《Vengeance of Carinae》


 Chapter 1 - Imminent Departure.

    <u>Chapter 1</u>


    RRS - Evokaren


    Sector-9854


    Space


    1<sup>st</sup> May 2341 (BSST)


    "Get going man! Come on, Come on. Hurry your ass up and move it"? The chief shouted at some poor sod as they ran past the launch bays in a cacophony of thudding, clattering and panting.


    At almost full pelt they slipped into and out of view along the narrow corridor that connected the many subsystem rooms on the bottom floor. Once such subsystem was the launch bays, where I am now, and another was where I assumed them to be going; engineering. In a few seconds they had disappeared as they raced on in pursuit of whatever emergency was occurring.


    The chiefs shout was partially obscured, even to me, by the loud sirens that indicated that something was going wrong. Probably whatever they were chasing down I thought to myself. And quite seriously wrong if the huge rumble that knocked me down to one knee a second later was anything to go by.


    I rose to a full stand and planted my feet more securely to brace for the slap back wave which sure enough flooded around me making the whole ship groan again as the metal stretched and protested to the harsh treatment. The slap back was a reverberating wave created by an incident EM wave and material wave as part of the 14<sup>th</sup> generation of EMBBCM that my computer told me had hit us.


    The EMBBCM or Electromagnetic Mass Based Ballistic Coaster Missile was a virtually invisible missile that was placed on an intercepting path so that it would hit orthogonal to the protective plates that were a major component to a ships defence.


    As a result, an incident wave was sent the length of the ship that made the ship ripple. It not only destabilised the crew but put huge strain on the ship and to unshielded ships the EM wave could knock out the power supplies.


    Depending on the propulsion system that could end catastrophically. If it was a Mk9 or below Antimatter or Nuclear based engine, then a loss of power would result in the fine-tuned balancing act of modulating such an engine failing and depending on the deployment of the control rods end in two possible results.


    An epic explosion that would rip the ship apart or a failure and shutdown of the engines. Both of which were basically deathblows as it took several hours for the engines on Interstellar star ships to warm to operating conditions.


    A tutor at the naval academy had likened it to the nuclear power stations of the 21<sup>st</sup> century. During nuclear fission, neutrons are ejected from decaying atoms at such a velocity as to initiate the next reaction. Control rods regulate the numbers of incident neutrons to prevent a shutdown or meltdown of the reactor.


    24<sup>th</sup> century reactors operate in much the same way. Except for being much more finely tuned of course. In fact, they were so sensitive such that a couple of escaping neutrons could end the stable reaction and I don''t need to spell out how bad that would be. These high tolerances had to be controlled by computers of course, what wasna€?t these days. The entire engine system is dependent on them to run smoothly and efficiently and for the most they did.


    Of course, the engines could be flooded with the control fluid to shut down quickly and they often did, but that was the beauty of the EMBBCM it was so quick and efficient there was no auto or manual shutdown possible after a successful hit.


    I caught myself drifting away from the situation and snapped back to the present a little more. Thankfully the ship was protected from such EM attacks. However, the mass aspect still sent chaos running through the ship.


    Like any good non-essential crew, I stayed rooted until the ripples faded. They got more frequent but less intense until they were not noticeable in comparison to the regular background running thrum of a ship.


    The engineers were busy dealing with the damage to the propulsion systems and soon the Evokaren began to perform evasive manoeuvres. Since I was just about suited up. I climbed up into my Mk23 IRJ-Droplet Fighter Class 7.


    Carpe Victoria, my ship was a sleek fighter. Droplet in shape with angular wings and a sleek black finish with silvery flecks. Against the darkness of space, a ship wouldn''t be able to see me very well, but the silvery shimmer would give my fellow fighters a chance to see me.


    A brand-new model, the Mk 23 was an improvement over the previous version in a number of ways. First and foremost, it was faster by a tenth. And more manoeuvrable besides. Capable of sharper banking and more abrupt changes in direction it made for an altogether different beast than the Mk 22.


    Increased weapons and pilot interface meant it was a big improvement. That as not to say it was flawless. It certainly wasn''t. Longer to repair and charge. More difficult to arm and just in general more expensive it would be a while yet before the navy fully adopted the model


    The inboard authentication systems confirmed my identity and unlocked the systems readying for deployment. I thought about readying the engines, but I would have to wait for the command first. As I finished putting on my under suit I clipped it into my in-body systems and stepped into my flight suit.


    A flight suit was incredibly tight with rigid supports around the middle, and extremities. The main purpose of a flight suit was to keep everything secure and tight, so I could perform the evasive maneuverers that a fighter jet was capable of.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    A fighter was a much nimbler craft than the Evokaren was and the forces involved during turning could literally rip someone from the controls. That wasn''t even to mention the muscle damage that could occur. So, a flight suit was a requirement to keep a pilot safe and secure as it could clip into the space suit and support you. A series of locks clicked into place as I sat in the space suit shell. The space suit was an emergency suit that acted basically like a chair.


    On detection of a breach in the fighter it would seal around me as an extra layer of protection. Protection I was happy to have even if it meant another layer I had to wear. I already had to wear a body suit, an under suit and a flight suit so it was a little annoying.


    Sighing, I reached above my head and pulled down the helmet. From inside I pulled out the inner lining and hooked it in to the body suit. I left the outer helmet off until I would need it. Whilst it wasn''t uncomfortable it also wasn''t exactly nice to wear. Besides it also hooked into the space suit which would prevent me from moving my head around freely.


    Beside me in the other fighters my fellow pilots were beginning to get ready as well. About five minutes or so behind me, I just hoped we didn''t get the call to deploy soon as I didn''t think they would be ready. If we had to crash the wing right now I would be the only one left available. Crashing the wing was a risky move that involved a cold take-off with all of us together at the flick point of a spiral roll of the main ship.


    The point of crashing the wing was to send out the one hundred fighters at once to the enemy at knife range to slaughter them. It was risky as my neighbouring craft was a good half meter away from me and the g-force exerted in a spiral was extreme, so it was most likely that we would crash and eliminate ourselves.


    Not a future I was hoping for. I was not exactly a very experienced pilot having been a former marine. And at heart I was still a marine I was just looking for a new challenge and a fighter pilot was always something I had wanted to try.


    Using my inboard computers, I patched into the main screen. To watch what the Evokaren''s main pilot was seeing. To my surprise we were facing what looked like an Odrath Emperor class Superdreadnought. A task that our small Scorpion class frigate was ill equipped to deal with. You could always tell a dreadnought from any other ship by its enormity. Simply put they were a class unto their own.


    A super dreadnought was a beefed-up scout version, instead of providing point or running escort, the super dreadnoughts were meant to be solitary hunters diving in and out of the line ripping holes in the defence and generally harrying the other side. We did it just as well as the Odrath, it''s just we didn''t have one of our very own here. Unless the captain of the Dreadnought was a moron we were going down and down hard. What on earth were they doing out here? I wondered silently to myself.


    Sector 9854 was on the edge of Human controlled space, it was above and to the right of Odrath space from one perspective not even close to the border, and so it was not exactly expected to find one of their ships out this far. If it was authorised id be taken aback really, especially an Emperor class battleship. The Evokaren shook again but this time it was of our own accord as we fired of our first salvo from the main and support guns. The heady rumble of a well-oiled machine operating, we fought back with as much gusto as we could muster.


    Unfortunately, it had little effect against such an outclassing foe and as the Main IBB rotated around to face us I could tell we were not going to win this fight. A world class strategist I may not be, but it was at least evident to me what the situation was. Luckily it was going to be a fairly painless way to go. We tried to shake it but fairly soon they had a lock and the tell-tale orange hue of the IBB''s main barrel began to appear. It took a further few seconds before it was ready to fire. And fire it sure did.


    A quick one-two pulse and the beam ripped into the ship. The main camera I was watching through burnt out and then the bridge was ripped apart sending the main crew out into space if they hadn''t been sublimed beforehand. Next was engineering and then maintenance. All gone. Burnt out leaving a hollow wreck where before a bustling community of people working around the clock to keep us on track had been. As we fell through space I could see out of the front window of my ship, the red hue appearing in the IBB again I felt my doom approaching. It began to increase in intensity morphing from a cherry red to a bright fire red.


    It''s funny what goes through your head when you are about to die. For me my brain was telling me why I could see the red colour. You see the Ion beam had induced a current through the metal of the ship which had then induced a temporary magnetic field that had attracted us to the Dreadnought, so we had ended up closer. Close enough to see with nothing but the enhanced human eye the red glow of the barrel that signified my end.


    It was just before the beam fired again that my head was rocketed into the headrest as the Electro rails initiating firing my Droplet out into space. Enough to start the IRJ engine from a cold start. We had basically crashed the wing, but the wing of a dead ship leaving nowhere left to return to. Especially as the next beam destroyed what little had remained leaving a broken drifting wreck and a scattering of millions of particles for the great stars to dispose of over the next however long.


    The small lasers began picking the fighters off. At least those that weren''t prepared to dodge. I began dodging whilst trying to fit my helmet on properly. Once it was on and locked in I could do much more. With no planets anywhere near by, nor hope of rescue I was determined to do as much damage as possible, so I worked my way closer weaving, banking, turning and just generally making my flight as erratic and hard to lock on too as possible.


    However, it was seemingly futile as the small fighter just didn''t carry enough heat to even scuff the paint on such a big warship. My ship was twenty-meters-long and rated for atmo, LEO and space with one 50cm cannon and twenty 5cm cannons. A PNB laser and a particle blade. Compared to a 1500m Emperor class Superdreadnought.


    Needless to say, it did not go well. I was the last one left but that wasn''t saying much. I was also the only one who was mostly prepared to control a fighter. They had stopped firing at me though and I was hoping they weren''t coming to pick me up as a prisoner of war. The Odrath weren''t exactly known for being nice to prisoners.


    As I watched with dread the dreadnought seemed to shift and buckle slightly. Something was going on. Something that was unusual that was for sure. I got a warning on my system of particles in the surroundings and a suggestion to reduce speed as the ship wasn''t equipped with ablative armour and what it did have would be burnt through quickly. I pressed ignore.


    As I watched, the beast seemed to split in two lengthening by a few hundred metres. It was slow going but soon there were two sections connected by a thick rod in the middle. The rod which then twisted up and out into a form of barrel. From the two sides couplings were being pushed out and when they connected a series of running light lit up on the gun.


    I gasped for breath as I seemed to have forgotten to breath as I watched the show in front of me. I was perplexed for sure. This seemed like a very stupid idea for a weapon. One that had to basically leave the ship vulnerable. Experimental for sure.


    The gun fired, and I saw darkness. My screens spat up all sorts of warning, my Nav software asked for a reset and all the lights lit up in solidarity trying to tell me something was disastrously wrong.

 Chapter 2 - A Whole New World

    <u>Chapter 2</u> - <u>A Whole New World</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet - Class 7 - Carpe Victoria


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    1<sup>st</sup> May 2341 (BSST)


    I was lying there when a bright beam of light split the darkness of my dream addled eyes and forced me to wakefulness. I opened my eyes in time to fully regret my decision as the fading light of the beam that had awoken me burnt my retinas and sent me tumbling headfirst into the darkness once again.


    I clenched my jaw tight and my hands clenched involuntarily as well as I tried to endure through the pain without crying out. I still had enough cognisance about me to recognise I was in a foreign element and unaware of any potential danger surrounding me. As the healing Nano bots in my bloodstream went about repairing my sight, I let out a few shaky breaths before I managed to get a smooth rhythm going.


    I always hated the feeling of healing. Not more than I hated being injured and weakened but it was not pleasant nonetheless. A serious itching and it just felt wrong as flesh grew and knitted itself together. When it was my arms or legs I could at least watch the process, and take my mind off of it. But with my eyes being damaged I had to persist through the darkness focused only on the pain and maintaining a steady breathing pattern. It was a simple mental technique I had learnt one summer when I had a seriously bad sunburn.


    I hadn''t yet received my nanobots at that point. Well not the upgraded ones anyway. You see once you join the military they need to upgrade the body ware from the civilian package to the military one and that meant a detox to allow the new ones to be injected.


    It was during the detox month that I had begun to use such a technique to deal with the feeling of sunburn. If you''ve ever had bad sunburn before you know the feeling. Constantly hot with periods of extreme itching. The only cure is time or an expensive procedure that I sure as hell did not have the money for.


    Besides no hospital would deal with sunburn as it was a problem solved some time ago by the introduction of basic body ware. So, a backstreet doctor would be my only choice and I wasn''t about to let some unqualified stranger have at me that was for damned sure.


    I think the reason my mind brought up that memory is because of the startling similarity in the feeling of sunburn and the enhanced healing. The healing being several orders of magnitude worse but still comparable in feeling type.


    After I had finished my introspection I noticed the feeling in my hands. I had clenched my hands and gathered up what felt like dirt. Sandy, stony with what felt like small skinny twigs and blades of some form of grass.


    Odd, I thought to myself. Last, I remembered I was sitting in my shuttle awaiting the end, and now here I am. Alive and on a planet. A life filled planet if I was correct about grasping some twigs. Odd.


    I rubbed the contents of my fists around and felt more sure that I was indeed correct and sharp twigs were digging into my palms. I rolled onto my front gingerly as I wasn''t sure what was to my left and burying my face in my neck before slowly blinking my eyes a few times and opening them. The world appeared in shades of white.


    "Computer, Tone down brightness by fifty percent."? I vocalised to my flight suit. There was no change. Okay so it''s not a visible spectrum light that was blotting out my vision then.


    "Computer, scratch last and tone down UV by fifty percent."? I asked it, cycling through the options. Now that achieved something. Whatever planet I was on its sun was one that had a high output of UV rays. Leaving me blinded by my suit''s capabilities.


    "Computer, status?"?


    "Ronja, our status is as follows. Suit operating at one hundred percent efficacy. Bodysuit same, Body ware same."? Thank god for small favours ay.


    "Your fighter; Mk23 IRJ-Droplet Fighter Class 7 is no longer functional as it is in multiple pieces. I estimate a rebuild to be impossible considering our current resources. Concerning the supplies aboard, the food rations and water purifier are located four hundred metres to your south west and are in retrievable and reparable conditions. Your weapons crate similarly is intact enough for retrieval and located in a similar area. I shall now mark them on your HUD."? Computer responded in a robotic emotionless tone.


    "Our location?"? I asked him hoping he knew where we were. I''m not sure why I ascribed him to being of the male gender, but I felt it suited him. Note to self; give computer a name and tone. If I''m to be stuck here, then I at least want a semi human companion to keep me company.


    "Ronja, I have been unable to locate our position in space. I will need approximately nine hundred thousand more data points to begin to estimate our current location. Furthermore, I have not been able to scan any such biological matter as to narrow down a region of space, except to say we are not in recognised explored space"? Great, just fucking great. Why couldn''t luck have been on my side in this instead of my rations. I sighed again. After all the law of serendipity states: Lady luck favours those who try. So, I might as well get up and try. No use lying around waiting for rescue. One certainly wasn''t going to come if we weren''t in recognised space. The ship had been in space with no planets nearby so...


    "Computer, any idea what happened to us and how we got here?"


    "Ronja, from my calculations I posit that there is an 89% chance that there was a spacial warping event that afflicted our shuttle and ended up changing its cartesian position in space. When we came into existence somewhere and I reactivated on this planet."?


    It sounded like reports of the spacial punch weapon was right then. We were somewhere completely different from where we had battled the Odrath and rescue was certainly not likely.


    Perhaps if this planet has a sentient race I could get home but considering we had only found the Odrath and the Coalition so far, it seemed sentience was not exactly common in the universe. Though creatures far and wide existed as panspermia had been proven to be correct a while ago so it was not a foregone conclusion that I was alone here.


    I stared daggers at the sand taking a few moments to bemoan my situation like some weak heroine waiting for a male to come save the day. Pfft, pathetic. You''re absolutely pathetic Ronja I thought to myself. You''re a strong independent woman who don''t need no man to come save thyself. I thought laughing quietly to myself.


    You might have thought mankind could have overcome prejudice in several hundred years but no it was still prevalent. Blinking twice I took a deep breath before rocking back over my knees and sitting up into a kneel. More awake now I observed my surroundings.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    I was kneeling on a soft sand beach. The sand, like on earth was a yellow, perhaps a richer, deeper yellow than on earth. But a familiar warm yellow nonetheless. I was kneeling at the boundary of the beach to the forest, well it looked like one from here. I couldn''t tell the size, so it could just be a small copse of trees. Though something was telling me it wasn''t so.


    Behind me I could hear water lapping softly at the sand. A soft pitter patter relentless in its monotony yet somehow peaceful and not irritating. Here and there a crashing sound as a particularly strong wave mustered up the energy to crash down over a raised dune in the sea bed echoed around me. A gentle breeze rocked the trees and a consistent endless rustle of leaves from the gently bowing trees provided a background track.


    The salty smell of the sea mixed with the heady wooded aroma of the woodland and a smoky hint wafted across me. Bringing with it a sense of foreboding that fell across me I shivered unexpectedly despite the ungodly heat.


    "Computer, boost AC please."


    "Understood, Ronja. Boosting air conditioning to 180% of standard value."


    One hundred and eighty percent! Wow it really is damn hot here, wherever here is.


    "Computer, current temp? Oh, and switch to shorthand please"


    "335K"? computer replied.


    Nearly four hundred kelvins. Whew, that was far far too hot to survive without the flight suit. It put into perspective how lucky I was for the suit to have survived virtually intact from my crash landing.


    "Computer, switch from flight to fight mode please"


    "Initialising...????...????...????Confirm?"


    "Charlie, Foxtrot, Sierra, Nine, Eight, Zero, Romeo, Lima."


    "Confirmed, switching suit, please stand and hold still for two minutes."


    I stood. The flight suit, much like an iron man suit began changing around me. The rigid supports around my middle loosened and popped out relocking in a new, less confining arrangement. The pack at my back slid out and over me covering me in a layer of tougher metal.


    Knut''s and bolts unscrewed and repositioned as metal plates moved around me. My knees, elbows and fists become more heavily armed and the suit bulked up around my extremities and chest whilst reducing the bulk around my back and hips. The flight suit was meant to aide in flying. It locked you into the seat and to the controls.


    A fight suit on the other hand was meant for a fighting, recon and planetary movement. Most pilots only had a suit configured for flying. I however had come from the tough army world and had gotten my fight suit converted. As such it was the most valuable thing I owned by far and was primarily still a fight suit not a flight suit.


    Once the process was finished I walked over to the sea and had a look at myself. Standing seven feet tall in my suit I had bulky arms and legs and a series of flares and curves that were tough and brutal. I smiled. Changing to the different modes.


    "Covert"? I called out to computer. The suit faded from view and my screen tinged green at the sides. The running lights sent me into darkness. The reserve oxygen tanks engaged, and the hydraulics shut off. The arms and legs locked into position.


    "War."? The suit lit up with a red tinged screen. The hydraulics charged, and the power core started ramping up. The cables tensed. The oxygen tanks fed into my regular breathing to give me the maximum performance. Sensors went berserk scanning and sending out noises. When I peered over the water the red running lights looked very mean. In the gaps between plates red light blossomed and my face plate was lit up in a vibrant crimson. My weapons would automatically switch to lethal if I had any on me. My HUD popped up and analysis software linked to my brain and set of giving me tactical on my screen.


    "Display"? I called out to computer. The suit cycled down, and the running lights brightened. The suit locked into parade stance allowing me to rest in the suit. On the screen a prompt offered me a choice of entertainment to watch. A standard suit had very few options but as part of a diplomatic mission a few years ago to the withdrawn Aelica. They had upgraded it for me free of charge.


    "Standard"? I called out finally as the suit set for standard use. The sensors went to passive. The hydraulics and cables slackened, and power consumption dropped. My screen had no tint and showed only the basic HUD.


    The water lapped at my metal covered toes and I looked down wondering at the beauty of the nature surrounding me. In the reflection the water the sky appeared faintly pink and perhaps more startlingly the sky was lit by two stars. One was very large and very bright, almost too bright. Even with the adaptive brightening my screen gave me it was tough to stare at. The other was much more toned down and I could only faintly see it. It was almost swallowed up by the larger of the two. Perhaps more startling though was the colour. The large star was a bluish white colouration that only the hottest of stars would accomplish. Short in life the supermassive blue stars burnt themselves out quickly. The live fast and die young type of stars.


    I stood watching the sea for a few moments more wondering where the heck I was. I sighed deeply before turning and walking back over to the forest.


    Climbing up past the boundaries of the gently sloping beach I entered the tree line. The trees were varied, very varied for a small section of the forest. Not dominated by any one type except for the general green and brown feeling pretty much all trees gave off. There were tall ones, short ones, fat ones and thin ones.


    There were trees with smooth bark stretching round them like skin or ones with cracked gnarled bark that felt rough to the hands with interlaced cracks ascending up the tree weaving in and out of one another. They disappeared up the trunk into the emerging branches where the textures merged into one seamless colour. Of course, I could have focused up there with the augments to my eyes but that was beside the point after all.


    On the forest floor I could see a mess of broken down decaying plant matter. From bark, discarded like an unwanted skin rotten and falling down to small twigs and the many leaves all in different states exhibiting a range of colours from the reds through the browns into the freshly fallen leaves blossoming with green colour as if they were still alive. But alas they are not.


    It was whilst staring at the floor that I noticed my first sign of alien life. When I say alien, I mean it in the strictest sense of the word meaning extra-terrestrial. Or not from earth. When you say ''alien'' most people think of the Odrath or the other sentients. Not of a beetle. And a beetle was what I was looking at.


    Small, well of course its small it''s a beetle. They didn''t have the capacity to be large otherwise they would be crushed under the weight of their own exoskeleton. I paused as a thought occurred to me. If the gravity was significantly less, then the weight of an exoskeleton could possibly be supported.


    "Computer, what''s the gravity?"? I asked pondering my new question.


    "1.5 standard earth gravities."? Computer replied in a dry tone.


    Okay, so it''s not sufficiently less to support large armoured bugs. Whew. That''s one worry calmed.


    The beetle ignored me, resolute in its pursuit of some incomprehensible task. It scurried around on the ground floor climbing mountains that were sticks, sheer drops and other unthinkable obstacles on its way.


    The beetle was dark in colouration. Black or perhaps a dark iridescent red. I couldn''t tell in the falling light. A blocky angular head with antennae that were endlessly searching. For what? I did not know. A short fat thorax separated the pairs of legs. Behind the legs its armoured abdominal sections interlock to form a solid carapace. Well, solid to any foe it would likely come across. A human was no more a foe than a god was to a human. So incomprehensibly powerful that there was no threat.


    From what I could see there were no wings. Sharp looking mandibles clamped down on a leaf in a series of abrupt motions. It reminded me of a sewing machine or a band saw. But soon a section of leaf was cut out and being dragged of.


    I let the beetle wander off on its own way and took a few more steps into the forest. Here I took a closer look at the trees. They had green leaves reminiscent of those on earth. However, when I touched them they were far more rigid than those earthly leaves. I flinched slightly at a sharp shock of pain. You see fight suits have very sensitive feeling software that simulates feelings. It can of course be turned down but in general it is advised to maintain full feeling. It not only makes you a better soldier, but you don''t become disconnected from the ground you walk on knowing that the small things still cause you pain. Less careless, more dextrous was what they told us. I wasn''t sure I believed them, but I had steadfastly followed the recommendation.


    A small fleck of paint was left behind on the leaves. I turned my hand over to stare at my palm. A thin silver streak ran its way across it like a flash of lightening on a dark and stormy night it split the dark metal with a surprising contrast. Underneath the paint the bare metal glinted at me.


    My eyebrows rose in surprise. Leaves sharp enough to chip the paint on my suit. This was certainly no safe place. If the leaves were this well defended against what had they had to evolve defences to. I was now sure danger was present.

 Chapter 3 - The Arrival of Night

    <u>Chapter 3 - </u><u>The Arrival of Night</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet - Class 7 - Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    1<sup>st</sup> May 2341 (BSST)


    I pushed past the tree that had cut me, leaning back to avoid a branch that seemed to reach out, grasping for me like the withered hand of some kind of monster. Stepping back, I regained my sure footing and glanced around me. Already the smells and sounds of the sea had faded and had been replaced with the rustle of the leaves on the trees. The harsh crunch of dry, dead leaves fracturing under my heavy footsteps reverberates around me and the gentle gusts of wind whisper an unheard song that twines and digs into my mind as a crab buries itself in sand.


    The main sun has steadfastly marched up and over its mid-day peak and it''s now subtly and rapidly descending. Ready to finish its daily race and climb wearily into bed; passing the torch onto a moon for the night. Well hopefully there is in fact a moon. I don''t have a torch so if its pitch black at night I''m not going to have a good time.


    Since night is closing in I had better get some work done. I don''t know what''s out there and I had better be prepared for the first night on an alien planet. Focusing on my HUD I could see the debris field located several hundred metres away. Orienting myself so the marker was in the centre of my compass I looked ahead expecting to see my stuff.


    What greeted me was a significant disappointment. An ever-thickening jungle that in only a few metres turned from the sparse trees that had encroached upon the beach to a mass of tangled branches, sharp points and untold dangers. The woods turned black as the thickening canopy began cutting out the light. Shadows lengthened distorting my perception of the world. Even more unnatural were the two sets of shadows now that the other sun had begun to rise. It further distorted the world sending me stumbling around as features appeared and disappeared seemingly at will. I swear the trees are sentient and just messing with me.


    I used my suit to enhance the lighting but that barely made a difference. Since it seemingly wouldn''t get any better I began my slog through the jungle. Stepping carefully over fallen branches, holes and rocks, around trees and branches and just generally forcing my way through the underbrush I made very little progress.


    In fact, much of my time was spent clearing my path. Stamping down bushes. Ripping down creepers and vines that had bridged the trees and began to form a spider''s web of greenery like a netting waiting to close me in.


    Soon the forest that was filled with light, life and greenery but it soon fades like a memory of yesteryear. The trees that had sheltered me from the sun were replaced with the thin, desiccated sticks of charcoal. Lifeless and barren they resembled deformed, broken limbs and had that hollow looking humanity that was at best creepy and at worst down right disturbing. The lengthening shadows of the setting sun made them seem so much worse. Especially to a fearful mind, it was like they were grasping for me. Reaching out as a dying man rasps out in his broken voice "help" to the doctor.


    I try to ignore them, but they press at my consciousness. Ever on the edge of my mind influencing me. Like the devil on my shoulder they direct my path and pretty soon I have turned away from the direct path and I''m walking along a small trail. Some large animal must have forged this route. By hook or by crook, forcing through the forest. Branches are bent and broken, they all face the direction I''m going, and this tells me the animal I''m tracking is a big brute. Big enough to trash the trees and ignore the sharp cutting leaves.


    I soon arrive at a sheer cliff face. The path turns off at the cliff and seems to follow it around, skirting the edges. If I look just right I can see it enter the cliff in some sort of den. I had better avoid it until I know what it is though. No point becoming a snack just for curiosities sake.


    Now that I''m in the field of charcoal I can see the sun more clearly. Its bottom edge has just breached the horizon and soon it''s going to flood the world in darkness as it disappears. Flood me in darkness. Before the light fades entirely I need to find a safe place to stay the night. The cliff face is made from some sort of sedimentary rock so it''s going to be hard to climb if I even can. Towards the top the cliff cuts back it a series of uneven and jagged steps. A small spattering of grass grows from some cracks on a ledge. The Small tufts liven up the barren cliff face a touch and a small tree looms above me like it''s abseiling down. Its roots can be seen climbing the rock. It doesn''t look very healthy.


    The ledge is my target, so I just need to find a way up there. I search around to find anything that might help me. I manage to scrounge up a hard stone with a point. Perhaps I can use it to improve hand holds.


    As I stare up at the cliff face I can begin to see a sort of path forming to me. It won''t be easy, but it might be possible. I walk up to the base and begin my ascent. Keeping my hips tucked in I carefully place my feet making sure to catch the edges in the natural divots of the rock. At least at the start the holds are small and I have to use crimps. I form a small fist keeping my fingers straight from the second joint. My thumb wraps around my first two fingers to lock them in place. I have my suit help by partly locking the finger joints to provide additional support. Moving carefully, I press with my legs and turn in pressing my shoulder to the wall to extend my reach and get those last few precious inches of reach.


    Stretching I can just reach a small crack in the rock. Slipping my hand into the crack I push the knuckles up in a cup like shape and use my hand as a wedge. Sliding my hand down to a narrowing in the crack I feel the pressure on my wrist increase to a tolerable but descent pain level.


    Bracing, my feet scramble on the smooth rock sending showers of dust and rock chips tumbling down to the floor below. I grit my teeth as something sharp stabs into my wrist. I can almost feel it grating on the bone beneath and I pray that the rock holds my weight. With a last ditch pull I manage to hook my foot around a small outcropping and pull myself into the wall more thoroughly.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Leaning off to the right I grab the crack now that my angle is orthogonal, and I can actually grip. Loosening my wrist, I extract it from the crack and slowly pull myself towards centre. Wedging my hand further up I slowly increase my weight on it until its supporting me entirely. I manage to wedge my feet by pulling them up, so the soles are touching. When I stand up my feet rotate and become wider locking me in.


    In this manner I make my way up the crack until it runs out a few metres short of the ledge I want. I''m sweating profusely now and the suit is coping just about acceptably. The sun is now at least half gone and I can barely see, even with the boost my suit provides. If I don''t manage to get to the ledge in the next few minutes I''m going to be in serious trouble.


    The next section of rock is smooth, and I can''t see a way up. The rock however narrows in and a channel seems to be carved going up one side of the ledge. A potential chimney if I''ve ever seen one.


    Slipping into the narrow cut out I brace my back against one wall with one foot tucked under my bum. The other rests against the wall. Pushing with my hands to lift my back off the wall. I stand up and move my feet up to a new bracing position. Progress is slow and soon I run into a lump above me. Sighing I take a second to observe my position.


    The only solution I can see is to move away from the wall into the overhang. So that is what I will have to do. Eventually I manage to lever my elbow above the lump and this helps me get over it and from there it is only a short jump to the ledge. I make it lie down on the cliff taking a few deep breaths of relief to calm my racing heart.


    Once my heartrate drops to normal I sit up and in the fading light I have a quick look around my bed for the night. The tree will be a good barrier to stop me rolling off during the night. The small tufts can be a pillow if only I can contort myself around the outcroppings and get comfortable enough to sleep.


    Just as the world envelopes me in all consuming darkness that wraps around me in a cocoon. Spinning me up tight. Constricting me. My breath shortens, my mind busy conjuring up all manner of creatures that dwell in the inky blackness that surrounds me on all sides.


    My worries about a moon not existing are shortly put to bed as upon the horizon a shallow semicircle begins to appear. The moon is a cloudy, blotchy red. Areas of intense red light with wispy, smoke like shadows rise up above the treeline. The scarlet patches flow around the moon as blood oozes from a wound. Slowly and erratically with no meaningful pattern nor predictable path.


    Of course, I knew the blood moon wasn''t really red. It only appears red due to the Rayleigh scattering of the light rays refracting over the curvature of the planet. Pretty soon the moon will cease to be that unsettling shade of red. Still, knowing this didn''t make it seem any less eerie. The absolute silence didn''t help either. Even the wind seemed to have quietened down its endless monologue in order to watch the arrival of night and what might come with it.


    I watch, not daring to take a much-needed breath which would disturb this serene moment. Too perfect too last like a soap bubble, the moment is eventually shattered with a pop, or more like the echoing, mournful howl of a wolf. Or a creature much like one. If it were possible I freeze even more. It sounded close. Far far too close for comfort.


    It should have come as no surprise that the reverberating howl is answered by an upbeat shorter howl from somewhere even closer. Perhaps the cave just below me. Not even seventy metres away. I''m more thankful than ever I had decided to climb up here.


    Ever so slowly, like snail slow I crawl forward, an inch at a time, until I''m far enough forwards that like a tortoise I can stretch my neck out and take a quick cursory glance over the edge before braving a longer look, I think I can make out the outline of a creature. Not wanting to push my luck I withdraw slightly reluctantly.


    "Computer, replay last 30 seconds."? I whisper, my voice barely audible to my own ears, as I slink back gratefully into the shadows that now protect me in anonymity.


    The suit''s screen fades to black, complete black.


    ---Science---


    It''s an OLED screen you see. OLED or Organic light-emitting diode provides a richer more colourful light than LCD LED displays. Blacker blacks and more vibrant colours.


    Traditional LED''s that subsist on doped materials. Like germanium and silicon. One slightly electron rich and the other slightly electron deficient. When you paste the two slabs together, where they meet is sort of neutral land. Like between the trenches in the first world war.


    When connected the electron rich material passes off electrons causing a current to flow across the junction. When the electrons combine with the electron holes, which is the lack of electrons where there could be electrons in an atomic lattice they recombine releasing energy in the form of photons. This process called photoluminescence is responsible for the light.


    The problem with regular LCD''s is that the pixels have to be backlit by the LED''s and so light seepage makes the black not really so black as long as some other colour is on the screen. This is because for the colour the entire backlight must be on.


    OLED''s on the other hand are made from organic molecules. To produce their light 6 layers are placed on top of one another consisting of Top and bottom protective layers of glass or plastic a cathode, an anode, an emissive layer and a conductive layer. The OLED screen can be switched on and off independently depending on the voltage flowing through each pixel. Since each pixel is self-illuminating there is global backlight that will seep colour into the image. Therefore, darker blacks than LED based technology.


    ---Science---


    Once the screen fades, an image slowly blooms. At first, it''s so dark I can hardly determine the texture of the rock. It becomes clearer as my head nears the edge of the cliff where there is not ample, but just about enough light to make out a faint shape. Over on my left, just standing there autocratically on a slight rise. The shape is large, menacing and powerful. Thick stocky legs like that of a rhino, except for the fur, lead into a lion like torso. A large head that is too shadowed to determine much about and a similarly large tail that flicks around in annoyance. I get the feeling its somewhere between feline and canine but definitely more dangerous than either.


    It must stand a good one and a half metres tall and just over two metres in length. I flinch as the earpiece relays another vicious snarling howl, before the creature leaps over the slight rise, catapults to a dead sprint before disappearing. The rest of the footage shows me nothing new.


    As the creature disappears I am left with no doubt this world has predators, powerful ones. I sneak back over and take a longer look this time. As I pear out I notice a few new things in the faint reddish light. What I thought were a few dead trees is actually a vast swathe of forest that seems to lead up a tall jagged mountain. Perhaps it is a volcano and the pyroclastic surges have burnt out all life in that region. Perhaps there was just a bad wildfire. Perhaps... Perhaps... Perhaps... I mumble to myself yawning. Shaking my head, I snap out of my sleepiness for a few brief moments in order to plan for tomorrow. I need to salvage any useful tools and parts from the wreckage of my ship. We''ll get up early and go and investigate. I run through my mental alarm clock.


    It''s a skill I believe all humans have. To be able to wake at exactly the time you want. Becoming a marine had forced me to be able to get up early with no alarm clock blaring at me. Some form of mental conditioning maybe, I''m thankful none the less. First light, First light, First light, ...


    I chant to myself as sleep begins to encroach my weary mind. This time I let it take me, snuggling in to the rockface as best I can. A few sleepy blinks and my eyes shut, the darkness swarms in and over me like a blanket. And then I know no more.

 Chapter 4 - The Debris Field

    <u>Chapter 4 - </u><u>The Debris Field</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet - Class 7 - Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    2<sup>nd</sup> May 2341 (BSST)


    When day breaks I am still dozing lightly on my perch up in the cliffs. The light rays caress and warm me to full wakefulness before the cold ground down below even begins to feel their loving embrace. Before even the sun is visible on the horizon the light arcs round the curve of the planet in a cosmic race glinting off of the ocean like glitter.


    I await the sunrise with baited breath and when the sun breaches the horizon, it opens like a flower, gifting its petals to the world. Once open the world responds with utter respect. The freshly formed dew glistens and dances in the wind in a superior ballet. The birds chirped along in unison providing a beautiful background tune.


    Gazing towards the wispy, candy floss esc clouds illuminated in an ethereal glow that daintily paints the ocean with scarlet blooms. I feel serene and at peace with the world at least for a single perfect moment.


    A planet seemingly untouched by civilisation, it is both overgrown and disordered whilst also being an untouchable, pre-eminent paradise of which I have no doubt. The entropic nature of the planet has its own beauty disguised in pretentious clothes and two-faced natures that misguide and disillusion you to the true danger the world presents.


    At face value though is the difficulty of the climb. Up or down? Up ... or ... down? Hmmm. If I go down its going to be a harder climb as climbing down is always harder. Humans are not biomechanically as adapted to tension control compared to raw power. In addition, it''s harder to see footholds and trust what you can''t see. But it might be worth climbing down as I know what''s down there and I might be able to work my way around the cliff face to find were the wreckage to the fighter is.


    On the other hand, climbing up will be much easier. I''m nearly there already and I will have good vantage over my surroundings. A good vantage point will also make it potentially easier to locate the debris. But I don''t know what''s up there.


    I sat up and climbed to my feet as gracefully as a cat. Or at least I thought so. In reality it probably wasn''t quite like I imagined. But no one is here to tell me otherwise so that''s how I''m going to describe it.


    Once on my feet I grasp the thin tree in one hand and push forwards hard. It shakes but doesn''t pry loose. Good. It can support my weight. I lean back out over the edge of the cliff, using one hand to hold my weight. My feet are locked onto the cliff edge. The actual edge tucked in the arched bridge of the foot. Looking up I can see only about fifteen metres to climb before it starts to flatten out into walking, or mountain hiking terrain. Down looks just as scary as it did yesterday in the fading light. But this time I have to go down.


    I take a quick look to make sure the creature is gone. It is but remembering the sheer size and power it exuded makes my mind up fairly quickly. Up, up it is. Pulling back, I right myself onto the ledge and shuffle out along the ever-narrowing outcrop to the taper of the chimney I had climbed up last night.


    Reaching across I brace myself against the rock opposite with my hands. Aware of how slippery the metal is especially because of the dew on the rock. I''m more careful that usual. It''s not like it''s a shiny metal, but it is more slippery than the human hand. And of course, I weigh more in this suit and with the increased gravity, so I had better be sure of where I place my hands and feet.


    Once I climb out of the chimney I''m on a rocky slope that extends up another few metres. Picking my way up the slope I nearly fall as my feet land on a brittle rock. Under my weight it disintegrates as I crush it leaving a loose fine powder that slides as I push of on my right leg.


    Standing on top of the mountain, well to me it''s a mountain, it took monumental effort to climb it in the increased gravity that''s for sure. I look out over the land. The beach borders an ocean that extends farther than I can see. But then again, I''m only up above the sea by about two hundred metres. The forest extends down from my position dropping down the cliff and marching steadily away from me where it borders the charcoal field and touches the beach.


    The charcoal fields wrap around this hill that I am standing on and head north towards a monstrous shape that looms in the fog. I''m sure it''s the mountain I had seen yesterday but this morning it is hotter than when I arrived, and the steam has clouded up the distance in a thick roiling fog that all but blinds my long-distance view. The shape of the burnt trees looming in the thick fog seem ominous and overwhelming. Intellectually I know what they are, but it doesn''t really help. If I was on earth I think it would but since this is all alien to me who knows what could be hiding on this planet.


    On the other side of the charcoal forest is a grass plain I think. It''s not really very clear so I can only hazard a guess at what Is over there. The forest to the east is too vast for me to determine what is on the other side so that remains a mystery for me. As will the other side of the mountain as birth its sheer size and the thick fog obscure it from view.


    Dragging my gaze back from the distance I look up at my HUD to locate where the debris field should be. Spinning around I look further north east to the thick forest. It should be around three hundred metres. I had travelled along the path which hadn''t taken me too much closer to the location of the crash.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    The thick canopy of leafy green blends together in a blur, like a painting the individualism of the trees hides in the masses. Like a pickpocket in a crowd what I''m looking for eludes me. With the aid of the computer projecting roughly where, I finally see evidence of the crash. A slight thinning in the trees where the craft must have cut some down. And the faintest mirage due to the increased heat from some burning wreckage presumably. Mirages form when tarmac, sand or presumably the burning wreckage are hotter than the air above it. This creates an updraft of hotter air that has a different temperature to the air surrounding it. When heated the air molecules are moving with more kinetic energy and therefore more velocity. This means the density of the air is different from its surroundings. The different densities mean that light refracts by different degrees when passing through that patch. This leads to the heat shimmer or the inferior mirage that I can see.


    The shimmer highlights where my fighter went down. Computer must have force ejected me from it as we were falling. As I couldn''t have been thrown through the trees that far.


    So, with enthusiasm for the coming day I set out to go find the wreck. It was slow going pushing through the foliage, but every step was one step closer. It was surprising how happy I was, but I''ve always been happy on my own. Introverted some said. Loner said others. Personally, I felt it was that I had very little patience for idiots. Well that and the slight repression on negative emotions that was subject to the military upgrades for the recon class troops. A class I was a part of.


    About half way through my journey computer chimed up giving me unwanted news.


    "Ronja, I have discovered a leak in the water tanks, and we have been losing pressure for a few minutes now I have managed to fix it using approximately one percent of the stored metals. In addition, we did not have much water to begin with and now the supply is virtually empty. It is my recommendation that we go and find water to refill on as soon as possible. I estimate that you have another thirty minutes of top shape hydration before we run out and you are running on your own body''s supplies."?


    Bad news that was for sure. I was so close now it felt like a cop out to retreat to find water. Besides there was a water purifier and rations in the fighter that should be around somewhere. Banking on the fact we would be able to find water I decided to press on.


    "Acknowledged computer, request denied. We will press on and find what we need at the crash site."


    "Confirmed"? he replied in what I assumed to be a sullen tone, if computers could have tone to their voice. A sulking computer for company. What could be better.


    As I near the crash site I can see evidence of it. Small trees are bent over along the approach path and the smell of burning fills the air. Mixing with the traditional woodland smell. The mossy green scent, the sticky sap smells sweet and spicy to me. It smells different for each person and to me it mixes well with the woodland background. Though the burning doesn''t quite fit. I don''t know why. I think sassily to myself.


    A few more metres and the forest opens up slightly over a large ditch. Maybe three metres deep and five across the ditch has no trees on its banks and has loose dirt that looks like hundreds of mole hills covering the banks.


    I slide down the bank converting to a run as I reach the bottom. I manage to stop before the opposite side. Glancing up and down the ditch I see it curve off in both directions. It seems unnatural that this would form. A sinkhole maybe but a long straight sided ditch with even curves.


    Taking a run at the steep ditch sides the first step I take on the loose earth gives way and I face plant into the earth. The world goes dark as my helmet digs into the earth. I let my knees bend and I slide out of the human shaped depression in the bank. I look around in embarrassment as you do to make sure no one saw despite knowing I''m alone. It''s an instinct honed by societal influence and it might as well be genetic instinct since its impossible to not do it.


    After a few more tries and subsequent fails I relocate to a part where a tree is growing close enough I might be able to grab it. I jump as high as I can and crawl up to the tree.


    Once out of the ditch I brush the dirt off of my armour and shake my head in frustration. Its about lunch time and I''m getting hungry. I can''t wait to get to the wreckage and get into my food rations.


    I carry on walking and about five minutes later I come to a clearing. I feel my stomach drop. In my mind''s eye, I would enter into a clearing where the wreckage was intact enough for a recover. The grasses and underbrush would be burning, and bits of metal and bolts would be strewn around. The cargo would be battered but the crates would be just about holding together and their contents intact and working. I should have scavenged my rations, some weapons, and most importantly the water purifier and extractor would be working. However, that was not to be.


    When I burst into the clearing and the forest peeled back like a plaster opening up to the air. Nice to be out in the open but it came with a sharp sting. A very sharp sting. A little fire was the only correct assumption I had had. There was nothing left. My ship had gone. Completely gone. The only evidence of its presence was the indentation in the ground and the burnt patch of grass.


    I felt sick to the core. Wallowing it down took a while and I found a little bit of metal that I collected in a pile. Grabbing it in handfuls I stored it in my containers above my hips in my lower back. To my surprise whatever had cleaned me out had missed one piece of tech. A nanotech reinforced fighting blade. It had a curved blade in a sharp hook. Like the Karambits of old it had a ring that slotted onto my finger. A toughened handle that had finger grooves and a forefinger stopper to stop my hand slipping onto the blade.


    The blade was five inches and curved inwards so that the spine was longer than the blade. Narrowing to a point parallel to the knuckles when held in a fist. Along the spine there was a little serration. Not enough for practical use but it could clip a very small whet stone to it. There was not one attached unfortunately.


    As I span it around my finger getting it comfortable I heard the most awe inspiring awful screech. It was absolutely terrifying, and it sent me into a flat out run. Panicking and rushing I didn''t look where I went I just ran with a primordial terror. Relying on instincts alone I fled. Perhaps my most graceful run I skipped over fallen logs, jumped potholes and relying on a little luck manged not to trip. I didn''t even dare to glance behind me, but I felt the presence getting closer and closer. Breathing down my neck, its moist breath consuming me. My heart beat races, pulse pounding to a level of extreme pain. My muscles begin to spasm as I exhaust their supply of glucose. Fatigue begins to set in. I stumble once, twice and slow down. With each footfall a jarring pain shoots up through my foot, ankle leg and lower back making me seize up despite trying to ignore the pain. Regulating my breathing helps ease it and I begin to pick up speed.


    But its too little to late a huge thump slams into my shoulders whipping my neck back as my chest is pushed forward. I fly forwards and bounce off a rock. Out of the corner of my eye I see a tall pale skinned creature. Blurred in my dazed vision. Another hit comes, and I fly through the air again bouncing along the floor and sliding down a bank I hadn''t seen coming.


    After the slide comes a softness that reminds me of bed and in my dazed, disoriented state my mind swirls around and around before another impact jars my head knocking me into darkness.

 Chapter 5 - Lusus Naturae

    <u>Chapter 5 ¨C </u><u>Lusus Naturae</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    3<sup>rd</sup> May 2341 (BSST)


    The ghost rose from the ground. Barely disturbing the swirling and endless whirling eddy of mist. It smothered the muddied the withered dying ground. The colours of the world seeming to leech into shades of grey. The lively, vividness of life fading away like water swirling down the drain. More silent than death the ghostly apparition stood, or rather floated there. Narrow sharp cheekbones covered in a pale white skin that looked like a silk cloth had been draped over the bones. Thin, gaunt and skeletal the ghost had merciless, lifeless grey eyes that seemed to sap my every emotion. With less and less feelings I could feel my strength and will collapsing and folding in on myself.


    It beckoned with a single thin, withered finger and like a beaten dog I didn¡¯t even question it. I followed step by step, not even noting the cobblestone path nor the graves that I stepped around and on desecrating the once loved remains. With every step I took my head felt leaden and my arms drooped lower and lower. She became more solid. Seeming to phase into reality. What once was a mere suggestion at form was now a physical reality. Tall, ever so tall. He loomed over me like the sword of Damocles, ever a look away. Waiting just waiting for the mistake. With every step I could feel the infamous sword drop a foot, until I could feel its sharp grained point pressing into the nape of my neck.


