Mr. Sospel’s Lost Luggage
by Sarit Zadok
part 1
Mr. Sospel arrived at the Bumblebee Space Station with a splitting headache following the launch from Earth. However, he said to himself, “The worst is over.” He was pushed and goaded by hundreds of irritated passengers spilling into the patched-up cosmic terminal. Passengers who set their eyes and grumbling bellies on one thing only: lunch.
The popular, low-cost transit to the Bumblebee station was aptly named: The Launch by Lunch Fare.
“Stupid name for a space station,” Mr. Sospel muttered. Mr. Sospel himself was unconcerned by refreshments or interstellar pizza. He had another flight to catch: to Mars. “All these people!” He rubbed his aching forehead.
Sospel traversed the packed terminal halls, past cheap eateries, overly-stickered bars and retailers untll he finally arrived at baggage claim. And he waited for his luggage to arrive. As did everyone else. Five minutes... Ten minutes.
His eyes scanned the hundreds of rectangular or oval- or isosceles-shaped luggage hovering over the belt in a dizzying array of colors.
His luggage was cobalt blue. Rectangular. Medium-sized. But it never came. And Mr. Sospel stood there in disbelief and anger — even envy — as he saw all sorts of uncouth persons pulling their luggage off the belt. Where is my precious cobalt-blue? How can I carry on to Mars without it?
The Bumblebee Help Desk was not very helpful: “Mr. Sospel, your luggage never left Earth. But rest assured it’s been located and is safe. We will dispatch it on the next Launch by Lunch.”
“But... but...” Mr. Sospel stuttered and his little gut quivered in concert with his lips. “I have a flight to catch to Mars! I need my luggage!”
“Mr. Sospel, you can claim your luggage tomorrow in Mars City Spaceport.”
“But I’m not going to Mars City! I have a very important appointment in Mageve. That’s where I’m going. I have my direct flight to Mageve in thirty minutes. And I mustn’t be late! Mustn’t!”
“Of course, sir. We can reroute your luggage to Mageve-Coprates Chasma.”
And so Mr. Sospel begrudgingly filled out the All-Things-Lost form, collected his 100 florins credit as compensation and went about his unmerry-middle-aged way to catch his next flight.
* * *
Mr. Sospel reclined in his first-class seat. Ah! He had splurged on the five-hour flight to Mars. He folded his short legs — they barely scraped the floor — placed his hands under his stomach and closed his eyes.
His nose detected jasmine. He opened half an eye and saw that a young lady with a purple ponytail was taking the seat next to him.
Could be worse, he thought.
JAnd then it was: a screaming child. Mr. Sospel sat up in horror. A child! A child! A very little person!
“I bought a child-free flight. I specifically paid a premium for my comfort...” He grumbled.
But nobody was listening, and the child continued to cry. The flight finally took off, and Mr. Sospel lost himself in the view outside his window with red Mars looming ahead. He stroked his beard, rubbed his neck and closed his eyes.
Twenty minutes later he felt a poke at his shoulder. “Mr. Sospel, Mr. Sospel, your meal is served,” a pretty, jasminy voice said.
Mr. Sospel opened one eye and saw the purple ponytailed girl next to him smiling bright.
“Ah, yes, thank you,” And he took his meal on their shared table.
“My name is Jake,” her pouty lips said.
“Nice to meet you,” and he tore into his salad. “Are you not eating?” He noticed her lack of a meal.
“No, I don’t eat,” she said. “And I’m sorry to hear about your luggage.”
“How do you know about that?”
“I saw you at the terminal.”
“Well, Jake, what brings you to Mageve?” He politely pretended to care as he bit into a hot bun with butter.
“I’m meeting a group in the resort. I’m a tour guide.”
“Wait” — he dropped his fork — “are you one of those new robot tour guides recently introduced?”
“Aha,” she smiled, “do you want to join the tour?”
“My dear, I’m not a tourist, I have a very important appointment on Mageve.”
