The Memory Box

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
After surviving a spaceship crash, 13-year old Andy is stranded in the wilderness of a distant planet with twin suns. His only companion is a small metallic box with artificial intelligence. Together, they must brave the elements, the harsh winter, and find a way to get rescued.

Submitted: July 26, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 26, 2017





The boy lay on the grass with his arms folded behind his head, staring at the sky. The giant firs swayed with the wind and the clouds above moved in the opposite direction gave him the illusion that he was falling. A small butterfly fluttered just above his head. He put his arms out to touch it and having felt its' prismatic wings, smiled. His eyes captured the fleeting wonder that filtered into his already excited mind.

Lush and seemingly untouched, the forest was a texture of emerald and olive. The forest floor was rich, soft grass with an overgrowth of ferns that formed most of the thickets.

Then, a chorus of bird sounds caught his attention.

"What is that?" he asked.

A voice, electronic yet human answered, "That's a Flycatcher."

"Okay, so it catches flies..."

"Yes, precisely," answered the voice. "You better get up, now. Hurry, it will be dusk soon."


"No buts, Andy."

The voice came from a small box—a cube about 5 inches on each side. Curved on the edges like a die, the box, a luminous ivory made of a light metal alloy, was a gadget of some sort. In front was a visual display for the sound wave—a sparkling blue light in synch with the voice. On top was a biometric scanner and a digital display power indicator. On the sides were small, braille-like dots for gripping while at the back were sockets for plugs.

Andy, the boy of 13, jumped to his feet, picked up the box that was perched on a fallen log and ambled along a mossed path. He had on a blue shirt, black jeans and sneakers—his only set of clothing that looked worn and wrinkled. The clothes hadn't been properly washed and steamed for a long time while the sneakers were soiled and far from its original color.

"Temperature is 43 degrees Fahrenheit," informed the box, clamped between the boy's arms. "A drop of 2 degrees from last week."

Andy wasn't listening. He'd seen some squirrels going in and out of their burrows collecting seeds and cones, and had stopped to watch them.

"Andy, did you hear what I said?" asked the box.

"Yes, I heard," answered Andy with a bit of a tantrum, and continued on his way.


Andy was crouching by the stream, scaling a grayish-brown trout with a small, ancient tool called the Swiss-Army knife. The water flowed steadily against small rocks and stones, and sparkled with the rays of two identical suns that hung above snow-capped mountains that walled the horizon.

"Just like I told you now," said the box.

He cut the fish belly open and let the innards fall on the stream making quick splashes. Then, he dipped the fish so the water would clean the hollowed belly.

A fire had been started a few feet inland. Andy opened the fish's mouth and thrust the sharp end of a stick that went through just above the tail. He had fashioned a spit by using two forked branches on each end of the fire where he placed the speared fish.

"And its cooking!" Andy jumped with pride and stepped back to admire his making, then rotated the skewer while the fish sizzled.

"Very good, Andy," the box said.

The fire crackled. Smoke filled the air. He threw more kindling and fanned the fire with a heart-shaped leaf. The cold wind had started to come down from the mountains and the horizon dimmed as the twin suns made their slow descent.

The fish had turned to a golden brown and Andy removed the stick out of the pit. He sat himself on a concaved root of a tree with the box beside him and began eating the fish, intermittently blowing air for it was still hot.

"I imagine you should be needing a haircut by now."

Andy's unkempt hair nearly covered his eyes and ears. His teeth had lost its luster and he needed a good scrubbing.

"I need scissors for that," Andy shrugged. "So, I'll just have to grow my hair long."

He took another bite.

"How's the fish?"

"It's good, needs some kind of seasoning though, or..." his eyes lit up, "maybe a side order of mac and cheese!"

"That's your favorite, isn't it?" mused the box. "And Captain Nebula's space burgers."

All of a sudden, the fish wasn't appetizing anymore. Having been reminded of his favorite food, Andy had gone quiet. He drank water from his canteen wishing it was a fizzy soda pop and let out a long sigh which the box sensed.

"I know you're anxious to go home. I'm very sure someone will come soon and..."

"I'll get more firewood!" Andy interrupted. He quickly stood up, walked away and disappeared among the trees.

For a moment, the box was quiet as if absorbing the nature of the previous moment, then came back to life.

