The Strommäsk Test Vehicle, garbage name, I know, had a narrow airlock built into the side of the hull, just enough space for a single occupant to squeeze through and conduct an EVA. I peered through the small port embedded in the airlock door and saw sparks dancing on the outer hatch as whatever was on the other side started forcing the internal locks open.
"Is there anything you can-" I started to ask, turning to the Construct. But, of course, he had vanished. "Typical. Disappears the second I need something. Freakin’ bootleg, wannabe John Wayne."
I quickly scanned the cramped living space for anything that could pass as a weapon. Small galley, sanitation area, sleeping bag strapped to the ceiling, nothing promising. Then, inspiration struck. I rifled through a nearby drawer, tossing aside a few miscellaneous items before my hand found what I was looking for: a bright orange, space-grade ball-peen hammer.
‘Space-grade,’ in this context, was as meaningful as ‘military-grade.’ It sounded impressive, but it usually just meant the cheapest materials slapped together with a shiny coating. In this case, the hammer was a machined piece of aircraft-grade aluminum. At least aircraft-grade meant something, a specific type of alloy, or something like that.
A metallic groan from the outer hull snapped me back to the situation at hand. I shuffled over to the pilot seat where my helmet and gloves lay forgotten. I yanked the gloves on, twisting them into their locked position, and then jammed the helmet over my head. The entire front half was domed glass, which was impact-resistant at least, and at this point I’d take what little protection it could offer.
I positioned myself in front of the inner airlock door, gripping the hammer tightly in one hand, the other resting on the locking wheel. My breath quickened as the bolts on the outer door began to bend and slip from their mounting points. This was it. Something alien was about to force its way onto my ship, and all I had was a cheap hammer and a lot of adrenaline.
With a final screech, the outer door gave way, and two creatures crammed themselves into the small airlock. Without a second thought, I spun the wheel and kicked the door open, hoping to catch them off guard and introduce a surprise attack of my own.
Instead, I was launched backward, smashing into that same goddamned storage unit. Two blinding flashes of light had drilled into the front of my suit. So much for the element of surprise, turns out a single cabin spaceship doesn’t leave many places to hide.
At least I managed to stay on my feet, which put me in a slightly better position. I towered over the two creatures, who were at least three feet shorter than me. They stood there, their rifles still glowing red, trained on me. The aliens had crescent-shaped heads with two points on either side, each sporting a pair of beady eyes. At the base of the crescent, where you might expect a chin, was a hardened, beak-like mouth that reminded me of those fish that gnaw on coral, used to mindlessly munch the rock-hard substance into sand.
I flew into action before they could finish the job, this time actually catching them off guard. Apparently, they hadn’t expected me to just shrug off their rifle blasts. Kicking off the storage unit, I slammed my bulk into their smaller frames, knocking us all into a chaotic tangle of limbs. In the process, I lost my hammer, but at this point, I was running on pure adrenaline.
I couldn’t tell you exactly how well I fought. It was all instinct, a blur of punches, kicks, and blind flailing. Mostly, I just threw my weight around, hoping to land some lucky hits. If my helmet had been off, I’m pretty sure I would’ve resorted to biting, because in the heat of the moment, survival mode doesn’t care about dignity.
After what felt like an eternity, I finally slumped onto my back, chest heaving, utterly exhausted. I had no idea if I’d won, but at least I was still conscious. I sat up, wincing at the pain in my chest, and found myself between two dead aliens. We were all covered in a pale yellow substance, which I assumed was their blood. One of the aliens had a crescent tip broken off, hanging limply against the side of its head. To my surprise, I spotted a chunk of my spacesuit lodged in the other’s beak, and a quick glance at my arm revealed a matching piece of flesh missing from my forearm.
I forced myself to stand, taking a few unsteady steps toward their ship, wary of any friends they might have left behind. It was dim inside, but luckily, the ship wasn’t much bigger than mine. I stomped through the interior, not bothering to take in many details, my only concern was making sure I wasn’t about to be ambushed. Again.
I pushed open a few doors, making a quick, hasty sweep of the ship. A small cargo bay mostly filled with what looked like junk, a couple of cramped cabins… but no more of the beaked aliens.
Finally, I collapsed onto what looked like some kind of bench and tore off my helmet, a rush of cold air greeting my sweat-soaked face. Probably should have checked if the atmosphere wasn’t sulfur-based or something first, but my ship’s alarms would have gone off if anything poisonous had leaked in. At least, I hoped so.
"Now that," a familiar drawl cut in, "was quite the tussle, if I do say so myself. A right hog-tyin’, mud-flingin’ tussle."
“Seriously?” I muttered, cracking one eye open. “That doesn’t even sound like something a real country bumpkin would say.”
The Construct shrugged and let his bad attempt at the accent fade. “I’m just going off what I scrounged up in your ship’s memory banks. Whoever loaded your entertainment storage had a thing for what I’m now realizing are really bad Western films.”
“So that’s how you know my callsign,” I said, leaning my head back against a rack of alien who-knows-what.
“Oh yeah,” he said, holding up his fingers and ticking them down as if reading from a list. “Captain Roy ‘Crash’ McDaniels, totally get why you go by Crash, by the way. You’ll have to tell me the inspiring story behind that someday.”
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I grunted in response.
