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    1. Zeropathic 10 yrs ago

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Vin barely caught a glimpse of Feurtes on the way to the airlock, disappearing through another door as he approached. Sophia had gone earlier to catch the returnee; no luck for her, it seemed. As the door to the changing room slid open, she brushed past him wearing disappointment on her face. Feurtes would have his well-earned rest.

“Later,” he waved her lazily farewell as she retreated back towards her lab. And when she didn’t return the gesture, he added: “I’ll miss you, too.”

Cold. Then again, he wasn’t particularly expecting warmth from her. His first impression of her might have been harsher than warranted, however. If nothing else, she seemed competent and to the point. Even if he didn’t necessarily like her, then at least he could respect that. Still, it’d be nicer if she’d stay out of his head.

He discarded his clothes, stepped into de-cont and T-posed for the showers. As they sprayed him down with cleansing agents, he performed some digital safety measures of his own. With the flip of a mental switch, the net went dark. It was like losing sight, or hearing: suddenly and brutally, an omnipresent part of the world was excised from experience. His sixth sense – if you adhered to the long-dated list of the five basics – gone. It was unavoidable. Airgapping was a major point in standard Derelict safety protocol. Down there, he’d have to rely on cumbersome external tools.

He stepped through into the next chamber, nose stinging as the fluids evaporated off his skin. A wall rack slid out to present him with his suit and helmet. It had two full sleeves – he’d have to talk to someone about getting one customized. He couldn’t use his built-in tools like this, although judging by the list of inventory the others had brought down he wouldn’t need to.

He slipped into the suit feet first and pulled the sleeves over his arms. The fabric did the rest, closing over his chest and merging with itself to form a seamless second skin covering him from neck to toe. The inner layer tightened, smothering the contours of his body from his feet and up as the suit expelled the air within through his collar, until that too tightened into an airtight seal. Thankfully, the thin layers of padding were enough to prevent any extruding features of his from growing too pronounced.

Lastly, he slipped on the helmet. He felt the suitskin quiver around his neck as they merged and connected with the oxygen pocket on his back. A table of diagnostics lit up in the corner of the visor, dancing momentarily before settling on ‘OK’ and vanishing. Health metrics occupied the vacant spot, informing him that his heart was beating 12% faster than his normal walking rate.

Vin stepped into the airlock, the final buffer between the known and the unknown. The door closed behind him, and the room itself hissed and exhaled like a lung until it reached some pre-ordained level of pressure and unlocked the next door. The shuttle’s interior beckoned from the other side with promises of adventure and alien mysteries. He crossed the divide and left MOS behind.

He sidled up into the pilot’s seat – a redundant position, but the only one with a view – and strapped himself in. From the current angle he could only see the station’s outside wall, speckled with docking ports, guiding lights, and the occasional backlit viewport. Shadows stretched away from each extrusion, darker than black in the absence of Rayleigh scattering. Past the Orbital’s bulk only the void beckoned, somehow even darker.

The control panel was already unlocked before he had to do anything; presumably it read his biometrics from the suit and checked against scheduled flights. But his destination was already locked in, and his only available option was to hit Launch.

He blipped comms – seemingly an entirely separate module from the rest of the shuttle – and tuned in to the ground team.

“Marlowe to surface. I’m coming down now, ETA twelve minutes.” He kept it brief; no telling if anyone might be listening.

A few seconds passed in silence. “Affirmative,” came the reply.

He pressed Launch.

The shuttle lurched, and MOS started drifting out of view. Aside from the initial thrust, it didn’t feel like he was moving, now that he was free from MOS’ artificial gravity – instead, it seemed like everything else did. The station soon left him, and only the infinite emptiness remained.

In that moment, it felt like he was truly alone in the universe.

It didn’t last, of course. The illusion was dispelled when his eyes adjusted and he started picking up the faint twinkles of distant stars. Space was not empty; only vast.

But soon there was something else: a hole of emptiness crawling in from above, a black abyss from where no light shone. No, he realized as the world rotated around him: a blanket. A sunlit crescent crawled into view, cradling the shadow like a smothering lover. The crimson star itself followed shortly, hovering over the crescent like some watchful parent, blindingly bright until his visor dimmed its glare.

The ship lurched again, and his insides protested as the world stopped turning. The spear was pointed at the shadow’s heart, ready to be thrown. A low hum grew from the back of the shuttle, as if inhaling before exertion.

As the shuttle roared and kicked him in the back with the force of two and a half Gs, as his heartrate jumped another 20 BPM, he recalled the superstitious Derelicter prayer:

Sleep, Grand Automaton,” he mouthed to himself as he shot towards the surface.
Derelict creaked ominously.

It always did. The going hypothesis supposed that it was just the structure straining against its own immense bulk, mass and gravity and thermal expansion slash contraction twisting metal in on itself in a ceaseless dance of perverse machine tectonics. Hypothesis offered little comfort out here in the field, where Derelict’s pained groans echoed for klicks and klicks through twisting cracks and tunnels like the howls of metal banshees.

Anna Viera listened. It was those very cries that had guided them off their planned course home and into untraveled territory, now crawling on fours through some life-forsaken hole at about one klick's depth. Her ears were no good, but her tools were: the mapper in her hand displayed a labyrinthine network of lines stretching around them, denoting areas they’d charted before or passed on their way. If there was a pattern to the mess, it wasn’t obvious.

A few meters up front, Sashi Balakrishna had apparently found enough space to stand up. The pale glow of her headlamp disappeared for a moment, before peeking back down the tunnel at Viera. Not bright, but bright enough to blind eyes acclimated to the dark. Thankfully the glare dimmed as her visor adapted, but details at the periphery fell casualty to encroaching shadows.

“Should be just up ahead,” Sashi’s distorted voice played in her ears. Sound carried poorly in Derelict’s thin atmosphere, and it took the aid of technology to isolate and amplify the waves of a voice over the all-consuming din. Some noise always made it through.

“What is it any–“ Viera’s reply was cut short by a deafening shriek of metal from somewhere deep in the machine’s bowels, the tendrils on the mapper’s display stretching rapidly outwards as the screech echoed throughout the structure.

“Man-made tunnel, looks like,” Sashi sounded as the noise died down to normal levels. “Steep, but walkable.” Viera crawled out and stood up, stretching her legs as she confirmed with her mapper. They’d charted this area before, but there was a new line cutting straight through. Their current path would intersect with it about eighty meters up ahead.

“How the hell can you tell?” She hadn’t seen Sashi use her mapper a single time during their trip; it still sat dark on her belt.

“Intuition,” Sashi shrugged and pressed on. Viera didn’t buy it, but she let it slide. The woman had had a lot of work done under the hood.

