left someone behind."
KJ interrupted. "Captain Davidson, that will exhaust precious time and resources, and as I've already stated, the crew was rescued. We need to retrieve the data cores immediately."
"After we do the sweep, and as I've already stated, that's standard procedure." Davidson snapped. "I'm in charge, not you! I suggest you read up on chain-of-command protocol."
Both teams entered through a breach in the hull. Alpha diverted to the engine deck while Bravo conducted the sweep.
"Alpha-1, Bravo-1. Engine core extracted and rendered safe for transport. Bravo Team, proceeding to the rally point."
The captain responded. "Alpha-1 copies. We'll meet at the RP in 30 mikes." When they entered the bridge, the team dispersed to the various operations consoles.
KJ plugged into the command chair and began data extraction, then went to each console and placed small black boxes on each. When Davidson noticed, he grabbed KJ's utility belt and spun it around. "Are they explosive charges?"
"Yes, my orders were to destroy the bridge after we leave the ship."
"This is no goddamn space freighter, is it?" Davidson seethed. "Is it even one of ours?"
"No..." KJ started saying as the upper section of the bridge exploded in a blinding flash of light as the railgun's kinetic energy pulse sheared off the ship's superstructure. The bridge cantilever supports crashed down on top of two team members, severely injuring them. The command console broke loose from its mooring, slamming into Davidson, breaking his femur, and knocking him unconscious.
The subsequent investigation board's executive summary read, "The level of classification and the eyes-only nature of the operation prevented Captain Davidson's team from receiving an adequate mission profile and intelligence briefing prior to execution. Lunar Command failed to authorize Intelligence Technician Kilo Juliet 17 to brief Captain Davidson on the potential for hostile activity and the potential need for rapid insertion and extraction.
"In addition, Lunar Forces' near-space sensors failed to identify the remote railgun turret mounted inside an abandoned satellite platform until it pulsed, resulting in tragic consequences for the team. Fortunately, the abandoned platform only provided enough energy for a single kinetic pulse before a Lunar Forces Quick Reaction Team located and destroyed the weapon."
With less than a year to go before retirement, Davidson opted to forgo his impending pissing contest with headquarters over the inevitable influx of humanoids into the Lunar Force. Instead, he would sit back and watch their latest technology experiment crash and burn like most of their other ill-conceived Lunar Force augmentation plans. He did not need to understand their logic, but as a commander, he needed to accept it.
He continued peering through the viewport until Major Jones interrupted his brief respite. "Sir, pardon the interruption. She's drawing her gear now but hasn't received a crew assignment yet. Who should we pair her with?"
He blew out a breath and turned to his exec. "The new engineer is not a 'her' - it's an 'it' - a synth. And, this is important, it can never be given a field assignment where others need to depend on that thing for survival."
Jones winced slightly. "We have a personnel shortage in the mess hall."
Davidson broke into a smile. "Slinging hash and peeling potatoes - that's perfect."
Delta 22 Lima spent her first three weeks of lunar service filling in wherever the mess chief needed her. Though not what she had expected, mess hall duty provided her with a great opportunity to learn what's important to the troops.
The recurring topic that generated the most heated discussion was the meteorite damage to the wide-band relay station on Mons Huygens, 30 kilometers north of the station. Several crews had attempted to repair it, but because of the inhospitable conditions on the 5,550-meter mountain and the lack of anyone with an electrical engineering background, they failed, and morale plummeted.
One NCO yelled. "This really sucks! There's no video link with Earth. Only the old, scratchy, low-res, S-band audio-only link."
Another NCO nodded. "Yep, and because it's now our only link back to the world, we're limited to two calls per week. It's like we're stuck in the 20th century, for God's sake."
The mess chief shook his head in disgust. "I've heard a new wideband relay package won't be available for six months. Apparently, we're not an urgent priority."
After the dinner rush was over, Delta 22 Lima went to the mess chief's office. "Chief, may I speak with you about the relay station problem?"
The chief frowned. "That's a touchy subject around here. What's on your mind?"