    Like a conductor she moved her arms and the dark grey tatty cloak shifted revealing an ice white skin with perfect diagonal crisscrossing scars etched in silver. Like a sculptor had cut them himself. Like a puppeteer had woken the bodies I had missing in my thoughtless obedience rose in jerky motions. She didn¡¯t care about me and a cold echoing laugh reverberated around me from her toothy grin as the bodies closed me in, one perilous step at a time.


    Curling into a ball I fell to the ground shivering. A tear falling from my eye stinging as it traced my jaw bone. Falling to the damp ground and fading away. The mud sticking to my bare thigh as a hand tugs and pulls. I slapped at it trying to shake it off, but it was to no avail. A terrible screech sounded out and I flinched before recognising it as my own. A hand slapped over my mouth dampening it down. Reflexively I bit hard hearing and feeling the crunch of bones shifting under the pressure of my teeth. The metallic coppery taste fills my mouth. Rich and salty. It flows down my throat in slow viscous globs coating it with a thin oily film. Like a shot it came with a burning chaser. Unlike a shot it was occurring in my hand. An intense burst of pain shoots up my arm to my brain where it registers as pulsing spikes of pain.


    I have bitten myself in my panic. More tears coalesce in the corners of my eyes and trace my cheeks colouring them in a similar silver to the ghost¡¯s scars. Less violent and more tragic.


    Looking up I stare into the face of one of the bodies. It might just be his grave I¡¯m lying on. Wearing an old soldier uniform his right hand is missing and a suppurating lesion runs up his right arm. The uniform is discoloured the whites blemished with shades of brown. The reds almost black with the dried blood staining the once regal, honoured mark of country. His head is split open and a sword handle sticks out from his trapezius on his left side. The fully caked with blood marring the otherwise shiny, iridescent silver of the blade.


    He takes another step and like a tensed cable springs at me his bony hand arching for my head. It impacts like a truck and like a marionette with its strings cut I fall, collapsing back to lie down like the bodies that have just assaulted me. The dark grey world is split and overwhelmed by a white light bursting down from above and fanning out to expand around me. The all-consuming white I¡¯ve heard so much about. You know, it¡¯s not so bad to die. Relatively painless, quick. One second your alive. The other its gone and the comforting white surrounds you¡­Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°RONJA!¡±


    ¡°WAKE UP OR YOU ARE GOING TO DIE!¡± a voice screams at me. It isn¡¯t very nice. Who is this, interrupting my death and speaking nonsense. I¡¯m already dead how can I die again.


    ¡°RONJA!¡± it bleats at me again. Like an annoying little brother that won¡¯t leave you the fuck alone. Sighing, ¡°fine I¡¯ll go sort this out¡± I think to myself resigned to a positively awful afternoon.


    Blinking fiercely as colour floods back into the room, the white fading and being replaced by the softer yellows of sand. I take a deep breath feeling the stitch fade slightly.


    The lovely yellow colour is somewhat ruined by the warning lights flashing around my HUD. Blinking again I start to regain my composure. I can feel the residue of the tears from the nightmare and as a result my vision is slightly blurred.


    With a sharp jerking motion, I¡¯m tossed onto my front and straddled in the mount position by a monstrous humanoid thing. The first thing I see after coming out of my nightmare is an affront to nature. Face to face an instant after coming from the white it is antithetical and so, so off putting.


    The creature was heavy and stifling, restraining me. Compressing my organs. I could feel a small spike digging into me. It was I assumed its coccyx for the beast was skeletal and disfigured. I stared into raw, oozing, eye sockets. The eyes absent yet still searching, penetrating and examining me. Strands of congealed blood flapped around in the empty bowls. The surrounding skin was rucked and crimpled like layered syrup and discoloured with shades of green and brown, starkly in contrast to the white of the rest of the beast. Corded muscles, ribbon like and well accentuated made it seem like it had an exterior ribcage. The bones still showing somehow. The skin was taut like an elastic band, almost to the point of ripping in some places whilst loose and flappy in other places. In some places it had indeed ripped and from the gashed a viscous goop dripped. Like great globs of phlegm, it fell in stages down the monster collecting in its folds. Dried and crusty flakes fall off of it like dandruff.


    Rocking from side to side it swept its head across me breathing in deep breaths. As if scenting me out despite sitting astride me. It opened its mouth to breath out and its huge canines were revealed to me. Serrated edges and needle like points they protruded and pierced through its upper jaw leaving punctures that constantly bled staining its mouth red. The rest of its jaw was human like with incisors and molars with the four-point crown. An awful stench rolled out and over me as it breathed out a rattily, shuddering breath. Like a winch slowly winding in, the ratchet of its throat clicks with a soft, metallic sound. Almost like a purr. In its malicious and malevolent nature, I suppose it could indeed have been a purr. Albeit an unsettling one.


    Like raw sewage and rot its stench was paralysing and overwhelming. Seeking out my senses like a missile and violating them.


    I felt like I had been studying it for hours such was its beautiful horror. Captivating and violating. In fact, it was just a moment, a moment that bombards me, inundates and buries me.


    It draws back an arm and I spot the talons. Warping out of finger nails to chipped fractured nails, rust coloured and tainted. Like a whip it speeds towards me.


    On instinct I block, flipping up my arm. My thumb rests on my collar bone and my fingers extend down my back my ear resting on my wrist. It pulls my arm together, tensing the bicep and blocking my neck and head in a wall of armoured flesh. It impacts and skates off my armour leaving scratches. I force my head back, but it still catches me in passing whipping my neck round.


    Like a fighter driven mad in rage it beats on me, coming from each side raining blows down upon me. I block, again and again. Enduring and abiding its rule, waiting my moment.


    It comes a short time later as the monster leans back bellowing its dominance to the sky and removing the pressure on my chest.


    I drive up with my hips, dislodging it. Ramming my knee into its back I flip in over my head and spring to my feet. Turning and drawing my knives in one smooth motion. Now I see it standing its presence seems to grow and loom like a storm. Growing in scale, and viciousness. Seven or eight feet tall with protrusions, spikes I guess you could call them on its joints. A large plate like spike. Like those from a stegosaurus protrudes from its head, a natural roman crest, though situated a little more behind. It flicks it tongue at me as a snake tastes the air. Split as well. It tenses ready to rush me berserker like.


    Before it can pounce though something seems to catch its attention. It lifts its head and looks around as if waking up. Crouching low it launches itself up at me, over me. I slice as it passes catching it low in the abdomen. Blood splashes over me but it doesn¡¯t seem to bother it. It lands maybe thirty metres away at the tree line. Gives me one last glance before melting away into the foliage and completely disappearing leaving nary a trace.

 Chapter 6 - Building camp 1

    <u>Chapter 6 ¨C Building camp 1</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    3<sup>rd</sup> May 2341 (BSST)


    As the monster faded from view, melting seamlessly into the forest I stood staring after it. It was eerie how easily it eluded my searching. One moment there, threatening my life, the next gone. Evaporating as ice in the midday sun.


    Once I was sure it wasn¡¯t lurking behind a tree I marched over to the forest looking for tracks. I could see where it had landed after jumping over me. Leaving large depressions in the sand. Tougher and denser than earth bound sand it held its shape more rigidly and firmly than on earth. A perfect print. Large plate like feet with what might be studs or spikes for traction that dig into the sand. Six toes, larger and more spread than a humans¡¯ providing one-hundred-and-eighty-degree coverage from the ball of the foot onwards.


    More arched than a humans¡¯ it showed by the deeper indents in the sand. The tarsal and metatarsal bones form the arch of the foot, much like that of doorways it is a stronger shape than just a flat plate which aids in the support of the body in the erect position. Strengthened by ligaments and muscles it forms the basis of any powerful move. So, studying it would be quite useful.


    Using computer to help with the analysis I came to a figure of the creature¡¯s mass. Coming in at almost a hundred-and-seventy-five kilogram of muscle adapted to higher gravity and survival in an untamed world it was surprising I had managed to survive at all.


    All things considered I was quite lucky to have come out of this engagement unharmed. The rush of intense feelings was unusual for me. Trained in the crucible of fire a marine learns to control themselves. Very disappointing for my nerve to break and to flee. Unless.


    ¡°Computer, um, did scans show the creature emitting any signals or particles or anything really?¡±


    ¡°No, however, shortly before your little swim, I did detect odd audio signals both below and above the human audio range of twenty to twenty thousand hertz. Shortly after you started behaving oddly and were unreceptive to my attempts to initiate response.¡±


    Perhaps like a dog signal the humanoid that I had just fought, I assume it¡¯s the same thing that was chasing me before I jumped in a river, emits a sound that drives the local creatures to a panic. No mater how dangerous that thing was I find it hard to believe it could take that big cat I glimpsed on my first night. I really need to think of a name for that monster. It¡¯s going to be really annoying to think of them as ¡®that thing that attacked me¡¯ every time.


    I take a full scan of the foot print for future use. Perhaps in tracking, perhaps something else. Intelligence is the most important thing for survival so any knowledge I can gleam from my surroundings is a step in the right direction.


    With the creature leaving me, I¡¯m left alone with my thoughts. You know it¡¯s hard to keep being positive in the face of adversity. So many people say that adversity is a blessing in disguise. For even Edgar Allan Poe once said, ¡°Never to suffer would never to have been blessed.¡± In reference to adversity. I would say to them that true adversity they had never experienced. It¡¯s easy to say it when you haven¡¯t encountered true soul crushing despair. No hope of rescue, no hope of going home, no hope. Just survival on a world as foreign to me as the modern world would be to Mr Poe. A day by day struggle.


    I guess we¡¯ll see who proves to be right. I¡¯m a marine damnit and I sure as hell won¡¯t give up. For better or worse I¡¯ll cling to life. After all I wasn¡¯t a deluded fool, latching on to comfy soft ideas because I was too scared to face true death. I¡¯d faced it in combat and lived to tell the tale. Better to live for today with no expectation of a tomorrow. If there was one, then I¡¯d be pleasantly surprised. If not, well I haven¡¯t lost anything. My body will just fade away, decomposing and joining then elemental cycle to reform life in another way. My consciousness as well will fade and all that I am will be electrical flashes across the neural network of another. Brief memories, hopefully favourable ones, of the people who have interacted with me.


    From the little girl and her parents, I rescued on the front, to the soldiers I served with across the vastness of space. From my superiors to my enemies. From the little girl I once was to the woman I¡¯ve become. And then even that will fade away. The only acknowledgment of my existence a note in some data log. Persisting until even the very molecules that make us up fade in the death of the universe. And who knows what after that? Maybe all that I am will fund the most infinitesimally small part of a creation of a new world. Or maybe I will be forgotten like so many others. One thing is for certain, I can only judge my actions by what I experience in the present. And my present involves survival on an alien planet. So, I suppose I¡¯d better hop to it and focus on surviving after all.


    My existential crisis over with I relax slightly and headed down towards the sea to wash off the gunge that had splashed across me when I cut into the monster. I splash into the sea and rub down the suit for a good while. The blood and gunge falls off, floating on top like an oily scum. I wash it away with little lapping motions. Flipping my hands sending ripples cascading away over the top. The ripples continue out over the sea before colliding and fading away as they meet the natural waves. It has an unnatural feel to it. Too calm, but then again there is no moon close enough to have any impact. What little tidal action there is is caused by the sun. Computer hasn¡¯t been able to analyse the orbital mechanics, so I don¡¯t know if the orbit is circular, elliptical or something else entirely. So, it¡¯s possible that later in the yearly cycle the planet will drift closer to the sun and the gravitational affect on the waves will increase. Who knows how the seasons work here.


    Once clean, I climb out of the sea rolling my shoulders and loosening up ready to take on the day.


    What would I need to do? I wondered to myself as I set off walking. Over hillocks, down troughs. Across rocky sections and through the ever-present jungles and woodlands. On the edge of a swamp like biome, the natural forests thinned slightly before tilting down and descending a couple hundred metres to a flat beach. The charcoal forest was on the other side of the swamp and mountain ridges I had seen earlier. Where the swamp joined the forest, a natural clearing sprawled over the land. Sparse enough for me to use as the location of a base whilst also dense enough to provide cover and descent resources for a build.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    Oddly quiet the woodland had a strange air to it. Pausing, once my footsteps stopped there was nary a sound. Unlike before, this silence was not a disquieting, eerie or ominous. It was in fact a comforting, uplifting silence that enveloped me like a hug. The light filtered through lighting the soft, baked ground in warm shades of browns, golds and greens. An interesting tessellating pattern of light and dark spread out from thick dark shadows that rose and fell like the wind.


    It mirrored the canopy and when I looked up at it for comparison the fluttering leaves shone with a myriad of colours as the sun shined through them. Wispy and translucent they danced in the tall boughs in a calming, hypnotising motion. Swaying with the wind with an unrestrained freedom, despite being attached at the hip to the strong branches. The strong boughs, coloured in the old mustard browns and vivid greens. Mottled over time as old layers pealed back revealing the new life thrumming limbs that supported the trees.


    It would do, as good as any I might have found and better than any I had come across in my walk.


    I had finished wondering and made a mental list of what to do.


    - Find a water source.


    - Find/make fire source.


    - Find a food source.


    - Find a location for camp.


    - Build a shelter.


    - Develop tools.


    - Build protection.


    - Explore the landscape.


    Up above me somewhere, where the cliffs raised up I could hear the gentle trickle of flowing water. A small babbling brook or a curving creeping creek. The water lapping at stone with tender slapping sounds sooths me. So that answers priority one.


    Fire, a much harder commodity but not impossible. Food, again harder. And not as important now, I can last a while without food. But hunting will certainly be necessary.


    Location for a camp, check.


    Build a shelter, I¡¯ll get on it soon. Tools will help but an actual camp for that. Tools also for protection. Then and only then can I think about exploring.


    There are probably a few things I¡¯m missing on the list, but I¡¯ll deal with that when I come to them. I can only do so much right now after all.


    The sun is about halfway across the sky by now, it feels like a day is about the same length of time as it is on earth. Of course, it¡¯s possible my body ware has altered my perceptions in order to preserve my mental state. Humans don¡¯t do well with a vastly different sleep schedule and judging by the stars colour it should be different. Blue stars or O-Type stars are very rare occurring in only 0.00003% of main sequence stars. They burn hot and live fast becoming blackholes or neutron stars after their supernova. In general O-Type stars are supermassive which would certainly have a very different effect on the day night cycles.


    The fact it is an O-Type star gives me some clue to where I am. O-Types general form in regions of intense star formation such as the spiral arms of a galaxy or the collisions of galaxies. So, we know what kind of region we¡¯re in. Unfortunately, space is so large and unmapped I really have no clue where I ended up.


    I listen to the gentle trickle of water for a few moments to locate it. It¡¯s up above me to the north. It takes a few minutes to climb up to it but eventually I do. It¡¯s a small stream. It winds its way through the trees hidden by overgrown banks that have grown together in a twisted matted tangled mess that hides the stream. If you couldn¡¯t hear it, you would never have been able to find it up here. I track the stream down towards my camp until it takes a slingshot around a cluster of trees and heads off to the east. Tracing the edge of the cliff. After approximately thirty metres the stream tumbles down the cliff in a series of small drops until reaching a small basin. Carved out by the force of the falling water a little pool has developed. Perhaps half a metre deep by one meter wide, the circular pool has small moving creatures in. Kneeling down I stare at the creatures using computer to help me focus.


    The creatures are small approximately ten centimetres long and deep red in colour. They both stick out looking unnatural against the pale sand but also blend in almost seamlessly to the red sandstone. As I watch I can see how they like to hide underneath the rocks and pebbles, digging into the sand and almost burying themselves. Often only the front chela/maxillipeds or antennae are visible sticking out of the sand. They look like prawns but with a few more spikes and minor differences.


    The water looks clean enough to drink which is good. But, who knows what toxins are in there?


    ¡°Computer, No! Enigma!¡± I say in a eureka moment. That¡¯s the name I¡¯ll give him. Oh, and it¡¯s a him now as well.


    ¡°Computer, your new designation is that of Enigma please choose a male voice tone for yourself and run it past me.¡± He does and thank god I have right of refusal. My god the first ones were bad. No, emotion. Too much emotion. Sleazy. Slimy. And that was just the first few. I stared at the water until he finished going through the database one step at a time. Before the end of the list, but seemingly not far from the bottom he found one I liked. Posh but not pretentious. Well enunciated and clear. Professional. Perfect for an op.


    ¡°Enigma¡±


    ¡°Yes, Ronja. How may I assist you?¡±


    ¡°Is this water safe to consume?¡±


    ¡°Scans indicate no known human pathogens or other contaminants. However, I would not feel safe allowing you to drink this as is. We do however have enough purification liquid for approximately two-point-three-five litres at standard concentration and a maximum of ten-point-six-two litres depending on the dilution factor. After this is used up the only way in which I might help would be filtration.¡±


    ¡°Ok, right. I¡¯m going to have a drink then. Point seven five concentration please enigma.¡±


    I feel a slight prick as a small tablet is inserted into my mouth from the suit.


    ¡°One tablet, point seven five concentrations allows twenty-five mouth fills. Stay safe Ronja.¡±


    ¡°War mode sentinel.¡± I say before unsealing the suit and stepping down out of it. It turns and tenses in a crouch scanning relentlessly for dangers.


    The first thing I notice about the world is the temperature. 335K is well above normal earth temps and I would soon die If I didn¡¯t have my body ware. It takes a few moments for it to adapt but soon everything feels normal. Well as normal as possible. I¡¯m still a little hot but it¡¯s better than initially.


    The second thing I notice is the increased gravity. Stepping down from two feet up in the air to the floor takes a much greater toll on my knees and feet. It¡¯s harder to breath and I feel like I¡¯m wearing a compression jacket. Though not to painful the increased gravity would be impossible to fight and survive in. Just living would be fine. But to survive you pick up injuries, take falls and numerous other things that increased gravity would make much more dangerous. A fall down the stairs in increased gravity say 2G to 3G would easily be fatal.


    I kneel down and take a few deep gulps of water letting it sit in my mouth for five seconds each time, so the tablet dissolves a little hopefully sterilising the water and preventing any illness I might have gotten.


    It¡¯s bliss. The cool water flooding down my throat. It¡¯s odd how cool it is compared to the hot muggy atmosphere. Soon I¡¯ve had my twenty-five mouth fills and I¡¯m wishing for more. But there¡¯s no point wasting the purification tablets. More water would just pass right through me wasting the supplies. So, as much as it hurts me I stand back up. Run fingers through my hair and revel in the feeling before turning and climbing back into my suit.


    Well, that¡¯s priority one done and dusted. Good start Ronja now we just have to find food. Perhaps the prawns will do, or maybe not. I¡¯ll have to build a trap for them if they are edible. Otherwise I¡¯ll go hunting. There are fish in the seas, birds in the trees and bugs in the leaves. All waiting for me to come along and snap them up.


    ¡°Enigma, place a water droplet icon on my HUD for this little pool please.¡± It pops up a second later. Good everything is coming along nicely.

 Chapter 7 - Discovering Fire

    <u>Chapter 7 ¨C</u><u> Discovering Fire </u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    3<sup>rd</sup> May 2341 (BSST)


    Next priority for me is to build a fire or locate a source of food. Since the water has been found I only have a couple portions of purification tablet left. After that I will have no safe drinking water. So, I need to work out a method to purify the water.


    But, fire first. Fire is one of the most important facets for survival from warmth and protection to the sterilising effect of cooking food and boiling water.


    To make a fire I will have to resort to the tried and true method, the fire sticks. To start with I¡¯ll need a small flint knife. I scrounge around on the floor for a few minutes discarding stones until I find a small dark stone. It¡¯s about half the size of my palm and when I stare at it just right I can see the faint lines that separate the layers. It is both matte and gloss with the undulating layers creating a discordant pattern that shimmers in the light. One side is narrower that the others and it is this side I will knap into a rough blade. I can¡¯t use my fighting knives as they have small molecular edges and a shape designed for fighting. Using them for anything else blunts and breaks them. Sharpness doesn¡¯t matter if the shape is wrong. It unbalances the blade and makes it useless. There¡¯s a reason axes are used for tree chopping and not swords after all.


    Karambits are a version of a punch knife not a slasher. They work by driving an ever-widening point through flesh forcing a cut by converting forward momentum into lateral pressure. Then ripping out the blade, tears and breaks muscle and tendon debilitating and crippling the target.


    A flint knife can be used without a thought as it¡¯s disposable. You can always get another.


    To knap a flint knife, I¡¯ll need another rock. Something hard with a point. Some form of igneous rock will do me well. Eventually I find one. It has a white and grey pearlescence to it and a cubic blocky nature to it¡¯s shape.


    With short, sharp motions I bash the harder rock into the softer rock. The softer rock is supported by a tree and the glancing blow chips of a small fragment of the stone. A smooth semi-circular concave indent is now present in the stone with a lighter grey colouration compared to the rest of the rock.


    More and more glancing blows whittle down the edge to a slant. The surface is now pockmarked with small edges like burrs that are sharp enough to cut me. When I finish the blade profile I will have to take care of that issue before use. The new edge is slanted like a chisel, but I need to shift the edge location to the centre thickness of the blade for the purposes I¡¯m thinking of.


    You see I need to cut a notch into the fire sticks and it will only work on the edge side if the edge is chisel like and the other edge will not have the right shape for the fire sticks to work properly.


    I flip the knife over and begin the arduous process once again. Softer this time taking much smaller chunks out. The edge is weaker now that material has been removed so the kind of hits I was doing at the start would be quite liable to snap of all my progress.


    Eventually I succeed in getting a descent edge on the blade. Not sharp by any means but enough to start honing it with. It will never be comparable to a modern or even twentieth century blade, but it will do for basic survival.


    I head back up to the pool. Water is necessary to hone a blade. That¡¯s how wet stones work after all. I find two large rocks. One to sit on and the other that can rest comfortably on my knees. It has two smooth sides which is perfect. Reaching down into the pool I scoop up some of the finer silt and gravel that forms in the bottom of the pool. Rounded by the abrasive actions of the water it will be perfect for taking off the rough edges. Splaying it across the stone I scoop up water with my hands multiple times as to my annoyance it keeps escaping through my fingers. It¡¯s one of the few drawbacks of the suit. Normal fingers have yielding flesh that can almost form a seal so that water would leak out much more slowly. However, this doesn¡¯t occur with the suit and the water falls through my fingers like a colander.


    Eventually, it is wet enough to begin. In a methodical manner I scrape the belly of the blade up to where it joins the knap marks or the grind line on a normal blade. The sharp edges that were similar to burrs slowly come off and I have to keep replacing the grinding powder. Wetting it constantly helps but the friction builds up a lot of heat and I still feel it through the suit. It would be useful on a regular blade so that I didn¡¯t ruin the thermal cycling of the blade nor the temper, or other heat-treating processes. But it is a rock blade so that doesn¡¯t really apply.


    Eventually as I proceed from the rougher grain to the more sand like one the marbled glossy colour begins to reappear. Then it¡¯s time to switch sides and do the same to the belly on the reverse side.


    It takes maybe an hour of constant grinding to get the belly of the blade done. Unfortunately, this is the least arduous process. The actual blade part is far worse. Less pressure and more scraping are what will help me achieve a proper blade here.


    It takes almost the rest of the day and by the time evening arrives I am done with the blade. In the dying light I examine the blade. It glints when the occasional ray pierces the foliage and strikes it. No where near the lustre of a proper blade. But it sparkles nonetheless.


    The edge still undulates. Almost like a Kris but laterally. A flaw, beautiful in its rawness but it is still a flaw. A flaw I will be unable to correct. Perhaps when I move onto iron tools I can forge a proper blade. But that is a long way off. A very long way off. Almost too far away to even imagine. Will I still be alive by then? It is at times like these that I¡¯m so glad that dad instilled survival instinct in me.


    We would go off world and into the wilderness and just survive. No net, no help. No tools. Just go with a knife and some back up supplies and survive. It gives me hope I will survive until rescue, whenever that may be. Pity he was such a bastard though.


    In the fading light I estimate I have enough time to climb up into the canopy for a night¡¯s rest. I imagine it to be much safer than the ground.


    As night closes in like a blanket thrown across me I picture what I will accomplish tomorrow. Hopefully the basis for the water purification will be done. Hopefully. It¡¯s the last thing I remember before I surrender my mind to the blissful release of sleep.


    I awake peacefully for what I think is the first time on this planet. I¡¯m still perched up in the canopy. Straddling a y-split in the trees. My legs ache with a fierceness that is quite a shock. Especially when I move to get up. I hope my face remains sangfroid, but I somehow doubt I have maintained an inscrutable countenance. It doesn¡¯t matter but for some reason it truly offends my pride that I might have given my composure away for something so trivial as a little pain.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    I sigh. Oh, who cares, no one is here anyway. Smiling at my silliness I almost snort.


    The climb down is an agony I can¡¯t wait to be rid of. There may be a reason humans have never slept in trees. I may be missing something, but it seems we are very poorly adapted to a life in the tree tops.


    Once I¡¯m down I take a few moments of peace to observe my surroundings. Scouting the area, taking my morning water rations and generally planning out my day takes most of the morning until perhaps around ten AM. Enigma tells me he will need another hundred or so reference points until can compile a working clock for me. Though he does give me a rough indicator of how much daylight I have left. A small sundial like icon in my top right. It¡¯s not yet midday according to it. But Enigma can¡¯t seem to stress how rough it is. I think perhaps he has reached a stage in the evolution from EI to AI. The sense of pride. It¡¯s only natural that any form of intelligence would experience the seven deadly sins after all.


    Now I have the knife I set off into the underbrush to find the driest sticks I can. It takes me a few minutes, but I eventually find a few dried sticks.


    They are dry, but not really dry enough to light a fire with. Cutting them from the branches takes a few minutes and in short order they can be snapped leaving relatively clean break marks on the tree.


    I strip away the bark and protective coatings. A thicker than expected layer of bark is the only major difference in the biology of trees. Once stripped, into two of the four sticks I drill a hole about two third of the way through. It has a diameter of about one centimetre. From the hole I cut in a wedge that connects to the hole and the edge at a down sloping angle. With a stone I smoothen out the wood removing what is actually burrs this time. Smoothening the passage will hopefully make it much easier for the hot ashes to fall out when I use the fire sticks.


    I finish of the equipment by setting out all four sticks in the sun on a flat black rock to dry properly. I will check on them in a few hours. Until then I have a couple other tasks to do. First task is to get enough firewood to maintain a fire for a descent period of time. Tomorrow I will need it. For sure. I¡¯ll need enough for today to get a fire started for a few hours. Overnight is too long at this point. I have no idea if fire scares of the worlds inhabitants in the same way as it does on earth. It looks like I¡¯ll be in for another night stuck in the tree tops. Sigh. Major sigh.


    The current knife is just too small, so I must make a small hand axe. It doesn¡¯t need to be very well made. Rough will do. And rough is certainly what I get. About twice the size of my hand with a nice smooth hand placement. I take huge swings at it breaking off large chunks of rock. It takes me a few hours, but I soon have it finished.


    My hand hurts but not too much to continue on. Leaving my camp by a few metres I select a small tree half fallen over and mostly dead it has some small amount of life in it still. Hopefully it will burn without too much smoke like green wood is likely to do. Using the hand axe, I chip away at the base. My god it hurts so bad. The jarring impact of rock against my hand bones. Even with the padding and support of the suit I reckon I will have a bone bruise for a while. I have to haft this axe head soon. The axe blade starts off strong but soon wood fibres that stick around compact into a kind of mat hampering my progress.


    My flint knife can cut out the fibres and I¡¯m glad I have discovered this fact, or I doubt I would have gotten through the seven-inch-thick tree in the daylight. Once I¡¯m most of the way through I step back and take a running jump at the tree a few metres high up. I drag down the tree with my weight. It buckles at the cut but still stays connected. Twisting this way and that it takes a few stamps and just raw power to separate it.


    Once cut down I strip the bark off and place it over a sharpish rock below the cliff. Dropping rocks on the tree damages it enough to snap the trunk in several places and I¡¯m soon left with a small pile of wood ready for the fire. I leave it to dry properly.


    Right so what to do next. I need kindling for the fire. Dried fallen leaves break apart when rolled between the thumb and fingers into a dry nest of kindling. Collecting an ever increasing in size pile of kindling takes another hour and I¡¯m beginning to suspect I may not end up finishing my tasks today.


    In the harsh midday sun, the fire sticks have dried enough to perhaps use now. With a shrug I think I might as well give it a try.


    Taking them down I clear out a section of ground and make a small circle of rocks. Within the circle of rocks, I create a series of small grooves perhaps an inch deep. They all collect at a single point about twenty centimetres out from the circle. I cover up the groove outside the circle with a stone. This will be an air intake for the fire. Making up the starting kindling from the nest to the small sticks and wood fibre from the chopped tree I think I¡¯m about ready.


    I have to whittle down a point on one of the spinner poles to fit the hole very tightly but that is a small task. It was in fact too large to reach the bottom of the hole exactly. That was on purpose though as the size of spinner would decrease with use and more pressure can be applied if it doesn¡¯t fit quite right.


    I place the base on top of some kindling, the notch pointing out over it. Securing the placement with my feet I grasp the spinner at the top. Rubbing my hands back and forth across the stick hard and fast keeps the stick spinning fast. You have to work really hard to get any pressure and friction. So, my hands slip down towards the base as I¡¯m applying a lot of pressure. When I near the bottom it takes me about half a second to transfer back to the top and keep going. My arms tire and I begin to get cramp, but I forge on ahead and I¡¯m rewarded for my efforts with a little smoke from the joints. Unfortunately, I tire before I manage to get any hot ashes out.


    With attempt one done the sticks will now be much drier and hopefully I can succeed. Second time around I do manage to get the hot ashes but, in my haste, to tip them out I jitter around too much and miss the tinder.


    A few more tries and I have it down to an art. Or at least I think so. Blowing gently on the nest cradled in my hand I spot a small glow. More blowing and encouraging and a small flame breaks out consuming the tinder rapidly. Carefully with deliberate motion I shift over to the fire and get it going.


    It¡¯s about fifteen minutes before I sit back for a second comfortable that the fire will not just go out if I don¡¯t constantly tend it. I¡¯m right. I fantasise about just resting on my laurels but that¡¯s not what survival is about. There is always something to be done.


    While the fire roars and crackles breaking down the wood. To fuel its incessant hunger, I decide to make proper use of the fire. First, I cut more trees and break them up. Setting the wood near the fire to dry. To the leaves I do the same.


    When one of the logs is nearly finished I extract its remains and carry it over to the water. Dropping it at the bank I break it up into a fine ashy powder. I scrape it into a plie before creating two more piles with silt and gravel. Taking out a flat rock I dig a small ditch beside the pool. Like a dog I splash water over into the pool and tip the loose dirt in. Making a mud takes a bit more water but eventually I get the right consistency. Like pastry I have to work the mud for quite a while, folding and beating it.


    Taking some of the mud out I work it more on another flat rock and fold in gravel, ash and sand until I get a sticky clay like substance. The dirt was from Enigma¡¯s analysis close enough to perfect clay. Near the waterfront dirt becomes saturated with the right kinds of minerals. The clay minerals are often weathering products like abraded feldspar and fine grain sedimentary rocks like the silts found in the water basin. Organic material is another component that is very commonly found in clays, so the ash was used for that purpose.


    Clays form structures similar to micas. Hexagonal sheets that give clay its particular properties. Clay is a form of phyllosilicate and is characterised by two dimensional sheets sharing either SiO<sub>4</sub> or AlO<sub>4</sub> in the tetrahedral or octahedral configuration respectively. These two layers bond alternately and this provides much the same properties as materials such as plasticine. However, when baked or fired the chemical structure changes towards a more crystalline structure. With metals, non-metals and metalloids held together in an ionic and covalent framework. Known commonly as ceramics and pottery.


    When fired the clays become hard and since they are impermeable they can be used to store and carry water. As such they are very useful for building materials and I will be using clay a lot in the future.


    Rolling the clay into twenty-centimetre-long sausages I slowly build up a pot smoothing the joins out with water and creating an even thickness. Rubbing the ash on the outside I set the pot aside for now. I create a plate of the clay. Two centimetres thick and about five centimetres in diameter. A hole is pushed through the centre of the clay and I¡¯m finished for now. Coating with ash again I take my creations back to the fire and slowly lower them into the edge of the fire.


    I have to build the fire back over them, but I¡¯ve soon got the flames roaring steadily baking the clay into a hard shell. I should have a pot which I can use to make more clay with in the future and of course the disk. More progress will have to wait for tomorrow though.

 Chapter 8 - Fire Technology

    <u>Chapter 8 ¨C</u><u> Fire Technology</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    6<sup>rth</sup> May 2341 (BSST)


    When morning breaks I get up or rather down. Once again, my legs are aching and sore to move from my position in the tree. Locked at odd angles in a suit for eight hours makes them shaky and unstable as I climb down. The tree was a large elm or something rather close in the family. Well in looks certainly. Perhaps this world was seeded from earth. Or perhaps there is only a few types of tree that actually function. Anyway, the tree was maybe thirty metres tall and the fork in the tree happened just as the canopy was starting. This means I have got to climb down about twenty metres.


    Once on the floor, I take a second to acclimatise before doing the rounds scanning the edges of the treeline. There¡¯s nothing. No monsters hiding in the shadows, none in the trees. Not even a single footprint. I breath a sigh of relief letting my stress roll out of me like the moisture in my breath. Tumbling out. My muscles relax, shoulders dropping, chest slumping slightly as the tension falls away like a curtain. Falling to the floor where it gathers in one silky pile, unnoticed and no longer important, relevant or noticed.


    With the first task of the day complete it¡¯s back to work. At the end of the day, yesterday I had a small pot and a hardened clay disk with a small hole poked through the centre.


    First task of the day is to get an improved fire starter and then get a fire going. I¡¯m going to need a big fire for a long time to get my progress along.


    For the fire starter I¡¯ll need some string or plant materials that function as such. Heading into the forest I¡¯m looking for fibrous plants, I take thin strips of bark off the nearby trees checking if it is good to use. Sadly, none of the trees have the required type of bark to make string from. With the trees a no go I move from the trees to the underbrush.


    The small shrubs and grasses that litter the floor. Like a big thick green carpet, protecting and hiding the floor from those who would traipse over it in a relentless pounding march. Underneath this bountiful layer hides all manner of grubs, beetles and small mammalian life. A whole new world. Too small for the notice of the big predators and hidden away under a living roof from any aerial threats. On earth eagles and owls and ravens and so many others would be keeping the populations in check, but here. Whilst I hadn¡¯t noticed any aerial predators it was probably a good idea not to assume about it. Something was hunting on the floor level and I¡¯ve no idea how dangerous it is.


    In my pondering I had covered a surprisingly large distance, but I had found what I wanted to. A fern like plant, Large, around my height and twice as wide. The leaves, split into many sections showed a fibrous nature as I ran my hands over the surface. Rough and corded hopefully when braided it would be strong enough. It wasn¡¯t going to support a huge deal of strain, but it would be annoying to constantly replace the rope.


    Using my flint knife, I cut samples from the big shrub. About a hundred of the leaves would do it. It took me the better part of a half hour to get the samples and bundle the up over my shoulder.


    ¡°Enigma, where¡¯s camp. On the HUD if you please.¡±


    ¡°Certainly Ronja.¡± He said in the suave tone we had picked. It was crazy now I looked back on it, why I¡¯d never had him pick up a voice. It just fitted his personality, if you could say he had one perfectly and I couldn¡¯t imagine ever going back to the monotonous computer he¡¯d had before.


    They say with more interaction and subjective choices, the more the EI develops and I could certainly tell that was true. Enigma was sometimes expressing preference. I was almost glad. Perhaps he would be a fully-fledged AI before we left this place. I had taken to talking with him whilst working and in the evenings before going to bed. It often took me a long time to fall into her embrace and whilst waiting I would chat to Enigma. I hardly remember what we talked about anyway. Plans for the morrow almost certainly. Perhaps my choice in music, food, clothes or anything really.


    In the evenings I had taken to learning a couple more languages. I already knew English, galactic standard, coalition one and two and could function in a few other more obscure ones. Though it was a standard, a lot of people didn¡¯t bother learning it. In fact, with the translators those who could legitimately understand another people was falling rapidly. If they ever had a problem I wasn¡¯t sure it would be easy to fix.


    I suppose part of the motivation to learn another language came from the knowledge that if I¡¯m ever rescued the chances it would be a party from earth are unknown. Who knows where I am. I could be in the outskirts of earth space or I could be deep in the unknown. Heck it was possible I was in a planet deep within coalition or Odrath space.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    I wanted to be able to speak to my rescuers if they ever came so I had had Enigma teaching me some of the common dialects I didn¡¯t already know. I was finding it harder and harder to separate the languages that swim around in my mind. Flowing down the neural pathways. Occasionally, words from the other languages seeped into a conversation. It wasn¡¯t as bad as if I had several earthen languages it my head. In truth the languages were very different because not all species had the same voice box.


    Fundamentally the way humans emit sounds comes down to three factors. One, the power source; our lungs. Two, the vibrator; voice box. And three, the resonator; throat, nose, moth and sinuses.


    When we inhale the diaphragm lowers and the rib cage expands. The new space is empty and therefore a difference in pressure is created. Lower on your insides than the atmosphere. Fluid always flows from higher pressure to lower pressure, so air is drawn into your longs filling them up with life sustaining air. As we exhale the reverse happens. Our intercostal muscles squeeze and the pressure is greater and so air is forced out.


    This air forms a flowing stream in the trachea that provides the energy for the voice box to do its thing. Stronger the airflow the stronger, louder the sound. The steadier the airflow the clearer the sound produced.


    The larynx or voice box sits atop the windpipe. Within it there are two folds called vocal cords. These open during breathing and close during swallowing and making noise. The airstream passes over these two folds creating a vibration. Generally, in the range of a hundred to a thousand times per second providing a range of pitch.


    If you¡¯ve ever wondered why you sound like a drowning cat when you try to sing this is an explanation. The vibration, and thus the pitch is controlled by the muscles in the larynx. Like a guitar string or even the rudimentary rubber band that every child plays with. When tighter; turning the screws for a guitar, stretching further for the rubber band or contracted for the larynx muscles the pitch increases to a higher note. And when looser the opposite is true. Its why its so hard to make noise at the pitch extremes. Imagine trying to make a steel wire vibrate when it is pulled taught. Or a rubber band when unstretched. The rate of airflow would need to be enormous to get any resonation


    So, if you¡¯ve never trained the muscle like you would at the gym then its no wonder it is weak and unable to perform properly.


    However, that assumes you all have the same resonator. Without it there would just be a low buzzing sound. Like a trumpet everything past the lips, or the vocal chords in this case amplifies the sound distorting it and changing it into what were used to. Another moving part to control how you sound when you sing.


    Anyway, I digress, the point is that some of the languages feel natural to each species and the others feel harder to pronounce and are so different it is hard to switch from English to say the Odrath growl that sits deep in the throat and hurts me after even a long sentence.


    I make it back to camp as I¡¯m finishing the mental explanation of how voices work. I don¡¯t really know why I do it. But talking stuff like this over in my mind eases me. I¡¯ve always done it. I love the fact I know how things work. It gives me great satisfaction to understand something fundamental to my life. I live in a world of my understanding and creating. Otherwise I feel like I¡¯m in a cage. Sure, it¡¯s a gilded cage, but a cage nonetheless.


    Sitting down at the pool I take my morning drink, I¡¯m down to about a quarter of my supply of decontamination now. Probably only two or three days of safe drinking left unless I can get the purification system working.


    Ripping the leaves in half down the middle splits them well. Scraping off the leafy part I¡¯m left with the midrib and lateral veins of the leaf. Because they are so large I split the midrib in half again. Testing it I wind the fibrous strands around each other and give a tug. It breaks but not without giving a decent resistance. It¡¯ll do I suppose.


    The next hour is taken up by ripping the leaves up to create the strands. Its tedious work, thankless except perhaps by my future self. But I get it done. I have made far too many strands but that¡¯s okay. I gather them up and begin winding up a string. Any girl knows how to braid so it doesn¡¯t take me long to get a few decent strings together. Winding them together gets me a string about half a centimetre in diameter.


    I take this over to the fire bit and coat the ends in ash. Wetting it a little I can get some of the clay to stick to the end like the plastic coatings on normal string.


    I take the other dried fire sticks and cut a notch into the top trying to hollow out a little under the neck takes a while but soon I have a hole with a thinner column coming out of it. Before I fit in the string I take the disk and try to force it over the stick. The hole isn¡¯t wide enough. Instead of widening it though I start whittling the stick down. Until it just fits. After forcing it down half way it rests on an unwhittled part that is wider than the hole, so it can¡¯t fall. Taking some left-over clay, I fill in the hole and compact it. Testing the fit, I find it doesn¡¯t slid around so that¡¯s perfect. Fitting the string doesn¡¯t take long and soon its complete. Time to start a fire.


    Setting up the same as yesterday I place the new stick into the base. The string has two strands that I twist around the stick. Grasping the string I pull down and out. The string unwinds forcing the linear motion of the string into rotational motion of the stick. When I reach maximum extension, the stick keeps its momentum because the clay disk acts as a flywheel. The string rewinds up and then I pull down again. Repeating this motion is less intense and painful and soon the constant motion creates a smoke and hot ashes.


    Like yesterday it doesn¡¯t take me long to get a fire gong and soon its roaring loudly. Comforting. Well task one is done for the day. Next priority must be getting the water purifier online. However, to do that I should probably get a shelter built. That will take me the rest of the day and some of tomorrow and then I can get the water purifier working properly. Then I¡¯ll go hunting. I can feel the hunger gnawing at my bones, twisting like a knife in the gut. I put it off though, concentrating on what I need to do.

 Chapter 9 - Shelter

    <u>Chapter 9 ¨C</u><u> Shelter</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    6<sup>rth</sup> May 2341 (BSST)


    With a plan for the day ready I set off to forage around for the supplies. Since I¡¯m not building a house but a temporary shelter to work from before I build an actual camp it needs to be fast. I¡¯m looking for something like Loya cane, or a willow variety. Flexible and strong. Willow would in fact be a good choice. It would be used to bind the branches for the substructure. I could have sat down and made thin cord all day long and not had enough to make any progress. In the end a more crude but vastly superior option when considering all angles won out. An easy choice.


    Willows and their variants grow most often I cold moist soils. Now I hadn¡¯t managed to find anywhere cold but along the stream there might be some form of plant. Thin reed like plants could work if they were supple enough to bend. Similar to basket weaving cane was what I was looking for.


    Basket weaving, depending on the type used a multitude of different plants. From grasses and rushes for coiled basketry to palms, yucca and flax for plaiting basketry. Twining basketry and wicker or splint basketry used tougher materials. From roots and bark to reed, can willow oak and ash woods. For lashings I¡¯d like to have a more flexible sample. Stiffer reads and willows like the weeping willow would split and break too easily.


    As I marched through the undergrowth pressing on along the streams soft banks I kept tugging on the vines, crawlers and other fibrous plants I thought I could use. Some split having very little tensile strength. Others snapped having no pliability. Not ductile and certainly they had no bending strength. I wasn¡¯t asking for much. It didn¡¯t have to excel. What I really was after was a plentiful plant that had a good balance of tensile, torsional and bending strength. Was it really so hard to find I screamed mentally as I pressed on.


    I usually don¡¯t let anger overcome me. Its just that it felt like I was wasting time. Like some unknowable deadline was closing in. One silent step at a time. No sign of its passing, yet relentless and boundlessly it hounded me. Taking a few deep breaths, I quenched my anger. Like one does a sword. Letting my anger fade like the swirling mist that rose from the water oil. Dissipating on the gentle breeze that flows through a foundry.


    It took mere moments, as it always seems to in situations such as these to find what I was looking for. Like an untamed, knotted and twisted mass of brambles the plant stood defensively. Cocooning around itself like spun sugar. The thin vine like branches, white in colour ran through and around each other in an endless maze that the eye could not follow. Running along one path only to shift at a crossing and wind up where you left off. Confused and no more the wiser.


    Taking my small knife, I bent the strands around the little undulation that stuck out and confirming my grip ripped it out slicing through the wood. It wasn¡¯t pretty and smooth, but it would do.


    I worked solidly cutting stretches out of the tangle and separating them out. It took more time to extract them, you couldn¡¯t just pull without tightening the section. They had to be fed out carefully otherwise the problem would only get worse.


    In a couple of hours, I must have had a few hundred metres coiled around my shoulders. Tucking my knife away I headed back. Backtracking was harder than I expected, and I nearly caved several times and asked Enigma to help. He knew I¡¯d rather do it myself, so he left me alone. He would have marked everywhere I¡¯ve been already so if I truly needed it he¡¯d give me what I wanted. He was thoughtful that way. A sentiment I never would have thought I would be uttering about an AI. It surprised me how much he¡¯d grown with human companionship in a few days. Not orders but actual conversation appeared to stimulate the heuristic programming and ever time we spoke he seemed slightly more real to me. I wasn¡¯t quite sure what it was, perhaps inflections and word choices but he was definitely developing.


    When I made it back I dumped the vines to the floor. On second thought I dumped them in the stream to soak for a little. Hopefully absorbing water would soften them up a little more.


    Marching of into the forest I found a thick stone and smashed it up. In short order I had a small hand axe. Much cruder than the knife it didn¡¯t have to serve much purpose until I could craft a proper adze.


    Taking the rock, I found a tree a hand thick and hefted the rock. With a monumental effort I slammed the sharper edge into the tree. A section of tree chipped off. It was better than nothing but certainly didn¡¯t make up for the sharp agony that sped up my arm. The sheer force sent ripples back shooting up my shoulder before piercing my brain. Dropping the rock, I shook my hands to rid myself of the pain. It faded quickly leaving behind a hot throbbing feeling. Not pain per say but debilitating enough I wouldn¡¯t want to be using my hand.


    Kneeling down I examined the tree. A start a few more hit and I¡¯d be through. Gritting my teeth, I sucked in a breath, feeling the air flow over my teeth with a dry hissing sound. Just when the flow of air stopped I slammed the rock back into the tree. Another section gone. Repeating twenty times or so got me through the trunk enough that I could rip off the rest of the tree. My right hand was unresponsive, so I had to get Enigma to move the servos in the suits fingers to get me to grip the tree enough to drag it back to camp.


    I stripped the small branches of by snapping them, kicks or body mass proved enough for the wimpy shoots. Throwing them on the fire I pulled the now barren stick over to the cliff edge. Chopping with a hand axe had hurt far too much to continue that madness.


    Dropping rocks from atop the cliff some two metres up was a much better plan. Faster, and much less painful I soon had the tree chopped into five pieces each two and a half metres tall. Now just to repeat this lots more with different sizes.


