I run my scanner over the barrel of the las-pistol for the seventh time, frustratedly tapping my workbench. The stupid thing gives off psychic energy readings, sure- but I don’t have a clue what it is actually supposed to do.
My ‘psychic energy reader’ is a hunk of junk, anyway. When I was making it, the thing was supposed to output the type of effect the psychic energy is focused on, and its general hazard to me.
I gave up on that after a straight week of trying to convert the tune and intensity of the gibberish it put out into something understandable. Now, it just tells me how strong the psychic bullshit is.
Only reason I know it’s called ‘psychic energy’ is because of an old manual from one of those hoighty-toighty trains that fell through a window. The term doesn’t even make a lick of sense- energy doesn’t work like that.
I spoon a bit of the nutrient paste out of the bowl lying on my workbench, relishing the bland taste. Most edible things down here taste like shit, so you have to take what you can get.
“Thompson, it’s been three hours. As your boss… no, as your friend, I’m ordering you to take a break,” Kim said, interrupting my train of thought.
I groan, leaning back in my folding chair. “Yeah, alright. This doohickey is complicated- might take a while.”
As I speak, Kim nods along. I knew she was just humoring me, but I went along with it anyway. I crack my knuckles to work out the frustration building up and get up to follow her to the ‘meeting hall’.
In reality, it’s just a dining room. Our war-plans are scribbled in marker on the tablecloth, immaculate diagrams interspersed with Brandy’s crude drawings. I love him, but he can’t draw to save his life.
“Oh, Tommy- there you are!” Brandon calls to me, waving from the table. “I actually had a couple questions before I got back to assisting Monitor.”
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Sure, what’s the problem?” I ask, immediately recognizing his ‘diplomatic raising of an issue’.
“Well, I was taking a short nap near the console when my six-hour timer went off, yeah? And… Well, Monitor has just been staring at the base for the last two hours,” Brandon informs us while we sat ourselves down.
Kim seems to pause in place for a moment as she processes the sentence, before she collects herself.
“Would you care to explain, Thompson?” Kim asked me, before glancing back at Brandon and frowning. “I apologize for the phrasing- I’m not upset. Just… explain, please.”
I look at her, shrugging my shoulders. “I dunno. Brandon’s been at the terminal- ask him, not me,” I told her, before nodding to Brandon. “Could’ya tell us what you ordered it to do?”
“Of course. So, when Kimberly told us about the nutrient paste dispenser, I just told them to tough out the six-hour travel time it would need to get there. But… they cut the travel time by about an hour and a half by contacting the Mind’s Eye Cult-”
“Monitor, our newest and most abrasive employee… met the cult? And it wasn’t turned into slag?” Kimberly inquires, clearly astonished for some reason or another.
“... yes? Should it not be?” Brandon questioned, echoing my own confusion. Kim shakes her head, clearly knowing something we don’t.
“You don’t understand- my negotiations with them were like walking on eggshells,” Kim told us in a warning tone. “They’re zealots, with everything that comes with the territory.”
“It can talk good enough, Kim. I souped it up a bit, remember? If it’s even half the diplomat you are, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” I tell her, smirking a bit. “And that old bucket of bolts can certainly talk, as we all know.” I said, waving my hand in the air as if physically dispelling her worries.
The corner of her mouth turned up a tad at the praise. Hopefully at my joke, too. Brandon chuckled along awkwardly, in that way he always did when someone told a joke he didn’t agree with.
“Right, let me take a look then.” I told the two, pulling myself up from my chair with a groan. I shuffle past Kim and Brandy, plopping myself down afront the kitbashed terminal.
The simple interface pops up, the microphone toggled off. A one to one view from Monitor’s camera is sprawled across the whole screen.
It's standing there, idling right in the Sludge Ocean. Straight across from the viewpoint, the rumored castle-factory of the Ooze Crew. A thick covering of smog drifted in the air, muddying the cameras.
“Looks like it’s working fine, Brandy. It went to where you told it to go, and notified you when it finished. I can see the alert that it sent you in the log, too. Just tell it to do something else.” I announced, standing myself up and rolling my eyes before turning back to them.
“You’re good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish what I was doing.”
Kim sighs at that, but as she breathes in and begins to speak Brandon has already sat down. He snatches the microphone dangling from the side, and only thing I hear before I leave is a simple greeting.