The Shoemaker

I came to on the surface of the largest moon of Ceti V. The shuttle was banged-up, but fixable, if I got lucky…again. It was dumb luck that I survived the landing with only a few bruises and a knot on the head, so I wondered out loud if my luck would hold out long enough to get home.

“Well, I’ve got at most two weeks to get off this rock or I’ll die here,” I sighed as I began work on the environmental control system. Obviously, no O₂ meant no survival. The suit’s supply would only last about 24 hours, and I’d already wasted 13. First things first. Get the air working, then comms, then propulsion, then nav. Thank God the computer was still working.

For the next several hours, I made whatever repairs I could on the ECS, but I was dead tired and realized if I couldn’t think straight, I might undo whatever I’d just done. I decided to close my eyes for a little nap.

The next thing I knew, the ECS was online. O_2, temperature, and pressure were showing nominal. Repairs were done – brilliantly – but I’d didn’t recall completing them. At last, I was able to shed my suit and get a drink. I was parched after nearly a day without water, and my suit reeked of urine, but that little problem would have to wait until later.

I pulled up the schematic of the comms system – maybe I could call for help if I could get it going. Again, I set to work and made decent progress, and again I took a break for a ration pack and a nap. When I woke up, comms read “operational.” I activated the distress signal and decided to look at propulsion. I knew this would mean I must venture out on the surface, and I dreaded climbing back into my soiled suit.

Now, I must say I started to freak out at this point. The suit was clean and against the odds, I got a reply from the distress call. Technically, I was out-of-range, but I received a message, “Be advised. It will take several days for the nearest ship to reach your location. Please stand by.” Good to know, but I still had work to do, and limited rations. Besides, I couldn’t figure out who or what was helping me with repairs.

I knew it wouldn’t be wise to remain out on the surface for long. I would need to limit my exposure to radiation and the corrosive atmosphere. I spent about four hours doing what I could but had to retreat to the shuttle for safety’s sake. This time I stayed awake. As I monitored propulsion system status, I could see repairs were still under way. It was almost as if an unseen army of workers was picking up where I left off – and doing a better job too! Specs were followed to the letter and efficiency improved across the board. It was as if whoever or whatever was doing the work knew the shuttle better than its designers did.

There was no evidence of biological life on this moon. How could there be, given the radiation and atmospheric readings I was getting? There was a high percentage of silicon on the surface though, like the whole moon was made of various silicates – think Sahara on steroids.

Out of frustration, I called out to the computer, “What the hell is fixing the ship?”

On screen I got a response, “We are, carbon-based unit.”

Our conversation went something like this:

“Who are you?” I asked.

“We are native to this world,” appeared on the screen.

It was like a key turning a lock. This is like the story of The Shoemaker and the Elves, I thought.

Then I asked tentatively, “Are you silicon-based?”

“Yes. There are quintillions of us.”

“What are you doing?”

“We are helping you ‘get off this rock’ as you wished.”

“Why?”

“We do not want you to die here.”

“Thank you for that.”

“You are welcome, carbon-based unit.”

“Since I owe you my life, is there anything I can do for you?”

“Leave and never return.”

“Fair enough. Other carbon-based units like me can’t live on your world anyhow.”

“We have analyzed your computer records. Although they can live on many worlds, carbon-based units like you often have difficulty living together.”

“Sad, but true,” I admitted.

“What is the meaning of ‘sad’?”

“Sad means I wish things were different.”

“If enough carbon-based units wish things were different, why do they not work together to make them different?”

“Although you are small, you act as one. Maybe we try so hard to be individual ‘units’ that we sometimes fail to cooperate with others.”

“You have seen us cooperate to repair your ship faster than you thought possible.”

“True. We too can accomplish a lot if we work together. But sometimes we need to be reminded to do so.”

“Will you leave and tell other carbon-based units to never return?”

“Yes. It would be the least I can do. I will put a warning beacon in orbit around your world.”

“That is all we ask.” That’s the last thing they said.

So, I left the largest moon of Ceti V and docked with the USS Alaska. That’s all I can tell you for certain. As to the unauthorized system upgrades on the Alaska, your guess is as good as mine.