"June 17, 2613. It is our 7th week on the planet. Andy seemed to be doing well physically. The abundance of wildlife has provided him well. Mentally, the kid misses home. Misses his friends. According to my database, the planet has a mean winter season and it will come in less than 2 Earth months. If rescue doesn't arrive soon, we'll need to build a better shelter."


The night sky on the planet showed beautiful shades of magenta and jade, and an umbrella of stars shimmered like diamonds. The moons of the planet, all three of them, were luminesce, their lights bounced and their shadows fell on each other. Between spaces, a meteor cut across like a laser beam every 30 minutes or so.

"Amazing!" Andy quipped.

"Yes, it is. But I prefer the scenic vistas of the planet Jaria with its rainbow-colored rings and cluster of stars that appear like fine stardust," said the box.

"How would you know?" Andy raised an eyebrow.

"I have memory," replied the box.

The planet they were in was called GaeaIII and according to the box's database, was one of those early terraformed ones that was meant to be lived in by humans. But, advances in domed cities rendered such planets useless. In the universal atlas, they were referred to as "the wilds." GaeaIII was recently leased to a billionaire philanthropist as a private zoo and had since been unattended ever since the man died.

Tiny bits of wood splinters floated in the air like fireflies. Andy watched them from inside his makeshift tent made from a rubbery sheet of cloth that might have been once an inflatable raft, or a parachute. He had pitched four thick branches to form a rectangle to which he had draped the cloth over and tightly firmed to the ground using rocks. Inside were some of the things he had salvaged from the wreckage: a fireproof backpack, canteen, spoon & fork, and a flashlight.

"I meant to tell you that winter is near," warned the box. "The shelter won't stand against the freezing cold."

"What should we do then?"

"The ship, Andy. We have to get back to the ship. The vault would be the best place of staving off the harsh winter winds. We could insulate the windows with rubber and for the walls, the ship's metals are good conductors of heat."

"Then back to the ship we go!" Andy said excitedly. He had been wanting to go back to the crash site because he missed seeing the spaceship. Not only because it was something from home, but that it was one of his father's designs.

Hooting noises.

"What is that?" asked Andy.

"That's a Barred Owl," replied the box, who could identify 18,760 bird species, even the ones outside the Milky Way. "In ancient Earth mythology, owls are considered wise. Of course, there are bird species from other galaxies that are actually highly intelligent they are no longer considered as animals."

"You mean the Avian Hominids of Alarra are real?"

"Of course, they are," the box said.

"Oh, come on!" Andy exclaimed. "Tell me more!"

"It's late, Andy. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, remember?"

Andy nodded. Every day, he learns a bit about something, especially during campfire, which he enjoyed tremendously and really looked forward to.

He took the box and brought it with him inside the tent and closed it shut.

"Well, goodnight, Andy."



In the morning, Andy had disassembled the tent, rolled it and fastened tightly with rope. He slung it over his shoulders together with his backpack. He had taken extra rations of water from the stream for the journey ahead and also sharpened himself a spear for protection. Though he already knew the shortest way back to the ship, he planned to take a longer route in the hope of finding debris that might be useful.

With everything in order, Andy started on his journey.

"Just don't get us lost," the box said.

"I won't," Andy assured.




Four hours later, they arrived on a steep, hilly path. Andy put down his backpack and sat himself on a bed of dried leaves. He opened his canteen, sprinkled water on his face and took a long, unhurried gulp. He thought he a saw something shimmer in the distance, under the cover of bushes was an object.

He stood up and walked toward where he thought it would be and there found a small, rectangular metal case the size of which could fit in the palm of the hand. It was partly burnt and blackened by dust. Andy went back to get his canteen and dashed water over it washing the dust clear. There it was, an inscription carved the fine letters that was all too familiar.


It was his father's. Or more accurately, a patent seal of one of his father's inventions. He knew what GS meant. It was a title given by the Earth Science Council to only a select few: Genius of Science. Awarded every 25 years. Posthumously given to the pioneers. Most recently, as Andy remembered from school, to a guy named Einstein, long dead and gone.

"What is it, Andy?" the box asked. "Have you found something?"

Andy couldn't answer. His eyes had become misty. Just a month ago, aboard his father's spaceship on their way home from a science conference in Yuris, his father had shown him his latest invention with the very same patent. The memory of it made him shed tears.