They continued in what passed for silence in Derelict, squeezing through a tightening passage shaped like a vertical incision stretched open. It was slow going, as it took some care to avoid getting their boots stuck between the converging walls at the bottom. Balakrishna inevitably pulled ahead, maneuvering the terrain with finesse borne from hard-earned experience, periodically stopping to allow Viera to catch up.

“Here we are.” Sashi unslung her backpack and rested against the wall as she rummaged through it. Just past her, a mass of deformed metal protruded up from the empty space in the larger tunnel below, twisting towards them from the edges of their exit: material pushed aside into adjacent crevices as whatever came through had displaced it.

The opening looked too narrow to squeeze through, and even if they tried those jagged edges would tear them to shreds. Sashi gave the mass a few experimental kicks, but it wouldn’t budge. Viera checked her instruments: no light, no radio, no sound discernable from the cacophonic background. Whoever dug it had left it vacant – for now, at least. She looked back to Sashi, who pulled something from her pack: a half-meter long rectangular case, which she unsealed and revealed a long tube in white polymer with a pistol grip. She grabbed it and slotted a heavy-duty battery atop it.

“Better set your visor to dark. This’ll be bright.” Sashi stuffed her pack into the tapering bottom and knelt atop it, inspecting the displaced hunk for a good angle of attack. Viera followed the recommendation, and the world faded into dim, shadowy shapes.

“I’m good,” she signaled. Thumb up, though Sashi couldn’t see it with her back turned. She imagined a tactile click as Sashi flicked a switch above the grip, the instrument responding by lighting an indicator at the base.

The tube was pointed at some strategic point. A pregnant moment passed.

Then: a miniature sun blazed in the dark, sparks flying as metal glowed white-hot and parted. In half a minute she’d cut clean across the whole chunk, and with a kick it loosened and fell into the open tunnel below. That thing wasn’t a tool; it was a fucking weapon.

“Holy shit,” Viera exclaimed as detail bled back into her surroundings.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Sashi replied, her tone indecipherable through the distortion. The face was hard to make out through the visor, but Viera could swear she saw the faintest hint of a grin.

Sashi calmly detached the battery and sealed the portable star back in its casing. The case went into her pack, and the pack was slung onto her back. “Let’s go.”

She stood over the breach, assessing it for a moment before stepping forth and falling gracefully out of view. Viera carefully edged over and looked down: two and a half meters, by her reckoning. Sashi was looking back up, patiently waiting. Reason told her it’d be a safe fall in half a G, but instinct was not so easily convinced. She took instinct’s advice and inched slowly off the edge feet first, until she was hanging by her hands. Part of her marveled at how light she was. The rest of her clung on, afraid to let go.

“You’re half a meter off the ground,” Sashi droned from somewhere below and behind. “You’ll be fine.”

She looked down; it was true. Hands let go, and she landed steadily on the sloped floor. Her legs didn’t even buckle. She let out a small sigh of relief and looked around the new space: a mostly circular shaft, running down a slope angled somewhere between thirty and forty degrees, by her estimate. Derelict’s echoes seemed to carry further here, the ambient din somehow even louder than before. She pulled out the mapper and switched on its display. It flickered for a moment, lines shifting subtly as the map recalibrated from familiar reference points.

“It… comes all the way down from the main shaft,” she said. Sashi nodded faintly, but her gaze was fixed the opposite way.

“And it runs…” Viera paused at a sudden realization. “Oh.”

Sashi nodded wordlessly. About a klick downtunnel, the line on the display was almost touching the monastery.
Sophia faced Vin with slightly narrowed eyes from the comfort of her leather seat. “The lieutenant had trouble procuring your medical record, Vincent,” she began tersely. “I trust you have it on you?”

“I had a stint in the OSF, you know,” he deflected and shrugged, eyes averted for a hesitant microsecond. “Would’ve thought they’d keep tabs.”

“Apparently, that’s not the case,” she remarked impatiently, tapping her fingers. “Can I have it?”

Vin looked down at his fingers, interlocked and fidgeting restlessly. There was no way they had nothing on him. They’d at least have his years in the fleet. Probably everything before then, too. Anything after could be found with enough digging. Perhaps they just didn’t care to look hard enough.

Regardless, he supposed she needed it to do her job. A slight, resigned exhalation, and he looked up again. “There,” he conceded, and her slate beeped in affirmation.

“Excellent.” Sophia opened the relevant file on a holo-display floating to her left. Her eyes immediately fixated on it as she impassively provided further instructions for him: “We’ll begin with a mundane physical examination. I will be taking measurements, determining your fitness and sensory aptitude, et cetera. I’ll need you to remove your outer clothing.”

Within moments of browsing his documentation, she made a disapproving hum. He tried to track her gaze to see what it was she didn’t like, but she was already looking expectantly at him. He had a pretty good idea regardless: few were approving of the melding of minds with machines. Luddites.

He pulled his shirt up and his pants down, standing before Sophia in nothing but his underwear. Pale. A bit on the lanky side. His robotic left arm reached slightly further down his side than his right. Off-the-shelf article, one-size-doesn’t-quite-fit-all.

“This enough, or you want more?” he smiled sheepishly, pointing at his underwear.

Sophia’s eyes darted to the side, momentarily distracted from studying his records. “I should think neither of us wants ‘more’. That’ll do.” The doctor swiveled in her chair, turning it over so that she could reach for the blood extractor. Armed with this device, she got up and approached him. Reaching for his remaining, organic arm, she pressed it against his vein and pushed the button to insert the needle.

“So, Vincent. Do you know where you were born?” she asked almost menacingly - though perhaps it was simply the effect of receiving an uncomfortable question whilst having a needle in one’s flesh. She did not look up to him.

“How’s that relevant?” he deflected, voice coming out more bitter than he had intended.

“Your first record,” she began to explain as the needle retracted, “is at age 10. That is a big gap between then and your birth, Vincent. Could help explain your rather interesting condition, perhaps. Could also help in establishing a psychological profile. The circumstances surrounding your birth are hardly irrelevant.” After removing the device, she stared him in the eyes for a moment, perhaps to convey the gravity of her request. She soon relented, however, and returned to her seat.

“Fine, it’s just…” He exhaled, and could feel his body loosening up. He hadn’t even noticed it tensing. “I’m just not comfortable being under the microscope, I guess. Can I put my clothes back on?”

“Before that, I’ll need you to lie down on the operating table for your scans. No cause for alarm, I won’t be making any incisions.” After a moment, she added in a gentler tone: “I’m sorry we cannot provide a male examiner for you.”

