My mediumweight armor plating is on, I have plenty of daylight, and my gear is set.
It's time. I'm going to search the salvage site.
I trade a nod with Quentin, who says, "Watch your back, kid."
"Hopefully Taser will watch it too. See you soon."
"Yep. See you soon."
As I near the airlock, Louis calls over, "You're headed out, matey?"
I nod, pinging Taser to come join up. Fully charged, she disconnects herself from the Regen Station and makes her way to us as I tell him, "I'm checking out the nearest scrapyard, savvy? This time, I won't be getting… died."
"Now you're just making fun of me."
"What? No way. I would never."
Taser whirs into place, circling me and chittering.
She's much happier on a full battery.
"That's right," I tell her. "We're going exploring."
"Hey, hold up!" Louis adds. "Side quest for you, matey! Find me some batteries, any kind, as many as you can, and I'll make it well worth your while! Five hundred XP!"
"Consider it done. I'm sure the biters will make a decent battery delivery service."
"Love the arrogance in that. Smooth sailing, me heartie."
I offer Louis a wave as I go, tightening my cube case's backpack straps and checking the magazine on my SMG. When the airlock depressurizes, I step out into the biting snow once again.
Immediately, I realize that the patches welded onto me aren't made of the same composition as the rest of me, because they get much colder much faster. My leg point in particular aches within seconds, and the patch under my ribs is a permanent stitch in my side.
I guess that's what I get for going out unprepared….
It's a clear day. No snowfall, just overcast gray clouds as far as I can see. Right before I pass the fringes of town, Henna calls out and jogs over.
"Hey! Glad I caught you! You're going to the nearest wreck, right?"
"Yes. I'll be back before sundown."
"Okay! Can you do me a favor while you're there?"
"Absolutely. What do you need?"
"There's a truck there that's kind of in a precarious position, nearly flipped over. It's awfully dangerous, but it could be holding something useful. Maybe your future tech processors can find a way to get inside that we haven't noticed. Can you take a look? Safely? Carefully? Without getting hurt? Pretty please?"
"Leave it to me. I'll find a way. Count on it."
"Thank you! You and Taser stay safe out there! Oh, wait!"
She suddenly embraces me. It catches me off guard and a second or two later she's lifting me off my leg points and up into her arms. I don't know what to do. I wasn't expecting this. My face is heating up again. My chest is fluttery. I don't understand it.
"Just be careful, Nep," she pleads. "Don't get hurt."
"I–I will try my best not to," I stammer, confused.
When she sets me down I'm left reeling. I don't even hear what she says as she departs, but she's smiling like always with a happy wave as she goes. It takes me a few seconds to gather myself and shrug off the odd disturbance to my emotional centers. These odd emotions I'm getting from Henna's and Zoya's kindness are yet another perplexing mystery. This doesn't happen when Quentin or Louis are nice to me.
It doesn't make sense.
Turning my back on Vintner Station for the second time, I brave the cold and head into the wastes of Cipher-3's freezing deadzone. Fresh wounds aching to remind me of my mistakes, Taser at my shoulder, gun in my hands, I keep my head on a swivel and my senses sharpened for anything trying to get the drop on me.
I will not be dying again, damn it.
I'm low to a snow bluff, peering over its edge.
Taser hums softly next to my ear as she looks too.
I don't see any motion and there's no sign of anything or anyone at the wreck site, but that doesn't mean it's clear. A few dilapidated trucks sit forgotten like industrial skeletons, their windshields long since smashed and their tires dry rotted, half buried in the snow at odd angles. There are a couple small structures that look ready to topple over. It all looks like it was once a military outpost of some kind turned into a junkyard, then left out in the snow for several decades.
I guess that's exactly what happened, isn't it?
With a long breath, I steel my will.
I'm not alone this time. I have a friend with me.
Trading a look with Taser, I nod, and she nods back.
"Tweet twoo."
"Tweet-twoo!"
I vault the bluff, landing gracefully on the other side. With Quentin's SMG at the ready I cautiously approach the junkyard, clearing the distance over the course of a few seconds. All is silent aside from the wind in my aching ears.
