I'm fucked. Objectively, though not physiologically.

It's not even about the state the township and me specifically are in. The "fucked" is, ahem, the existential state of the entire planet I'm on. I'd even say its middle name.

Memories, some information from the ECHOnet, and scraps of information from Claptrap - although the latter can be crossed out - were forming a depressing picture.

Pandora is not an analog of the Wild West, as I first thought. It's far worse.

For some reason, insanity was rampant here. There were different versions of why, some thought it was the result of secret research by megacorporations using the wild outskirts of the civilized galaxy as a convenient testing ground for dubious projects, some thought it was the result of exposure to Eridian technology from artifacts and ruins found on the planet. The Eridians, if anything, are some ancient extinct race of aliens whose discovery of their heritage on several planets has spurred human technology. And it was news of their "vault" on Pandora that got my "character" here.

Human technology, by the way... was weird. I mean, the level of development was very strange.

To begin with, humanity spread across six galaxies.

Not planets. Not star systems.

Galaxies.

One of the results of this absurdly wide spread was that I had no idea what was wrong with Earth, or even what year it was in Earth's calendar. Maybe with further level-ups something will come to mind, but for now - nothing. No history, no "geography", not even a little about politics. However, back to technology.

Another consequence of this absurdly wide spreading - or rather the opposite, what made it possible - was the ability to survive on alien planets with their microflora and biochemistry, provided by advanced biotechnology. My night vision is the first and most obvious greeting from these sciences, but in reality, the humans of this... world? are pretty far removed from the classic vanilla earthling. Perhaps the people here would be closer to Warhammer Space Troopers. Survivability and adaptability compared to the "base model" is insane.

The amount of genome problems too, though. Pics in ECHOnet... n-yeah, there are plenty of various freaks and mutants here. One would hope that this is a Pandora problem.

Anyway, my own injuries that I started this "game" with would have killed a normal person several times over, so I should be grateful, I suppose. On the other hand, then I might as well have started under more favorable conditions. Oh, and potential enemies have the same survivability. Ahem.

Which brings me to my next point. Weapons and defenses.

Force shields, the principle of which I didn't know (I can only nod towards the level-up again), were a commonplace item available at the vending machine. A bunch of different models and features, no mention of needing to replace the power source or expiration date. A black box based on legal trade secrets and patenting.

It was countered by firearms.

Six galaxies. Advanced genetic engineering. Force shields. And bullet weapons that require manual reloading.

Cognitive dissonance, man.

To be fair, it wasn't as primitive as you might think at first glance. Take my gun, which shoots... Plasma? It's hard to say. The ammunition, by the way, was a kind of standardized semi-finished product, suitable for any gun, and the gun itself, even a non-chemical one, was not just a barrel, a grip, and a trigger, but a complex device, but still.

Anyway, I didn't know what to think about it. I could only hope that as an "engineer" I would learn and understand something, but for now I just tried to accept everything as it was - what else could I do?

- By the way, boss! - Claptrap said. The little robot quickly regained his cheerfulness of mind... uh, is it even possible to say that about a robot? - despite the situation. My attempts to harness it to something useful, however, were quickly recognized by me as futile: despite its official designation as a "household helper," this gizmo was categorically incapable of doing anything normal. I didn't get rid of it, mostly because of the mention in the letter of that... that entity that threw me here. And also because I thought it was worse to be alone.

I could have been wrong about the last one. He's very annoying.

Still.

- By the way, boss! - Claptrap said. - I repeated it twice because it's important. Hey, I'm a poet!

- What did you want to say? - I asked tiredly.

- I just wanted to remind you that you've been contracted to work shooting skags near the settlement.

I looked around suggestively, raising an eyebrow.

- Don't you think that's a little, how shall I put it, irrelevant?

- But, boss, you said it yourself, - the robot objected, its somewhat squeaky voice changing to a lower pitch, - You gotta do the job. Besides, you can't get the reward without decoding the mayor's ECHO. This could be our first step to becoming millionaires under my wise leadership!

I habitually ignored his last phrase - this useful skill is developed very quickly, and even without levelling up. Hmm...

Here, perhaps, it is worth returning to the topic of technology of this crazy planet - and the areal of mankind in general. One of the most widely used technologies of the madhouse I have to live in now is "digitalization". The information I have is, expectedly, scrappy, but some important points are made.

Simply put, they have somehow managed to learn how to convert matter into information, and vice versa. Creating something out of nothing is still impossible, but storing and transmitting - and limited editing - objects as information is not only possible, but as commonplace as the same shields. My ECHO, for example, has fourteen "slots" for storing quick-access items, plus a separate slot for storing ammunition.

