This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/EnvironmentUnfair743 on 2025-12-17 15:03:37+00:00.

“Luna, inbound Zone 3 expected. Time to impact minus two minutes.” The voice crackles over her in-ear comm unit.

A dull beep draws Luna’s attention to her console of blinking lights; she taps the grid square labeled Z3. A marking dot grows on the screen under her finger. “Zone 3 expected, TTI minus two minutes.”

The Rover's heavy suspension and airless spring tires struggle to keep the massive vehicle from shuddering along the uneven surface of the Moon's Tycho Crater. The only steady presence in the shaking cockpit is the pilot, her eyes locked in ahead.

“TC Ridge BZ5 ten L-miles north-northwest. Status, Mandatory Avoid. TC Rille KN8 thirty-five L-miles east. Status, Suggested Avoid. Recommend hold in position. Copy?”

Luna cranes her neck from the pilot's seat to see better out of the jostling port-side view slot. Only her trained eyes can distinguish the faint, slowly growing flicker from the surrounding stars. “Copy.”

“Zone 3 TTI minus one minute forty-five. Recommend hold. Copy?”

Luna flicks the yoke steering and her Rover responds accordingly, avoiding boulders and divots speckled across the neutral gray Lunar surface. She steals another glance at the view slot; the dot is a little bigger now. Her mind, feet, and hands instinctively work together, a constant dance of pressure on the accelerator and subtle steering adjustments to prevent spinouts. The pursuing wake of dull dust grows larger. “Uh huh. Copy.”

“Luna, recommend hold. Why are you still accelerating?” The comm chimes in again, the informality of the broadcast jolting Luna into an explanation.

“I don't like the look of it, doesn't feel like a breaker to me. What's the latest read?”

“Still seeing recommend hold, fifty-eight percent chance of break and scatter across Zone 3. TC Rille KN8 only possible exit line.”

“I'm not holdin’ for a coin flip, you know that. Let me know our minimum required velo for an exit. Copy?” Luna accelerates, the force pinning her shoulders back into the seat as the Rover's drive unit hums louder.

“Copy. MRV of 275 knots through shortest line will get you clear of impact zone. Shortest line requires clearance of TC Rille KN8. Status remains Suggested Avoid. TTI minus sixty seconds.”

Luna waves a few fingers over her console map, a command that highlights the predicted impact zone. She knows the Suggested Avoid status means a successful run at that speed is a whole lot lower than fifty-eight percent. She knows these percentages are spat out by an AI that will never understand what it is like to sit in a meteoroid impact zone. She knows she is the kind of Rover Pilot to take the chance into her own hands instead. She knows she is the best pilot around. “Thank you. Give me the line.”

The speed sensor clicks to 275. The Tycho Crater's impact lines reflect the dazzling blues of the full Earth rising on the horizon, the speed of the Rover turning the Moon's landscape into streaks from an expressionist painter's brush.

Luna turns her hands around the glove-induced abrasions of the familiar yoke steerer. She brushes her foot along the edges of the accelerator. This is her Rover. She knows it will do exactly what she asks of it, as it has before in countless successful missions over the years. The opening of Rille KN8 appears, boulders and mineral bodies forming a jagged-toothed smile. Luna smiles back.

Average speed 280. TTI -50 seconds.

Rille KN8. The Rover whirrs in at speed, but a dead-ahead boulder forces Luna to skid around. She fights her wheels back to the optimal line.

Average speed 270. TTI -42 seconds.

Outcropping on the left. Then outcropping on the right. No time to brake. Luna shifts the Rover's massive weight to the right. A quick flick of the yoke back to the left sends the Rover fishtailing around the left outcropping. She strains the yoke back to the right. Every nut and bolt groans as the fishtail swings the opposite direction. Right outcropping cleared.

Average speed 265. TTI -35 seconds.

A Rover-sized ditch appears. There is a thirty-seven-degree strike and dip to the ditch's right. Luna has a split second to eyeball it; she knows what an angle that will flip her Rover looks like. This probably isn't that. Only option, anyway. Her foot slams the accelerator, the Rover zooms through the strike and dip. The bottoms of the wheels are still facing dust instead of the stars above, barely.

Average speed 268. TTI -28 seconds.

As much of a clearing as you'll get in a Lunar rille. The accelerator can't go any further down. Not fast enough. Luna pulls a knife from her belt and slashes a regulator hose. The Rover’s speed increases, as do the red warning lights on her console.

