“Are you coming to the funeral?”
Enrique closed his eyes against the sudden pain the word evoked. Funeral. It felt so final. There was still a part of him that hoped that Ryan had somehow made it, that he was living somewhere in the seemingly endless expanse of the Cosmic Horizons. If he was really gone forever, Enrique thought it would feel different. It should feel different, like a piece of him was missing. It was stupid to hold out hope like that but it helped, for now.
“Aurelio?”
Enrique looked up at the handsome black man on the Zoom call. He was slim, with a diamond shaped jawline, a crooked smile and half-lidded eyes that gave him a sleepy but friendly look. His usual electric yellow fade haircut and braids were pulled back in a messy bun behind his head. He looked tired. Ryan’s death was affecting everyone, but LeVar was the one hit hardest.
“Sorry LeVar, I can't,” Enrique said. “It hurts too much. I want to, but it’s too raw. I watched him die.”
LeVar held up his hands, “No, no, I get it! No pressure. The option is open. Ryan set aside enough to take care of everything. Regina wanted to foot the whole thing but Ryan insisted we keep it in house. She already helped with so much near the end.”
“She’s a good friend,” Enrique agreed. “What’s the funeral going to be like?”
“Small. Mostly close friends who can make it out. He wanted to be cremated so there’s not going to be much to see,” LeVar said. “Later he wants his ashes dumped in the lake by his family vacation home. You remember the cabin in the Adirondacks?”
Enrique blushed, “All too well. Good memories there.”
“Yeah,” LeVar seemed oblivious to any deeper meaning there. “Anyway, we’ll keep him here until you’re feeling up to it and we can spread his ashes together.”
Enrique nodded. “Thank you. I will just, not yet.”
LeVar looked concerned. Their voice softened, “Seriously, how are you holding up?”
“Bad,” Enrique said honestly.
“You always have a place here if you need to be around people,” LeVar said. “Where are you staying by the way? You’re obviously not home.”
Enrique looked around. Regina had let him set up in a spare office Star-Lynx used for showing streamers new games. “I’m at Star-Lynx right now. Regina also thought I shouldn’t be alone, so she’s letting me crash at her guest room. I’ve been helping her test their newest game to distract myself.”
LeVar looked worried, “Is she right to be concerned?”
“No. I’m-” Enrique’s mask slipped a bit and his face crumpled, “-not fine. But I know Ryan would want me to keep going, and I wouldn’t do anything to disappoint him.”
LeVar looked only slightly relieved. “Okay. Well, you have family here, if you need us.”
Enrique sniffed and nodded. “I know. Love you, Lazar. Good luck with everything.”
LeVar laughed. “If I survive the Irish wake Ryan planned, I’ll check back in. Love you too, Enrique.”
Enrique ended the call and composed himself. He wished he could do more for LeVar. They were hit equally hard by all of this, but Enrique’s pain was just too raw. Enrique grabbed his cane and stood. Maybe he could help prevent something like this happening to someone else. Regina had offered to let him stay and help Beta Test the game for a bit. If they could work out some of the bugs, something like what happened during Ryan’s upload might be avoided.
When he got to the sarcophagus room, Hassan was there with a few other programmers. Several technicians had pulled apart Ryan’s upload coffin and were checking it for broken parts and corrupted software. Hassan looked up from a tablet and shouted, “Ricky! Good to see you!”
Enrique was about to correct Hassan for the egregious nickname, but let it go with an exasperated sigh. He was forgetting who he was dealing with. With false enthusiasm he responded, “H-Bomb! How you doing?” It was just easier.
Hassan fired off finger guns, “Yeah! Doin’ a’ight.”
Enrique pointed to the crew working on the dismantled machine. “They find anything?” he asked.
Hassan immediately sobered, remembering the situation. He quickly signed off on what he was doing and set the tablet down on a computer. “Naw, not yet. Everything looks fine so far so we’re not sure.” Hassan walked closer, “Look, Regina asked me to take care of you while she’s dealing with the bad press. I know I’m not like, ‘the guy’ for this sorta stuff. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about what happened. Ry Guy was a stand up bro.”
Enrique softened. Hassan was clumsy with human interaction, but deep down he was a decent guy. Enrique decided to cut him some slack. “I appreciate it.”
Hassan perked up, “Oh hey, have you met Dr. Donovan Gardener? He’s the main man for our brainial integration system. Yo, Doc!”
A pudgy older man in a pink, long sleeve shirt, green sweater vest and brown slacks stood up from examining a panel on the sarcophagus. He adjusted small round rim glasses on a bulbous nose, peering at the two figures approaching him. With shock white hair pulled back in a tidy ponytail and a neatly trimmed beard, he looked every bit like an off-duty Santa Claus.