“That’s not really the issue here,” he said. I’m feeling naked in more ways than one, he didn’t say. He walked up to the table and laid down, and a glass-like dome grew out of the table to envelop him. A myriad of tiny sensors were embedded inside, too small for the human eye but big enough to be visible to his augment. It helped that he didn’t have to look at Sophia.

“It’s… You just read the file, right?” he continued testingly. “Memory defect. Can’t really trust anything I remember from back then. Besides, my folks were basically nomads.”

“Nobody told you where you’re from?” she asked incredulously, her voice sounding slightly distorted through the glass. “No contact with your parents, I take it?”

He shrugged. “Mom came from Herakles, far as I can tell. Dad, I’ve got no idea. My best guess is I was born out in the void somewhere.”

“I see,” she answered thoughtfully, watching his metrics appear one by one on her display. “Void births are statistically more likely to incur difficulties for the newborn. Myriad reasons but essentially, humans weren’t designed to perform well in space.”

“Yeah, if I see them I’ll tell them to be more careful next time,” he quipped.

“You have a lively sense of humor,” she remarked dryly.

After capturing his superficial details, the glass tomb began its deep-scan; layer by layer, a graphic of Vincent’s body, muscle by muscle, nerve by nerve, began appearing on screen. Then, his brain: large sections of his right hemisphere were cut out, replaced with compact electronics. Even the left was not unscathed, with strips of circuitry following the contours of most of its surface.

“So you’ve had your memory implant since age twelve,” she continued. “Have you experienced any technical difficulties with it since then? Any flaws? Has it ever been offline for any period of time?”

“Well, you’ve got to flip the switch when you make changes”, he said. “Goes for the wetware, too. Easy for things to go wrong if you try to tinker with a live system.”

“Tinkering with live systems is my profession, as it turns out,” she quipped uncharacteristically. “So you’ve only had it deactivated for your many augmentation procedures? No unexpected failures otherwise?”

“There’s… been some hiccups, actually,” he replied, eyeing the invisibly small arrays of sensors. The only sign of their activity was a subtle emission on the EM spectrum.

“Compatibility issues,” he continued. “When I got a digital memory module - that was in ‘24, if you check the record - they didn’t play nice. The old implant used a pretty hacky solution - it worked, but it messed up the circuitry. Scrambled the signal going to digital, had to mess with the drivers for both.”

“You’ve modified the firmware for it yourself?” Sophia asked whilst calling up a spec sheet for the implant’s serial model in question. Mechanical augments were hardly her expertise, but she understood them well enough to gather the important points at a glance. The model could hardly be considered novel at this point, or indeed when it bad been put to use in Vincent’s head. Her brow furrowed meaningfully.

“Had help from my professor at the time, but yeah.” He shifted uncomfortably. “My case was fairly novel, and he took an interest. I studied neural computing, y’know.”

“I suppose I know now. I can see why he would take an interest - frankly I am curious myself.”

He spread his arms as far as his cramped cage allowed. “I lay bare before you.”

“Perhaps,” she continued, her eyes darting over to his pale body trapped in glass, “we can work together on improving your condition. To minimize risk to the mission and maybe find a permanent solution. The current one is clearly less than perfect.”

“It had a pretty good run, actually. Gave me a better memory than most.” It had given him an almost savant-like visual memory, handy during his studies, at the cost of some emotional recollection. “It’s taken the back seat since I went digital, though. At this stage it’s pretty much just there for redundancy.”

“You don’t strike me as the complacent type, Vincent. Your left arm had a good run - until you excised it like a tumor.” Was that resentment in her voice?

“No need to make any hasty decisions,” she added, ”but - think about it. I can prepare some-”

“Look,” he cut her off, “I get it. You want to poke around in my skull. Maybe you even want to help. But really, I don’t need it. I already have something better.”

“That old thing,” he tapped his temple and continued, “just… tries to fix the wetware circuitry for memory. Falls short in some ways. Improves it in others. But baseline memory is still full of holes. The compression is pretty damn lossy, and it doesn’t even try to remember something if your brain doesn’t think it’s important. And even what it does remember still gets corrupted over time. My… condition was basically just that but worse.”

Sophia rolled her eyes and suppressed a groan. “So you’d rather keep a mechanical band-aid in your brain than try to improve upon it. Be my guest.”

“I’m not saying it can’t be improved. I’m saying there’s no point,” he retorted. “I went digital. Why run when you can fly? Besides, tampering with it means I’d probably have to recalibrate everything else again.”

“So long as your functionality isn’t impaired, it’s your call,” Sophia concluded, “but I will be monitoring your condition - and that of your implants - closely in the future. Derelict has unpredictable effects on human brains alone and there is no telling how your particular set-up will react.”

“I’ll admit I’m a little worried about that, actually,” he confessed. “I can disable wireless, but there’s other ways to mess with electronics.”

Like EM radiation. With a sensor delicate enough you could follow the path of an electrical charge through the circuit. Given enough time and computing power, you could figure out what a computer was doing just by looking at the dance of electrons.

With a precise enough application of electromagnetic induction, you might even be able to tell it what to do.

“Though I suppose the same goes for the brain,” he sighed ruefully and shrugged, “so what can you do?”

The doctor frowned to herself. “Nothing at all, I’m afraid. Just wait and see. And hope it’s not too late to do anything by then.”
The faint sound of conversation carried all the way to the bunks, though the words were ravaged beyond recognition by the Orbital’s creaking seams and ventilating breaths. If he focused his processors, Vin reckoned he could isolate and amplify their voices – but while he was curious about the examination, doing so might be considered be rude. Besides, he had more important things to do.

So he laid down and closed his eyes.

The physical world faded away. When trying to process large quantities of information, it only got in the way. Too much distraction. The meat brain’s throughput was limited, even with integrated amplifiers and targeted stimuli; if it was to have any chance of keeping up with the bits and qubits at full throttle, it needed to focus.

A web stretched out around him, crawling along the pathways of OSF’s local network and mapping its informational topography as it expanded outwards. Hands were shaken, accesses were granted and denied as dictated by his limited certs, and data from a dozen sources flowed like rivers into the sea of his databanks.

Almost all of it related to Derelict itself; Origin’s security wasn’t so lax they’d let him in anywhere. Expedition journals, observations, measurements, research articles: it all filtered through his consciousness faster than he could think. Every data point, every process leading up to every conclusion stored and available with but a thought. He could recite it all word for word if he wanted to, but he barely actually understood any of it. Knowledge without comprehension. The brain wasn’t designed to think like a computer, yet here his was, mutilated and stuffed with electronics and trying to process information like one.

Still, the trade-off was worth it. The data was there. Understanding could come in time, as knowledge trickled down from the digital mind.