Taser hums along into the area unabated, indicator light glowing orange as she scans, so I follow her and start searching. A lot of it is obviously useless as anything but scrap metal. I pick a handful of pieces, cubing them up as I go. There's a big robotic machine lying on its front, a four armed one with its central wiring completely stripped and gone.
Like a person whose skin has been rendered hollow.
It makes me uneasy, but ultimately, it isn't dead in the same way a Frame would be. We're SIs. Sapient Intelligence. Fully complete, independent, and far more than capable of passing the Turing Test. These things, Machine Intelligences–or MIs–are nothing like us. They're rudimentary and mindless, operating purely on command script coding. And Taser is a Drone Intelligence, which is even more simplistic. Though she certainly has personality and can understand my vocal inputs, she isn't much more intelligent than a cat or a dog would be.
But she's a smart cat. My favorite cat.
Using my knife, I cut off some rubber from the tires, but it disintegrates in my hand. Nevermind. I collect some broken glass in a cube just because it might be useful to have. Same with any screws and nails I find loose and free for the taking. Even a rusty screw can be remade. Trim off the oxidation and there's clean metal underneath.
Suppose that's how it goes for most things.
Then I come across a metal steamer trunk. It's big. And it's locked, jammed up tight. I click my tongue and shake my head. Disappointing. To leave something so ripe for the picking behind just because of some basic lock. Readying my picks, I poke around inside the mechanism and then just wave rake it.
The lock gives and clicks open.
Flipping open the crate, I'm pleased to find its contents decently appealing. There's a container of odd plastic cards. My database search says they could contain Federation credits. Those can't hurt to have handy. Maybe. Cubing the whole card case, I keep looking. Some clothes long since rotten and a military uniform that suffered the same fate are tossed, though the latter gives me hope for a gun or two.
More toward the bottom are some interesting finds. A nice looking bottle of frozen wine calls to me, and I cube that up with enthusiasm. Not that I can drink it, but it could be a nice way of further showing my gratitude to the research team. I even find a chess set, a nice one, built from cold steel, and a deck of cards made of thin aluminum. Both Louis and Quentin strike me as the type to enjoy a good card game. I'll give them to Quentin. And Zoya would definitely enjoy thrashing people in chess.
Oh no. I'm distracted. Am I seriously gathering gifts? I guess I am. They've helped me plenty. I can reciprocate with this.
In any case, I do find a small caliber pistol tucked away inside the trunk, along with a good three magazines full of bullets. Unfortunately, it's a dinky little .32 caliber. Not exactly a cannon. Useless against anything but organics. I may end up trading or scrapping it, but having it handy could help too. Never know.
I keep digging around, no longer caring if I'm gathering gifts or not. Improving the team's disposition toward me could help with securing their continued cooperation. Besides, I don't have anything to give Louis or Henna yet.
That just won't do.
Then, to my great surprise, I find a set of very nice small tools for fine machine working. They're similar to the ones I have, but even better quality and bound in leather, and more fit for a human's hands than mine. There. I'll give those to Quentin, the cards to Louis, and yes, the chessboard to Zoya.
Markedly more pleased with my find, grinning at this chest that keeps on giving, I rifle through the last corners and pockets of its guts trying to find something suitable for a girl like Henna, but nothing stands out to me. That is, until I find a fist-sized length of paracord. It's perfect. Someone who works like Henna does could always use this stuff, it's indestructible.
With that done, I let the steamer fall shut and check my time. Still plenty to go. Now far less interested in the obvious junk scrap in front of me, I start scanning with more intent, looking for things that might have been overlooked. Not much stands out to me, but I get the sense that a lot is buried in the snow, and I'm not digging around aimlessly.
Nearby, I find the truck Henna mentioned.
"Tesla's coil, that is a precarious position…"
Like she said, it's flipped nearly upside down, tilted at a dangerous angle as it rests unsteadily on the wall of a crumbling cinderblock building. I suspect few minds would be inclined to risk that. I suspect I may be a touch more foolhardy and reckless than I'd like to think I am.
I suspect I can manage it.