    In a few short hours I had lots of sticks ready. I was ready to make the supports for the camp.


    ¡°Enigma, what do you think I should build?¡±


    ¡°You mean, what kind of shelter?¡± he asks back.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°What do you think?¡± I retort sarcastically. I¡¯m partly fed up and taking it out on him. Even if it doesn¡¯t affect him it eases my mind to act stroppy with someone. In fact, it¡¯s probably the best option to act like this to an AI. No repercussions. But mostly it¡¯s to see what he¡¯ll say back to me.


    ¡°It is my primary hypothesis that you did in fact mean to ask me what type of shelter you should build?¡± he pauses as if waiting for me to interrupt him. When I don¡¯t he continues.


    ¡°Two primary types of shelter follow the tepee style or the A-frame style. They have been a major part of basic bush craft for millennia and they will continue to stay so due to their simplicity and effectiveness. I would recommend one of these two options?¡±


    ¡°Yes, well that¡¯s always been the plan. After, we can expand towards a wattle and daub or even brick house but for now let¡¯s stick with the basics.¡± I reply to his suggestion.


    We discuss the style for a few more minutes before a plan is formulated.


    I scrape the ground with my feet clearing off the debris. The small stones and branches. Making sure the ground was clean and smooth. Enigma and I mark out an almost perfect circle. 3m in diameter. At regular points, eight to be exact I take a small stick I have fashioned into a stake and hammer it into the ground. In each of the holes I press in a branch. The longest branches, four metres in height. About twenty centimetres deep in the ground. Secure enough to withstand some wind hopefully. I bend the branches opposite to each other over until they meet in the centre and lash them together. Repeating this with the other three pairs takes a few minutes and afterwards I take some thicker lashings and weave the top in more securely like basket weaving. It extends maybe ten centimetres down but when I¡¯m finished it sure makes the structure feel stronger.


    Next, I lash two cross beams on opposite sides of the tepee structure about a meter off the ground. From one side I take two shorter pieces and also lash them together creating a triangle with the point facing down on one of the sides. Another crossbeam to support it and the sub structure for the tepee is complete. Three metres away I dig three holes with the stake in a triangle one metre wide and half a metre tall and insert three branches. The branches are much thinner than the ones for the tepee and when I lash them together they support each other quite well. Taking the longest of the branches I rest it between the two points. The down facing triangle of the tepee and the support I had just built.


    With this done I have the framework done. Along the triangular connection I lay branches so that it actually begins to resemble a structure. Covering the bottoms of the branches in the remaining clay from yesterday I pat down and keep applying dirt to draw out the moisture as I work. This should create a hard shell that keeps the branches secure. Placed at ten-centimetre intervals the sparse construction of the supports allows me to weave the lashings in between the supports once they are tied at the top to create a thin barrier to the world. It takes me a few hours and two more trips to get more lashings but soon I have a triangular frame that whilst not rainproof should be nice and secure.


    When the frame is finished I head down towards the beach. I¡¯m looking for palm fronds. Or at least something similar enough to work like them.


    Palm fronds can be split down the centre and the stems lashed horizontally above each other with the leaves pointing down. Much like feathers where the small hairs interlock to form a uniform flight wing that¡¯s smooth and waterproof the palm leaves interlock and overlap enough to form a waterproof coating. Unfortunately, it is labour intensive. For a two and a half metre circle Enigma estimates about six-hundred palm fronds would need to be split in half and lashed to the tepee. Since mine is bigger and I have the A-frame section as well I¡¯d guess maybe one thousand or more would be needed. Mature fronds as well. Not baby shoots.


    In the end I have to leave the beach, but I do find a substitute. It is a large frond that resembles the classic fern.


    ¡°Enigma, would this work I say pointing at the plant?¡±


    ¡°For waterproofing?¡± he pauses for a second to calculate his next response.


    ¡°It seems to be a variety of a pinnate fern frond. The lamina is extensive enough to span between the supports and the waxy coating would appear to be hydrophobic in nature. I¡¯m not sure if the rachis and stipe that makes up the central vein can be split though. Nor for that matter how the hydrophobicity will preserve after the plant is severed from the roots.¡±


    ¡°Explain please enigma.¡± I ask him. As I¡¯m talking I try to get the inflection to make it a question rather than an order. If He is to become sentient a choice is necessary in all things and allowing the freedom of answering will stimulate growth.


    ¡°Hydrophobicity is the effect of repelling water as can be determined from its. Furthermore, superhydrophobicity is often an intrinsic property of a material and sometimes applied as a laminar coating. In nature examples are most commonly lotus leaves. In fact, the lotus effect of superhydrophobes is called such because of the lotus leaves being extremely hard to wet. If the contact angle of a water droplet exceeds ninety degrees, it is called hydrophobic whilst being less than ninety will result in a hydrophilic surface. Above one-hundred-and-fifty degrees and the superhydrophobic effect can be seen. Most commonly the surface of a material is micro structured in such a way as to increase the surface angle contact area of the droplet. On lotus leaves the small hairs perform this exact task.


    On the other hand, a regular hydrophobic effect such as the one we are looking for can be achieved by a waxy coating and this plant has such a coating. What I don not know is if the plant has any structure or production that would deteriorate and make the leaves useless for our shelter.¡±


    ¡°Ah, right. I love science Enigma but sometimes a simple answer is best.¡± Well we can always try it, I have a good feeling about this. I reply to his longwinded pointless explanation. Well, it was slightly cool. I admit to myself making sure not to subvocalize.


    It takes me until the light begins to fade to finish cutting the fronds that turn out to be everywhere. I collect about fifteen hundred of the damned things. Lash them and throw them over my shoulder to lug back to camp. I¡¯m heading towards the sun, so I get very slightly longer until the light all but fades away.


    If I can get the triangular section done tonight I can sleep easy. So, I set about it. The fronds end up easy to split. Clamping the of the frond stem between my toes. I take my flint knife and cut into the edge where the frond joined the rest of the plant. From there I twist the knife splitting the frond apart enough to get my fingers in. I can then just carefully prise the fronds apart. As I¡¯m working Enigma is calculating how many is should do. Another hour passes before he tells me I can stop. Luckily, I won¡¯t have to lash these to the frame as the lashings that make up the walls already can be pocked through securing the fronds. It takes me two hours to secure the fronds all the way to the top of the structure. However, I''m then faced with a problem. Once secured at the top how do I waterproof the top beam.


    Puzzling over it reveals a long solution but I keep thinking until it opens like a flower, slowly yielding the information I need. Taking some unsplit fronds I tie them around the top beam and weave in the fibres before securing some more fronds lower down to trap the leaves from rising up. More fronds on the top than I weave into the lower layers. Three times I repeat this until there is a seamless green matt at the top that hopefully provides a great deal of waterproof support.


    Night is now setting in quite seriously and I can hardly see so I gather up my fire sticks, kindling, lashes and fronds and crawl into the opening that opens up into the frame of the tepee. I lay out the fire sticks and kindling under the thickest part of the waterproofing and lay some leaves around it. I¡¯m basically screwed if it gets ruined, so I make sure to protect it. I might have been lucky, or maybe it never rains but if they get wet I¡¯m back to square one. Well almost square one. It would be a few more days until I could get pure water though.


    I use the remaining fronds as a pillow and under my new shelter I settle down for a much better night¡¯s sleep.


    ¡°Night Enigma¡±


    ¡°Night Ronja, have a good sleep.¡±


    ¡°You too buddy. We¡¯ll see what tomorrow brings then.¡±


    He replies but I don¡¯t hear him as I fall through the layers of my mind to rest gently slumbering in the land of dreams.

 Chapter 10 - Purifying water

    <u>Chapter 10 ¨C</u><u> Purifying water.</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    7<sup>rth</sup> May 2341 (BSST)


    I wake to a much nicer feeling than the past few days. Unlike before, where I was sleeping up in a tree, I¡¯m now comfortable on the ground. I¡¯m supported by a layer of biological matter with a nice soft pillow. The strong scent of sap, and greenery invades my nostrils. The suit is not filtering my air any more. Spectroscopic analysis of the environment shows it is similar enough that only partial scrubbing is needed for me to survive.


    My suit has three options for air supply. Absolutely no scrubbing where the vents around the neck support folds open and I can breathe atmospheric air. However, even if I could breath without a little assistance the pressure on this planet would not be conducive to my health.


    Secondly, I can have pressure alteration and oxygen boosting which is what I was surviving on right now. It basically compresses or expands the air in storage tanks to earth pressure and scrubs some nitrogen or carbon dioxide from the supply to replace with new air there by boosting oxygen levels. I was running at around twenty-two percent oxygen, slightly above earth ranges.


    Lastly, the suit could run on bottled air. Taking in air and fully scrubbing the air to earth standard. This took a lot of power and the suit couldn¡¯t maintain this rate on standard passive charging.


    Even now I was slowly losing charge as I went about my day to day activities. I¡¯m planning on getting the camp up and running before allowing the suit to charge. From passive charging it would take maybe one hundred hours to fully charge the suit. Too long to be out of use if my camp wasn¡¯t fully active. Luckily, I had a few more days before the suit was at reserve power.


    Lying on my makeshift bed I stretch out. Pointing my toes until the nice shakes occur in my thighs and hips. Raising my arms to open up my core, sides and chest. I take in a big refreshing breath and roll my head, working out the crick in my neck.


    Unsealing my faceplate to rub my eyes, an almost subconscious process, feels damned great. With naked eyes, I stare through the woody canvas above me. The leaves almost glow with a translucent gold gleam that sends the shadows of their veins cascading over me like a mismatched, patchwork quilt. A tessellating web of shadowy lines that trace me and caress me.


    In the morning light, I revel in the silence and doldrums, laying there in my makeshift bed. Not sleeping but resting. As time passes and the suns rise in the sky the light takes on a harsher, less feathery quality. Like needles it pierces my eyelids, jabbing into my eyes until I acknowledge it. Taking in its restless spirit and making it my own, accepting it and acting on it.


    With a sigh I get up, crawling out of the bed with slow, deliberate motions. I grab the fronds and exit my safe haven. The morning is a far more beautiful sight than I usually experience. It must have been a damper night as little silvery droplets of dew cling to the greenery. The blades of grass, the cracks in the bark that runs up the trees and even the tips of the leaves that point down at the floor like an audience are coated in a thin film. A glossy, liquid coating, a patina that gleams and dazzles in the morning sun.


    From the camp, I look down towards the beaches where the forest falls away beneath me. I have undisrupted vision all the way to the curved line of the horizon as it arcs from the edges of my vision. Where the ocean meets the sky, it is blushing in embarrassment, the meeting reveals a pink blossom that colours the water and skies with a dainty brush. The semi-circular sun glows brightly, like the pulsating heart of the galaxy it beats with a constant rhythm. The photons, streaming across space, screaming towards me at light speed. They are the lifeblood of the solar system and they bounce off the sea, revealing a trace of sunlit ocean that blinds and bewilders. The ripples stand out in stark contrast as the small shadows conflict with the bright light. From the sunlit tract a faint mist rises up, visible only in the rare fleeting moments as it is projected against the vast canvas of the heavens. Darker in colour the contrast lasts only mere moments, but the wispy rising mist provides a slight haziness that only seems to enhance the sight.


    Transfixed, I stand, stock still, staring out in silent wonder at the beauty of an unravaged world.


    Whilst beauty is thy name this foreign planet of mine, my heart belongs to Earth. I love her so. She is beauty; she is wonder; she is heaven by divine design. She is a bionetwork; an ecosystem; an ecology. She is mother; she is father; she is sister; she is brother. She will nurture our nature and foster our freedoms. She is home to us all and in this vast universe there can be no greater place for any of us, and all of us, than home. My love is absolute and all-encompassing and when I am welcomed with open arms I shall sing of her wonder; her beauty and bounty. Til my voice is hoarse and broken. For I am home and what more would I want? What more could I need?


    Oh, would that I could; but I can¡¯t so I shan¡¯t. Oh, when will I be home my dear Earth. Just a spec in the sky, one mark upon millions. You are special dear Earth, oh Earth you are dear. So never fear, fore long will I return. Fore if this weary, broken body of mine doth fail. You will always be there. In my heart and in my mind. I will always carry a piece of you. In every mote of my existence; in every beat of my heart; in everything that I am. For Earth is my home; it always has been; it always will be. So, fear not mother; I will be home one way or another.


    But trapped here I am on this planet of mine. With a sky full of stars and a land full of leaves. You¡¯ve got dirt under my feet, yet it¡¯s not quite so neat. There¡¯s air in my lungs but I won¡¯t beat to your drums. You¡¯re the same yet you¡¯re not. You¡¯re familiar yet dissimilar. Earth you are not; only similarities you¡¯ve got. You¡¯re a pale imitation, and that¡¯s your limitation. So, stuck here we are; nought left but a lodestar. So, follow I must, in this planet I trust. I¡¯ll strive to thrive, and I might just survive. For only in the face of adversity can you be confident in your certainty. So, seize the day my dear child and make of it what you will. Because on this land that is sunlit I¡¯ll damned sure make the most of it.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Finishing off the tepee part of my shelter takes the rest of the morning. Unlike with my bedroom part I don¡¯t have enough of the lashings to fill in the sides. What I can do though is tie the fern fronds down around each section and this is what I end up doing. It takes the rest of the ferns to finish and the only problem I ran into was the very top of the tepee. Basic basket weaving skills come to the rescue though.


    Taking two lashings of about half a metre length I cross them at the centre. Tying them together with a third piece allows me to start interweaving more lashes in. bending the first lashings to make a dome shape and filling in with lashes is harder than it seems but it doesn¡¯t take too long after I get going. As with the bedroom part I slip the fronds in between the lashings to secure them and this works.


    To put it into place I have to add a loop to the top out of lashings and raise it up hooked onto one branch part from a forked stick. It¡¯s about two metres long with a short fork in the last twenty centimetres of branch. I can hook one cut off limb into the loop and lift it up above the top of the tepee and lower it down, so it rests on the very top of the structure.


    Having a removeable top section of the tepee has unforeseen benefits. If the planet gets cold ever which Enigma ensures me it will. Based on his observations the planet is in an elliptical orbit and will end up having fairly extreme temperature shifts along its orbit. So being able to remove the top will allow me to have a fire inside the tepee with the smoke blowing out of the top of the tepee. Perhaps I could even build a chimney up and out of the top. It¡¯s food for thought and a long way off. Now it is time to tackle the water purification system. In the dusty floor I use a stick to trace out a sketch of what I want before getting started. It¡¯s complicated but I think feasible.


    I get a fire going and whilst it is starting up and getting steady I try to get what I will need ready.


    First task is to dig two holes. Two big holes. At the side of the pool of water there is a rocky border. Beyond that is fairly soft earth. It is here that I dig a decent sized hole using a flat piece of slate and sticks. The hole is about a half metre in diameter and depth. On one side is a small tunnel that leads down to the bottom and up to the surface. The tunnel is about a tennis ball in size. On the opposite side I just knock down the sides so that there is a gentle slope.


    This hole is where I will build the fire. The small hole is where the airflow can leave. The large opening is where I can build the fire from and where the air will be drawn in from. It is a poor man¡¯s draught furnace. A thing I will almost certainly have to build in the future. On top of the hole I place a dark slate rock. The rock is roughly square and about five centimetres thick. It covers the hole perfectly.


    A second hole is dug closer to the water and about two metres away from the first. It is about half a metre in all directions.


    Next task is to make the clay. Lots and lots of clay. Whilst making the clay I am sure to keep the main fire stocked up. In the end I have managed to make a huge mound of it. Night begins to set so I must work quickly. The fire at least is illuminating me enough to work by. I may have enough light to work through the night.


    Before I start working with the clay I chop down a tree of uniform thickness and drag it alongside the fire.


    Using the clay, I create a thick slab of the material to sit on top of the stone over the fire hole. A few more to complete the sides and I have enough to build a cuboid shape. I set them to bake as close to the fire as possible and get to work on the next pieces. Slapping the clay down upon the tree I can make a uniform curve. Spreading it out over the length of the tree in three pieces, one about three metres long and two two-metre-long pieces respectively takes me an hour. As night begins to set in seriously I build the fire up and over the clay carefully. On another tree I make a few more similar sections that I might need.


    I then must move onto the next task using clay. The final task. In the other hole I begin by moulding the clay to the bottom of the hole. Using my hands, I roll out sausages of clay and apply them to the sides of the hole smoothing out the joins between layers with water. Similar to how the small pot was made. Just on a much larger scale. When the clay stretches up around half way I take some burning logs from the fire and use them to light one in the hole I¡¯ve been working in.


    When morning comes to illuminate my work, I am pleased. It hasn¡¯t gone perfectly but I have certainly made progress. The system I have will be quite tricky to assemble and support, but I think it is manageable.


    Picking up the largest square section I carefully manoeuvre it careful to avoid breaking it. It should be strong but it¡¯s best to be careful.


    I slide it onto the slab. Where it sits statically. Taking the side blocks out of the ashes of the fire I trim the edges using my knife to fettle them straight. A little sap from the surrounding trees sticks them in place as they rest. Whilst the sap keeps them in place I use the left-over clay to seal the gaps, cracks and general defects smoothing out the corners and vertices to make the whole thing more waterproof.


    Into the sides I cut two slanted holes. Without Enigma this would be impossible. He tells me when the angles, size and everything else is just perfect.


    Taking a block, the size of a Jenga tower I place it dead centre in the box. The block has a concave hollowing cut out at a thirty-five degree to the horizontal angle cut in it. Into this block I rest a curved clay section that I moulded over the tree trunk. This however has holes in the end that is elevated. The holes are on the sides and not the bottom of the pipe. I fill the joins with new clay. The ends of this pipe protrude from the two holes that I had carved in the box. Into the pipe another similar section rests. A u bend into another u bend leaving a few centimetres under the join. On top of this new pipe another rests. Inverted though. Sealing the pipes with more clay means I have finished one section of the water purification system.


    Next, I start a fire underneath and let the whole thing start baking more. I need the joins to seal properly and become water tight if this is to work.


    As the clay is baking I begin to pile up earth on all sides of the box until they reach the hole to the outside. Adding water and compressing it makes the whole structure more solid. It also insulates the whole structure. Across the side where the hollow is I place two strong sticks that press the side in firmly. They extend past the bounds of the box and more dirt is piled over the ends securing them. Like a car grill. Water and as the system is baking I can feel everything warming and hopefully sealing. As the mounds of dirt bake I can feel them begin to become sticky and more solid and less like the loose sand of a beach.


    Whilst the box is baking I take another square slab from the ashes. Brush and blow the dust off and head over to the other hole. The slab is supposed to act as a lid, but it is too large. Taking my knife out I slowly shave of sections until it fits fairly well. A little more work on the joining edges gets it to fit pretty snugly. Now I just have to clean out the residue of the fire from last night.


    Cleaning out the holes takes a few hours. This is to be my water reservoir, so I have to make sure it is clean. It is nearing evening and I reckon I have one more task I can complete before I have to sleep. Since I worked through the night I feel my eyelids drooping and threatening to just lock closed. I take the first few steps to the forest before I just can¡¯t hack it any longer.


    Stoking the fire one last time I crawl into the bed and let my eyes fall shut, and my muscles go slack.

 Chapter 11 - Pure Water, Check

    <u>Chapter 11 ¨C</u><u> Pure Water, Check</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    9<sup>rth</sup> May 2341 (BSST)


    In the morning I examine the tank I have made. The fire has all but burnt out. A pile of ashes. White grey dust with specs of charred wood. Smoke rises from the pile gently, wafting this way and that. Dancing in the gentle breeze that barely disturbs a thing. It was drier last night, and the ground has cracks running through. Shallow and numerous they leech dust up to the surface. As I step the dust is kicked up in little swirling tornados that follow my tracks before settling down in a thin layer. Like a silt on the sea floor.


    Clearing out the pile of ash takes me only a few moments. It sticks to my hands though. Perhaps a static charge. Who knows? I rub my hands together and watch as it falls off to be carried away by the wind.


    Everything seems to be okay with the set up. So, I get ready to build the next section. Exploring the forest provides me with about ten sticks with a fork at the top. Between the two holes I ram the sticks into the ground. The height of the fork decreases until the joint is resting on the floor. On the other side of the tank the sticks raise up until they extend to about my height and curve round back towards the stream. In between the two tanks on the forks I rest another curved clay section. It fits in with a bit of wiggling into the hole in the tank joining almost perfectly with the section of pipe already in the tank. More clay smooths the joint out. The open piping extends down supported by the forks until the end rests on the floor about twenty centimetres short of the underground tank. When I wanted water to enter the tank I could place a short section under the end to allow water to flow into the reservoir. The reason I didn¡¯t want to have the piping extend into the pipe was twofold. First, I would like to avoid contamination by making section uncleanable. And second it would make retrieving water to drink much harder if I had to shift the piping out of the way every time.


    Similar to the design inside the tank another u-bend section of clay pipe rests on top of the one I have just fitted. It too slots into the hole and clay seals the joint just perfectly. This one extends down resting on the other until in the last third of the length it curves away in an s shaped bend to rest on one of the stones downstream of the pool.


    A cover section of pipe then slots into the section of exposed piping below where the upper section curves off. It fits quite snugly and wraps around the curve of the leaving pipe. This section is not joined with more clay for reasons explained earlier. I want to be able to clean the pipe.


    With that done the lower section of piping is done.


    The upper section of piping proves to be much harder to install. It is after all above head height. It joins with the tank in much the same way as it does at the bottom. Clay to mould the joint and supported by the numerous forks. The clay piping curves to rest up on the bank of the cliff. I place an inverted section to create a fully covered pipe and then dig up dirt to support the end. Once it is covered and compacted I feel like I am nearly done.


    It is almost ready for the first test run. Setting a fire takes only fifteen minutes thanks to the improved fire sticks and then a further half an hour to stoke the fire and get it going. From my first wood collecting run I have nearly run out. I let the fire burn for a half hour before I think the clay moulding the joints will have firmed up enough for the apparatus be of use. It is by no means fired but it should be good enough until I can replace the joints with lime mortar. Unfortunately, I have found no available source as of yet.


    In the bottom end I shift the cover off the reservoir slightly leaving enough of a gap for a section of pipe to guide water into it. At the top I insert a section of pipe into the mouth of the buried one and dip the other end into the stream higher up.


    With baited breath I look on. Water separates from the main stream and follows my clay aqueduct path down the piping into the tank before exiting in the upper layer and tracing the bottom piping before splitting off and re-entering the stream well below of where the water exited.


    Both the water intake and water exit pipes were working well with. I only needed to modify the flow rate slightly. Decreasing the flow rate only required placing a stone slate above the pipe to redirect water around it. Some more fiddling and I managed to get a fairly constant stream of water. About the same rate as pouring water from a water bottle. Only constant.


    Filling the tank with water took me several trips with my small pot. But soon I had it done and placed the cover on.


    I sat watching the end of the piping for a good hour before the first drop entered my reservoir.


    The system worked as a basic distillation set up. In regular distillation a round bottom flask is heated with either an open flame like from a Bunsen burner or with an electric hotplate. When the liquid, in this case water reaches its boiling point water vapour rises up the glass connecting tubes until it reaches a Liebig condenser.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    The Liebig condenser is a slanted glass tube with a secondary glass layer around it. This secondary glass layer has two glass joints where water flows in from the lower end and out from the upper end. This cold-water jacket lowers the temperature of the hot vapour travelling inside until the vapour condenses on the cold surface and runs out of the piping into a receiving vessel. Since the water is flowing it is always cold enough for the vapour to condense on.


    Usually a thermometer is placed at the surface interface to get an accurate measurement of the temperature at the liquid gas interface. Knowing the temperature at the interface allows you to modulate the temperature by applying more or less heat.


    This is important because distillation is usually used as either a separating or purifying apparatus for mixtures. If you had say, a mixture of an ether and water both constituents of the liquid mixture would have boiling points with the ether being lower in value than the water. Keeping the surface temperature above that of the ethers boiling point but below the waters boiling point would cause only the ether to vaporise and thus you could collect only the ether in a receiving vessel.


    In my case I think I only have water and some insoluble impurities. So, when the water vaporises the vapour will enter the pipe through the small holes and then condense against the other clay pipe with the cold-water flow from the stream before running down the piping and entering the tank to be stored for my use. As I was pondering how the system worked I noticed that the flow rate was increasing but it was nowhere near what I expected.


    ¡°Enigma, can you do a thermal scan and tell me the temperature of the clay tank please?¡±


    ¡°The clay tank is at approximately 400 kelvins, well within operating temperatures of the clay and above the boiling point of water.¡±


    ¡°So why are we only getting a few drops?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps the water is condensing inside the tank and falling back into the water.¡±


    ¡°Refluxing it to no effect.¡± I said back disheartened. Getting up from my place on the floor I knelt in a damp spot. Odd, this ground is extremely desiccated. Dry as a bone on the surface. Lower down the water from the stream leeches into the soil and saturates it but at the surface it is dry.


    Looking for a cause tells me what I wanted to know. The water has condensed but as water tends to do it is running down the cold pipe instead of falling into the bottom pipe. This means it is following the s-shape bend and re-entering the stream.


    Taking the cover off the lowest section I grab a small stone, wash it in the stream before placing it in between the two pipe layers. Water that hits it should follow gravity and run along its length before hitting the bottom pipe and being directed into my reservoir as it should have been all along.


    With this modification water begins to flow at a pretty decent rate. Stoking the fire one last time with the last off the wood I have should get me to the end of the water supply.


    With water secured I really should go hunting but I still feel like I should stay close to monitor the progress. So, I decide after some deliberation to build an adze. First, I need a stone, hunting around I find a good one. It is decently shaped already. About the width of my hand and a little longer than my hand. It takes a while but soon with a process of hammering and grinding I have a decent sized axe blade. Searching the forest, I find a branch that looks good for the handle. It is a hard wood, so it takes me a while to cut it down.


    The wood is smooth, no cracked, gnarled awful bark but smooth almost paper like bark. At one end it has a huge knot and at a right angle sticks out another limb to give an L-shape. Cutting the limb down to size about two to three centimetres longer than my palm takes a while.


    Using the stone as a chisel I slowly, methodically trim down the short section to about half width. If I was holding it the trimmed section would be the top half providing a flat surface for the axe blade to rest on.


    Once I¡¯m done with that I re-sharpen the axe blade and lash it to the surface with the lashings. The cane like lashings provides a firm bonding and when I smother it in sap and then bind once again with the lashings the axe head feels secure. The knot of the handle will act as a backstop and just the whole handle in general allows for the dissipation of energy so that my hands don¡¯t jar as much when I hit. The handle flexes and absorbs the energy so I won¡¯t bruise my hands as I did before.


    Throwing the scraps of the adze making process onto the fire I set off to get some more wood.


    An adze is very similar to an axe with the only difference being that the axe has a blade in parallel to the handle whilst an adze has one at right angles. Modern adze¡¯s have curved blades. Since my axe blade is situated at right angles it is an adze. With primitive technology an adze is much easier to make and whilst being only slightly less effective at cutting trees because you can¡¯t hit in two opposing directions like an axe it still cuts well enough. Depending on the tree type, an adze can, instead of chipping away at the tree taking sections of wood with it, instead compact the fibrous thin scraps left after sections leave the tree into a springy mess of wood fibre that doesn¡¯t have a regular grain. This can make cutting a real nightmare.


    With a regular axe since the cut can be in two directions then the fires left from a downwards cut are often removed by the upwards cut that follows directly after.


    Still, testing the adze on a tree, I cut down the tree in ten minutes. About as thick as my thigh and though not hardwood it is still relatively tough. With this I will be able to make a decent stock of fire wood.


    By now the water is about half done so I decide to build a wood shed. In a square format I place sticks deep in the ground. The front two about a half meter taller than the back two. A simple lashed wooden stick roof works well and the last of the fronds make the roof waterproof. More wooden sticks provide a raised floor about shin height and some cross beams between the poles makes the whole structure more secure.


    Using the old axe head that I used to cut down trees as a splitter I place it in the section of tree trunk. Then drop a big stone on it. The sheer mass of the stone drives the splitting blade through the logs. Grabbing the two sections I rip them apart using my suit to boost my strength.


    Splitting the logs into quarters allows me to stack them easily in the wood shed. Just outside of the tepee section of my shelter it will be nice and close to hand.


    Shortly before night the water finishes distilling so I disconnect the water flow and close the lid to the reservoir, after taking a few nice gulps of water of course. Leaving the fire going to firm up the clay joints further I head to bed, happy to let the fire burn itself out.

 Chapter 12 - A New Departure

    <u>Chapter 12 ¨C</u><u> A New Departure</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    15<sup>rth</sup> May 2341 (BSST)


    Morning breaks with a cold snap. The temperature was finally dropping, slowly. Enigma says that in the last five days a few solitary degrees had dropped off. But whilst only slightly noticeable it sure was colder. More noticeable were the nights, much colder whilst the day was only slightly so.


    For the past few days I had been pottering around the camp. Fixing, tinkering, and just generally procrastinating. The water situation had stabilised. Not that I had plenty. But it was enough to survive on comfortably. The stream itself was bathe able. Bracing, especially compared to the temp of the air but it was bearable. I had of course made sure to bathe downstream of my water collection point. It shouldn¡¯t make any difference but, why try it.


    Downstream slightly the little brook flared out where another tributary joined up. The tributary had hidden from me, almost silently the water trickled and flowed over a soft sand. Banking with grace and poise. Barely a ripple disturbed its outflow and the water was enveloped and embraced by my stream in short order. The banks grew tall with rushes and grasses that bent over under their own weight like a fruit laden tree touching each other until the little stream had a green, bushy barrier to the world. A living roof. Where the two streams joined the banks flared apart briefly before coming almost close enough to kiss each other just beyond.


    It was here in this little pool that I could bathe. Along the banks were a few copses of trees that sheltered me from the world. Soft sandy banks made the scene almost picturesque enough to be in a tourist ad. If it wasn¡¯t for the oppressing mugginess of the air and the scent of danger and raw untamed ferocity that seemed to exude from the very planet itself, leeching into everything. It might just be that picturesque utopia that they would preach about.


    Perhaps sometime in the future it would be. Taking a morning swim, especially this morning as the cold was slowly evaporating like mist was refreshing. Ducking my head underwater, my thoughts crystallised and as the world fades away to a soft mumble in the background I accepted what I must do. Leaving camp would be annoying, I had grown used to the comfort of being able to rest and relax for periods of time. Not constantly on edge. On that first day after the water was working I had taken a half hour break from the suit. Bathing, stretching and just generally refreshing.


    They said you could stretch in the suit, but there was nothing like a glorious stretch free from the suit. Whilst it did aid in movement and especially in moderating the temperature the suit was not natural. Humans haven¡¯t evolved that far yet and getting out was a nicety I had almost forgotten. In those first few days I had even slept in the suit.


    In the following days I had progressively expanded my time away from the suit. A half hour first. Then an hour and a half. Until I had taken last night out of the suit sleeping on my bed. Making a bed in the sleeping section was not very difficult. A simple wooden frame with sticks to support me. Then a layer of the ferns and some moss I had found. It was dry and spongy, like natures mattress.


    The tepee had a firepit in the centre and I had expanded my tools some. Whilst useful it hadn¡¯t quite been the most productive use of my time. Mentally reviewing my to do list really showed my procrastination.


    To Do:


    -Find location for camp


    -Make fire


    -Improve fire starting


    -Find water source


    -Build shelter


    -Waterproof the shelter


    -Set up a purifying system for the water


    -Make an adze


    -make a knife


    -Get a supply of wood


    -Find food


    -Build traps


    -Hunting


    -Build a set up for preserving food


    -Make a bed


    -Make a chisel


    -Make more pottery


    -Make camp defences


    So, there was a large section of survival priorities I had abandoned. Find food. Yesterday the suit had run out of nutrition paste. And my growling stomach was demanding I go out and find food.


    Now I¡¯m not usually a procrastinator, but the safety of camp had an unusually strong pull. So now I was in a slightly direr situation. No food supply set up, no backup food and only a few days to get it sorted. If I failed today my situation would be much much worse.


    Regaining my composure, I lift my head from the water, feeling the water that had once flowed over my shoulders split around my neck and flow along me, like a gentle caress waking me up as the world jumped into action once again. The bird song started up, the rustle of leaves disturbed in the wind and just the general sounds of life filled my ears as I retook my place in this strange world. Getting up I hobbled over to my suit trying to avoid standing on some of the sharper stones that lined the bottom of my bath. Like daggers aimed at me.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    Brushing the water from me with my hands I get into the suit and wait a second for the seals to connect. They do, with a gentle hiss before the systems begin to come online. I confirm my identity and all the systems come online.


    With one last sigh and a forlorn glance at my safe haven I set out on a hike away from camp. I don¡¯t want to hunt to close to camp. Any blood or guts will attract predators and if one like I saw on my first night comes I¡¯ll be in for one hell of a fight.


    Fight mode on the suit drains the battery in mere hours. With very little left, I have to conserve what I have for productive activity. And a pointless fight because I was careless is not one of them.


    The land moves slowly beneath my feet and it feels like hours but eventually I get to new terrain. Enigma tells me I am five kilometres away from camp when I settle down and begin to get ready to hunt.


    ¡°Enigma?¡± I whisper trying to subvocalize.


    ¡°yes?¡± he responds.


    ¡°Right, so, um, we¡¯re hunting for food today.¡±


    ¡°Ok¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll need you on alert if we¡¯re to get anything. To start we¡¯ll look for a water source. Presumably the animals here need to drink as well, so we might find tracks. Then, um¡­ Well we¡¯ll deal with that when we come to it.¡±


    ¡°Might I suggest heading to the south-east. The ground slopes that way and water will naturally percolate that way. Perhaps forming pools or joining a source of flowing water.¡± He tells me.


    ¡°Yes, of course. Let¡¯s do that.¡±


    As I walk along, trying to find the water source Enigma opens up conversation for the first time. In the five days whilst I was relaxing I spent quite a lot of time trying to discuss subjects with Enigma. It was now a new hobby. Developing Enigmas personality would keep me sane. Well hopefully it would.


    ¡°Ronja?¡± He asks opening up the conversation. I don¡¯t answer for a bit, shocked that I am.


    ¡°Yes, Enigma?¡±


    ¡°Why do you do what you do? Before, I mean.¡±


    ¡°Well, lets see. I focus a lot on my job in the marines and then later in the air force if that is what you mean. To me it was important to make progress in my career. Dad was in the armed forces you see, and his stories definitely inspired me. A captain of a drop ship, he would be deployed into foreign territory. Early in his career this would mean earth mostly. We were a fledgling space faring species then. However, humans developed better forms of transport during his thirties and later he found himself acting as planetary recon. When the war came around he was deployed for months at a time. For a young man with a daughter it was hard life. He would be absent from my life, and almost certainly a huge part of his, for long periods of time. It put a strain on our relationship.¡±


    I took a moment before continuing.


    ¡°I remember one time. Must have been when I was six or seven. He¡¯d been gone the longest ever. Certainly, the longest time without word coming back. I was at the age where those implications were just sitting in the back of my mind. Recognised slightly but mostly ignored. Actually, thinking back, I might have been a little older. Never mind it¡¯s beside the point. It was a dark and stormy night and I was sitting in front of the fire. Rain lashing at the windows. Hitting with a rapping noise. Like the crack of a whip. The babysitter had gone home for the night, but I couldn¡¯t sleep. So, I had gotten up and I was just sitting staring into the fire. Anyway, the door opened up with a loud creak and there he was. Six and a half feet tall, all muscled and carrying a huge pack over one shoulder. His beard ragged and dark. Droplets of water sliding down his greatcoat to grace the floor. Damp hair clinging to his brow.


    I remember running to him, embracing him. Sobbing out my heart, that I thought he may never have come back. Leaving me all alone. Mother had died a few years back. I have just the faintest memories of her smile. Well dad just closed the door, poured himself a glass of whisky and took a seat. I remember the harsh smoky scent of the alcohol vapour invading my nose as he leant down to pull me up into his lap. He stroked my hair and began to tell me all his tales. The ones I¡¯d heard, the ones I¡¯d yet to hear and I¡¯m sure ones I wasn¡¯t meant to hear. It must have been a couple of hours but eventually he ran dry of the stories.


    He explained what it meant to fight for your planet. Instilling, though I¡¯m sure he regretted it a drive to fight and protect, much like he had done. I suppose I fight for earth, for him and the intrinsic values he put in me. I hope that answers your questions bud?¡±


    ¡°Some, I suppose. It still seems odd to risk everything for another. I mean, there is no afterlife, you even agree with me. Smart that you are to not be taken in. So why would you risk everything for nothing? I just, I don¡¯t get it Ronja?¡± he tells me. He reminds me of a child at times, now especially. Almost like myself to my dad I¡¯m sure. Pondering why I would risk myself. I suppose I am everything Enigma has. His partner, his teacher and guide.


    ¡°I guess, since there is no afterlife, just an oblivion where I am nothing, and in that state, I will remain forever. That I should do in this life everything I ever mean to do. To me, rescuing others from hostage situations, fighting to keep humanity free, though I may not live to experience it, fills me with a sense of purpose. For me there is no greater reward or godly plan. Only what we make of ourselves and our time within the realms of consciousness. So, when I possess that sense that I have not wasted time when I earn my money, it is a huge factor of me being happy. When I have that I can relax and enjoy my free time. Time when I can marvel at existence in all its unfounded glory. I guess more than anything I fight for others because I have to earn money to live and relax. And to earn money in this way is enjoyable and fulfilling. Also, I may be an adrenalin junky. You know if I could stop this experience at any time it may just be the most enjoyable holiday ever.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Ronja. Whilst I may not agree I do understand. Well partially.¡± Enigma tells me.


    ¡°You¡¯ll understand one day I¡¯m sure.¡±


    I¡¯m walking and chatting with Enigma when he suddenly stops. I stop just as suddenly and look around. I¡¯m at the water. How I didn¡¯t notice is beyond me. I guess I do get a little absentminded when I¡¯m talking.


    Said water is in fact a small pool. The trees around the banks are more sparsely packed and the undergrowth that was once so prevalent I struggled to walk through it has faded into non-existence. Back up a few metres and I¡¯m sure I would encounter it as well.


    Murky and still the water holds an ominous tone. Like some great beast could be lurking under the water. The constant lapping of the water against the shore has reduced what was once pebbles down to a fine grit or gravel. The small stones are interspersed between pockets of sand. A tall tree bows down low, its branches barely disturbing the water. The thin leaves that just extend down far enough float on the surface. Supported only by surface tension. The water billows up the sides. Held back by that thin shiny surface, threatening to come rushing forth covering the leaf before dragging it down to the silt covered bottom to join the other numerous rotting corpses that litter the bottom. Collapsing down into a biological layer. Perhaps with enough time crude oil will be formed.


    Walking around the small pool takes me only a few minutes. I¡¯m constantly scanning the banks for signs that this is a waterhole for the local life. Perhaps there is some evolution here that means they don¡¯t need water as much. Adapted to the heat I would assume.


    When I am halfway around the pool I see it. Opposite from where I entered the clearing. In the mud of the opposing bank. A footprint. I think for a moment whether I took a step back. It is large. Perhaps twice that of my naked foot. The suit has less distinction that my own. My brain forces images of the humanoid to me.


    Recalling the footprint in the sand it shows some similarity. Enigma agrees. Just a few short paces away from the pool is another. Alongside a semidried thick fluid. Dark red in colour. A small scrap of flesh lies alongside the dark streak. Opening up the filters I take in the scent. Rich and sickly. It smells of blood. It clogs my sinuses.


    Blowing out my nose I attempt to clear my sinuses. A humanoid was here and recently. I follow the tracks a short distance into the woods where the ground becomes firmer and the footprints lose all distinction. In the last distinct one I see the track of an animal. The monster seems to have stood in its tracks to obscure its path, but I can see it. Some deer like animal I think.


    Perhaps I will see more of these tracks later. For now, I will move off away from the humanoid. Hopefully it is long gone.

 Chapter 13 - Tracking

    <u>Chapter 13 ¨C</u><u> Tracking</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    15<sup>rth</sup> May 2341 (BSST)


    It takes me a few minutes to get far enough away from the pool that I''m comfortable. I¡¯m still on alert though. There''s no need to be careless. Carelessness gets you killed.


    As the time whittles away with no sign of my quarry I gradually settle, and the unease slips away behind the frustration welling up within. This damned animal keeps on escaping my grasp. Sighing, I try to calm myself. It helps and shortly with newfound enthusiasm and energy I start tracking in earnest.


    In but a few moments my new approach yields results. Hoofprints. Of the good kind. Small, perhaps a young one. The deer like creatures seem to be solitary animals, the tracks don''t apear in groups. Though I have yet to spot one I assume them to be deer like at least in size and temperament. Enigma can tell me it weighs about 90kg from the depth of the impressions. From scans he can tell the depth and circumference of the hoofprints. Basic equations for pressure and force when compared to prints left by me tells him that.


    I could ask for a more accurate figure from him. But I don¡¯t want to ty up his processors. Factors such as the hardness of the hoof, exact firmness of the ground and weight distribution could all be calculated or estimated. Though I¡¯m sure it would take several cycles for him to do the number crunching.


    Following the tracks leads me into a new area. No longer are there thick boughs and dense foliage. Now it''s a plains biome of some kind. Long thick grasses, almost up to chest height interspersed with shorter patches hinder my progress. The grasses that are cut shorter seem damaged. They must have been chewed upon by some form of animal life. Perhaps by what I seek. Hiding in the grasses, much to my displeasure are prickly bushes. The tough bramble like cords of plant are dotted with toughened spikes. Sharper and finer than brambles they scratch the paint on the suit sending shoots of pain up my legs to my spinal cord. I flinch before the brain can send the instructions that I am not in fact in any danger.


    As I press through, I manage to control the impulse more and more until I have learnt to avoid flinching. The hardest part is of course predicting when and where the malicious plants will strike me. But I manage nonetheless.


    The various species of grass look awfully similar to species native to earth. There were the thin short blades of grass. They provided the lush green floor that hid under the taller plants. Festuca Pratensis was growing everywhere. That species usually had large, long blades of grass. From the stems a fine wire that split like tree branches spreads out. On the stems in place of leaves tufts of the grass grow. The existence of species like this, would ¨C on earth at least ¨C indicate a soft, moist soil. Rich and loamy. I hoped that this meant that there was another water source nearby. Perhaps the meadow would lead into a marsh or swampland that held more life. There I might find the animal.


    In my examination of the grasses, and rushes I manage to brush up against one species. It explodes violently spraying its seeds in a wide arc as the recoil pushes the launch mechanism back. Natural tension in the fibres seem to make the head twist around in a spiral to even further distribute the seeds. Along with the seeds it sprays out a fine dust. Some sort of nutrients for the seeds prior to being ejected. Or a padding. Or perhaps even to help germinate the newly landed seeds.


    Whatever it was, it caused Enigma to switch me to backup air supply instantly. The stale stench of compressed stored air fills the mask and engulfs me. The boosted oxygen is the only benefit. Though it certainly doesn¡¯t make up for the losses. One of the few benefits and pleasurable things about this planet is the wilderness. The fresh air and unpolluted environment.


    Breathing scrubbed air takes me back to the cities. In the late twenty ninth century, back before the Background space standard time was put into place the human life span, for the first time in many centuries was falling. And falling fast. Human life extension policies were only delaying the inevitable. I think the oldest human then was perhaps three and a half centuries old. Lorded as masters of space by ourselves it came as quite the shock that we were wrong. Like the roman slave that whispers in the ear of the Roman general; ¡®Remember you are but a man.¡¯ Nature had delivered us a blow. Not physically but to our egos.


    Man, hardly to accept being put in our place ¨C rightfully I would think- underwent a huge process of cleaning up our act. The filtration, treatments and recycling efforts were all stepped up dramatically. As if realising for the first time those that had denied climate change and pollution were now forced to accept it. Huge environment scrubbers were produced. Cutting edge tech at the time it cost a monumental amount to the governments and people alike.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    In the end it was worth it. The cities had domed off, like separate ecologies with a scrubber cleaning the air, the water and everything else it could. To our credit, it worked. Life expectancy rose like a rocket surpassing our peak in only a couple of generations.


    Though finding true wilderness, not like this mind you. But mostly untouched was very difficult. Newly colonised worlds were the only real options and they didn¡¯t have the best medical and recovery if one were to be in trouble. Still I cherished that time with pa.


    Animals like the deer thing I was following were almost completely gone on earth. Certainly, ones of this size. As overpopulation increased more and more space was taken up and the habitats and food sources died. The whole structure of the food chain collapsed in short order. Not enough producers for the consumers and then not enough for the predators. Lastly came the collapse. Mass extinctions, besides those in captivity. Earth is the realm of humans now, nature no longer has any presence.


    Animals were relocated to colonised, terraformed worlds and earthly lifeforms began to exist once again. Severe sanctions and limits were placed on colonisation and settlement in an effort to preserve our precious natural history. It was working, at least up until I landed here. After that, well presumably it is still working. I hardly think it could have collapsed in what? A month. Not likely.


    By now I had traversed much of the grasses and not found the water. As I marched through the grasses I began to wonder if I would ever find it. A loud splash off to my right reverberates around. Like an echo I seemed to hear it multiple times.


    I set off after it. And a moment later I paused my progress and silently stalked forwards. Like a panther hiding in the grass I edged forwards. My knees bent and springy. Shifting my weight carefully and slowly. The key to stealth was smoothness. The smoother you are the more silent your actions and the less noticeable you are. Especially to animals. Humans can remember if something is different to before. Animals mostly just registered change. Seeing you move was the main error hunters made.


    Approaching the edge of the grasses I notice low trees. They were large, but the branches swung low down as if scraping the ground. So, they ended up almost hiding behind the grasses. Their roots shot out over a shallow murky pool before winding down through the water into the soil underneath. Certainly, there was enough water to support them and so they were lush and healthy. Unlike a fair amount of the trees here.


    Pushing my head up to the last rank of the grasses I peered through to the scene beyond. Taking a long in-depth look. The trees were as I could see before. The water had a sort of green algae layer on the top. However, the centre was free of this. Some of the edges were also free. In fact, at one such point I saw my quarry. The deer like creature I had suspected it to be was accurate enough I suppose.


    The body was sleight and slim like a deer. Barely any fat covering the sinewy layers of muscle. Stockier than a deer of earth it was still quite slim. At its rump a tail similar to that of a horse flicked side to side. The hairs looked much coarser and perhaps that was a statement on this planet in itself. The tail of a horse is primarily used as a defence mechanism against biting insect and flies. That it was much thicker and sturdier for an animal slightly smaller than a horse was perhaps good evidence for how hardy the creatures here were. Powerful haunches and cloven-hoofed feet provided what I expected was a powerful agile animal. The neck was as one would expect and the head ¨C from what I could see as the animal was drinking ¨C was again a little sturdier than regular deer. The antlers on its head seemed much more dangerous. Not only did they end in sharp points, but they seemed to be lined with sharp razor like barbs. The edges honed to knife like consistency.