The available data was, of course, mostly stuff already publicly available. Nominally, at least; the paywalls were too tall for most people to climb. And the juiciest findings were no doubt kept closely guarded by the corps that funded them. Why spill the beans to your competitors, after all?

His focus shifted, and the mission brief filled his consciousness. It was, well, brief. The whats pertained only to their specific instructions: go deep and figure out what happened to the missing expedition. The [i]whos[/i were limited to the immediate team and their job descriptions, with D’Agenais at the top. It said nothing about who he reported to.

The why remained unanswered.

Vin could guess, of course – it wasn’t exactly subtle. Origin was no doubt hoping to get more out of this than a post-mortem. The expedition had sent a message saying they’d found a way through. If true, that was worth far more to Origin than a few sacks of meat. Doubly so if they could get their foot in the door before anyone else. What they’d find in there was anyone’s guess, but it was going to be a big deal. A handful of lives out of a few hundred billion was a cheap price to pay.

Of course, that applied to their own group as well. A bunch of nobodies, handpicked from the washed-up refuse of Maasym Orbital. Save that Marrow-Geist princess who’d enjoy the safety of the station while the rest were thrown into Derelict’s maw. They were so few and so replaceable; if they failed, Origin could just dredge up another band of disposables.

Perhaps they already had, and this expedition was only one of many.

Something about it just didn’t feel right. Origin had sent three Apocalypses, for Void’s sake. They obviously took Derelict seriously.

So why entrust it to them?

Perhaps the real expedition was sitting out the first few rounds in their cozy battleships, eagerly awaiting intel from the sacrificial pawns. Then once they had enough data, they’d swoop in and push the pawns to the wayside.

For now, that was just speculation. D’Agenais might know more. Perhaps he was just a pawn too, but at least he’d be reporting to someone higher up. Vin might be able to glean something from him.

He’d have to leave that rabbit hole for another time – at this one he had a job to do. He wanted to make all the preparations he could to improve the odds of living through just one dive. The inventory came with user manuals and training sims for all their equipment: he loaded them up and got to work, time flying by as he learned what he could.
The plastic-wrapped stick snapped between Cass’s fingers with a satisfying pop. Bending yet refusing to tear, it folded back into its original, straight shape the moment she relented. It gradually turned wholesomely warm in her grasp while she, almost impatiently, stuffed the tip in between her pale lips and dragged in a deep breath through the chem-cigarette’s filter. After holding it in for a second or two, she exhaled a puff of orange-red, synthetic smoke into the high-roofed ceiling above them, from which bizarrely-shaped designer lamps dangled or floated to cast their hot twilight upon the interior of the bar.

With a tap on the designated spot on the table, she brought up a holographic menu from which to make an order. Knowing that Vin had offered to pick up the tab before they entered – and which was the sole reason she had agreed to enter this dive in the first place – she felt little hesitation in browsing the pricier list of cocktails. It occurred to her that she was woefully unknowledgeable on their subject, never having been able to, or caring to, afford this stuff on her own. But she did remember Alyx mentioning one or two on occasion. Now, if only she could…

There. Her hard-knuckled index confirmed her pick of the Blue Lagoon. Hell if she knew what was in it. But Alyx liked it and that was good enough for her to try it. Pleased with her purchase, she put her arms up on the back-leans of the sofa she was seated on, wide-legged, and sank back into a slump. With another pull of the cigarette, she peered at Vin from across the table through the miasma of deep orange smoke.

“… Centauri Kick, Solar Wind, Parsec Leap…” he mumbled to himself, scrolling through the seemingly endless cocktail menu. “It just keeps going.”

“Gonna be honest, I’ve no idea what most of these even are,” he chuckled and gave up, swiping back to the top and pushing for a Derelict Drifter. “Might as well try a local specialty.”

“I guess this ain’t your type of locale either, huh,” Cass mused, slightly tilting her head and putting the cigarette in her mouth to free up her hand.

“Well, it pays to try something new once in a while.” Vin leaned back and more or less mirrored Cass’ position, sans cigarette. Without something to hold on to, he took to gesturing instead, waving a hand absent-mindedly through the air. “Experience something, y’know. I usually stick to more traditional drinks, though.”

“You want an experience? You signed up for one hell of one,” Cass’s voice came through the tangerine haze.

“You tell me,” he smiled from across the smoke. “Fifty-six times? Don’t think I can do that many.”

“I did more, but that’s just the ones I can officially prove. Can’t really say how many times I’ve been to that scrap hole.” Cass took another deep pull from her cigarette before wistfully adding: “I wish I could go elsewhere for once.”

“C’mon, you’re pulling my leg. I’ve heard the surface drives people crazy after a while.”

Vin came forward and leaned his elbows on the table, folding his hands before his face as he looked intently at her. A subtle smirk crept across his lips.

“You, on the other hand, seem…” he paused for effect, scratching his chin as he made a show of appearing to think it over, before continuing: “… mostly sane.”

“Tch,” Cass scoffed, putting her cigarette back into her hand and crossing her legs with an audible clank. “You don’t know shit about me.”

Maybe she was crazy. Maybe she was crazy before she got here. Or maybe Derelict and Herakles weren’t so different from each other. What did she know? Maybe the rumors were just bullshit. Or maybe she was just a freak. But if it was true, then she could only hope to be rid of her bonds before the insanity caught up with her. She would fight tooth and nail to ensure her efforts thus far had not been for naught.

“But I’m not here by choice. What about you? Why seek out this shit hole?” Another waft of sweetly-scented orange vapor drifted Vin’s way.

“Curiosity, I guess,” Vin shrugged and leaned back into the couch. “There’s a giant fucking alien machine ball out there and we’ve no idea what it is. Maybe it’s the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Maybe it’s Pandora’s box. But I want to know.”

“I can tell you what it is,” Cass claimed, leaning forward as well and putting her well-toned arms down on the table. “It’s a tomb. We go pokin’ around in it long enough, it’ll be ours too. Trust me, I’ve seen enough of the shit down there to know. Nothing good comes out of there.”

Cass visibly tensed up and quickly reached for her cigarette, taking a final, deep breath out of it before nonchalantly dropping it on the table.

“I just want my cash and get out of here,” she finished, reaching into one of the many utility pockets of her military pants. Moments later, her hand emerged with a fresh cigarette about to be snapped again.

“Can’t fault you for that,” he smiled half-heartedly. “Guess you’re saner than me.”

A brief pause broke out, and for a moment Vin’s eyes seemed to drift away from Cass to somewhere behind her. That familiar jovial smile crept back onto his face as his attention returned to her.

“But here we are. You, stuck here, and me, drawn here. Let’s live in the moment, eh? I think those are our drinks coming over there,” he pointed over Cass’ shoulder.

