Lucille leaned over the rail of her private balcony. Below, in the moon-base’s main mess-hall, thousands of pilots ate breakfast. The pilots were organized into teams by the solid color of their bodysuits. There were so many colors even Lucille had trouble tracking them, and each color came in shades to distinguish the wearer’s role. The main pilots of each robot wore bright, bold colors. Co-pilots wore pastels. Mechanics wore darks. Computer-technicians wore desaturated jumpsuits.

Lucille didn’t bother collecting her blue uniform when she was promoted to Zephyr-Alpha-Blue. In fact, she never collected her purple uniform when she commanded Z-Purple. She kept wearing red since she first put it on. She looked good in red. Charlie looked good in yellow. Daisuke looked good in green.

Charlie sat at the table behind her. Daisuke rolled beside him in his wheelchair. “You requested us, Commander?”

“I’ve considered Akayama’s video-confession.” Both of them were twice her age, so Lucille conveyed authority by standing straight and broadening her shoulders. “I understand why it was kept secret, but the truth is coming out eventually. Luckily nothing in the video changes our situation. We’re still protecting the galaxy from the Hurricane. We’ll reveal its origin if and when it becomes relevant, or after the Hurricane is destroyed.”

“Destroyed?” Charlie squinted, which shifted his eye-patch. “The whole thing? The cosmic horror that ate the universe?”

“Aim high, I tell ya,” said Lucille. “Tell me: Akayama died transmitting a virus to a Hurricane Planet. Did it work? Did you check?”

Charlie and Daisuke hung their heads. “We never considered it,” said Daisuke. “We had other concerns at the time.”

“She gave her life to show us how it’s done,” said Lucille. “My first command is for you two to wrangle the computer-technicians. Cook up a virus. We’ll try infecting the Hurricane with unmanned vessels.”

“Yes, Commander.” Daisuke bowed his head. “I request you speak with Eisu and Fumiko, pilots of ZAR and ZAO. I respect the young Zephyrs, but I saw them smoking a cockroach after training yesterday. They’re two years underage.”

“Send them up.” As soon as Charlie and Daisuke left in an elevator, Lucille retrieved her breakfast from under the table; she’d nicked a plastic-wrapped sandwich from the mess-hall. She unwrapped it and watched her robot-pilots finish breakfast below her balcony. She ate ravenously. Such was the life of a Lunar Commander: no time to linger over food.

A tomato-slice slipped from her sandwich. She caught it mid-air before it fell into the mess-hall. She’d have to learn to eat at altitude.

The elevator opened for twin siblings Eisu and Fumiko in red and orange uniforms respectively. “You requested us, Commander?”

“At ease. Please, sit.” The twins sat with military poise. Lucille reclined in her chair and put her feet on the table. She ate the tomato-slice and wiped seeds from her cheek. “I don’t want you to treat me any differently now that I hold the highest military position possible, understand?”

Eisu and Fumiko nodded. They folded their hands courteously.

“How’s your family on Earth?”

Eisu held his breath. “They’re doing well, Commander.”

“Very well, Commander,” said Fumiko. She tightened her posture.

Lucille sighed. “Glad to hear it.” She set her feet on the floor. “Now, I’ve brought you here for a formal reprimanding. Daisuke saw you smoking a roach yesterday. Aren’t you both underage?”

The twins winced. “We’re sorry, Commander,” said Fumiko.

“It won’t happen again,” said Eisu.

“Cockroaches are illegal for anyone under twenty,” lectured Lucille. “You’re eighteen. Heck, I’m only nineteen. So!” Lucille folded her arms. “As Lunar Commander, I order you to smoke a roach with me.” Eisu and Fumiko shared a glance, but Lucille insisted: “You can tell Daisuke I chewed you out.”

Eisu pulled a roach from a pocket of his red uniform. It was cylindrical and wrapped in its own wings. Fumiko produced an orange lighter and raised her eyebrows at Lucille as if to ask, `really?’

“I’ve never smoked before,” said Lucille. “We’re too tight-laced on the moon. I can’t bum a roach off anyone legal-age. Did you smuggle that from Earth?”

“We did,” said Eisu.

Fumiko lit the roach’s head and offered it to Lucille. “Is it true you’ve never been planet-side?”

“Yep, and I never will be. I was born on the moon. My bones couldn’t handle Earth’s gravity. That’s why I score well on tests—there’s nothing to do up here but study.” Lucille refused the roach to see how they smoked it. Fumiko took delicate puffs and passed the roach to her brother. “I’ve memorized Earth’s laws, but I’ll never understand them. Why can folks our age pilot giant robots but not smoke a roach?”

