While Taser is charging, I pay my visit to Quentin in his workshop.
It's a crowded, messy space on the opposite side of the Station's front door from Louis's logistics area. Dilapidated, half intact machinery is scattered about the cluttered area, with a large engine dangling on chains from an overhanging crisscross of steel beams. A few plain robotic Machine Intelligence corpses and stripped chassis lay inert on benches and racks, and on the back wall hangs just about every tool I imagine humans possess in their arsenal.
Quentin notices me enter and takes off his reading glasses, setting the tablet aside. "Alright, kid, c'mon over here. Lemme show you something."
He leads me to a bench by the back wall. Just next to it is a very large machine about my height but twice my wingspan wide, with holographic displays on different parts and pieces of it, an interface I don't recognize and can't make sense of, and an automated workbench.
He slaps the top of it a few times. "This here's the most important machine there is. This is the foundry. It's a fabricator–It makes shit that we otherwise wouldn't have. You've got 3D printing, injection mold metalworking, circuitry writing, plastics, polymers, fabrics, all kinds of shit passes through this."
"Oh. Where does it get the resources to do all this?"
"That's where the salvage comes in. You load scrap in, she breaks it down to base components, sorts and stores them, then they're available for use in whatever you plan to build."
"Ah. This is the meat grinder Zenith was referring to."
"Yup! Say I need some screws. Toss in a chunk off an anklebiter corpse, the foundry will convert the aluminum, zinc, and steel in it to a handful of screws."
I'm fucking fascinated. "That's remarkable."
"You get it," he whispers, nodding sagely. "Nobody round here does. Thought never crosses their mind how amazing this tech is. But you see it. I'm glad you do."
"I absolutely do. Can I use it?"
"Hell yeah you can use it. So long as I'm not. The build times vary depending on what's being produced, but you just let me know what and when and we'll work something out."
"Hell yeah we will. What else can it make?"
"Ahh, I mostly put her to work on nails, screws, nuts, bolts, washers, bullets, gunpowder, brass casings, data chips, wiring, small electronics components, simple stuff like that. Then again, she's got some power and genius to her. I'm sure if you find proper blueprints she could produce some serious works of tech wonder. Provided you bring in the materials."
I stare in wonder at this marvel. "How can I manage bringing in the materials? By hand?"
"Glad you asked. Can't exactly go net up every biter you kill, right? That's why we have these."
He hands me a thick metal case of lightweight titanium, then a sort of harness to it for easy carrying, like a backpack. Opening the case, he shows me the foam interior lined with glassy cyan cubes, maybe nine centimeters wide.
"Density compressors," he tells me. "Something too big for your hands? Don't wanna lug that huge rifle around? Use one of these. Won't change the weight of any of it, but it'll sure as hell make it all easier to carry. Pass me that handgun of yours."
I give him my pistol and watch in wonder as he taps the corner of the cube to it. The material of the pistol shrinks and changes shape, filling the cube with black gunmetal. When he tosses it to me, I can't help grinning.
"This is incredible," I whisper, holding it up to the light. "Perfect. I'll make full use of it."
"All yours. This case has about thirty of those, but there's room for more. Foundry can make them. So, yeah, collect your kills in those, bring them back, turn them into stuff you need. I can run you through the production process once you have some material to work with."
I take off the sulfuric acid canisters magnetized to my hip, then store all five of them in one cube. "Oh."
"Yep. They have a specific volume capacity. You can fit a bunch of little shit in one cube, or one big thing."
"How… How do I get my pistol out of here?"
"Click the top."
When I do that the firearm reforms in my hand. "Hell yeah."
"I'm saying, kid! Alright, that's that, let's talk about your guns and armor. Drop them over here."
I do as I'm told, unloading my pistol before setting it on another nearby bench. This one seems to be geared specifically for firearms maintenance.
Quentin explains, "The foundry can make bullet cartridges. It has blueprints for most standard calibers. This workbench here is geared for weapon maintenance. Whatever you need, it's right here."
"Do you think there are firearms out there somewhere? My rifle is a single shot breech load. It's… unfortunately rudimentary."
"Yeah, but take one look at it and tell me that thing wouldn't punch a hole through a big motherfucker. There are definitely guns out there, but you're not likely to find any that are usable up on the surface. Now, we've found documents mentioning a bunch of military bunkers built all around Cipher. There's certain to be plenty of legit military hardware down there, shielded from the elements. Much more dangerous than the scrapyards though."
"Noted. I'll start with scavenging the surface."
"There you go. As for your armor," he begins, then hesitates. "Don't know how else to put this. It's shit. I dunno who geared you with that, but it's done for. You would gain nothing going out there wearing it at this point, so I already scrapped it. What you need is the everlasting greatest-of-all-time: titanium. When you go search the wreck, do your absolute best to find some of that. Now, I'm gonna spot you some simple steel composite we have to spare so you're not left with nothing, but you'll have to wait a few hours for the–"
He stops there and walks over to the foundry, tapping a few selections on its screen to make the automated workbench start operating, then he comes back over.
"Four hours for the fabrication to complete."
"You forgot to start it."
"I forgot to start it."