“Test pilot for the United Exploration Conglomerate for the last six years. Storied career, highly decorated, culminating in crashing you right through a dimensional rift and leaving you utterly stranded. Bet they won’t even pay out your PTO to your next of kin."
He paused, looking up as if pulling more data from thin air. “Married, no kids. Oh, and apparently you’ve got a thing for something called pickleball? Sounds disgusting. Don’t tell me. I don’t even want to know.”
“Okay, great, so you dug through my personnel files. How does that help me?”
“Oh, it doesn’t,” the Construct replied with a casual shrug. “I was just curious, wanted to learn about the scary invader that has this whole universe on edge.” He wiggled his fingers in mockery.
“That’s about all you’ve done so far. Is there anything you’re actually trying to accomplish here, or are you just here to pester me to death?”
“Oh, fine, you grumpy Gus. This was supposed to be your tutorial, but these lovely friends you’ve invited,” he motioned to the broken corpses still littering my airlock, “really put the kibosh on that. But, I guess we can continue…”
He fiddled with his wrist, as if initiating something, but I knew if he was some kind of AI construct, he didn’t need to do that. He glanced up to make sure I was watching and then, with an exaggerated flourish, pressed something on his wrist.
PLING!
Experience Gained!
You have reached level one!
“There we go,” he said with a satisfied nod. “Your skills and experience have been officially unlocked. Welcome to the Incursion Protocol. It has all your standard stat, skill, and experience tracking that any universe-wide stratified system provides.”
“But why?” I asked, rubbing my forehead. “Why go through all this unnecessary rigmarole just because I took a wrong left turn and ended up in this dimension?”
“I already told you!” The Construct’s tone turned slightly exasperated. “The System expected you to be an invasion fleet. Some highly advanced, tech-obsessed civilization, hell-bent on consuming this dimension and then moving on without so much as a ‘thank you.’ Had you been that civilization, your tech level would’ve been knocked down to the universal standard, and you’d be on an even playing field.”
He shook his head. “I actually had to bump you up to the universal standard. Which is, honestly, kind of embarrassing.”
I rolled my eyes. “Alright then, tell me about these stats and experience. How can I use them?”
“It’s kinda like a video game, you had those back where you came from, I’m sure. Do cool stuff, gain experience, raise your stats and levels, save the princess, or whatever it is you’re trying to do here.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry, sorry, I’ve given this speech way too many times. The Dulox here weren’t exactly grateful for my help.” He pointed toward the alien with the broken crescent head. “That one ignored me completely, walked right past me!”
“Wait,” I said, eyebrow still raised, “you talked to these aliens? Like, specifically these two?”
“I told you, I’m a Construct and the Construct. There’s only one of me. When I said I’d given the spiel to every inhabitant, I meant every inhabitant.”
I blinked, trying to wrap my head around the numbers. How many billions, no, trillions, if not more, minds had he interacted with?
“Regardless,” he continued, “our time’s running short. This was supposed to be a quick tutorial, get you acclimated, then send you on your way. I might’ve spent a little extra time with you since you’re my special little invader, but other than some knowledge, there’s not much I can do for you.”
“Build your stats, do what you will, try not to die over the next few cycles, all the usual stuff. It should come fairly naturally. We hire only the best UX designers.”
“So,” he said, pausing dramatically, “any questions?”
“Uh, yeah,” I said, still in disbelief. “A million! Like-”
“Great! So glad I could help! I’m sure we’ll run into each other again. Try not to rip any more holes in space-time, mkay?”
He disappeared. And then, within a fraction of a second, popped right back in. “Oh gosh, I just hate goodbyes. Fine, one hint, one nudge in a possible direction for you: You’re smack dab in the middle of Dulox-controlled space. They’re not very strong, and they’re quite lacking in the intelligence stat, if you know what I mean. They could definitely use some new leadership… or like, a genocide, depending on your tastes. Alrighty, that’s it! Don’t want to get in trouble with the big boss. It was a pleasure, really. Time for this ol’ cowboy to skedaddle. Keep your boots on the ground and your eyes on the horizon, ya hear? Yeehaw!”
And then, he disappeared for good.
I sat in silence, slowly shaking my head. The whirring of the Dulox’s ill-maintained life support system was my only company.
After some time had passed and I’d let my overstimulated mind find some semblance of equilibrium, I took a calming breath and opened my new status menu. I was slightly annoyed, since the Construct had been right, it was all very intuitive, like navigating a VR interface you’d grown intimately familiar with over time.
A blinking notification grabbed my attention, and I opened it.
Fighting in a Phone Booth!
You have shown particular skill in fighting in small spaces, letting your fists do the ‘talking,’ even though you might punch a bulkhead or two in the process.
+10% increase to melee combat aboard spaceships.
I stood there, hands on my hips, considering the message. A skill increase based on my actions? I kind of liked that. Do cool things, get rewarded for it, just as the Construct had said. It’s not like I had much of a choice in the matter. If I couldn’t run away and return to my own dimension, I might as well join ’em… or whatever that phrase was.
I sidestepped the corpses and made my way back to my own ship. If I was going to start looting - er, salvaging - equipment from the Dulox ship, I wasn’t about to do it in this bulky suit. As I crossed the airlock and into the familiar confines of my ship, another notification appeared.
Pling!
Ship experience gained!
Your ship has reached level one!
I paused, a grin spreading across my face. The Construct had conveniently left out that the leveling system extended to my ship as well. Now that was something I could get on board with.