She glanced over her shoulder to see a compact flight drone gently descending towards their table. Using a small laser projector, it designated a square zone on the table’s surface as its desired landing spot. Recognizing that it was free of obstacles, the drone landed and detached its bottom portion – a tray and two glasses – before rising into the air again and returning to its nest.

The two of them eyed their beverages before Cass eventually reached for one. “I’m guessing this is mine,” she figured, reaching for a tall, narrow glass filled with a liquid mixture that appeared deep black near the top, but gradually transitioned into a slightly bioluminescent blue towards the bottom half. A hollowed-out cane of palestalk – a plant native to terraformed Mars – poked over the edge of the glass.

“Am I supposed to mix this? This is so weird,” she sighed, looking at her drink with a mixture of vehemence and uncertainty. She began stirring her drink with the palestalk, eyes narrowed in distrust.

Vin, meanwhile, reached for the only remaining drink – a curiously artful mug that appeared as if made from glued-together pieces of debris and glass, containing a clear liquid that bubbled and fizzed invitingly. With it came a small, still-sealed phial with no label and containing a deep red fluid.

“Don’t know about yours, but I think I’m supposed to,” he replied as he popped open the vial and poured the mystery fluid into his bubbling drink, where it sank slowly and settled in a layer of red at the bottom. Vin leaned into his mug and watched transfixed as the process unfolded.

“That’s fancy,” he said after a few moments. “The red stuff breaks down and rides the bubbles to the top for you to drink.”

“Kind of like how Derelict breaks you down before swallowing you,” he added with an oddly cheerful chuckle. “How’s yours?”

Cass seemed skeptical, sloshing around the faintly luminescent substance in her mouth. Eventually swallowing it, she commented: “It’s a lot stronger than I thought. Can’t believe Alyx drinks that kind of stuff. Bit sour though.” With a shrug, she took another sip in between a huff of the cigarette.

“Mhm,” Vin mouthed as he took a sip of his own drink, rolling it in his mouth for a few moments before swallowing. “Fizzy! Tastes bittersweet, with a touch of spiciness. The red stuff, maybe?”

He took another sip and sank back into the sofa, clearly enjoying the Drifter. “So, who’s Alyx?” he asked between sips. “Friend of yours?”

“Mh?” Cass looked up, seemingly caught by surprise. “Oh. Yeah, friend. We hang out. You came by yourself, I guess?” She shifted her legs a bit, metal scraping against plastic as she thought about her blue-haired ‘friend’.

“Hitched a ride with an old friend,” he replied, taking a sizable chug out of his mug. “Works on a freighter. He left, though, so I’m on my own now.”

“Better find some friends soon. The MOS isn’t kind to greenhorns or loners.” Hard eyes looked into Vin’s. Eyes that have seen kneecaps getting shattered and teeth being punched loose. Jaded but not wholly uncaring.

“Working on it as we speak,” he smiled and winked. “But seriously, I’ve only got myself to blame, I guess. Everyone else seems to be fine settling down. Me, I can’t bear staying in one place for too long.”

“You think you’re the only one?” Cass shot back at him, followed by a puff of deep orange smoke. “Plenty of folk with no home to call their own. I’m one of them.”

As if she was going back to Herakles after finishing up here in Maasym. Nothing there except graves to put flowers on. If there were any graves to speak of.

“Yeah, it’s just… Some times it feels like my friends are leaving me in the dust, y’know?” Vin slumped down on the table, running a finger across the rim of his glass. It was nearly empty already. “Meanwhile I’m running around in circles and going nowhere.”

“So you went to Derelict? Hell of an idea.” Cass exercised her sarcasms as she downed the last of her luminescent cocktail with little appreciation for its artistry. “Well, whatever you do, keep away from those cult loonies. They’re out to get people like you, rope them in with their bull shit.”

“Hmm,” he sighed and poured the remainder of his drink down his maw. He rested his chin in his mechanical palm, and his lips curled into a slight smile as he looked testingly at Cass. “Maybe I should join?”

“Don’t let me stop you,” she returned, leaning back and putting her heavily tattooed arm on the back rest. “But you should know that I gunned down one of those crazy fuckers earlier this week, and it wasn’t the first time. Can’t imagine it’s the last either.”

She finished her second cigarette with almost an air of accomplishment, blowing a deep amber billow of smoke into the smog-veiled ceiling. As if she was throwing him a gauntlet for a challenge, she flicked the emptied product towards him. The narrow cylinder rolled across the table and came to a halt not far from his Drifter.

“Eh? I read some things, but I didn’t take them for a violent bunch,” he replied and reached for the burnt-out cigarette with his left, pinching it between his metal thumb and index as he inspected her waste. With a casual flourish he spun it between his fingers, sending it dancing up and down his digits with inhuman precision before stopping between his index and middle. He held it there and looked at it for a moment, before flicking it unceremoniously into his empty glass.

“That how you got, y’know,” he tapped his left shoulder with his other hand, “that?

“They’re docile enough on the MOS but you better avoid them down on the surface. Kid was younger than me, never held a gun in his life. But he was out of his mind, spouting some shit about how we were defiling a sleeping god or some such.” Cass rubbed over the sore spot under her bandages, to remind herself that it still hurt. “Either way, he shot first and wasted his chance. I didn’t waste mine.”

As she flicked through the menu, looking for a standard beer to order, she thought back on her last expedition into Derelict. Mercury personnel had been busy tearing out what seemed like an entire mainframe from the wall, unceremoniously stuffing its bits into a transportation rig. Then, out of some lightless corner he jumped out; a lowlife dreg, wrapped in tatters and carrying little more than a rebreather to keep him alive. Infected sores stuck out from his greasy skin. He’d gone derelict. “No, stop!” he had yelled, “You’re hurting it!” Guns were pointed at each other, both parties on edge. Perhaps Cass had been too quick with moving forward. Perhaps she sounded too aggressive. Perhaps there was nothing at all that could have prevented the exchange of fire. Untrained, or maybe too nervous to fire accurately, the cultist had fired through her shoulder and as she fell, Cass returned the gesture and hit him squarely in the mouth. From the gauss-pattern gun she toted, that meant that the victim’s head was cleanly ripped off.

With a mild bleep, her order was acknowledged and the holo-menu retracted. “Well, fuck,” Vin blurted, awkwardly cupping his empty glass as he grasped for words. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t need your pity,” she absentmindedly waved her hand. “Pulling the trigger’s my job. But if you really want to do me a favor then keep your head straight and stay away from them. Wouldn’t wanna see you at the end of the barrel, now, would I?”

Against expectations, she cracked a faint smile before turning her gaze to the approaching delivery drone. “Tch,” she heard Vin go, “Don’t worry about me. I’m too wishy-washy to get swept up by crazy ideologies.”

