[Lil bit of a rewrite (#3) 2/11/23.]

2085 UNPC Universal Calendar. CONUS, Nevada desert.

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Tim "The Terror" "Bravo 1" Wright.

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I'd kept up my usual pace, walking exactly East using the compass on my HUD. My water bladder in my armor was at 30%, and I'd recycled my urine three times over, and my feces twice, giving the potable water my armor produces a metallic taste.

My computer told me I was losing water at a rate of 4% a day, but it only took into account the bladder of my armor, not my bladder and what was held in my body.

I sighed, internally kicking myself for wasting three liters refilling the cooling system of the crap tastic HMMWV they'd given me to drive to installation 037, the intermediary between the US and Mexico.

I was comfortable in my armor, the cooling system struggling, and putting a 22% load on my reactor alone, but it was keeping up, even as my feet were substantially warmer than other parts of my body. Every once and a while I felt a slight breeze near my right shoulderblade, and it coincided with a hit I'd taken earlier in the week.

I sighed, and kicked myself a second time for putting off the service of my armor and reactor, recommended by Charles "C3" Mitchell, commonly called the "head mechanic of the UNPC."

The velcro on my rightmost magazine pouch was worn, and no longer mostly silent, making a shuffling noise every time my right forearm brushed it as I walked.

Fuck's sake, I'll add it to the tally.

Anton "A9" Schultz had recommended the simple button style pouch, and had showed me one. It had a single flap of fabric over the pouch, which was held in place by a single metal button, sewed on with Kevlar thread.

That motherfucker and his new companion never shut the hell up, always talking about dumb shit. No fault of his, hell, I suppose they were made for each other. Something tells me there's more than "companion" material between those two, they've just got to find it.

Look at me, drifting off in thought thinking about a potential relationship between two other people. What is this? Highschool?

I spotted something off in the horizon, a speck of darkness against the blue of the sky. I couldn't make out a thing about it besides the fact it was dark, due in part to the heat haze.

I made a silent bet to myself that it was probably a wrecked car, and supposed that if it was close enough when I passed by it I'd check it out.

Looking off into the distance like that made my eyes water, and I was suddenly aware of how bright the world was through my visor.

I raised my WMD, which was really just a robust piece of touch sensitive material mounted to the left forearm of my armor, and navigated to the menu controlling my visor.

Every part of the armor was customizable to the wearer, how the HUD was set up, exactly how wide you wanted your field of vision to be while wearing your helmet, etc.

I blindly poked at a shade, found a #3 to my liking, and eventually set on a #3.5 with a gold filter.

I checked my bearing, and found I'd deviated 3 degrees. That could be dangerous. I corrected it, and started brainstorming reasons.

Knee injury? It'd been fourteen years, but it was probable that the .223 I took in the knee that time could be the cause. Maybe since I was looking down and to my left? Maybe.

Hell it could be just a worn knee servo, I do tend to prefer my left knee when kneeling.

I'll add it to the goddamn tally. Also tell Charles that if at all possible, to make sure it didn't happen again.

I took a sip of water, filling my entire mouth till my cheeks were puffed out. A drop fell off the end of the tube inside my helmet and hit the turtleneck of my LSS, being instantly absorbed.

I noted the water reading dropped by 5.1%. About a mouthful of water a day, neat.

"SATELLITE CONNECTION REESTABLISHED" flashed at the top of my field of vision, first blue then red, then blue again, repeating the same routine half a dozen times.

I stopped in my tracks, brought my arm up, and navigated to my H2H menu.

The noble little menu hadn't been used in a while, but I still navigated it with ease.

A simple system really, just a brute force message transmission program that piggybacks any available network, be it internet, satellite, a nearby telephone, hell it can even use a landline telephone if it meets the requirements.

"Vehicle brkn, headed to 037-exact East-Water@25%@TOT-Asst.req.N.curr.dngr." I typed out carefully, editing it twice to shorten the message and abbreviate it while still remaining comprehensible to the layman.

Knowing my shit luck it'd be some hammerhead clerk at 001 that'd receive it and not know what the hell it said.