“Hassan, I’m right here,” Gardener scolded. He looked at Enrique and his face turned sympathetic. “And you must be ‘Aura’, was it? I’m so sorry for your loss, son.”
Enrique smiled, “Thank you. It’s Aurelio, but that’s my character’s name. It’s just Enrique in the real world.”
Hassan clapped Enrique on the back, causing him to stumble. Hassan explained, “Ricky’s gonna be helping us Beta test the game for a few days. We were about to put him through character creation.”
Dr. Gardener nodded, “I see. Delighted to have you with us. Fear not, Upload is safe, the worst we’d had up to this point is mild headaches and disorientation for a few hours when it doesn’t take. We haven’t figured out what happened with Mr. Hunter’s Full Immersion upload. A tragic accident, but we’re working to correct the problem.”
“I’m hoping I can help make the process safer,” Enrique stated.
“I’m sure you will,” Dr. Gardener said solemnly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, plenty to do.”
As the neuroscientist went back to his work, Hassan brought Enrique over to an empty sarcophagus. Several others were already occupied and being heavily monitored by other programmers. The accident had put the staff on high alert.
Hassan patted the smaller techno bed, “This is us. I’ll be your wingman for this session. Got some work to take care of but you can contact me via private chat. You’ll have your own AI assistant to help you through things, and you can quit at any time by accessing your menu. The tutorial will explain everything. Oh, and it gets pretty goopy in the pod so don’t take any electronics or clothes you care about inside.”
Enrique stripped off his shirt, “Regina already explained that to me. I’m wearing swim trunks under this.”
“Smart. Hop in at your leisure, I’m just gonna grab my work real quick.” Hassan turned and, in a rare moment of thoughtfulness added, “Seriously tho. You need anything, just ask, a’ight?”
“I will. I promise,” Enrique said sincerely.
Opening the lid, Enrique climbed inside the bed with some pain. He was already thinking about accessibility suggestions for people with mobility issues, but one step at a time. There was a panel inside the coffin, and he pressed the ‘Start’ button and the lid closed automatically. Closing his eyes, Enrique laid back to start his own cosmic adventure.
Commander Slate watched as Orion stuffed his face with a look of obvious bliss. While he’d been making repairs, the stranger hadn’t known what he was fixing, or how any of it worked. Orion had dropped his tools when he saw Slate walk up to one of the newly repaired food replicators in the cafeteria and 3-D printed himself a veggie burger, a side of fries, and a caffeinated mushroom drink known as zoffee. He spent the next ten minutes explaining how the terminals were able to take organic material, which it called BioMass, and could replicate any kind of meal you could want. Noticing the tanks were low, Orion had thrown some ratillac jerky and lumber in the intake slot where it was broken down into BioMass. Literally bouncing with excitement, Orion printed out a steak dinner with Caesar salad and a mug of beer.
“Mmph, so good!” Orion mumbled around a mouthful of food, “No way I’m going back to ratillac jerky. Or ratillac kebabs. Or ratillac soup. Although, I wonder how terraworm tastes.”
Slate watched the man eat with an expression of fascinated disgust. It was like watching a hovertrain wreck, but he couldn’t look away. While muscular, the Org still had the slightly emaciated look of someone who working too hard and didn’t take in enough calories. Slate had seen this during his time in the Galactic Navy. Orion ate with the vigor of a starving prisoner of war after being rescued. Chunks of food were flying through the strange holographic avian sitting on his shoulder. Slate waited for Orion to finish his salad before reviewing the situation.
“So let me get this straight.” Slate began, “You’ve just been wandering around outside without any kind of protection. No suit, no breathing apparatus just wandering around in civilian clothes, breaking rocks with a sharp stick?”
Slate listened to Orion’s eager recounting of his time spent on the planet. It sounded insane, but any weird inconsistencies could be explained by him being a Sentinel. If in fact that was the truth. However, the mere fact that Orion was an Org gave the story some credibility. Either that or Orion was a completely unknown alien species, and that might be worse. At least some things were known about Org, like their remarkable hardiness.
Orion swallowed his mouthful and continued, “Yeah. Apparently my regeneration has just been working constantly the whole time. And it’s a mining pick, not a stick. We had those before sonic vibration cannons were a thing.”
Slate was rubbed his temples, his mushroom burger left half eaten. “Okay, fine. And you just buried my people somewhere,” Slate reiterated, “In the -ground-.”
