An hour later, I was back on my feet. It wasn’t normal for me to sleep in the middle of the day like that, but the stress of losing my ship weighed on me. It wasn’t just that because there was another truth I was avoiding. The chances of me surviving this planet were low.
Getting stranded on a populated planet might be one thing, but this wasn’t that. Before crashing, my navigation system didn’t even recognize these planets. That in itself is not usually a big deal, but I exited hyperspace, practically entering the planet’s atmosphere. There wasn’t enough time to send out an emergency ping. Possibly, the only person who knew my general vicinity was Blackeye. That charlatan was waiting for me to reply and would probably unload all his illegal weaponry on me once he got what he wanted.
None of that mattered because there was no way I could contact him, even if I wanted to.
“Stop being a pussy and at least pretend to do something.” Jim couldn’t take it anymore, not that I gave a shit. As long as he did what I told him, the snark didn’t bother me—most of the time.
“Oh? You got a plan?”
“You should use your brain more and your emotions less,” Jim said. “Don’t you have a 3D printer? Aren’t you an engineer? At the very least, you’re a better engineer than a pirate.”
“Fuck, I get it, but at least I’m known. You can call me the Famous Pirate Bones.”
“Pfft, more like Infamous Pirate Bones!”
“Die in a fire.”
“Back to my point. Build a better 3D printer. You have enough parts and a laser cutter.”
“That piece of shit? I only tossed it into the stupid pod because no one would buy that garbage. It might have enough juice for another few hours of use.”
“More than enough to cut out that stupid chair and bolts holding interior metal panels.”
“I understand the metal panels because we can break that down for the printer. But the chair?”
“Have you not noticed the hole in the center of your new raft? The pole your chair is on is slightly smaller than the hole. You could print out a cuff to put on it, and you got yourself a lounger.”
“That’s my fucking bed!”
“I don’t even know why you installed that shit. But either way, take it out so you’ll have enough room to move around and create an actual bed. No way that chair is comfortable to sleep on.”
“Well, well, well, Jim. Guess you live another day.”
“Can’t say the same for you,” Jim sighed.
“You forgot one important issue that needs to be addressed first.”
“Oh? Do you think you know more than me? I process data infinitely faster than you.”
“That might be true, but you are still an idiot. I’m organic, unlike you. I need sustenance, and if I do all that labor, I’ll run on fumes unless I burn through the food I have. I first need to figure out how to achieve a reliable food source. I’m talking about fishing, Jim. Dropping a line in the water and living a beachside idle life.”
“What fucking beach!? You stupid animal.”
“You wouldn’t understand, you emotionless robot. Besides, you are only angry because you were wrong. This dumb monkey outsmarted the big brain!”
I almost laughed out loud when I felt the heat coming from my shoulder. It was a weird processing thing Jim did when he was angry. Although I call him emotionless, I don’t actually believe it. The AI was an impulsive add-on, and the entire process was shady. Still, after spending several years with Jim, I was sure he was experimental tech.
Before doing work, it was mealtime. I grabbed one of the nutrient tubes and sucked down the paste inside with a grimace. There was a reason these things were in the escape pod: they were nasty. It was like a mixture of sour milk, sand, and raisins. However, they were jam-packed with nutrients. One tube was more than enough for an adult, and he had bought a twenty-pack. Now there were only nineteen.
“You should only take two of those a day, one if you can stomach it,” Jim told him. “Ration them as much as you can. Even if the fish are edible, you’ll still lack other nutrients. Those things are worth saving as long as you can. It’d be better to eat other sources of food first.”
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“Got it. Hey, do you have a 3D model for a fishing hook?”
“I do, but I suggest resin and not metal.”
“Won’t that float?”
“Depends on density. If it has a lot of air pockets, then yes. But before you flip out, you can’t afford to use metal-based materials, especially wire filaments. Technically, we could use the powder and encase the resin hook, but that’s a waste.”
Jim was probably right. Building a 3D printer large enough to be helpful required metal parts. A lot of the casing and exterior pieces could be resin or polymers. Even with understanding all that, I would probably need to strip down my tiny printer to repurpose some circuit boards and lasers. The only other option was to take apart one of the solar panels on the pod, which I absolutely would not do. Or…
“Can we break down the laser cutter for the parts we need to create your printer? I’m worried about taking apart the smaller printer.”
“With current materials and the laser cutter, you might be able to build… 96% of the printer. We lack circuit boards or materials to make one.”
“How’s that possible?” I was sure there were some filaments in the hopper, so it shouldn’t be a problem.
“Dumb ass, this is a modified printer. We’ll have to build a material processing add-on to harvest the trash that floats by you. Most of it looks like some variation of plastic that would recycle and use.”
