One man’s finale is another man’s beginning
1777 Du-e 5 years ago
Maria shot a last, hopeful glance at her dataslate, verifying for the hundredth time that indeed the last bit of hush money hadn’t arrived. She cursed under her breath while putting the device away and limped resolutely into the SlapChopShop. It had been months since her last visit, when she was poisoned and swindled out of her own Anaconda by that Tohaa. The money the Kiiutan gave her since then, framed as a payment for borrowing her identity, had been enough to cover for the medical bills and the alimony payments, but, most notably, kept Maria on her toes, always aware that the aliens hadn’t forgotten about her, that she should not try to get her TAG back, unless she wanted them to pay a visit to her son.
Out of a job, out of sorts, and out of options, she dared hope that the stoppage of payments meant she could get her gear back.
SlapChopShop had changed a lot since her last visit: the whole waiting area had been torn open, together with a large chunk of rock from the cave’s side, to increase the available workspace. The whole place was boiling over with scraps, technicians, half destroyed starships, monstruckers, and scrap metal of all shapes and sizes, all brought in by the diligent work of the scrap-boys, entrepreneurial youths with a knack for logistics and a skillset built around following the Steindrage and living to tell the tale.
She sat on the waiting bench near the entrance, next to a glassteel piece of backyard garbage that kinda looked like a coffee table. She massaged her cramping leg, still not completely healed from the pheroware, and took a good look around, asking to herself “if I were a two-faced Tohaa bastard, where would I be?”
Between the lights of the welders, the Tachiforklifts hauling TAG parts, and workers coming and going in all directions, finding a single person was akin to finding the proverbial needle in a Whole Protein warehouse, even more so for an impersonator. Maria’s attention fell on a TAG head module, a pink Ramhead assembly, freshly installed on an hollowed-out Rockbreaker chassis, then on an Engineer trying on an augmentic tail, then to a scraggy looking man in a white jumpsuit who was arguing with a large Caledonian over a pile of singed metal, then on a couple of scrap-boys running in the shop pushing a cartful of visored helmets, then on a girthy woman dressed like a posh office lady screaming on the top of her lungs at a slanted man wearing the pinkest Hawaiian shirt on this side of the Human Edge, an then again on the scraggy man and the Caledonian.
The two had stopped arguing and had started to work on the pile of damaged goods in front of them, which looked like it used to be a racing pod, before meeting the now notorious Dragon of Dewey. One particular detail had caught her attention: the smaller man was wearing a white jumpsuit, identical to the one the Kiiutan D.Bob wore when he paralyzed and robbed her.
She slowly stood up, making sure her pistol was well hidden but easily within reach, and approached the two men, hiding her limp as best she could. Getting closer, she listened in and heard them chatting: the Caledonian man was lamenting tremendous monetary losses after the FZX debacle, all of his BitCreds apparently disappearing faster than spit on a stove.
She cut off what would’ve been the white jumpsuit’s response by assertively placing her work-booted foot on the pile of scrap they were working on. “Hi, Bob” she spat with all the bravado she could muster “I hope it’s not my TAG you’re cannibalizing right here”
Hallken looked at her as if he saw a ghost, almost let go of the blowtorch, but managed to answer “How the hell do you know my middle name and why the other hell are you alive, and here?”
The Caledonian man said nothing, but took a very specific body position while pretending to mind his own business.
“What? Why – Alive?” asked Maria, losing her tough girl facade for a second “Are you threatening me again?”
“Me threatening you?” Hallken raised both hands in a gesture of confusion “Did they regrow your head wrong, Bob?”
“I’m not Bob, you are Bob”
“Yeah, as in Peter Robert Jeter Hallken” recited the ex-O-12 investigator tapping meaningfully at the nametag on his jumpsuit “And I’m supposed to call you D.Bob”
“The hell you talking about”
“Kii’wa definitely insisted on that”
“Who’s Kiwi?”