Eisu puffed deep and passed the roach to Lucille. Her first puff was a brave one. As Lucille coughed, Eisu explained: “A lot of laws are left over from the World Unification. Bringing every country under one constitution required concessions which aren’t totally sensible in hindsight. When the Ruler of Earth abdicated, the constitution remained the guide for global parliament.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” said Lucille between coughs. She’d inhaled most of the roach in her first impressive puff. She returned the roach for Fumiko to finish off. “Now we’re partners in crime, so you can’t just treat me like any old Lunar Commander,” said Lucille. “You don’t obey me because I outrank you. You obey me because you know me and you trust my judgement.”

“Of course!” said Fumiko. “I remember how you led us in the mid-battle merger of Z-Purple, Orange, Red, Black, and Yellow. Z-PORKY was a huge success.”

“I wouldn’t trust anyone else,” said Eisu. “I look up to you like I hope the pilots of Z-Red look up to me.”

“Perfect.” Lucille planted her hands on the table broader than shoulder-width. “I want both your teams running combination drills. Tell the other teams to do the same. We’re combining every robot on the moon into one colossal mech within seventy-two hours.”

Next Section
Commentary

Lucille settled into the cockpit of Zephyr-Alpha-Blue. ZAB’s chair was angular shark-leather which was either blue or just appeared blue in the giant head’s ambient lighting. Lucille practiced the layout of her control-panel. She adjusted her seat until she felt at home in the head.

She examined the key Charlie gave her. The model robot-head dangling from its handle was identical to ZAB.

She pulled her key-ring from a belt-loop on her bodysuit. Each key dangled a plastic body-part depicting Zephyrs which Lucille had previously piloted. She’d learned to pilot robots in Zephyr-Epsilon-Yellow, a left leg. She graduated to a green arm, then to the green torso. She proved herself in the green head, and the red head, and the purple head. Now she slipped the blue-headed key onto the ring and stuck the key in the ignition.

The giant electronic brain booted to life. Lucille felt perfectly monstrous carrying her keys. The pilots from Earth wore hair-bands and bracelets, but Lucille had never been to Earth and didn’t care for fashion. All she needed were body-parts and skulls hanging from her waist.

ZAB’s monitors flickered blue and scrolled through system-booting information. Each screen emptied of text and displayed a shimmering pattern like the sky viewed underwater.

Lucille folded her arms and addressed ZAB. “Oi! I heard you can talk.”

“Yes.” It was an electric masculine voice matching the exterior face.

“Well I heard you wanna talk to me.”

“Yes.” ZAB moved the monitors with hidden mechanisms. Front and center it displayed Lucille’s previous robot, Zephyr-Alpha-Purple. “First we must fill your former position. I have two recommendations.”

“Neither,” said Lucille.

ZAB hesitated. “Z-Purple is the most powerful robot on the moon, but it requires Zephyr-Alpha-Purple’s coordination. You would leave ZAP empty?”

“Team Purple’s training with no head-pilot. We rigged it so all the purple body-parts receive video from the head, which they can affix to their shoulders or carry like a lantern.”

“But there’s an org-chart to follow and Z-Purple is in the center. ZAP relays your commands.”

“I’ll command and I’ll relay.” Lucille moved monitors herself and tapped a touchscreen. “I’ve piloted two Zephyrs simultaneously, two Alpha units in fact. If Z-Purple has no head-pilot, the position is taken by the head-pilot of next highest rank. As Lunar Commander, I naturally fill that role.”

“In a high-stress emergency situation, you’d put yourself under unnecessary strain?”

“In a high-stress emergency situation, head and heart had better agree.” Lucille used a touchscreen to set settings to her liking. “So in a high-stress emergency situation, I’ll pilot both.”

ZAB relented. “In case you were curious, my recommendations were Eisu and Fumiko, the head-pilots of Z-Red and Orange.”

“Eisu and Fumiko are worthy of piloting ZAP,” agreed Lucille. “That’s why they stay in ZAR and ZAO. When the Zephyrs combine, Z-Red and Z-Orange lead my legs. I need good strong legs.”

“As your vehicle, my duty is to obey.” ZAB cleared Eisu’s and Fumiko’s profiles from its main monitor. “Let us get to business.”

The cockpit-lights dimmed. All the monitors switched off.

Lucille squinted at the screens. She smacked one. “ZAB! What’s happening?” When her eyes adjusted, she saw a dark reflection in the main monitor. The reflection mirrored the angular lines of her cockpit, but Lucille was not in the Commander’s chair. An old woman sat there. It was not a reflection but a video recorded on ZAB’s internal camera.

