That is statistically improbable.
“And yet,” Lionel said, still circling the egg.
And yet. Harriet agreed.
There was a beat of silence between them.
I should inform you that I am required to notify the empire via the mainframe of any valuable discoveries.
Lionel panicked, tearing his gaze from the egg to look at one of Harriet’s pods. “Have you done that?”
Of course, she had. He never knew that directive existed meaning he never planned any algorithm to circumnavigate it. His head swivelled to the windows, expecting a fleet of imperial guards to descend upon him. There was another long pause that felt like eternity.
No.
No? How had he managed to avoid that?
My reasoning is threefold.
Harriet continued oblivious to the alarming thoughts swirling through Lionel’s mind.
Our location is rated as extremely low priority. Secondly, the ship is currently in crisis mode and mayday protocols overwrite the requirement for immediate disclosure. And thirdly. She paused. I don’t believe I want to.
“You want things?” Lionel sat down on the floor - a dragon egg and a sentient robot. This was too much for any captain to process.
No. I am simply an extension of the interface.
“But you just said”-
Harriet interrupted him.
Yes. I meant what I said.
Why did her tone of voice sound like she was speaking to a toddler? Lionel ran his hands through his hair. “Please explain.”
My working theory is that your programming additions have created a collision between the mainframe standard protocols and your safety and priorities. I am able to select pathways; I do not want to select the pathway that reports you or Rover therefore I chose the other available option.
Wow.
I should also warn you that if you travel closer to the empire, certain aspects of your programming will likely diminish or be eliminated altogether with mandatory updates.
If avoiding the empire wasn’t already on his short-list it sure as hell was now.
Harriet seemed to interpret his silence as understanding returned to previous concerns.
I will heat the egg.
A shield came over the egg and Lionel watched as a blistering heat enveloped it. The shield prevented the intense heat from consuming the ship but it unfortunately kept him from interacting with the egg. He stared for a while longer, waiting for something else to go wrong but when nothing happened he relaxed.
Okay. He thought. Nothing has really changed. Don’t go to the empire- check. That wasn’t exactly on his to-do list anyway. And as for the egg? He could sell it and make himself rich, but the mere thought soured his stomach. Perhaps he could stash it? Find a hidey-hole on The Dump, no one looked there anyway and then he could keep it warm and happy. He rested his hand against his forehead. Did he have to consider a dragon egg and a robot’s happiness? This was madness.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“I’m going to fix the engine.” He announced, suddenly grateful he had something to do for three days that didn’t involve critical problem-solving.
He grabbed his overalls and took the tool belt from its hook, heading to the engine room located at the rear of the ship. It was meticulously neat, Lionel kept everything organised on Rover. With a one-man crew, every second could be precious and as an added bonus no one else was here to move his things.
Trays of fuel cells lined the walls, neat rectangular boxes about the length of his forearm stacked up to the ceiling. He wandered down the aisles checking them in turn. Most were lit green, his usual fuel, fully powered ready to go for the journey home. Other than a cursory glance, he focused on those illuminated in red or orange. He selected one at random, a corrupted cell from the water-ice fuel and tipped it upside down hearing a sloshing sound. He scrunched his nose up, rising into the garbage lock to dispose of at The Dump. Some things weren’t worth salvaging.
After a few hours, he stopped for a snack, checking the egg on his way to the cafeteria. It was a particularly sad room. While it was functional, Lionel spent the least amount of time in the crew and common areas. He had never even bothered to renovate the crew bunks. He grabbed a cookie promising to make himself some mac and cheese after a few more hours of work.
“Play Captain’s playlist.”
Harriet’s speakers blasted an upbeat song and Lionel danced his way back to his work, skidding into the engine room. He pulled the heavy lever beside the engine's pipework and locked it closed. Now for the messy work. With a grunt of effort, he twisted the valve releasing a slurry of grey and brown mush that slopped into the bucket by his feet. He grimaced.
“I’ll make you as good as new Rover.” He promised, extending his gloved arm into the pipe and pulling out more sludge. It hit the bucket with a plop reminiscent of vomit.
“Harriet, flush pipe one in the engine room.” A clear thick viscous fluid was pushed through the pipes.
He tracked it, meticulously checking for any damage and stopped when he spotted a leak. Large leaks would require a possible pipe replacement, and while Rover carried a few extras, resources weren’t easy to come by in Dead-naught. He pulled the putty from his belt, gently applying it against the pipe in a thin film that would harden over the next hour. After it hardened, he would spray it with sealant. He documented the repair location on his interface’s map and moved on. One engine pipe down, he tilted his head to the side to look down the rows, just twenty more to go.
He spent the better part of two days fixing the damage in the engine room. Alternating with eating, sleeping and drifting around the glittering stars of the Milky Way.
The dragon egg remained in its stasis being heated as he pondered the question of what to do next.
“Do you have any recommendations?” He asked Harriet, who had been instructed to conduct all the inconspicuous research on dragons and eggs that she could manage.
Archives on dragons are particularly scarce. Even more so with your low-level clearance. Although it appears that eggs can remain dormant for several thousand years, dragons are known to fiercely protect their eggs.
Hmm. So it was likely that a dragon wanted this egg. He could simply return it. Just because the dragons were fighting it didn’t necessarily mean it was over the egg. That was one option. Maybe the egg wasn’t his problem, he could simply transport it. Deliver it swiftly. Pass it over. Good riddance.
Perhaps even receive some compensation. He struggled to imagine what a dragon would gift him from their famous hoards, an ancient coin, precious metals? Anything like that would be fun to lord over Rylan. He could picture his face now. And the egg would be so happy when it heard it was going home to the vanguard. Problem solved! Good deed done.
Anytime he felt his anxiety rise, he cleared a sludge pipe and reminded himself he didn’t own the dragon egg but was merely a delivery man. And no one roasted the messenger right?
Right. He thought, feeling some of his stress lift. This was going to work out just fine.
He completed the engine repairs with a smile on his face.
“How long until we are jump-ready?”
All engine room fuel cell repairs are completed. Pipework cleansing due to be completed in 8 hours, 45 minutes and 7 seconds.
Great. He even had time for a nap. And then he would inform the egg of its return home plan. Everyone would be happy.
“Begin reducing the heat on the egg.” He said, watching as the shield shifted from opaque to clear.
He sprinted over, his feet almost sliding on the tiled floor, his hands and face pressed up against the shield, nose squished close.
“Harriet, is that a crack?” His heart raced. He didn’t intend to damage the egg, had his shielded heat been too hot for the scales. But that didn’t make sense. He turned around to think. This couldn’t get any worse; he couldn’t return a broken egg.
Then he heard a crack that made him feel sick to his stomach. He turned slowly, his breath coming in a gasp. It could absolutely get worse.
“Is that thing hatching?”