“Oh, but you are. All outsiders are tourists by definition.”
“Well, I don’t care for tours and explanations. And I certainly don’t wish to be herded with other people.”
* * *
Two hours later, Mr. Sospel was awakened by an announcement.
“Dear passengers, due to an ill passenger, our flight will land in Mars City Spaceport before continuing on to Mageve. You are free to stretch your legs.”
“Bah! There’s always someone, isn’t there?” Mr. Sospel complained.
“Well, Mr. Sospel, I hardly think this poor passenger insisted on falling ill,” Jake replied. “Well, at least you can check on your luggage now.”
* * *
At the Launch by Lunch Help Desk in Mars City Spaceport, the news was not good for Mr. Sospel.
“I regret to inform you, sir, that your luggage has mistakenly been placed on the wrong Launch and is at Moon Station,” T.I.N.A., the help bot said.
“The moon! My poor bag! What incompetence! I’ve never seen anything like this in all my life. Now I’ll never see my bag!”
“Sir, a regretful error, but rest assured it’s already on the belt for the first Launch out—”
“Ma’am, have you been to the Moon?”
“It’s not Ma’am, it’s T.I.N.A, ‘your Today Is Not Always help bot—”
“The Moon is full of Earth people looking for cheap space thrills,” Mr. Sospel interjected. “Those who can’t afford Mars go to the Moon!”
“And what is wrong with that Mr. Sospel?” Jake sidled up from behind. “Everyone deserves a vacation.”
“Ah, you again, the touring robot,” Sospel said. “Moon is nothing but all-you-can-do, full of indie asteroid miners, Moon gap-year students and loud families. Wannabe space people. My bag will never make it out of there!” And with that he stormed back to the protective cocoon of the First Class section.
The rest of the flight was rather uneventful, and Mr. Sospel was thankful for that. He was relieved to see Mars City reduced to just a patch of lights.
He threw a look to dozing Jake next to him. She looked like a real fine young lady. But plasticky. Do robots sleep? He couldn’t. His mind was on his blue bag lost somewhere on the Moon.
Soon the Hellas Planitia basin with Mars City was a distant memory. An hour later, the Valles Marineris canyon system came into view. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “Mars is not shy about displaying her scars.”
Mars was iron-red and was indeed scarred by many meteors and asteroids that had punched its surface. “Almost fitting,” thought Sospel, “that a planet so battered should be named after the Roman god of war.”
The skies donned a hazy butterscotch hue and were dust-filled and dim. Sospel’s eyes locked onto the long crack in the surface. It resembled a zipper that was pulled open to reveal the planet’s crusty entrails. Lights shimmered deep inside. Soon, a dozen vertical towers came into view. Bridges arced across the abyss. Even deeper, on the canyon floor, were the remnants of failed settlements, ice-mining pits and the ever-present Black Markets.
“This is the Coprates Chasma region and her city of Mageve,” Jake’s soothing voice said. “Pretty isn’t it?”
As the craft lowered into the pressurized clear dome, the city loomed sharper, darker and more radiant. The aircraft touched down, and everyone disembarked.
Soon after, Jake and Sospel shared a flying Galaxy Taxi to the hotel; it turned out that they were staying at the same place: Deep Canyon Resort. It was a 13-star hotel that resembled a colossal termite mound. It was the best place to stay in all of Mars. Only two types of people came here: privileged tourists and their service providers. And Mr. Sospel, of course.
* * *
Morning came like a betrayer to remind Sospel that his luggage was still missing. Though the hotel supplied him with all the necessary toiletries and a change of clothes, Mr. Sospel was as grumpy as ever. He took his sullen face downstairs to Reception. All the bright eyes that welcomed him at the lobby could not soften him and, in an absurd protest, he refused to partake in the incredibly galactic breakfast that was offered him.
“This is a disaster!” Sospel bellowed to all who would listen. “Where is my luggage? Have you checked with Moon Station? With TINA?” His voice cracked.
