Executioner's Moon

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“Wake up,” Mike Targett shouted, his voice thick with excitement. “The computer thinks there’s a village ahead of us!”

Dave Surgenor roused himself from a light doze, sat up straight in the left-hand seat of Module Five and looked out through the forward screen. The survey vehicle was skimming along at maximum speed, one metre above the surface of Korrill IV, and the view was the same as it had been for days. Beneath a sky which was crowded with varicoloured moons, a flat snow-covered plain stretched from horizon to horizon, featureless and utterly devoid of life.

“Either you or the computer has a wire loose,” Surgenor said. “And probably it’s you.”

“I’m telling you, Dave. Listen to this.” Targett touched a button and the computer, which had been muted to allow Surgenor to sleep, began to speak more loudly.

“Receiving atypical data,” it droned. “Receiving atypical data.”

“Repeat the details,” Targett said, with a triumphant glance at his partner.

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