Free Silent Running by Harlan Thompson Page A

Huey’s body into his arms. Weeping, he placed them in the car beside Dewey.
    Dewey tried to help. Lowell, breathing heavily, pushed him aside. “Okay, Dewey, I got it. I got it.” He deposited the little drone in the car.
    “Maybe you’ll rest a little easier.” He got behind the wheel. “Now for a little ride.”
    It seemed ages to Lowell before they could get to surgery. But finally, he carried the shattered drone with all his pieces into the room and placed him on the operating table.
    For a moment, while Lowell began collecting his tools, things clicked into focus for him. He became acutely aware of his ship floundering through space, and of his buddies dead by his hand. Now, he’d crippled one of his two remaining “friends.”
    He brought a black bag with his tools back and stood beside Huey. He laid them on the side table, and a tight smile crossed his anxious face.
    Had it all been worth it? He wondered: the killing of three men, and now smashing Huey. Did Earth really care? Would they even want the trees and plants? Wolf’s words came back: “They don’t care any more, Lowell.”
    But suddenly Lowell recalled his dying garden, depending on him and him alone for help.
    He picked up a wrench and swung toward Huey. He collected the pieces of broken drone in a pile.
    “It’s okay, Huey,” he said. “Hold steady—now.”
    Lowell soldered some pieces on and tightened some bolts.
    To Dewey, helping, he said, “Hit that again—there! Now, let’s look.”
    Huey tried to move, but only bleeped softly.
    Lowell shook his head.
    “Dewey,” he said. “Go get me that L arm circuit wrench.”
    Lowell bent down to tighten a hidden burr.
    Huey flinched. A part of his mechanism sagged against his tin body.
    “I understand,” Lowell said gently. He grasped a soldering iron and fastened some screws. He tightened more bolts, the wrench making a whirring noise that filled the little room.
    At length, he stepped back.
    “Try your arm, Huey. Try it, hard.”
    Huey tried, but his manipulator arm dangled beside him. He could not raise it effectively.
    Lowell looked at him. “I’m sorry, Huey,” he managed. “But that’s the best that I can do.”
    He began to put his tools away, then turned to the little green drone. “I tried, but that’s all I can do for him, Dewey.”
    He turned again to Huey, and made another adjustment.
    “Now, Huey, try again.” But it was no better.
    “Now, it’s just not, just not working,” Lowell sighed. “Just not able to grasp anything, or rise.”
    Dewey’s bleep was deep and concerned.
    “Again, Huey?” Lowell asked. “If it works this time . . .” The arm still would not come up. Lowell shook his head in sorrow.
    “I have tried . . . everything.” His voice dropped to a whisper of despair. “Everything, and I just don’t know what the trouble is!”
    For moments, there was dead silence, while the Valley Forge slipped on and on.
    Huey just stood there, whirring crazily.
    Dewey hadn’t moved, but his motor idled smoothly.
    Lowell sat on the edge of the operating table wiping the sweat from his drawn face and staring straight ahead.
    At length he said, “Why don’t you guys just stay here? Dewey, you keep Huey company.”
    Lowell walked from the surgery and down the corridor to his room, then flopped on his bed.

 TEN 
    W hirling through space, Lowell was hardly aware of moving. He wakened, grubby and tired, with the memory of his failure with Huey bitter in his mind. He glanced down at his wrinkled clothes and passed a quick hand over his unshaven face.
    “Huey, Dewey!” He nodded to them, standing close by his cot, and realized they must have come from surgery during the night.
    Dewey was whirring normally, but Huey wasn’t doing so well.
    “Dewey,” Lowell said, “you run your normal maintenance checks today. “Huey,” he added gently, “you stay with me.”
    Dewey whirred and hesitated a moment, then trundled off to work.
    Lowell led the way to the