The Faraday-7, a Triad Class interstellar spaceship, glided in space carrying a science delegation bound for Earth led by Dr. Henry Faraday. From Yuris, Faraday-7 had a routine check-up and refueling at space station Traxis Prime and heeding military intel, took an unannounced flight to the Bol Nebula as a precautionary measure against space terrorists.

A gamepad in hand by the window, Andy was playing a space shoot-'em-up game and was about to finish a difficult level when the battery indicator blinked.

"Oh, man!" Andy let out a grunt.

From across the ship in a round table, his father and some colleagues sat in a rowdy but friendly discussion. The kind that makes Andy's head roll. Awful Science stuff, he referred to them.

Henry Faraday was a tall, mild-mannered man of 50 years who wore eyeglasses even when laser optics had eliminated all eye disabilities. Asked why, he said that seeing the world that way gives him inspiration to make life better. He was getting bored chatting with the men of science that he excused himself, walked towards Andy and sat beside him.

"What's the matter?"

Andy frowned. "Battery's dead."

"Is that so?"

Henry took something out of his pocket and showed it to Andy. A small metal case which he opened to reveal a shiny silver nugget. It had the following etched on it:


"You know what this is, Andy?" his father asked. "This is a Zenith64 battery. It could power that gadget of yours for 20 years without recharging."

"20 years? That's impossible, Dad."

"Nothing is impossible, son. There's only the improbable. Here..."

Henry took the gamepad, opened the battery latch and replaced the old battery with the Zenith64. The gamepad came back to life with full power bars.

"Wow!" marveled Andy.

They gave each other a smile.

"When we get back home, this battery will go in production and it will improve lives," said Henry. "I made two of these and I've already applied the other one to the memory box."

"Oh," Andy felt a pang of sadness.

Of late, "the" box had been his biggest rival to his father's time and affection.

Two years ago, in a hoverbike accident, his father suffered a severe head injury that affected his memory. He made the box to help him with his work by storing in it his formulas and ideas since he had the tendency to forget them. The box's A.I. was capabile of intelligent discourse and had been downloaded with enough data for a thousand universal encyclopedias.

During the months that followed, his father had been spending more time with the box than his own son. This affected Andy deeply. He knew the importance of his father's work but, having lost his mother when he was but 5, what's a boy to do? For Andy loved sports more than science, he had longed to play catch with his father or to go to the space stadium to watch his favorite team. Instead, Henry bought him science kits, telescopes and other gizmos to which he had no apparent interest. And then came the memory box which only turned things from bad to worse.

They were interrupted when his father's associates called him. Andy watched his father rejoin them then gave a mean glance to the memory box, which sat safely in a capsule in the corner. Its lights flickered as if acknowledging Andy's glare.


"Andy? Did you find something?" asked the box.

Andy wiped his tears quietly, "Nothing."

"Should we continue then?"


He slid the metal container in his pocket, put his backpack on and continued walking.


They arrived at the crash site a little past noon.

"Here we are," Andy announced.

Vines had crawled up the cockpit and moss filled the hull. The spaceship lay flat on the ground, the scorched earth that it had dragged itself into had already moistened. The Faraday-7 was triangular in shape and had its tail end blown open. It was there the nitros-bomb was planted by Martian saboteurs and detonated minutes before they were to go into hyperspace. All passengers were sucked into space including Andy's father. Had Andy not made it to the safety of the vault, he too, would have perished.

With flashlight in hand, Andy entered the ship. The molten steel of the hull had glazed and mildew formed on the empty seats. What was once alive with garrulous men of science debating and stammering and drinking Venusian alcohol had become a ghost ship.

"The vault is the best place for shelter," said the box. "After all, it saved your life."

The vault was the neck section of the ship that connected the cockpit to the fuselage. It was a special chamber—a safe room double walled with thick Plutonian metal, insuring survival. Andy had gone inside to escape the noisy scientists when the bomb detonated. He remembered an explosion, the ship shuddering and when he looked through the window door, everyone was gone. And there, he had stared at the blackness of space.

Just as he had left it, the door to the Vault was half open. He had already taken what was inside—emergency kits and provisions. The vault had some unusual things that were in store, space garbage he called them, that included the Swiss-Army knife.

He made his way to the cockpit, opened the door and entered. Faraday-7, like most interstellar spaceships were manned by robot pilots in case the A.I. malfunctions but that rarely happened. And just as he had expected, the robot pilot was there fused to the seat, melted when the ship entered GaeaIII's atmosphere.