    Perhaps most startling was its colouration. Deer are coloured from red to browns with only a slight reddish tint at the extremes. Some species had white spots along the flank. The belly was often lighter in colouration.


    This creature though was black and green. A dark green admittedly though it was striped like a zebra. The blacks fading into the greens. Like an undulating wave, the colour seemed to ripple as I looked down the length of the animal. The head had black patches outlining the features. Almost racoon like, the eyes were surrounded by black fur with a stripe going up and over, passing between the ears.


    Pondering how to approach took me a while. It was unfortunate I had overlooked the need to build a bow. I knew I had forgotten something. At least I have found a source of food. Though I may not be able to catch it right now I at least know that in the future one of these may do me well.


    I fade back into the grasses and try to work my way around slightly. If I can trap the creature against the water I may be able to get at it.


    It doesn¡¯t work, who¡¯d have thought? The deer leaps over to the opposite bank, a distance of over five metres before scampering away. I dash after it, it is using up the suit energy fairly quickly. Though the deer doesn¡¯t get away it is faster. What allows me to keep up is human intelligence. The deer thing runs in a frantic rush. While I too am doing so I can plan out a route and navigate though the plants faster and more efficiently.


    About five minutes into the chase we have passed back through the meadow and exited it. More forest land appears again, and I am forced to slow down more and more as the foliage increase in thickness. The deer too must slow down but with its camouflage it blends in perfectly and soon I have lost any trace of it. Besides the tracks of course. But judging by the distance between tracks it is still running.


    Looking at the energy on my suit I realise I cannot afford to pursue the beast. I sigh, my quarry has gotten away.


    ¡°Enigma, can you light the way home please?¡± he does so. On my HUD a faint blue line traces between the trees, weaving around. It looks like the arrows the weather stations use to show the directions of a cold front.


    As I trudge back, feeling sorry for myself I think about what to do. The shrimps in the pool could work, but I wanted to use my suit and get a proper meal.


    About an hour into my journey home I spot something out the corner of my eye. It is a bright yellow and glints with a metallic sheen. Now that doesn¡¯t belong.


    ¡°Enigma, alert!¡± I say, something is off.

 Chapter 14 - Too Late

    <u>Chapter 14 ¨C</u><u> Too Late</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    15<sup>rth</sup> May 2341 (BSST)


    My HUD goes. Around the edges like a border. It fades quickly to the normal screen as my eyes travel inwards. Active systems go on alert, providing a simulated map centred on my position. Glancing up to my top right allows me to check the terrain. Just below the map a battery symbol tells me the charge level. Sitting at 12% charge it is worrying. Enough for a couple days on energy saving. Alert mode consumes energy much faster, so I¡¯ll need to look around fast.


    The metallic gleam shines through a dense copse of trees. Stemming from one place - a half meter circle - the smooth tree trunks split apart not far from the floor before bending back towards each other. They continue their journey to the sky, climbing parallel to each other. Once the branches start splitting off they interweave connecting the trees in a woody lattice. A mesh making an ascent up the trees almost impossible. The grasses grow more sparsely around the base. Just the same height. Compared to the grasses out in the meadow, and even the ones further out they have a yellowish tinge. Perhaps being under the domain of the trees makes living harder. Less light and less nutrients makes the grass sicklier.


    Rotating around the area I look for more oblique angles to view the scene. If there is anything there it will provide more protection, cover and security. Observing as I move provides a little more clarity. What I had originally thought was a metallic yellow thing was in fact two separate materials. Some form of yellow fabric. It looks thin and fine. More like nylon than wool. The metallic sheen no longer gleams from my angle as the sun doesn¡¯t catch it.  I can¡¯t tell what the metal object actually is from here. It doesn¡¯t look very big though.


    The terrain goes up a small sharp rise in a series of steps that I have to navigate. Big needles off of pine, fur or spruce type trees litter the floor providing a soft carpet on which to walk. Layer after layer piling up and decomposing forms an actual carpet that could be peeled back to reveal the bare rocks beneath.


    Moving from tree to tree I finish my loop around the clearing in a few minutes. Checking and rechecking my HUD to make sure no movement has been detected. I cut all sound and listen. Nothing.


    Sliding my knives out I crouch down. The loops slide over my forefingers and I flick the knife around in an arc to settle it in place. I open my left hand and grasp a small stone. Wincing as the metal loop grinds on the stone. It fills my hand well. Standing up slowly I chuck the rock into the clearing crouching down afterwards and readying myself for an ambush.


    Time passes slowly, but eventually I¡¯m convinced I¡¯m alone. I sheath my left knife and advance quickly but quietly.


    My armoured feet snapping the small twigs absent minded fervour. They dig into the soft ground. However, the dense matted vegetation provides a springier surface and it behaves almost like memory foam. Springing back and leaving no trace of my passage.


    Anticipation sweeps through me like a radar. Coming and going in waves. I shiver with nerves as I close in.


    As I get closer the yellow fabric yields to a soft mellow blue. Shinier and smoother than the yellow fabric. Draped across the blue the yellow is stretched taut in places and loose in others. The metal shines again, catching my gaze. Perhaps it is fine-tuned senses looking for the glare from a rifle scope, or some other anomaly. Or perhaps I am a magpie looking for the next shiny thing for my nest. Who knows?


    More detail leeches into view as I draw near. The suit does a good job of enhancing the imagery, so I can see clearly. Despite being a hundred metres away. The suit wasn¡¯t designed to enhance more than that. The problem being the distortion and field of view shrinking down. Using cameras and not lenses just means the resolution gets poorer. In some circumstances it is beneficial. Normally if I wanted to view longer distances I would have a scoped weapon or specialist equipment. Drones deployed by the military can feed images into my HUD.


    Down here though I was left with few options better than the suit. And that was superior to natural senses. How those primitive humans survived seems only down to attrition.


    As I close to within twenty metres I can identify the scene as a campsite. There is a burnt-out fire. Built within a small circle of stones there is a carbonized log. Severely cracked and degraded the log has a semiregular cubic pattern. White ash colours the matte black of the charring in places making the log almost shine. A dull shine but a shine nonetheless. The grain of the log is more apparent as the log burns as the largest splits occur down the weak points. The grain being these weaknesses as the consecutive layers grow and connect to those beneath less strongly than with the rest of their layer.


    Most of the wood in the campfire has been turned to ash. It must have rained at one point for a muddy mulch fills in the bottom of the burnt pile. It has caused clumping. The rocks have also suffered weathering on their exposed surfaces. Though I suppose that could have happened before they were placed in this ring it feels to me that it has been here a while.


    Further confirming my hypothesis is the fact that the fabrics are buried at the corners by a similar mulch. Leaves must have fallen down upon the collapsed tents before being washed down to the corners and decomposing, forming an organic layer tying down the loose fabric flapping in the wind and anchoring it in place.


    Walking over to the camp proper, I squat down and take a closer look. Within the tent there is another ream of fabric, blue and shiny. Grasping it, I slowly drag it out from under the yellow tent. It is harder than I would have expected. It doesn¡¯t help that the tent seems to cling onto it. Like a small child with a toy, refusing to let it go. The metal poles that have collapsed seem to dig into fabric stopping me from pulling it out.


    Eventually it comes free with a jerk and slides out onto the mud. It is a sleeping bag, that much is obvious. From the soft downy feel to the cheap shiny exterior. From being exposed to the elements it has developed a slimy slick sort of feel.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    It is only moments later that I discover the cause of the sliminess. I use my hands to flip out the latter half. Red in colour it is heavier and stiffer than the upper blue half. It is a dark red almost maroon in colour. Not like a stylish choice for the sleeping bag though. The lines between blue and red are blotchy and uneven. Not a single symmetrical pattern or design. As my hand slides down the bag it almost clings to the suit. It is damp, sodden through. Bringing my hand to my nose I sniff. Iron, rich and sickly. The stench of blood. It fills my sinuses with an all to familiar stink. Penetrating to the back of the skull. I shiver.


    Raising up the bag as I stand it becomes taut as the hood part leaves the floor. Blood begins to run out of the bag pooling on the floor before sinking and melting into the earth leaving a brown stain upon the ground. Looking down I can see why it feels heavy. Inside the hood part of the sleeping bag is a head.


    It is perhaps more disturbing that it is not connected to a body. Or maybe it is more disturbing that on this alien planet nowhere near human controlled space there is a human head. No, I decide. It is most disturbing that it seems small to me. A child. Perhaps no more than twelve years.


    It has wide eyes, blank and colourless. Cloudy even with a slight blueish tinge. They seem to stare right through me. Piercing and searching. It whispers to me through a mouth that won¡¯t open from lungs that don¡¯t breathe. ¡°You were too late! Why didn¡¯t you save me?¡± Of course, I cannot answer. But the eyes just won¡¯t leave me alone. Scientifically I know the eyes are just a result of the cornea clouding up and becoming opaquer. With no blood supply or tears to provide oxygen and moisture the eye decolourises. With no muscles to support the pupil it opens up to create the wide-eyed look of horror I was staring into with mortifying intensity. The eyes have shrunk into the skull slightly as they have begun to decompose creating an even worse stare.


    Eventually I force myself to blink. Like a spell snapping I can look away. Though not for long. Now observing the head and not just the eyes I can see it belongs to a little girl. Long blonde hair that I am sure was once shiny and well cared for is now straggly and falling out as the pitted flesh begins to decay and undergo putrefaction. Lips stained red from lipstick have cracked and split almost melting onto teeth below. Small white enamel shards stick out of the rotting mess.


    I pick up her head gripping with both hands behind the skull to support it. After picking it up the neck becomes exposed and I take a closer look. Blood pooling indicates she was alive when her head was removed from the body. The actual edge of the cut is jagged, and it looks as if the head was either ripped or slashed off. A thin silvery membrane and the remnants of the windpipe dangle down off the c1 disk that connects into the skull. As I rotate her in my hands I see movement in the forehead. Like a large pustule the skin breaks open as if one were popping a zit and it peels back as maggots force themselves to the surface. Disturbed by my movement they seek to gain freedom, and, in the process, they rip the poor girls last dignity away. In one last horrifying motion the face slides off the skull as skin on a custard does when poured. I one semisolid globule leaving me left holding a skull. Teaming with maggots and insects and a thin reddish film that coats the bones bringing a gruesome lustre to their surface


    In horror I drop the skull gagging at the scene and the smell that boils up from the festering, rotting remnants of pure innocence. What once was someone¡¯s darling little girl being now just a stain upon the ground. The blood will seep through and join the ecosystem and fade away leaving all that she was; gone. Remembered not.


    Blood doesn¡¯t coagulate above around 330K, not without advanced body ware at least. She must have been poor. Only the seriously unprivileged go without the blood mods. It was a necessity for space travel. At often times the ships ran hot enough to sustain the engines and that could quite often be above 330k, if you got a cut then it would be quite possible to bleed out and die without medical care.


    Thinking about the science dehumanises her and allows me to cope with the scene. I¡¯d been in war before, killed even but never had I seen such a sight. Very different.


    I buried the skull and sleeping bag - after making sure there was nothing useful left inside ¨C before moving on to the rest of the camp. All of the clothes in the tent were destroyed and so unsalvageable. I did recover the tent pegs from the corners and sides and the little bits of elastic cord though. I thought about saving the tent material until I saw the huge rips in the back of the tent where I hadn¡¯t yet seen. The rips would mean that the fabric would just rip further if I tried to use it. Repairing it would be impossible with my current tech and if I got to the point where I could repair it I would be able to make it or come back to salvage it later.


    There wasn¡¯t much to the camp really. Just the fire pit and the tent with some supplies. I look up into the branches though just to make sure. Some people have enough wits to string up their important stuff in the trees to keep it from the predators on the ground. There is nothing there though.


    Just a few steps from the fire outside the tent I find a small sheet of paper. Perhaps it is a note of some kind. A golden cream colour the letter has an intricate border of swirling calligraphic patterns. I open up the folds and take a look inside. A passage. I sit down and begin to read.


    To whom it may concern.


    If you have found this letter upon this godforsaken planet then I have three things to say to you.


    Firstly; good luck. You¡¯ll need it to survive.


    Secondly; There are other sentients here. I have not seen them, but I have felt their presence. Perhaps they can              help, perhaps they are the puppet masters controlling our strings and playing with us. I don¡¯t know if this will help but ?  I pray for you it does.


    Thirdly; take the letter below and deliver it to my wife, Julie, if she still lives.


    Her name; Julie Harkness, resident of earth city Jurian as of 12<sup>th</sup> January 2337. Residence; 24 Haylen street, north ?    west quarter.


    IDNO: 542.681.590.---.-2-.333.---.--- (I don¡¯t remember it all).


    Thank you.


    Dear Julie


    I hope you never have to see this, to read this. Though I probably won¡¯t ever get to see your face, to gaze upon your beauty, it is all I wish for. At every moment of every day. Our time together was cut too short.


    Perhaps you think that I abandoned you, that I ran taking Emily with me. Leaving you alone in the world. Thoughtlessly. I wish it were so. As I sit here in the mud on a foreign planet thinking of you, with Emily tucked in at my side I wonder at how I came to be here. Perhaps it is the Odrath, those merciless abominations. Perhaps we have been betrayed by our new allies, the Coalition. Perhaps it is something else entirely.


    This world is a beautiful hell. Untamed and ferocious. The creatures mean death, but they are not my concern. Humanoids stalk the planet. And they are worse in every conceivable way. I pray for Emily, we cannot go on much longer. All our food is gone and soon so will we. Do I end her now? A peaceful slip into oblivion. A kindness surely? It would be so easy. One sharp jerk and she would be gone. Not having to endure any longer. But how could I do it? To end my child¡¯s life. What if we made it out?


    I cannot do it. Though surely, I should. I cannot. She loves you and remembers you. Every day I tell her something different though I am sure deep-down she understands. As all eleven-year olds do. They truly are the wisest of us. It is with regret that I am running out of time and paper, so I must conclude.


    Julie, you are the love of my life. Every second of my existence has been enriched by having you and Emily in it. I am lucky for it. I think it unlikely I will return so I shall end it with these final words.


    Live your life to the fullest and don¡¯t be afraid to move on. Hamstringing your happiness for our memory will bring no one pleasure. You or us in whatever comes after death.


    Carpe Diem mi Amor.


    Yours forever, with love Nickolas. (and Emily)


    I set it down as a tear leaks out of my lashes. A shame. I fold it up carefully and pack it away. I will deliver this for Nick and Emily and Julie. To never know is truly the worst.

 Chapter 15 - The Coin

    <u>Chapter 15 ¨C</u><u> The Coin</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    15<sup>rth</sup> May 2341 (BSST)


    Having scavenged all I could from the campsite, and buried the remnants of the girl, I set out away from the camp. It was truly tragic that she had been here, in this place. Even more so, the way in which she must have died. I could hardly imagine. The humanoids most likely got to her. Though it could be something else entirely. The cat from the first night or whatever else lurked in the forests. Slicing through the tent and into her with an ease that was unsettling. Shredding and ripping at her before taking off her head and dragging the carcass away to feast upon. What happened to the father I hadn¡¯t a clue.


    The fact that there were no blood marks along the floor indicates that the body was not dragged but rather carried away makes me think of the humanoids; top tier predators certainly. I was glad I hadn¡¯t seen another one since that encounter at the beach. I didn¡¯t relish fighting one. Who would win was debateable. Assuming they were all as strong as that first one. Or that there was more than one of the blasted creatures.


    Assumptions I had to make if I wanted to stay alive. More important than the monsters though, was feeding myself. Whilst a bow would be best creating a good bow would be quite a challenge. I had strong suspicions that the hide of the animals here would be much tougher, and an amateur bow would probably not do it. A full-on longbow with at least a 40kg draw weight would probably do it.


    With Enigma¡¯s help I might have been able to make it; with metal tools, strong string or cable and the right kind of woods. Elm, Yew, Hickory, Oak, Maple or white ash were the prime examples of woods needed. And like an eight-foot straight section of trunk with no gnarls, knots or deficiencies in its macrostructure. In this inhospitable place I had found nothing even remotely along those lines. So, a bow was not likely to be produced in the near future.


    ¡°Perhaps another method of catching game could be utilised.¡± Says a voice out of nowhere.


    ¡°Enigma?¡±


    ¡°Yes, well who else could it be? As far as I know we are alone.¡±


    ¡°Right well of course.¡± I respond, flustered by his unexpected comment, and its sass. I¡¯m not sure like this development. Though I don¡¯t tell him that.


    ¡°How did you know what I was thinking?¡± I ask him.


    ¡°You talk to yourself when you¡¯re planning. From my data I must say it seems to be quite an unusual trait.¡± He replies in a fairly bland tone. Where that personality came from and went I have no clue.


    ¡°So, any suggestions then?"


    ¡°Usual methods of hunting include; bow, spear, traps, firearms, physical superiority, driving and flushing, nets, baiting and a few more obscure methods.¡±


    ¡°Okay so let¡¯s run through the list then. First, we¡¯ve got the bow, already we have determined that is unachievable right now. Second; spear, might be a good shout. We¡¯d have to go after more aggressive prey though. And it¡¯s doubtful we can match an animals grace in its own habitat. Traps, could work. Its perhaps the best method for getting those creatures in the pool at base camp. Otherwise though I don¡¯t know enough about the life here.¡±


    ¡°Firearms are a no go¡± he joins in continuing from where I left off. ¡°Physically beating them is unlikely to work great without tried and true methods, and flushing animals out usually requires more than one person.¡±


    ¡°No materials for nets and we¡¯d first need to catch something for bait to work. Looks like spears or traps are the only options then.¡± I say concluding the list.


    ¡°Spear fishing as opposed to the boar spears you were thinking of could work better. As for traps, most work in tandem with baiting but there are a few that don¡¯t.¡± Enigma inputs.


    ¡°Right, well we¡¯d better get back to camp then.¡± I say setting off in a light jog. Faster than a walk but still quite light exercise, especially for a warrior like me.


    Returning from the tents takes me a couple of hours and as I move through the land I ponder Enigma. He appears to have advanced another step with all the conversations and freedom I have given him. Though still a long way from true sentience he was making steady progress. Asking subjective questions and his opinions seems to really stimulate the learning algorithms. I suppose most people have EI¡¯s with the locks and restrictions on and they treat them like servants. Stating desires and requests in such a way as to brook no argument or differing opinion.


    I managed to get back to camp as the sun was setting. It had been a long day. From setting off hunting, to failing at that and stumbling across the tent scene. And then coming back.


    Crawling into the bed, leaving my armour blocking the entrance in a powered down state to conserve the battery, it isn¡¯t long before my eyelids feel laden and they sink down blotting out the world as sweet, sweet darkness comes rushing in.


    I dreamt of a coin. Large, a hands width across if not more. More medallion than coin. It is both old and battered and yet shiny and new. Dirt seemingly crusted the gently curves and sharp corners of the engravings despite it being just of the press not yet five minutes ago. The heat still radiating off the bluish mottled metal. On the front is an engraving of a king, proud and regal. He stands strong above his vassals and subjects, ruler and sovereign to all. His elevation a sign of important no less relevant than the illustrious d¨¦cor. The clothes, the jewels, the stage and more. Yet it is not the king, nor the vassals that are important to the scene. In the dark alcoves of the surrounding castle a faint impression can be seen. A hooded shape, a reaper or perhaps just a trick of the mind.


    On the other side, it is just as intricate perhaps even more so. It is just a jumble of mixed lines creating a maze of twining, winding lines. Fine and elaborate. They run around in a seemingly unending pattern too obscure for the mind to comprehend. Though there seems to be a section missing. This though is the key. With a sharp twist the pattern rearranges with a mechanical clank. More twisting and as the lines that before were seemingly jumbled and random coalesce into a glorious oak tree there is another mechanical clink. The front now shows the reaper clearly. Yet it is not the only difference. The whole scene has changed, and it is the king that is the only remaining thing. His regalia has changed, and he is knighting the reaper. A new scene and meaning entirely.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    My mind now zooms out and the changing scene on the coin drifts away smaller and smaller until the coin is hardly visible even. Yet the scene repeats itself. The tree can be seen through a dark stain glass window. Large and imposing its branches extend and curl around the building. Yet inside the castle on the stage there is a man. King to us all yet not so blatantly named as such. A reaper at his side. The cloak is gone and instead I see a shining pillar of authority.


    ¡°Stand my knight. Be the pillar and authority that serves in the shadows and stands us all tall. United we stand, divided we fall. Together we fight never to fall. So, stand my knight, be the best of us all.¡± He says in a deep rich tone.


    The woman kneeling at his feet stands cloak rising and flapping in the wind. She turns slightly, and her profile can be seen more clearly. She¡¯s not short, but nor is she tall. At about 6ft in height. Light brown hair cut so as to frame her face and not cover it is tucked back behind one ear. Straight nose, small and pert sits between two grey eyes. Not an old, withered grey but a shiny dep grey. They show her age more than the body does. Truly a window to the soul. Set under a heavy brow the eyes flash as the sun catches them and the reflective flash shrouds the scene with golden rays of light.


    I wake with a start, the last vestiges of the golden light still lingering in my eyes and memory. A few blinks and it fades as the roof comes into view. In the woven fibres of the ceiling v a cobweb is beginning to form. The spider clambers around. With the back of my hand I squash it without a second thought. It was only a small critter. Brushing off the cobweb, I roll it into a ball before dropping it in the corner of my room.


    With a slight groan I get up onto my knees arching my back and doing some morning stretches. Emerging from my bed into the tepee, I yawn. Getting a drink of water makes my tummy rumble with the displeasure of going without food. I can already feel the effects of not eating for a good period of time. I feel more sluggish and the slight excess of fat around my abdomen has shrunk away leaving me more ripped. I stare into the pool for a second. My golden-brown skin is now lighter than before as I¡¯ve been stuck in the suit for ages. The scar under my ribs that runs almost up to my sternum shines silvery in the morning sun.


    Low on the horizon the first morning rays are just breaching my camp and lighting up the trees with a fresh beauty that only occurs in the early morning. I rock my head around my shoulders, the brown hair obscuring my vision for a few seconds, before I slide it back behind one ear. I roll my shoulders and splash my face with the cool refreshing water before climbing into my suit.


    A quick sweep of the perimeter yields nothing different than usual to my pleasure. We¡¯ll I¡¯d better get a move-on. There¡¯s stuff to do. Places to go and food to catch.


    Whist sleeping my subconscious had decided that a boar spear would be the best option. I had woken up with certainty. However, to hedge my bets my rational mind had decided that creating a shrimp trap would be a good plan. If I could get that done in the morning and deployed whilst I went hunting, then I might be able to get at least one meal.


    As with all building projects I need the lashings. I start by crushing them flat and laying four one-meter-long separate strands across each other to create an eight-pointed star. Taking another strand, I tie them together by weaving directly across them and then I tuck the end into the knot to secure it. The points of the stars are then bent up until they are about 30cm apart in a circle. More lashings are then threaded through as you would do to make a basket until I get up to the top. It is in fact a basket. The trap comes from the inset I have to create.


    Going over to the trees, I snap off a few twigs. About 15cm long. Returning to the basket I stick them into the floor about 5cm deep so that they face each other under the ground and face away above ground. Lashings weave through as you would in a basket and both ends are tucked into the lattice. Taking the construct from the ground another lashing makes the opening in the centre tighter. The two pieces go together so that the opening for entering the basket is much larger than the exit. In this way the shrimps find it much harder to escape from the trap. Especially if the flow of water pushes them against the bottom of the basket. Using two lashings I tie the top and bottom together gently so that if the water swirls it cannot separate.


    The pool narrows slightly at the exit and a mat of plant roots and soil covers the floor in places. I place the trap in this narrowing faster section of water, still within the pool where the shrimp dwell, but in the outskirts. The plant cover is pulled up and placed on top to secure and disguise the trap. In fact, the cover provides shade where the shrimp like to dwell more often, as it is naturally defensive as a location.


    Having finished the trap, I was slightly pissed at how easy it was to make. Why hadn¡¯t I done this earlier! No mater how easy to make, its fruitfulness comes in its productivity. If it catches nothing, it was still a waste of my time. Besides, the actual quantity of shrimp in the pool is not extremely abundant. Perhaps further up in the other pools there are more. Heck even some fish would be great. With the trap set it¡¯s time to move onto bigger things. The passive food source is ready. But I was always a proactive person and just sitting and waiting is not my style.


    Boar spears are usually hardy and tough. Made of strong wood, cured with sap or oil and with a viscous flared or hooked steel blade hafted onto the top. With nothing similar I was fighting against it to try and make one. Luckily, I had a plan that I thought could produce a decent botch at it.


    A new tree was required for this though. Finding a good tree is hard but eventually I found a nice hardwood with a straight-ish section in the trunk. Hacking through it with the adze was hard work and because the blade is parallel to the ground and not the tree cutting low on the trunk is a nightmare. Underhand swings are the only way of doing it. A much weaker kind of swing. I truly needed to create an axe at some point.


    Eventually I managed to get through the log and dragged the tree through to the camp, after cleaning off the pointless branches of course. I had to go back for them.


    As with all tool handles a fire had to be lit to dry out the wood. As it was building I stripped off the bark and prepared the wood.


    Collecting enough sap in the pot was a time-consuming task but it kept me busy as the haft of my spear was drying out.


    The haft shrunk down by a few cm to about 4cm in diameter whilst drying and luckily it didn¡¯t split in too many places. Hopefully I would be able to get a couple spears out of it.


    Treating the spears with sap took the rest of the day and whilst that was happening I took out the tent pegs from the tent by the girl.


    On a rough rock I ground three down to sharp points for the spears and another down on one side for the point. Then using the edge of a sharp stone, I began to cut into the soft metal small notches in a spiral pattern. Drilling in a primitive society was one of the most important tool inventions and I was lucky to have found the tent pegs. Despite it being a mild steel, it would be able to do the job well enough.


    Working well into the night using the suit to light my work was painful and battling with sleepiness was hard work but eventually I got the drill bit done.


    When morning broke I set about my work. The spears had dried in the residual heat of the fire and were just about ready. Rushing the process wouldn¡¯t yield particularly great work and certainly not long-term work but it would be good enough for at least one hunt. I lashed the drill bit to the fire-starting drill and then set about drilling holes into the end of the spears. The fresh cut edges were a good place to start and drilling into the wood took a long time. In many places the wood split but that was just playing into my hands. Well as long as the wood didn¡¯t split all the way through or chunks fell out as it did on one of the spears.


    When the holes were drilled I forced the spear points made from the tent pegs into the holes and then reground the edges on the points. Unfortunately, I couldn¡¯t burn the wood slightly to toughen the point by charring. Still with a metal point it should be decent for its job. Lashing the wood at the point tightened the grip on the point like chucks on a drill and provided additional support. More sap in the gaps and all around firmed it up and a brushing of ash from the fire helped set the wood and finished off the boar spears.


    Lamenting over missing yet another lunch I set off into the woods with tiredness creeping into my limbs. The hunt was on!

 Chapter 16 - The Hunt is on!

    <u>Chapter 16 ¨C</u><u> The Hunt is on!</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    17<sup>rth</sup> May 2341 (BSST)


    Hunting is a solitary activity, even when you can have a discussion with the voice inside your head. Being able to speak to Enigma didn¡¯t dampen the disquieting solitude that come from a hunt.


    The midday sun burns bright in the sky, a scorching ball of flames that lights up the sky with its illuminating power. It sometimes hides behind the clouds, silvery wisp like existences that drift around the sky in an aimless fashion. Going, not where they will, but where the wind tells them. At other times, as it crawls across the sky it sends blinding rays down through the atmosphere to shock you. As if in anger at some unknowable injustice. I suspect that most animals here hide from its potent gaze. Laying in the shadows before the darkness comes swelling in, only to emerge as night begins to reign supreme. Joined in its majesty by the moon.


    But alas it was still midday for me and I used the time before the animals emerge to get far from camp. This time I head in a new direction. Previously I have always moved away from the charcoal forest and the unnerving scene of my first night. This time though I head back through the woods towards it.


    The big cat must have hunting grounds out there. So other animals must exist. I find it hard to believe something that obviously a predator could be herbivorous. So, the animals must be great at hiding form me. I must be more wily, more intelligent and just generally better at hunting.


    As I traipse through the charcoal forest I feel a nervousness settle in the pit of my stomach. An unusual thing for me. This place is unnatural, I think that is what I feel. In what realm would a charcoal forest exist.


    ¡°Enigma, what do you think happened here?¡± I ask trying to hide the nerves in my voice. He probably could analyse it and find out, but it is whether it occurs to him to do so. Without my asking he probably won¡¯t.


    He stays silent for a while, so I interrupt.


    ¡°Enigma, it is okay to say you don¡¯t know. At least tell me you are working on it. The only time I want assertions and full on analysis without specifying is if we are in a battle. Okay?¡±


    ¡°Yes Ronja.¡± He tells me a bit petulantly. It is as if I have just told him off. I feel a bit put out. Like a parent trying to correct their child. I suppose in a way I am his mother. Nurturing and developing his personality. It is just a shame that though he has the raw intelligence and processing of a god he is still as mature and developed as a small child.


    ¡°So, what happened here?¡± I ask again.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± He replies in an edged voice. I sigh.


    ¡°Enigma¡± I say letting the meaning creep into my tone. In a bought of maturity, he grows up for a second.


    ¡°It seems like the forest was burnt to a crisp in this large swathe of land. Not like a forest fire though. I really don¡¯t have any explanation for the scene.¡± Finally, I think to myself as he responds in the way I wanted. Reassuring in our combined ignorance. Solidarity is more comforting that knowledge. Stemming from tribal days where being one of many in a crowd is safer than being the odd one out.


    It¡¯s unnatural, odd and eerie. Yet those very same qualities give it a sort of sacred reverence. Like a graveyard. It gives off the feeling that you are walking upon the revered and respected. You don¡¯t want to scream and shout, you just want to move on leaving the peace and quiet slumbering on, ignorant of your passage through their domain.


    It isn¡¯t long before I pass through the place, emerging from the other side is like a breath of fresh air. And in a way I suppose it is at that. Almost unknowingly I hadn¡¯t noticed the stench of ash that clings and smothers the land behind me. I let it out, exhaling all that pent-up angst and nerves in a few deep breaths. And suddenly all is right with the world, well, all right respectively.


    Not far in front of me what remains of the biome that still lives fades away and, in its place, another stands tall. Or maybe small. At the edge of the one I am standing in the landscape heads downhill for about fifty metres as the biomes gradually integrate and separate. It is not what you would describe as a forest yet still within the overgrown nature of the landscape. To me it seems to be a cross of several different biomes. As with all of the land so far, big, tall trees grow up from the ground, their roots a sprawling maze of wood that anchors them in place. Though here it is far more sparse and in general the trees don¡¯t touch each other. They have grown to a height about that of the land I am standing on.


    The floor is a huge swamp like aspect of the biome. Interconnected water pools, streams and marshes are interspersed with flat areas of solid ground held together by the roots of the trees that stand so tall. In the shallow clear water, the land gleams with colours. Reds, blues, yellows. All manner of coloured life crowds the waterways. An in-land coral reef. The coral bustling with uncountable aquatic life and insects. Between the huge trees and coral reef are other smaller shrubs and spruces native to taiga biomes.


    Though none of that is what catches my eye. What does it is in fact numerous gleaming towers of white. Like intricate ice sculptures they sit motionless and peerless in their beauty. The sun breaks over them showering them in a bluish white light. It scatters and dazzles on their surface. They stretch out at several metres tall and separate rarely forming a huge network through which I will have to transverse.


    Enigma tells me they are coral too. Perhaps the water used to extend up to the land above and this whole land was once underwater. As the water drained the coral died leaving these ice white monoliths behind. As the life flooded back in the wake of their death it grew around the remnants of the bountiful land.


    Making my way through the land I encounter a few new animals. Though they skirt from my half-hearted lunges to grab them. First, a crayfish or similar. It has two sharp spears instead of claws. With a soft snick they extend out barbs. Like the hooks on a broad head arrow. The powerful tail tucks beneath it and allows a fast darting movement. It has the reddish colouration that those on earth do. I spotted it eating a fish. The spear like chelipod pierces through its flesh and then barb sticks out to help drag the dying prey to the creature.


    Another is the fish the crayfish was feasting on. Like a bream or bass in shape, it has a thin tall body. A whitish top and green belly opposite to earthen varieties. A small hare or rabbit darts around the trees and I pursue for the time it takes it to dart away with a quickness that is almost unbelievable.


    The further I trek and the more life that escapes me, the more disheartened I get. Everything is quick and nimble.  Just when I am at my worst though a voice speaks to me.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    ¡°Over there¡± it whispers as a marker flashes on my HUD, it is of course Enigma. The marker leads me to a track. It is big, about the size of the palm of my hand. The hoven foot of some animal. The track is sunk deep into the ground, made soft by the water surrounding it. My excitement picks up and I have to calm myself. I follow along, stealthy and quiet. I watch every step with care, I don¡¯t want to give the game away.


    After an hour I discover the creature responsible for the tracks. Big indeed. It is about a metre high and one and a half long. Thick barrelled body and small stocky legs. It looks like a cross between a rhino and a pig. I might as well add mammoth to that list as the tusks it has are long and curling. It is green with a reddish tinge to it. Mud cakes its side and belly. The familiar curled pig tail is nowhere to be seen and instead a shark like tail extends back. Obviously much smaller, but the fin in itself is still very much present. The head also has resemblance to an aquatic life. Gills and a more pointed snout are prominent on the sides of the head. A good swimmer perhaps. Something about all the features make it seem like the animal should look comical but instead it leeks natural in this environment.


    As I stand watching it, I get a first-hand account of the effectiveness of those aquatic traits as it jumps into the water and swims to the next island. Once their it roots around the ground for a bit before giving up and moving onwards.


    Driving the animal towards the cliffs requires a lot of time. I have to make a small disturbance to its sides or back to make it wary of that direction, but eventually I manage it as the sun begins to descend from the sky. Still plenty of daylight left to work in but night is beginning to close in. If I¡¯m not quick about this I could be walking back in darkness.


    I wait a good fifteen minutes or so for the animal to calm down and go back to rooting around in the ground before I begin my approach. Hidden under the shadows of the cliff the animal faces outwards. Its positioning makes it much harder to approach. With the cliff cutting out half the angles to approach I have to pick and choose my moments carefully. Otherwise it will spook and vanish in a flash. I have enigma run me through how to throw the spear and the hand placement. Unlike conventional javelins with perfect weight distribution the makeshift one is heavier at the back as the trunk widened there. Each one is also weighted differently making it much harder.


    When I¡¯m comfortable of hitting it from where I am I crouch down and observe the animal. Hitting it head on will only result in it running. Like a triceratops it seems to have an armoured face. Usual weak points for creatures are the eyes and face, behind the head around the neck. The joints and the major blood vessels.


    The head is too armoured. The neck is a maybe. If I can get enough force behind my throw to wrench the head around or if I puncture something useful, I might be able to take it down. The joints will work when I close in with it. Blood vessels are much to small of a target for a throw. Behind the head it is.


    Waiting, watching and willing it, the animal finally lowers its head to the ground; exposing its neck. With a powerful wrench I feel the muscles, tendons and bones it my arm thrum with power and resistance as I launch the spear. Like throwing a punch I drive forwards with my legs, twist my core and back to accelerate my body and then unleash with my arms. The result; the spear flies fast and true. Slipping through the trees and branches to emerge into the fading light. It crosses the small stream separating me from my prey and strikes with a dull thud and a sharp squeal. Very much a pig like squeal.


    Having been assaulted, the animal in its primordial, bestial panic runs in circles trying in vain to get rid of the spear still clinging to its body. Though it hasn¡¯t penetrated deep the spear appears to have hit hard. Blood oozes out to coat the shaft with a natural red paint. Drips of the stuff fall off along its length as the flow runs down the spear.


    I grab another from beside me and throw again. In excitement I throw without precision and control but with sheer power. It rotates in the air and strikes the animal in the head; snapping its neck around. The violent motion dislodges the other spear and the animal regains its composure in but a second.


    Backed up against a wall; nowhere to retreat, it charges.  Bounding across the land, jumping the pool of water and coming at me very quickly indeed. I unsheathe my knives and roll my head.


    We close in on each other, full of aggression and will. A battle to the death and to the victor go the spoils. It lowers its head in the final few metres and closes its eyes. When it reaches me, it strikes up with the tusks trying to disembowel me. I am not there any longer though. Jumping to the side, I aim a kick to its right rear leg as it passes by me. An armoured leg with power boosting vs an animals leg. It¡¯s no match. The bone with a dull crack as the sound waves transfer through the tough flesh. Without realising what has happened the animal goes to step on the leg before collapsing to the ground.


    A wounded animal is its most dangerous state. The hunter gets complacent, the animal has nothing to lose and the two of them often both die. Yet I¡¯m not foolish enough to be complacent. I sheath my right knife and march back to collect my spears.


    From a safe distance I slam the base of the spear into the animal¡¯s other rear leg. Crippling the poor beast without a thought of mercy. From the back I approach, knife held out warily. At the joint between the torso and the leg; on a human its in the flesh where the hips and quads join runs a major blood vessel. It is here that I slide my knife in. The curve softly supporting the leg of the animal. With a strong powerful stroke, I drive my fist to my shoulder, ripping through, muscle tendons and scraping the bones. I shred the flesh and unleash a torrent of blood that pools around my feet. The animal squeals yet again.


    I repeat the process on the other leg and the backs of the legs where the human femoral vein and artery runs. Another wave of blood as its heart pumps it out of the creature. As the beast weakens I move up to its torso and rip through the flesh under the rib cage.  More ribs and tougher muscle mean several strikes to get through. The blade breaks through the major muscle groups as I slowly cripple the animal further. With each new cut a smaller wave of blood rolls down the sides ad as the palpitations of its dying heart begin to fade I move up to the neck. Grasping its sharp tusks in one hand I stab the blade through the eye into its brain. With a last contraction it rips the tusk from my hand in its death throes.


    I gasp in pain at the cut. Not physically there but the suit has a deep cut gouged into the metal. What is it about this planet. Even the leaves on the trees can hurt my suit.


    With the animal finally dead I allow myself to smile. Food, food at last! I sigh in relief, taking deep breaths to calm my racing heart.


    My exultation is short lived however as from the cliffs I hear a roar. For a brief second, the pure terror shoots through me.


    ¡°Sound has been filtered Ronja.¡± Enigma tells me.


    A loud crash follows shortly. I step off the animal and turn to face the cliffs.


    Down at the bottom, I face it yet again. The humanoid. Empty eye sockets searching, the huge head spike pointing towards me. It rises up on its toes letting the talons dig into the dirt. It charges at me in a huge leap. Two bounding jumps and it has closed the gap. As its arm swings towards me, claws extended I duck and swing my knife up, it slashes and digs into the armpit severing the muscle. Unfortunately, I am too late in my dodge and it catches me. No longer powered by muscle just the momentum hits me. I am flung away like a bug flicked off your arm. Crashing through the trees before landing in the muddied bank of one of the huge trees and sliding into the water. My Screen flickers slightly before coming back online. I am staring at the colourful corral of the swamp reef.


    I leap to my feet and charge, ready to defend my catch. We close with each other as it emits another head pounding roar. It swings at me again; I dodge under and send my foot through to its knees. I hit solidly, hearing a crack. Fractured maybe. Though when it puts weight on it I doubt my analysis. I block a backhand swing in retaliation and it drives me back a foot into the dirt as the suit ceases up and locks me in place.


    We trade punches for a while in a brawl of power. My hard-hitting shots barely seem to hurt it and I only just manage to deflect and dodge its replies. On one such swing I dodge fully and the creature opens itself up for the first time. Usually I have to get hit to get one shot in. Now though I have an opportunity. My knife flashes in the sunlight and I catch it in the neck. Opening it up and seriously injuring it. It screams in genuine pain and not frustration as previously. I smile in joy. Faster than ever before though it kicks out at me. A first for a move like this. I fly back through the air before slamming into a tree. Like a bird slamming into the window I fall limply to the floor.


    Getting up takes me a few seconds and as I raise my head expecting a finishing blow I see the last traces of it as it scales the cliffs and runs away my hard-fought prey clutched in its bony arms.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± I scream out loud pounding the floor in frustration. All for nothing. It was all for nothing!

 Chapter 17 - Ataraxy

    <u>Chapter 17 ¨C</u><u> Ataraxy</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    17<sup>rth</sup> May 2341 (BSST)


    Almost in shock, I stay, locked in place, staring at the cliff over which my hunt has disappeared. I can hardly believe all the effort I put in was for nothing. The darkening eaves and branches from trees hanging over the cliff cloud my vision and I can almost see the residual picture in my mind.


    I suppose I¡¯m lucky to still be alive. Having fought - although briefly ¨C the humanoids, it is startling how dangerous they are. Sharp, tough spines meant to puncture prey, unquestionable strength and viciousness tempered with an intelligent fighting style. Only the animal instincts saved me as it fled once hurt.


    With a sigh, I stand fully, and trudge over to collect my spears. The ends of them are coated in a thick viscous blood. Cracked, and broken the wood will need a fix, or even to be replaced entirely. The tips though are relatively intact. Perhaps a brush up with a rough stone is in order.


    Marching over to the water¡¯s edge I put the disappointment out of mind and try my best to get over it. It¡¯s a fact of life here and I might as well get on with things. No amount of moaning will change anything.


    Crouching down, I wash the spears in the water letting the blood filter off. It leaves a musky red cloud of slowly disappearing blood flakes. Small strands connect the globules and as they break apart, the traces separate and blend into the environment. Drifting off to feed the ecosystem for another day.


    Once clean, I swing them around to push the water off as best I can and bundle them up under one arm.


    As I¡¯m about to set off back to the camp, I have a thought. What was it the creature was rooting around for. Pigs on earth are well known to root for truffles and are so good at it that they are used by farmers for that purpose. So, what were these things doing?


    I rush over and take a look at one of the holes I can remember. I just see the mud on an initial examination. Kneeling down, I push my hand down the hole and dig around for a bit. Eventually I feel something. Not very large around, maybe the size of a lime, a small one. I yank it out and look at it. Perhaps some sort of starchy tuberous root. Like some kind of root vegetable. It looks kind of like a yam or cassava.


    ¡°Enigma, what do you think?¡± I ask him.


    ¡°Perhaps it is edible. You do need food fairly urgently after all. Your postulation that it is some kind of cross between a yam or cassava plant I would tentatively agree to. Yams have very little toxicity except in the cases of immature yellow or white varieties that produce bitter tasting compounds like polyphenols or tannins. So, I would conclude it to be safe if it was more yam like.¡± He tells me.


    Tannins are prevalent in most plant species to some extent. Animals have active defences to prevent being eaten. Like claws, teeth, speed and general toughness. Having those qualities for a plant wouldn¡¯t be very useful so they develop chemical deterrents to protect themselves. Nettles have stings as an example. Tannins are ubiquitous polyphenol compounds that can bind to and precipitate proteins, amino acids and alkaloids. Though tannin plays an important role in defence against predation it is not a huge concern.


    ¡°Cassava on the other hand¡­¡± he starts, interrupting my thoughts. ¡°¡­is a much more toxic plant. It is the third largest source of natural carbohydrate and was a staple food source for over one third of the population before food vats were introduced in quantity. Cassava has two major sources of cyanide in its flesh. Linamarin and lotaustralin are both cyanogenic glucosides acting as part of the plants defences. Both of these are decomposed by action of the enzyme linamarase. This enzyme driven decomposition liberates hydrogen cyanide. Without proper preparation cassava can quite easily deliver a fatal dose of the residual cyanide. In fact, just 25mg of pure cassava is enough to kill a rat. Whilst this can be cured relatively easily in modern society with a dose of thiosulfate I would remind you we do not have such a dosage available. To be sure I would recommend using the method of wetting over several hours or days to let the cyanogenic glucosides break down and the hydrogen cyanide escape into the atmosphere. That is, if it is like a cassava. It is an alien plant though, so, it could be completely different.¡±


    With no more information forthcoming I thank him for the information and proceed to harvest as many of the tubers as I can manage to carry back to camp. It takes me the better part of the remaining light and as I stumble back into camp, weary and tired it is all I can do to keep my eyes open and alert enough.


    Taking one of the larger pots I had created a while back I take my knife and start peeling the tubers. At first, I start off with my fighting knives seeing as they are far sharper. However, their awkward shape takes me too long and I move onto the flint knife with far better results. Once they are all peeled I chop them up into smaller cubes and drop them in water in the pot to steep overnight. Cassava has traditionally been left in water for over five hours if the cassava is ground into a flour to over three days for whole cassava. I decide to go with about twelve hours in water after cutting into small cubes. I place the pot in the tepee section before crawling into bed.


    Morning comes softly, and I get up easily. As normal I run around the perimeters of the camp. This time however I climb out of the suit and set it to charge. In the clearing I find the brightest patch of sunlight and let the suit fall to its front. The back panels unhook, and a large solar mesh extends out to catch as many of the rays as possible. Based off of the tech of the space station at the start of the twenty first century earth time the solar mesh follows the sun around using thermal shape-memory alloys to track the suns path and gain maximum solar energy.


    Taking the tubers in their pot out to the lovely sunshine I sit at the side of the pool and stretch out. I can relax for the first time in days whilst also doing a useful task. With the plant I run through the universal edibility test.


    Step one is already done, to divide the plant into its constituent parts. Though on instinct I didn¡¯t keep the shoots and leaves. Step two is to smell for an unpleasant odour.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Reaching in to grab a cube I notice the colour of the water is a cloudy yellowish colour. This is reminiscent of the starch leaking out of the plant and into the water. A good sign. I smell it. Certainly, there is no bad smell. To me it just smells green and fresh. Though the whitish yellow flesh isn¡¯t green it certainly has that lush natural smell that is present all around me.


    Step three is to check for contact poisoning by placing the plant on the skin of the arm for a few minutes to feel for anything different. Tingling, rashes, numbness or burns are a sure sign not to eat the plant.


    Step four is to prep the plant in the way you plan to eat it. Getting a fire going doesn¡¯t take very long after so much practice and it isn¡¯t long before I get a small section of the plant in boiling water. A good twenty minutes boiling and twenty to cool enough to reach in and grasp it lets me have more relaxation. I touch the plant to my lips for a few minutes and wait a quarter hour to test for burning or itching.


    With that passed the next step allows me to take a small bite. I have to keep the food in my mouth for a while to check. It tastes very much like potatoes, starchy and heart-warming. It is neither very bitter or soapy which is a good sign and after fifteen minutes I have no adverse effects, well except for a rumbling tummy. I swallow the bite and then get up. If after several hours there is no further effect I can assume the plant is in fact edible.


