A month passed. Nothing happened. It was the most astonishing thing he had ever gone through. He had gone through so much preparation, to the point of excess, and nothing had happened. No big threat, no first contact, no sign of rescue, nothing. Just silence.
He had used the time wisely, of course, bolstered his defenses, built a trio of contingency bases, fully self-sustainable, obviously, and started up a stockpile of weapons and ammunitions just in case… Not that there was any sign of him needing it. He really had thought that if any sapients lived on the planet they would have at least sent someone to investigate the place where the giant ball of fire that fell from on high landed. But no, there was no sign of that either.
His sole concern was the missing status of several of his scout drones, and even that could be explained away as casualties to the native flying fauna. Some of those critters were massive and would certainly attack his drones. Even his food supply had really ceased to be an issue, seeing as his hunts were successful and the rapid domestication program would end in little more than a month, so he’d soon be able to plant some native vegetables.
It was both relieving and frustrating. On one hand, he wouldn’t have to fight anyone or serve as a diplomat… On the other, all of the effort he had put in, all of his preparations, had been for naught. It was irritating.
But it was nowhere near as harmful to his health as the idleness was. It was in those moments of idleness that he got a chance to reflect, on his life, his decisions, his losses. What could he have done differently? Would things have changed if he had?
It was in the darkness of idleness that his deepest regrets bubbled to the surface, that his mind began to tear itself apart. It was in the idleness that he truly felt the pain, for its herald was the boredom. It was in that darkness that he truly felt it, the desolation of his life. He was alone.
When was the last time he spoke to another person? When was the last time he slept unassisted, without the need for exhaustion or pharmaceuticals? The last time he joked with a friend, saw his parents, held a lover? He could not remember.
He had drowned it all in labor, in duty and his loyalty for his people, and in his naïve belief that things would get better. But had things gotten better? He had left everything for the rebellion, his friends, his comrades, many of whom remained loyal to their oppressors, his family, and even his fiancée, for she had refused to against their ‘saviors’. And where was he now?
Stranded on a random planet, because he had gotten sloppy. He should never have investigated the loss of that probe. But he hadn’t been thinking right. He had volunteered for the scout service, he had isolated himself and watched as the routes grew longer and longer, and he got less respite. And he’d never brought up a single concern.
Then he made a mistake. Now, he suffered for it. He was alone on a middle-of-nowhere mudball with nothing but his training simulators and his hounds to keep him company, hoping for rescue to come soon. How long until he went mad? How long until the combat simulators and walks through the jungle ceased to stave off the loneliness?
Truly, it was astounding how he’d never noticed it all earlier. How had he missed all of this until he was already knee-deep in it?
Another month passed without fanfare or eventuality.
Another month of nothing. His crops had been planted, and he tended to them. His perimeter had remained undisturbed. His resource stockpiles grew. Nothing happened. No rescue came.
He knew it would take time, but it still angered him, even as he started to wonder what the point of his struggle was. Really, it wasn’t like the information he held was important enough that the rebellion would miss him, in fact, they’d probably yet to notice that he had not reported recently. He could die and the person sent after him would inevitably find his ship and get the data off of that.
Who would miss him? Would he even be remembered? What would he be remembered for? He could imagine his memorial plaque, ‘Here lies Captain Adam V. Miller, a fool and a traitor to the Dominion.” If he even got that much. He was nobody of note, and he had left everybody who might have given a fuck about him behind, and for what?
A dream of freedom? Of his people one day having the right to rule themselves and spread out among the stars at nobody’s behest? What did that matter when more than half of his people were content under the yoke of their ‘benevolent overlords’? The fact that he wished that he were like them was infuriating, but perhaps he’d be better off as one of them? That too elicited rage, the thought that he’d be better off as an expendable slave to the Beralox, and it simmered just beneath the surface.
He released all of that fury in a flurry of blows at the holographic copy of himself that he was fighting, but even that was stripped from him as the copy dematerialized and the simulation abruptly ended. A message from the medical bay’s virtual intelligence took over his suit’s HUD. “Mental status; Critical, please seek help from a councilor.” The message read.
“YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT!?” he bellowed at the air, at nothing. “I’M STUCK HERE, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! I’M ALONE, THERE’S NOBODY TO GET HELP FROM! SO, STOP. TELLING ME. TO GET. HELP!” each word was punctuated with a punch at the ship’s bulkhead, and he was prevented from breaking his hand only by his suit’s armor and the padding it provided, and he slumped to the ground, defeated.