"It happens. Then I'll occupy the time by continuing my investigation here. Thank you, Quentin."
"Yup. Gladly. I'd hate to see you go out there with nothing to protect you. And on that note, you've gotta start using that Technomancy. They'll save your fucking life, kid. Ask Louis about all that. How's your ammo count?"
"Five for my rifle, only six left for my pistol."
"Nine millimeter?"
"Yes, sir."
"Got a few, but not enough. Here." He checks a drawer and counts out six more bullets as he hands them to me. "But like I said, you get the materials, the foundry can make more."
"Hell yeah, Quentin. More guns and more bullets. I'm eager to get started."
"As am I. I'm curious to see what you'll find out there. Just make sure you don't go getting dead over it, kid. I… I'd really hate to see it keep happening."
"I'll be more careful. You have my word."
"Good. That's all I have for you right now. No! That ain't true! Almost fucking forgot. I do have another gun. Here." He picks up a weapon off a nearby tabletop, tenderly handing it over to me. "My old SMG. Seven-seven-six caliber, bullpup, extended mag, but I only have the one. Please, take it. I don't use it anymore–I hardly leave the station at all. I just hope it's enough to help. I really do."
"I accept, then. Thank you, Quentin. I sincerely appreciate all the help you're giving me."
"Don't mention it. You're…" He trails off, frowning in thought. There's a brief moment where he almost looks sorrowful. "You're something, alright."
I don't know how to begin addressing it, so I don't. "With that done, I'd like to question you for a moment in regards to Cipher-3, the Station, your role, how you ended up here, and so on. Do you have the time?"
"Well, nothing's on fire, so yeah, I've got a second." Leaning against one of the many workbenches, he crosses his arms and sighs. "Where to start?"
"Confirmation and corroboration first. The purpose of the team's presence here on Cipher-3 is to monitor the atmospheric conditions with the intention of prospecting for enough stability to mine for tellurium deposits beneath the ice, then pass the results to the highest bidder. Correct?"
"Yup. That's correct. That's the overarching goal of Vintner Station. To add to that though, there's a little more variation to the personal reasonings for each of us being here. It only follows, you know? There'd have to be some potent factors that would convince a person that this is the place to be. Hell, I'm not even convinced half the time…"
I hadn't asked for that information. It seems useful indeed. "Please, continue. You're referring to Louis's circumstances, no?"
"Yup, he's got his reasons. Sounds like you know them already. But in that same vein, Zoya and I both have ours. I'll leave it to her if she wants to explain her reasons for herself. For me, well…" He scratches the scruff on his face, looking elsewhere. "I've got nowhere else to be. There isn't much left to the life of Quentin Rhodes out elsewhere in the galaxy. A lot fell apart over the years. A lot was dismantled by my own actions too. So when Zoya asked me to join her here… Well, I felt like I had a purpose again. Now, here I am. In the best place I could possibly be right now. This frozen Hell."
I nod, choosing my words with caution. And surprisingly, with care. "I've been loosely informed of the difficulty you've faced with addiction."
"And that's why I've got nothing left," he sighs, but then grins. "Believe it or not though, I kinda like where I've ended up. Every day on Cipher-3 is brutality defined, but to me, that's a challenge. Like climbing a mountain, but the mountain itself actively wants you dead. You could either fold… or keep raising the bet. I choose the latter. It's only natural to falter when the going gets rough, but to my mind, I have no choice but to keep going. And besides, I have four people here counting on me. Five now. Like I said, I have a purpose again, and I have every intention to see it through to the end. If not for me, then for everyone else."
My respect for Quentin grows, and I imprint much of this not only into my investigation notes, but into my own mindscape as well. "I'm impressed with your tenacity. It can't be easy to maintain morale or conviction here."
"No. No, it is not. But there really isn't any choice besides pushing on. This is it for me, you know? It's all I have, and I'm not letting go. Not for any reason. So… That keeps me going. That's why I'm here. That's why I'm staying here."
"You've garnered my respect, Quentin. I get the feeling you and I are a lot alike. Even with my near catastrophic failure, I am far from deterred. And now hearing your words, I've found even more conviction in my own intentions."
"I'm glad to hear it, kid," he says with a smile he tries to hide.
I pause for a moment, letting that settle before changing topics. "You mentioned that Zoya asked you to come here. How did you two know each other before this?"
"Not to get too much into her business, but she's an avid field researcher and always has been. In the past, she was under the employ of various scientific enterprises, and I wound up working maintenance and repairs for her lab by chance. That's how we met. We weren't half as personable then as we are now, but I've worked with her in the same capacity as this on a few other projects. So when this one came around, she knew just who to hire for maintenance personnel."
"I see. I hope you can forgive the intrusion and insensitivity, but I have to ask. When was your period of active addiction, and when did you choose sobriety?"
"No worries. I don't mind at all. To put it in context, I'm sixty two years old. I'd been drinking since I was maybe fifteen. When I was young and dumb, I dabbled with some serious drugs. Somewhere around my mid twenties I gave those up, but I never could part with the bottle. Only seven years ago did I manage to quit. Not a drop since."
"That merits recognition. I have no frame of reference, but it sounds arduous."