“Hm” said Hallken, his eyes focusing intently “You are not D.Bob” he concluded “You’re actually completely different. More… realistic”
“What are you even talkin…” Maria stuttered, catching on what Hallken had just said “You know D.Bob. I’m looking for him, actually”
“Him?” interjected Alec McLoud, the Caledonian, nudging his friend with his elbow “wasn’t she a she? and an impressive one at that?”
“Yeah, yeah, Impressive” conceded P.B.J. Hallken, turning his attention back to the wreckage, so he could stop noticing how many details of Maria’s appearance the Kiiutan had stolen “I can’t help you, lady” he concluded
“Well maybe I… can help you” she proposed “I need the Kiiutan to get my Anaconda back. With that, you’d have a real TAG in your corner, for whatever job you are building this mess for” She gestured vaguely at the pile of randomware around them
Peter raised a single eyebrow, exchanging a quick but meaningful glance with Alec. “Anaconda?” he asked her
“You bet. Been my trade for ten years, you won’t find a better pilot for the green clunkers this side of the Edge”
“Lets say, hypothetically” interjected Alec “That we found various wrecked Anacondas where the Tohaa base camp used to be, before they all vanished…”
“Found?” interrupted Maria pointedly “Various? WreCkED?? VANISHED??!”
Hallken took the chance at Maria’s moment of shock to take a very good look at her, a professional one, finding her much more human than her Tohaa doppleganger, and much easier to read. “I do like your proposal” he exclaimed, grabbing her attention with a short clap “We don’t know about your Anaconda, but we can put one together for you. All you have to do is come with us to where the wreckages are, work with us a couple hours, then pilot your new TAG right back here, out of the Steindrage’s territory, yourself.”
Maria took a moment to process Peter’s words “I… TAG…Steindrage? How am I supposed to outrun that thing with an Anaconda?”
“Upgrades, of course” smiled Hallken, knocking twice on the singed fuselage of what used to be GoGo Marlene’s ship.
1777 Du-e – Now
First comes sound. They are many, weak and wet. A trickling of water, a dripping of molasses, a quiet snapping of bones popping.
Then comes the feeling of touch. My body is heavy and sluggish, my joints pop at each movement, my skin is pressed againist the sensations of soft, cold, sticky.
I shudder and breathe in. The stale air burns and stings down my throat. I gag and cough, but nothing comes out, only more pain.
After a while I can breathe normally, I find myself standing up, without knowing when or how I ever rose to my feet, and I open my eyes to the darkness around me.
I am alone.
I remember nothing.
The cave is large and deep, a diaphanous corridor of waxlike rock, barely visible in the dim luminescence of the giant fungi. They are as tall as I am, thick and fibrous, constantly dripping a thick luminescent liquid. In the pale blue light I can see movement, many little creatures scuttling around the moist floor with fleshy sounds, dragging pathetically thin legs behind their misshapen bulbous form, reminiscent of a duck’s shape.
Yes, yes, I remember, they are called… Cave-Ducks.
I kick one away, then another. They keep swarming towards me and pressing against my boots, Hell knows why. They are disgusting.
I look at my boots, they might be blue, or it might be the light. The trousers, the jacket. I see metallic inlays, a patch. I remember. I am an Officer.
My head hurts whenever I try to recall anything, but I soldier through it. I am on a mission, I have to… investigate… some kind of animal. I glance at the cave ducks, ever advancing towards my ankles, and kick another one. I wasn’t supposed to investigate those, no.
I remember my name. I’m Terrance, and I’m not supposed to eat the riot-foam.
I kick yet another cave duck away, cursing at their pale skinlike color and their wobbling gait. I’d rather just… be somewhere else.
Towards my left the cave inclines upwards and away from the small creatures, away from the giant fungi, away from the blue light.