“Konbanwa. I am Professor Akayama.”

In the recording, Professor Akayama moved a monitor into view. The monitor showed empty black space with a red circle in the center: a Hurricane Planet.

“This is my video-confession.”

Akayama wore a white lab-coat. Her hair was dark blue, almost black.

“I don’t know if anyone will see this recording. I plan to die today, and my ship, the Zephyr’s head, may die with me. The universe will be fewer several pests.”

Lucille slapped the control-panel. “ZAB! Explain yourself!”

Akayama pointed an aged finger to her monitor. “This Hurricane Planet is larger than Earth’s sun.”

Lucille bit her tongue. She’d never killed a Hurricane Planet of that caliber, only driven them away.

“A Hurricane Planet this large is ready to divide into a million copies each larger than the Earth.” Akayama rest one finger on a button of her control-panel. Lucille didn’t have the button on her own control-panel. “This button transmits a computer-virus which should neutralize the Hurricane Planet. Unfortunately the Hurricane receives only short-range communication. When I am close enough to transmit the virus, my fate will be sealed. Zephyr, alert the Hurricane.”

Lucille’s trained ears heard Akayama’s Zephyr-head preparing its mouth-cannon. White lightning cracked across the monitor as charge built on the robot’s tongue. The Zephyr-head spat a laser.

The laser missed the Hurricane Planet, but Akayama had meant to miss. The red planet stretched tentacles toward Akayama. They would take minutes to cross the cosmos.

“Today I wounded my own pupil.” Akayama slumped in her seat. “Charlie will blame himself for Bunjiro’s injury, but I commanded Charlie to prepare the launch in my stead, and then I distracted him with kanji. Whether Bunjiro is alive and well or dead and gone, I have proven myself an incapable leader. I’m no savior of Earth. Because, you see, this isn’t the first time I’ve betrayed my dependents. I…”

She covered her mouth like it would hide what she said.

“I built the Hurricane,” she whimpered. “That’s why I speculate short-range virus-transmission will affect it. I know how it was… supposed to work. But to reveal its weakness, I must admit my crimes.”

Lucille found nothing to say.

“When I was young, in my forties or fifties, I was lead engineer of a secret international station at the South Pole. No record of that station exists because of what happened.

“I was tasked with building a new kind of spaceship. The Hurricane was primitive compared to modern Zephyrs, but it would have a hundred pilots whose minds would be melded and merged with their machinery using techniques I perfected in prior secret experiments. The combined intellect could pilot the Hurricane’s complicated structure, which covered acres of the antarctic. For any physical threat to humanity, internal or external, the Hurricane would protect us. The pilots’ minds could be separated when the Hurricane was no longer needed.

“I hand-selected the crew. I performed thousands of interviews and issued hundreds of physical and mental batteries to weed out weak links. Mind-combination is a dangerous process, and those unprepared in body or spirit are subject to terrible ailments. If even one mind among many is unprepared, all involved bodies immediately boil with cancerous growths. Growths filled with…” She shuddered. “…Teeth.”

Lucille leaned close to her monitor. The Hurricane Planet’s tentacles approached Akayama’s Zephyr.

“So you understand my objections when my superiors explained to me that the sponsors of the secret international program would have the honor of the maiden voyage. Evidently the secret international program was no secret to anyone who might donate vast sums toward its completion. The sponsors were secret rulers of powerful nations and owners of black-market businesses undocumented and unscrupulous.

“I explained how I had painstakingly chosen pilots who would not decay into cancerous pain-lumps. My superiors laughed: how could such brilliant minds as our donors succumb to something self-inflicted? Besides, without these sponsors, the Hurricane would not exist. I was lucky for their generosity. In any case, the test-flight would last only minutes.

“When I tried preventing the launch from my administrator’s console, I found ignition had already commenced. My authority was bypassed.

“The instant those hundred minds were combined, they piloted the Hurricane into deep space. The antarctic program was swept under the rug. The sponsors were apparently replaceable, or had planned their disappearance, because I heard no note of their absence on the news.

“In the World-Unification I became Scientific Adviser to the newly-appointed Ruler of Earth. I used the funds to build my first Zephyr, which I currently ride.”

Lucille held her armrests. Akayama’s robot wouldn’t be called ZAB until after her death, when the production of new Zephyrs demanded color-designations.