He sat there for what seemed to him like hours, unable to even muster up the motivation to cry. He didn’t notice the arrival of his hounds, nor did he know how they’d gotten to him, seeing as they could not open the ship’s doors, and it didn’t matter. Not then. All that mattered was that the modicum of comfort that they brought him allowed him to drift away, for just a few hours.
“-RIMETER BREACHED” the alarms bellowed, jolting him awake. “ALERT: PERIMETER BREACHED” He tried to stand and found a great weight atop him; he was surrounded on all sides by something with scales, or a trio of somethings. The three awoke shortly, and moved to let him stand.
He lumbered up the hall and to bridge, where a map of their surroundings was being projected and the perimeter breach was highlighted, a red line through the outermost layer of sensor coverage. He had organized the sensors into several ‘layers’ of coverage, each a part of the perimeter, each layer with independent defenses that could be awakened at any point in time. Whatever had breached his perimeter had left quickly, but it wasn’t an animal.
“TECHNOLOGICAL SIGNATURE DETECTED." The alert read.
“PERIMETER BREACHED” the alarms bellowed once more.
“I am aware of that.” He said in response. He got an idea and opened the terminal’s record function. “If you’re hearing this message, then you are either a member of the recovery team, or someone who managed to crack the ship’s Blackbox encryption, either way, I’m probably dead when you hear this. It has been more than two months since I crashed onto this rock and frankly, I’m tired. I have not spoken to anyone for months, I’m bored, and I’m stressed, so I figure I may as well start taking risks. Now, someone recently breached my ship’s security perimeter, and I’m going to investigate. If you’re hearing this message, then that investigation resulted in my death.”
“Clotho, come along. Rip, Kettle, stay.” He ordered as he departed the bridge. Whoever or whatever had breached his perimeter was fast, they were in and out in minutes, so the breach had been brief. They were undoubtedly long gone by now, so he would have to move fast if he wanted to catch up. Fortunately, he’d thought to have a rapid-response vehicle, of the peronnel carrier variety, loaded onto his ship for any missions that required him to land and move quickly.
The Wisp’s cargo bays, those that remained, were kept open at all times nowadays so retrieving the vehicle would be trivial. But first, he needed to equip himself. He decided to go for lighter armor than he tended to use, a more form-fitting suit with sleek armor plates that didn’t impede the wearer’s movement, not like a suit of medium or heavy armor could. The armor left no skin on display, even his face was covered by a recon hood, and then that was covered by the armor’s faceless helmet. The helmet had inbuilt cameras somewhere near where the eyes should be, though nowhere visible, the camera footage was projected to the wearer in real-time in lieu of the helmet having eyeholes through which to see.
For his weapons, he selected what had been his standard kit when he’d deployed, a MAW outfitted for sniping, a submachine gun, and in case he had to fight shielded enemies, a Modern Arms Falcata. The Modern Arms company was one of the largest weapon manufacturing companies in Terran space and had started off as a company dedicated to the modernization of ancient melee weapons. All of their weapons were equipped with either plasma or a rift field generator, a type of molecular disruptor, that would coat the blade in said field and allow it to cut through most materials. He personally preferred the rift field, as the blade remained sharp and could be used as a weapon without having to toggle the generator and spend its battery.
Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!
The company also produced shields, though he chose not to wield one. He did load up on grenades, as explosives were always useful, and he made sure to grab an emergency kit, in case he suffered another wound. Then, he equipped Clotho with her own armor, which included a shield generator for personal and squad use as well as a medical stim dispenser, again for personal and squad use. It also came equipped with a dorsal turret that could fire upon any enemies that Miller indicated.
Each of his hounds had been trained for different purposes and were armored and equipped differently. Clotho had been trained to bolster a squad with protection from enemy attacks and rescue for the wounded. Though none of those were why he had brought her along. Rather, it was the fact that Clotho was large and strong enough to be used as a mount, in case his vehicle failed or suffered damage. At Fifty-four inches tall at the shoulder and eight hundred pounds of pure muscle, Clotho was a formidable beast indeed, and it was a good thing his vehicle was designed to carry similarly weighty passengers.