She gave a slight smile. "Well, I'm fairly sure I can fix it. Listening to what the returning repair teams have said, I think we can fabricate the repair patches for the dish in technical ops, and if I can locate the station schematics and enough repair components, I'll fix the transceiver onsite."
The chief's eyes widened. "Although you have great potential as a sous chef, aren't you a geological engineer?"
She tilted her head, trying to determine if the 'chef' comment was intended literally or sarcastically. She had so much to learn about human interpersonal communication. "Yes, chief, geological engineering is my primary mission set, but my secondary is electronics engineering."
He stood and motioned for her to follow him. "Come with me. We need to see the commander."
Once at the commander's office, the chief went in alone. "Colonel, I think we should give the synthetic engineer a shot at fixing the relay station; morale is in the crapper and getting worse by the day."
Davidson pounded his fist on the desk. "Chief, you just can't depend on those damn things!"
The chief walked to Davidson's desk and leaned in. "Robert, as a former enlisted man, you know what bad morale does to a unit. I'm telling you, I think she can help." The chief only called the colonel by his first name when they were alone and he needed to emphasize a point.
Davidson exhaled sharply. "Okay, old friend. Let's hope you're right."
72 hours later, the relay station was fully operational. When Delta 22 Lima reported for her first shift at the mess facility, she received two things she had not expected: a standing ovation by the troops assembled in the mess hall and new orders directing her to draw mining tech gear and report to Master Sergeant Tim Jackson, her new partner.
When she first met Master Sergeant Timothy W. Jackson, the tall, dark-haired senior engineer she would be partnering with, he asked her several peculiar questions, none of which related to her knowledge of converting lunar ice into hydrogen rocket fuel.
He smiled warmly and shook her hand. "I'm very pleased to meet you. I'm Master Sergeant Tim Jackson, and what's your name?"
"My serial number is Delta 22 Lima." She hoped that was a sufficient answer.
He rubbed his chin. "Hmm, calling you by your serial number seems a bit too impersonal. May I just call you Della?"
"Yes, sir. Della will be fine."
His blue eyes twinkled as he gave her a quizzical look. "Don't you want to know why I picked Della?"
"Is it a portmanteau of Delta and Lima?" she offered.
He grinned. "Well, we don't hear the word 'portmanteau' used much among these roughnecks, and while that's a solid theory, it's not the reason. It's an homage to my great-grandmother, Della. You remind me of a picture she showed me from her college days. She was about your height, had medium-length auburn hair like you, and the same brilliant jade-green eyes." He paused as the fond memory caused him to think about the positive impact she had made on his life.
She studied his expression as he continued. "Great-grams was strong, super-smart, and understood me better than anyone. She was a lifelong advocate for the less fortunate and dedicated her life to service. She always gave everyone the benefit of the doubt without judgment. My gut tells me you're the same way. So, then, are you okay with being called Della?"
"Yes, sir, it would be an honor. But I am curious about how your intestinal tract gives you advice," she said with a puzzled look.
He laughed. "That's just a phrase we use when we feel strongly about something."
Relief washed over her. "Thank you for clarifying that, sir. I thought my human anatomical references might already be outdated."
"Oh, and one more thing, please don't call me sir. I work for a living."
"Okay, Master Sergeant Jackson."
"Just call me Tim, like most people do."
"But, Tim, as you know, I am a humanoid, so by definition, not a person."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Well, you look like a person, apart from the hex tattoo on your cheek, so to me, you're a person. I'll just treat you like any other coworker."
Perplexed, she tilted her head slightly. "Does my hexadecimal identification code trouble you? If so, I can cover it."
Tim shook his head. "No, not at all. During my first tour, my fiancé dumped me during a so-called morale video chat. So, naturally, I went to the NCO club to drown my sorrows and woke up the next day with a massive headache and a broken heart tattoo in an extremely embarrassing location. And, before you ask, no, you may not see it." He winked.
"Tim, is there something in your eye? Would you like me to see if I can remove it?"
He chuckled. "Nah. A wink means I was kidding. You know, just pulling your leg."