“I explored the galaxy in this Zephyr—and in this Zephyr, I sighted the Hurricane in intergalactic space. I recognized its bloody biology, just like my failed mind-melding experiments. I watched aghast as the great, red, cancerous mess swallowed galaxies and converted them into orbs of its own flesh. Uncountably many of these Hurricane Planets dotted distant skies.

“In the face of this threat, I begged the Ruler of Earth to restrict humanity to the Milky Way, to stay safe from the horror I’d constructed looming beyond that limit. He acquiesced. He told the public of the Hurricane without admitting its origin to spare my name. He said no one was to leave the Milky Way, but some trailblazers still entered intergalactic space. I don’t know if the Hurricane killed them or assimilated them, but they never returned.”

Lucille clenched her fists. Akayama blotted tears with the sleeves of her lab-coat.

“In addition to the hundred pilots lost to madness, we lost two hundred and seven who dared trespass on Forbidden Space. Some brought their children. One child brought a pet bird.

“Meanwhile, the Hurricane expanded exponentially. In mere years it transmuted the observable universe into its planet-sized cells. I established my moon-base to protect humanity when the Hurricane encroached on the Milky Way.”

Akayama watched the Hurricane Planet’s tentacles grow impossibly large in her monitors. She prepared to press the button to launch her last counterattack.

“I designed the Hurricane to be an amorphous, reconfigurable mass. I fear this is why its pilots forgot their humanity. Thus, I shaped the Zephyr like a human head. The head’s pilot is not merged with the pilots of the heart or the arms, so the combined robot’s actions can only represent agreement in intention. To pilot a Zephyr you must stand for all of humanity and not one iota le—”

The tentacles ripped her robot in half. Akayama pressed the button just before vacuum sucked her into space. The recording watched the Zephyr’s right half spin into the black distance. The audio whistled as life-support pumped useless air.

Moments later, Akayama’s communicator clicked with distant voices. “Professor! It’s me, Bunjiro! Rescue’s here!”

“We’re arriving above light-speed,” said Charlie. “What’s your condition?”

“She’s not responding,” said Daisuke.

“Oh no,” said Princess Lucia, “we’re too late!”

“It’s never too late!” shouted Bunjiro. “We’re coming in hot!”

The Zephyr entered so quickly it was only onscreen for a frame; it had a blue torso and blue arms, but a gray replacement-head. It smashed the Hurricane Planet fists-first above light-speed. The explosion whited-out the recording for twenty seconds. When the video returned, the planet’s surface was plasmafied in a circle a hundred thousand miles across. This would utterly obliterate an ordinary Hurricane Planet, but the sun-sized specimen was barely blemished.

The combined Zephyr surfed shock-waves to the recording half of Akayama’s robot-head. “Nice work,” said Bunjiro. “Is that what’s left of Akayama’s ship?”

Princess Lucia gasped and puffed fog from the Zephyr’s hips to glide toward the wreck. Daisuke reached the Zephyr’s left hand toward the still-recording camera. “No sign of her,” he said.

“Where’s the rest of her ship?” asked the princess. “She might be with the other half!”

“Can’t stay long,” said Charlie. “More tentacles incoming.”

“We retreat,” said Bunjiro. “Charlie, Daisuke, grab that half of her ship. Lucia, light-speed!”

“Okay!” The gray-headed Zephyr grabbed Akayama’s vessel with its two muscular arms. They didn’t flee fast enough—a tentacle constricted the Zephyr’s arms to its sides with sickening crunches. “Oh no!”

“Don’t panic!” shouted Bunjiro. “Charlie, Daisuke, damage report!”

“I can’t—” Daisuke vomited. “I can’t feel my legs!”

“Can you reach your control-panel?” asked Bunjiro.

The Zephyr’s left hand secured its grip. “Hai.”

“Charlie, come in!”

“My cockpit collapsed and gouged out my fucking eyeball.” Charlie audibly lit a cockroach. “My control-panel’s busted but I can work my foot-pedals.”

“Princess, keep up the acceleration! Charlie, Daisuke, get this tentacle off before more drag us down!”

They had no luck. Suckers bonded to their metal skin. Princess Lucia shouted to Bunjiro: “Commander, fire your mouth-cannon!”

“This back-up head doesn’t have that function!”

“Then I’ll use my Super Heart Beam!”

“Are you sure you can fire it again?” asked Bunjiro. “If we transfer power and it doesn’t work, we’re done for!”

“I know I can,” said Lucia.

“Quick vote. Aye!” said Bunjiro.

“Aye,” said Charlie.

“Aye,” said Daisuke. The engines churned as the Zephyr diverted power to its heart.

