After spending all that time on Ryzeen with a staff of dozens, being on a proper base again felt so different. It was so big I never really learned the layout. I saw different people every day. The cafeteria never closed. And there was so much security.

Three weeks of orientation. Two weeks of shadowing at the lab. I finally get my own login credentials and access to the laboratory. Everything I do under it will be tracked, and the logs are reviewed each morning.

When the time came, I would have to do everything in one day. Once I started, there couldn't be anybody left to check.

While all this was onboarding was going on, I studied the maps and got a feel for where VIPs were. I was working out a route and a timetable. I would cut and run the moment I released the virus if I absolutely had to, but I really wanted to get those databanks for you. I knew they were way more valuable than me, so it was worth the risk.

The first day I was given unrestricted access to the lab it was busy so I held off. Then the second day I didn't have an excuse, so I set to work on Little B.

That's what I wound up calling the virus. Big B was my nickname back on Ryzeen, and I figured why not name it after me if I'm really going to be owning up to everything. This is what I've done, this is who I am. It even has my name and my face.

If you've never worked in a lab, you might be imagining all this cool visually-impressive stuff like lighting bunsen burners and doing titrations drop by drop. It was mostly just punching instructions and measurements into terminals and monitoring readouts. That's why I was able to just do it there in the lab alongside everyone. This stuff is so complicated it's not like there's an alarm that's going to sound if you start making something too spicy. It requires a trained eye to even know what any combination of commands could be for in isolation. Which is why they manually review the previous day's logs each morning.

I started as soon as the morning meeting ended, and it took me until about half an hour before the end of my shift. All throughout the day I was preparing myself for someone to just walk up to me and go "I saw what you did, Buster, and I'm going to make sure that everybody knows."

That I would go up to one of the terminals to advance to the next stage of synthesis and get a little pop-up warning: ILLEGAL OPERATION DETECTED, SECURITY NOTIFIED

That when I pulled the hood off of the reployer, instead of finding a dozen neat little shatterproof vials with printed labels it would be empty and then security would emerge with guns drawn, "Paws where we can see them!"

That at the end of day meeting, the head of research would advance a slide on his presentation and it would be my face with the word TRAITOR stamped over it and everyone would turn to me in unison and point, chanting "Traitor! Traitor!"

That when I went home to my room for the last time, there would be Lance and Stubbs and Pitt and Rema and it would turn out that they had never really let me go and were just waiting for the most delicious moment to finish me off.

That after dinner, when I left my room and I walked across the base to the maintenance department someone would step forward and go "Hey, I recognize you! What are you doing here at this hour?"

That when I walked up to the cute spectacled bear who worked security and splashed a vial of Little B in his face I would start to feel the breath leave my chest and realize that I had messed up and created a virus that would kill a panda same as any other bear.

That I wouldn't be able to figure out how to grant my account security access with his tablet, and I had come all this way just to be stopped mere steps away from my goal.

That when I opened the door to the centralized air circulator of the base, I would discover that the filter mounts had been updated because of the pandemic and I wouldn't be able to remove them unassisted.

That when I placed my vaporizer into the air circulator and switched it to Hotbox Mode, instead of continuously dispelling a fine mist of the Little B suspension the button would flash red three times and refuse to start.

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That as I sat there changing into my pink scrubs and putting my earbuds in and watching the reservoir indicator go from full to empty, I had made some synthesis error and the weaker auxiliary filters and UV sterilizing lamps throughout the compound were catching and eradicating every last droplet.

That when I left the circulator core, I would find anything other than the glorious stillness that showed The Plan had become Reality.

It felt really good to not have to worry anymore. None of that had happened.

Nothing went wrong and everyone was dead.

I spent the winter holiday at University each year instead of going home. I loved it because everything was so quiet. There were times when I felt like I was the only person there, I could just go where I wanted and look around in peace without bothering anyone.