“Whatever, just start printing your weird fucking hook.”
While that was happening, I cut off about four meters of the paracord rope. After about ten minutes of frustration, I got the sleeve off, leaving me with the thin filaments inside. Using the empty tube from dinner, I slowly wrapped the lines around it and tied them together. It was hard to judge the total length of my fishing line, but I’d guess it was at least thirty meters or more (roughly 100 feet).
I didn’t want to use the food tube, which was like a thing of toothpaste, so I rummaged around in the pod. There were quite a few bins filled with absolute junk. Then I remembered that the filaments for the printers were usually on a spool and found some empty ones inside the drawer beneath it. The spool I grabbed had a hole that my hand could fit through like a bracelet. Along the area where the filaments would wrap around it, there was a small eye hole that I threaded one end of my fishing line through and tied off. Afterward, I carefully wound the remaining fishing line around it to prevent knotting or other entangling issues.
While I didn’t hesitate to cut up the paracord, one thing made me nervous. Going through the pod had another purpose: to take stock of what I had on hand. There were three paracord bundles, and each of them was roughly a hundred meters long. However, I’d already almost used sixty meters of one. Most of that was to tie off the floating deck and another four meters to create my fishing line. I saved the sleeve because it could be used as a rope, but its integrity wasn’t as good. Either way, if I wasn’t rescued, that rope might be vital to my survival.
“How much longer for the hook?”
“At least an hour. This damned thing is ancient, and remember, your power source is limited.”
With nothing else left to do, I entered the pod and pulled out the laser cutter. I tossed it into the pod and left it there because this thing looked like a pipe wrench. To use it, I clamped it onto whatever I wanted to cut and twisted it around it. The laser passed through the top and bottom gap of the head, and I could expand the width of the opening by turning a knob—it literally looked like a fucking pipe wrench. It definitely wasn’t a lightsaber, which I’d intended to pirate—I mean borrow.
Oh, well. Beggars can’t be choosers. I put the device flush against the floor and pushed the laser cutter’s opening over the pole supporting my reclining chair. Activating the laser, I carefully spun it around the pole, keeping the device even. Usually, I wouldn’t give two shits about the cut, but I didn’t want any protruding parts sticking out of the floor.
The moment I felt the pole snap, I let go of the laser cutter, allowing it to shut off automatically and grabbed the chair. Carefully, I lowered it to the ground, so it didn’t break anything, and then checked my cut. Using an old rag—hopefully not that one—I swiped across the floor to see if there were any irregularities. Even though it wasn’t a lightsaber, I had to admit it wasn’t a horrible tool. The cut was clean with no burrs.
I tossed the rag on the chair and carried both outside. It was a little bit of a struggle to get it over onto the floating deck, but doable. The hole in the center was maybe fifteen centimeters (roughly 6 inches) deep. I wrapped the shitty towel around the chair’s pole to use as padding and shoved it into the hole. The towel made it so it wouldn’t go in, but that was good. I sat on the chair and bounced up and down a few times until it slid all the way down—at the very least, it stopped sinking. The reclining leg pad was nearly on the deck surface, so it was almost perfect. I’d prefer it a little higher, but I now had a chair for idling in the sun.
I felt this was a good plan because the chair’s padding was a special material similar to memory foam but a hundred times better. It was the only luxury purchase I’d ever made, which was why Jim made fun of me. Yes, I often slept in my escape pod, fearing some asshole would take down my ship, and ironically, it saved my life.
Sitting down, I kicked back and relaxed. The only thing that could make this situation better was if I had a beer or rum—really, any alcohol at all would be great.
Sploop!
“Huh?” Looking out over the water, I saw a green glass bottle floating toward me. “Wait! I take it back. I want a beer! Keep your fucking wine!?”
“You’ve cracked your head,” Jim muttered sadly.
Ignoring him, I hopped out of the chair and lay on my stomach to reach into the water and grab the bottle. Lifting it up, we both could see a dark liquid inside, but the label had long peeled away. I wasn’t sure what this was, but it probably wasn’t whiskey. The cork wasn’t in the best shape, but it was easy to wiggle it out. The vinegar smell that came out was nauseating.
“What is this shit?”
“Cooking sherry—or was. Either way, save it. You can use it to clean wounds.”
“You sure that’s safe?”
“Sure. It’s basically vinegar now.”
“Fuck my life! Why did I have to say any alcohol? You evil bastards!”
“Stop it, you’re fucking scaring me,” Jim shouted and sent a jolt of electricity through me. For the next five minutes, I spent convulsing on the ground, swearing all kinds of vengeance.