So many tentacles crawled over the Zephyr that Akayama’s recording couldn’t catch a glimpse of its metal flesh, but white light increased in intensity until the tentacles turned transparent. The light burst in a colossal cone from the Zephyr’s chest, vaporizing tentacles and obliterating a chunk of the Hurricane Planet. The Zephyr wiped off gore with its left hand.

“Nice shot, Princess.” Charlie’s voice was distant like he didn’t have enough blood to speak. He grabbed Akayama’s vessel with the Zephyr’s right hand.

“Accelerating to light-speed,” said Lucia. With the last of her strength, she activated the hip-turbines and pumped fog behind them. “Get us home, Commander Bunjiro!”

“More tentacles incoming,” said Daisuke. “Can we outrace them?”

Akayama’s recording watched approaching tentacles. “Yes we can,” said Bunjiro.

“Commander, are you sure?” asked Charlie. The Zephyrs and the tentacles raced above light-speed. “Akayama’s ship is slowing us down.”

“Hold onto it. It’s the only way to know what happened here.” Bunjiro lowered his red sunglasses to gauge the distance to the tentacles. “You’ll make it. I promise.”

“I don’t think we will, sir,” said Daisuke. “We know what happened: Akayama came here to die.”

“You’ll make it. I promise.” Tentacles lapped at their hips. “Princess?”

“Yes, Bunjiro!”

“I love you.”

“Bunjiro?”

“I know you can do this without me.”

“Bunjiro, no! Commander!”

“Take care of the galaxy.”

The gray replacement-head popped off the neck. Lucia wailed. “Bunjiro, I’m pregnant!”

Tentacles wrapped the gray head. Bunjiro’s ship exploded as the headless body escaped.

ZAB’s lights became bright. Lucille huddled in the Commander’s chair with her arms around her knees. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” said ZAB. Lucille’s shoulders bounced as she cried. “When your mother fired the Super Heart Beam, she was catastrophically overexerted. We barely saved you from her womb to continue your incubation on the moon. Even with modern medical-equipment, your healthy development was a miracle.”

Lucille just sobbed, so ZAB continued.

“As Lunar Commander, this video could not be kept from you. You now understand humanity’s enemy, the Hurricane.”

Lucille released her knees and breathed deep. She cried mere moments ago, but her face was dry. She kept her eyes closed.

“Since Akayama’s death, the moon-base has been defensive,” said ZAB. “You may accept this precedent or initiate new orders.”

“Oh, things are changing around here,” said Lucille, “but I need time to think.”

“I waited twenty years for you,” said ZAB. “I can wait a little longer.”

When Lucille popped the hatch and exited the head, she brushed off Charlie’s condolences. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Lucille.”

She just stood before ZAB. Its left and right were different shades, as if the head had been ripped in half and one half had been replaced. Still it carried a noble gaze. Its brow bore the weight of humanity’s plight.

Next Chapter
Commentary

20 years later, Lucille saluted at strict attention. Her red bodysuit complemented her fiery orange hairstyle. She stood opposite two middle-aged men seated at a desk: the man in green uniform shuffled papers graded in red pen, while the man in yellow uniform chewed a lit cockroach. The roach sat in a divot in his lips left by a scar from his right temple to below his iron jaw. The scar took his right eye, covered by a black patch. “At ease.”

Lucille widened her stance and folded her arms behind her. “Jya! What’s the verdict?”

The man in green grimaced and groomed his crew-cut. The medals on his chest were arranged neatly like an orchard. “In the presence of superiors you should speak only when requested, young Zephyr,” said Daisuke.

“Be patient with him, Lucille.” Charlie grinned around his roach. His golden haircut was charismatically tousled. “He’s enjoying his last moments outranking you.” Lucille smiled impishly and put her hands on her hips. Her heart felt bigger than the moon-base she would command.

Daisuke sighed and passed her the paperwork. “You got a perfect score on your aptitude-test for the position—for the first time since your father, Commander Bunjiro—and a perfect score on your oral exam regarding lunar procedures and history—for the first time since your mother, Princess Lucia.”

Lucille splayed the papers across the desk to review her scores. Charlie judged her smile to be deservedly prideful but tempered by discipline. She passed the papers back to Daisuke. “Were you close, sir?”

Daisuke hesitated to answer. “Bunjiro and I were like brothers. I only knew your mother a few months, but her conviction in her duty to protect humanity made an indelible impression on me.”