In fact, it could carry even more than that, which meant that it hovered through the forest effortlessly and at its top speed. At the rate they went they arrived at the initial breach point in minutes and were following along the trail that the intruders had left immediately. From what he could tell, the intruders were driving tracked vehicles, multiple of them, which is why he figured there were several intruders.
The question was what these intruders wanted. Were they from a settlement nearby, sent to scout his territory? He wouldn’t know, seeing as he’d been unable to get any data on any settlements. Though he assumed that the locations where his scout drones went dark were at least close to the alien settlements.
He drove along peacefully, far beyond his territory, following the trail that the aliens had left behind, at least until he found the wreck of one of their vehicles, something akin to a motorcycle, but with treads. Whatever had wrecked it had dealt severe damage to its treads, to the point of decoupling them from the vehicle proper. It appeared that the driver had managed to escape intact, at least, seeing as he’d yet to see a corpse. That was, of course, assuming that there had been a driver to begin with.
He continued to drive along the trail. A bright light rose up into the air somewhere ahead of him, a flare, perhaps? He accelerated to his vehicle’s top speed, a crisp hundred miles per hour, and blasted forwards. The flare had certainly not been meant for him, but he wasn’t about to complain about a prolonged search having become unnecessary.
Soon enough he could hear the sound of a scuffle, the telltale crackle of lasers and the battle-sounds of animals. Animals? He was certain that no native animal could have taken out one of the bikes, seeing as they’d been very well armored. He dismounted his vehicle and started to approach the scuffle.
He had ordered Clotho to stay behind as it would be rather difficult for the massive beast to hide, and he wished to stay in stealth. As he approached the ongoing battle, and it became possible to discern the alien language from the normal ruckus, his universal translator implant began to decipher what he was hearing. The Implant was a piece of technology that he was certain had not been a Beralox original, but rather something they’d reverse engineered from the ruins of a far older civilization. It was simply impossible for them to have created it themselves. The implant’s workings were a mystery to him, how it could manage to decipher a language it had never heard before with just a few short interactions was something he had marveled at and would now make use of.
But first, he had to save the poor foolish aliens from the animals they had angered, a species that even he refused to anger. The Skirr were a species of omnivorous mammals that could bounce great distances on their back legs so as to savage their prey with their razor-sharp claws and teeth, a truly nightmarish sight. The main reason he didn’t like angering them, however, was that they weren’t typically hostile and were actually quite friendly to larger beings that didn’t show any hostility. They had a rather symbiotic relationship with some of the larger herbivores, where they would provide the herbivores with protection from predators, and eat whatever the herbivores knocked from the trees or attracted towards them.
Unfortunately, he’d have to kill these. But not before observing the ongoing combat for a while. Knowing the capabilities of the aliens would be helpful if they turned out to be hostile.
As far as he could tell, these aliens weren’t military. They didn’t wear much armor, their tactics were scattered, and most had weapons that were either badly made, or poorly maintained. They mostly wielded laser weapons, the highly inefficient predecessor to plasma weaponry, though he could spot a few kinetic weapons, though none looked like magnetic accelerators.
Species-wise, the aliens appeared to be a ragtag band of species. The most numerous were a species of humanoid avians that appeared to possess two pairs of wings as well as the standard pair of arms, he was unable to estimate a size beyond ’probably shorter than myself’. There were some larger avians that were definitely taller than him and had a clear lack of wings, as well as a long tail that the other species lacked. There was also a trio of fully armored beings that he could not discern the classification of and a centaur-like alien that was... also avian.
The wrecks of several bikes of varied sizes, as well as a treaded platform that he assumed was used to transport the centaur, lay nearby, all with destroyed treads. Some of them had metallic spears protruding from the base of the tread, oddly enough, and he was beginning to put the truth of events together. Either the native aliens were in conflict with each other, or these were more recent arrivals to the planet and had somehow come into conflict with the actual natives.
He didn’t have time to think more extensively about the situation because one of the aliens fell and would soon be dead at the hands of a Skirr unless he intervened. So, he took aim and, with a single well-placed shot, took the head off of the Skirr that had the alien pinned. His next shot tore another open, and took another through the heart, the next shot left a hole through one as it pounced towards an alien, and the shot after that pierced three and scattered those around them. Each shot was a resonating boom, like a blast of thunder impacting by his side, and would certainly have rendered him deaf were it not for his suit’s audio dampeners making the sound little louder than a pistol’s shot, though he still felt the recoil and how his suit battled to keep him kneeling rather than flat on his back.