She furrowed her brow. "But why would you pull my leg? It is physically attached to my torso and will not come off easily."
He smiled. "It's an idiom, a phrase that is not to be taken literally but means something different from what the words imply."
She continued to look confused. "Seems illogical. Is the word idiom derived from idiot?"
Tim shook his head. "No, I don't think so, but many idiots around here use idioms." He smiled. "From what I've read about your adaptive socialization infrastructure, you'll rapidly adjust to your new social setting and working environment. In no time, you'll be speaking like one of us, using idioms and cracking lame jokes."
She furrowed her brow. "Tim, how does one 'crack' a joke? Also, how does a joke come up lame?"
He tilted his head back and chuckled. "This is going to be so much fun; you and I are going to make a great team!" And he was right; they became a great team.
After several months of working together, Della could see why people naturally gravitated to him. He had a gift for making everyone feel important and uniquely special, and as her socialization infrastructure matured, she grew to love him for it.
The daily briefing started like any other. The engineering teams came to attention when the Operations Officer, Lieutenant Colonel James "Hard-ass" Harris, entered the briefing room.
"As you were," Harris said, accessing the 3-D lunar hologram for the morning briefing. "We're expecting light solar winds, no substantial cosmic radiation, and none of those nasty coronal mass ejections today. The midday high temperature will be plus 80C, with a nighttime low of minus 126C. Therefore, today's golden working hours will be 1500 to 1900 Coordinated Lunar Time. After which, all outside operations will cease, and all crews will return to base."
Della leaned over to Tim and whispered. "With such a beautiful day on tap, maybe we should pack a picnic lunch."
He gave her his side-eye glance that typically meant, Shush! But this time, he just chuckled and whispered, "I think I'm rubbing off on you."
Harris paused the briefing, pursed his lips, and folded his arms. "So, Master Sergeant Jackson, is there something you would like to share with the class?"
Tim patted his stomach, then belched. Nervous laughter bubbled up from the other crews. "Oh, sorry, sir. This low-G indigestion really sucks!"
While more nervous laughter ensued, Della whispered, "Now, that's your gut actually telling you something - lay off carbonated beverages."
Harris shook his head in disgust, then barked, "At ease, children!" As he motioned for everyone to settle down, the alert beacon suddenly sprang to life, flashing its red, white, and red emergency sequence. Everyone immediately fell silent.
A few seconds later, the klaxon wailed, "Ah-oo-ga! Ah-oo-ga! Ah-oo-ga!" A critical status announcement followed: "Attention in the station! Attention in the station! An engineering assessment team is required ASAP at Drill Site Foxtrot-29! I say again, an engineering assessment team is required ASAP at Drill Site Foxtrot-29!"
Harris reset the rotating beacon, consulted his alert roster, and grinned. "Well, well, well... it looks like our comedian, Master Sergeant Jackson, and his synth are up."
Tim and Della snapped to attention. Tim responded, as the senior team member, "Copy, sir, and for the record, sir, my partner's name is Della, not 'Synth.'"
Now, Della gave him a side-eye glance and mouthed. Stop! You're pissing him off!
Harris glared at him. "Whatever, Jackson! Just take your synth to the ready room and suit up. Use your standard Wildcat Team call signs for the op. The rover leaves in 5 mikes. Be on it!"
"Yes, sir!" they replied in unison.
As the rover crested the rise, Foxtrot-29's most prominent feature, the 20-story drill derrick, came into view. The Wildcat Team took the elevator to the drill deck, where they met the deck operations officer, Captain Arthur Smith, call sign Art-Decko, which everyone inevitably shortened to just Decko for convenience. "Sir, Wildcat Team reporting as directed," Tim said over the crew-com.
"Good to see you again, Tim." His smile was barely visible through the helmet visor, but it was apparent he, like most everyone - except Hard-ass Harris - liked Tim. "We ceased mining ops when the sensors alerted us to a potential ice wall instability. Once Drill Ops receives your SITREP, they'll determine a course of action. Thus, the reason I'm about to drop you guys into the lunar equivalent of hell."