Orion leaned back and held his hand up defensively. “It’s just a tradition where I come from. It’s supposed to be respectful. I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t just leave them littered about.”
Slate leaned back too, feeling lethargic from cryosleep. “Respectful in your culture. I suppose that’s fine, there isn’t any way to dispose of corpses on site. We weren’t expecting to lose anyone. That being said, there’s more bodies in the Stasis Chamber we need to take care of.”
“I can take care of that now that the way’s clear.” Orion reached down and patted one of the bug turrets on its weird camera head. It had taken a liking to him and curled up at his feet now that it didn’t identify him as a threat. Orion started cutting another chunk of steak, “Can I ask a few questions now?”
Slate nodded and leaned forward. “Go ahead.”
Orion waved his fork to indicate ‘everything’ before popping the juicy chunk of meat in his mouth. “What is this place? Why are you out here on some abandoned desert planet? And where did all these robombies come from?”
Slate grimaced and rubbed his temples with irritation. “What are robombies?”
“The zombie robot things that attacked the base,” answered Orion.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Slate definitely felt a headache starting behind his eyes. He was about to launch into a series of questions when Pewter appeared in Private Mode and sent him a personal message.
‘Remember, Sentinels are from a highly advanced ancient culture. They probably have traditions well beyond our understanding,’ the digital secretary reminded him, ‘It would be best to treat him like a foreign dignitary or eccentric diplomat.’
‘Treat him like a well-meaning weirdo. Got it.’ Slate sighed softly, ‘at least he’s got an implant with a translator mod. Without any Astropods awake to translate thoughts, the language barrier might have caused an intergalactic incident.’
Out loud he said, “As for your other question, this is the landing site for the prison ship Theta Sigma 3: Rehabilitator Class. This was supposed to be the start of a new Penal Colony, mining materials for Sanctuary’s Galactic Parliament. There was valuable ore detected here and we were sent to set up a Mining Facility to retrieve it for transport back to the government.”
“That explains the red uniforms and the striped pajamas. So that’s what you meant by calling yourself the warden,” clarified Orion. “This is a Penal Colony, like Australia?”
Slate opened his mouth to answer sharply, but Pewter appeared and glared at him. He reluctantly agreed, “I don’t know where Australia is, but if the comparison helps, then yes. The crew consisted of approximately one hundred guards and nearly a thousand prisoners. Most of them are non-violent or white collar criminals. There are some outliers, of course, but these particular inmates were selected based on a high probability for rehabilitation.”
Orion chewed thoughtfully. “And when they were deemed ready to rejoin society?”
“They would be allowed to charter a ship home,” Slate responded. “Or, if they’d prefer, would be allowed to stake a claim for land here on the planet to make a new life for themselves.”
“Hard work and a promise of a new life.” Orion said thoughtfully, “Good motivator. Not a bad system. I’ve seen worse.”
“As for the,” Slate scowled, “Robombies…they appeared after we had gotten the main mining rig set up over the center of the crater. We turned the thing on, and after a few moments there was a kind of mechanical shriek. Almost a siren. Then hundreds of those metal monsters started to climb out of the very ground. They swarmed us, some of them going for the people at the foot of the crater, others running across the bridge to attack the sonic drill. We lost dozens of people.”
Slate clenched his fists hard enough that the servos in his left hand groaned in protest. He relaxed and continued, “The last I saw, the main rig had taken enough damage that the drill had shut off. Then the rest of them converged on us. I ordered a retreat. Nothing we threw at them seemed to have much of an effect. Some of the guards with the techanic trades spawned turrets to hold the line. These little guys were actually made by one of the Hiver inmates before he was killed.”
“Yeah, I think I might have found him,” Orion said sadly looking down at the dozing drone at his feet.
Slate nodded. “He died protecting people. He’s the only reason we were able to defend the Stasis Chamber.”
Orion finished his steak and wiped his mouth with a replicated napkin, tossing it on the plate. “Okay, so what’s the plan Commander?”
Startled, Slate blinked. “You’re asking me?”
“You’re a Colony Leader. You can assign Missions, provide advice and help figure stuff out.” Orion said simply, “I don’t know anything about running an organization this size. You know these people, and you know this world better. I’m new here, and even with Apus guiding me it would be better to have a man with some experience. So, what’s the plan?”
“First off, I know this world just about as well as you do. We were only here less than a week before the attack.” Slate folded his arms and considered the rest. “We need more colonists. Guards, and inmates both. These are good folks, most of them anyway. I believe they have a real chance at a new life. If we all had a common goal to work towards it could help speed up the process.”