Charlie smirked. “She meant, were you close to perfect scores.” Lucille allowed a sly slant in her smile. Daisuke blushed and filed her exams in his desk drawers. Charlie blew smoke into a ventilation duct and tapped ash from his roach. “Anyway, Zephyr Lucille! In addition to your impeccable exams, you’ve been unanimously praised for leadership in the field. When you commanded Zephyr-Purple in repelling a sun-sized Hurricane Planet, the purple arm, leg, and chest pilots came to us to commend you.”

Daisuke rolled his wheelchair back from the desk to open window-blinds. Outside the office, enormous robots of every solid color bounded across the lunar surface. Some jumped on muscular legs while some bounced on puffs of steam from legless hips. Some had two arms, some four, and some none at all. Each limb, chest, and head held the silhouettes of pilots, co-pilots, and technicians.

Sometimes a robot would collapse into body-parts and practice recombining under the direction of its head, the Alpha unit. Sometimes two robots would merge into a multicolored mass of limbs and stagger until they rolled into a crater and broke apart. Sometimes a small robot would leap into a larger one and wear it like a suit of armor or matryoshka doll.

The largest robot was purple and carried its detached head like a lantern. Lucille’s team was practicing without her while she met Charlie and Daisuke.

“You’ve got good standing among the Zephyrs.” Daisuke rolled back to the desk. “Your reputation makes you a clear candidate for pilot of Zephyr-Alpha-Blue. You would command a crew of ten-thousand, including the right and left arms of the lunar base—that is to say, Charlie and me. To what do you attribute their loyalty to you?”

“I shout loudest,” said Lucille.

Daisuke was speechless. Charlie cracked up. “I told you, she’s the one!”

“Could you explain?” asked Daisuke.

“The head-pilot has gotta shout loudest. If you want to throw a punch,” said Lucille, with a slo-mo hay-maker, “your arms and legs need to know. A good shout unifies the Zephyrs in action.”

“And about your shouting.” Daisuke rifled through transcripts. “You lapse into Japanese under pressure. Not all the pilots speak Japanese. When you directed the mid-battle merger of Z-Purple, Orange, Red, Black, and Yellow, you shouted—” He inspected the transcript. “—Ore o dare da to omotte yagaru.”

Charlie laughed. “Who the hell do you think I am,” he translated. “Classic.”

“A good shout unifies the Zephyrs in action,” repeated Lucille. “It doesn’t have to be a command, or even comprehensible. It just has to pump all hearts to one beat. As acting Commander of Z-PORKY, hundreds of pilots locked step with my voice. We fired our Super Heart Beam and blasted the Hurricane to bits.”

Charlie smiled around his roach. Daisuke tried not to look impressed. “I notice you shout ore. That’s an informal masculine reflexive-pronoun. Why don’t you shout the gender-neutral watashi, or the feminine atashi?”

“Mid-combat? I’m punching planets to powder, sir. I’m not gonna curtsy.”

“Point taken.” Daisuke melted green wax and pressed his seal of approval onto Lucille’s certificate of promotion. “With Charlie’s ratification, I see fit to promote you to Lunar Commander and pilot of Zephyr-Alpha-Blue.”

Charlie snuffed his cockroach and took the certificate. “Follow me, Lucille. You’ve got one more trial ahead.”

---

When Charlie spoke without a roach in his lips, consonants whistled through the scarred gap. “You nailed your history exam. What do you know about Professor Akayama?”

Lucille watched elevator-lights track their descent to the hangar bays. “I know she was Scientific Adviser to the Ruler of Earth. I know she constructed this moon-base and trained Zephyr-pilots to fend off the Hurricane.”

“Do you know how she died, twenty years ago?”

Lucille pursed her lips. “I know it’s classified. I know the same incident killed my father and mortally wounded my mother. It inspired the Ruler of Earth to abdicate. From what I’ve heard, it was the Hurricane.”

“It gave me this scar.” Charlie adjusted his eye-patch. “Daisuke hasn’t walked since. Your mother barely lived long enough for you to stand here today.” Charlie shook his head. “What I’m saying is… Zephyrhood isn’t all robots and shouting. I know you know that more than any other pilot.” The elevator opened into the smallest, deepest, darkest hangar. In the center sat ZAB, Zephyr-Alpha-Blue, the 20-meter tall head of Z-Blue, leader of the Zephyr robots. Its left and right were different shades, as if the head had been ripped in half and one half had been replaced. Still it carried a noble gaze. Its brow bore the weight of humanity’s plight. “But this guy knows it most of all.” Charlie tossed Lucille a key and she caught it. The key’s handle dangled a plastic blue robot-head. “This is your last chance to turn back. There’s no return once you to talk to ZAB.”