Approaching the nerve-racking arrangement, I take a moment to make sure I'm not about to crawl into certain death. Based on my observations, I'd wager that as long as I don't touch anything that disturbs the truck's overall balance, it should be perfectly fine. That said, the fulcrum's location and the weight distribution prove my initial concern was uninformed.
I have a solid chance of doing this after all.
As I lower myself into the snow, Taser beeps a low, "Doot-doo…"
"Yes, I'm going to risk it. Henna asked me to."
She doesn't protest, so I begin my attempt.
In a slow, steady crawl, I venture forth, managing to get into the narrow gap between the truck and the building. I need to breach its chassis to get into it, but I'm contorted in an odd shape at the moment. Hissing curses, I realize just how fucking helpful an Energized Knife would be in cutting out an opening for me.
"If only I hadn't traded the Cylinder! Damn it!"
Going still, I think things through. Some way to get through metal. The only piercing utility I have on me are bullets and my leg points. But then I have no way to carve it open beyond that or my knife. No, I'm not getting into here like this. I need to rethink my strategy.
Crawling back out, I take another look. The rear end is buried in a snowbank, inaccessible. The cabin has no way of accessing the trunk. I'm either going through the roof or the floor, and I'm not sure which would be easier. There must be something around here that can help me, so I decide to scope out the wreckage once more.
Right then, I realize. "Oh, shit. How did I forget?"
Crawling back into place, I shimmy my way through and uncube some of the sulfuric acid canisters I got from the anklebiters I've killed. Using an awl from my handicraft toolkit, I pierce a canister's side, then let it spray across the truck's roof.
The sizzling hissing corrosion chews right through the brittle metal in a matter of moments, and I manage to avoid dripping any on my chassis or arms. Moving out of the way, I carve out the last corner of the square hole I'm making, then let it fall out next to me. Lastly, I toss the canister aside so it can regurgitate the rest of its contents into the snow instead of on me.
"Oh, I'm so good at this, Taser! All aces, seriously!"
"Tweet-twoo!"
I start to slither my way in but feel the wall shift behind me and freeze. Metal groans and snaps and pops. I think I can hear cracking concrete. I don't move a synthetic muscle.
Once it goes quiet, I test my movement once more.
The truck's weight gives.
I scream as it falls, noise erupting around me as it rolls and takes out the pathetic wall it was propped up against. My eyes jam shut as I bite my tongue and hold my breath, wondering if I'm dead once again.
For a long time, I wait. I don't think I got… died.
Peeking an eye open, I find myself inside the upside down truck. I was positioned right there in the hole I cut out. Instead of me crawling in, the thing swallowed me.
"Okay! Okay, that works! Aced it! I'm okay, Taser!"
"Doot-dot-doooot!"
Deciding this is the best possible outcome for what was by all accounts an utter fucking disaster, I put that experience behind me. Rolling onto my front and standing up, I have to stoop halfway over because I'm too tall to be in here. Switching my optics to infrared, I take a look around.
Big wooden crates. Untouched, by the look of it. I nod to myself, trying to read their labels, but the printed paper is essentially nonexistent by now. With no real way to know what's in them or how to get them open, I find myself stumped once again, but then it occurs to me.
"So many problems," I mutter to myself, uncubing another, "can all be solved with a pocket full of strong acid."
I make sure to keep one canister aside for my escape from the trunk, but the other three are put to good use biting a way through one of the crates. Once I can pry off the face, I at last get a look at the contents, and I'm again well pleased with my work.
Nonperishables and preserved food rations. Enough to feed a full outpost of military personnel. These aren't cheap MREs either. Once I scan the shipping manifest data I uncover that they were actually planning to host a number of Federation officers in the weeks leading up to Cipher-3's abandonment.
This is good food. Not rations.
I can't possibly manage the weight of all this, so I cube up a twenty kilo box of legitimate pork brisket and beef steaks, then another of frozen vegetables and potatoes. Looks like the research team's dinner is on me. I'm even bringing wine. Slotting the cubes in their places inside my backpack, I melt my way out of here and back into the snow.
Taser pings me, light flashing red. "Alarm! Alarm! Alarm!"
I tighten my backpack straps and ready the bullpup. I think we have biters inbound. Watching them gather, I ready up.
"Come and get it, you little fuckers."