Slate continued thoughtfully, “What we need is more resources. We need sustainability. That means farms, a ready water supply, and housing. And we need a way to protect ourselves from the toxic air, and that means fixing the Biosuit replicators.”
Orion picked up his plates, dropped them in the sink and cleaned them as he pondered his options. He glanced at his bird, who Slate assumed was the ‘Apus’ he mentioned, and the two looked as if they were having their own private conversation. They must have come to a consensus because Orion turned to him, arms folded.
“I think we can fix the suit situation. And I’ve got the start of a farm but nothing is growing yet,” Orion explained. “If what we really need is supplies, then that means exploring the underground city more.”
Slate’s eye started twitching. “The underground -what?-”
Slate examined his new suit. It was puffier than the ones he was used to, with thick gloves and boots, a chunky rectangular backpack and a round helmet with a full-face visor that allowed him to see. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but he had the urge to hop from place to place, even though he could walk fine. It provided the same protection, but just looked cosmetically different than he was used to.
Slate had noticed a lot of the repairs done around the base shared a similar theme. Lots of bright pastel colors, many of the wall panel screens were black with green text and images. Many of the machines had superficial neon lights on the side. Much of the base was decorated in the style of ancient Org artifacts that Slate had seen in museums. Yet the blocky, ancient machines worked better than what they replaced.
Slate watched as Orion repaired the monitor in the wall of the decontamination chamber. The monitor was connected to cameras on the outside wall which acted as a window without the risk of flimsy glass panes. The monitors fizzed to life, thick frames that contained roughly rectangular screens. As the screens lit up, the picture was black and white, with horizontal static lines that slowly moved up from the bottom.
Slates saw sand being whipped around just behind the thick doors. As the sandstorm died down as he watched, a few last dust devils spinning past and clouds of loose dirt floating like fog. Slate could see that the bodies of the metal monsters were gone. While there were new rocks and trees strewn about, he could see clear towards that big formation of rocks in the distance.
“You really did all this by yourself?” Slate asked.
Orion seemed to ponder the question, “Well, not alone. I had Apus to help out. And Todd.”
Slate watched as Apus covered his beak with a wing and shook his head. He asked, “Todd?”
Orion nodded. “Yeah! I think you’ll like him. Looks like it’s safe enough to leave. You got everything you need?”
Slate pulled his old navy issued Plasma Rifle out of his weapon wheel. “Ready.”
Orion, still not wearing any kind of protective gear, hit the buttons. The doors closed behind them and the room scanned them for contaminants. A purple energy grid appeared on the ceiling, moving down to the floor and back up before vanishing. The light over the door turned green and they stepped out into the courtyard.
Orion pulled out his MUT and casually cleared the path as they walked. “Let me give you the tour,” Orion said.
Slate followed Orion nervously. Turning to the east he could see the wall of lightning filled dust rolling away from the base camp. It was much larger than he expected, hundreds of meters tall and filled with tornadoes and spitting debris as it scoured the land. A flash of light drew his attention and he saw an outhouse, sink and standing shower.
Orion pointed to it. “Sorry, this is kinda my bathroom for the moment. I haven’t figured out plumbing yet. This hatch is the entrance to my bunker. Door’s always open if you need me.”
They took a sharp right back towards the base. Orion pointed.
“That’s Todd.” Orion waved at something in the distance. “Hi, Todd!”
Slate looked over at a blue training dummy with a curly mustache and painted smile. Despite having been staked out during the storm, the faux Org looked immaculate. He stared back up at Orion with concern. The real Org’s expression suddenly turned stormy.
“-Fuck you Todd!-” Orion bellowed.
Todd remained stoically impassive.
Slate watched Orion’s snarling face with a sense of growing horror. He startled when the Org started to laugh, “Ah, he’s a kidder.” Orion smiled brightly at Slate and waved him on. “Come on, lots more to see!”
Orion strode past, not acknowledging the odd exchange. Growing increasingly nervous about the situation, Slate followed.
Orion walked onto a floor made up of glass panels off to the east of the base. He tapped the panels cautiously with his peg leg and watched the reaction for a moment. He did this several times, then walked around in a circle over the glass roof. He pumped both fists upward in a vicious pose.
Orion exclaimed, “Woo! It held up! Now we just need to see if anything grows.”
Then he waved Slate over. “This is the greenhouse. With any luck, the soil I collected will be fertile enough to grow crops. Once we get the dome up and running we can probably move the operation up, but the base blocked the worst of the storm, methinks.”
Ignoring the ‘dome’ comment for now, Slate walked onto one of the panels and looked down. There was tilled soil below. He saw bags of soil and barrels of water, as well as a table covered in clay pots filled with dirt. The Org was clearly traumatized, but he seemed to have a game plan.