Tim grinned. "Well, sir, I would rather it be an icy hell than a fiery one!"
When the platform crew finished tethering each of the Wildcat team members to their respective rescue harness umbilical, Tim conducted pre-mission checks. "Wildcat-2. Wildcat-1 requesting comms and telemetry checks. How copy?"
Della shot him a thumbs-up. "Wildcat-1. Wildcat-2 copies five-by-five."
"Decko. Wildcat-1 requesting comms and telemetry check. How copy?"
"Wildcat-1. Decko copies five-by-five. And Tim, please be careful down there. The drone and sensor data indicate substantial calving potential of the eastern ice wall beginning around 100 meters."
"Roger Decko. Wildcat-1 copies. And don't worry, 'careful' is my middle name."
Della sent a DM to Tim's helmet display. "I thought your middle name was Walter? Is that one of those idiom things you organics like to use?"
He chuckled to himself and messaged back. "It's a turn of phrase. I'll explain later." Tim switched back to crew-com. "Wildcat-2. Wildcat-1. Before we go spelunking, please double-check that your harness umbilical is firmly secured to the extraction hoist; that's our only physical connection to the drill deck. Plus, it saves on battery power used by the suit heaters, which comes in handy at minus 150C."
Della sent another DM. "Sucks to be you! My processors work faster at lower temps." She followed it up with a thumbs-up, a smiley face, and a kiss emoji.
He messaged back. "Okay, smartass! Finish your checks."
Della gave a solid tug on the harness umbilical. "Wildcat-1. Wildcat-2 is secure."
Captain Smith broke in. "Wildcat-1. Decko. We're burning golden hours. Is your team ready?"
Tim nodded. "Roger Decko. Wildcat Team is sitting on G waiting for O!"
Decko nodded acknowledgment, then thrust his thumbs outward, signaling the deck crew to pull the brake chocks and unlock the extraction motor. "Wildcat-1. Decko. You now have master drop-con. Safe travels."
Tim saluted. "Roger Decko. Wildcat-1 confirms master drop-con." Their harness umbilicals grew taut as Tim toggled the motor controls to take up the slack. He gave Della a thumbs-up, and she checked her secondary drop-con. Once satisfied, they stepped off the deck rim together, briefly pitching back and forth over the icy maw.
Tim toggled the master controls again, and they began slowly dropping into the forbidding black void. Their helmet lights illuminated the ice walls as they descended, causing them to emit an eerie blue glow as the ice refracted the light. Continuing down, the occasional strata of red, green, and black ice-encrusted rock created a dazzling visual display.
At 100 meters, Tim discovered evidence of calving. "Decko. Wildcat-1 reporting wall fractures and potential calving from approximately 100 to 150 meters."
"Wildcat-1. Decko copies. Could it be just a minor fissure?"
"Decko. Wildcat-1. Negative, it looks substantial. Wildcat-2 will toggle down to determine the extent of the fracture."
"Wildcat-1. Decko copies. Please be careful!"
Tim hit transmit twice, signaling that he had heard and understood.
"Wildcat-2. Wildcat-1. Can you use your secondary drop controller to descend and see what we're dealing with?"
"Roger Wildcat-1. Wildcat-2 is Oscar Mike." Della dropped lower while Tim finished inspecting the top of the fracture.
Suddenly, the pit walls began heaving. Della's harness umbilical began quivering like a giant piano string struck by a massive, unseen hammer. Her helmet's heads-up display lit up red. "FLASH ALERT: Seismic activity detected. Emergency egress is required. Prepare for immediate extraction."
"Wildcat-1. Decko. Flash Alert! Egress required. Confirm copy. Repeat. Wildcat-1. Decko. Flash Alert! Emergency egress is required. Confirm copy!"
"Decko. Wildcat-1 copies. I'll signal when ready," Tim replied.
"Wildcat-2. Wildcat-1. Ascend to my level ASAP so our harnesses won't tangle during the extraction. Also, turn your proximity intercom to channel Alpha so we can communicate if we lose topside comms."