"Windows need to be barred," Andy said.

"We can use metal plates from the hull," the box suggested. "If only we have a heat ray, it would be easy to weld them, but you just have to be creative, Andy."

"I guess so."

Andy spent the rest of the day closing cracks and holes. He cleaned the cockpit and the vault of useless things. By nighttime, the place looked habitable.

Then he made fire with sticks using a hand drill. And rather easily. The box had taught him this, and many other wilderness survival techniques.

The next day, he laid traps for rabbits, collected mushrooms and edible roots, and looked for things he could use as vessels to store water or melted snow.

By the end of the week, Andy had the provisions he needed for the harsh winter. A deer's fur would've been great but he didn't know how or wouldn't kill one, instead, he made use of what was left of the ship's upholstery that weren't burnt. Fabrics and padding he made into blankets. The best bit was making the space helmet. He did this by unscrewing the robot's head and emptying the shell. It fit rather well and the head had a visor you could see through. That made Andy's day.


The first signs of winter had arrived. Halos around GaeaIII's suns and moons had appeared which made them looked bigger. The suns had that rippling effect like sonar emissions. It was colder and Andy could breathe mist on the helmet's visor. Up in the the sky, a flock of wild geese flew by on their way to the other side of the mountain. In the forest, squirrel holes on the ground tripled. And fogs had been unusually thick in the early mornings.

On a Saturday, Andy set out to gather wood. He thought about leaving the box knowing his arms would be full, but decided at the last minute to put it in his backpack. He had never been separated from the box since he found it.

On the first day of the crash, Andy had spent the time alone in fear and cried himself to sleep. It was during the second day that he gathered enough courage to wander away from the wreckage and found the box under a pile of debris that included the rubbery cloth he used as tent. The box was turned off. He knew that only his father had access to the box, but he tried it anyway. He put his thumb on the biometric scanner and to his surprise, his print registered. The box came to life, light flickered on the voice wave and its' very first words were:

"Hello, Andy."

It was the first time he had interacted with the box and felt a charge of emotion knowing that his father had programmed it to recognize him. He knew then, he wouldn't be alone anymore.


He was staring into space. Moved by the sudden surge of memory.

"We better get moving, there's a lot of wood to be gathered."

"Okay," Andy replied.

"Are you okay?" the box asked, a tone of concern.

"Yes," said Andy, "I only wish I had an axe instead of this tiny knife." The Swiss-Army knife rested on Andy's hand.

"Yes, I do think so," the box replied.

True indeed, without an axe, Andy had to break spines and branches with his bare hands or crack them over his knees. This left him with blisters and sore knees. And he wasn't happy about it. It took him as far as a hundred yards away from the ship gathering enough wood enough to form a big stack.

"I guess that's enough firewood for today," the box said. "We should be getting back before it gets dark. Bring enough firewood for tonight, you can return for the rest tomorrow."


Andy picked up the box that was sitting on a slab of rock and put it inside the backpack that was already slung on his shoulders. He then took a big handful of branches and started for the ship.

He suddenly stopped. His eyes widened in shock.


"Shhh," Andy whispered.

"What is it?" the box lowered its volume.

"A bear."

About 30 yards away was a big, brown bear, looking straight at Andy, measuring him up.

"Don't move," said the box.

"What do we do?"

"Give me a second to search for data," the box said, "what does it look like?"

"Big and brown," Andy's voice trembled.

"Okay, according to 21st century survival guides, it's a Grizzly bear. Whatever you do, do not run. You must stand on your full height and show that you're not afraid."

"How can I? I'm only 5 foot tall."

"Get some branches and hold it up high."

Andy did so.

"And let it know that you are human by talking to it."

"What should I say?"


"Okay, here goes," Andy swallowed hard and shouted. "Hey, bear! Bear! I'm Andy Faraday!"

The bear gave a low grunt and snorted.

"You better leave! I'm mean! And I'm human!"

For a while, the bear lowered its head as if cowering, but suddenly sprung on its two hind legs and gave a mighty roar that sounded like thunder. Its full height towered 10 feet.

The ground rumbled as it charged straight at Andy.

"Run!" the box screamed.

