Mukele Mulangala’s expertise as a mechanical engineer earned him a position on the Omega recovery mission to Darson 12.

 

“Mr. Mulangala, your mechanical precision is astonishing. Your creativity in developing joint movements and interchangeable interface nodes is exemplary,” the Omega Mission Director praised. “Who did your electrical engineering?”

 

“I did, sir.”

 

“Impressive,” the Director said. “What is your interest in robotics?”

 

“Robots do what we cannot. They are what we are not.”

 

The only engineering assistance he required was programming. It bothered him that he needed to trust another individual to complete his creations. The Omega mission’s programmer was Dagmar. Their first introduction made Mukele even more nervous.

 

“I’m Mukele, the robotics engineer. You must be Dagmar?”

 

“You do your job and I’ll do mine,” was all Dagmar responded.

 

During the transport to Darson 12, Dagmar programmed the processing units for Mukele’s robots. He only spoke to Mukele when he had questions about the mechanical functions. Mukele spent most of his time in his cabin fidgeting with small electronics.

 

He was attracted to the Omega recovery mission because of the technical requirements. They needed robots to recover fragments of destroyed vessels over an 800 square kilometer area. When Mukele learned that the robots needed to recover anything over .5 µm, he investigated the history of Darson 12. Given the deadline, he constructed fifteen robots.

 

They dispatched the robots within ten minutes of arriving on Darson 12. The crew and mission staff remained on the ship to monitor the progress.

 

“Director, I’d like to accompany the robots…” Mukele began.

 

“No, Mulangala. Stay put,” the Director interrupted. Dagmar snickered.

 

The robots recovered 19 tons of fragments on the first day and isolated them within shipping containers. The robots outperformed their technical specifications. Mukele, however, was worried. Although programming was not his strength, he noticed an anomaly in Dagmar’s script. Instead of identical coding for each robot, he installed individualized programs.

 

“Dagmar, why does each robot have its own program?”

 

“Because I know what I’m doing, and you don’t,” Dagmar retorted.

 

Four days before the mission deadline, the robots returned to the craft early, having completed their sweep of the area. The total weight of the recovered fragments was massive.

 

From inside the ship, Mukele watched his robots load the final fragments. They sealed the shipping containers, then stood in a line. Dagmar was standing at the end of the line.

 

“Why is he out there?” Mukele muttered nervously to himself.

 

Dagmar handed the last robot in the line a torpedo cannon. Seeing this, Mukele sprinted as fast as he could to the ship’s exit. He was six paces from the ship when he heard the explosion. The blast forced Mukele to the ground. The Omega ship and everyone inside were engulfed in a fiery blaze.

 

Two unmarked cargo ships had landed in proximity to the shipping containers. Dagmar was signaling to them. The robots began loading the containers onto the ships.

From behind the wreckage, Mukele ran to confront Dagmar, a laser pistol in his hand. He started shooting at Dagmar immediately. Dagmar sprinted behind a shipping container and called to one of Mukele’s robots. It recovered a laser cannon and turned toward Mukele.

 

The robot ran a few steps, then fell to the ground with a dramatic clang. Dagmar stared at Mukele. “You son of a bitch! What did you do?” He raised his pistol and darted toward Mukele.

 

The downed robot started moving again. Within seconds, it was standing and then running toward Mukele, right behind Dagmar. The robot struck Dagmar from the side, shattering his rib cage, and sending him through the air. His body fell to the ground, limp and bloody.

 

Mukele ran to the robot, and the robot knelt down before him. He pulled a lever on the robot’s back, which exposed a small window. He looked into it, then closed it tightly.

 

The unmarked ships’ cargo panels were closing as the ships rose into the air. His robots were standing motionless in the rising dust.

 

Mukele aimed his laser pistol at the ships and discharged it. The cargo ships continued to rise, unphased by the shots. He threw the pistol to the ground, recovered his robot’s laser cannon, and discharged four shots at the nearest ship.

 

It exploded into minute fragments that rained into the dust of Darson 12.

 

The second craft, realizing what was happening, fired at Mukele. He responded with a series of evasive maneuvers, rolling on the ground and sprinting in all directions. After a sprint he recovered his aim, pointed his cannon, and took the ship down.

 

As it disintegrated into the sky, a rogue blast clipped Mukele in the shoulder. He took the hit but remained standing. He raised his hands in victory.

 

Dagmar howled, and with his last breath, he discharged his pistol. The blast hit Mukele’s neck and severed his head from his body.

 

Both of their bodies lay motionless on the ground.

 

Movement from behind the main ship’s wreckage disrupted the silence. It was Mukele, the human. He held a rudimentary electronic device in his hand. It had no display, a few buttons, and two small joysticks. His remote control, a radio device, had mechanically severed his robots’ connection to Dagmar’s programming. Old school, he thought.

 

He scanned the landscape with caution, then approached his robots. He knelt, re-attached the head of his robot doppelganger, and then ran a chemical scan of the secret payload in each of his robots.

 

It was titronium, the most expensive alloy in the universe. Just as he had hoped. There was enough to finance an identity change, a relocation to another planet, and state-of-the-art equipment.

 

Satisfied, he led his robots toward the nearest outpost before the Omega scouting ships arrived.