During quarantine I used to fantasize about waking up one day and finding Ryzeen vacant, just like my campus. Walking the hallways without Lance and the rest of Tartarus raising hell. Taking meals in the canteen instead of in my room. Sitting on the front steps and drinking under the stars, peeing outdoors, sleeping in whatever room I wanted. Maybe I'd start a garden.

Now I didn't have to fantasize. I had all of Martenwol to myself.

And I had a job to do.

You've been there. You've seen what it looked like. I'll be honest, I was trying to pay as little attention as possible to anything but the immediate task at hand: walk down this hall, turn here, step over that dead person, pop open this case, grab this databank. I had a mesh bag to store them in that would act as an electromagnetic radiation shield. You know, just in case there was any kind of tracking transponder or a self-destruct that could be triggered remotely. So I mostly measured the passage of time by how full it was.

When I left maintenance it was just a few metal shells bunched up in the corner of the bag. When I left security I had it slung over my shoulder. When I left logistics I was wearing the straps like a backpack. I saved the personnel quarters for last. By then, it was so bulky I just left it in the elevator. I started with the high command and worked my way down until the bag was full.

Then I carried it down to the walker perch, grabbed the ignition card for the Jerboa, stowed the bag full of databanks on the cargo hook behind the seat, tucked the ammo crate containing the remaining ten samples of Little B into the overhead compartment, and climbed into the cockpit of a Jerboa for the first time.

It was exactly like the simulator. I put the card to the ignition, turned it left to start the engine warmup, turned it further right to ignite once the indicator turned yellow, easily activated the balance module in the sweet spot, barely had enough space in the cockpit to disengage the right brake and then the left, pushed on the lever to lift the cockpit out of its docking stance, and I was done.

Obviously the actual walking was a lot harder. I was racing against the clock, but if I got impatient it would be really easy for me to crash or spill. A broken arm or a concussion would make it a lot harder for me to find you guys. Assuming I even survived! The Jerboa is a light scout vehicle so armor-wise it was like comparing a panel van to a tank. A good solid impact could crack it open like a walnut.

The Jerboa gets its name from a hopping desert rodent with long kangaroo-like legs and oversized ears to help regulate heat. You can definitely see the resemblance! A Jerboa's highly-variable height and long legs let it navigate the roughest terrain alongside the much larger and more sturdy strides of upright military walkers. Due to its light weight and unusual locomotion it's the fastest standard-issue scout walker in the empire. That's why I picked it: if I had to fight I was going to be toast regardless, so better to be able to outrun anything on two legs.

Well, out-hop. That's the thing about the Jerboa: the way it manages to achieve such high top speeds and maneuverability is that (much like its namesake) it doesn't walk: it bounces. "Saltation" is the term the engineers use, but I like "bouncing" and "hopping" more. The Balance Modules that have made the bipedal walker into the backbone of Nakunan terrestrial forces had a huge breakthrough a few years ago, and methods of locomotion other than walking are starting to trickle out of the workshops. If they can scale this up to assault sizes, it's going to be a real problem for you.

The downside is that, despite the best work of the cockpit stabilizers, all that hopping makes for a very rough riding experience. The first time I got up enough speed to switch from trot to hop, the forward lurch drove the height lever into my belly and I almost spilled out then and there.

I've heard people say that piloting a walker is like trying to fly a plane while on horseback. Well, piloting a Jerboa is like trying to fly a plane on a pogo stick.

I tiptoed out of the hangar and approached the front gate. I conspicuously avoided looking into the lit-up security station by the front gate. I used my communicator to signal it to open. In the dead quiet of night, the metal-on-metal groan of the reinforced siege gates swinging open was the only sound. Behind me was the tarmac, flatly lit across its borders by the moonlight towers at each corner. In front of me was the unknown.

I switched on the high beams, a landscape of grey rocks and dark purple lichen spread out hundreds of meters in front of me. Then it faded into nothingness in the dying light.

I did it.

I was free.

And now I had to run.

But first, I had to record you a message.