    So, what to do for a few hours? I ponder to myself. First, I go and take a bath in the cold stream. Washing the suit stench and general grubbiness from my skin feels glorious. It has been about eighteen to twenty days since I crash landed on this planet although it feels much much longer.


    I replace the bindings and add more sap to the spears after regrinding a point on the metal. That takes me a while. And at about eleven AM I finish all the extraneous tasks I can think of. It has been a few hours and I feel fine, so the tubers are probably safe to eat in that way. I put it off long enough. It¡¯s time to check the traps.


    Excited and anxious, I approach the pool before slipping into the water. The sharp pebbles dig into the soft soles of my feet. A life in the suit has softened up the skin a great deal and I wince as I walk across the water letting it flow around my lower legs with the calming trickling sound of water.


    Lifting up the traps I am happily surprised by their contents. Whilst I wouldn¡¯t categorise it as bustling, there is life inside the traps. Moving away from the water I untie the top section and remove it. Looking inside I can see about ten of the small prawns flopping around inside. As well as the prawns is a small fish. A bit shorter than a foot long, it has a dark green colouration fading towards a more golden colour on its lower flanks and a whitish belly. Dark bands lie horizontally along its body. Mottled green crossed with black the bands help the ambush predator hide in the shadows. It is very reminiscent of a perch. With spines in the dorsal fin but none in the gill covers. The main difference from the perch I know is the teeth. Perch have tiny teeth and a big wide gullet to swallow their prey whereas this fish has small sharp teeth. Back facing they remind me of a bramble branch with the spines. A tail split more into the upper and lower halves than a perch also differentiates it.


    Setting the trap down I go and stoke the fire. Getting it really roaring takes a minute but it will be worth it. I place a few smooth stones at the edges of the fire. Going back to the trap I gather another pot. In total I have about 6 pots. From the small one I had made at the start which contains the sap I am using to the large one in which I have the ash from the fires for more clay making. The one I grab is a smallish pot that I can use for cooking.


    Taking the prawns from pot I take my flint blade and stab through the head to kill them. Then along the belly of the abdomen where the shell sections split I run the knife down before peeling back the shells. With a small twist and a gentle tug, the flesh comes out of the shells. I cut off the head and any guts which I don¡¯t need and chuck them in the stream to wash away. Dropping the muscle remaining into the pot. Once I am done with the prawns I take the trap and place the top back on. Tying it so the top is back on top and that the trap is secured to the bank I leave the fish alive and caged for tonight¡¯s dinner.


    The tubers go into the pot and then using two green branches I grasp the stones that have been heating up in the fire and drop them into the water. A plume of steam and a violent sizzle indicate how hot they are. In very little time the water is bubbling and the smells that come billowing off the pot make me hungrier than ever.


    Eventually it is done, and I tuck into the best food I¡¯ve ever had. Perhaps huger does in fact make food taste better.


    It tastes fishy and salty. Despite being fresh water creatures, it still has a salty taste to it. The prawns are lightly flavoured and the tubers rich and starchy. Though I would normally avoid starchy foods on an alien planet you can¡¯t pick and choose.


    Whilst the suit is charging, and I am relaxing I do only basic maintenance tasks. Collecting more water with the distillatory, collecting more sap and wood. Sharpening the flint knife, the adze and chisel stone. Rechecking the fire drill.


    And then I just sit by the water procrastinating and letting all the stress of the last few days wash away with my thoughts. Pure silence and peace for the first time. I feel full and content. I have made my survival not sure, but better than average with the shelter, water and food.


    When evening comes around I retrieve the fish. Being careful to avoid its teeth I place my thumb at the point where the head connects to the body. My forefinger and middle finger slide down its throat. With a jerk of my wrist ¨C driving my thumb down and my finger¡¯s pulling up - I snap the fishes neck.


    Lying it on the banks of the pool, I take the flint knife and at the base of the anal fin insert the tip. With little flicking motions keeping the blade no more than one centimetre into the fish I cut along the belly. Scales rip off along the knife and cover my hands. As I near the pelvic fins I slow my progress down. Above the pelvic fins sits the stomach and liver. Within the liver systems is the gall bladder. Puncturing either of these systems can ruin the taste of the fish, let alone introducing potential toxins into the flesh.


    The pectoral fins have a tougher section between hem and I turn the fish upright and press down in a chopping motion to get through the flesh. I keep cutting until I hit the jawbone.


    With the knife I cut the organs off at the tail end and then using my fingers I push the organs out of the animal. Up at the top I use the knife to cut them again before chucking the entrails out into the stream to wash away. Still left inside the animal is the heart which takes a bit of work to get out and the swim bladder and membrane. The heart and swim bladder are easy to remove with the hands.


    I move over to the water and crouch down. Placing the fish in the water I use my fingernails to scrape away the silver membrane and the blood from the fish making sure to clean it well. When the nice clean muscle glistens I finish washing the fish.


    As the blood cloud begins to settle the shrimp/prawn things come out and with their fan like claws capture the blood from the water and begin their own feast on the remains of my fish. As I stare through the water, not disturbing it I seen the sheer quantity of the things in there. With a few pools like this and the tubers I might be able to survive indefinitely.


    I roast the fish in the fire by spearing it on a branch and turning it in the flames like a marshmallow. When the skin crisps up and flakes away I know it is done. The eyes have shrivelled up and turned milk white. Cutting off the head I slowly eat the fish with my fingers picking the bones scales out of my mouth. It tastes watery but nice. The flesh falls apart in flakes and is succulent beyond belief. Delicious.


    When I¡¯ve finished I toss the bones on the fire to burn up. Whilst not perfect as a way of disposal it is better than many. I just want to avoid any predators coming around. Washing the slab where I gutted the fish again in a bought of paranoia is the last task I manage before going off to a peaceful night¡¯s sleep.

 Chapter 18 - The Log

    <u>Chapter 18 ¨C</u><u> The Log.</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    17<sup>rth</sup> July 2341 (BSST)


    < 2 months later >


    I sneak through the shrubbery with a quite icy focus. My prey, alert and moving, unaware of what stalks it from the shadows and depressions of the land in which it lives. As I track the deer like creature across the landscape from dawn till dusk I take breaks when it settles down to graze, I can only take them down when the animal settles down. So, whilst I wait I reminisce on the past couple of months.


    ¡°About 2 months ago¡­¡±


    ¡°Exactly two months ago in fact¡± a voice interrupts my quite monologue.


    ¡°Alright, fine. Exactly two months ago¡­¡± I continue ignoring my rude companion.


    ¡°Well, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted. Exactly two months ago I had solved my food crisis. The water was fixed, and the food was fixed; from my distillation set up, to the starchy tubers and fresh water fish and prawns that I¡¯ve been eating for the last couple of months things were going quite well.


    Well, it was going alright considering the fact I was stranded, alone on an inhospitable planet.


    ¡°Hey!¡± a voice interrupts me.


    ¡°What about me? I¡¯m here too you know.¡± I sigh, Enigma aside, I¡¯m here alone.


    ¡°That¡¯s right! And you¡¯d better not forget it.¡±


    ¡°Will you just quieten down for a minute and let me wax poetically for the log.¡± I tell him, the irritation creeping into my voice. He grumbles a bit before settling down. Thank god.


    ¡°So, alone ¨C apart from Enigma ¨C I have survived on this godforsaken place. It was a struggle at first but as I make progress things have settled down and become much more stable and sustainable. Then, two months ago I managed to find a temporary solution to my food issues. That being the tubers and fresh water life. With no immediate issues taking all my time I began this log. The first entry was on the 17<sup>th</sup> of May 2341 BSST. It catalogued my progress up till then. With this second update log I want to update you on what I¡¯ve been doing these past months.¡±


    ¡°As I said in my first entry, I thought it would be important to catalogue the journey and the sheer efforts it took to keep myself alive in this place. So, for anyone watching, listening or even reading the transcript I hope it¡¯s useful. Perhaps you might even be listening to this in class as I present to you on stage as a guest lecturer. Or perhaps I have long since perished and only this log was recovered. Or maybe, and sadly most likely this report will rest on my decomposing corpse turned skeleton turned dust until the death of the universe, unfound. Lost in the vastness of space.¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    ¡°Enigma has been cataloguing the sky at night to try and locate us. So far, no luck, it seems we are a long way from explored space. Enigma estimates it to be approximately ten years of observation until enough datapoints and motion tracking has occurred to suggest with a decent degree of accuracy where we are. Thoughts?¡± I ask him.


    ¡°Oh, you want my interjections now?¡±


    ¡°Oh, stop being irritating you petulant AI¡± I respond playfully. Enigma has been my companion and friend for the past while. He¡¯s been going through what I would call a teenage sarcastic phase I his emotional growth. Though irritating it is at least good to see him grow.


    He huffs before answering, giving what I imagine to be an emotional eye roll. ¡°yes, ten years would not be an overestimate of the time it would take to catalogue the position we are in. None of the stars and masses observed are on the star maps I currently have access to. Well none so far as I have managed to scan through. So, I am translating the current stars and superimposing them on maps I currently have access to to try and fit it to a recognisable pattern. Unfortunately, stars, planets and everything else moves, it dims in brightness or even dies making my task a whole lot harder. With the sentience mist obscuring the features it also hides our position very effectively.¡± You would have thought it would be easy to locate us since the star is binary, but apparently not.


    ¡°In terms of what has happened down here in the past two months. First of all, and perhaps most importantly the tracks the humanoids leave behind have been spotted by myself or Enigma more often than before. Though camp has been safe so far it is only a matter of time until it is found. Usually we encounter them far out in the wilderness as I go to scavenge. But recently they have been getting nearer. I may even need to move.¡±


    ¡°In terms of industrial progress, I have managed to start building a basic draught furnace. It gets to hotter temperatures and its an important step in my progress. I have also upgraded and fixed all the tools that broke down in the first month and also finished the bow. In fact, that¡¯s what I¡¯m doing now, hunting the deer like creatures. Plans for the future are to start working on a camp wall. And most importantly to start charcoal production. It¡¯s a tricky process but with a better source of fuel perhaps I can even begin using metal.¡±


    ¡°As you may have noticed, Enigma has grown slightly. He is entering what I fondly think of as the teenage phase¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± he protests. ¡°Unfair!¡±


    ¡°Though he has more progress to make I am feeling happy about the progress that has occurred. I believe that our constant chat has helped his development. When I can make him quiet as I provoke an in-depth systems analysis or theoretical preposition for him to consider he seems to jump in huge leaps of emotional intelligence. His personality on the other hand I am not so happy with. Now don¡¯t get me wrong it¡¯s good he is developing one, and it is nothing bad, I just have the sinking feeling that he may end up trying to aggravate me at all times. I don¡¯t think I can cope. Hopefully it is just a phase.¡±


    What else? I ponder to myself for a moment.


    ¡°The planet is getting colder and the life seems to be waking up. It seems like the animals hibernate during the summer months underground or in caves to try and avoid the oppressive heat. Without the body ware and suit I would have surely died in the first few days. I think as the planet cools and life begins to emerge that I might be fighting for survival more often. But, on the flip side, more life means more food.¡±


    ¡°Mentally I am doing okay. It¡¯s lonely but Enigma helps and so does filling my days with activity. Humans are social creatures on a fundamental level and to be so deprived is hard, but I¡¯m coping.¡±


    ¡°This has been Log entry 4 for the 17<sup>th</sup> of July 2341 BSST. Made by Ronja Larsen ¨C Special operator and fighter pilot for the Human naval command and spacefaring administration based off of the Evokaren frigate ship that was exploring sector 9854.¡±


    Having finished updating the Log, I settled down in the thick grasses to wait. It wasn¡¯t long before the creature decided that the lush grasses were greener on the other side and decided to move on.

 Chapter 19 - Success, at Last?

    <u>Chapter 19 ¨C</u><u> Success, at Last!</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    10<sup>rth</sup> August 2341 (BSST)


    <24 days later>


    The bow bucked in my hands with a smooth powerful jerk, flowing effortlessly through its range of motion as a knife cutting through water. The arrow, a straight dry shaft of wood made from something resembling an elm tree. As the twine bowstring straightens in perfect unison, the arrow is kicked forwards bending towards the side the arrow doesn¡¯t rest on, before kicking back and flexing back the other way. Part of the archer paradox, if the nock is in line with the bow and then also the target yet the arrow rests to one side of the bow then how does the arrow fly true?


    Arrows have a certain flexibility which allows for an oscillating wave along the arrow as it flexes from side to side. The arrow then bends around the bow and continues towards the target. Modern competition bows have a hole in the bow through which the arrows fire to eliminate this issue.


    This goes through my mind as the arrow pushes into the bow to begin its flexing. The leaves used for fletching¡¯s scrape across my metal gloved hands and straighten out as it flies past in a flash.


    My eyes seem to focus only on the arrow as the surroundings blur into a seamless background as the arrow flies true.


    With a dull thud, the arrow lands, just below the neck above where the left foreleg joins the torso. A kill shot! I watch, totally absorbed in the moment as the pelt ripples from the impact before splitting over the sharp, jagged edges of the arrow head. Crimson red lines well up around the puncture mark and a bead of blood forms into a droplet before slowly rolling down the flank and matting the hair together.


    With a mad scramble the deer like creature turns and runs away. The cracking and rustling of the foliage breaking sounds out a cacophony in my ears that rings with startling clarity. Though it moves in a flash it doesn¡¯t get far before it stumbles and falls.


    With careful steps I approach, wary of the animal. The dark bands around the green pelt help hide the animal in the longer grasses upon which it was grazing not long ago. Conscious of the danger the antlers pose I wait as the strength drains away along with the life blood of the animal. As it looks at me with a pitying gaze I line up a shot and bury another arrow through its brain. With a soft squelch like a melon smashing, the arrow bursts out the back of its head and settles into the ground disturbing some of the fallen leaves and kicking up some of the dry dust. I breath in, savouring the rich metallic smell and the exhilarating rush of a freshly hunted prey.


    As the last essence of its life disappears into the abyss I stare at it, emotionless. Years of battling far more dangerous, and sentient foes has left me jaded and distant to such a task. It¡¯s just a deer after all. Something to feed me for a while, something I have to do, something I don¡¯t spend another thought on.


    Once the animal is slumbering alongside mistress death, I clear the area as best I can and move the animal onto its back. The antlers get stuck in the ground as I roll, and it takes me a few moments to settle it properly. Getting out of the suit and setting Enigma and the suit to guard me makes me feel more secure when focusing on the animal.


    With the sheer power in the legs the animal is fairly unstable, so it takes a little ingenuity to secure the beast. I take a log and slam the antlers into the log, their razor-sharp edges and sharp points pierce the wooden support with an unnerving ease. Once the deer like creature is stable and not prone to moving around I begin a field dressing. I go about it like I would a deer since I¡¯m assuming the biology¡¯s are very similar, hopefully I don¡¯t cut something that¡¯d ruin the meat.


    First, I retrieve my arrows, since they are not broadhead arrows I can pull them out gently without too much trouble a slight twist and rocking motion allows the suction to escape and the arrows come out easier. The metallic tips are stained red and the joint of the shaft with the arrow head has a blackish coagulated bloody coating that smooths over the change in material. The wood has absorbed the blood and been dyed a darker crimson brown colour. A stain that will likely never come out.


    As the animal appears to be a male I take the knife and cut to one side of the genitalia before tracing down to where the tail meets the body. Cutting down to the pelvis bone and around, the goal here is to try and separate the colon from the hide. The colon goes through the pelvic canal before growing into the hide on animals like this and I must take care not to puncture the colon and taint the meat. In addition, throughout the whole process I must avoid contamination as much as possible and it¡¯s for this reason that I clear the area as much as possible.


    On deer, the stomach sits just above the pelvis bone and so I cut through the meat until I reach the pelvis and then take small incisions of the surrounding muscle until I manage to expose the stomach.


    From here I reach into the animal and lift the hide from the body along its belly with two fingers and cut with the knife resting between my fingers and extending into the animal no more than 4cm depth. As I move along the belly the guts bulge and billow out of the cut as they seek to escape the confines of the animal. Covered in a silvery waxy membrane the guts shine with moisture in the gentle morning light going from bulge to bulge of the different organs the membrane stretches taught in places and slack in others. A slight steamy mist escapes into the morning air from the entrails as they emerge from the creature.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    This cut continues all the way up to the sternum. Where, at the joining point of the guts and the cardiovascular system the diaphragm sits, I proceed to cut that as well. Down along one side of the ribs to further open up the torso.


    Reaching deep into the animal, up towards the neck I search for the oesophagus. Once I find it, a slightly springy tube that feels slightly slick ¨C though what doesn¡¯t at this point ¨C I grasp firmly and cut through the throat at the only other point of contact with the hide and musculature.


    With the guts, and cardiovascular system disconnected from the hide, muscle and skeletal systems I roll them out of the animal by pulling on the throat connection and then the tail connection to rip away the last connective tissue still clinging to the entrails. It¡¯s slippery and slightly nauseating to feel the slick, sticky remnants of the animals life. Gathering them up and removing them I take them far enough away from the carcass to prevent any contamination occurring.


    Observing the animal¡¯s guts, I can see the heart has a small nick and the lungs have been punctured by my arrows. The large smooth bluish section is the liver and when I check it over I can see no damage that could have contaminated the animal. That¡¯s always a good sign.


    With a field dressing done I search for a pool of water to wash my hands and arms in before heading back. I climb back into the suit and lift up the animal¡¯s carcass by the antlers to shoulder height letting any pooling blood drain away from what¡¯s left over. Quite a bit as it turns out, I had nicked the heart after all. With the animal slung over one shoulder I head back to camp.


    As I near camp I head down towards the stream below the camp and also far downwind. Anything to prevent the smell of a fresh kill from lingering by camp.


    Once again, I place the deer on its back and get out of the suit.


    ¡°Enigma, can you run me through this again, its been a while since I¡¯ve done it?¡± I ask getting him to help me.


    Whilst listening to Enigma and following his advice I get to work. I first take the knife to the joint in the forelegs and cut around in a circle before pulling against the range of motion to snap the bone and remove that section of the foreleg.


    Moving around I take my knife and set the tip into the top of the hindlegs where the hoof meets the leg and slice down with the knife facing up in a pushing motion all the way down until the cut meets up with the cut of the field dressing.


    After doing both legs I take the knife and split the joint in the bone before breaking it in half. It snaps with an awful popping, wrenching sound that makes me shudder slightly. At the knuckle the Achilles tendon joins the leg and I string up the animal in the trees using this tendon to support the weight of the animal.


    With my knife I slice around the musculature of the leg leaving the silvery membrane intact and, on the meat, where possible. Pulling the hide down sing the section of the hindlegs I¡¯ve broken off as handles, I slowly remove the hide from the animal¡¯s legs in this manner.


    I continue cutting around the hind legs and hips until the hide is as detached as I can make it before pulling the hide down to the rump. Before proceeding with the rump, I chop off the tail hairs and knot them together before slinging it over a branch for safekeeping. Strong hairs will always be useful. Cutting through the tail bone takes a little while but I get by.


    The tail bone and anus are cut out with short sharp jerking motions of the knife and I¡¯m careful to get everything out.


    Using my clenched fist, I place the joints of the proximal and middle phalanges next to the animal where the hide meets the muscle before rolling my fist into the animal and forcing the hide down. With a combination of this and the knife I make steady work of the animal until I have to raise the animal to stop the hide dragging on the floor.


    The hide pulls cleanly over the snapped forelegs and down to the neck. After exposing most of the neck the hide is cut from where the field dressing stopped, at the sternum up to the neck and around to the front curve of the lower jaw.


    Continuing to pull here will likely rip the membrane and so I use my knife far more than for the body.


    At the joint to the skull I cut the head off and then cut the hide away as well before discarding the skull with the forelegs. Cutting the snapped off hindlegs from the hide, they join the pile as well.


    With that, the animal is skinned, and the hide preserved. Whilst still hanging from the tree I proceed to butcher the animal. Removing the straps of muscle on the inside of the spine towards the rear of the animal. The shoulders are held on purely by muscle and so I just slice through to separate them.


    With the first load of meat ¨C the shoulders and straps from inside I head up to camp.


    Offset from the pool of water tucked back behind my hut I have a small tower of wood and clay. It is about 2 metres high and half a metre wide. A small semi rectangular building of clay.


    Hammered into the clay walls are a series of metal hooks made from the tent pegs I had found alongside the tents a while back. I hang up the two strips on one hook and the shoulders get one of their own.


    Next is the flanks, back straps and rib meat. That similarly gets hung on one peg. Below the hooks is a fine grate that I lay the small sections of meat onto so that they aren¡¯t touching the ground.


    Lastly are the hindquarters. A bit of pressure and some fiddly knifework and they pop right off as well. I go hang them up before taking the carcass and moving it a good mile off into the forest away from camp to further protect camp from scavengers.


    Back at camp I take the scraps and straps and strip any fat or membrane that¡¯s still left off it and chuck it into the stream to be carried away by the gently flowing water.


    They go back onto the hooks when I¡¯m done. Moving on I begin breaking the hindquarters up into the shank and the rounds, it lets me remove the femur and any other undesirables that might taint the meat before hanging up the cuts again.


    Once all the meat is broken down and the remnants disposed of I build a fire in the bottom of the hut with charcoal, though I am in fact running out of charcoal, I¡¯ll have to make some more soon. Once the fire is going I pile on the greenwood I cut this morning and close up the front of the smokery. Letting the meat smoke for a couple of days before salting it will help preserve the meat properly.


    Some of the scraps I remove and spear on a sharpened branch before roasting on the main fire for dinner.


    The hide goes on my bed as another layer on the wooden sticks. Hopefully its more comfortable. The suit stays outside to recharge when morning comes.

 Chapter 20 - Charcoal & Lime

    <u>Chapter 20 ¨C</u><u> Charcoal & Lime</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    15<sup>rth</sup> August 2341 (BSST)


    The deer meat that had been smoking for the past five days was nearly ready. The smell, though tones down was still delicious. My mouth watered when I caught a whiff of the meat in the air. I worried that it would attract the attention of the predators. Though I suspected the ones I had encountered so far to only go for live prey it didn¡¯t ease my tension. For, even if it doesn¡¯t go for dead prey the scent of a fresh kill, or even the gentler smell of smoked meat may be enough to tempt in a curious cat or monster alike.


    In addition to the smoking I had also salted the meat using both dry salt and a saturated salt solution during the process. At timed intervals and at east once a day I had taken the meat and dry rubbed the pieces with dry salt before setting it to rest in a brine solution for a few minutes. Setting it to smoke again straight after that and keeping the fire small and constant required fairly constant maintenance, but it would be worth it. To while away the hours, I had started making baskets and pots and bricks in the fire. After all, you can never really have enough containers.


    The salt I had retrieved from the sea by evaporating the water away, leaving the salt behind. Then by using that salt, I had begun to help preserve the meats further. Hotter temperatures and more voracious predators meant that this planet was not a good place to store meats. Anyhow they were nearly done and ready to be strung up in covered baskets in the trees to keep away from scavengers.


    The cold smoking process meant to preserve the meats had done well and throughout the process I had removed the little scraps to enrich the broths I had been making with the tubers.


    Using the edibility tests, I had confirmed that several of the herb like plants were in fact edible and complemented my broths. Some were edible raw whilst others I had to boil to render edible.


    Despite my rapid progress these past few months I still felt insecure and relatively vulnerable in the little camp I had made for myself. Over the past several days Enigma and I had begun to research from his general knowledge databanks the next steps.


    We both agreed that using stones and plants had gotten me as far as could realistically be expected. Oh, sure there were a few major things I had yet to do, but what was feasible and useful had been accomplished on the whole.


    A major turning point for the human race were all of the metal-based ages. From copper and bronze, to iron and then steel; each successive advancement had brought huge benefits to humanity.


    The major problem though is that in almost no circumstances could you find metal in its useful elemental forms.


    The copper age¡¯s tools or chalcolithic ones were one of the few exceptions as copper occurs in a useful natural form and so was one of the earliest metals used in human life. From copper tools to the coins of the roman era, use of copper was fairly prolific.


    Bronze would be harder to achieve as bronze, or at least the more useful tin bronze as opposed to arsenic bronze is formed from copper and tin. Veins of copper and tin are very rarely found in the same place. Whilst I hadn¡¯t a clue where to get arsenic from besides apple seeds. And unfortunately, I hadn¡¯t spotted any apples just lying around. Besides, extracting arsenic from apples. How on earth would I accomplish that?


    Furthermore, why would I go for something that isn¡¯t iron with the option to move to steel afterwards. Both copper and bronze had their uses, but in a primitive society they had no advantages over iron. Perhaps I could get some real knives and tools if I managed to get the iron extracted. Basic forging whilst difficult, hard work wasn¡¯t rocket science. Though I wouldn¡¯t get a perfect blade, with Enigma to tell me the temperature of any metals I started heating, it would be simplified.


    The first step though would be to heat the metal ores in a smeltery to help purify them. With a heat in excess of 1200K required, conventional wood just wouldn¡¯t cut it.


    Along with making the baskets I had been fetching more and more wood and drying it by the fire for the five days I had to be waiting.


    Coal was certainly out of my grasp for now, but charcoal wasn¡¯t. The first time I had made charcoal was a downright failure. My dad had taken me out into the woods for one of our semiregular camping trips and we tried to make charcoal. With no real knowledge or experience it was a dismal failure resulting in mostly ash and soft crumbly dull sounding charcoal pieces among the rubble. It didn¡¯t make a sound and was generally useless for burning.


    With that excellent experience to back me up and an EI? AI? Well whatever. An annoying brat ¨C yes, that works - going through a teenage phase to help. I was sure to make this a blinding success.


    Since making charcoal meant a fire; and a fire made in a new way; a way I wasn¡¯t familiar with, I headed a little way from camp. I had cleared a number of trees from here and the small dead shrubs that remained would be taken to use for the fire. What usually remained of the verdant green foliage on the forest floor and the rotting layer of dead organic material had been moved earlier. The dry stuff used in making clay like mud and the wet stuff just chucked aside.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    In the heat of the ever-cooling days, though cooling down with each new day the rampant heat of the planet was still easily enough to bake the ground, cracking it as any of the moisture evaporated and the soil seemed to wither away, as if trying to escape the suns rageful glare.


    With a sharpened stick I dug a small hollow in the ground and filled that with a stick about as thick around as my head. Piling the ground in to the hole again until it was flush.


    Around this central stick ¨C about a meter tall ¨C I pilled the other dry logs, branches and sticks. Going from the thickest wood to the small scraggy branches to the dead shrubs I¡¯d pulled from the ground.


    To this mound of wood, I coated the outside in mud. Slowly working up the outside as the sticky mud dried to the consistency of a decently used football field. Sticky and firm yet easy to move and manipulate, perfect!


    At the top, I left a hole about the size of a dinner plate open exposing the logs and shrubs to the open air.


    At the bottom I pulled some of the supporting clay away in ten places around the wide circumference. Now that it had dried I could make small arched hollows that exposed the wood to the air. The holes would allow an air flow in the beginning burn phase of the charcoal making.


    Lighting a fire in the top of the pile with embers from the fire roaring in camp took me a while but soon a warm, red blaze was going, licks of yellow piercing the light red like small dragons darting out. The fire was drying out the mud and spitting out little embers as the wood burned, they danced though the air on the wind like fireflies. Flitting around without a care in the world before fading and dying away. Their lustre and glowing warmth but a shadow of the past. The crackling snaps of the fire brought memories flooding back. Sitting around a campfire with family, bonfires and the smells of meat. The joyous sounds of happiness and the raucous cacophony of children playing. With a rush the memories fled letting the silent woodlands pierce my thoughts. The sounds of the fire a distant background sound that was ignored.


    I sat and observed the progress for a few hours until I could see the flames licking at the hollows down below. The mud had changed from a dark brown to a lighter, greyer colouration. Dry and slightly cracked the contrast to the mud still wet from production that was used to fill in the hollows and then top was fairly sharp.


    Once the mound had been sealed I had nothing left to do but wait. It would be done tomorrow or perhaps the day after. When the mound felt cold to the touch I would know it was done.


    Like magic the wood would be turned into charcoal, well not quite magic


    Wood is primarily made up of 3 components: Cellulose, Lignin and Water. The cellulose and lignin bind to form what we would call the wood while the water is adsorbed to the surface of the structure. As a percentage of the dry wood the water content of fresh wood could contain up to 100% weight and down to around 40% whilst cured wood was about 15%.


    Water takes heat to evaporate off and so therefor reduced the overall heat of a fire as much of the energy generated is used for this purpose. To get good charcoal we do not want the water there and so we have to drive it off by burning the wood. This unfortunately does reduce the amount of charcoal produced.


    The pre-drying by the fire and out in the sun will help make the charcoal a better quality as less water will need to be evaporated. Though proper temperatures are the most important thing.


    Once the wood has been thoroughly dried to almost no water content the fire heats up and it begins to break down in a process called pyrolysis releasing water vapour, methanol, acetic acid, tars and non-condensable gases; hydrogen, carbon monoxide and carbon dioxide.


    The mud seals the mound and makes it a low oxygen environment to help halt the complete combustion. Incomplete combustion then occurs turning the wood into charcoal and burning off the by-products slowly.


    With the charcoal being produced I move onto the next major building material I need. Lime. Lime or Calcium carbonate and the derivatives are incredibly useful in numerous ways including:


    -Agriculture


    -Concrete


    -Construction


    -Water treatment


    -Glass making


    -Leather tanning


    -Mortar


    -Plastics


    -Numerous other less primitively useful things.


    The main way of producing lime is from the thermal decomposition of limestone. Seashells and corals could be used but for any reasonable quantity this is simply impractical.


    Calcium Carbonate or limestone is heated to very high temperatures of around 1200K and then calcinates into quicklime or Calcium Oxide. Too high a temperature is bad though as the limestone burns forming dead lime which is unable to be slaked. In other words, it is useless. This calcium oxide can be hydrated with water to form slaked lime. With a slight excess of water, the slaked lie becomes a sort of putty. Mouldable and sticky it can be used in masonry. When the putty sets after carbonation it has turned back into limestone.


    Limestone, as a rock formation can have a range of colours from a sandy yellow to a fairly dark grey.


    The formation usually has a layered structure as limestone is made up of layered muds, silts, shells and organic fragments that get compressed down into layers or beds. These beds have a series of vertical fissures running through them as the series under stress collapse. These fissures are then susceptible to weathering which exacerbates the fissure. These beds and fissures make up the blocky look that natural limestone formations have.


    Whilst I have no current use for lime mortar I will in the near future if my plan comes to fruition. The tepee and extension have been a good start, but they don¡¯t really cut it anymore. Over the past few months I have been making mud bricks in preparation of building a better house for myself. Using a section of tough bark, I had made a mould. The bricks were cuboids with even width and depth and greater length.


    Roof tiles were also made with the clay. When I built the house, I would use the lime mortar to fill in the gaps and waterproof the roof as well as its adhesive properties. But all of that was to come.


    In the morning, when I laid my hand on the mound tentatively it was cold, well at atmospheric temperature. I seriously doubted that the planet ever seemed to get cold.


    Using a sharp stick, I plucked at the mud coating pulling away chunks on one side to expose the charcoal beneath. Near the hole the wood had been turned to ash. Unfortunate, but it did fulfil its purpose; that of a sacrificial layer for the fire to consume. I did collect the ash in one of my pots though. It would be useful as an aggregate or filler for the mud clay I¡¯ve been using.


    The charcoal was dull and had white streaks on it indicating a poor quality. Though when I moved my hand through it it sounded metallic, an almost tinny sound, as corals and shells sound as the water drags them over each other.


    It is light and when I pick it up my hands get stained with the dust. The whitish layer puffs up into the air as I snap the charcoal in half. The inside is shiny and more like the charcoal I wanted.


    Not all the logs have fully pyrolyzed into the charcoal or ash and some smouldering pieces remain in the centre. I collect what is useful as well as the ash and powder in separate pots slash baskets and demolish the rest of the mud mound. Now empty of wood it has no use and so I nock it down with a firm hit on the top.


    With the charcoal made perhaps I can finally move onto more advanced things. If I can get a machete or knife to defend myself with that isn¡¯t a karambit fighting knife meant for human opponents, I¡¯ll feel much safer. An axe also sounds like a good idea.

 Chapter 21 - Insects & Intrigue

    <u>Chapter 21 ¨C</u><u> Insects & Intrigue </u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    15<sup>rth</sup> October 2341 (BSST)


    ¡°It has now been another two months, two months since I had made the charcoal. So, slightly more than two months since the last log in fact.¡±


    ¡°It is currently midday on the fifteenth of October 2341 BSST. I am sitting by the pool in the stream, legs up on the stones that surround it. The chair that is made of sticks and woven bark mats supports my weight enough that I don¡¯t feel that it will break underneath me. Though I still feel slightly precarious.¡±


    ¡°The heat is as oppressive as ever, though I seem to have gotten used to it. It still continues to cool down, but as normal it is well in excess of earth temperatures. At first, I had thought it was a trick of the mind, but now I¡¯m sure it¡¯s the case. It is certainly colder than it was, however the almost unbearable muggy heat of the summer has given way to a more temperate climate and more life seems to be emerging as a result, perhaps like a sort of reverse hibernation.¡±


    ¡°First came the sounds. From the barren silence I¡¯m used to, emerged the life so foreign to me. There¡¯s the flap flap of birds taking flight upon being startled, the humming buzz buzz of the insects that swarm like clouds on the horizon, ominous and looming they swirl around seemingly following me, a cloud above my head like the sword of Damocles. The various squawks, shrieks, howls, chirps, clicks, clacks and cries of the animals that sound out, reverberating and thrumming around me, signal the life of the planet, more prevalent than ever. Like that first encounter, I spot more of the beetles, crawling around on the floor in some unknowable task, pursuing it with a focus unrivalled.¡±


    ¡°Of the life emerging, it was the insects that were first to appear. Loud buzzing sounds - cicadas perhaps - spring up around me, only louder and more angry, the furious buzzing rings in my ears from dawn till dusk, relenting only in the bliss of sleep. Though they sound like they live in my head I had - for the longest time - spotted no sign of them. But then, like a curtain descending, they swarmed and passed me by. Perhaps they are more like locusts instead, as the huge swarm of the creatures passed by about a month ago stripping the land in a similar fashion to those horrid pests. Like the sound of thunder, they rolled passed me on their way. Perhaps a variety of drummer wasps that beat their wings to a metronomic rhythm. The loud roar was enough to wake me in the dead of night with a racing heart.¡±


    I snort, thinking back to the terror that seized my heart in that moment, its bony cold fingers digging into me. Clammy and scared, I had jumped and ran to the suit to ready myself to fight them. Like a shock wave they hit me before passing by in a whirling cloud of insects. Urgh.


    ¡°When they had passed by, it was a stripped land that was left in its place. The field of grasses, flowers and lush greenery was but a semi-dead swathe of land, coloured in shades of yellow and brown, the green being stripped away. The life, so formerly abundant was gone and what remained was but an echo of its former glory, its former beauty. Who knows, perhaps it is the natural cycle of this planet. God, I hope so. If I have to live here it would be nice if its natural beauty remained.¡±


    ¡°Though the plains had been stripped, the trees and vegetation of the woodlands still remained standing strong. I¡¯m sure that if they could, the locusts would have destroyed it too. The bark seems to be too tough for them though. I¡¯m thankful for that. It was however, rather unfortunate that they passed by, eating me out of house and home, literally. The tepee and sleeping mat were completely destroyed, leaving the dead timber frame standing and not much else. The dead plant material seemed to be an easy target for the pests. Thankfully the proper house had been built already, using a mottle and daub wall filler around basket-woven walls and a tiled roof. Strong, stable and secure. The locusts had seemingly left my house alone, which was nice.¡±


    ¡°After the locusts had gone, the rest of the life began to emerge. The small beetles. Those with dark black carapaces to those with an iridescent dark blue. Some of even brighter colours; reds and yellows also appeared, facing the world head on. Though none were recognisable from my knowledge of earthen creatures, it was pleasant to see, nor did they look alien to me. Well, not more alien than insects naturally are.¡±


    ¡°This morning, in fact, I was awoken by the sweet sound of birdsong, tweeting, chirping melodies that sooth me and comfort me. Not just a morning song, the birds seemed to sing all through the days. In the waters, the slower sections at least more recognisable amphibians and water creatures emerged. Newts, frogs, pond skaters, larvae and more besides seemed to start spreading out across the small stream.¡±


    ¡°On a recent forage to the coral forest in the shallow waterways, I could see lots of small fry, darting in and out of the cover. Small quick motions kept catching my eye. A darting shadow here, a silvery flash there. No luck catching anything yet though. The traps in the pool have continued to produce relatively well, I¡¯ve had to move them up and down the stream and its tributaries several times to keep production up. With no signs of slowing, the stream seems to be able to produce enough food for me, well enough when couples with the vegetation and tubers I¡¯ve been finding.¡±


    ¡°Efforts to grow the tubers have proved ineffective. Though not wasteful, the snippings and shoots have yet to take hold in the earth. I shall make the effort to retrieve some of the soil in the coral forest for future efforts. Perhaps it is the soil that is not rich enough. In more tuber news, the detox process appears to be necessary. When trying something new I got severe stomach cramps persisting ¨C though fading ¨C over the course of a few days. Luckily it wasn¡¯t too bad.¡±


    ¡°Along with the tubers, the vegetation also seems to be emerging. Flowers are starting to bloom and the aromatic smells are starting to pervade the camp, lifting and lightening my mood.¡±


    ¡°Enigma has made more progress as well, the teenage moody phase is beginning to go, and a more pleasant, adult personality is blooming in its place. Complex thought is no longer difficult for him, yet hypotheticals, structured debate style arguments and inferred/implied self-imposed boundaries are out of reach for now.¡±


    ¡°Furthermore, Enigma has both sociopathic and psychopathic tendencies, if you can call it that for an AI. Though I have hope he will develop these qualities in the future, at his current stage I don¡¯t think it anomalous or even an unlikely outcome for developing AI.¡±


    ¡°In terms of technological developments, more and more tools have been made. Out of stone mind you, but I feel good about my progress. Basic carpentry is now within reach. The chair, as I mentioned earlier was a nice touch. Carpets of woven plants and bark are now feasible, if time consuming. I have been relaxing more and more as life here becomes stable. In the first month or two I was working from dawn till dusk, say a 13 to 15-hour day. Now I¡¯m taking breaks for lunch and dinner of a few hours and working for maybe 10 hours a day. And some of those are gentle work. In terms of future progress, I¡¯ll let Enigma speak. You haven¡¯t heard him yet, well, perhaps in passing. Or maybe if this suit is constantly recording me. You¡¯d think I¡¯d know all about it, but you never know.¡±


    I hand over to Enigma tentatively. He¡¯s made leaps and bounds in the last few months but I¡¯m still hesitant to let him be exposed to the joint councils. Well potentially. I¡¯ve no idea if this will ever be discovered and within a timeframe that matters. Who knows it could be a few millennia until the suit and its records are discovered.


    ¡°Right, Enigma here.¡± He reports in a straight forward blunt way. Mostly monotone and no pausing where it may naturally occur; difficult words for example.


    ¡°Since the last log a main focus has been the development of metal tools. Specifically: copper, bronze, iron and steel. Whilst Ronja and I would like to skip copper and bronze I think it unlikely with a probability of success of around 0.975%. The quantity of iron bacteria required to make even a simple tool is unfeasibly high and natural deposits of ore such as haematite, magnetite, limonite, siderite¡­¡±


    ¡°They get the picture Enigma!¡± I say, slightly exasperated. ¡°Keep it concise, please!¡±This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    ¡°And ankerite¡± he says continuing. Still some teenage rebellion left I guess. ¡°Will require mining to excavate and smelting followed by purification to use. The natural draft furnace when heated by charcoal is sitting at roughly the minimum temperature to be able to process iron. But I wouldn¡¯t be confident of a successful batch. I have been unable to estimate a success probability because of a lack of data on Ronja¡¯s skill level. Considering she has never tried to process iron I would not estimate it to be very high. Any more complicated tasks will require the production of metal first. Especially repair tasks or machine creation.¡±


    ¡°Over the next few months¡± I continue, taking over from Enigma, ¡°I will let him update you on technology and, hopefully, it will catalogue his progress in addition to my regular report.¡±


    ¡°During this time, I hope to begin metal work and to start ramping up the food production a little. Enough that a bad day won¡¯t cripple me. At the moment, I have to go foraging and hunting every day. Be that the traps or with the bow, a common prey is a squirrel-like mammal. Though instead of the trees, it prefers the underbrush. The deer-like creature was tough to get through. It made decent addition to soups with water and the veg, tasting quite strong and gamey, similar to regular deer though it had a strange taste to it that I can¡¯t accurately describe. If I had to, I guess I¡¯d describe it as a cross between duck, rabbit and lamb with a coppery richness despite being very very dry. Peculiar indeed.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve always heard that surviving in the wild really rejuvenates the taste buds, and that when people come back to civilisation they have to refrain from eating certain things as the taste is just too strong. I can believe it now, though I miss flavours like paprika, onion, peppers and chillies I imagine it would blow my head off right about now, figuratively of course.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m thankful now as the once bland, unappetising broths are now tasty and filling. No matter how much I might miss the food from home, I¡¯ve gotten used to this and it will certainly do. I¡¯ve made a pact with myself to discover one new ingredient every week. I may not be able to use it, and it might make me a little ill, but I¡¯ve added a few new ones over the last few months. It makes cooking much more rewarding. In fact, some flavours are quite extraordinary, I imagine they may be very popular in the central planets. If I can get off this planet with a large quantity I may be able to make a pretty sum of cash selling it.¡±


    ¡°I suppose its time to talk about the stuff I¡¯ve been avoiding. I don¡¯t know, maybe it¡¯s been obvious I¡¯ve been avoiding this. It¡¯s just, it feels good to talk to someone, even though they don¡¯t respond. A coping mechanism perhaps. Just sitting here by the water and relaxing is good for me, I watch the little¡­bees? They fly around the plants, whilst the trickle of water and the little splashing sounds and birdsong soothe the churning waters of my mind to a calm flat sea, while that violent storm above becomes blue sky.¡±


    ¡°This planet seems to get stranger by the day. First, there was how I got here; a gravitational anomaly induced by the Odrath¡¯s new weapon it seems. Then there were the humanoids that stalk this place, and then the signal that sent me fleeing in a frightened panic. And lastly there was the note from Nickolas Harkness telling me about other sentients who inhabit this place. I have yet to see them, though perhaps I have stumbled across their traces. The image of the little girl, Emily, still haunts my dreams. Her face, happy and smiling before that horrific scene folds in on me.¡± I shake just thinking of it now. I¡¯m a hardened soldier for God¡¯s sake, yet I doubt I¡¯ll ever be able to forget. I thought I was desensitised, but in fact it just means I need a more horrific scene to disturb me.


    I continue on, ¡°But that was just the start. I could accept all the strangeness, from the humanoids to the way I arrived. But this, really? It seems so strange.¡±


    ¡°This planet, I thought it was deserted, I didn¡¯t think for an instant that Nickolas was right, that there were others here. But perhaps he may actually be speaking sense!¡±


    ¡°A staircase! A fucking staircase! In the middle of the damn woods, a staircase!¡±


    ¡°What the actual fuck?¡± I wonder to myself, just the same as when I stumbled across it.


    ¡°The staircase, well assuming I¡¯ve not just lost my mind, was sitting off any of the paths forged by animals or humanoids alike though just the faintest hint of a route to it exists. A few hundred metres into the thickest sections of trees the dense foliage gives way to a small clearing. Going up the hill is a staircase. Not like a weather-beaten wooden staircase used to help climb up the rocks and mud, but rather like it was just chopped from someone¡¯s house. Soft MDF wood stairs with a rich red carpet extending down the middle, leaving a few inches of the bare wood exposed on either side. The wood appeared to be untreated and whilst not new, the weathering and erosion from being outside was unexpectedly absent. Well maybe not quite unexpectedly as I sure as hell didn¡¯t expect to find a staircase out in the wilds in the first place.¡±


    ¡°A dark wood, like walnut or mahogany makes up the banister. It runs up the stairs on only one side, even more like it was just cut from a house and planted here. The banister is ornate with nice oiled handrails ending in exquisitely carved newel posts with the handrail thinning and winding down the newel posts at the top and bottom. Supported in 3 places along the length of the banister the intervening sections were filled with an undulating pattern of wooden curves, strips and blocks to reveal an almost unending flowing line.¡±


    ¡°On the other side of the stairs from the banister small chips of¡­paint? Yes, paint chips I think were on the wooden slats. Perhaps it truly was ripped from a house.¡±


    ¡°The staircase seemed to rise up a ditch on one side whilst the other was only the natural environment, what one would generally expect in the forests.¡±


    I take a break from speaking and go get some water to drink, my throat is sore from talking for so long. Especially since I haven¡¯t really been using it so much recently. I think back to the scene, picturing it to try and compose my thoughts.


    The staircase extends down into the dirt melding in perfectly. Well perfectly if the last step hadn¡¯t been ripped off. A large stone lies a few feet away, one side of the exposed surfaces is muddy whilst the other is not. Glancing round I can see a small hollow where the rock was originally from. At the bottom, a few feet from the wreckage of the bottom step is a small pile of broken sticks and planks with another sheet of paper lying discarded nearby. Once I¡¯m composed I update the log.


    ¡°At the bottom of the steps was a small pile of sticks, leaves and logs. It seems as if the pile were stamped on quite aggressively. By the side of what I assume to be the remnants of a fire, a fire someone failed to start, is another note.¡±


    ¡°I read this word for word:


    My love


    Oh Lord, forgive me. That my soul shall burn in hell is all that I deserve for what I have done. I let it in! I let it get her! Oh Lord, forgive me!


    The monsters come, oh come they do. You cannot fight, you cannot hide. Oh, her servants don¡¯t need to see you to destroy. By scent, by will, by power, they come to claim for her. To claim eternal. Oh God they come!


    Oh Emily, forgive me. I have failed you my dear. To fail in such a fashion, I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m so so sorry. My regret will know no bounds. A peaceful rest you will not have. And it¡¯s all because of me. Oh Emily, forgive me!


    I let it in! And now death, death death death. It is all that awaits me, forevermore. The cold dead fingers rising up, the stench of myrrh seeping in my soul, the crushing grasp at my nape. I feel it coming! Coming to drag me back from whence she came. To join her in endless torment, in the bowels of Hell. Lady Death is coming for my soul just as she came for Emily.


    Oh Julie, forgive me. What have I done? In my despair, I let it get to me! I let it in! In, in, in. It got to us. It got her! Oh Julie, forgive me!


    In what chariot she comes I do not know, but I know for sure she comes. Like the beat of the drum her carriage rolls ever closer; relentless, unstoppable and immovable. You can¡¯t outrun it. You can¡¯t delay it. Once she sets her sights on you it is futile to resist. Though I¡¯ll run and run when she catches me I¡¯ll turn to embrace her clammy chill with open arms. I¡¯ll gift her my soul in a nice little package and be dragged to whence she came.