“Talk?” Lucille climbed the ladder at the nape of the neck. “What do you mean?”

“Professor Akayama cut her teeth building talking robot spaceships.” Charlie watched her twist open the hatch on ZAB’s skullcap. “ZAB was her personal vessel—it was just called ‘the Zephyr’ back then, since it was the only one of its kind. Its voice kept her company on solo-trips through the solar system and helped her sample Jupiter’s spot. Until, of course, the Hurricane ate the universe. Then ZAB was recommissioned as the head of humanity’s protector.”

Lucille hesitated halfway down the hatch. “So there’s a voice in here, sir, and I’m to win it over?”

“You’ve already won it over. It graded your exams.”

“The history-books didn’t mention anything about an artificial intelligence.”

“History leaves out a lot.” Charlie lit a new roach and puffed it red-hot. “When that hatch closes behind you, you outrank me. You outrank Daisuke. You outrank everyone. With your head on our shoulders, humanity has a face again. A direction.” He prepared a pen to sign Lucille’s certificate of promotion. “So take your time. Enjoy the last moments before your first command.”

Next Section
Commentary

At the command-tower of her moon-base, Professor Akayama greeted the stars. Only the withering belt of the Milky Way winked back. The rest of the sky had been eaten by the Hurricane, the blood-colored monster which infested the observable universe. When the Hurricane’s planet-sized cells encroached on the Milky Way, Akayama’s moon-base sent humanity’s protector: the Zephyr.

Akayama operated a control-panel labeled in English and Japanese. She watched a crater open like a manhole and leak white exhaust from a sub-lunar hangar. “Bunjiro, Princess, Daisuke,” she said into a microphone, “Hurricane Planets are snatching stars from the galaxy’s third arm. Begin preparation for Princess Lucia’s first combat-piloting experience. Everyone, just keep your heads and follow procedures.”

Behind Akayama, forty technicians in military uniform relayed multilingual commands to mechanics in the crater. There, a blue-gray metal human torso over a hundred meters tall rest on a launch-platform. Its detached right arm was hung on the wall—the right arm’s pilot was supposed to help Akayama evaluate the Princess from the command-tower.

“Professor Akayama,” he said sitting beside her, “sorry I’m late.” He was an American with a tousled golden haircut, chewing the end of a smoldering cockroach. “How’s the princess holding up?”

“Charlie, trade seats with me.” Akayama stood and brushed folds from her lab-coat. “My arthritis is acting up. I need you to finish launch-preparations. And get that roach out of your mouth, you know there’s no smoking near sensitive equipment. Don’t give me that look! I’m your elder by a century!”

“Yes, Professor.” Charlie dutifully swapped seats and ashed his roach. On the control-panel he twisted dials, turned a key, and lifted a lever. “Can I still smoke in the Zephyr’s right-shoulder cockpit?”

“Of course. That air’s filtered through the life-support systems.” Akayama watched steam pour from the crater. She had remarkable eyesight for a 120-year-old. “Charlie, I wanted to discuss an error in your report on Princess Lucia.”

“Professor, the princess is more than ready to pilot the Zephyr’s heart. I’ve flown with her before. She’s a better match for the position than even Commander Bunjiro was.”

“Not that. Look here.” Akayama pulled a clipboard and pen from her lab-coat. “You were brave to try writing my name in kanji, but you wrote Akayama…” She drew a sun and moon beside a trident. “Bright mountain. My name is Akayama…” She drew a cross on four legs and another trident. “Red mountain. Akai Yama Hakase, not Akarui Yama Hakase. Understand, deshou ka? Still, not a bad try for an American. Just write in English from now on.”

“Of course, Professor.” Charlie tapped a microphone. “Commander Bunjiro, the Zephyr is cleared for take-off.”

“Hey, Charlie!” shouted Bunjiro, transmitting from the Zephyr’s head. “Our life-support saves power when you’re not smoking the place up! Take-off in three, two—”

The blue torso shot from the crater on a column of clouds puffed from its hips. Daisuke, pilot of the left arm, swept the exhaust away as the Zephyr departed the solar system at light-speed. Princess Lucia, in the robot’s sculpted muscular chest, switched on her audio-communication. “How’s my take-off, Professor?”

“Excellent, Princess.” Akayama leaned over Charlie to reach the microphone. “In the Zephyr’s chest you control not just the main engines, but also the Zephyr’s greatest weapon: the Super Heart Beam. Using it to obliterate just one Hurricane Planet will cause the rest to flee back outside the galaxy—but it puts immense strain on the chest’s pilot. When Bunjiro piloted the chest, he could withstand firing the beam only once a week. I understand he’s taught you everything he knows. Are you prepared, Princess?”