Or so Vin would have liked to believe. Little could he know what dark wonders and obsessions Derelict had in store for him. At least it was true that he had a watchful warden in Cass, somebody who would not let him stray from the path and who, failing that, would not hesitate to put him down. Perhaps there was comfort even in that sobering thought. For now, the two of them celebrated their newfound purpose, blissfully ignorant of the trials ahead of them.

And down below, bathed in the crimson glow of Maasym’s star, Derelict murmured quietly under the ominous shadow of three gigantic battleships hovering above it like a tribunal of judges.
Vin exhaled in relief and felt his tension leave with the crowd; he’d passed, it seemed. He made a note of the other remainees – of course White-Hairs was still there – before looking down to study the file he’d received. Paper again, he observed, but this looked to be the cheaper synthetic kind. And at least it made sense for a hand-out like this.

He quickly flipped through each page and committed them to long-term memory, before returning to page one for a more thorough pass to give his meat computer a chance to catch up. Facilities looked good – seemed like he didn’t need to worry about finding a place to sleep. The lab, he wagered, would probably have access to some pretty noteworthy computing power, given Origin’s resources. It also looked like they’d have access to a lot of research made into Derelict, most of which tended to be locked behind paywalls and corporate veils. Juicy. He continued reading, vaguely aware of White-Hairs asking some question, but he paid her words little attention.

“Holy shit!” shouted Cass, before exclaiming her apparent willingness to do anything for that kind of salary. Vin formed a mental image of her step-dancing in a tutu and suppressed a chuckle. She didn’t seem the type. He flipped through the pages and looked up the salary as White-Hairs snapped at Cass; it really was good money, he thought and gave a quiet whistle. He’d have to celebrate later.

The woman was interrupted once more as a trio of humanoid robots marched into the room, lining up neatly and introducing themselves to “the ORIGIN-tagged MOS presence”, as the speaker succinctly labeled the interviewing duo. It referred to itself by the catchy moniker A10-2022A. More serial number than name, Vin noted as he imprinted the string into memory.

It seemed the trio were from MRS – Martian Robotics and Security? he ventured from fallible human memory, but his interface was quick to correct him. R is for Research, he repeated quietly to himself. He wasn’t too familiar with their A-series lineup, but did recall having run into an old A6 model on an asteroid mining installation a few years prior. Still looked more or less the same, but he reckoned most of the improvements were under the hood. No need to change a functional design, he supposed. Vin respected their utilitarian approach to aesthetics.

D’Agenais went on to address them, apparently deciding upon some esoteric nickname for the thing before introducing the team. As Vin’s name came up, he offered the machines a laid-back wave and a smile. Couldn’t hurt to be friendly; he’d heard personality prints were getting pretty advanced these days.

---

As they finished up and filtered out into the street, Vin stretched his arms and turned to the group. He was in a good mood, and not even his instinctual dislike for White-Hairs could bring him down. Hell, there was a chance she might not even be so bad, once he got to know her. More than her, however, he wanted to pick Cass’ brain. Fifty-six was a hard figure to swallow, but even if the actual number of expeditions was only a fraction of that he still wagered she’d have some stories to tell.

“Drinks, anyone?” he addressed the group in general. “That pay is worth celebrating.”
Vin was used to facing some prejudice for his augments, but the reactions of the crowd were stronger than he had expected. He’d assumed – falsely, it seemed – that a place like Derelict would be more accepting of the abnormal. He looked back and took stock of the crowd: some seemed indifferent, many were chattering among themselves, and a few were even staring at him with contempt. They could think whatever they wanted; his body, his choice. He refused to let it get to him. At the officer’s call, the clamor eventually died down, and he turned back to the interviewer.

“Professionally, or on a personal level?” Vin maintained a neutral tone, biding for time as he tried to discern where his prospective employer stood on the matter. The crowd’s opinion might mean little to him, but if this d’Agenais was a skeptic, he might need some convincing. The scientist’s eyes were focused squarely on Vin, but his expression remained professionally impartial. If he had a strong opinion, he was keeping it to himself.

“I’ve had no big problems with it that I wasn’t able to fix,” Vin opened tentatively, shuffling his feet. “I spent pretty much all of my savings on this thing. Didn’t want to cheap out with some half-assed junk.”

It was probably safest to keep to the practical aspects. The fewer opinions shared, the lower the chance he’d offend.

“It’s not too different from bringing a computer with you everywhere,” he continued, his nerves steadying as he began threading familiar ground. “Except my hands are free and I’ve got more fine control over what it’s doing. I think instead of tapping the screen or pressing the keys. And I see the results in my head instead of a display. It’s pretty convenient, really.”

He’d used the same simplified explanation dozens of times before, in bars and at parties and with prospective employers. He doubted they would understand – truly understand – just what it meant to have a neural augment, just how game changing it was. It wasn’t just like using a computer, but faster. It was like adding an entirely new layer of thought. There were plenty of tasks that computers could do millions of times faster than the human brain. Delegating those to a CPU let him spend his focus far more efficiently.

“Does wonders for your memory, too,” he added in a lighter tone, almost playfully. “Ever forgotten where you put your keys? Well, no more.”
Candidates came and went, Vin only halfway paying attention to their introductions. He’d been told the job was already his; why did he have to go through this charade? What if these recruiters had never been told? He was beginning to worry he might have slipped through some bureaucratic gap. It’d be a colossal waste if he’d come all the way out here and not get the job.

He was telling himself to calm down, assuring himself it’d all work out. He hadn’t really prepared, so he was trying to come up with something to say while the others were going through their introductions.

Something else kept stealing his attention, though: a white-haired woman in front of him, scribbling on a sheet of actual, physical paper. How old-fashioned, he rolled his eyes, wondering whether it was synthetic or real, actual cellulose. He doubted it was for a lack of means that she didn’t use digital; judging by her perfectly fitted clothes and carefully refined appearance, she struck him as someone wealthy. Stuck-up, too, given her attitude. She’d probably go all the way and use real paper just to show off.

Meanwhile, a rough-looking woman came up to speak. Vin thought he heard a faint mechanical whine as she lumbered past him. Some kind of leg augment? Those were rarely voluntary. She certainly looked like she’d lived a harsh life. A quick switch to thermal imaging showed her pants were leaving a colder footprint – heh – than the rest of her. Both legs, then?

She introduced herself, Vin only halfway paying attention. Herakles? He perked up at the mention. Might explain the legs; he certainly didn’t envy her that. Still, the name had stirred up old, unpleasant memories. But that was long ago, now. Rather not think about it.