    She claimed my girl, took her soul back to hell. Oh Julie, I tried! I tried to run! But it is useless. To run from Lady Death is just death itself.


    She came in the dead of night, the quieting fire the only sign of her dreaded approach. So, I stole Emily away, a tiny thing in the crook of my arms. Her shivering, shaking body petrified in her presence. As still as the grave.


    The leaves that shivered from my passage grow still, naked and frightened, as the cleaned spines of a fish are. She swoops along the trail, her fluttering gown spreading out its paling essence among the plants and bugs alike.


    But alas, it was too late, Lady Death shall not be thwarted. Her work now done she fades away.


    For in moments when sing the violins


    And the burning flame lights up our sins


    She drives the nightmares far apart


    And cools the blood in our heart.


    Then when everything grows still


    She came and went and took her fill


    In quiet moments of much distort


    She came and took all of import


    Leaving nary a drop, but many a spill


    Her promise made, she will fulfil.


    The blood doth seep


    To the cloth in deep


    Around my arms does it creep


    And in my soul, I start to weep.


    For within my arms her body lies


    But when I look there are no eyes


    Upon the ground her head does rest


    She dines with death at the lady¡¯s request.


    For those of us with hearts that beat


    We stagger on our now dead feet


    Carrying with us those we love


    A memory of those above


    And as we kindle that final ember


    There is a message you must remember


    That in every shadow, under every sun


    Death laughs at you mad mortal as you run


    She oft perfumes herself in myrrh


    A willing victim she does prefer


    She¡¯ll drag you down to have some fun


    It is not her you can outrun.¡±

 Chapter 22 - A Christmas Casualty

    Chapter 22 - A Christmas Casualty


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    25<sup>th</sup> December 2341 (BSST)


    It was a nice cool day today. The birdsong echoing around me brought a smile to my face and the gentle breeze that brought the smell of the ocean up through the trees tickled my face with a biting chill. It brought clarity to my mind and I sighed in relaxation at the simple pleasure of it.


    The scent of the ocean on the gentle wafts of the wind curled around me, filling my lungs and airways with a refreshing chill that persisted. Like a strong mint. When I breathed in, the air tasted fresh and cold with a salty odour as well. Oh, so beautifully cold. The day was starting well I thought to myself.


    However, the thought didn¡¯t last very long as today was a special day. The 25<sup>th</sup> of December, Christmas Day. The new thoughts stirred feelings within me that blotted out my admiration of the beautiful morn. In its place, a flood of emotion batted away the serenity I had had only moments ago.


    No matter how realistic Enigma¡¯s heuristic programming became, it was no substitute for genuine human interaction, something I was sorely lacking. The constant work and endless tasks were a very good distraction from the loneliness and despair that creeps along in silent pursuit as a tiger stalks its prey, waiting for that one moment of weakness before pouncing.


    Well it had pounced, and got me, that was for sure. Prying my mind apart and asking probing questions that I couldn¡¯t seem to ignore any longer.


    Was Dad ok?


    What was he doing?


    What were my friends doing?


    Did they miss me?


    Did they even know I was gone? Or had the military kept the frigate¡¯s disappearance a mystery?


    Surely someone must have noticed that there had been no contact for several months now?


    A mum missing her son? Waiting for a letter that will never come.


    No?


    I wondered what everyone else was doing for Christmas?


    Then came the memories, and the reminiscing on Christmases past followed shortly after.


    There was a time, back before the bombing of Aerlicas. It was Christmas Day, and I remember holding my Dad¡¯s hand as we came down the packed road of Aerlicas¡¯s housing district. The streets were filled with shoppers buying last minute gifts for their loved ones, I was holding my Dad¡¯s hand and walking along, bouncing in a sort of skipping motion. It must have been very uncomfortable for him, but he held a hunch, so that he could hold my hand and accommodate my motions. We had just come back from the shopping district where we had seen Santa. We weren¡¯t like some other families that bought things at the last second. Dad and Ovila had bought the presents, food and decorations a while ago in preparation. Clara and Kris found the Santa scary, but I didn¡¯t understand why, perhaps they were too young. My sister would have been about 8 while my brother must have just been born that year.


    Anyway, we walked down the street and stopped outside a nice wooden door. Though Aerlicas was the most developed city on Terranare it was still a developing world. Having ben colonised at the start of the 22<sup>nd</sup> century BSST, a basic wooden door on the cottages was not uncommon a sight. The central areas were a little more developed and the traders and Richies living in those areas had much more opulent and sophisticated living as opposed to us. Dad was a military man, he was injured in the arm on a raid. As a dropship captain he was encouraged to take early retirement than to pursue officer duty. It provided a decent living, but it was by no means excessive. Without our frugality and general low cost living it would have been much tighter.


    That¡¯s not to say we were living wanting things. We just used the money wisely.


    My mother, Grace, had died when I was four and my step mother, Ovila, couldn¡¯t find work easily. A developing world had no use for a historian and work was sparse at best. Though I am grateful for the knowledge she imparted to me, it wasn¡¯t the best choice of career.


    I thought it a shame that I had not met Grace properly. My memories were spotty, and I only really remembered her smile, beautiful and endearing. Dad assures me she was a kind woman who would have been proud of me and I like to think that¡¯s true. I¡¯ve no real way of knowing but I still believe it.


    Well on that day I remember knocking on the door and waiting anxious to get inside and out of the snow. Terranare was a cold planet generally. Though we had summers and winters, the variance was not as apparent as it was on Earth and a light dusting of snow coloured the planet for much of the year. Well at least in Aerlicas it did. further down towards the equator I¡¯m sure it was hotter, but I¡¯d never travelled down to find out.


    The door then opened up on creaking hinges and the smell of pumpkin soup and delicious freshly baked bread mixing with the rich meaty aroma from the meat billowed out. Like opening the door of an oven and the steam pouring out giving an almost film like feel as you acclimatise to the moist air, the smells and warmth of home clung to me, inviting and comforting.


    I was met with hugs and kisses from Ovila and her sisters. Then assaulted by my siblings, asking what I had bought them from the mall. I remember telling them they¡¯d have to wait until we opened all the presents otherwise it wouldn¡¯t be fair to the adults as they have to wait until after lunch. Man were they pissed, but eventually they acquiesced, and we sat down to some food a few hours later.


    After the food, we settled down to give the presents out. Tradition seemed to demand a spruce or pine Christmas tree, but they didn¡¯t really grow well on Terranare so instead we used an arborrea tree. It was a beautiful tree that grew to towering heights. Common and quite eerie when you wandered through a forest of them. The name stemmed from the joining of two words. Arbor meaning tree in Latin and Boreas the northern god of wind in Greek mythology. Originally called the arborborea because they whistled when the wind blew through their leaves giving off an eerie sound. Though arborborea was a bit of a mouthful and so it was shortened to the arborrea tree as it was easier to say.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    I had gotten a doll for Clara, the one she had been wanting for ages and though Kris wouldn¡¯t understand it, a race car toy. It had a little wind-up motor, so that it could drive on it own and a steering system that remembered a sequence of events so that you could set a course for it to follow. It was damn cool if I say so myself.


    I blinked, coming back to the present, a tear slid down my cheek. Tracing my cheek and entering at the crook of my mouth. I tasted the salty liquid and began to cry slightly, loneliness was beginning to get to me. Remembering those fond memories hurt. The bombing had taken them away from Dad and I, leaving him an empty man and me a girl ready to embrace vengeance. He tried his best to keep it up for me but as I grew up, the girl that no longer needed looking after, he seemed to lose purpose. He was better now but it had been a rough couple of years when I left for the military. Though he had encouraged me to fight back against those monsters, being alone nearly destroyed him.


    Getting up from the floor I had been sitting cross-legged on, I paced, trying to rid myself of the ache that had set in. I stopped outside the house, before leaning against the walls and staring into the forest, watchful and wary of the danger that lurked within. I had taken to leaving the suit off when at camp. The feeling of being encased in it wasn¡¯t very comfortable, especially for extended periods of time. Furthermore, the constant wear of using it twenty-four seven was quite severe. If I ever roamed further than a short distance away, then I¡¯d suit up. I was under no illusions that I could take the humanoids in my birthday suit. Heck, even the suit seemed to barely get me even with them. Not that I¡¯d had an all out fight with one yet. I suspected that, without an intelligence like my own, I could prevail. The question really was - whether they could damage the suit enough to render it unusable before I killed them. Hopefully not!


    The suit was resting, open a few feet to my left, ready for me to run into. As I stared at it the birds started singing again, bringing a smile to my face, despite the tears. I wiped my face on the ragged clothes I was wearing, drying my eyes. Thank God for military ruggedness. They had lasted eight months of hard use, and though they were now ripped and dirty I expected they¡¯d last a few more before I had to abandon them entirely. Perhaps I¡¯d be able to create clothes before that point. I¡¯d done shoes after all, though the woven sandals were only slightly less jagged than the ground, they had kept my feet intact.


    Walking around the camp, I sang to myself, a


    Song long forgotten. My step mother had taught it to me and now I expected it was lost to time entirely. For the first time since getting here I felt truly alone. Not another human soul for millions of miles if not trillions of miles or further. I had no clue where I was after all, I could conceivably by on the opposite side of the universe entirely.


    The next few hours passed quickly, I spent the time singing Christmas songs, relaxing by the stream and just generally taking it easy. It was nice to just sit, at one with nature, for a few blissful moments.


    As I sat down to have some lunch, I decided to update my log and record a message for my dad. The message first though.


    I took a few moments to gather my thoughts before beginning.


    ¡°Hey Dad. It¡¯s me, Ronja. I¡¯ve no clue how you got this, but I hope that eventually you do. Though it¡¯s probably going to be long after I¡¯m dead. Perhaps you as well, and it¡¯s someone else I¡¯m talking to. Regardless, its good to say what I have to. I¡¯ve always been brutally honest. To myself and others, often detrimentally I must say. But in times like these it helps to be honest with yourself. And talking to you, even tangentially makes it less awkward and more real.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m stuck alone on a foreign planet with monsters that lurk in the darkness and other predators that I¡¯m sure would only be too keen to snap me up. As the planet cools the life is emerging and I¡¯m worried something more dangerous will start to roam. The insects have already started to appear, a couple of months ago actually.¡±


    ¡°Even if nothing dangerous comes, I doubt I¡¯ll live long. The humanoids are about, and its only so long until they stumble upon me. Eventually the suit will break down and then it¡¯s me, just me, alone with those abominations. You don¡¯t know just what a primordial terror they stir in you. You can¡¯t know. The empty eye sockets that seem to see you. The broken arms that are stronger than steel. The needle like teeth that seem perfect for killing. Everything about them is horrific and terrifying.¡±


    ¡°What little evidence of civilisation I¡¯ve found doesn¡¯t inspire much hope. Oh dad, I found the remains of a little girl she was so small, innocent. Her and her dad were also left here to survive, and I don¡¯t think they made it. Emily, Emily was her name and the father; Nickolas.¡±


    ¡°If I judge it right I don¡¯t have long left. Nickolas was right, I can feel Death¡¯s cold breath on the back of my neck. Just waiting for me. She¡¯s not persistent or dangerous just present. It¡¯s like she knows she doesn¡¯t have to try, that sooner or later I¡¯ll make a mistake and be delivered.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s enough self-pity, you¡¯ve taught me better than that, it doesn¡¯t help. I won¡¯t give in, no matter what I won¡¯t give in. I promise you that. I¡¯ll battle for every scrap of life and enjoyment I can. I¡¯ll see you soon if everything goes well.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Christmas Day today and I¡¯m celebrating by relaxing. Taking my first day off in eight months of battling to survive. Its not under the shadows cast by an Arborrea tree but at least its something. I would have gotten you a knife I¡¯d been eyeing and a few books, you love to read. Hopefully the army pays you a little so go treat yourself and buy them, a gift from me.¡±


    ¡°I just want to say, I love you Dad. Goodbye for now.¡±


    I dry my eyes again and take a few moments to myself to swallow down my feelings before beginning the log.


    ¡°Its been just over 2 months, I decided to prolong the log until Christmas Day. It just felt right to do so. I¡¯m taking my first full day off and I must say it¡¯s been delightful. Memories are welling up on such a special day, but it¡¯s been nice to just take a load off and settle down by the water for a bit. I¡¯m thinking I might head down to the beach and have a look in the waters for fish. Perhaps I¡¯ll even be able to catch something.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s going to be a shorter log today as not much has happened. First of all, the planet is still cooling, and if Enigma is right, its cooling faster and faster. He tells me it¡¯s because the planet has an elliptical orbit and during the first few months the planet was still close to the suns. Now though, the planet is almost moving directly away from the suns and as a result the temperature is falling quite rapidly. Enigma can¡¯t quite predict how cold it will become but I expect it will be significant judging by how many months it took for the planet to begin cooling. I don¡¯t know how long a year is here, but I expect it¡¯s much longer than the BSST year.¡±


    ¡°Enigma has made more strides towards his development, though empathy and emotions still elude him, he does recognise that others have these emotions even if he doesn¡¯t understand them. Though it may only be for me he does see me as a person rather than just a cardboard cut-out. I¡¯m proud of the development he¡¯s making.¡±


    ¡°In terms of technology not much has happened. As usual I¡¯ve been repairing tools and such but the only thing of importance, and I guess it is very important is that I¡¯ve been able to start smelting metal. Only tiny little balls from the iron bacteria but it¡¯s a start. We now know that the furnace gets hot enough and in a few more months perhaps I¡¯ll be able to start making metal tools. And that would be good. With a sword I¡¯d feel much more confident taking on the humanoids.¡±


    ¡°I smile at the thought. A giant mechanised medieval knight. Its just really damn cool. I snort at the thought before continuing.¡±


    ¡°In slightly worse news though, I found another staircase. Exactly the same style, but slightly different, the planks had different patterns from the grain and the carpet was slightly more worn. It definitely wasn¡¯t the same one though as I had had Enigma mark the previous one on my HUD and that one was a long way from where I found this new one. So now we¡¯ve got two staircases in the mystery. Even worse though, I found the body of a man, I hope to god it isn¡¯t Nickolas, but I expect that that may be the case. Perhaps it is someone else though.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure which is worse. The fact that there was someone else trapped out here or that my one connection to another human is dead. Which would I prefer? I¡¯m not sure. Whatever the case it is still tragic. He had clearly died to the humanoids; his chest was ripped open and the rest of him was mangled. I buried him in an unmarked grave after looking for a clue of his identity. Sadly, I found nothing. I¡¯m going to try and keep my mood up and end it here, so by for now¡±


    I say before signing off as normal and saving the message to the archive.

 Chapter 23 - One Year Down

    Chapter 23 ¨C One Year Down


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    1<sup>st</sup> May 2342 (BSST)


    ¡°It has now been one whole year stuck on this planet, surviving in spite of all the odds. You know, it feels both good and bad.¡± I say beginning the log.


    ¡°It¡¯s strange, how I feel. I¡¯m proud of having come this far, of having survived in this place. Yet it still grates that I¡¯m stuck here. I don¡¯t know.¡± I say before moving on to the actual update.


    ¡°The planet is actually cold now. When I first arrived, it was around 335K now though, it had cooled to about 275K, just above freezing. In the cold mornings I¡¯ve been able to see my breath condensing in the air in front of me. The fire that I keep burning has become more important, though my body ware could handle the cold I¡¯ve found it quite hard to do the same. I still feel it even if it¡¯s not really affecting me.¡±


    ¡°As the planet cools down, things are beginning to get far, far more dangerous. During the hot summer months, the only dangers were the lethargic humanoids and the big cats that I only saw that first night. Granted that might be because I¡¯ve purposely avoided that area, but regardless they were always a thought at the back of my mind.¡±


    ¡°Other than that, the only real dangers were starving, running out of water and taking an injury from which, I couldn¡¯t recover. With the increased gravity I¡¯ve had to be more careful with everyday tasks. Things like hopping down from a ledge and turning an ankle could prove fatal here. There¡¯s other things you just wouldn¡¯t think of as well. Like when I¡¯m collecting firewood, because felling a tree means the timber will fall faster because of the gravity. So, there¡¯s less time to get out the way. Its caught me off guard a few times and I¡¯ve been lucky to avoid injury. Things like that; they just take you by surprise.¡±


    Pausing for breath I continue¡­


    ¡°Now though, as the planet cools further it has passed a crossover point where everything was out and about, and things were peaceful if slightly noisy with the sounds of life. It lasted for about 6 months and things were great. But as we cool further, the larger animals are beginning to disappear and that is very, very bad. With less large prey the humanoids are far more active, hunting for anything they can. It means I¡¯m a far more attractive target and perhaps it signifies my end. I must be far more vigilant. Thank God they can¡¯t recognise what my small mud hut signifies.¡±This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°I¡¯m sitting in it right now, making this log. Huddled around a small fire I¡¯ve got going in the floor. I¡¯m lucky the charcoal doesn¡¯t really make too much smoke. Thank God for small things ay! It¡¯s remarkable how much warmth stays inside now that I¡¯ve blocked up the window with more mud and fitted a door.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s snow outside now, it¡¯s made the collection of fresh water much easier though, which I¡¯m thankful for. Now I just leave the clean pots out and wait for them to fill up with snow before putting them in the fire to melt into drinkable water. It takes a while but it¡¯s much less hassle than getting the fire going outside.¡±


    ¡°The downside to the snow, and there are a few beyond the obvious ones about slipping being cold and wet are the tracks. Not only do the ever-encroaching tracks of the humanoids creep me out as they stray closer and closer to camp. But I¡¯m worried that they will be able to track me. So far it has not been the case, but you never know. The spring is now also too cold for me to swim and wash in. Nor do I have any clothes with me beyond the military dress to dry myself with. It seems I will be going without washing for a long time. I¡¯ve heard you can wash clothes in snow and wait for the water to freeze before beating it out of the clothes as ice, maybe I¡¯ll have to resort to that though I¡¯m not exactly keen. On the upside is the fact I¡¯m reminded of home and the water I¡¯ve already mentioned.¡±


    ¡°The fire will have to do for now though, just have to make sure not to set the house on fire. Especially the bedding, the dry fluffy plant material and moss that provides comfort and warmth is such a luxury, one I¡¯m very unwilling to part with. What I really need is a sheep wool or furry pelt to wrap myself in. If it gets any colder I may have to go hunting for the skins.¡±


    ¡°On a slightly frivolous note, I¡¯ve been eager to see if I can find a maple tree. In the old days they used to make a kind candy by pouring boiling maple syrup in fresh snow. The snow then stops the cooking and rapidly cools the maple syrup to a sticky viscous candy. Though it would require making maple syrup first I would like to make some at some point. Maple syrup is fairly easy to make, you just have to boil off the water and then voila it¡¯s done.¡±


    ¡°Tomorrow I¡¯m going to start trying to make metal properly and hopefully by the months end I¡¯ll be making basic tools. It will be tough and I¡¯m still not sure how I¡¯ll achieve it. I¡¯ve vague ideas but it¡¯s still just ideas. I think I¡¯ll first need to construct a way of containing the melting metal and then a cast to cool the metal into a billet. Then, and only then can I start to forge the metal into a tool. A sword is my first priority. Perhaps two. One for the suit and one for myself.¡±


    ¡°There is definitely something off about this place. Even more staircases keep cropping up. I¡¯ve tried to head inland more, and they just keep coming. The ditches to, I¡¯ve already encountered 3. The first one was when I went to explore the crash site, the second was where the first staircase was and now I¡¯ve found another in the last few weeks. They don¡¯t look like they belong here and when it warms up slightly I¡¯m going to go exploring.¡±


    ¡°But first I¡¯ve got to get cracking on the metal making, I mean how hard can it be?¡± I think ironically to myself. ¡°Tomorrow will be a very hard day indeed¡± I conclude, sighing.

 Chapter 24 - Forging Ahead

    <u>Chapter 24 ¨C </u><u>Forging Ahead</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    1<sup>st</sup> July 2342 (BSST)


    ¡°Come on Ronja! Hit it on the edge!¡± Enigma screams at me as the hammer falls. It strikes the metal hard with a harsh clang that rings and resounds around me.


    When I raise the hammer, I can see a groove struck into the metal. My heart sinks again.


    ¡°Ronja!¡± he exclaims in a sigh. ¡°I¡¯ve told you time and time again. You need the hammer to slope down with the gradient of the narrowing. Otherwise the edge digs in and we have to repeat again and again.¡± The disappointment in his voice is quite apparent. This makes the number of failed attempts into the hundreds.


    As it turns out, forging metal is in fact really hard. Like, really really hard. One slight mistake sets you back hours of work. That disheartening feeling when the flaws are uncovered has been my companion now for almost two months and it doesn¡¯t get any easier to deal with.


    In anger, I throw down my hammer, watching it bounce on the floor and kick up some dust. Drawing my hand back, I let go of the glowing steel bar and let it fall to the rock with a gentle metallic tink.


    ¡°I have to take some time.¡± I tell Enigma before getting out of the suit and disconnecting from him and wandering off to cool down.


    When I return to the forge it¡¯s with a settled mind and a cool disposition. I stoke the flames a little, before reconnecting with Enigma and sitting down for a break.


    ¡°Ok, so run me through it again?¡± I ask him.


    ¡°Since we¡¯ve yet to find any ore we don¡¯t have to smelt and purify the iron from the iron bacteria to the same extent. Instead the iron that forms, forms small balls of iron that we¡¯ve got to combine together properly. With me so far?¡±


    ¡°Yep, got it.¡± I reply.


    ¡°We can¡¯t rescue this bar because we don¡¯t have the tech yet to be able to fully melt steel and rescue all the work that we¡¯ve done so far. This is because the fire just doesn¡¯t get hot enough. What we can do though, is start again with iron. In small lumps it melts and so as a result we can¡¯t cast a full billet as it would have different layers of metal. The resulting iron is weak and unusable.¡±


    ¡°So how do we improve it?¡± I ask him, interrupting.


    ¡°To strengthen it we need make it into the steel - which we have been doing - because we can work it together with the hammer and then forge weld the metal. To forge weld, you need to get the forge hot enough so that the centre of the fire is a very light yellow. It is often called a reducing fire as there shouldn¡¯t be much oxygen in the fire. Once the fire gets hot enough the steel needs to be brought up to the same temperature before we can fold the metal, flux it and hammer it together. We should then repeat the process until we have a proper billet of steel to use.¡±


    ¡°Um, Enigma, how will I know what temp the steel is?¡± I ask curious to his answer. So far, he hasn¡¯t provided exact details and it¡¯s refreshing not to have the exact temps and wavelengths to comprehend.


    ¡°When the steel starts to blend into the flames and it isn¡¯t very obvious where the metal ends and the flames begin then it¡¯s up to the right temperature.¡±


    ¡°Ok, got it.¡± I say, thinking that it doesn¡¯t sound too hard. But then I¡¯ve thought that for every previous attempt, and boy was I wrong!


    ¡°After applying the flux and folding the metal we can begin the blade work. You¡¯ll have to use the hammer with slicing motions to try and draw out the metal. The metal should always be between a darkish yellow and a bright red. When the metal begins to cool towards cherry red and the sound becomes more metallic it needs to be heated up again as any further work will ruin it. Try pulling towards yourself as the hammer falls or pushing away to help draw out the steel.¡±


    I mimic the motion in the air as he suggests and find I can manage it, it feels strange when pushing away but pulling towards myself feels comfortable.


    When he judges that I¡¯ve finished experimenting he continues.


    ¡°Once, the blade is drawn out we can begin shaping it with careful hammer blows.¡±


    ¡°Sharpening, quenching and making a handle we can deal with later. I can tell you when it has reached the right temperatures.¡±


    We continue talking about how to forge the blade in ever increasing detail while I prepare a stew.


    After the stew is done cooking, I break out some bread and settle down to eat. Whilst I may have failed to create a blade worth anything so far, these months have been productive beyond belief and I can¡¯t wait to update the log. First there¡¯s the monjolo and then the bread and hopefully the sword to come soon enough as well. The bread was a welcome addition to the food stores, it didn¡¯t have the airiness of modern breads on account of having no yeast or raising agents, but it was good and hearty with the soups and stews.


    It¡¯s a shame that I hadn¡¯t made a blade yet. I decide to give myself until the end of the week to make the blade before updating the log.


    To that end, I spent the rest of the day prepping for tomorrow. First, I set up another charcoal mound as I expect I¡¯ll end up needing more charcoal. Once the forge has cooled down I recover any borax I can. Borax forms in natural deposits during the evaporation of water in lake beds. It¡¯s been a boon to find some. After collecting it, I head over to the monjolo.


    A monjolo is a water-powered hammer. In a similar way to the drinking bird desk toys, water flows down from the stream and fills up a hollowed-out section of log.


    Once the water weight in the log reaches a critical mass, the log tips back and the water flows out into the pool, letting the weight of the log hammer down onto whatever rests beneath its mass.


    Making the monjolo required me to burn through the centre of the log to make a hollow for an axel and then to carve and burn out a big section of the rear section of the log and coat that with the lime to make it waterproof.


    At the front end, a rock tied to the log crashes down onto a rocky platform to crush what¡¯s beneath. The borax from the fire has congealed, and as such it needs to be crushed back into a powder that can then be used as flux once more.


    Flux, in blacksmithing, is a material that can help prevent the oxidising effect of oxygen on hot metal. Oxygen, when it gets into the steel, forms a black scale that is weak and useless. When trying to forge weld, the black scale then prevents the joining of the two layers. So, flux is used to prevent the oxidation and to help carry out foreign material from the joint. When the sparks fly - as in many of the old-fashioned vids, especially those recovered from the archives - it is usually what the sparks are; flecks of flux flying out of the layers, squished out by the blacksmith hammer striking the steel.


    Furthermore, borax is useful for enamel glazes, pottery and ceramics, glass, preserving, and many more things that aren¡¯t applicable to primitive life. The former though would be quite helpful.


    Arriving at the monjolo, I sit down on a stump I had dragged close by to act as a seat and sweep the dust ad fragments from the rock to the floor with my hand before wiping my hand in the grass to remove any that stuck to me. The rock on which the monjolo hits had a small hollowing and it was into this I poured the borax clumps as the hammer raised.


    Using a small twig, I moved the clumps that missed the blow the first time around and just stirred and moved the borax around during the intervals until it was a fairly even powder once again.


    Stopping the monjolo, I grab the borax and sweep it into a small pot to be placed on a shelf in the house.


    After shutting the door tightly, I climb into bed and slowly drift off to sleep.


    When morning breaks, I get up ready to embrace the day for the first time after so many failures.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Stoking the now smouldering remnants of the fire in the floor of the house I get it burning again and make breakfast.


    It consists of some of the little remaining venison chunks, and a tuber and herb soup with the dense bread. It takes a while to heat the stones for the soup, but it gets it hot very quickly and soon the stew is hot enough to give me a burning sensation from my mouth to my chest.


    I swallow hard, trying to rid myself of the uncomfortable feeling.


    After washing the dishes in the stream, I take a few coals from the fire and walk over to the forge.


    Behind the house in the area where the tepee used to be I had built a forge with porcelain mud bricks. The bricks were about twenty centimetres by ten by ten.


    The forge was quite small, but it managed to get up to temperature with the addition of the blower.


    The blower was just a stick that was turned inside a fired clay covering that forced air along a passage. The stick had a piece of bark attached to it to blow more air through the charcoal. The blower also was used to blow air through the molten iron transforming it into steel through the Bessemer process. The Bessemer process worked by removing the impurities in the iron by oxidising it with the air being blown through the metal.


    Once the forge was up to temperature I suited up and grabbed the iron and my rock hammer and set to work.


    The suit was made of a much tougher material, as such, the heat used to melt iron was barely enough to get the suit warm.


    Even if the metal of the suit got to scorching temps the insulation was superb and so I wouldn¡¯t even feel it.


    The suit was made up of several different layers. It was so complicated in fact that there were sixteen layers of material making up the suit.


    First off, there was a tough metal layer followed by a Kevlar fibre layer and another of metal. A sheet of aerogel for insulation followed that and then yet another metal layer. Next was a thick section of impact resistant gel to shield me from breaking bones and then even more metal. There was the electronic shielding layer to prevent detection systems and EMP¡¯s from disabling me and of course more metal, predictably.


    After this layer of metal, there were two rubber coatings surrounding the layer of electronics and then metal to seal that in its own section, this metal was coated with the hydrating gel for body comfort and cushioning. Finally, there was the slim layer meant to interact with the body ware inside me. Oh, and of course the exterior paint to make me look fabulous.


    That wasn¡¯t even to mention the other systems, this was just the skeleton of the suit. There was still: power storage, solar cells, hydraulics, storage compartments, the computer systems for running the damn thing and housing Enigma as well as many more besides.


    What allowed me to hold the hot metal was the aerogel and it was this I was thankful for at the moment, otherwise I¡¯d have very little chance of getting any forging done.


    Aerogel was a top tier thermal insulator. Basically, the liquid in gel was transformed into a gas by undergoing a process called supercritical drying in which the liquid passes through the supercritical phase. In supercritical states there is no liquid gas boundary.


    With no boundary, the bubbles I guess you¡¯d call them, were not damaged at all because there was no capillary action that would destroy the solid matrix. Needless to say, the science was quite complex but there was only so much that I had learned - most of it was beyond me.


    Since the stuff was used in a lot of space tech and I found it fairly important to know what was saving my life, I had decided to learn a little about it.


    It was quite interesting but a bit of a brain killer as it leads into so many topics that are just as hard to comprehend. Whew, tough stuff!


    A few hours later, when the forge was up to temperature I set to work.


    Blowing the air through the iron took a lot of effort and careful manipulating so that I didn¡¯t ruin the metal by tipping it all over the charcoal. Enigma told me that I¡¯d add so much carbon to it that I might as well use a glass sword.


    Eventually, once I had the steel done and it had cooled down enough I smashed the pot that it was cooling down in and grabbed it to begin working with.


    Attempt one ended in failure as well. The metal didn¡¯t join because I wasn¡¯t fast enough in applying the flux and black scale formed preventing the two layers from welding properly.


    Unfolding the layers, I set to work again.


    Attempt two also ended in failure as I hit the spine of the blade too hard and severely dented the metal and the proportions were just wrong.


    After attempt two I broke up for the day and pottered around before going to bed early.


    In the morning I set to work again.


    Attempt three failed because, in the excitement of succeeding, I let the metal cool too much and the hammer fractured the metal.


    Attempt four failed because the dimensions of the blade were just too bad.


    Attempt five; success!


    ¡°Yes! I¡¯ve done it!¡± I exclaim lording my proud achievement over the snow and spirits.


    ¡°Well done Ronja!¡± Enigma congratulates me. It took a few days¡¯ work but yay!


    ¡°However, our work is not complete, we¡¯ve got to temper the blade by quenching it as well as make a handle for it and hope it works properly¡±


    ¡°Oh, shut up bud,¡± I say, ¡°don¡¯t ruin my moment you downer.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just saying not to celebrate just yet, there¡¯s work to be done and it could still fail in several places.¡± The voice of reason whispers back, killing my jubilance. Killjoy.


    With lingering joy in my heart, I settled down for the night.


    In the morning I began the process of quenching the blade.


    Quenching involved submerging a glowing red metal bar into a water bath in order to rapidly cool the metal.


    The principle was that by rapidly cooling the metal, the unwanted processes that weaken the metal during gentle cooling no longer have time to work and as such a stronger metal is produced.


    When steel slowly cools it forms the lamellar uniform grain structure of pearlite: a soft form of steel. However, when the metal is heated to a high temperature and then rapidly cools, a structure called martensite forms in the metal. Martensite is a very strong crystal form and it allows for a sharp cutting edge.


    Anything more complex, such as claying the spine of the blade were a little beyond me right now and so I proceeded to start quenching.


    With Enigma to tell me the temp and whether there was an uneven heat how could I fail?


    Quite easily as it turned out, though admittedly it wasn¡¯t very bad. During quenching the rush of steam had blinded my vision and I¡¯d dropped the weapon.


    Enigma¡¯s resulting sigh was quite painful to hear.


    ¡°Well, I suppose we can count that as a success¡± he told me reticently.


    ¡°What we need to do now is temper the blade to remove a little of the hardness that you introduced when you dropped the blade in the water.¡±


    ¡°Ok, so how do I do that.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going to have to heat it and allow it to air cool to slowly relieve the excess hardness. If you can focus on the spine of the blade.¡± He tells me. Well it doesn¡¯t sound too hard.


    For once, I was right. It wasn¡¯t that hard. Enigma told me when the correct temp was achieved and then I took it out the fire.


    Soon we had a worthy blade, now I just had to attach a handle and call it a sword and I¡¯d be done. Whoop!


    With happiness filling my heart I went to bed elatedly.


    Using the antler of the deer thing I¡¯d killed was the plan and though it took nearly a whole day to get a section long enough for the tang of the blade I thought it would be worth it.


    Once I had a section about two hands long I returned to the forge.


    The handle-making process I was using was a burn on. By heating the tang of the blade up, I could use it to burn out the marrow and bone from the inside of the antler and use glue to affix it.


    What took me by surprise however was the acrid grey clouds of smoke that billowed up and made my eyes water. Funnily enough, I hadn¡¯t put the suit on internal air supplies and my God was it a mistake. It was both a disgusting and highly salivating smell that aroused my hunger and yet simultaneously made me feel sick.


    Shortly I had the antler hollowed out. All I had left was to make the glue and sand down the antler to be snug in my hand. Yay!


    First making glue: primitive glue was good enough to get the job done, besides I doubted I¡¯d be able to create a chemistry lab to make the synthetics. Hell, I¡¯d be unable to create them even with a chemistry lab, I wasn¡¯t a chemist and they spent decades perfecting lab skills. I was just a solider. Perhaps a rather good one, but a soldier nonetheless.


    A hide glue was what I was going for, so I started by getting the deer hide down from where I had strung it up in the trees to keep away from predators.


    ¡°First cut up the hide into small pieces, the smaller the better but you have to be able to get them out later, so I¡¯d suggest not too small.¡± I follow his instructions by the letter, determined not to screw this up as well.


    After waiting for me to follow he continues ¡°Boil the hide in a thin covering of water, gently, once the water is simmering leave it for a few hours until the hide goes translucent.¡± I do as he asks and then get onto the sanding of the bone handle whilst I wait.


    Once the hide is translucent I take it off the heat and ask what to do next.


    ¡°Next, remove the hide bits¡± This takes me another few hours as I¡¯ve decided, perhaps foolishly, to make a lot of the glue. Instinct tells me I¡¯m going to need a lot.


    ¡°Boil off the remaining water until it begins to thicken and then remove from the heat¡±


    I do as he asks and stare at what is left, a cloudy liquid that looks slightly like milk, thickened milk.


    Once it¡¯s cooled, Enigma pipes up again ¡°Is it sticky to touch?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡±


    ¡°Great, now once it is completely dry we¡¯ll need to break it up and let it air dry for a while.¡±


    ¡°How longs a while?¡± I ask picking up on his vague term.


    ¡°A day or two¡± he says innocently. Butter wouldn¡¯t melt in his mouth, well if he had one I¡¯m sure it wouldn¡¯t. I snort to myself as my thoughts make me laugh. I suppose one benefit of being stuck here is that I¡¯m starting to find myself funny. Perhaps it is insanity instead.


    Knowing I can¡¯t change anything I put it out of mind and begin shaping the handle again.


    Over the next few days the glue begins to dry properly. As it dries I find the monjolo can help break up the glue, and the sword ¨C although it has no handle ¨C can be used to chop the rubbery bits that still remain into smaller pieces.


    By the end of the week, on the day I¡¯m planning on doing the log update, the glue is fully dry and the blade is sharpened. It turns out there¡¯s only so long you can shape a handle before you start to ruin it, so I moved onto the blade instead.


    Once the glue is fully dry, I heat it gently in the embers of the fire in a small pot, whilst adding water in little bits until it reaches the consistency of golden syrup, but perhaps a little more viscous.


    Using a stick, I start filling the hole in the handle with the glue and coating the tang in the stuff as well. Pressing the two together I lock the suit¡¯s arms in place with a feature I¡¯ve thought was stupid all my career and get out.


    Later that day I check on it. It¡¯s still drying but I think I can remove it long enough to do the log.


    ¡°Hey, Ronja here! So, I¡¯ve got some updates. First of all, I¡¯ve done it. Finally, the sword is done, here¡± I say lifting it up for the suit camera, before placing it back in the suit¡¯s arms to continue drying. ¡°It¡¯s a gladius style, only a little bigger for the suit of course.


    ¡­


    ¡­


    ¡­


    ¡­


    ¡­


    ¡­


    Anyway, what else? There¡¯s the monjolo; a power hammer. It¡¯s also allowed me to create bread.


    ¡­


    ¡­


    ¡­


    ¡­


    ¡­


    ¡­


    So, I think that¡¯s basically it, I can¡¯t wait to start exploring soon. It¡¯s time to find out what the hell¡¯s been going on on this damn planet.¡±

 Chapter 25 - Venting

    Chapter 25 ¨C Venting


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    10th July 2342 (BSST)


    The branches fall away with a soft clatter and thump whilst the leaves rustle, dancing in the wind on their short journey to the floor, fluttering through the air, aimless and free.


    The wind whistles as it falls off the cutting edge like a liquid. Disturbed by the sword¡¯s fast motion, the air tears around the blade as it passes by.


    With the ease of practised motions, I convert the downward slash into a looping arc with my wrist before stopping its motion in a ready position again.


    The sun glints off the metal blade as it twirls, sending spots of light cascading across the trees and shrubs lighting up the greens and browns of the plants with vivid flashes and sparkles as the water from the morning dew catches the light.


    Once the branches settle on the floor, I step over, the heel of my suit just clipping them and driving the wood into the floor, crushing it into the muddy surface until it¡¯s nice and flush. Perfect.


    A crack resounds out as the branches snap under my weight. I freeze at the unexpected sound for a second, before realising its source.


    Phew.


    I¡¯ve been trekking through the forest for a while now, when first light dawned on this fresh new morn I set off; the first rays of sunlight breaching the forest trails and lighting my way. With every step I travel further from the safety of the camp. The crunch of the snow marking my progress as it compresses into an icy hazard. As I journey further from the camp and the sun rises, the snowy blankets of white fade into spotty lines and patches under the deepest shadows. The ground slopes up and the freshly melting snow sinks into the earth, loosening it and obscuring the firm ground in patches of waterlogged marsh.


    Continuing on takes me farther then I¡¯ve yet been. Farther than the charcoal forest or the coral beyond. Farther than the meadows and the swampy forests yonder. Farther than the beaches and the sea. Farther even than the cliffs and crash site.


    Though the lush plant filled dystopian utopia is all encompassing, the familiar soon fades away into the verdant leafy background, its only traces left long behind as I journey through the land.


    The sword is an invaluable tool. Completely indispensable as a way of cutting through the thick undergrowth that hinders my path with almost sentient like aplomb. It was frustrating beyond all reason.


    I guess, I felt like I shouldn¡¯t have to battle against the scenery itself, the humanoids and creatures were more than enough.


    Battling against the forest took a lot of energy, so much so that I found myself repeatedly stopping for a drink of the water stored in the suit. It could hold enough water for a few days in comfort. After that I¡¯d be going thirsty. The suit was meant to hold hydrating gel and nutrient blocks to sustain the user during flight or warfare, so the amount of water it could hold was, unfortunately, quite limited.


    Despite this limit I felt comfortable heading out for a few days¡¯ journey. I¡¯d been trained to endure water and food deprivation and I wasn¡¯t afraid of doing it again.


    As the miles went by I found another ditch. Not just a natural depression with an aquatic environment like one would expect but another big dry ditch like the one I¡¯d found before. Of course, I¡¯d passed that one a few miles back already, so it was most likely not the same one. Though the curvature was almost identical. When coming from the beach the first ditch curved away from me in both directions only slightly. This one too curved similarly, only slightly more so, a tighter curve. Without Enigma though I doubt I would have spotted it.


    About 21 miles apart they were parallel and looked very unnatural to the trained eye. This type of terrain just wouldn¡¯t form naturally. It was like a small valley but obviously no glacier had carved out a path. No river with its gushing flows and battling blasts would have been able to cut such a perfect channel. It looked rather smooth and though obviously some effort had been made to disguise its peculiar nature it hadn¡¯t fooled me. Perhaps Nick and Emily had been fooled, but not me.


    On the sides, trees held the banks in tight with their roots, tying the loose dirt down as a farmer bales his hay. Tight and uneven despite his best efforts.


    Stopping to examine the ditches yielded nothing strange or unusual, only the sense that this wasn¡¯t natural alerted me to its foreignness. If I wasn¡¯t deluded, this meant sentient beings had lived here or still do. Perhaps stupid ones as I really couldn¡¯t see a point in the ditches. Transporting water just doesn¡¯t make sense. The curved paths would have been much more effort than a straight line, besides, where would you find this much water, from a spring? It was far to large for the task at hand.


    I put the mystery from my mind as I had no answers as of yet. Hopefully I would discover them in the future.


    A few more hours led me to a clearing. Not large but it did give me a view of the sky, enough to determine that I was still heading towards the mountain. Though it didn¡¯t seem to have gotten any closer from when I started. I must have travelled about 50 miles by now and the mountain still stood in the centre. Unchanging and unending. Its peak climbing up steeply until it disappeared from view.


    I had decided to set off for the mountain that morning because it was such a central point in what I¡¯d observed so far. The cynosure of the land. Nick was right though that the very forest seemed to resist exploration towards its base. The paths and trails all gently curved away, like a current in the sea misdirecting you, it persuaded and convinced you that that wasn¡¯t where you truly wanted to go. A few steps wrong and you¡¯d be heading away from where you aimed.


    I kept forging on through the forests until night set in again, climbing a tree I settled down for the night, excitement still rife within me.


    It was about 5 hours into my journey the next day that I stumbled upon something new. The endless forests and shrubs with the receding snow weighing down their branches until they almost brushed the floor as if to grace the bugs and worms with their presence suddenly stopped. The dense brush ending in feet rather than over the course of a hundred metres or so as would normally occur.


    Stopping the advance of the greenery though was a fairly impassable obstacle. One that the plants had no real way of encroaching and overwhelming in the way they tend to do. The marching grass; the footmen of the armada that impinges the natural barricade stop short, no way of advancing. The great war machines, those goliath trees that overshadow their supporting units are stuck just the same. No path, no route, no options except for halting the relentless war machine from advancing.


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    Like a fort surrounded; this last bastion of defence stands strong, resisting to the last. Still standing despite the forces arrayed against it. No thought of surrender. In a pulsing wave its heart beats like thunder, breath like a hurricane. Sleeping in the shadows it rises up shouting with a million voices that sing a song of life. ¡°This is our resistance, it¡¯s our world, you can never have it¡± it seems to whisper to me.


    The gentle lapping of the water on the grey gravel beaches, the raucous ripples that wing their way across the surface like a bird in the skies, serene. The sun shines down from up upon high, perched in the clouds it shines down illuminating a strip of the water with bright flashing sparkles. Sparkles that catch the eye with such startling clarity that it makes it hard to look out over the water. In a few seconds though, the suit compensates for the light and tones it down to keep my vision intact.


    With my back to the forest I take a few moments to observe the shore: it feels like it would be a nice place to have lunch. As I scan the shoreline by eye I first come across a pebble beach. Pebbles ranging the full greyscale from the blackest of blacks to an ice white colour and everything in between. The harsh matte greys and cool creams that speckle the pebbles and rocks gives the beach an almost wave-like appearance as the colour constantly shifts. The light refracting through the ripples of the beach illuminates the pebbles differently casting shadows over one another. An interesting pattern of light and dark emerges like a Rorschach test every time I take a new look.


    Interspersed between the rocky patches, sprout a few sentries of that plant army. Little weeds that burst from the pebbles shouting out their presence. The faint green traces they leave making the boundaries between the competing sides less stark and obvious blending together the sides in one huge battlefield.


    Further on, along the shoreline, small bluffs and clayey cliffs of jagged rocks jut up to the lapping water. They extend only a few metres up before fading back into the forest.


    On the last section of the scan I see another unexpected sight. One of the goliath war machines has been felled, by a giant or god I¡¯m sure, the axe is his weapon and the shattered remnants that still clings to the floor anchors itself in place, still remaining though the rest has been destroyed long ago. From the remnants of the abused and broken, sprouts a new life, the green appendages growing from its father¡¯s ruined body, tough and hardy, it has a strong future in growing to replace its father. The heritage of the strong machine ready to be taken up.


    I watch the scene for a few minutes before I¡¯m happy nothing¡¯s going on.


    Once I¡¯m sure that the place is safe enough I settle down for some lunch. I pull out some bread and scarf it down fairly quickly.


    As I feast on the delicious bread, I gaze out over the water. As the sun swaps sides of the sky and midday passes by, the changing light direction lights up another swathe of the lake in the blinding light.


    The piercing rays catch on something in the water, it draws my eye and a few minutes trying to determine what it is with my eyes and the suit¡¯s tech only helps me determine it is a squarish object buried in the soft silt at the bottom of the lake. Not too deep maybe a few metres, the clear water allows me to just about make out what it is.


    Leaving my supplies on the side of the lake out of the way of the gentle waves, I march into the water.


    The boots of the suit sink deep into the mud. It sucks my feet in deep, clinging to the metal as if I was walking on glue. Releasing with a suddenness that almost unbalances me. It¡¯s in the centre of the lake and it takes but a few moments for me to power-walk over there.


    Even when I¡¯m standing over the top of it I can¡¯t tell what it is. Taking a breath, I duck under the water before realising my foolishness. The suit provides me air I don¡¯t need to take a breath. Letting it out I rotate until my face is close enough to see what it actually is.


    Now that I¡¯m close, I can see it is in fact a metal box, the silt and sand had been piled up around it and obscured the thing in the centre of the lake.


    More specifically though, the box is a grating with thin slats on the front preventing me from seeing inside easily. I peer into the grating using the light to see what is inside, nothing. Well nothing obvious at least, all I can see is an identical shade of grey for the opposite side wall.


    After a few minutes of examination, I have decided it is in fact a vent. The scans from the suit swept over the box and determined there was no floor and that it disappeared down a few metres before the scan couldn¡¯t detect anything further. Water seemed to be flowing into the vent from the lake. Since the lake wasn¡¯t diminishing I expected that further upstream from the source that fed the lake there was a water exit vent. Wherever the vent led would be the key to my freedom. Certainly, there were other sentient beings here, perhaps they had some space capable craft. Then again, they could have all died out and just the remnants of the civilisation exists still. A loyal machine still performing its duty despite the overseers having perished long ago.


    Excitedly thinking of the possibility of something down there I try to break into the vent. But alas it is to no avail. Even full powered, the suit can¡¯t even dent the gratings. The metal is completely resistant. And forget burning through with fire or chemicals as well, being underwater severely hindered my options.