“Yes ma’am!” In the third arm of the Milky Way, the Zephyr found a hundred red planets grasping with hands, kicking with legs, and dripping with tentacles. Lucille steadied herself at the sight of Hurricane Planets absorbing whole stars and dividing into countless copies of themselves. “Bunjiro, Daisuke, transfer power, please!”

“Transferring power,” said Daisuke.

“You’ve got this, Princess,” said Bunjiro.

Energy crackled from the Zephyr’s head and arm to its chest. Akayama checked diagnostics on her control-panel. “I knew the princess would be the perfect pilot the moment we met,” she told Charlie. “Firing the Super Heart Beam requires embodying the ideals the Zephyr represents. As daughter of the Ruler of Earth, Lucia knows how to stand for humanity!”

“Professor,” said Charlie, “look at the neck!”

The Zephyr’s neck had eight locks securing its head to its body. According to the control-panel’s diagnostics, four locks were open.

Akayama grabbed the microphone. “Lucia, don’t—”

The Super Heart Beam exploded from the Zephyr’s chest. White light shot thousands of light-years and vaporized whole Hurricane Planets. The force of the beam whipped the Zephyr backwards.

The Zephyr’s head snapped its locks and spun through space above light-speed. Bunjiro was thrashed in his cockpit when the Zephyr’s head impacted asteroids. Akayama cried: “Mou iya dawa!”

“Bunjiro, come in!” shouted Charlie into the mic. No response. “Princess, Daisuke, get him back to the moon! We’ll prepare med-bay!” Charlie shook his head. A tear dripped down his right cheek. “This is my fault, Professor. I was responsible for the launch-preparation.”

Akayama was gone. Charlie lost her in the commotion of the command-tower.

---

Firing the Super Heart Beam had exhausted her, but Princess Lucia couldn’t sleep that night. She just lay awake in her bunk in her blue, skin-tight, military-issue bodysuit.

The doctors said Bunjiro’s surgery would last hours and he’d be bedridden for days. Charlie said it wasn’t her fault, but Lucia reviewed the test in her mind. Could she have leapt from her cockpit to save him?

“Princess!” Daisuke pounded her door. “Emergency! We need you in the Zephyr!”

“Oh no!” On her way, she tied her blue hair in a military-regulation ponytail. “What’s wrong? Another Hurricane invasion?”

“Worse.” Daisuke explained in the elevator down to the sub-lunar hangar. His gray-green uniform was adorned with rows of medals. He straightened his green crew-cut while he spoke. “Akayama Hakase commandeered the Zephyr’s head from the repair-bay. She’s about to break light-speed leaving the Milky Way, right toward the Hurricane!”

“What? Why?” They ran across catwalks to the headless Zephyr. Charlie already sat in the right-shoulder-cockpit in his yellow uniform. He lit a cockroach and held it in clenched teeth. Lucia hesitated outside the chest-cockpit. “I can’t do this. My first combat-piloting experience was a disaster!”

“Get in, Princess!” shouted Charlie.

“Before she left, Akayama gave you perfect marks,” said Daisuke. “So did I, and so did Charlie.”

“Hey Daisuke, same here!” A gray replacement-head floated onto the Zephyr’s shoulders. Bunjiro popped out the skull-cap and waved to Lucia. His red uniform bulged with bloody bandages. He lowered his spiky red sunglasses to check the eight neck-locks. Satisfied, he posed with two fingers in a V for Victory. “One little crash ain’t gonna stop me!”

“Bunjiro!” Lucia entered her cockpit and buckled her seat-belts. Bunjiro, Charlie, and Daisuke appeared on her computer-screens.

Charlie blew smoke from his cockroach. “Good to see you back in business, Commander Bunjiro.”

Lucia turned her key in the ignition and punched a code on a panel of buttons. Daisuke stretched the Zephyr’s left arm. “Commander,” asked Daisuke, “are you sure you’re fit to fly?”

“Sure as sure!” said Bunjiro. “The moon-base is giving us the green light. Hit it, Princess! Let’s save Professor Akayama!”

Lucia yanked a lever. The Zephyr’s hips fired billowing exhaust and they rocketed from the crater. “Jumping to hyper-light-speed.” Lucia flipped switches. Charlie and Daisuke brought the Zephyr’s arms across its chest.

On a column of clouds thick as cream, the Zephyr shot into space.

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