Orion showed off the graveyard next. A stone wall had been placed around the cemetery, which had taken some damage, but aside from some tombstones being knocked over the bodies remained undisturbed. Slate had to admit, the quaint markers with the mementos to honor the fallen colonists was far more respectful than he envisioned. And the way Orion fixed the site up showed obvious care for people he’d never met.
“I can help provide names to the bodies,” Slate said in a hushed tone. The graveyard had the feel of a sacred spot. “Perhaps we could build something more permanent like a memorial or plaque near the Stasis Chamber.”
Orion finished cleaning and nodded. “Yeah, I like that idea.”
Orion insisted on checking his traps to reset them and retrieve any supplies that survived. Most of them were sprung but empty because of the storm. They checked the last one nestled behind Bite Rock, chatting a bit about the subterranean suburb and what to expect. They rounded the edge of the boulder formation and both of them froze, going silent.
Standing by the trap with a dead ratillac in its jaws was a massive dog thing. It was quadrupedal, covered in shaggy black fur and nearly four feet tall at the shoulder. The face looked like a metallic skull, with two sets of glowing red eyes and a kind of hood scoop nose. It had a sloped back like a hyena, with brass metal plates covering the spine and shoulders. There was a dip in the middle of the spine with a leathery pad on top. The the lower half of creature’s legs were completely cybernetic.
They gasped in unison, but to Slate’s horror, Orion followed it up with a cry of-
“-Puppy!-”
Slate gave Orion an ‘Are you Serious?’ look, but the Org was already crouched and walking towards the animal. Orion cooed at it and had his hands outstretched in a non-threatening way.
Slate backed up, his voice barely above a whisper, “What are you doing?”
Orion kept sidling closer. “I’ma pet it! Come here, baby! Daddy’s not going to hurt you.”
The creature bristled and started to growl low in its throat. The growl was autotuned and sounded vaguely artificial. As if this wasn’t a real animal at all but a simulacrum of one. It looked like a bad animatronic someone draped a rug over. Despite that, Orion fawned over the emaciated beast like a newborn kitten.
Orion got close enough to touch the beast, still speaking soothingly at it. Finally having had enough of this, the growl rose to a fever pitch and the animal lashed out. A combination of yellow teeth and sharp tusks sank deep into Orion’s right forearm, turquoise blood splattering on the ground. Slate expected the Org to fly off in an incoherent rage, but Orion seemed more annoyed than anything.
“No. Bad.” Orion stood and put his free hand in the slathering jaw, trying to pry it open. “Drop it! Drop i~it.”
Apus interjected, “Sir, if you wish to tame the creature, you will have to weaken it first.”
Orion whined, “I don’t want to hurt it!”
“It won’t listen to you unless you can overpower it,” Apus insisted.
“Augh! This sucks,” Orion complained. “Fine. Bad dog!”
Orion adjusted his stance and swung his fist back. He punched the animal hard enough it dented the metal skull and dislocated the jaw. Stunned by the vicious blow and unable to clamp down with any real strength, Orion’s arm popped free. The creature staggered back and then lunged again. Orion sidestepped the attack, the jaw tearing through the flesh on his right hip. However, this gave Orion the perfect position to wrap his arm around the creature’s thick neck. As the growing maw clamped down on the Org’s meaty thigh, Orion started assailing the beast’s ribs with a flurry of punches.
“Let…Me…Love…You!”
Slate finally recovered from his surprise at the situation. His new companion was being savaged, but Orion seemed more concerned for dangerous alien fauna. Slate pulled out his rifle and took aim at the creature’s skull. Just as the laser pointer found its mark, dead center of the robotic skull, Orion flinched. Instead of moving out of the way, Orion threw himself in front of the kill shot. Covering the animal’s head with his body.
“-No!-” Orion shouted with dismay.
The plasma round punctured Orion’s shoulder plate and came out the other side, grazing the animal just above its top left eye. Orion hit the ground hard, struggling to roll to his feet. Slate’s hands felt numb and the barrel of the rifle lowered. Four red eyes bore into the commander, and with a snarl of rage the beast leapt for him.
Orion rose to intercept. “Oh no you don’t!”
The slathering jaws snapped inches from Slate’s terrified face. Orion caught the animal around the stomach and hauled it back. With a confused yelp, the dog was lifted up, then over. Orion arched his back and full-on suplexed the creature like a professional wrestler. There was a loud crunch as meat and metal hit the hardened desert floor. The creature thrashed, but Orion held it there till the struggling stopped.