"Roger Wildcat-1. Wildcat-2 copies. Confirming proximity intercom set to channel Alpha. Ascending to your level now." But she never made it. Another stronger seismic shockwave calved off thousands of tons of ice and rock, tearing her extraction harness loose from its attachment point. Despite having one-sixth the gravity of Earth, the sheer volume of the lunar debris crushed Della's suit and carried her deeper into the mine shaft.
Once the debris stopped falling, she tried to move, but had no sensory inputs from her lower extremities. When she got her helmet light working, she saw why - both legs were crushed and leaking bio-fluid into her suit.
"Wildcat-1. Decko. Commencing egress in 10 ticks. Do you copy?"
"Decko. Wildcat-1. Hold one. Be advised that Wildcat-2's tether detached, and debris carried her to the bottom of the mine. I'm descending to assist."
"Wildcat-1. Deco. Negative. Wildcat-2 is not human. It's just a piece of equipment. Leave it! That's an order, Master Sergeant Jackson!" He hated pulling rank on Tim, whom he considered a friend, but he knew how Tim felt about Della and he couldn't let him risk his life for a non-human.
"Decko. Wildcat-1. Negative copy. You're breaking up. Say again." But when Tim felt the extraction motor start to reel in his umbilical, he hit the safety override and disconnected his tether. He had heard Decko's order loud and clear but was not leaving his partner.
A few minutes later, Della's proximity intercom crackled to life. "Della, I'm digging my way to you. Sit tight. Should be there in 10 mikes."
"No! Tim, please go back! You need to egress immediately. Please, you can't help me! My legs are crushed, and I have massive bio-fluid leaks. Once all the fluids leak out, I will stop functioning - I'll essentially be dead. Please egress immediately!"
The intercom crackled again. "Dammit, Della, stop talking like that! You'd never leave me if the roles were reversed, and I'm not leaving you!"
"I know, Tim, but that's written into my code."
"Well, it's written into my code too... so, if we die, we'll die together!"
Although Della thought his actions were illogical, she knew in her 'gut' that Tim would not leave her, and she felt directly responsible for placing him in danger. "But why are you risking your life for me? I'm just a synthetic engineer, a humanoid, a fancy machine. That's what I am, and that's all I'll ever be."
"You're not just some machine to me! We've worked together for six months on this rock - we're a team! You're the best partner I've ever had. You're smart, dedicated, and funny. I've grown because of our relationship, and I need you, Della! I really do!"
"So, Tim, do you really think I'm funny?"
"Wow, so that's the only thing you took from me spilling my guts out about how important you are to me? And before you ask, yes, spilling one's guts out is an idiom."
She sighed. "No, those other things were nice too, maybe a little sappy, but very nice."
He paused for a beat. "Well, maybe it was a tad sappy. Anyway, I couldn't leave you. Our military code says we never leave a man behind."
"My nomenclature is synthetic female."
He chortled. "See, you are funny! When we get out of the deep freeze, you try doing a stand-up comedy set at the club's next open-mic night."
"Doing stand-up might be tough with crushed legs," she said as Tim reached her location.
Despite his helmet visor being smudged by debris, she saw him grinning. "Aha! I knew it! You are capable of cracking lame jokes, and now you've progressed up to gallows humor!" Tim set about stemming her bio-fluid leaks with tourniquets made from the remnants of her shredded harness.
As they waited for the rescue team, he remained upbeat and reassuring. "Della, you'll be fine, and we'll be at the station by end-of-day."
"Tim, as you know, a lunar day is 29.53 Earth days long, so hopefully it's before that."
He laughed again. "There's the smartass partner I know and love!"
Within two hours, they began feeling the rhythmic vibrations of the rescue team as they drilled a parallel rescue shaft. An hour later, Della noticed that Tim's life support telemetry indicated he had only 20 minutes of liquid oxygen left.
He saw the distressed look on her face. "I'm guessing you saw my LOX readout."
"Yes, you have 20 - check that - 19 minutes of oxygen remaining. Damn it, Tim, you should have left me when you had the chance."