Andy made a run for it, but the terrain sloped upwards that the bear gained on him easily. He screamed as he felt the bear's teeth grabbed his backpack and swung him up in the air. Andy landed on his stomach some 10 yards away. He ached in pain at the fall but otherwise, was still whole.

The animal turned towards him and made a charge again. Andy picked himself up and darted toward a tree but instead of climbing up, he put his thin frame behind the trunk, hiding him completely.

Momentarily confused with Andy's disappearing act, the bear slowed down. It looked around and seeing no one, went around the tree and saw Andy who was lying on the ground, body curved in a fetal position. Steady as a rock.

"Don't move," the box whispered from inside the backpack.

The bear circled Andy a couple of times, smelling and nudging at him with its nose. Andy could feel its' warm breath and its' saliva on his body.

The box then let out a wild, screeching noise that caught the bear by surprise.

"Now, Andy!" shouted the box.

Andy had taken out the Swiss Army knife and with one swift move, struck the bear in the eye. The bear roared in agony and instinctively swayed its arms, missing Andy. Then it backed away with the knife still lodged in its eye, feeling the pain. Andy rolled to safety as the bear started to move away. Seeing the bear disappear into the woods, Andy stood up and ran without looking back until he reached the ship.

He went straight inside the vault and closed the door. He immediately removed the backpack and took out the box. He knew something was wrong with it. The voice had sounded different.

And he was right.

The box had been severely damaged. There was a large indention on the top made by the bear's teeth and the biometric scanner had a crack, so did the sound wave display. The voice crackled, sputtered and skipped.

On the digital display appeared the words BATTERY CRITICAL and a countdown:


"Listen to me, Andy. We don't have much time..." the box started.

As Andy listened, his face dropped. Tears started flowing down his cheeks.



"June 20, 2613. The bear attack had damaged my voice emulator and other circuitry. The worst damage however, was dealt to the Zenith64 which I am locked into. Battery life had been decreased by 93%. The power leaks and I have but hours of operating time. After that, I will shut down completely and all data will be lost forever. Repair is impossible without the biometric scanner authorization of its maker. I fear for Andy. Without me, the boy would be alone on this planet."



"We have to do it, Andy, it's our only chance."

Andy sat with his legs folded, his arms over his knees. His face as grim as the time he realized his father was gone. And it was happening again.

The voice crackled, sputtered and skipped as it spoke.

"The Zenith64 has enough power left to send a distress signal into space, wide enough for this space sector, it could be picked up by passing spaceships. You have to plug me in so I can use the ship's antenna."

"But, you'll die!" Andy shouted.

"I'm dying anyway, Andy."

Andy's tears began to fall.

"But, I don't want you to die!" he cried.

"You have to let me die, Andy, so you can go home."

"I don't have a home anymore! This is my home!"

"Don't say that," said the box.

"You can't die! You can't! Tell me how to fix you!" Andy pleaded.

"Andy, you know I can't be fixed."

"Tell me!" Andy shouted angrily.

The box remained quiet for a moment, letting Andy's anger subside when his tears won't.

"C'mon, Andy," said the box, "you know it's the only way..."

Andy looked at the box long and hard, and wiped his tears. He knew the box was right. It was the logical thing to do.

"What do you think my mom would say?" he asked.

The box took a moment.

"She would've agreed," assured the box.

Yes, she would've, Andy thought.

He stood up, picked up the box, and walked towards a console on the wall with cables hanging. He hesitated, waited, hoping the box would stop him at the last moment for he'd change his mind in an instant.

"Go on, Andy, don't be afraid."

He pulled a cable and plugged it to the box. Soon, a pulsating electronic sound was heard. Slowly, then sped up until it was one stream of sound. Sonic. Then faded.

The time counter on the box had decreased. The power drained even more.



Morning. 02:09:12

Andy lay on the floor, awake but he doesn't move. He hadn't made a proper bed and had let sorrow drowned him to sleep. Tears had dried on his cheeks that left stain marks. The sorrow remained and it didn't leave with the night.

"Are you awake?" asked the box. Last night, Andy had put it in the far corner as if afraid to look at it.


He did not answer, but the box knew he was awake.

Sunlight had penetrated the holes of the hull. The sound of birds chirping and trotting on the canopy.

"You hear that? That's a Northern Rough-wing," said the box.

Andy buried his face in his arms, not wanting to interact.

A different chirp.