Empty faces rolled behind the desk and the manager sensed something amiss.
A TINA-in-training came forward. “Well, sir,” it began, “Moon Station is also the way-station for researchers traveling to the Hubble Research Station in orbit.”
“And why would I care about that?” Sospel fought to hold back tears of despair.
“Well,” Today Is Not Always said, “those researchers are often sent provisions from Earth by their families... and... and... it is really most uncanny, but one family sent their son a bag identical to yours.”
Sospel’s eyeballs now resembled twin moons.
“It’s a coincidence, but not surprising; this bag model is quite common—”
“My bag is not common! Where is it now?!” Sospel shouted. The floodgates opened and crisis tears rolled down his face.
The manager now looked to damage control. “It could have happened to anyone... erroneous bag switching. It’s on the Hubble. We are so sorry. A few more days now... Our concierge will be happy to help you shop for anything you may need...”
Jake was in the lobby, meeting her tour group, and who could not avoid Sospel’s supernova meltdown.
“I don’t want to shop! I have a very important appointment! I can’t have it without my bag!” Sospel cried out.
“Mr. Sospel.” Jake approached and placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. “It is such a shame to be so sad in such a marvelous place...”
She offered him a handkerchief to wipe his tears. “Now tell me, what is so important in your bag that it’s worth ruining your stay?”
“Well,” Sospel wiped his sniffles, “I just like my things. My clothes and books, a little blue toothbrush, a little cactus I carry everywhere with me. Probably dead by now...”
“I can help you replace all those things. In the Black Markets they sell the most beautiful plants...”
“I don’t want other things. I want my things. I can’t have my appointment without them.”
“Now why is that?”
“Why do you care?” Sospel snapped back.
“I’ve been trained and programmed to help all travelers in need. I help people enjoy. This is what I do.”
“You don’t understand. I’m not here to enjoy. I’m here to have my very important appointment. Which I can’t have without my bag.”
“Why is that?”
“Because... in my bag... was my Confidence Machine.”
Jake laughed. “I’ve never heard of that!”
“Of course not. You’re pretty and young and robots are full of confidence.”
“I never heard of any humans needing a Confidence Machine.”
“Oh, but they all do. In different ways: a cinnamon bun, bottle of Merlot, a girlfriend, a good old book. These are ubiquitous confidence machines. But I don’t have those. I need my Confidence Machine.”
“Mr. Sospel, seems to me you’re quite confident already,” and she looked back to her group, which had gathered and was waiting. “Mr. Sospel,” and she linked her arm around his and pulled him forward, “I insist you be my guest today. Our group will be visiting the Black Markets of Coprates Chasma, and you never know with those sneaky sellers, you might just find a Confidence Machine for sale...”
* * *
The Canyon Sunrise buscraft set off from Mageve along the canyon walls. The tour group of 15 inside hailed from the country of California, on Earth. Mr. Sospel sat right up front next to Jake.
She stood up and projected her voice: “Coprates Chasma is a prominent canyon within Mars’ expansive Valles Marineris system, extending 600 miles in length...”
“You’re wasting your pretty robotic breath. Nobody’s listening,” Mr. Sospel said.
Jake stretched her neck and saw the Californians staring out the window, snapping images, their teens with their visors on. “Well, you’re listening, aren’t you?” she said.
Yes, he nodded.
She continued: “The walls exhibit stratified rock formations...”
“Don’t feel bad,” Sospel comforted Jake. “They are not here to learn. They are not here to see Mars, either. They are here to see only themselves.”
“But my job is to make people enjoy.”
“They are enjoying. See?”
Jake squinted her eyes and concentrated on the guests whose noses were stuck to the window panels. And on an old man who was sleeping with his mouth open. And young couple bickering. Is this enjoyment?
An hour later, the buscraft touched down at the bottom of the canyon at the Black Markets, which were domed and pressurized for a carefree strolling experience.
Jake helped her clients descend.
“I don’t need any help,” growled Sospel. “This is worse than a school trip!”