"Hell, around here? Not really. There's a lot of stress to the job, but there is no possible chance I could do it inebriated. And besides, if I fuck up, this whole thing collapses, and I can't do that to Zoya. So, more than for my own sake, it's hers that helps keep me going."
"You two sound close."
"There's a deep respect between us, both professionally and personally. I'm just the grease monkey slinging the wrench. It's her vision that I sling that wrench for."
"Hm. Her vision being?"
"The pursuit of knowledge and understanding. She's an investigator at heart. Just like you are, kid. Only instead of criminal fugitives, she investigates the natural world. Er. Worlds. You get what I'm saying."
"I do. These are important details, and certainly things to bring up with her directly. It seems I'll be conducting a second interview with Zoya at some point. That's enough of the personal questions, for now. Thank you, Quentin. I'm grateful to have gotten to know you some more. I think we'll get along."
"Hell, I think so too, kid. We'll keep pushing. Side by side."
"I'd like that. Moving on, I'd like to discuss a few things in particular. First, the Reclaimer Beacon. Zenith and Henna said none of you have any clue what it is or what it does. Is that true?"
"Yep." There's a dark look that passes over his face. "Zenith has been poking around Cipher-3 for some time now, looking into the bunkers and old military bases, digging for information on this place as a whole, and especially that thing. It's… one of the many mysteries to this place. All we know is the name. Why it was built and what it does is anyone's guess."
"I see. And what is your guess, Q?"
"Oh. Mine is that it's an extremely powerful signal relay to broadcast to the rest of the galaxy in case of emergencies. You know, the terraforming, the mining colony, the settlements–just by nature of how fucking far we are on the edge of the galaxy, there'd have to be some way to call for help. And… You know. Reclaimer Beacon. Broadcasts a signal that those in distress need to be reclaimed. Evacuated, maybe."
"Quite the mystery," I mutter with a frown, taking note of that. "Understood. Zenith also mentioned something called the Leviathan Entities?"
"Ask Zoya about those. She knows better than I do."
"Okay. I will. Now, about that VLF signal…"
"Right, right. Uh. Come over here." He leads me to a collection of instruments tucked away in the corner of the space, with a microphone and a headset on a desk in front of some machines. "This is the signal center. Nothing too special. From here, we broadcast the locational beacon that you followed."
"So you can find your way back."
"Yup. That's one part of it. The other is for long range and especially extreme weather comms. Blizzards come through all the time, and if someone happens to be out there, our normal higher frequency connections would be wrecked by the interference. Twenty five kilohertz and one sixty megahertz. Save those."
"Saved those. Thank you."
"Course," he sighs, then drops into the rolling chair at the desk and fiddles with a few of the machines. "Now, in regards to your mystery signal… There it is." As he turns the dial on the receiver, the static evens out into an endless low pitched drone. Turning the volume down, he goes on, "Not a single clue what's sending it."
I watch the machine's display as the slow sine wave slides by.
"What I can tell you though is that it's a serious distance away, across the crater basin and then some. Approximately one fifty to two hundred kilometers. Not somewhere you're gonna make it to with any sort of ease, if you intend to investigate."
I'm still captivated by the sine wave and the steady droning buzz. "Yet another Cipher-3 mystery. Can you guess at its source?"
"Guess? Sure. First that comes to mind is some military hardware gone haywire. Maybe a transmitter out there at one of the bases that got knocked just right by some drones or something. Remember, their repair protocols are still active and running, so if this signal was supposed to be broadcasting back in the day for whatever reason, it could just be that the MIs or DIs have returned it to an operational state for no real reason than because that's what they're programmed to do. No way to know besides going there."
"Hm. That's certainly a compelling thought. Still, it's the only thing I have to go off of beyond the area around the Station, so I think I would like to investigate it sometime in the future. Maybe that's the distant objective. I'll have to execute significant preparations before I even dare to set out for it."
"Uh, yeah, don't–don't go running off toward it. Terrible idea."
"I have to agree. Alright, Quentin. That's all I have to ask of you, but I appreciate your time and thorough explanations. You've been not only a great help to my investigation, but to me as well. I don't take that lightly."
"Hey, no worries," he chuckles, standing back up. "Just happy to help. You need anything else, you know where to find me, kid. Seriously, don't hesitate."
"I won't. Thank you. And thank you again for Taser. I'll be seeing you soon, I hope."
"I hope so too, kid. Take care of yourself out there."
With a final nod, I walk away.
Cubing my rifle with the odd density compressor, I pick up and familiarize myself with the minimal weight of the bullpup. Limited ammunition. The foundry could make more. With only one magazine though, the operation of the weapon is limited. Maybe the foundry can make more magazines too? Can the foundry build guns too?
Magnetizing the SMG to my hip on the right, I load my pistol's magazine with the cartridges Quentin gave me then magnetize it to my left. I'm all set for firepower. Now I need to look into Technomancy.
Quentin is a good man. I like him. Maybe we could even be friends. Heading toward Louis's workstation, I ready myself for more of his antics.
I call out ahead. "Avast."
He shouts back. "Avast!"
And now I go a-plundering.