He found his distraction when White-Hairs shook her head dismissively and began scribbling again. Her whole air was one of arrogance, and it made Vin irrationally angry. Her kind thought themselves above everyone else, and loved to remind those around them. What was she even doing here? Probably some out-of-touch misguided idealism. He hoped he wouldn’t have to work with her. Sadly, those with means often got their way, regardless of whether they were actually deserving of it.

“Vincent Marlowe!” His name was called next, the military-looking guy scanning the room before his eyes landed on Vin. He wondered how their list was sorted. Certainly not alphabetically, he thought.

“Here!” he chimed in, getting up from his seat and walking to the fore. He was still nervous, but he had at least some vague idea of what he wanted to say.

Deep breath. Calm down. Exhale.

He could wing it. That was, after all, more or less how he’d gotten through life so far.

“Vin Marlowe,” he introduced himself as he shook hands with the recruiters, wearing a smile more confidently than his internal state warranted. “Been following this thing since the start. Excited to finally be here.”

Bit stiff of an introduction, he thought, but it would do. He rested his hands behind his back and loosened up his stance.

“I’ve been tinkering with shi- ahem,” he cleared his throat, “things – for as long as I remember. Spent about three years in the OSF as a technician, did maintenance and fixing on their ships. After that I spent a few years studying comp science. Augmented intelligence, to be specific.”

“Bit of a passion of mine, that,” he digressed and tapped the back of his head, “even had a computer installed. Helps me out in all kinds of ways.”

His tongue was loosening up, and he felt more at ease. When it came down to it, this really wasn’t too different from telling some stranger at a bar about himself.

“Anyhow, as for how all that would translate to the mission, I’m pretty flexible. If it’s mechanical, chances are I can take it apart and put it back together again. Got a pretty good grasp on computer systems too, and I reckon I can figure out how to use whatever equipment you’re planning on bringing down there.”

“Can run aug maintenance as well, if needed.” He shot a quick glance back at the woman who went before him, trying to make it seem nonchalant. What was her name again? Cass. Just Cass, her voice echoed internally at his prompt. He turned back to the officer and continued: “Provided no surgery’s involved,” he shrugged. “Metal I can do; meat, not so much.”

“Details are in my file,” he dropped a datastick on the desk. “Any questions before I go?”
Cold. Wet.

He opened his eyes. Below, darkness consumed everything, concealed everything, stretching out into eternity. Above, faint tendrils of light played at the tips of his outstretched fingers, photons locked in futile struggle against dirt and algae and the murk below. He floated weightlessly on the precipice between the two, calm and unworried, marveling at the beauty of the interplay between light and dark until he felt his lungs quietly starting to beg for air. He kicked against gravity and drifted towards the light, breaching the surface with a gasp for air.

He wiped grime from his eyes and looked around. The stale waters were covered in a layer of green sludge, and its surface lay utterly still save for the ripples emanating from him. A thick sheet of fog blanketed the world around and he could not see far, but on one side he saw a steep clay bank jutting out.

It seemed… familiar, somehow. Like… home?

No. He had no home.

The cold had seemed bearable until now, but it was starting to seep into his body. He swam towards land, hoping to dry off and find warmth there. But the bank was too steep, too slippery; no matter where he tried, he could find no purchase in the wet clay, and he would slide helplessly back into the cold water.

As he floated there shivering, he felt something brush against his foot. He froze. What creature might lurk in that bottomless abyss? In a panicked burst of effort he once again attempted to claw his way out, but the clay did not avail. His arms gave out and he fell back into the water. He laughed to himself, teeth clattering. Freaking out over what was probably just a small fish.

Suddenly, he noticed a figure standing on the bank, just above him. It seemed to be clad in the fog itself, its features obscured by sheets of ephemeral grey. Had it just arrived, or had it been standing there all along, silently watching him struggle? Shivering, floating amidst the grime at the water’s edge, he reached towards the figure, silently begging it to help him up. Its hand moved, but hope turned to disappointment as it ignored his plea, holding instead its arm out towards the pond with a finger pointing down.

He stared, arm still outstretched. The figure stood unmoved by his plea, gesturing down with its pointed finger. He let his arm fall, and it splashed unceremoniously into the water. Did it want him to dive? Was there something down there? Or did it simply want to torment him?

He looked around, scanning the banks; they looked just as steep and slippery everywhere else. Only the mist-clad figure could help him get out. He made up his mind: humor the figure with a quick dive, see if he could find whatever it wanted down there, and get out. He steadied his breathing, let air fill his lungs, and took the plunge towards the depths.

The murk set upon him immediately. Particles of algae, mud, and grime hung thick in the stagnant waters, choking the light to a mere suggestion after just a couple of meters. He could still trace the bank, a wall of clay plunging straight into the abyss, but even that was becoming hard to see. Soon, light perished as darkness took its place; he could not even see his hands before his eyes, now.

Then, he felt it: something brushing against his leg. Then his side. Then another touch as something coiled around his arm. He tensed, and a shiver ran down his spine; fish did not move like this. Abandoning his objective, he brushed the thing away from his arm and turned back, rushing towards the surface. Even with nothing else visible, its light could still be seen, if only as a sheet of slightly less oppressive dark far above. But it quickly brightened as he ascended, and soon the dirty murk was replaced by a blanket of grey as he broke the surface.

He begged and pleaded with the figure, but it was deaf to his pleas. He attempted again to climb the bank, but got no further than before. He slid defeated back into the pool, panting, weariness starting to set in. The figure again motioned with a finger towards the bottom, indifferent to his plight.

Perhaps he had been close. Perhaps the things were harmless. He was still fine, after all. Just a little bit deeper. The figure would surely help him if he did as asked. He steadied himself once more, took a deep breath, and dove.

Murk quickly overtook the light, and darkness soon overtook the murk. As he descended he glanced behind him, his feet imprinting the faintest hint of an outline against the dim glow of the surface above. Soon even that faded, and he was left in complete darkness. Then, the things returned. At first they merely brushed playfully against his skin, and he pressed on despite the revulsion he felt. But as he descended they grew more numerous and aggressive, slithering along his body and snaking around his limbs. He shuddered, brushing them away with frenzied strokes, but for each one batted away another soon took its place.

He willed himself to calm down; he was wasting oxygen. Whatever they were, they had yet to hurt him. Perhaps they were a sign he was close; some kind of bottom feeder eating whatever sank down here from above, curiously nibbling away at flakes of his dead skin. The bottom couldn’t be far, now. He couldn’t see, but perhaps he’d be able to find…

Something… ?

The dark seemed somewhat less overbearing than before. A few more strokes, and his suspicions were confirmed – there really was light coming from below. But he could feel his breath expiring; if he did not head back to the surface, he feared he might not make it.