After a bend, I come across a reddish brown pipe, the end of a sewage-type line, dark, warm liquid trickling out it’s end and into the cave’s floor. The pungent chemical smell is almost welcoming. I reach towards the pipe, savoring the feeling of rusty metal under my fingertips, gritty and solid, a stark contrast with the smooth, slippery rocks. Keeping my hand on the pipe, I venture into the darkness towards civilization, congratulating myself for my good instincts. I’m sure I’m a great Officer, even if I don’t remember right now.
It only takes a few steps before I’m fully out of the fungi’s cave, into the darkness. My eyes can’t see but the solid feeling of the lukewarm metal under my palm reassures me. It’s like an intruder, a cancerous growth over the slick rock, an alien here. Like me. It will bring me home.
The walk is long and uphill, the silence is broken only by the sounds of my steps, my breath, and the gentle wet slaps of cave ducks, still following me. Why are they so determined? What do they want? they don’t eat flesh, don’t they?
I don’t dwell much on that thought: I’m distracted by a light. Cold, artificial, impersonal. Home. I pick my pace up, eager to remember what home looks like. I can clearly see the exit now, a bright passageway of pure light in front of me, it’s so close. I don’t hear the cave ducks behind me anymore, only the sounds of people, somewhere out there. Feet on nanosteel mesh, voices snapping orders through megaphones, shouts, chanting.
I peek cautiously outside, hoping to find the sky, but all I see is more cave. This one is enormous, the ceiling so high it fades into a vanishing point, the shape of the vertical tunnel gradually turning square in the distance.
Neon lights cover it almost entirely, in a dedalus of suspended bridges, ramshackle huts, patches of giant luminescent fungi, dour industrial pipeworks, and sharp factory buildings. It feels like a gigantic favela grew around a small industrial city, then both got rolled up together and upon themselves, like a crumpled piece of nu-paper.
I feel names resurface from the fog in the back of my mind. Dewey. Shaft 34/b.
The pipe I followed here snakes along my right side, towards a massive warehouse, half embedded in the rock. Bundles of other pipes come out of it in all directions, falling into a myriad of smaller corridors and passageways all around it, making it look like the structure is holding onto the cave’s side with thousands of thin, orderly threads, sinking into wild patches of giant fungi.
At the building’s main entrance, under an holoprojected Whole Protein logo, three REMotes in single file are stopping a motley crew of protestors, almost a mob, from entering. I can’t quite catch what they are chanting, my Yujingyu is a bit rusty, but judging from the signs they are holding, they are protesting some kind of abuse perpetrated on cave ducks. I can’t help but scoff at their misplaced empathy.
Behind the REMotes, inside the facility’s main courtyard, I can see soldiers, possibly mercenaries by their looks. One of them is operating the REMotes’ loudspeakers, broadcasting warnings to the crowd outside.
I quickly move to my left, away from that mess. When I hear the sound of glass breaking and gunshots, I’m already at the elevator hub, safe. Let them eat riot-foam for the sake of cave ducks.
I catch myself expecting to hear some kind of warning about how I worded this last sentiment to myself, and I wonder what was I expecting exactly. I reach to the back of my head, expecting to feel the jack-in slot, but I can only find smooth skin.
I must’ve misremembered.
I enter the transparent elevator and continue my ascent through shaft 34/b. People seem to be avoiding me, possibly because of the fungal excretions I’m covered in. I’m not complaining about having an elevator all for myself.
The ride is rather long and I have time to catch my breath, shake off as much fungal goo as I can, and fail to remember anything else significant. I feel like I should worry about this amnesia, so I decide to get distracted instead, watching the curved holoscreen at the back of the elevator. I’m met with the artificially bright smile of a sharply dressed journalist with perfectly tanned skin and an UwU pin on his purple lapel, who is standing next to an Exrah representative that looks like it’s been told to dress sharply and misunderstood the assignment to a literal extent. Both of them are posturing in front of the FZX Arena, which looks almost unrecognizable now that an EI ship has landed on top of it. A long line of people in various states of dishevelment can be seen behind them, queueing to enter.
