“Where’s my blasted coffee?” rang out through the small cargo ship. It was approximately four in the morning, at least for Earth hours, and Tryme was ready to dismantle his co-pilot. He and Xanth-7, a company-issue robot, had been given a remarkably brief time frame to transport replacement oxygen filters to the colonies on Mars. He might’ve slept three hours between his last job and this one, and Xanth-7 was too old a model to put behind the control panel of his cruiser.

 

“I said, where is my blasted coffee, Xan?” Tryme reiterated.

 

“This coffee maker is down,” retorted the six-foot metallic body that stood behind the captain’s chair in the cockpit. Tryme spun his chair around and looked up at the robot with bloodshot eyes and a slight, maniacal quiver.

 

“How the hell is the coffee maker down? You just warm up water, run it through the grounds, and then--miraculously, I know--there’s coffee,” he responded sarcastically, knowing that the robot was incapable of noticing his irritation.

 

“Sir, as you are well aware, I am quite well-versed in the act of preparing your caffeinated drink, but the apparatus is no longer in service,” Xanth-7 responded cooly. Tryme noticed that the robot’s eyes were no longer the vibrant yellow that they were earlier in the trip, but now the glass discs barely held their current, dim color. He immediately knew that Xanth-7 had little time left on its charge, and he kicked himself for not giving the bot a bit of extra juice when they departed from the delivery site.

 

Tryme sighed and asked, “Hey, how much battery do you have left, Xan?”

 

“Precisely eight minutes.”

 

“Look, the machine should be simple to fix, but we have pour-overs above the sink. There should be enough time for you to go back, brew some fresh coffee, bring it to me, and then go plug yourself in until we arrive back on Earth.” With that, Tryme spun back around to the control panel, leaving Xanth-7 to its own devices.

 

Without a response, the robot trotted back into the ship’s tiny kitchen--which had a sink, microwave, and coffee maker. Xanth opened the lone cabinet above the sink and found the chipped ceramic pour-over coffee maker. It then took out a small, glass measuring cup, filled it with water, and put it into the microwave for five minutes.

While the microwave water boiled, Xanth grabbed the coffee grounds that were originally in the drip coffee machine and plopped them into the pour-over. Thankfully, since the original maker was busted, the grounds were still dry and had yet to diffuse.

 

One minute was left on the timer, meaning that Xanth-7 itself only had a few minutes of power left before shutting down. Realizing this, it wasted no time getting the pour-over on top of a mug and ready for the boiling water.

 

Ding! Without hesitation, the robot removed the gurgling water and poured it onto the ground. The grounds rose as if taking a breath of air, and then collapsed back down as the coffee dripped down into the mug below. The clock was ticking, and the drink was brewing slower than the second hand.

 

“Is it ready, Xan?” Tryme yelled from the cockpit.

 

“It is almost prepared. I will return momentarily,” responded Xanth-7, making sure to match its audio output to that of Tryme. As soon as the mug was over half full, the robot quickly placed the ceramic pour-over in the sink and moved to the cockpit.

 

“Took you long enough,” Tryme said with a heavy sigh as he swung his chair around. “Xan? You good?”

 

Xanth-7 had stopped in the doorway, arm halfway outstretched with the steaming coffee mug. However, the once dimly-lit eyes were no longer illuminated. In fact, they were as dark as the void outside the viewport that Tryme had spent hours staring into.

 

There was a metallic creak as Xanth, now without power, slowly collapsed onto the floor in front of Tryme. He went to get up and catch the powerless robot, like catching a friend who’d lost their balance after a long night out, but suddenly remembered that Xanth weighed over five hundred pounds. Knowing that it would be equivalent to catching a young elephant, Tryme sat back down.

 

First, there was a crashing of the robot on the ground that rang out throughout the cargo ship. Then, there was the coffee. It was high above both Tryme and Xanth-7, but no longer in its original container. Instead, it was about to rain down like acid on the two unsuspecting victims. It hit Tryme’s face, immediately waking him up as he screamed bloody murder. When it hit Xanth, circuits flew and there was a loud popping sound.

 

Stunned by everything that happened in the past fifteen seconds, Tryme sat back and rubbed the outer edges of his now scorched nose. He once again sighed, and slumped back further in his sticky chair to assess the situation.

 

“Next time, Xan, I’ll get it myself.”