    Giving the grate a longing look, I turn around and push off against the soft silt sending me gracefully gliding up to breach the surface. I blink as the sun shines straight at me when my eyes adjust I am greeted by yet another strange sight. This one stranger than the last. More unexpected and more terrifying than anything I¡¯ve yet encountered. Well except the humanoids but nothing can beat them at all. No chance. Thank god it¡¯s not one of them.

 Chapter 26 - Others?

    Chapter 26 ¨C Others?


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    11th July 2342 (BSST)


    As I breach the surface I spot it, through the distortion of the water streaming down the hydrophobic paint and the glass screen, through the blinding light so bright, through the leafy canopy so dense.


    A wooden slat.


    What¡¯s that?


    The more I look, the more I see. Up in the canopy of the trees besides the bluffs at the far side of the lake from where I came exists something not quite right. A series of wooden slats. It is mostly obscured by the leaves and branches in my way, but I can see it.


    Carefully I swim to the shore, collect my bag and walk over to it. The shifting sands and gravel under my feet crunching as I walk. With a few powerful leaps I¡¯m clambering over the bluffs and standing overlooking the lake. Turning around I head over to the main tree to which the slats are attached. As I gaze up the tree I see more of the shape. It looks almost like a building, like a tree house. Though with the thickness of the trees and the supports it could be much larger. I don¡¯t think this was created by the natives. The house is too unsophisticated and primitive for it to be the ones who created the vents. Something strange is going on here, strange in a different way to the rest of the planet.


    Since I doubt the treehouse can support the weight of the suit and me I decide that it would be best if I left it down here and climbed up without it.


    Getting out of the suit takes but a moment and then I realise I can take advantage of it and I get back in. Moving the suit closer to the tree I lock it before getting out again. This time the suit is tall enough for me to climb up to the first branches that were far outside my reach at first.


    The metal is unforgiving on my bare skin but soon I¡¯m up and standing on its shoulders, my hand braced on the tree. I place a foot on the top of the suits head and jump up into the branches pulling myself up with my arms whilst my feet scrabble at the rough bark on the trunk.


    I cut myself a little but get up with relative ease. Getting into the structure takes no time at all and soon I¡¯ve confirmed that it is in fact a tree house.


    Well, kind of. The little hut is an outpost of some sort. It¡¯s high enough for me to sit down comfortably without feeling like I¡¯m going to bash my head yet too small for me to stand in. The planks are very roughly cut and are mostly made of logs split in half. The wood still has rough sides and plenty of opportunities for splinters and painful cuts from the rough flooring. The walls were made similarly, and the roof was a thatch style. The wood also had rot creeping in on it, the activity of insects had started to weaken the structure severely and in a few months I expected it wouldn¡¯t even be able to hold my weight.


    By one side is a little rope ladder. That I can use to drop down after it¡¯s been extended. It¡¯s coiled up nicely on the floor. The loose fibres springing from the tight braids made it look old and worn and perhaps it was. It didn¡¯t look strong enough to hold me comfortably, but I guess it had done the job since it wasn¡¯t broken. In the length of the rope were knots that would help someone climb up the rope. They were about the size of big apples and were spaced roughly evenly.


    The rest of the little treehouse was basically empty, a roughly hewn chair. The chair was made from the stump of a tree that someone had taken an axe to and cut out a roughly human shape hollowing before tying some cushioning to it with basic cord. Additionally, there was also a small window that looked out over the lake. It was the only other thing in the place, obviously not a place for living.


    On the opposite side to the rope was a bridge. Well what was left of one. It was loose and floppy the slats lying against the trees as it disappeared off into the canopy. Even if it was sturdy I wouldn¡¯t have followed it without my suit.


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    Kicking the rope over I decide to use it to get to the floor. Sliding down the rope isn¡¯t made easy by the knots and I decide to climb down instead. Friction burn wouldn¡¯t be pleasant either.


    Once on the floor I enter the suit and follow where I imagine the bridge was leading.


    As it turned out the bridge was only about thirty metres long. With another major support in the centre of the gap. The rope bridge had broken and fallen through to the floor in a few places as I walked along. Stepping on the planks turned them to the small crumbed flechettes of wood that would quickly decompose to form the floor of the forest. In short order no one would know they had been there.


    As I moved further I could see less and less sign of the bridge and staring up had given me a crick in my neck that took a bit of time to work out. Rolling my head around had fixed it for a short time and that was good enough. The planks at this point were gone and it was only the remains of the holding ropes that guided my path.


    A few more steps into the wood and the tree line opened up again. What I saw there surprised me perhaps most of all. At the edge of the tree line was a huge barricade of trees, well bits of trees. The trunks had been chopped down, the earth dug out and the logs then buried in the dirt enough that they stood firmly. Each log pressed against the two behind it in such a way that they all supported each other. It was the kind of camp I had been wanting to make. A circular defensive wall that would keep out the nasties.


    With eagerness yet trepidation I walked up to the wall. Silent despite my will I snuck up to the wall and tried to look through the gaps. I could see a few things dotted around but nothing of consequence.


    The remnants of the rope bridge crossed over the wall and beyond that I couldn¡¯t see anything. Obviously, this was a way in. There probably wouldn¡¯t be another if they used this system.


    As I looped around the camp I looked for trees I could climb with the suit but there didn¡¯t seem to be a single one.


    Nor were there weaknesses in the wall. The humanoids had obviously tried to get in from the deep scratches in the trunks. If they¡¯d had the intelligence it wouldn¡¯t have been long till they breached since some of the logs were barely standing. Feasibly I could make an opening through these weaknesses but it would take time. Even with the suit I wasn¡¯t as strong as a humanoid and they had struggled to get through. The fingers as sharp as anything I had on me had bitten in deep but ineffectively.


    It¡¯s funny how that thought stayed with me as I rounded the next section and a huge hole in the wall appeared. My heart sank as I realised the implications. Even if they hadn¡¯t been human I was looking forward to conversation.


    The entrance was busted open, wood splinters everywhere. The logs tilted forwards and battered as the humanoids had bust through in an obvious frenzy. The smells and sounds of life had driven them crazy with wanton need and they had come in droves and broken into the defence. At the entrance there was a set of remains. Brutalised and torn to pieces I suspected its fellow humanoids had ripped it to shreds when it was injured or killed by whomever had lived inside.


    As I got closer I saw more details of its body and the beast that lurked in my nightmares was just as terrifying and monstrous as I remembered.


    A truly top tier beast. Disfigured yet not. There was no way in which it was not horrific, from the empty eyes and loose yet not flesh, the needle-sharp teeth that sat in the jaw and the gluey ghastly gloop that oozed from its pores. The smell of the pus that coated the body in a slimy film that had protected the carcass from the insects and decomposers stunk to high heaven.


    What an abhorrent sight.

 Chapter 27 - Where the Bridge Goes

    Chapter 27 ¨C Where the Bridge Goes


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    11th July 2342 (BSST)


    Stepping over the remains I pause at the entrance. Inside the camp there are a few simple huts and lean-tos. The lean-tos are arranged in a circle around one of the campfires, well the remains of one. A circle of rocks charred black by the ash and fires that repeatedly lick up against the stone, painting its surface with shades of grey, sit peacefully. Some ashy, half burnt logs remain in the centre of the circle, the partially burnt sections falling out as powdery remnants whenever the wind gusts. The lean-tos are mostly intact though a few have been smashed to bits.


    These simple survival shelters consist of two sticks pushed into the ground with either a fork at each end that another stick rests within or a stick lashed across the top of them. Onto this frame more sticks are laid until a triangle shape is achieved. Then plant material like leaves, shrubs and branches and moss are laid on top to waterproof and insulate the shelter.


    More padding and plants make up a sleeping mat under the shelter and often more sections at the ends cover up the sides to further shelter the sleeping arrangement.


    Though crude, the lean-tos make very good shelter for those unfortunate enough to be stranded. A big one could hold a couple of people in relative comfort and it looks as if this was the case here.


    Moving around, my eyes roam along the walls until they discover the next item of interest.


    A small stock of firewood rests up against one side of the walls. Enough for a couple of weeks for a group the size that would have lived here. The wood looks wet still and unsuitable for firewood.


    Green wood, especially stuff that isn¡¯t protected from the elements makes for very poor firewood. The fires don¡¯t get very hot and huge billowing clouds of smoke form as the moisture and saps burn up. The pyrolysis of the plant material forms creosote that is quite smelly. Now I don¡¯t know if the humanoids are attracted to the smell but I sure as hell wouldn¡¯t want to take the chance.


    In the centre of the camp is a big fire, much the same as the one I use for my clay tasks and cooking. The wood I expect was mostly used here. It seems as if they had some clue what to do as a few pots and various knickknacks litter the ground. The fired clay shattered as the pots were knocked over.


    Despite the evidence of life here, I feel it is most likely they were another group that had been taken here, abducted like myself. The level of tech is primitive at best and shows that at least someone had a basic idea of what to do. But an advanced civilisation that could get me home is certainly not what I¡¯ve found. Well, I haven¡¯t even found them yet. Hopefully they escaped from the camp and survived. But sadly, I expect not.


    Stepping inside the camp feels momentous for an unknown reason. A feeling of overwhelming anxiety and dread bubbles up from my stomach. Like a heat wave it overpowers me until it is almost all I can comprehend. Advancing through the hole I look around once again. Hiding behind the walls are a few drying racks on my left side. Whilst on the right-hand side, where the bridge crossed over the walls, the remnants of another treehouse stand scattered on the floor.


    The rope bridge is detached from the building and it swings freely in the wind, one of the guiding ropes hooked over the dagger like branch of one of the trees supports the bridge, keeping it from touching the ground.


    A forlorn sight if ever there was one. It told a tale, dark and twisted. A tale of regret and terror. The powerful emotions seemed to have sunk in deep to the very atmosphere that lingered. The silence and solitude of the place had a disquieting effect on me. What would normally raise hairs and send shivers down my spine now feels like a blanket. Suffocating yet comforting it dampens down any fear or alarm I might have felt and threatens to drown me in a sky devoid of stars, a sea without a rock to cling to as it sweeps me down to the abyss below. Taking me along its journey no matter my protestations.


    The ends of the bridge swing with a slight creak as the wind picks up in a gentle gust. It whistles a melancholy melody as the following silence sings out its heart, telling the story of what has happened.


    The remains of the building to which the bridge once attached were leaning up against the tree that had once supported its weight. The rope to get up and down the building was laying up against the debris, wrapped around the splintered, shattered wood. Speared in places and half shredded. The fraying ends losing fibres in the wind that blew up against the other broken fragments, colouring it in mottled browns and faded greens.


    Approaching the wreckage, I feel a knot forming in my stomach. Somehow, I just know what I¡¯m going to find inside. Call it a sixth sense if you want. Personally, I thought I could sense the signs in the air. The rich, metallic smell of blood. Like a shark I home in on it, I can smell it upon the air, a scent that would change my world. I could feel it from my bones to my skin, permeating and infectious. Like a mist seeping into my pores. Inevitable and unavoidable I know I must take the final step and confirm that I¡¯m right. Just one small step.


    I take it, by god I wish I hadn¡¯t.


    What on earth possessed me to do that.


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    Why oh why would I take that one small step!


    What greets me upon taking that momentous final step is perhaps the most gruesome sight I have yet seen in all my years of life. Through the frontier and battling beyond, from the fights on stations to the revolutions to the Odrath camps and others, things I¡¯m not allowed to talk about, this takes the cherry.


    Worse even than the horrific sight of Emily ¨C one of the most harrowing sights that has breached my eyes.


    The last step takes me beyond the range of the doorframe allowing me to look inside. From the cream-come-brown of the light wood on the outside, the stark contrast with the black stained wood is very apparent. The rough wood fibres that stick out, slowly drip the blood down to soak the ground in nutrients. A small colony of bugs seem to have made this magical nutrient shower their home and thrived because of it. The nearby meal a boon in itself. The bleeding walls make the scene much more harrowing as the sheer area of chaos and death is extended and even now, so long after the event, it remains traumatic, a scene sure to fill my dreams with tormenting sights and sickening smells.


    In almost a sort of trance I stumble forward, on locked out legs and janky movements, in autopilot. I move forwards, my entire being focused on the scene before me. Entering the building the smell assaults me with new vigour. Sickeningly rich and sweet. The musk in the air has the - still liquid - blood stench pervading it so strongly that I can taste the all too familiar flavour upon the air as a snake searches for its prey. Tasting the air to fulfil the canvas of my senses. My stupid brain eager to absorb the full horror of what¡¯s in front of me.


    The treehouse was supported by a central beam, load bearing and a few other supporting beams anchoring it to a tree. With the treehouse having fallen down the beams had snapped allowing it to fall and dooming its occupant to a fate I wouldn¡¯t wish upon my worst enemy.


    The sorrow and empathy I felt within my heart is burning me out of me, a small candle flame searing and erasing it. Engraving the scene into my very being, lowering the bar for what shocks me, or raising it depending on how you view it.


    Greeting me inside the broken treehouse is a man, or what used to be one, now it is only the ruined remains of one, a broken-down body.


    Resting horizontally like a distorted version of sleep, the body has its appendages flailing out, hanging unsupported in the air. The neck extended as the head twists to stare at the floor, a result of gravity. The arms hang limp and unnatural as the shoulders have popped out, the pale flesh pock marked as the numerous insects attack it.


    One of the hands resting on the floor has been severed and only a thin strand connects it to the forearm. A tendon perhaps, it¡¯s a translucent gristly cable stretched out taut as it pulls on the body.


    His right leg is missing, ripped from his body the socket pulled out of shape slightly from the force with which it was removed. The blood-stained cuts and gashes that litter his body like morbid tattoos are still bleeding slightly as the body moves, a result of my weight on the floor.


    The fact that blood doesn¡¯t coagulate here due to the summer heat makes the scene much more gruesome. Despite it being cold now the blood decaying causes the clotting platelets and fibrin to no longer work to solidify the blood and so it remains as a liquid.


    Pushed through the torso is the supporting beam, the sharp dagger like wood spines at the break point coated in a crimson film as they emerge like an iceberg from the sea. Forced through the body carrying with them traces of the guts and organs. Impaled upon said spikes is a section of the intestine. Skewered like a sausage on a spit the slimy tubing lies limp and dead.


    In a fork of the beam, a vertebra from the spine has been forced up and out of the body and it rests in a divot coated in a silvery membrane that has captured some of the slowly flowing blood like a water balloon fit to bursting. Its white colour disguised by the viscous bodily fluids that ooze over it


    The body has split open with the force of gravity pulling it down. Sundered from sternum to hips, the ripped flesh discoloured and weathered from exposure seems to boil in the cold as the maggots writhe and squirm in their dance of life. Lumps forming like a water balloon on a tap, filling and draining as the larvae eat their way through the corpse.


    I stare at the man, from his dirty feet to the ginger hair, coated in blood. From the rip in his guts as he was impaled to the bulging nacreous eyes that seem to fill the eye cavities to excess. I can¡¯t help but imagine popping them like a pimple, a stream of pus flowing out as they deflate.


    Urgh.


    Back tracking, I leave the scene quietly but certainly quickly, I¡¯ve no wish to stare at the unfortunate soul any longer.


    When I leave the building, I take a look at the rest of the treehouse. It takes me a few minutes, but I believe I¡¯ve pieced together what happened.


    The man was hiding in the treehouse, or perhaps there by chance when the humanoids breached the camp. He tried to stay out of their way, but they found him. Evidence of slash marks on the support beams and trees show they ripped down the treehouse and the man fell to be impaled on the central beam. His right leg being closest the humanoids ripped it from him before abandoning the man for easier prey.


    A true shame!

 Chapter 28 - A New Camp

    Chapter 28 ¨C A New Camp


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    11th July 2342 (BSST)


    Leaving the corpse far behind, I go to explore the rest of the camp. However, much to my chagrin it¡¯s not long until another one comes along. In fact, it¡¯s only about half a minute. Whilst it is less shocking and messy it is far more frightening.


    Moving on from the treehouse I had rotated around anti-clockwise coming across one of the five huts first.


    When opening the door, I see the other body, or what¡¯s left of it out of the corner of my eye.


    As I secure the door on the latch to keep it open, I stare across the camp towards another hut. On the ground, approximately half way between the two, is the remains. A foot is all that¡¯s left, a foot shattered and cut off at the mid-calf, the bone sticking out, the end its clean white sterility in stark contrast to the rest. The insects must have polished off the rest, perhaps they have infested the inside of the flesh and just not yet broken the surface but from what I could see the calf remained relatively intact.


    A boot and sock, stained red, cover up most of the foot whilst a thin layer of dust has settled over the top of the body part and mixed with the blood forming a sludgy crust that looks ready to droop off like golden syrup, only far less appetising.


    The boot is a large black military style boot with a thick, blocky tread, meant for all terrain. In the wide indented lines of said grip, a few bits of gravel stick, the rubber pushed tight around them.


    Mud clings to the bottom for dear life but to no avail as it is peeling off, small strands anchoring it to the sole but it wont be enough and it¡¯s soon to fall to the floor. On the front, the boot is laced up with dark woollen laces with metal aglets. The boot is tied up with lots of criss-crosses going up the tongue and keeping it supporting the remains of the leg until just below mid-calf, where the break was made.


    On the toes the black polish has worn off more than anywhere else and the coating is down to the base material, a sort of plasticky fibre mesh, leather having been replaced in commercial use long long ago. Though it is worn out the boots still look fairly new; a testament to how hardy this place is. Now more than ever I¡¯m glad the fleet replaced the silly dress shoes with proper boots, well they were still around but it was no longer a mandatory dress code, you could choose either the sensible comfortable military boots or the ridiculous dress shoes with all the bells and whistles.


    With nothing more to discover about the mysterious leg I enter the hut. Inside it is very similar to my house, if less well done and a lot smaller. There¡¯s a raised bed on thick legs with a plant fibre mattress and blankets. I make a mental note to come and nick the stuff on my way back. On the shelves are a few items. A broken pocket knife, with only a corkscrew as the remaining working tool. A pair of socks which I promptly snap up and a wallet. A wallet with nothing inside. Not that money was a priority in the first place, but it would have been nice to return the wallet to the man¡¯s family. I was guessing it belonged to a man judging by the style. A nice wallet at that. It had a snakeskin style leatherette covering with several pockets for cards and change and various items. Old fashioned certainly as the net was both more secure and more worrying. Holding the physical manifestation of your money was comforting it gave the feeling you could defend it, whilst online it was dubious at best that someone could defend their money from a thief.


    The house didn¡¯t have much else of interest, a small pile of wood, kept from the weather and a few loose fibres and materials. Stuff I could find elsewhere quite easily. Stuff not worth the effort to lug back to camp. It was a long way and carrying the blankets and bedspread from this house would be challenge enough.


    I left the small hut in short order and moved on to the next one, passing by the foot as I went. Up close I could see I was right about the bone, small pick marks and little nibbles could be seen decorating the bone like a tiny pieces of scrimshaw. A fairly morbid one at that.


    The crusty mud and blood mix coating the leg looked ready to slide off and off it did when I nudged the boot with my own, like a scab being picked, the sludge revealed the writhing maggots that had infested the leg, making a nest within the walls of flesh that surrounded them, from dawn till dusk. Eventually they would eat through and consume everything and all that would be left was the boot, a mystery and memories.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    I left the boot behind and continued on to the other huts, this one was much like the last one in terms of contents, a simple bed, raised up, a small log pile and a shelf with some personal effects.


    However, this one had neither the broken pocketknife or the empty wallet occupying space. A pair of socks though was consistent with the previous one. This pair had been moth bitten though and the holes in the toes and heel made them all but unusable. I took them though, one never knows when basic materials will come in handy and if there was ever one thing I was lacking it was cloths and fabrics.


    After about twenty minutes of scrounging around the camp I believe I¡¯d covered pretty much everything. As well as five sets of useable bedding, a couple of pairs of socks and some ruined cloth, I had found another body, this one was by one of the walls.


    The walls of the camp were circular and they extended around towards a small cliff side and a group of trees. This copse of trees was dense enough that another treehouse had been built into the wall as a sentry post. Up in the treehouse a small chair and shelf were the only amenities provided. A small nook for a spear to rest in and a hook for a bow that I assume they had yet to make would have been useful when such a time as they had made them came around. Alas it wasn¡¯t to be.


    To get into the treehouse a basic ladder had been cut into the walls. Since the walls were made of upright logs someone had taken an axe to them and cut wedges approximately forty centimetres apart into two of the logs that the treehouse was based on. The rough steps could be climbed up by the spritely and the treehouse then accessed. At the bottom of this rough ladder I had discovered the man. He had tried to escape the humanoids that had destroyed the camp, killing at least two of his colleagues in the process by climbing out of reach, hoping beyond hope that they couldn¡¯t climb the ladder. Well it wouldn¡¯t tell me if they could or not as he hadn¡¯t even made it to the ladder without being caught.


    Having experienced the sheer speed of the humanoids myself it was no wonder he hadn¡¯t gotten very far before being cut down with ruthless, unhesitating power. The eviscerating strike slicing straight through the spinal column catching pretty much everything of use in its way through. The spine, lungs, heart all torn to shreds. The ribs shattering and slicing through those things unaffected like the stomach, liver and kidneys.


    The massive damage likely killed the man in mere moments, the best course of action for him. No suffering and pain just a peaceful oblivion to rest in for all eternity.


    Since the chest was destroyed so thoroughly that the legs were almost disconnected I had to look elsewhere for more details. The man was of large frame, about 6ft 5¡± tall and 115kg in weight. He also wore boots similar to the one I¡¯d found earlier, though after a quick check I had determined that he still had both feet still firmly attached to his body ¨C good for him!


    The man wore light-weight, grey trousers, with a few rips in, probably from the sharp foliage that inhabits this planet. The trousers were long enough to obscure most of the boots though they had been dragged down as they soaked up the blood pouring from his chest. The crimson-soaked trousers had started to stick to the floor and ants had been attracted to the nutrients making a nest not far from the food. They crawled all over the corpse and in a few more weeks I expect they would claim it all. I stood back a few feet wary of upsetting them, I¡¯ve no idea if they are like ants on earth and even some of those you had better be careful of. No way am I pissing off a colony of super ants. No way no how.


    Moving on from the dead I had found a diary, over by the campfire with the lean-tos surrounding it, nothing else of interest except the ruined remains of the plant fibres that had made up the bedding for their people who had lived here.


    When discussing this later with Enigma we concluded that the difference in the bedding from the basic lean-to to those with bedding and those with both bedding and wind shelter had signified the progression of those that survived.


    The simple lean-tos belonging to those that had died early on, having no opportunity to upgrade the sleeping arrangements, whilst those that still existed had no reason to upgrade them, to work tirelessly on the projects of those no longer there to enjoy them. Then there were the huts, presumably belonging to those that had survived right till the end. Further than their fellow campers.


    What horrors befell these unfortunate souls only they can say, perhaps through this diary, perhaps it tells their tale, short and long. The story of the camp and those that lived there. Or maybe, it is nothing at all, the ramblings of the dying and terrified. A storybook, sketchbook or blank whatever it contains is just as telling as the last.


    With the apprehension and tension of what I might find rife in the air, a foreboding heavy atmosphere, a pressure weighting down on me. I open up the diary randomly and from that page I begin to read¡­

 Chapter 29 - The Diary

    Chapter 29 ¨C The Diary


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    11th July 2342 (BSST)


    Day 36


    Today we ran out of water and I told Janet to go and get some more from the lake. She refused! The gall! I can scarce believe it. It¡¯s just outside the camp for goodness sake, all she has to do is take the pot and go fill it up. But no! She wouldn¡¯t even deign to do that simple task, it was beneath her.


    I got so mad that I had to take a count, the calming 1 to 10 and then I just walked off with never a glance. If she doesn¡¯t want to contribute then I¡¯m never helping her again, selfish Bitch!


    Day 39


    It¡¯s been a few days since last we spoke, I¡¯ve been ignoring Janet since the last entry. At first she didn¡¯t notice anything but I¡¯ve finally gotten to her, she still hasn¡¯t filled up the water, Ed had to go do it in her place. The selfish bitch caused him to take time out of his day and stop him working on the tasks that need doing to take care of camp, something she should be doing. It¡¯s not as if one of the chief foragers has anything better to do!


    Anyway, after ignoring her I¡¯ve been getting my work done much faster as a result. Today I split more fibres than ever, by my feet I¡¯ve got a huge pile of the fibres that tomorrow I think I¡¯ll braid together. Hopefully I can get some rope made and then we can start building a bit more, the children deserve someplace a little safer to be anyway.


    Day 45


    Today we lost one, Janet in fact. I¡¯m trying to feel sad for her but I just can¡¯t. She was such a bitch that I¡­ I¡¯m not happy she¡¯s gone but nor am I sad, indifferent I guess. She was not my best friend but¡­


    The others are wary though, I see it in the way they carry themselves. Maybe they think there¡¯s something out there stalking us. Waiting, watching, wandering. Creeping, crawling and climbing. No! I don¡¯t think so. If you ask me, I reckon someone got fed up with her shit and decided to knock her off. Good riddance. Though having said that I can see some of the others watching me, perhaps they think I had something to do with it. As if!


    We may have disagreed with each other, maybe we fought a little. It¡¯s just, she was so unbelievably irritating, a stuck up prissy bitch. Everything I hate. But I would never take action, I would have at least kept the corpse, we¡¯re short on food as it is. Haha, stop being morbid Karen. Now look at me, I¡¯m talking to myself ¨C in the third person no less, and through a diary ¨C god, I might be losing it. Have I lost my marbles? I guess that¡¯s the crux of it, I wouldn¡¯t know either way. Well I guess I¡¯ll have to act on the assumption I¡¯m not crazy, else where does that leave me? Karen says bye for now then.


    Haha.


    Day 52


    James and Kurt have drafted up the first round of plans for a defensive wall and camp ground. At the moment we have about 30 people¡­ 29 now, I write thinking back to Janet. Somehow the camp seems to miss her, myself included. At first I thought I wouldn¡¯t miss her one bit. Not even an iota. But in this place it¡¯s humans against the forest. We started off with 50 of us, the whole group. Now were down to almost half, the bugs, predators and landscape having stolen 21 human lives. So, yeah, I do miss her. Every single one of us adds life to the camp.


    Day 71


    THE WALL IS FINISHED!


    Well, almost. The circle of logs extends around from the cliff face to meet the other side, only a small opening at the front is left. James says it¡¯s going to be filled in once the treehouses are finished. Though I expect that¡¯ll take a few more weeks. Everyone has worked their socks off chopping down the trees and building the wall. Camp feels much safer now though. With a nice boundary to ourselves and the world perhaps we can finally get some rest.


    Sleep has been short in coming and light in quality as the anxiety built. Over the last month or so we¡¯ve lost another 6 people. James Jr (James¡¯s son), Duncan, Katie, Angela, Barry and Ed. At first we thought it was just them getting lost in the forest, Ed being a forager and all, it was perfectly reasonable for an untrained guy trying to forage in an alien world to get lost and turned around. Well we sent out a rescue group using my ropes to keep track of their path. I must say how proud I felt after that.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Well, it didn¡¯t last all that long. Barry and Angela left to go search for Ed. Well the rope just went tight, then loose and a piercing scream wrenched open the silence and Barry was gone, bloody mess that! Angela came back and a group of fifteen of us ¨C those not looking after the children and the cowardly - went to explore. The rope was sheared like it had been cut by scissors and then drag marks led off into their trees. We followed for a few metres before they faded out of sight. Creepy!


    Over the next few days the process repeated itself periodically claiming both Angela and Duncan. Then one night the rest of us woke up from our simple shelters to find James howling in grief. In a dead sprint he ran out of camp to return only a few days a later covered in scratches and bruises, caked in mud and grime. We had to force him to bathe in the lake and take care of him as he was inconsolable for a few days but eventually he just snapped into a focused state wherein he would hardly speak. It can¡¯t be healthy to bottle it up the way he¡¯s doing, but if it lets him cope then who am I to tell him he¡¯s wrong?


    We learnt later that Katie and James Jr were missing, Tony told us that he had woken up to see a human shape carrying the two children out of camp and James howling in grief as his child was stolen. At least no-one would miss Katie overly, her parents having been claimed by the wilderness several weeks prior. Though her presence would be missed around camp, the quiet little girl, inquisitive but shy. Look at how this place is changing me, I¡¯m thinking in such harsh terms.


    Day 99


    The camp is finished now, well the exterior. The wall is sealed up and a rope lets us climb up to the treehouses that connect by a rope bridge over the wall. It should protect us from predators. The only issue is getting water from the lake outside the walls.It takes a few off us to do it. Two people had to go and collect water in a large clay pot. Then the pot was loaded into a wooden wire basket that would be tied to the climbing rope. Then the rope would be hauled up by another 2 people. About once every other day we would need to do this. I suppose it was much less exhausting than it would have been a while ago, much less people you see. We¡¯ve lost another 3 people bringing us down to twenty people. I don¡¯t know how much longer we can keep this up. Hopefully something changes.


    Day 151


    Well something changed alright. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s for the better though. The temperature has ramped up, this planet seems to have seasons. The predators have gone away now, the foragers and hunters report seeing none. Small life seems to still be around but it is much harder to hit. At least the plants still seem to bear food for us. I¡¯m guessing we were in spring and now summer is turning up. It¡¯s already hotter than anything on earth and it seems to have no interest in stopping. The camp is a sweaty box of misery right now, despite the predators disappearing people still go missing, much the same way as Barry. A scream and some drag marks and nothing else. At least it¡¯s never from within the walls though.


    Day 176


    It is still getting hotter and I don¡¯t think many of us can survive much more. A few of us have died from the heat, a basic body-ware cannot handle it here right now. I have to take a bath in the lake about 5 times a day right now to keep my mind intact. From the 50 of us that arrived 40 have perished. Now its just: James, Kurt, Max, Tom, Jenny, Tony, Taylor, George, baby Jeremy and myself. I¡¯m feeling the pressure of life here now, it certainly isn¡¯t easy. I don¡¯t know when it¡¯ll get easier but it¡¯s a fight right now. From the heat, and terrain to the sharp thorns and leaves that cut and stab at you as you make a path.


    As I read the diary, absorbed in Karen¡¯s story I¡¯m taken from the moment by the loud roar by my ear. I slam closed the book and vault to my feet turning, wary of what I might find. The dead, dry campfire is still just as dead and dry as it was previously, the peaceful log pile, reminiscent of a little hut in the woods stands alone and sleepy, just as it was. The gentle breeze flowing through the camp is the same. Even the huts with the doors latched on the hooks are the same.


    With a sigh of relief I realise the camp is exactly the same before I buried my head in the book. Come on Ronja, you know better I say to myself angrily. You¡¯ve the training, in and out of war zones to keep awareness in the front of your mind.


    With careful steps I march over to the hole in the walls, avoiding the sticks and branches that have fallen from the trees, There¡¯s no use stepping on it and alerting whatever is out there that I¡¯m here.


    I retreat to the treehouse out by the lake and settle down in the chair to read the diary again, I should be safe up here.


    I open up the diary searching for my place before abandoning it and starting from the beginning.

 Chapter 30 - The Beginning

    Chapter 30 ¨C The Beginning


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    11th July 2342 (BSST)


    Dear Diary


    I have to start a new dairy today as I seem to have misplaced my old one along with all my possessions. I kid of course even I am not that careless! Humour is my one weapon against the depression that encroaches whenever I think upon my current circumstance. Like an insidious little bug it creeps ever closer. A weeping angel, whenever I am not aware of it ¨C staring it in the face if you will ¨C it creeps up on me. If it catches me I don¡¯t know what will happen but I do know it will be bad.


    I suppose I should tell you what has happened, well what I know so far, being that I really have no clue what has happened. I don¡¯t know if you can tell but I¡¯m withholding writing this, as if putting it in words will lend credence to it, making it a tangible thing that has happened to me. A dream, this must be a dream! Please, Please be a dream!


    Alas, in my heart of hearts I know this is certainly not a dream. No dream has the detail down to such a tee. The faint smells of the forest, the slight glisten of the leaves in the sunlight. The wet look of the sap. The sounds of that which lives, the rich cadence of the forest, the tapestry of life that thrives around me, humming with the business that their everyday tasks that I still. Things that must be completed for the beautiful ecosystem to continue. A dream can¡¯t have that, it just can¡¯t.


    Say it! Just say it! Come on Karen you can do it! Just say the words. Utter the truth for your ears to hear, for the words you write to tell you the truth in the bluntest of terms.


    Ok, on 3¡­


    3¡­


    2¡­


    1¡­


    ¡°I have been abducted by aliens!¡±


    Or something equally as strange I tell myself backing out of the finality of the statement.


    Ok, so what has happened to me then, I hear you ask.


    Well, it all started out on a Monday morning - as do all things bad if you ask me. This particular Monday was good, or would have been good. Very odd I know, but fate played its hand and made sure that Mondays are always uniformly bad across the board. This one however probably ends up a little worse than usual. Well, the jury¡¯s still out on it but call it an inkling, a feeling, this Monday and the events that are sure to follow will quite possibly the worst of my whole life.


    Anyway, this Monday ¨C 21st July 2339 BSST was set to be the only good Monday in history, of that I¡¯m sure. It was a bank holiday, a tradition carried over from a long time ago when banks had actual people helping run them ¨C who knows how they were confident in the people running them? Corruption runs everything didn¡¯t you know. Anyway, bank holidays are just usually a way of delaying the bad that happens when work starts up again. I suppose you could view it as an extra weekend day, but then everything shuts down and why the hell do people think that makes the day good ¨C just because of no work ¨C morons I assure you.


    Anyway, this bank holiday occurred at the start of the week-long retreat that my work was throwing to celebrate a big acquisition, don¡¯t ask me what ¨C I¡¯m not in the know ¨C but I was glad to be invited. ¡°All employees and family members welcome¡± is what the missive said, and I was pretty sure I was an employee so I decided instead of wallowing at home I¡¯d come up and attend the event at the Warborough Ranch and Retreat. Well, it turns out that quite a few of us had the same idea and when I arrived at 11 o¡¯clock there were already about 30 of us there. I greeted everyone before going to the room I¡¯d been assigned taking out some important belongings and dumping my clothes bag in the bag racks attached to the communal kitchens and locking them in.


    For the rest of the day I chatted away with my colleagues and friends, about work, about our personal lives, loves and hobbies and then catching up on the gossip. Since the event was scheduled to take place on the Tuesday some of the lads had organised a big barbecue over the fire pit.


    Soon night had begun to set in and many of us decided that we didn¡¯t want a raging hangover for the first day of a work event and we retired to bed. It seemed it was a sentiment we all shared and soon everything quietened down and peace reigned supreme.


    It wasn¡¯t long before I drifted off, I dreamt I was flying, free and unhindered, it was beautiful¡­


    Until I crashed and woke with a start.


    I lay back in bed and tried to get some more sleep but the ground never seemed to remain steady. I was sure I hadn¡¯t drunk enough to get my head swimming. Well sure enough I hadn¡¯t drunk that much. My head wasn¡¯t swimming, the surroundings were. The building was rocking back and forth as the wind howled past the small chimney pots on the top (there for aesthetic purposes).The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Scrambling out of the hut I managed to grab this diary and pen and my photo of my parents before the hut tipped over the edge and collapsed down the cliff turning into so much wood fragments and shards.


    All I remember next is thinking: WELL FUCK ME THEN!!! (I knew Mondays could never be good. (It was 11:59pm))


    Day 2


    Morning breaks, and I¡¯m still alone. The second day is upon me. Yay!


    For most of the day I wandered around aimlessly going in circles, ever increasing radii but circles none the less. Not on purpose I sure as heck wasn¡¯t that skilled.


    Eventually tired of doing nothing productive I found a seat and decided to write my diary of the previous day and this one. Sleep comes terribly, I¡¯m just not made to sleep on a hard floor.


    Day 5


    On day five I meet up with someone else, his name is Kurt, he works in the design department, I¡¯ve seen him in passing when I fill up the coffee, water or paper or perhaps when I¡¯m passing out any mail or messages for the department. Anyway, Kurt is a huge boon, having someone to talk to makes the day go faster and having someone skilled and companionable almost makes it bearable. Perhaps with his help we can find the others, It has become apparent now that something happened to the whole of the Warborough Ranch and Retreat.


    Day 11


    Today we found some of the others, there¡¯s 10 of us in all right now, shan¡¯t bother listing them all, partly because I cant be bothered and partly because I don¡¯t know all their names.


    Day 15


    We¡¯ve picked up a few more people, though we¡¯ve lost a couple in the fight against some wolves, well they looked like wolves so I¡¯m calling them that for now, perhaps in the future a genealogist ¨C wait no, that¡¯s isn¡¯t right- it¡¯s a¡­ a¡­ oh who cares, someone will tell us exactly what they are but fuck it, for now they¡¯re wolves. Well the wolves drove us away from our temporary camp, in guess it was their territory after all. It really brings to mind how terrible humans actually are, without tools we can¡¯t even beat some mangy dogs.


    Day 16


    Taxonomists! I knew I would remember the word eventually. A taxonomist, they classify organisms in biology. Yay!


    Day 23


    At the lake we found the rest of them, well almost all, some were sure to have perished along the way, like those in our group. A man named James has taken charge, at first it caused some tension until we realised his military background and training meant he kind of deserved to be in charge. I for sure had no problem with him leading. James is a large, brooding man. He is quiet when he needs to be and he leads with a soft voice rather than bellowing commands, though on occasion that does still occur, a shock. A drastic departure from the man he normally is; reserved and withdrawn.


    James has a son, his wife named him James Jr to remind her of him during his service. He missed the birth a regret I believe he still carries 9 years later. The boy is quiet, just like his father though filled with abundant curiosity. He wanders around the camp, alone for the most. Watching and learning all of the activities that go on. I imagine him growing up to be a world leader. Leading from the front in a way that would make his father proud.


    His birth mark, a crescent moon on his left side, positioned above the left eye partially concealed within the hairline is an ugly mark yet somehow it fits him. Like a wounded war vet who carries his scars as memories he would be incomplete without it. A wonderful child.


    Day 24


    Janet is here, why did she have to make it? Why?


    Day 29


    At official count there are 38 of us. I think we were originally around 50 or so on the Monday. A fairly high attrition rate I must say. With James¡¯s leadership a basic camp has been set up, shelters that he calls Lean-tos are being constructed around a fire pit, since there are 16 families, though calling me a family is a little bit generous the 38 of us are all very cuddly around one fire pit. But basking in the company of others has made the days and nights a little bit more bearable.


    Day 30


    Make that 37 do us, one of the men was crushed under a tree as we felled it, he didn¡¯t pay attention to the shout of ¡°TIMBER¡± a shame.


    Day 31


    Make that 35, 2 people went out exploring and haven¡¯t come back, perhaps they fell of a cliff, got eaten by wolves or are simply lost wondering around. Life here brooks no mistakes.


    Day 32


    No-one died today, I look forward to small victories like this. Yay!


    Day 33


    Our luck has not held, a tiger I guess I¡¯ll call it, pounced and took a few more of us, we haven¡¯t done I count. No-one seems to be brave enough to request one, the life is being drained out of us.


    Day 34


    Ed found the some other buildings where we arrived, he scavenged a shovel, axe and some personal effects for some of the people.


    Day 35


    We managed to make clay pots today, James and Kurt have really stepped up. As a military man James can get us to focus and just helps. As an architect, Kurt can plan and together they seem to have a great working relationship, hopefully they both survive, I think it¡¯s the only way we¡¯ll make it.


    Day 36


    Today we ran out of water and I told Janet to go and get some more from the lake. She refused! The gall! I can scarce believe it. It¡¯s just outside the camp for goodness sake, all she has to do is take the pot and go fill it up. But no! She wouldn¡¯t even deign to do that simple task, it was beneath her.


    I got so mad that I had to take a count, the calming 1 to 10 and then I just walked off with never a glance. If she doesn¡¯t want to contribute then I¡¯m never helping her again, selfish Bitch!


    Oh yeah, I¡¯ve read this one already I think to myself as I sit on the chair in the remnants of their camp, the treehouse makes for a safe place to relax and its one of the few moments I can truly do that. I feel safe here which is good, though intellectually I know it didn¡¯t do the one in the other treehouse any good.


    This diary has been really good luck, now I know they have a shovel and an axe somewhere around here, I guess I¡¯d better get back to searching shortly. But first I think I¡¯ll read a little more, I have to know what happened after all¡­

 Chapter 31 - What Happened?

    Chapter 31 ¨C What happened?


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    11th July 2342 (BSST)


    Day 200


    A momentous day for sure, 200 days surviving on a foreign planet, I doubt many could achieve such a feat. James is the most valuable member by far, although I doubt even he would have been able to survive if we hadn¡¯t found the food shed early on. The camp had been stocked up before it was moved here and it¡¯s invaluable. I imagine that the camp was preparing for the influx of tourists and guests that our appearance would have heralded. Things like flour and canned beans like lentils, chickpeas and more were fully stocked, from floor to ceiling.


    Though the cans proved hard to get into at first, we managed. The old cans made good pots as well. Though whenever we wanted to store something properly it did mean eating a whole jar of pickles. Urgh. Disgusting. Why were the only suitable jars pickle ones? I mean who in their right mind likes pickles, and don¡¯t get me started on the ones who profess to always have liked them, mentally disturbed, let me tell you. There¡¯s something wrong with people like that. You know, now that I think about it, I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever met someone decent who also liked pickles, it¡¯s a tell. The type of person who likes pickles isn¡¯t one to spend time around. Life lessons with Karen, who¡¯d have thought this would be educational life lessons. Well whilst I¡¯m at it I¡¯ll stress once again. Avoid those who like pickles at all costs, nothing good will come of it.


    Besides the 10 jars of pickles we¡¯ve yet to eat through, the food is running out. There¡¯s no meat left, that was consumed fairly early on in the course of things. Well it wouldn¡¯t have kept anyway, perhaps it would have attracted predators as well. The cans are running out as well now, we¡¯ve only a small pile left, I mean I guess we could eat the raw flour as we¡¯ve a lot of that left, a couple of sacks of it, unappetising I know, but we do as we must.


    I suppose it isn¡¯t any wonder we¡¯re running out, after 200 days of at least 10 people eating morning noon and night plus the other 40 that fell during those many long days. We probably should have started trying to find food out their whilst we still had a stock, but then we were all focused on today, you never knew what tomorrow would hold and if you had one, here more than ever that was true. We had a few foragers like Ed that seemed to grasp it, but they mostly went after materials and when they found a few berries we were reluctant to eat them, everyone has heard the stories of what happens when eating unknown berries after all. We weren¡¯t stupid, or so we thought.


    In terms of the camp, we¡¯ve moved on from the lean-tos and progressed on to wooden huts now. James gets one of course. So does Max, Taylor and Jeremy, a family they are and so they deserve one. Kurt and Tom share another and so do George and Tony. The last one is reserved for the girls, Jenny and Myself. At least we all seem to get on rather well. No arguments so far so that¡¯s good. I guess well have to see what comes and make of it what we will.


    Day 221


    So, its been another month or so and the food situation has only gotten worse, we¡¯ve had to go out and actually start looking now, though nothing¡¯s come of it yet we¡¯re hopeful, we have to be.


    Day 253


    From when we first arrived to now, I¡¯ve noticed a change. As Kurt and I walked through he forest together on that fifth day, the animals - and there were a lot of them (I don¡¯t think I noted it at the time) were fairly passive. The squirrels in the trees, the birds roosting just behind watched on with serenity. A calm hoot hoot or tweet tweet followed us but that was all. The harsh sound of thrashing brush as the easily frightened ones bolted away from us.


    Now though the animals seem more aggressive, they¡¯re more on guard, defending their territory. The squirrels follow us, as if escorting us out of their territory like armed guards, Tony got bitten by one, quite a vicious little blighter really, the wound got infected and set him on his ass for a month. The wound is still raw and horrible but it has started to heal over now, which is good. He¡¯s limping but mobile; I expect he¡¯ll be able to walk again within the month.


    The birds dive bomb us and quite a few times a last-second duck might have saved me. Quite frankly these kamikaze dive bombs scare the heck out of me, one moment it is peaceful and quiet and the next a furious arrow of bone and feathers charges from the sky.


    Day 269


    Something more drastic has happened now, the animals are no longer just changed in their temperament and behaviour, physically they are changing as well. I guess it could be the natural order of the world, defensive and territorial as their young grow or something but it seems strange to see a squirrel with horns and fangs, abnormally large bugs and many things besides. Very peculiar.


    The animals are not just growing new features, they are getting larger as well. The bugs and critters are now twice as large as they nice were, seeing such a large snail is almost comical as it moves just as slow as before. You¡¯d have thought that would be the change they would get, but no, now they¡¯re just a slow moving behemoth. Strangely it doesn¡¯t seem to have affected the food chain overly, I guess since everything is getting larger the snakes that would feed on frogs are just eating the larger ones just the same as before. The chameleons ¨C if there are any ( how would I know) Ha ha (I¡¯m just so funny) ¨C will snap up the finger sized insects with enthusiastic relish.


    Worryingly though we humans are not changing, I¡¯m sure I wouldn¡¯t like it in the first place, it would assure I couldn¡¯t transition back if somehow we return to humanity but it would mean things were less dangerous.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    I suppose this is evidence that it is the natural order and not some environmental stimulus causing change since we seem unaffected. I find my current size to be quite good and I¡¯m not sure I¡¯d like being eight feet tall.


    Day 285


    Today we just sat together by the walls and stared out into the forest worried. Last night George thought he saw something in the forest. A man he said. It stood tall and proud, unmoving. He looked away to call to us and then it was gone. Creepy. The rest of us dismissed it as a trick of the mind but we humoured him and stayed in.


    Day 286


    We sat by the wall again and looked out, all of us are worried now. After finishing the last entry Tom said he saw one as well. This one was tall and stationary too, but he swore it looked straight at him. The rest of us didn¡¯t see it, we called out to the man but he didn¡¯t answer. One blink and he was gone. We¡¯re thoroughly spooked, but our rational minds still prevail and we don¡¯t really believe it.


    Day 287


    Nothing today


    Day 288


    Nothing again


    Day 289


    Nothing


    Day 290


    I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye today and now I¡¯m joining on the bandwagon of not going out.


    Day 291


    Kurt and I were chatting when he paused, no response to my question. It was odd he¡¯s normally very responsive. When I looked out over the wall from the cliff face I saw what he was locked onto. It was a misty day today, the wind having whipped up the water and rolled a thick fog upon us. Standing in the fog, not more than 40 yards from us was a deer. Well this place¡¯s version of one, much larger with wicked looking antlers. In complete silence we stare at it, not even the gentle beat of our hearts could disturb us.


    As if sensing our wonder it looked up startled and bolted away from the camp, not directly away however so I doubted we had scared it off. At the edge of my vision, where the wispy vapours and waves of fog coalesced with the shadows to create a whole new world something bowled out of the tree line, taking down the deer in seconds before slowly dragging its limp remains out of sight.