Average speed 270. TTI -19 seconds.

The constant procession of tire-destroying boulders prevents Luna from checking her viewports for the now-visible meteoroid. It does not prevent her from stealing a glance at her map, where the digital Rover icon still sits firmly in the impact zone.

Average speed 271. TTI -10 seconds.

The speed sensor climbs as fast as the flashing red heat sensor. The overheated Rover drive unit sings a new track.

Average speed 273. TTI -5 seconds.

Luna's eyes flick to the map. The digital Rover icon inches toward the impact boundary; it also inches closer to the unavoidable ridge wall waiting at the end of the rille's exit.

Average speed 274. TTI -1 seconds.

The meteoroid slams into the Moon’s surface with a catastrophic bang, sending a debris-lined shockwave up and out. Only a secondary concern to the ridge face rapidly approaching. Luna violently pulls the yoke as far as it will go, sending the Rover into a desperate sideways drift. The immense weight forces its suspension into a whine. The trailing side tires threaten to lift off, the decelerator-feathering actions of Luna's rarely used left foot the only thing keeping them on the ground.

The Rover's mechanical complaints grow louder than the sound of impact. The ridge wall arrives rudely with a thundering collision. A storm of dust and rock rains down on the Rover.

Average speed 276. TTI +10 seconds.

Luna pats around her suit, checking for any fluids, flammable or personal. Clean. Her sideways drift slowed the Rover down just enough to not kill her or destroy any payload on impact. She taps her comm. “Didn't break.”

“The meteoroid or the Rover?” asks the Tower.

Luna studies the blinking lights of her console, a whole lot more red ones than when she started. “The meteoroid.”

...

“Jack, inbound Zone 4 expected. TTI one minute forty-five.” The voice crackles over his in-ear comm unit.

Jack checks his radar. “Copy that.”

He hovers his finger over the input. “Sorry, one more time on the zone?”

“Zone 4. TTI one minute thirty.”

“Copy. Copy, ok.” Jack taps Zone 4 and is rewarded with a glowing marker.

“TC Rille OZ9, thirty-five L-miles north-northwest. Status, Suggested Avoid.”

“Copy. That sounds good.”

The opening of Rille OZ9 appears, boulders and mineral bodies forming a jagged-toothed smile. The Rover slows to a stop in front of it. A meteoroid slams down—not a breaker. Whatever fragments are left of the Rover join the dislodged Lunar rock in orbit.

MISSION FAILED flashes on the training sim monitor.

Jack slides up his helmet screen in frustration and tilts his head back, angling his closed eyes to the ceiling.

“A bit eager to hold, no?” The instructor tears open an energy packet and pushes up a sip.

“The scans said—”

“I know what the scans said. I know what the rest would have said too; the ones you didn't bother to weigh before pulling up. Why are you giving up so easily?”

Jack opens his eyes but keeps them pointed to the ceiling. “I don't know.”

“You don't know?” The instructor rolls up his energy packet with a sigh and slips it into a pocket. “Alright, listen up.” He does his best to put on a caring voice. “You know why we still have a Rover Team?”

Jack shakes his head.

“When you're driving fifteen thousand cubic meters of water through a magnetically induced meteoroid storm, you need more than AI sets and data. You need confidence, you need a million years’ worth of survival instincts. You need someone who can value a percentage, sure, but also someone who can throw data out the porthole and fishtail that sucker around a crater when their gut tells them to. Right?”

Jack has enough sense to know he is supposed to say yes here, even if he doesn't understand. He knows the better pilots would reply yes instinctively. He knows the better pilots would not have to be given this speech at all. He knows he is not one of the better pilots. He forces out an unconvincing nod.

“That's why we still put meat in the seat. That's why there will always be meat in the seat. That's what our best Rover Pilots do. And that's what you can do if you start believing in yourself. We are the only reason this city can exist, the only way it can get water. That is too big a responsibility for a computer, so stop driving like one.”

Believing in himself should be easy for a member of the elite Rover Team. Should be. He tries on confidence for once and whispers to himself, “Now for next.”

“What?”

Jack blushes at uttering his personal motto loud enough for someone else to hear, any confidence he pretended to have erased. “Oh, sorry, I say that to myself sometimes. Now for next.” He stammers out an explanation so the instructor doesn't have to ask a follow-up. “Focus on now and you'll be ready for whatever comes next, you know?”

The instructor nods. ...

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