The two have just finished talking to each other and are now getting to the part where they say the slogan, the warm baritone of the human and the alien’s clicking throat-sound merging in beautiful cacophony: “Come to the Rig of Protection, where Aid is not just humane” [brief pause] “It’s Humanitarian”
The Journo and the Exrah strike a pose, back to back, and the screen fills up with Yujingyu ideograms. I can’t quite understand them all, but the gist of the message seems to be that eating Giant Fungi and Cave ducks is a health hazard for humans, and the EI is offering treatments for affected victims.
The thought of eating a Cave Duck is enough to make me feel cold sweat and nausea, but the holoscreen mercifully flips to the next commercial.
Bright lights and upbeat music slap me back from nausea into monitor-induced apathy, while I watch the Whole Protein logo dance in a whirlwind of animated quasi-anthropomorphic pre-packaged protein bars. The logo gets pushed off screen by a pretty young lady with long twin ponytails, who then proceeds to turn towards me and greet me with excessive enthusiasm. “HYIA!!” she squeaks “I’m GoGo Marlene and I’m Staaaarving! SIGH, I have been starving before, and I know EEEEExactly what I need!” She grabs a comically large protein bar from offscreen and gives it a comically small nibble, showing a disgusted face for the fraction of a fraction of a second, which I catch thanks to my keen sense of observation, sharpened by years of service in Bureau Aegis. “YUM YUM” she exclaims, overacting to perfection “They’re even yummier like this!”
The subtitle says: CaveDuckbars, all of the nutrition, none of the hassle! Only 7,99 Yuan*
Nausea hits me like a punch, the memory of the writhing mass of cave ducks following me in the darkness clashing with the idea of eating one of those faceless fleshy maggots. My stomach, painfully trying to empty out, produces nothing but air.
The elevator stops abruptly at the halfway stop and I stumble out, glad I don’t have to apologize for a pool of vomit in the machine.
I raise my still spinning head and look around, seeing no landmarks in the high-tech favela I find myself in, small buildings melding into each other and into the mineshaft both upwards and downwards, continuing for what seems like forever.
After a second or two my eyes focus and I find a place, a name, a memory.
A billboard.
The Ducktail Pub.
I remember the logo clearly, the duck holding the mug of beer, the white stars… one detail is off: a long thick tube of some kind is hanging just under the logo, crudely taped to the holoprojector. I approach the pub, my eyes fixated on the long thing… .tentacle? not sure, it seems spined, with a huge talon at the end… tail? looks like a tail…
I can still see how people make way for me, shooting furtive and hostile glances in my direction, and I can’t blame them, I must stink of cave fungus to the high heavens, but at least my trek to the pub is unimpeded.
I’m quickly there and the shock almost sends me reeling. The mysterious thing on the billboard is the steindrage’s tail, crudely taxidermied and even more crudely added to the “tail” pun for the pub.
The one thing I remember, my mission, has been taken from me and taped to a bar’s entrance. Or maybe I was supposed to investigate how the pubgoers managed to catch the beast?
Either way, whatever I am forgetting is in there.
I enter, a skull-masked mercenary bearing a Dashat Company patch and more mods on his rifle than actual rifle barely dodges out of my way, commenting something rude that doesn’t bear repeating.
The Pub is larger than I remember, or larger than I don’t remember, actually. It’s a spherical hole in the living rock, a double-sided dome criss-crossed by mesh walkways, holding afloat numerous private booths, each with a table and seats. Chewbacco smoke dances constantly around the dim neons, so that my attention is naturally drawn to the center of the hollow sphere, where the bar itself is, perched on top of a rotating column and manned by a cadre of duck lookalikes, just like I didn’t remember.