The Black Markets were named Black to inspire images of seedy sellers, haggling and hoarding precious items on display. It was actually selling “Authentic” market experience.
The markets were inside a square brown fortress. At the gate, Jake and her group were greeted by a large totem statute representing the Nabatean deity Al Uzza. Hellenistic and Roman columns with winged lions lined the main bazaar.
“Welcome to the Black Markets!” Jake beamed.
“Is this an amusement park?” Sospel asked.
Jake’s face contorted.
Sospel then noticed a caravan of camels walking awkwardly. “Robot camels?”
The tourists ran to the mechanical furry animals and snapped images, then descended upon the different market stalls to buy Black Market magnets and “5-Mile Deep Canyon” t-shirts.
A Bedouin-like character wearing a white robe and several beaded necklaces greeted the group and announced himself to be Dusario, the Chief of the Black Markets.
“Very well Dusario. My name is Mr. Sospel and I am in the market for a Confidence Machine.”
“A Confidence Machine?” Dusario’s eye lit brightly. “You have one for sale?” he asked softly.
“No! You numbskull! I want to buy one!”
“Sshh! Lower your voice!” Dusario grew paranoid. “If you have one, we can start a great venture. Confidence Machines are rare.”
“I told you, I don’t have one. Mine is lost on the Hubble Station, and I need one for my very important appointment.”
“I see,” Dusario rubbed his neck. “I’ll tell you what, I have an idea.”
“What? Speak now, fake desert dweller!” Sospel said.
Dusario ignored Sospel’s rude outbursts. All tourists were stressed and demanding. And what was important was the Machine.
“If I help you get your Machine down here, will you sell it to me after your appointment?”
“Absolutely not!”
“But we have none on Mars. And you could buy two new ones on Earth with the money I’ll pay you, heh?” Dusario raised his brow.
He has a point, Sospel thought. These merchants drove a hard bargain. And he was a hijacked client.
“Tell me, angry little man, what is your very important appointment here on Mars?”
“Ha!” laughed Sospel. “Wouldn’t you like to know!”
“Okay, okay, calm down. So, do we have a deal?”
“Do you take me for a fool?” Sospel plunged his beady eyes at Dusario.
“I take you for a short man with no confidence who is in need of a machine to have and to hold.”
Sospel bit his lip and cursed. “How do you propose to procure my machine from the Hubble Station?”
“No need for such big words!”
Sospel exhaled in exasperation. Where is Jake when I need her?
“Dusario is the great fixer in all of the galaxy,” Dusario boasted. “You leave it to me.”
* * *
Back in the hotel and in a better mood, Sospel agreed to have his dinner served in his room. But with one bite into his coq-au-vin came a knock on the door.
He sighed and dropped his fork. “Enter!”
It was Jake. “Just checking up on you, Mr. Sospel, and to see if you’d like to join us for dinner downstairs.”
“Wild horses!”
Jake tilted her head like a confused dog.
“Never mind. How was your day?” he asked.
“Judging by the shopping and voracious appetites exhibited by my guests, I can only surmise that I fulfilled my mission of promoting enjoyment. And you?”
“Your Black Markets Chief was quite helpful. He’ll help me get my bag from Hubble.”
“Dusario only helps himself.”
“I’m sure. But we struck a deal. He’ll talk to those big Hubble people to get my bag back.”
Jake shuffled her lacquer high boots. “It saddens me to watch you eat alone.”
“And it saddens me to watch you have no peace of mind, even for a robot.” And he slurped a dripping piece of chicken into his mouth.
“Well, Mr. Sospel, I came here tonight to inform you that, in solidarity with your predicament, I have turned off my Confidence module, so now I’m just like you: confidence-machineless.”
Sospel almost choked on his chicken bone. “You’re making a mistake. I wish I had a built-in confidence machine so I don’t have to chase the damn thing everywhere!”
* * *
Copyright © 2026 by Sarit Zadok