"MULTI-BAND SENT." Bumped the top of my HUD in plain, calm, black letters. I kept walking, and toyed with a few menus, telling my computer to notify me if I lose satellite transmission.

I shrugged, and swigged down the rest of my water. My armor would recycle it, and I've got a pretty good chance of rescue now.

I'll be damned if I was going to die with a dry mouth.

Truly, I was bored out of my mind. I brainstormed for a while about what to do.

I ran a complete shakedown of my systems 20 miles ago. No sense in another. The weapon in my hands was operational, although all but forgotten about as it hung by my sling.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

Radio. I've got fuck all and a big ship for transmission range, but maybe the ionosphere will provide some neat shit. I started to prowl the channels, and shortly found a Mexican mariachi band radio station. Go figure.

No matter where in the hell you are on the globe, you'll almost always pick one up. Anton explained his theory to me once. Something to do with ozone layer density and geographical location. I was only half listening to his explanation but......

There I go again, thinking about the talkative Austrian. That motherfucker reminds me of someone, I just can't put my finger on it, its someone I only know professionally.....

I broke myself from my trance, and glanced up to my compass again. Found myself deviating half a degree to the left, and corrected it.

I wondered how far into the boonies you'd have to get, somewhere in the world you wouldn't pick up that radio station. Point Nemo? Maybe. Maybe next time I was near that area on the Schattenwulf I'd check.

Just as I found a radio station with some sort of cheery song in German, I was hit with the memory of Anton and the Schattenwulf..... And someone else to do with it.....

I pressed too hard on the memory and it shattered, like trying to remember a dream after you wake up, it just doesn't work unless there was some strong memory device to structure it around.

Still, it was on the tip of my tongue for a second.

I glanced up at my compass, and found a full degree of deviation. Checked my chronometer reading this time. And took a note of it with a double tap of my WMD contact material, which took a picture, with the center of focus on whatever my eyes rested on with a timestamp.

I adjusted to the right, and kept walking and scanning the waves. A microwave station, I only caught the ass end of a message, which could've been anything. So I kept tuned, wondering if it'd repeat.

Odds are it's nothing interesting. Lord help a motherfucker if I have to do paperwork because of it. Just as the toe of my right boot clipped a rock, which I sent sailing, the message either repeated or it transmitted another.

I listened intently to the rapid fire electronic beeps, recording the transmission for grins and giggles, it sounded oddly like a 80's encryption method which I'd been trained on, and as you guessed it, my computer translated for me.

"Switched to tertiary power supply, negative service life extension, awaiting refit team, facility integrity level charlie." The message sent, and repeated twice. with a "No reply received." addendum at the beginning.

"Facility?" I blindly wondered to myself, then realized. "Fuckkkkkkkkk..." I hissed before taking a deep breath. Looks like I am going to be doing some paperwork, a shitload of it. I opened up my H2H transmission menu again, which was seeing an undue amount of use today, and started typing.

"Potential Hard Site Microwave transmission, advise Alpha Three" I put simply, and attached the file, as well as my exact GPS coordinates at the time of the transmission, and the rough of the cut off one. I hit "send" and I was greeted with the same simple "MULTI-BAND SENT" message.

Glanced back up at my Compass. Boom, 4 degree deviation. I then looked at my chronometer, and brought up the picture. About one minute per degree of deviation. Ain't that some shit?

I corrected my heading to 10 degrees proud of East. Or in Layman's terms, to the right 10 degrees. Then I set a timer for 10 minutes.

I'd end up walking a bit farther, but at least I'd be heading in a relatively straight line, with a ballistic arc looking trail of footsteps behind me.

I wondered what the hell that site had in store, if it was even a hard site. Maybe it was just some not-so decommissioned missile silo out in the boonies. But that "switched to tertiary power" message bothered me.

I'd only been down two rabbit holes with that 7 foot tall fuck, and from my limited knowledge, tertiary power was either an artesian tap lined with hydroelectric equipment, or straight up generators that would cycle in series off of a massive fuel tank. That didn't bother me so much as what the 2nd option almost always was, or at least what Triple A had told me.