Tim positioned his helmet close to hers and looked confidently into her eyes. "Della, we are getting out of here! Together! All I need is for you to help me induce a state of hypothermia that will reduce my oxygen usage. If not, I'll probably die of hypoxia before the team reaches us."
"What do I need to do?"
"You need to cycle my suit heat off and on to induce hypothermia without, hopefully, turning me into a giant popsicle." He grinned.
"That's not funny; you could die!" But she knew it was his only chance.
"What's my current body temp reading?"
"Temp now is 35C, which is already below normal."
"That's okay. If I turn toward you, can you reach the space-dock access compartment on the backside of my suit?"
She moved as best she could as he turned toward her. "Okay, found it."
"Now, open the panel and look for the red-covered toggle switch marked heat. The cover is safety wired in the on-position, so we space grunts don't accidentally turn it off when tethering each other for a spacewalk."
"I see it," she said, trying not to sound alarmed by his high-risk plan.
"Now, here's the fun part! Break the safety wire and shut off the suit's heat. In these conditions, I'll cool rapidly, reducing my metabolic rate, which will induce a torpid state, helping me conserve oxygen until the team gets here - hopefully."
Within 10 minutes, Tim's body temperature dropped to 20C, his heart rate slowed to 12 beats per minute, and respiration reduced to four per minute. An hour later, the rescue team finally reached them. Then everything went black.
Tim awoke in the station's infirmary tethered to an IV line with several color-coded wires stuck to various locations on his scalp and torso. He moved his arms and legs and patted down his body. No obvious damage.
Major McCoy, the station's medical officer, rushed in. "Good, you're awake. How do you feel?"
"Very groggy, and I have a splitting headache." He massaged his temples, trying to soothe the throbbing. "How long have I been here, Doc?"
McCoy looked up from Tim's monitor and gave a little smile. "You've been here five days. We had to bring you out of the hypometabolic state gradually to avoid shocking your neurological system. You should be back to normal in a week or so. It's normal to experience some grogginess, memory loss, and lingering nerve pain, but that should subside in a few weeks. You are lucky to be alive."
Tim continued rubbing his head. "Doc, do you know what happened to my partner?"
He thought for a minute. "I've heard that Lieutenant Colonel Harris said the synth sustained severe damage and ordered it to be recycled."
"That bastard! He did that out of spite! And she's not an 'it,' she's my partner. Her name is Della." He paused, overcome by emotion. "I mean - her name was Della." He buried his face in his hands and began softly weeping.
The doctor, slightly embarrassed by seeing a space-hardened NCO cry, said, "I'm sorry; I thought you knew. I'll come back a little later. Also, there's a Security Forces tech to see you, probably about the accident. Shall I send her in?"
Tim wiped his face and nodded weakly.
A few minutes later, a 30-something female of medium height, dressed in a standard Lunar Security Forces khaki jumpsuit and matching beret, entered the room. She strode confidently to Tim's bedside, pulled up a chair, and studied him. "Master Sergeant Jackson, is this a bad time? You seem upset."
He sighed. "I just lost my partner in the mine collapse. I should have taken more precautions; I, I should have saved her..." he stammered, then fell silent.
She removed her beret and unclipped her work bun, letting her raven hair cascade over her shoulders as she shook it loose and exhaled lightly. "Aw, that's much better. I've yet to get used to pinning up my hair." As she pulled her chair closer, a pained expression spread across her face. "I'm so sorry; that must have been such a harrowing experience."
"She saved my life, but now she's gone because of me." His voice cracked as he squeezed his eyes shut to stem his tears. As he tried to regain his composure, another tear raced down his cheek. "Are you here investigating the mine collapse?" he said, his voice cracking again.
She sighed, took his hand, gave it a gentle squeeze, and wiped the runaway tear from his cheek. "No, I'm not investigating, just checking on an old friend." Tears welled in her jade eyes.
When Tim noticed the tears and how upset she seemed, his eyes widened with recognition. "Della? Is that you?"
"Yes, Tim," she said, dabbing at a tear as a smile spread across her face. "It's the new me, but with the same jade-green eyes and great sense of humor."