This sense of deja-vù mixed with deja-vun’t gives me vertigo. I bring my hands together, reaching for my wedding band, but, just like the jack-in slot behind my head, I only find skin. I feel my stomach falling to my feet. Have I lost it?
My hand doesn’t show any signs of the ring ever being there in the first place. Am I even married? I don’t remember my spouse. Her face. His face? Where do we live? How long have we been married for?
“What’s your poison, then? A word to the wise, Real-beer is almost finished, it comes at 1k Yuan per pint”
The barman squawks the words at me through his augmentic duckface. I didn’t even realize I had walked up to the bar.
“I’m … Let me think… give me just a minute” I hear my voice coming out of my throat without my participation, I feel like I can almost jump out of my body and look at my own back from outside.
The barman nods politely and moves along the counter, squawking the same questions to the next patron.
I sit on a barstool, my legs barely holding me, and I try to regain my composure. As usual, I find solace in distracting myself, so I start looking at the trophy area at the top of the pub.
The transparent room, built on top of the bar and flooded by artificial light, shows a number of unique or damaged pieces of military equipment mounted on various pedestals. The center pedestal, the best place, is reserved for the Steindrage’s taxidermied head. It’s held aloft by a severely battered Anaconda TAG, well, a bit more than an Anaconda. The machine looks like an Anaconda climbed inside a larger, red TAG with rocket engines and wings. Its missing an arm and it’s covered in dents, scratches and chemical burns. The holographic plaque simply says Maria Martinez piloted the St.George and killed the Dragon.
I am drawn into the display, called to it. I can almost see it in all of its details, the chipped paint, the loose optic wires, the small scales around the dragon’s eyes. I can see it move.
I can remember it moving.
I was there.
I didn’t know the TAG was called St.George, but I remember seeing it grapple with the Drage, right here on Dewey. There were also some other mercenaries with them, a whole hunting party.
I remember the dragon crashing on the cave’s sides, bringing stalagmites and portions of home-made architecture crashing down the mineshaft, avoiding onlookers by… no not avoiding onlookers actually.
I was an onlooker. I was elated. Seeing the two fighters detach from the melee and then charge at each other filled me with what I can only describe as childlike excitement.
I also remember the Anaconda’s left arm, ripped away by the dragon’s snapping fangs, falling right on top of me.
I fall backwards, forever, into the darkness of the caves below, and, at the same time, out of my barstool.
Did I die? I don’t remember any of the resurrection paperwork afterwards. How did I even get in the cave?
“Maybe you’ve had one too many, pal. You’d better come with me”
The voice comes from a silhouette on the walkway next to me, hidden in the shadows and smoke. They reach a blue-gloved hand towards me and I grab on to it, feeling them immediately pull me up on my feet. I’m still uneasy on my legs, but I can manage not to slump back to the horizontal position.
I try to thank the stranger, but when I look up at him I feel cold tentacles running at the back of my head through my shoulders. My arms and legs tense instinctively.
I’m looking straight at my own face.
Officer Terrance of Bureau Aegis, standing in front of me in my full uniform, is staring back at me with an expression of surprised panic painted on his handsome visage. I feel another memory resurface, from behind the panic, a single word: Kiiutan.
My training takes over: I sharply step to the side and quickly grab my pistol that…
isn’t there. The holster is empty. The other Terrance, while taking a sidestep himself, was luckier with his equipment.
First is loudness, then darkness.
Silence.
Cold.
After a while comes sound. They are many, weak and wet. A trickling of water, a dripping of molasses, a quiet snapping of bones popping.
Then comes the feeling of touch. My body is heavy and sluggish, my joints pop at each movement, my skin is pressed against the sensations of soft, cold, sticky.
I shudder and breathe in. The stale air burns and stings down my throat. I gag and cough, but nothing comes out, only more pain.
After a while I can breathe normally, I find myself standing up, without knowing when or how I ever rose to my feet, and I open my eyes to the darkness around me.
I am alone.
I remember nothing.