This technology also allows for password-protected packing of items, just for such deals: you give the mercenary a password-protected archive, and when the job is done, you give him the password. In our case, the archive was kept by Claptrap for some reason, and the AI in the ECHO could witness the completion of the task. Again, "hmm." I also need to raise the level, and to practice... But the ammunition....

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

- Ammo... - I muttered aloud.

The Claptrap jumped up and waved his hands happily.

- Oh, boss! I can help you solve this problem! You've got a shovel, too!

Well, yes, the small sapper shovel hanging on his hip was among the few surviving equipment. I don't know what the thing is made of, but it didn't have a scratch on it - though I tried to leave one.

- Can you help? - I questioned, without hiding my doubts.

- Yes! - the robot said cheerfully. - It's all coming together! No doubt it's thanks to my brilliance!

- Well... Okay, - I agreed. - Show me.

I hope I won't regret it.

- Skags are an extremely interesting native life form of Pandora - Claptrap told in a lecturing tone. - They are able to survive in the harsh conditions of Pandora on par with such survivors as bandits and psychos. This is achieved mainly by fearlessness and the ability to eat anything, including the same bandits and psychos. They usually regurgitate such inedible parts of them as weapons, ammunition, and brains, which makes skag litter a valuable source of trace elements and ammunition.

- Just shut up, - I said, sighing heavily. I never thought the first thing - one of the first things - I'd do when I got to another planet, was go through shit....

Pandora is a big pile of shit.

With some nuggets in it.

At least Claptrap was right. I probably wouldn't have believed him, but he cracked open the first pile of shit himself with a stick, revealing a standard package of ammo; the big plus was that converting them to a digital state eliminated the smell (though I still didn't understand why they had to be loaded into the weapon by hand).

Unfortunately, they weren't ammo for a pistol, but for an "assault rifle", an automatic rifle. At least there were still plenty of similar piles visible... though I didn't have the tongue to say it was "good".

The shovel clanked against something metal, and then Claptrap squealed.

- Skags!

He's good for something, though - notification...

I immediately broke away from the digging, raising the pistol that appeared in my hand - an application of digital construction.

...Shit.

Five familiar creatures, looking like a mix of a bald dog and some kind of strange tailless lizard, were coming in my direction. They weren't particularly large, about the size of a medium-sized dog; the augmented reality ECHO labeled them as threat level one cubs, but one was bigger, and it was level two.

I opened fire.

My accuracy left a lot to be desired. Though the gun twitching in my hand felt familiar enough, and I was shooting quite confidently, i lacked skill. And the accuracy of the gun was far from ideal.

At least the flames it produced were effective enough; two of the creatures fell with holes burned in their bodies. I replaced the clip, or rather the cartridge block, and kept firing; another skag caught fire, then another, but they were close by, and then the gun clicked empty as I pulled the trigger again, out of ammo.

The burning skag jumped and slammed into me. The shield prevented the impact from reaching my body, but it didn't stop it from staggering me, and then knocking me down. The second skag jumped, too, half a second after the first.

The beast's strange muzzle opened into four petals of a flesh-colored flower with stubby teeth, sprinkling me with... well, it wasn't nectar.

I brought my sharply sharpened spade down on it - right into its open mouth. The blade sliced through the flesh with surprising ease and slammed into the second skag.

- The shield is exhausted! - reported an unpleasantly positive-sounding female voice. - Please wait for the recharge. And try to not die!

I could almost see a smiley face after that phrase, but I didn't care about that now: a successful blow with the shovel's blade seemed to have finished off the first skag and thrown the second one off for a second, but the situation was still bad.

...Even worse than I'd expected.

I tried to get up, tossing the carcass of the dead skag towards the still-living one, but at that moment the last, fifth, beast made itself known, stopping a few meters away from me. It crouched down, strained its legs, opened its mouth, and, no, it did not jump. It belched out a lump of some yellow stuff.

It hit my leg; I shook it off immediately, shaking off the sticky stuff, but the skag next to me took advantage of it to claw at my arm. And it seemed that the homemade armor plate on my leg was dissolving with a hiss...

The one on my arm held a little better, but still gave me a couple seconds to strike again with the shovel. And another one.

"Level up!"

Another set of information instantly became native, long-known knowledge, and at the same time I felt a surge of strength that allowed me to leap abruptly out of my seat in the direction of the last remaining skag. This time I didn't hit it in the wrong way; I aimed for the still-open mouth, ready for another spit, and sliced the beast's head from the inside. Maybe it's just me, but it felt like I'd gotten a little stronger, too.

Skag collapsed, and I flopped to the ground. I wasn't really tired - was it the level up? - And even emotionally it wasn't too hard, but I still needed to digest what had happened. And, by the way, to study what was revealed with the level increase.

- Once again, the enemy has been defeated by the valiant robot of justice! - proudly proclaimed Claptrap, standing next to the corpses of the Skags.

He was such a... Claptrap.