The 2nd option was usually a self maintaining nuclear reactor that could operate by itself for decades without management. Usually it was used after the primary geothermal energy generation failed, at which point it'd use a secondary cooling field within the rock of the site for just that; cooling.

The timer went off, and I checked my compass again.

Within a degree - good enough for me. Rinse and repeat.

I'm going insane, aren't I? No, just crazy, insane people don't know they're insane.

I checked my music library for something. I didn't usually listen to music, but it was worth a try.

A single .mp3 file stared back at me.

"Anton Aus Tirol" by DJ Otzi. The same song that was on the god damn radio. No fucking way. That fucking Austrian again, lives rent free in my head, I swear. I have GOT to be hallucinating right now. I'm probably laying in the sand, 50 meters behind where I think I am.

I played it, just for shits and giggles. As it was playing again I remembered the day I'd found it a year ago, and had sent it to Anton. I was aboard the Schattenwulf, and supervising the visit of the ship's designer.........

No, can't be.

I opened up my onboard database of UNPC personnel I encountered, usually as part of a executive protection directive. I had to scroll a bit, but I found him. Jakob Schultz. Jakob Fucking Schultz. Same exact spelling of the last name and everything.

I opened up the portrait. But my alarm beat the file opening. I adjusted my heading, and went back to my soul searching.

The portrait of the bleak giant looked at me. As the song ended, putting a stop to the lyrics I couldn't understand. Same color of hair, just a bit brighter of a red, not the auburn Anton's, almost looking bright red in the sunlight the photo was taken in. He had his short, whereas Anton had his extremely long.

I chose another picture.

Same exact eyes. I'll be damned. Same color and everything, even the at-a-glance appearance of his eyes being the same color as his hair. The lighting in the picture was artificial, having been taken in an office building at a slight vertical angle, with the classic white drop ceiling tiles and LED lights visible.

Same cheekbones, more or less the same jaw you could chop wood with, near the same nose. That's the motherfucker's father, no doubt about it.

I know your secret now, you Austrian chattermouth. I just wish you were as tight lipped as your father.

No reply yet, and I haven't lost satellite connectivity. Just what the fuck is taking them so long?

I kept scouring my files, looking for something, anything to keep my mind occupied rather than spacing out. I didn't find anything, absolutely nothing. I kicked myself again, this time for keeping my onboard storage too clean.

Damn me for being organized. I sighed, and went back to looking for stuff on the radio.

When I popped it open, the same station was open, and this time I caught another broadcast in the middle.

"each warning, NBC contamination on sub-4" was all I caught. No repeat this time. Probably the 3rd message.

Wherever the site was, it was having a bad day. NBC was the acronym for Nuclear Biological and Chemical, having been replaced by CBRN, meaning Chemical, Biological, Radiological, and Nuclear.

I didn't get a chance to hit the record button, but my computer anticipated it, and did it for me. Thanks you stupid little chunk of code, That's actually the first time you've made my life easier, and haven't "anticipated" something completely idiotic.

I opened my H2H menu again and just attached the file and hit send. No preamble, I don't give a shit. Alarm, again. Another adjustment.

This was okay, I guess. I was developing a routine, which is good for the mind. I think?

I sighed again, sending another rock sailing.

I looked at my water readout. Apparently I'd either sweat enough to bring it to 3%, or it'd absorbed that much out of the air. Probably the former.

I drank, grabbing about a mouthful before it went dry. Still I swallowed.

I idly wondered if there was some way to keep walking while I slept.

I popped open my menu, and looked around for a bit. Poking at various sub menus in the "movement" section I'd never seen, with a bunch of interesting options, lots of them helpful, ranging from automatic bearing deviation compensation, to autopilot of sorts, using how my exoskeleton legs moved during a period of motion, and then a overlaying grade compensation on top of that.

After about half an hour of fucking around with it, I got it working, and my legs were moving on their own. A weird feeling, but not too bad. I closed my eyes after setting an alarm for an hour.

God, those motherfuckers better get here quick. Oh, and I'm going to kill whoever did the PCMS of that humvee.