He ought to have laid down. Two more shots followed before he needed to reload, at which point some of the beasts had started bounding towards him so switched to his submachine gun. No sooner had they entered their pounce’s range than he pulled the trigger. His chosen submachine gun fired magnetically accelerated pulses of molten metal, and could easily tear the creatures apart. In a way, it was very similar to a laser weapon, though it had a slightly greater range than a laser, and the munitions could actually be seen. Lasers were, as a general rule of thumb, almost invisible unless they used specific materials, like neodymium, or were very high intensity.
His submachine gun, on the other hand, made it very clear which of his enemies would be next to die by sending a crimson pulse of molten metal in the exact direction he pointed. By the time the gun’s ‘ammo’ canister was dry no Skirr remained anywhere to be seen, unless they were fleeing. Except for the one that had managed to flank him and thought it would be able to pounce onto him. That one had made the mistake of thinking him alone and was caught mid-pounce by Clotho’s own.
Clotho had started her approach the second she heard gunfire and had bagged herself a snack for her troubles. “Good girl.” He praised as he reloaded his guns. “Now, let's see about these strangers...” His implant’s readout said it would be able to begin active translation, so he’d put it to the test.
The two left the tree line for the clearing, walking at a relaxed pace, though he made sure to keep his gun at the ready, and could see Clotho’s turret swiveling between targets as they moved, ready to open fire at his command. The aliens started arguing amongst each other as they watched the two approach. It was quite an interesting argument, even if he only heard part of it.
“-your funeral!” One of the aliens berated. This one was one of the two that the others gathered behind, and he assumed that they were the leaders.
“We need the pay, Krelaw, the captain says we’re losing money by the day!” The other retorted, waving a handgun around. The sight of it made him cringe, and confirmed that none of these were soldiers, or just didn’t know basic firearm discipline. “I don’t care if you think it’s suicide, think of what the collectors will pay!”
“Pay?!” The other squawked. “Think of our lives, you fool!”
“This could be the payday we need, you moron!” Said the undisciplined one. He grew more agitated by the second. “We could get the captain a new ship! And our own [Vraskar], for every man on the crew!” The word ‘Vraskar’ had no translation, but it appeared to hold some sort of weight among the crew, as it sent them muttering.
“To the Halls with that, we could make more credits elsewhere!” was Krelaw’s response. “Besides, you know what honor demands, and you know that the captain will heed his honor.” It appeared that he had noticed his counterpart’s agitation, as his hand had begun to drift to the sidearm at his side.
“He won’t if he doesn’t know wha-” The alien had begun to aim his gun and would certainly have fired it had the other not beat him to the point. In but a single trigger-pull a charred hole had become his face’s most prominent feature, aside from his beak.
“Does anyone else have any stupid ideas?!” Krelaw asked the muttering crowd. Seeing no objections to his actions, and having heard no response to his question, he turned to Miller, holstered his weapon, and bowed. “This Lieutenant Krelaw Dak-Turin thanks you for your aid and apologizes for the display.”
Miller knew that, with the aid of the translator and the implant that had replaced his voice-box after the events on Santigar, he could most likely speak the Alien’s language, so he carefully prepared a response. “I, Captain Adam Miller, accept your thanks and your apology.”
“A captain? But where is your crew?” The alien asked.
“Dead.” Miller lied. He secured his weapon and beckoned Clotho closer. “Died on impact, though my pets survived.” The alien eyed Clotho warily as she approached, as anyone with a sense of self-preservation ought to.
“My condolences, captain, it must be hard to lose so many comrades.” Said the alien. “Our captain will be grateful once he hears that you saved us, perhaps you could join us?”
“Perhaps.”
“Lieutenant, it is time for us to depart.” Interjected another alien. “To dally here is folly.”
“Yes, you’re quite right. Move out!” Krelaw ordered. He turned to Miller and bowed once more “Farewell, captain, though I feel it shall not be for long. I am certain that our captain will wish to repay you for the aid you have provided.”
“Farewell, Lieutenant, I look forward to meeting your captain.” Said Miller. He watched the aliens depart and turned to the corpse. “I don’t know what you were arguing about, but you don’t deserve to be left to the animals.” He threw an incendiary grenade onto the corpse and turned to depart. “Rest in peace.”