25. Zero Strike
When I finished charging and opened my eyes, my field of vision tilted upward about 45 degrees.
The Earth floated at its zenith in the sky.
Muttering to myself that it was already this late, I awkwardly moved my visual sensors, still not fully recovered from the darkness, and surveyed my surroundings.
The first thing I saw was Kana's profile, chewing on cotton candy remnants while blowing bubbles like chewing gum. Beyond her, something caught my eye—a lunar rover.
It gleamed flawlessly, as if brand new. Whether coated in paint or some other material, it stood there unblemished, like it had just rolled off the factory line.
Its polished aluminum alloy chassis radiated modern functional beauty, with a three-part hinged structure. The foldable design evoked the era of lunar exploration while exuding a refined elegance. It might look rugged, but there was a distinct, almost fragrant aesthetic in its roughness.
Measuring about 3 meters long, with a 2.3-meter wheelbase and 1.1 meters in height, the compact body promised stable travel in the Moon's low gravity. The 36-centimeter ground clearance suggested it could easily navigate rocky terrain, even with Kana and me, fully charged, aboard.
In short, it was a masterpiece.
"Absolutely stunning."
The first words to spill from my mouth after charging were a tribute to the lunar rover, befitting my 100% condition.
"Oh, Neo-kun!"
Kana, who had been checking the rover's status on a wireless terminal while lounging on a lunar rock like it was a sofa, noticed I was awake and stood up.
She tore a piece of silver antenna debris into the size of a notepad, carefully wrapped the cotton candy gum she'd been chewing—its sweetness apparently gone—and tucked it into her pocket.
I thought she could've just tossed it on the debris-strewn ground, but her sense of etiquette was worlds apart from my crassness.
As expected of a latest model, her politeness and manners shone through.
"You did amazing," I said, genuine gratitude welling up as I looked at Kana, who had perfectly restored the First Pitch Head. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"I feel pathetic for not helping at all. Sorry."
"No, no, I was so caught up in the fun that I kind of forgot about you," Kana said.
I gave a wry smile. "That's a little lonely."
"Next time we make something, let's do it together!"
"Even if we don't need to, I'd love to make something with you someday."
I didn't say aloud that I just wanted to see her joyfully creating again.
"So?" I changed the subject, addressing the First Pitch Head. "How's it feel to be reborn?"
The First Pitch Head, now part of a splendid chassis, was proudly mounted at its apex.
What once looked like a discarded rock or brick now seemed like a wise, dependable head, imbued with the wisdom and hope of ancient humanity.
"It feels amazing," the First Pitch Head replied in a calm, clear voice, free of noise, as if it had reached some profound realization. "I'm a far better lunar rover than before, thanks to Kana."
I almost mentioned that Kana didn't like being called "chan," but she didn't seem bothered, just gazing fondly at her creation, so I let it slide.
"It's because you were a great base to work with," Kana said humbly, glancing back at me. "But I made it, so I'd like my owner, Neo-kun, to name it."
"Name?" I replied. "It already has one—First Pitch Head."
"…First Pitch?" Kana frowned slightly. "What does that mean?"
"Oh, I threw its head like a baseball to take down the cloud. It ended up missing, like a foul ball, but since it was the first thing I threw, I named it First Pitch Head as a memento."
"No way."
Kana cut me off sharply, her expression cold, tinged with disappointment and hesitation.
"I don't get it," she repeated. "It doesn't make sense, and that half-hearted name lacks sincerity. It's neither cool nor cute."
"…"
I fell silent, unable to deny that it was indeed too careless.
"Then how about you name the new lunar rover, Kana—"
"No way."
"…"
"Don't shirk responsibility," she said in a stern, almost scolding tone. "This is an important being that'll take us to the cargo ship. You have to name it with heart, or it's disrespectful to the rover and lunar exploration technology."
"You've got a point."
I nodded, deciding to think seriously this time.
To find inspiration, I needed to study its appearance closely. I approached the First Pitch Head—no, the yet-to-be-named rover—and carefully examined it from head to tires, still idle without us aboard.
Then, it hit me.
"Zero Strike."
The moment I said it, a crisp, vibrant echo rang through the vacuum deep sea.
"Sounds like it's settled," Kana said, her earlier dissatisfaction replaced with approval of my choice, as if she instinctively liked the name.
Best of all, the First Pitch Head—now renamed Zero Strike—began moving forward joyfully.
It glided smoothly, elegantly navigating the uneven lunar surface, sometimes like a snake, sometimes like a freshwater fish. Its autonomous driving was a marvel to behold.
Zero Strike was clearly delighted.
"Zero Strike!" it called out its own name, moving gleefully.
No one asked what it meant. In that moment, the three of us—three machines—shared a quiet understanding that a name's resonance mattered more than its meaning.
After savoring that moment, we prepared to board.
Zero Strike finished its autonomous test drive and smoothly backed up, stopping precisely in front of us.
I naturally moved to the driver's seat, Kana to the passenger's side.
The seats, evoking the refined vibe of a two-seater sports coupe, caught my eye. Made of white leather, they gleamed with a glossy flow, like a luxurious river.
Before sitting, I couldn't help but trace the leather's surface with my fingers. Like the gloves Kana made, its exquisite texture sent a thrill through my circuits, sparking my CPU.
I settled into the driver's seat.
The open-top design, with no roof, created a sense of freedom, as if the entire Moon was my vehicle. My visual and tactile sensors trembled in unison, the vast lunar landscape enveloping me.
Kana slid into the passenger seat.
"This is amazing," she said in awe. "I know I made it, but it's so comfortable!"
"We don't know yet," Zero Strike interjected. "You can't judge the ride until we actually drive."
"Yeah, I'm excited!" Kana's voice bubbled with enthusiasm.
I gently placed my hands on the steering wheel in front of me. "Even has a steering wheel," I muttered, impressed.
Kana grinned and added, "I thought you'd like these kinds of romantic, unnecessary parts, Neo-kun."
"Yeah, I love it," I said sincerely. "Thanks. This'll make the drive three times more fun."
"Yay!" Kana flashed an adorable smile.
"Let's go!" Zero Strike announced, its chassis humming with a low engine roar, ready to start.
The throaty sound, like a diesel engine, enveloped me in bliss, nearly pulling me into a trance-like state just shy of sleep mode.
"Alright, Zero-chan!" Kana called out in a lively tone, as if turning a key. "To the starport with the cargo ship, please! Safe driving!"
"Hold on," I said, stopping Zero Strike as it prepared to depart. I gripped the gear lever, pressed the clutch, and shifted into first gear. "Since it's got a steering wheel, I'll drive."
"Neo-kun, you can drive?" Kana's eyes widened.
Explaining that my old model came programmed with primitive driving skills felt like a hassle, so I flashed a slightly smug smile instead. "This is just part of my cultured repertoire, like playing the piano."
"Neo-kun, that's so cool!" Kana's eyes sparkled like heart emojis, and she thrust a fist into the air. "Let's go!"
I released the clutch and floored the accelerator.
Zero Strike shot across the lunar surface at full speed.