Just a little further.

The light grew clearer; warm and golden, unlike the cold grey light of the surface, it cut through the murk. Inviting him.

Just a little... more…

He could not go against his instincts any longer, and turned back towards the surface. Yet he felt something straining against him. The things! They coiled around his arms and legs, pulling down as he struggled to escape. He kicked and clawed, fighting desperately to free himself as his lungs screamed for air. Finally, their grip started to loosen; he was free! He swam as fast as he could, cutting through the shapeless dark with heavy strokes. Black gave way to brown, then grey as faint tendrils of light materialized above. He hurried, unsure he could keep himself from trying to breathe water much longer. Finally he breached the surface, heaving desperately for air without a care for the disgusting surface slime entering his mouth.

He railed at the figure as he again attempted to claw his way up the bank, spitting pond slime and curses between heaved breaths and clattering teeth. It simply waited impassively until he tired himself out, which did not take long. He fell back into the water and looked up in disbelief as the figure once more motioned wordlessly for him to dive.

It would have him go down there again? Have him drown? The last dive had sapped his energy, and he was struggling just to stay afloat, shivering weakly as the cold water slowly drained what little strength remained.

Even so…

His mind returned to that enchanting golden light. It beckoned him. He wanted to know the secret beneath the murk.

No. He needed to know.

Just moments ago he had fought desperately for his life, and now he was considering throwing it away for the unknown. But wasn’t that better than trying to cling to life up here and pleading in vain to be saved? He’d drown either way. And if that were the case, he’d rather know before the end. Hell, take it with him to the grave. Stifled laughter escaped his clattering teeth in short, pathetic bursts. His mind was made, and he threw his hand up in the air to give the figure the finger. Then, taking one last breath, he kicked off from the bank and fell backwards into his final plunge.

He cut through the murk, sparing no attention to the disappearing light above as he was swallowed once more by the abyss. His extremities were growing numb from the cold, but he ignored them and pressed on. He shuddered as the creatures fell upon him once more, toying with him as they slithered and coiled. With every stroke more of them flocked to him, and he knew that he would no longer have the strength to escape them; there was no returning now.

He had lost all feeling in his fingers and toes, and his lungs demanded breath, yet he held firm and pushed on. Soon it would reveal itself to him, that enthralling light, and everything would be fine, somehow. A few more strokes, and there it was! The black abyss opened up, allowing that faint, dim glow to shine through.

A little more! He ignored the things coiling around his limbs and swam, faint rays of light beginning to cut the impenetrable gloom.

Just a little further! He ignored his lungs’ desperate screams for air and swam, bewitched by the swelling glow.

Closer! More and more creatures flocked to him, wrapping around him, pulling him into the light’s loving embrace. Somehow they never entered his sight, only appearing as wriggling streaks of black at the edge of his vision. But he ignored them; he could not take his eyes off the light.

Almost there! He ignored his breath giving out, ignored the rush of water into his lungs as his body heaved for air it could not have. It glowed in front of him, radiant like the sun, so close he could almost make out its shape.

Just a little bit more…

It radiated warmth and comfort, soothing his wearied soul. Nothing mattered anymore; not the surface, not his fading consciousness, not his burning lungs, nor his life. He felt at peace. He reached out, so close he could almost touch it. But before he could grasp it, the light extinguished, the warmth faded…

And a cloud of perfect black enveloped everything.

---

Loud bangs of something against metal tore Vin back to reality – shivering, sweating, and gasping for air. He slowly steadied his breathing as a stream of diagnostics and data washed away the remnants of his dream, his neural interface jolting awake together with him. He looked about, bewildered; where was he?

> Maasym (λ Herculis)
> approaching 4e “Derelict”
> estimated time until arrival: 1h19m
> load star chart? (y/n)
> _


The information materialized within his mind, zeroes and ones metamorphosed into thought. He pushed it aside and focused on his surroundings.

Dim light. Stagnant air. Metallic walls. No windows. Right. He was aboard a freighter, lying on a stiff bed in a cramped room lined with steel-framed bunks.

“Hey, freeloader!” a voice boomed from outside as the banging repeated. The door was torn open, revealing a giant of a man leaning under the frame to peer inside. Vin’s left eye started feeding him a constant stream of information: name, contact data, estimated volume and mass, material composition… He blinked, willing it into standby. Too much noise. He opened his eyes again, looking at the man without the lens of his augments.

His name was Yang Min, an old friend. He was huge. Calling him a giant was an understatement; he towered. The man was over two meters tall and built like a battleship. Vin wondered how they’d ever found him a uniform that fit back in the navy.

“Get up!” Yang barked from the doorway. “Pack your stuff. ETA in one hour.”

“Hey, I’ve been helping out, you know,” Vin yawned as he sat up at the edge of the bed, playing hurt at Yang’s remark. Mechanical fingers massaged his scalp as he ran his left hand through his greasy hair. High time for a shower, but water was in short supply on board.

“Didn’t need your help. Would’ve been fine on my own.” Yang squeezed through the narrow door and stopped across from Vin, putting his hands to his hips and looking down disapprovingly. Mere centimeters kept his head from hitting the ceiling.

“Don’t say that.” Vin rested his arms on his knees, looking up with a cocky smile. “I’m a better mechanic than you.”

“Oh?” Yang loomed over Vin and crossed his arms, a smug smirk creeping across his face. “How come I’m the one with a real job, then?”

“Hey, I’ve got one,” he waved a hand dismissively. “Told you already.”

“Derelict, right?”

Vin nodded.

“I keep telling you, only crazies go there. Doesn’t count.”

“What can I say, a normal job’s not my thing. I’m a free spirit.”

“More like a vagrant,” Yang scoffed.

“Besides, you’re going there too,” he continued, ignoring his friend’s remark.

“Only to the Orbital. We leave again in two days.”

“Well,” Vin rose, coming face to chest with his friend, “plenty of time for a goodbye drink. My treat. What do you say?” He gave a playful jab to Yang’s stomach, who didn’t even react; his abs might as well have been steel.

“Better not regret it,” Yang smiled and gingerly returned the jab. It still almost knocked the air from Vin’s lungs. He smiled weakly back as Yang disappeared out the door, breathing in short, shallow bursts until he was sure he was in control.

“Psh, learn some self-control,” he muttered to himself as he sat back down on the bed. His smile faded as he looked down at his palms, his fleshy right contrasting sharply with his utilitarian mechanical left. He tried recalling the dream from earlier; it had long since faded into oblivion, but it had left him with a lingering sense of unease. He stared at the wall, imagining Derelict somewhere beyond with its desolate alloy surface glinting in Maasym’s light, and he couldn’t help but worry…

Was this really what he wanted?
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