His mood brightened. "But how? I thought you were gone!"
She gave his hand another squeeze. "That was Hard-ass Harris' original plan. However, once at tech recycling, the tech ops superintendent received an urgent message from Colonel Davidson countermanding his directive. He ordered him to take all-necessary means to preserve my memory and sensory core."
Tim beamed. "That's wonderful!"
"Sure is," she agreed. "And guess what? We are going to receive commendations at the next squadron awards formation. Colonel Davidson showed me the draft citation this morning." She cleared her throat. "In accordance with Lunar Force Regulation 36-15, Master Sergeant Timothy W. Jackson and Engineer First Class Delta 22 Lima, known as Della, distinguished themselves by displaying extraordinary courage, ingenuity, and dedication during the Foxtrot-29 mine collapse. Their combined efforts exemplify our Lunar Force core values of Service Before Self, Teamwork, and Excellence. The distinctive accomplishments of Master Sergeant Jackson and Engineer Delta 22 Lima reflect great credit upon themselves and the United States Lunar Force. By order of the undersigned, Colonel Robert Davidson, Commander." She paused for a moment and grinned. "Not too bad for a comedian and a synth. Am I right?"
He relaxed his shoulders and sighed. "Whew, that's a relief. I thought I'd be facing a court-martial for disobeying Captain Smith's order."
Della fluffed his pillow, then continued, "So, given the Old Man's order to 'take all-necessary means,' the tech ops super reanimated me into one of the new female Security Forces models. This model has upgraded humanoid features, improved artificial organs, and an enhanced socialization interface, making me indistinguishable from a human female. Plus, I opted for darker hair this time; I felt I needed a change. So what do you think?" She rose, placed a hand on her hip, and shot him an alluring smile. "Can you tell I'm not a real woman?
He flashed a faint smile. "You look great, but to me, you've always been a real woman."
She massaged his shoulder lightly and whispered in a husky voice, "By the way, as I'm no longer under your supervision, maybe we can do some of that friends-with-benefits stuff when you feel up to it, of course. How's that for spilling one's humanoid guts?"
Tim beamed. "I'm glad to see you've been practicing your idioms."
"And, Timmo, if you do really well with your physical therapy sessions, as a reward I'll let you search for my new hex code identification; it is in a very sensitive area of my body." She winked.
He shook his head and laughed. "Della, I'm very grateful you still have your memory core and witty personality. I would have hated to think all my humor training went into the recycling bin."
She sat down, reached for his hand, and gave him a sly smile. "Here's something else I've wanted to do for quite a while." She leaned in, caressed his face, then kissed him softly.
"Whoa, that was unexpected but pretty damn nice!" He smiled and gave a nervous chuckle.
She pulled back slightly, pushed a wisp of hair behind her ear, and said playfully, "Tim, I remember you saying I remind you of Della, your great-gram, but please tell me she never kissed you like that."
He shook his head. "No, she did not!"
"Well, that's good, because that would have been very weird. Oh, I almost forgot. The Colonel wants to talk to you." She hesitated to build the suspense, then opened her com-screen.
Colonel Davidson's stern visage filled the screen. "Good to see you, Jackson! How was your nap?" he asked, cracking a wry smile. Tim chuckled. "Well, sir, I'd like to say it was restful, but I don't remember much."
Davidson nodded. "Doc said you'll make a full recovery. So, what do you think of our new Security Forces technician?"
"She's wonderful! Thank you so much for saving her, sir." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Della smiling.
Davidson gruffed. "Nonsense, Jackson, this whole ordeal taught me that what really matters on this rock is heart and dedication, and she and you have both! Davidson out!" His image disappeared.
Della gave him a sly smile. "Again, Tim, when you feel up to it, will you show me your broken heart tattoo?"
He arched his brow and gave her a mischievous grin. "Okay, but on one condition."
She smiled. "Name it!"
"You show me where they put your hex code." He winked.
She threw her head back and laughed. "Deal!"
from FICTION on the WEB short stories https://ift.tt/DZTeabP
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