"That one that's whistling? That's an Eastern Wood Peewee," continued the box, "who came up with these names, huh? Really? Peewee? Did you know, there's even a Greater Peewee?"

Andy let out a snicker. He couldn't help it. The box heard it and pressed on.

"Just imagine what happens during a grand Peewee reunion. So, all the lesser Peewees are already gathered. And then in came the Greater Peewees. The lesser Peewees say to themselves, here come the bigger schmucks!"

Andy laughed. So, did the box. They laughed in unison. And for a brief moment, everything seemed to be okay.

But then, the box suddenly stopped.

"What is it?" asked Andy.

"Andy..." said the box, its' lights were blinking uncontrollably, "I'm receiving a transmission."

Andy jumped to his feet, instinctively picked up the box and connected it to the communications cable. Then, from the box, a different voice:

"Faraday-7, we've got your location. A rescue ship is on its way. I repeat, rescue is on its way."

They shouted in joy. Andy, on top of his lungs, the box, in full volume. Loud enough as to have scared the Eastern Wood Peewees away. And yes, even the Greater Peewees. Their voices echoed throughout the vault and into the hull, and lasted for hours.



Andy had climbed the vines wrapped on the ship to the top of the hull where he and the box sat with a grand view of the planet. The line of fir trees. The birds. The snow-capped mountains on the horizon. And the twin suns with their halos.

"So much for surviving winter," Andy mused. "I'm really going to miss this place."

"So, do I," replied the box. "It had been a wonderful time."

The box sat beside Andy as if it too were looking at the view. Faint winds pushed Andy's hair back. The voice wave of the box seemed to react to the wind too, oscillating. The sun bathe them golden, and they were joined by several birds to bask in the sunlight.

Andy turned his head to the box and said, "I'm going to miss you, Dad."

Silence. A long one.

"I...," the voice crackled, sputtered and skipped, "I'm going to miss you too, son. I should have spent more time with you. For that I am sorry."

Andy's tears began to flow.

"I love you, Dad."

"I love you too, son."

Both of them knew and need not have to tell each other. That when Henry Faraday built the box, he downloaded all his memories in its database. And those memories were full of Andy's. It was really the memories of his son he didn't want to forget. He didn't care about his inventions or his work. They didn't matter. It was all about Andy. The Memory Box was made for Andy.


GaeaIII's twin suns shone gloriously. Then, something appeared underneath the halos. A shuttle.

Andy couldn't control his tears. But, it wasn't because he'd finally be leaving the planet, it was going home knowing the box would be dead. All his life, all he ever wanted was time with his father. And he had that for 7 weeks—the most unforgettable time he ever had. Now it will be over.

"Goodbye, Dad!" Andy cried.

"Goodbye, Andy!"

Those were its last words. The voice wave went flat. The lights turned off. Andy took the box and held it close, tightly to his chest. And he could hear the sound of his heart breaking.



Orbiting GaeaIII, the rescue ship Boros MR14 waited for its shuttles to return. They had done a full scan of the planet and recovered what they needed to make a full investigation of the incident. According to the ship's manifest, there were 63 passengers and crew aboard. With the exclusion of Andy, Henry Faraday and the rest were reported as fatalities.

Andy was looking at the planet from the window of the medical lab while the ship's medical officer gave him a bio-scan, checking his motor functions and mental condition.

"You seem to be in perfect health, young man," said the doctor, "how did you survive in such a desolate and wild planet in your lonesome?"

Andy looked at him and said, "I was never alone."

The door opened and a man in overalls walked in. He had been down on the planet on the search, and walked straight to Andy. He had something in his gloved hand.

"I think this is yours, Andy. It's broken. I just thought you may want to have it."

Andy's eyes glowed. It was his gamepad. The visual display had been cracked and the buttons broken. But, those weren't his concern at all. It's was the battery. He quickly turned the gamepad around and opened the battery latch. And there it was—still in good condition was the Zenith64. He quickly pulled from his pocket the small empty metal case.

"Of course!" he exclaimed.

Andy took the battery out and threw the gamepad aside. Then he jumped to his feet and got the box from out of his backpack.

He walked towards the window overlooking GaeaIII. He had the box in one hand and the Zenith64 on the other. He stared at the planet, closed his eyes and then opened them again and smiled.

The box flickered back to life.






© Copyright 2018 GJones. All rights reserved.

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