    Day 292


    When morning broke, we went to examine the scene, Kurt, George, Tom and myself having all seen something over the past few days were worried, but hopefully if it revealed nothing, we could put this behind us. James and Jenny being the more rational also joined us. As well as a splash of blood we found deep claw marks in the ground from where the beast had sprung, tracks leading off into the wilderness freaked us out so much we quickly retreated back to camp.


    Day 321


    Food shortage is now a serious problem, With little to eat and all the nutrients going to baby Jeremy we are irritable and hungry. Hangry is a term I think applies quite well here.


    Day 327


    The lack of food is causing problems now, Max and Taylor are concerned for Jeremy¡¯s health and are starting to snap at us, asking why there¡¯s no food, why we aren¡¯t foraging for more. They haven¡¯t seen anything in the forest and they don¡¯t understand, it¡¯s creating a divide among us.


    Day 339


    Suspicion and anger reigns supreme over our camp. James, Kurt, Tom, Jenny and Myself form one faction whilst Tony, Max, Taylor and Jeremy form the other. I think they think that we¡¯re hiding food from them. Hopefully we can all pull together, otherwise I doubt we¡¯ll last much longer. Here¡¯s to hoping!


    Day 342


    Things came to a head today. We had a full on argument, They outright accused us of hiding food and resources away from camp and refusing to go get them. We denied of course, as any reasonable person would and they shouted at us, Tony is the most reasonable one but even he was livid beyond reason, I can¡¯t get over this accusation. Why on earth do they think we¡¯d do that. They think we¡¯ve made up the mysterious sightings in the forest. In a fit of rage I said: ¡°If you don¡¯t believe us then go out there and explore it for yourself. If there¡¯s nothing to be afraid of then you¡¯ll be fine¡±


    Well I never imagined they¡¯d take me up on it. At midday they left carrying their stuff like a hobo, over the shoulder. They marched right out of the gate with not one look back. We just stood there watching in disbelief. I suppose they were right about one thing, without them there would be more food, though we¡¯d gotten it in a way we never would have wanted.


    Day 347


    It¡¯s been five days with no sign of them and we¡¯re worried. We¡¯ve calmed down, the righteous anger of the wrongly accused has faded and now we¡¯re left wondering where they are. If they¡¯re ok?


    Day 351


    I have to be quick but I thought a brief update would be good. This morning we heard the shouting of people in distress. In the clearing on the opposite side of the lake I can see them. They¡¯re running flat out towards us, screaming help. I¡¯m by the gate ready to open it for them as I¡¯m writing this.


    Somethings following them, what is it? I don¡¯t know.


    As it crosses the tree line the sun lights up the figure for a second and in the silhouette it looks like a man, he¡¯s running after them, hunched over awkwardly, who is it?


    As they get closer I can see it is no man at all, by god what the heck is it?


    I have to put this down now to get the gate open.


    James put his hand on me and stoped me doing it. Why would he do that? We¡¯ve got to let them in, they¡¯re fifty metres away now.


    I ask why but I know the reason. To let them in is to sacrifice us all. They¡¯re so harsh but they know it¡¯s the only choice.


    As the beasts approach them up against the gate I look away, I can¡¯t watch this, I just can¡¯t.


    I can hear their cries as they¡¯re circled, the prowling beasts that followed them here trace the perimeter ensuring there is no escape.


    That¡¯s it, I can bear it no longer I¡¯m going to help, I wouldn¡¯t be able to live with myself if I didn¡¯t. God help us all.


    Day 353


    It is with a sad soul that I pick this up. To resume where it left off is hard. From the fifty or so we started with were down to five. James, Kurt, Tom, Jenny and myself.


    The butchery at the gates turns my soul, I feel sick with regret and horror as it sinks in. Why I left them to die I¡¯ll never know but it¡¯s a decision I have to live with. A stain on my very existence that I¡¯ll never be able to erase. That indecision cost five people their lives. An innocent life lost in the madness and frenzy that ensued first blood. I do not even have the guts to look down upon such a scene despite it being well over now.


    They lie dead and gone, their remains scattered to the winds last reach: Max, Taylor and their innocent son Jeremy. Tony and of course Karen, The best among us. Though we didn¡¯t interact much her departure to the land of the dead will leave us all poorer.


    - Sincerely George Wellis.

 Chapter 32 - Last Days

    Chapter 32 ¨C Last Days.


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    11th July 2342 (BSST)


    Day 365


    I suppose it is fitting that it comes to an end today. On the anniversary of our arrival, exactly one BSST year from when this horrific planet greeted us with loving arms, arms covered in spikes but arms nonetheless.


    As I write this we last remaining five are discussing our future. But how did we get here from all those days ago?


    We landed here on this planet exactly 365 days ago, the 21st of July 2339 BSST, it was a Monday. An overcast day that would be a perfectly fitting occasion for the events that would follow though I could only say that with the benefit of hindsight. The first few days were rough, no food no companions nothing else.


    Then we found each other, these work colleagues and family members, some of whom we counted as friends. Perhaps not our best friends but friends assuredly.


    A battle for survival ensued as we struggled in this inhospitable place losing members here and there. After just a month we¡¯d lost almost half of us but a camp was set up.


    Then it was just time until things got worse, as they always seem to do. Not long ago we noticed something changing. As the heat became overwhelming the animals started changing, at first we thought it natural. A new cycle in their lives. Then they started changing physically. What was going on we wondered to ourselves but dismissed it as well. If we weren¡¯t changing as well then everything was ok. But we were changing. We were easier to anger, easier to provoke. We started arguing and beating each other up over things ¨C not physically of course, we hadn¡¯t resorted to that, but it would come.


    Then we started to see things, things in the tree line, things we couldn¡¯t, wouldn¡¯t share with each other. Though we shared the gist of it each of us kept the stranger details to ourselves.


    Then 23 days ago a group of us split off after frustrations and paranoia got the best of us and they left.


    When they returned they brought monsters of unimaginable horror with them and we just sat there and let them be butchered and slaughtered by our gates. From baby to adult our compassion knows no guilt. Karen, one of those that stayed with us had to go help and in short order she was ripped apart in the frenzy that followed.


    A horror that is too bad to even bear thinking about and I was witness. Something that would leave scars upon my mind for years to come ¨C if I survived that long.


    Shortly after, whilst the blood was still seeping to the ground the infernal creatures not yet sated returned for more. Their bloodlust and hunger knows no bounds. They crowded the gates and walls in a desperate scramble to get in.


    And get in they did. Breaking through the wooden walls after a couple of days throwing themselves at it. From up in the treehouse we looked down in despair as the truth was finally revealed. These monsters we so despised and feared, these creatures of nightmares for sure were creatures we recognised. Though they didn¡¯t walk like us, though they didn¡¯t talk like us, act like us or be like us we knew them still. They wore the remnants of things we knew like clothing, just as their clothing still was worn.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    As they prowled down beneath us, searching for that final scrap of flesh to feat upon we looked down as if in heaven and recognise who they were.


    They were colleagues, work colleagues. They were family members and friends. They were the others. The ones we¡¯d lost along the way. They were the ones who¡¯d disappeared without a trace. Their final scream echoing around, a final memory of the people they once were. Now, though they wore a familiar face, they were not who we knew. Nor were they ghosts or spectres, a living memory or figments of our imagination. Joint hallucinations I think not!


    So as they prowled beneath, what now? Well that was what we were discussing, in the last few days the numbers of humanoids had reduced, they disappeared off into the forests to hunt for other prey. But the ones beneath were still ravenous, and fast. Ready to consume anything and everything.


    So what on earth were we to do?


    James, Kurt and Jenny both wanted to leave and head away from here, perhaps toward the mountains or the beaches. They weren¡¯t sure but they felt staying here would be a mistake. Whilst Tom and I felt that we could stay here and wait until they left.


    ¡­


    Well we¡¯ve decided. James, Kurt and Jenny both laid down an ultimatum, they were going and we were welcome to come along. I had acceded to their wishes as I knew without James we¡¯d stand no chance. Tom was more reluctant and had decided to wait in the treehouse until he could tell it was clear and then follow. So we, were all going to make a break for it. Tomorrow would be the day.


    So I guess this is it for now, if all goes well then there¡¯ll be another entry. If not then I guess you know by now how it all ended.


    - George Willis, over and out.


    I turn the page and sigh when there¡¯s only the empty canvas. Though I knew realistically it was unlikely they made it I was hoping they had returned at a later date.


    No, nothing so nice, the page was blank and all that was left to do was track down their last final moments. I felt a tear trickle down the side of my face. Whilst reading the diary I had felt connected to her, connected to another human for the first time in over a year. That her tragic fate was so hard to manage was a testament to the effect her writings had had on me. The length and personal nature that I had read had sunk in on me.


    Reigning in the stray emotions I descended from the trees and started a search.


    The first one of the five I had found was obviously Tom, the man in the treehouse.


    By the ladder to the other one the man on the floor was presumably George. The others having banded together and seemed more focused would have carried on running.


    Since the diary was only a few metres away from the ladder in the campsite I was assuming he had discarded it readying himself to climb up the ladder to escape.


    It took a few minutes to find the others. They had all made it up the cliff face and along the path that extended out of the camp being cut down along the way. Jenny was the next casualty, being the only remaining girl she was fairly easy to recognise. Kurt and James followed shortly, the former soldier only outpacing the tired architect by a few hundred metres before he was like wise cut down.


    Searching the bodies proved fruitless except in James¡¯s case. Unfortunately it wasn¡¯t something I could use. The only thing he had on him was a photo, the paper stained with blood so badly I couldn¡¯t make out anything of the actual image and a data pad. Common equipment of soldiers - we went nowhere without one.


    This data pad had been set to record visual and audio inputs and would overwrite itself every time the process was refreshed by the user, i.e. every day ¨C barring specified moments. A catalogue of his death I was sure.

 Chapter 33 - Their Final Moments

    Chapter 33 ¨C Their Final Moments


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    11th July 2342 (BSST)


    With bated breath I pressed play and waited for the file to play. It took a few moments to load, the device was a ruggedly built thing that had none of the fancy electronics - just stuff that would work in all conditions and so it sacrificed smoothness and quickness for rugged dependability, a sacrifice that I thought well worth it.


    After a suitable tension building pause, the data pad started playing. I watched with rapt attention, whilst simultaneously trying to keep aware of my surroundings.


    The video started out up in the treehouse, the first scene was just as George had described in Karen¡¯s diary, the five of them discussing what to do:


    James: So, we¡¯ve got a choice to make. We can either stay here and test our luck against the monsters below. They might spot us and kill us, they might linger long enough that we become weak with hunger and thirst, or they might move off and we can come down and continue as before, thoughts?


    Jenny: How risky do we think that is then? What are their chances they find us up here.


    Kurt: Well, we¡¯ve no idea but if they stick around longer than a few more days it¡¯s gonna look a little grim for us. Ain¡¯t it?


    Jenny: Uh huh.


    George: Yep


    James: Yeah, more than 5 days without water and it¡¯s trouble, the basic body-ware cant extend it much further than that.


    George: So what¡¯s the other option then?


    James: Ok, so staying here is option 1. Option 2 is to make a break for it. Early morning is when they seem most lethargic. So, I think that as first light dawns we¡¯d have a decent chance of sneaking away. We head up the cliff face and out the back and then head to new ground. Perhaps we could go up the mountain or down to the beaches. I¡¯m guessing they hunt the animals as well so I suspect those would be the places least likely to have them. Thoughts?


    Kurt: Personally I think we go for the mountain as we can get farther from the woodlands than the beach. From what we saw the beaches are only metres from the trees and I expect they¡¯d spot us from there.


    James: You¡¯re probably right about that, the only other issue then would be food. We can¡¯t carry what¡¯s left of our stock so we¡¯ll have to find food up there. If there¡¯s a mountain lake or spring or something weight be able to find fish or snails or something. Hopefully there¡¯s something up there.


    Tom: Hold on a minute! You make it sound as if we¡¯ve all decided that leaving¡¯s the right option. I sure as fuck don¡¯t want to face them. I think we should stay here. At least for the meantime. See if they don¡¯t move off. Then we could broach the other plan later.


    George: That¡¯s good actually, we can always move onto the next plan but we can¡¯t backtrack if leaving doesn¡¯t work.


    James: Yeah, but would we have the energy and strength to do it later? The longer we delay, the weaker we become and the less likely it is to work.


    Kurt: Look, we know they roam the forests, even if they leave and we can come down, the food¡¯s gonna run out at some point and then where are we? Same place, right. We¡¯ll have to deal with them at some point. I vote we go now.


    Jenny: Same, I think its our best bet. We can¡¯t live in fear of them, otherwise we won¡¯t be living at all.


    Tom: Kurt?


    Kurt: Sorry Tom, but I¡¯m with them, I think it¡¯s the best option. If we delay we cant escape them and we¡¯d have to track through the forest at some point anyway.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Tom: George, you¡¯re with me right?


    George: Yeah, I guess. I don¡¯t want to go down there whilst they are there that¡¯s for sure. But on the other hand we do have to leave at some point perhaps this is the right time. How about we wait another day and then decide?


    James: No, I¡¯m going that¡¯s for sure. I don¡¯t think we can afford to wait. The longer we wait the weaker we get and the more vicious and hungry they get.


    George: How bout you lot then?


    Jenny: Nope, gotta go soon.


    James: Look, I think we¡¯re not gonna persuade each other on this. I think we¡¯ve got to go now, so Kurt, Jenny and I will be heading off. We¡¯d love you to join but, if not, then best of luck.


    George: Without them we¡¯d be screwed Tom, I¡¯m going with them.


    Tom: Fine, I¡¯ll go last and see how it goes but I guess I¡¯ll come too. We¡¯re all gonna be eaten but perhaps its for the best.


    Jenny: Let¡¯s all get some sleep then, gotta be fresh for tomorrow.


    ¡­


    The video goes black for the next 6 hours, time which I skip through.


    ¡­


    When the light blooms out of the blackness the group wakes up in perfect silence. They spend a few moments gathering their things: photos, tools and materials that are easy to carry.


    James: Is everyone ready? He whispered.


    A round of affirmations confirmed, he swivelled round and descended, the camera bobbed down in jerky motions until he was at ground level.


    The others followed suit and in a line they started to run. Tom remaining in the treehouse to assess their progress.


    When James reached the top of the cliff he turned to offer a hand to Kurt. As Kurt reached for it he slipped and sent a cascading rattle of gravel down the slopes. Everyone froze, afraid. With a sharp snapping motion the humanoids locked onto the sound and sprang forwards in powerful leaps.


    What was once a team dynamic had suddenly become one where it was everyone for themselves. In an instant James had disengaged his hand from Kurt - although by this point he had crested the rise as well ¨C and started sprinting away. If he could just outrun the others perhaps he would get away.


    Hearing a snarl and crash he looked over his shoulder just to see the treehouse come crashing down. The sheering ripping sound of the splintering wood but a background to the squelch as Tom was impaled by the central beam. His painful scream fading into mere echoes as his life drained away with the blood.


    James could see the monsters clawing at the entrance though the wood was blocking them. Seemingly satisfied with a piece of leg it tore off after the others, having fallen behind and only gotten a tasty morsel for its troubles it furiously pursued the escaping prey, snarling and drooling as it went.


    As James ran he could hear the furious, frenzied, ripping and the screaming of his comrades as they were cut off one by one. First Tom, then George followed shortly by Jenny.


    It was just Kurt and James now, thundering side by side, James just a hair ahead. Though perhaps he could have saved himself by tripping the other, neither of the men considered it. Despite the fact neither would stop if the other tripped there was a sense of companionship and teamwork still as they followed each other almost effortlessly, picking up the subtle indications of their route from the other.


    However this harmonious work soon ended as Kurt started to flag and fall behind, James had slowed slightly as if considering helping him on before reconsidering and picking up the pace again.


    A glance over his shoulder saw Kurt being cut down, the monster stopping to feast. With new pace James eased into another gear, his legs flying over the rough terrain.


    He must have run several miles by the time he could hear the panting, snarling monsters at his heels. With new pace he tried to extend the gap but to no avail as the creature launched itself at him knocking him over. He tried to roll with it but the terrain hindered him and he flailed around in a mad scramble as he tried to get to his feet. The monster jumped at him again piercing his legs with its claws as it landed. Rolling over he knocked it back with a forearm and tried desperately to scramble back away from it.


    In anger at the blow it slashed at him tearing open his side.


    Subdued, and in pain he watched helpless as the creature started to feast on his legs. He batted at it with his remaining arm but it had no effect. The skin on the surface had begun peeling, revealing the monster beneath, its corded muscles and tough leathery hide, a Mr Hyde to the Jekyll it had been before. As he batted at it, the monster looked up at him, its face missing eyes and patches of skin, the needle like teeth sticking out the bottom of its mutated jaw. Like a vampire fish the fangs seemed far to large for the creature.


    As he stared into the black cesspools it had instead of eyes, the pitted hollows into its skull he saw something that made him gasp in horror.


    On a loose flap of skin he saw something familiar. A mark, red and blotchy in the shape of a half moon. Something he was all too familiar with, he had been horrified, and looking for ways to remove it when he was born. He had located a doctor on Fresnia who would do a skin graft but now it was far far too late. His little man was gone. And now so was he.


    The death rattles of his breath sounding out as the data-pad tumbled from his now limp grasp to the floor, the camera pointed down.


    With a sigh I put down the data-pad and stared at the corpse with sadness welling up. To be killed by your child was terrible.

 Chapter 34 - Scavenging

    Chapter 34 ¨C Scavenging


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    11th July 2342 (BSST)


    As I roamed the camp looking for the things mentioned in the diary I had a lot to consider. The fate of the camp was quite saddening although the short tears had dried up long ago and no more were threatening to fall, the sadness had not dissipated. It wasn¡¯t a gut wrenching sadness or horror, quite frankly they didn¡¯t mean anything to me, Karen slightly but in general I had no reason to care for them.


    It was more the sense that countless human lives had been lost here, countless not because of the sheer numbers like the Black Death, Spanish flu or holocaust, nor because of the destruction like the bombing of Terranare. Instead it was countless because of the mysteries. No-one was missing her, not because they didn¡¯t like her, but because she was presumed dead, dead like the rest of the crew. Hiding not far from her camp were the graves of another fifty. Who else would be hiding in the boughs, hillocks and streams? Which other people were lying not even feet from the very feet which callously marched over them in ignorance.


    Sadder still was the fate that befell them, cut down in the most atrocious way. Slaughtered by the monsters that once wined and dined beside them.


    And then there were the monsters themselves, formerly companions, friends and loved ones. Now, what? What on earth were they? They weren¡¯t human that was for damned sure?


    Focusing on the task I put the thoughts ricocheting around my head, out of mind. With them gone, down by the wayside for the moment I pursued the scavenging with new energy focused entirely on the task at hand. It wasn¡¯t long until I had found the axe and shovel. Good quality steel ones. Nice!


    I bundled them up in the blankets of the beds and took a last look around the camp, the treehouse and walls were interesting building projects, though obviously they couldn¡¯t be depended on by themselves, additional measures would be needed. The suit for starters and good camp practice perhaps would be enough.


    Though from the sounds of it there were a lot more humanoids attacking them than I¡¯ve seen, more predators also.


    After the final round I rescued as much rope as possible from the bridge and then set off back to camp, I missed the familiar surroundings and proper meals of the camp i had built. Now, looking around their ruined camp I felt a huge sense of pride in what I had built with my own two hands. It was quite remarkable really, though I couldn¡¯t have done much without Enigma to run ideas past and check my work. It made all the processes easier.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    I passed by the lake, marvelling at the velveteen surface and gentle ripples stirred up by the fresh breeze that blew through the trees stirring them from their eternal slum bear for but a few seconds.


    I passed by the ditch with its steep dirt sides and thin wobbly trees anchoring it in place, the suspicious bottom and the leaves and mulch that had built up in the base.


    I passed by the biomes and forests with ease, gliding through the land I knew so well, dodging the hanging branches and stabbing shrubs that sought to hinder my progress and perhaps to end my life.


    I passed the animals so sparse startling them with my presence, I sent the birds reeling off in the sky with a squawk and flap flap. I sent the beetles and bugs skittering with short sharp movements as they hid from my giant, earth shattering footsteps. I sent the snakes into the shadows from the sun in which they basked.


    The metal glossed suit an ever present warning of the danger I posed I was left well alone as I made the long trek back.


    This time the journey took far less time as I went far more direct. On the way out, I had taken a weaving wandering path as I sought a way through the branches, the path of least resistance and all that.


    Now though, with a waypoint set I could traverse back much easier, though the path was thick and tough to get through at points it was much shorter and thus faster.


    I could only do this though as the suit was so advanced. Location services still relied on GPS or Global Positioning Service ¨C though that was technically inaccurate, it was still used as a colloquialism as the official name was so long and horrible it had been adopted at all levels by those but the most staunch supporters of rigorous authenticity. Those avid defenders of language that argued to change it made it different ¨C worse in their opinion, such that it is.


    The suit though took a basic location reference point and based all of its services off of the suit¡¯s movement with its gyroscopes. Say I took a movement of one metre east, it would then remember that and in the environmental scan of the topography, remember it. Then, knowing my every movement, it could render a position of somewhere I had once been from my position, by backtracking all my movements to connect the places in the virtual 3D world it had been building. It was then able to tell me where to go. Very useful!


    As I marched ever onwards I came across another familiar sight, a staircase. I wondered who it had belonged to, which unfortunate soul did this signal? Enigma confirmed it was one I had been to and that I was in fact fairly close to camp.


    It took me another half hour to reach camp and then fifteen minutes to load up the bedding and drift off into a deep sleep.

 Chapter 35 - Who Else?

    <u>Chapter 35 ¨C</u><u> Who Else?</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    12<sup>st</sup> July 2342 (BSST)


    When day breaks over the camp, its early morning light shines over me, illuminating my subdued figure. The blinding rays - oblivious to the horrors witnessed the night before, like an innocent child na?ve to the world - shine down upon everyone and everything equally, without judgement. It highlights the brutality of this place in its beaming smile.


    Vicious in its own right ¨C like young children often are ¨C it reveals all that wishes to be hidden, to be cloaked in the shadows of the world, away from conscious thought. Not in a malicious sense but rather through ignorance. Like the plants in the spring, the thoughts bloom in my mind. The fertile soil of my unconscious mind providing sustenance to grow. What was formerly hidden in the soil, but a small seed has grown into a budding plant that strives to break through to reach the light.


    They are not questions per se, but more recurring thoughts, thoughts rattling around my head. What it would feel like to be shredded by those claws. What it would be like to see those you had grown close to during hardship after hardship be taken away in the worst of circumstances. What it would have been like to have lost a family member to those horrors, in front of your eyes.


    By lunch I¡¯ve regained my composure a bit more and I decide to update the log.


    It takes a few minutes to figure out where to start but I thought it was best to start after making the sword, to recap everything all the way up to getting back to camp last night.


    Updating the log takes me the next hour. I talk about making the sword and all the processes that went into that. I talk about feeling more confident, confident enough to begin exploring properly. I take them through the journey describing the terrain and the feelings that blossom and grow as the land passes around you. I tell them about the lake and camp, I tell them about the people and records I had found before I take a break for a few minutes before getting lost in thought. Stuck in my head once again, I fade away.


    As the time passes by ¨C the sun tracking across the sky like a time-lapse of a flower or other boring thing whilst I stay stock still ¨C I think of Emily and of Nickolas. A father and daughter left abandoned and alone on such a place.


    I think of the Lodge and all the people transported with it. The 50 people that had been sucked away. Away from friends and family. Away from hopes and aspirations. Away from worries and work. Everything that had built them into the people they were at that moment had been left behind abandoning them in their time of need, the only remnants the memories they carried with them. Memories now lost to time. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Well, almost¡­


    ¡®Cause there were 3. The soldier, the (semi) coward and the pickle hater.


    James the soldier, died bravely, fighting to the end till lady death came with a greeting, brought around by a familiar face.


    George the (semi) coward who would rather not make the decisions but like a sheep would follow along. A staunch supporter of the mob but, left to his own devices, his inner nature shines out.


    And last and most certainly not least¡­


    Karen the pickle hater who waxed ever so poetic about the horrors she had endured fighting to consume those ghastly green pickles. She died ever the hero, perhaps a foolish one, but a hero nonetheless, sacrificing her life in vain to save former campmates.


    These 3 left a small mark upon this world as their memories are recorded beyond death. James with his video recording. George with but a couple of written accounts of time here and Karen the one with the diary. Chronicling her time here in sufficient detail that to read about it deals a blow to the chest. A bump to the heart that hurts ever so slightly, the last impact she is ever to have upon the universe.


    So, who else will I discover?


    Whose remains will I stumble across next?


    Perhaps a campsite full of people? Perhaps a house party taken house and all? Perhaps a trucker sitting in his truck or a cyclist on the way to work? Perhaps an office of people striving to meet the harsh demands of an insecure boss or a police station acting in the pursuit of justice?


    How far can they go?


    Could they get the workers at the spaceport? Those that move the cargo and secure the borders. Could they get a merchant ship and said traders? Could they strive to catch more elusive prey? Who knows?


    What more shall I discover? I wonder to myself in silence.


    Deciding that the thinking - brought on by recounting it - was only delaying me and achieving nothing, I decide to actually do something.


    First off, I decide to sort through my haul. Mostly it is a lot of bedding and things to make my sleeping nicer. Though the body ware I had could handle the temperatures, there¡¯s no feeling quite like being wrapped up in the soft embrace of a warm quilt and a clinging hug of a duvet. Comforting and safe, a layer to block out all the monsters ¨C Figuratively.


    Once I¡®d packed away all the things I¡¯d recovered, I decided to draw out a map in the dirt and collect all my knowledge.


    The soft ground, muddy and sticky because of the snow melting through it was a good base to draw on.


    I started by drawing a circle, about 2 metres in diameter. Whilst I had no clue what shape the land I was in actually was a circle would suffice for now.


    Within this circle I drew the mountain. Despite it being basically one giant peak rather than several I drew a series of upturned V¡¯s to signal what it was. Coming down from the mountain I drew the beach to the south where I had landed, the charcoal forest to the west and the cliff, my first night shelter as well. I drew the meadow of grasses and the swampy land beyond sitting to the east. I drew the coral land to the far west and then I started with the details. The camp, the stream, the ditches, the staircases and camps I¡¯d found, the lake and the vent and every other oddity I remembered.


    The map hadn¡¯t told me much new but to put it down had made things a little clearer. Whilst I wouldn¡¯t ever end up lost with the software in the suit it was nice to appreciate what was around me. It would allow me to plan a little more productively rather than just set off in one direction and try to walk straight.


    Staring at the map, I looked through the areas I hadn¡¯t gone much. I had basically gone north east from the beaches until I had found the campsite where I was now and then wandered around in circles for a bit. Only the forays to the coral and swamps had extended my knowledge of the biomes a little.

 Chapter 36 - Changing Weather

    <u>Chapter 36 ¨C</u><u> Changing Weather</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    12<sup>th</sup> November 2342 (BSST)


    It¡¯s been another four months stranded here. At first, I was planning on updating the log every month or so, but what more can I say?


    ¡°Yep, still alive. See you next week?¡± Bah, I¡¯ve never been one to waste words and that seems mightily pointless to me.


    So, why am I updating you right now?


    Well, I¡¯m a little injured right now. Noting major just a slight sprain. How I hear no one ask?


    Well, little old me thought I was agile and skilled enough to vault a fallen tree and land on a slippery slope without any consequences. If I¡¯d been in the suit, then it would have been fine, but I¡¯ve been trying to use it less and less. The suit is a powerful tool designed to have almost constant maintenance and repairs. It¡¯s been a year and a half r so and its had no spick and span polishing or diagnostics. Heck it hasn¡¯t even had a good clean since I arrived. I¡¯m trying to preserve It¡¯s use for when I really need it.


    What else?


    Well, it¡¯s been a bit of time now, so an update is probably in order no? Just after the last update I was moping around for a bit, discovering the camp was quite a blow to me apparently. The excitement of discovering another human settlement had been so high that the massive low that followed put me away for a time. When I managed to crawl from the slums to start work again I focused on building up the cam again. I¡¯ve now got metal versions of most of the tools and enough raw metal to help repair the suit if need be. Yay!


    The only other major change has been with the weather, at the last log it was clear that the planet was slowly warming up again. The snow had already begun to melt creating muddy patched and slippery slopes. Well as the planet heats up the weather has gotten less and less friendly.


    First there was the horrible heat, then a rather temperate pleasant temperature spoiled only by the bugs and creatures that striped the life off the trees ready for the cold, cold winter to set in. And set in it did freezing everything. Now I guess it¡¯d be spring, a rainy spring.


    During that first month after the last update the world sat still for a few beautiful moments. In my depression it seemed to present the life to me, beautiful flowers bloomed, a gift from the world perhaps. Birdsong filled the air and the sweet smell of nectar and greenery wafted through the camp alleviating the industrial smell my camp had seemed to acquire.


    This blooming life however was tamped down by the rains that followed it. The calm before the storm as it were.


    Once the eye had passed me by however it had gotten worse, a lot worse. Rain tipped down by the bucketful from dawn till dusk, never stopping. The only change to the monotonous drumming of the rain on my roof was the ultra-hard slamming when the rainfall increased.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    The streams and rivers, already bulging from the meltwater burst their banks soaking the floor in water that never seemed to end. The sloping ground turned into either waterfalls or waterslides that seemed determined to sweep me down towards the beaches. Beaches that were getting pummelled by the constant water flow.


    I had ventured down one morning as the light filtered through the pouring rain to see the shore. Well what remained of the shore. The sand had been so washed out that the crashing waves seemed to carry enough water that the shoreline looked like an emulsion, no boundary between land and sea, just an ever-wetter sand that slowly, almost imperceptibly turned to a sea. In the forests the trees marked out secure points though the flowing water that turned the leaves into islands and safe havens for the ants and bugs ran around and through the anchored soil slowly leaching it away.


    Once the rains had gotten underway the winds followed suit, battering and blowing away all that wasn¡¯t secured. Seemingly gale force winds assaulted my little shack with unabating fury, howling at me, screaming its fury at me.


    As, the rain lashed away like a whip taking out chunks of the walls instead of chucks of my flesh the wind tore through the camp ripping away supplies and scattering my hard-fought progress all over the place. My time was spent recovering my items and bringing them within the walls each morning to try and keep my progress, the already small camp felt much too small now that my logs, ropes, charcoal, and materials were all crowding me in.


    On those few quiet moments when I examined the walls I felt the danger starting to encroach on me. it was a full-time job repairing the walls for the nights attack. I felt like the castellan of a medieval castle under siege, repelling wave after wave of soldiers and just hoping to endure.


    If it continued much longer I would perhaps have no shack in which to brave the elements. Then where would I be. As if the wind and rain wasn¡¯t enough the gods seemed to throw down their spite as well as the thunderstorms kicked off. Lightning lit up the sky throughout the day and night in a never ceasing bombardment whilst the rolling thunder provided the background track. It was the perfect setting for a story, a story beginning:


    ¡°On a dark and stormy night¡­¡±


    It had never been more apt than right now, but unlike in the stories this never seemed to slack, not lessening even the slightest.


    The ground was now treacherous to move on at all times, I was liable to slip over even in the suit, and slip I did, constantly. Falling over time and time again as I was trying to at least get something done. The monjolo had broken from the surge of water and so too had the water purification. Luckily, I wouldn¡¯t be needing it as the falling rain was enough for all my uses.


    The forge had filled with water, and when it was overflowing it could have been a - rather crude - water feature.


    The furnaces had collapsed long ago, and I¡¯d have to rebuild and re-fire them when the summer came around again.


    Like the coming of spring on earth animals seemed to be turning up despite the horrific weather. There were more birds and flighty life than I¡¯d seen yet, they had flown from somewhere else. Probably migratory, I wondered where they had come from. What other lands might exist, what peoples might inhabit them, though from what I could see they were across an ocean that I¡¯d not spotted any land masses in.


    Since sitting in the hut listening to the drumming rain was quite boring, I headed down to the beach more and more often as the weeks passed. As I sat watching the water I noticed more and more life, seal like creatures had pulled themselves out of the water on a small outcropping rock, it looked jagged and rough enough to be seriously painful but each to their own I guess. Whilst observing them I saw them catch a whole variety of fish for meals, the water had to be teeming with them. The advanced eyesight I had made nature watching a pleasure instead of a boring activity.


    At one point I had spotted a fin cutting through the water, the sounds and frantic scrambling of the seals had caught my eye and as I scanned the water looking for what had upset them I saw the fin cutting through the water. I made a mental note to avoid the sea for the time being. I thought it a valid idea. Humans are primarily land creatures and so the idea of fighting in the water gave me shivers. With nothing to push off against humans are relatively helpless and water was a prime example of that. Slow moving, helpless thrashing bodies ready for the picking of a top tier predator like that.


    As I was reminiscing over the various creatures a slash of lighting lit up the darkening sky and the rolling thunderous roar hid the snarling shriek deep within its depths.

 Chapter 37 - Confrontation

    <u>Chapter 37 ¨C</u><u> Confrontation</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    13<sup>th</sup> November 2342 (BSST)


    At first, I don¡¯t notice the shriek, the thunder drowns it out, however, as I start to settle down after finishing the log Enigma interrupts me.


    ¡°Ronja, I¡¯m picking up the signal again, I suspect it means that a humanoid is close by. We should be wary.¡± He tells me, the monotone voice not conveying the urgency and worry that should be present, but what do I expect from him? Despite the fact that computer synthesised voices have improved a lot over the past years the computers can¡¯t work out when to inject emotion so most of the time it comes out just as flat as Enigma did.


    I fall silent, barely daring to breath. As I stand, stock still listening for any sounds that would tell me more I rack my brain thinking about what to do. Sure enough, I hear it, the panting snarl of the rabid monster sneaking around outside and investigating everything. I must be downwind thankfully otherwise I¡¯m sure it would have found me.


    The suit is resting up against the wall on the lower sides of the house, I¡¯m assuming it is going to find me, so it is basically assured that I¡¯ll have to make a break for it at some point.


    I decide that point is right now as I know it hasn¡¯t found me yet.


    I have my small sword here, it¡¯s sitting on the shelf at the end of the hut, about 2 metres away. Gaining my nerve, I move slowly over the floor until I reach it, grabbing the sword, I unsheathe it from the scabbard ¨C a simple covering made from tanned leather.


    The metal slides out with a slight sound, I wince slightly not sure how sensitive the monsters are to sound. Not very I hope with all my heart.


    I let out my breath in a slow even flow, relaxing as I do it. To my surprise I hadn¡¯t even noticed that I was holding it in despite my training. Against a regular adversary I rarely felt nerves, probably because even without the suit I felt confident to beat anyone and with it I felt almost invincible.


    Now though? Even with the suit I wasn¡¯t confident of a win. I thought I could hold my own, but I hadn¡¯t fought one to the death yet. Without that experience the nerves were slowly building.


    It was ruining me, this living, constantly on edge, it was ruining my temper, taking my edge away.


    Taking a few deep breaths, I turn around and sneak over to the door, I flex my hand rubbing the fingers and palm together as I get ready to open the door. Sliding my hand around the handle I decide at the last minute to go fast, slamming the door open and bolting out. Once I see it¡¯s not beside the door I chuck the sword away it¡¯ll only slow me down now and set off at a sprint.


    My injury slows me down slightly and I slip over as I try to take the turn around the corner of the house at a fast pace.


    I can hear that I¡¯ve got the beasts attention, some primal instinct tells me to speed up and not look back, though as soon as I recognise it I struggle to not do that.


    Like when someone tells you not too look down, the first instinct is to do just that.


    The suit is just a few metres away when I feel the slam of the humanoid. It has slammed into the house collapsing one of the walls a it tries to barrel straight through to me. I¡¯m rather lucky it didn¡¯t break all the way through.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    The suit opens up and I slide to a stop turning around with remarkable grace, like an ice skater I finish my slide at the step and with a deft little hop I¡¯m in.


    The comforting straps start to tighten as the faceplate comes down and flickers to life.


    Though I wish it hadn¡¯t as the first sight it shows me is the snarling monster flying through the air at me.


    Like a rugby player it shoulder-charges me knocking the wind out of me and flinging the suit away. The suit, still trying to close up the front section, manages to shield me from most of the blow but my left shoulder gets caught on the beasts¡¯ spine, pinning it in place before I get sent flying away through the undergrowth from the impact.


    I catch a tree in the head and though the suit is still booting up it stops me from dying or even getting knocked out though I can feel my head throb and my vision start to narrow as a black fog billows in from the sides.


    As I tumble through the forest taking knocks here and there I focus on staying awake.


    I land with a crash and slide over the water-logged ground the suit closing up around me as I stop.


    I blink, once, twice and regain my mind.


    A roar catches my attention and I roll backwards just getting out of the way as it lands in a crash. It slashes at me, with a right hook but I block with my left and drive up with both legs, grappling with it around the waste and throwing the creature back a few paces as it sends a hammer fist on my back. It glances off the metal armour to my relief.


    When it lands it snarls at me, showing off its needle like teeth and foul demeanour and we begin to circle each other. I get out my right karambit and wait. I¡¯ve got the advantage with counters and timed blows with my intelligence and patience whilst it will thrash me if I¡¯m careless or complacent.


    As I expected it lashes out with it¡¯s right, favouring it for some reason ¨C perhaps the human it was before was a righty ¨C I trap the arm and twist inwards rotating my right shoulder to its joints and slamming into the arm.


    It rips me away with the left, but my knife catches the joint ripping through the muscle and tendons and almost severing the arm at the shoulder.


    It screams in pain at me and rushes me ignoring the crippling injury with sickening ease. I block again but the momentum carries it through me smashing me through a few of the smaller trees. I fall to the floor winded once again and it kicks out catching me in the chest with a vicious blow that¡¯s going to hurt on the morrow.


    Over the next couple of minutes, we circle each other landing hits though it certainly comes off worse from each encounter. I¡¯ve now ripped off the right arm leaving a messy wound that bleeds profusely coating its right side with the slick fluid. Considering it has a longer reach that me I have to get close and it is basically oiled up now meaning that I slip off whenever I try to close.


    After a few more exchanges I spot an opportunity, it overextends on a left swing and though I know it will hit me on the return I take the opportunity to launch a kick at its leading leg. I swing with all my strength kicking at its knee trying to take it out.


    My foot impacts its knee spike and though I crush the bone and kick through the knee wrenching it around and breaking the joint apart I feel the suit buckle slightly and an intense pain jolts up my system.


    As it falls I get hit with the arm spinning around and falling to the floor with the humanoid. Keeping my wits, I roll away to avoid the coming blow and get to my feet.


    The humanoid crawls after me its ruined leg and missing arm crippling it. I don¡¯t want to close with it anymore as its far more dangerous now that it has nothing to lose so I go get the sword for the suit.


    As I retrieve the sword I notice a big rock has washed up at the little pebble beach in the meandering stream and I take that with me as well.


    Returning to the humanoid I stare down at it compassionless for such a brutal creature, though it once was human I know it holds no resemblance to the person it was before and so with no mercy I walk around to its head and lift up the rock.


    It sounds like a coconut cracking as the rock lands with a sickening thud, it bounces off and ends up sliding a way down the bank before stopping at some upturned roots. The monster is now quite delirious and safe enough too approach with the sword.


    With all the emotion of gutting a fish I pierce its neck and slam the sword to the ground cutting through the spine and musculature and decapitating it in one smooth motion. The blood pours out before being washed away with the water that flows over the ground, the blood dispersing until only a faint red cloud remains of the life force which powered this machine of destruction.


    I wince as the adrenalin wears off and the injury to my foot hurts like hell again. Limping I return to stare at the ruined hut and all the work I¡¯d spent building up.


    As tears build in my eyes ¨C from exhaustion and emotion - I take a seat among the rubble and catch my breath.

 Chapter 38 - Predator & Prey

    <u>Chapter 38 ¨C</u><u> Predator & Prey</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    13<sup>th</sup> November 2342 (BSST)


    To my horror, my rest is disturbed no later than five minutes after I sit down, I had just managed to catch my breath whilst the jitters of the adrenalin wearing off had started, when I heard it.


    The sound I most dreaded pierced the silence, interrupting my ever-slowing breaths for a second.


    It rang around my ears, disorienting me, singing its sorrowful tune in my head like the backing track to a tragedy.


    The adrenalin thundered through my veins again, powered by my pounding heart as it raced to ready me.


    I felt it rejuvenating me, filling me with energy as I prepared to deal with the monsters yet again.


    I took a few calming deep breaths, settling into a state of serene patience as I waited for the confrontation that was sure to follow.


    The pain of my injury no longer a consideration, not even a thought in the back of my mind. I was ready for battle now, with grim determination I felt myself smiling, this is what I lived for, the moments between life and death. That perfect shade of grey that slowly closes in on you like a curtain descending.


    In those brief, perfect moments where you get to decide on which side you stand is where I feel alive.


    Do you fade away, a mere memory to the crowd?


    Or do you step out in front, brave and bold?


    I choose to step out and continue the show, it takes energy and dedication, but the exhilaration empowers me, I love it!


    I love it, for the preceding moments, but when they barrel out of the tree line at me that love quickly tuns back into fear and adrenalin. My already pounding heart goes into overdrive knowing this is it, all or nothing. It¡¯s life and death for me but just a small part in their game, their hunt, I¡¯m nothing.


    There are five of them, drawn to the sounds of the earlier battle, they charge like a line hoping to coral me into the net of danger, like a fly caught in the web, they try to draw me in like the spider.


    As they get halfway across the clearing they fling themselves through the air in a poor imitation of a cat¡¯s pounce, a mistake.


    As they fly through the air at me, I take a step forwards and duck under the swing of the first one slashing at him with my sword and tearing out a chunk from the ribs.


    Knowing that when they land I¡¯ll have to compete against five I take off running, through the forest in no particular direction, just running to escape or to find somewhere better than a clearing where they can all get to me at once.


    The branches and plants tear themselves across my vision, lacerating the face mask and taking off small flecks of paint that dance across my vision. The sharp leaves etch lines in the armour, like an engraving.


    The constant battering by the branches as I crash through the undergrowth with clumsy, unrefined movements - like a bull in a china shop - takes its toll on me as I feel my muscles begin to tire.


    Breaking through the forest in the way I am leaves a very noticeable trail and I think it unlikely that I will end up losing their tail.


    Sure enough, they follow me easily, slipping through the forest with the natural grace of a top predator, whatever was done to these people - whilst horrible and unimaginable ¨C was remarkably effective.


    They had turned (fairly unathletic) people into killing machines: so far advanced from the people they had come from to be unrecognisable.


    Remarkable!


    The creatures gain on me though, edging ever closer, their foetid stench emanating from their black, oozing maws clasp at my heels as the powerful legs stride to catch up to me.


    Their rasping tongues slide over the needle like teeth that spew their vitriolic intent over me in frenzied passion. A cloying fog, it rolls over me, consuming me in its deathly embrace, as a spider bundles up its prey to start digesting it, I feel trapped and helpless.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    I press on regardless of the feelings blossoming within me. Helpless! Pointless! Why try? Only delaying the inevitable! Die! Die, die, die. It yells out at me, trying to convince me to surrender to it.


    ¡°Never!¡± I roar back, defiance, my very essence.


    I quench the feelings down in the rhythm of my running. The relentless pounding of my feet as they march onwards carrying me over the leaves and roots, over the hillocks and mounds, through the ditches, dips and valleys and across the streams and sands and swamps.


    Though the monsters gain ever closer. Closer and closer! Despite my best efforts.


    I risk a glance over my shoulder, twenty metres. Soon¡­ soon I will have to turn and face them, engage in a fight.


    As I run onwards I spot something in the land, the ditch, the big ones. Perhaps another five hundred metres away. I focus, my vision narrowing to include the ditch and the land in between and nothing else, my hearing shuts out all the sounds, even the pelting rain and howling winds are ignored.


    I leap the various fallen trees and debris that the wind has ripped around, dodge as many branches as I can and clear the pools of water that have collected in the natural dips as I make my way there.


    By the time I get there the humanoids are nipping at my heels, literally in this case not figuratively. I collapse into a slide as I go down the bank one foot tucked under me to rest on and one foot bracing my decent kicking up the mud.


    As I slide down I lash out with the sword at them as they prepare to jump having expected that of me, I end up catching one of the beasts in the neck and splitting it open along the belly as it clears me, the blood from its wound gushes out showering me in crimson rain that sloughs off me in waves. The beast crashes to the floor rolling and sliding away to lies still.


    The rest clear me easily, though the last one stops in time to try leaping down upon me. It must have been a fool as a human to do this as I just aim the sword up and brace it on the floor letting the brute impale itself on the sword.


    I get hit by its death-throws and it flings me clear, ripping out the sword as I go flying away, leaving a terrible abdominal injury that cripples it. I spare it no thought as I leave, letting it die in this pitiful state.


    I carry on running along the bottom of the ditch, the remaining three take up the pursuit once again. One of them is the one I had injured at the start, the blood drips down it, painting its side, like a gladiator as it presses on.


    I don¡¯t get far before they catch me again, lashing out and swiping at me from the right. I duck the blow, rotating underneath its arm and strike with all the power I can muster, driving my left fist into the beast¡¯s armpit.


    The punch has perfect form, connecting straight rather than slapping, with the bones of the knuckles lining up with the wrist, elbow and shoulder, stacking the bones to provide enough power to knock it back.


    As the humanoid stumbles back, it falls into the path of the other one, annoyed at the obstacle it slashes through its comrade¡¯s neck, decapitating it before rushing me, the already injured one watches on unmoved.


    Having tasted my steel, it knows to be wary and as such it will be much more dangerous.


    The chase continues as I turn to run again, with the ditch being fairly clear of debris my pace picks again and given the head start I have, it takes them a few minutes to catch up to me again.


    By the time they get to me I¡¯ve ducked back into the forest and I have to duck behind trees to avoid them.


    We come to a point where I recognise the landscape, the crash site comes into view, the clearing starting to repopulate with life after such a long time. I don¡¯t have time to look, but a quick glance as I sprint by tells me this much.


    As I run, a plan comes to mind, along this route there is the cliff that I spent the first night on. Perhaps I can knock the off it.


    It soon comes into sight and I make a break for it using up the last dregs of battery as I make my way over to it with all haste, I pull away from the humanoids a little.


    Enigma directs me to where the ledge is with a small mark on my HUD.


    I slow to a stop at the cliff edge and turn looking back at the monster racing towards me.


    At the last second, I drop down to the ledge and drag the monster over the edge as it reaches for me, the claws dig in deep clamping down on the suit.


    To my surprise and dismay, the claws start to pierce the metal arresting the beast¡¯s momentum as it slows to a stop searing through the metal.


    I stare into the dark pits of its eyes as it looks back at me, clinging on with determined glee. In the cesspools of its vacant stare I see hatred and bitterness personified. It grins with a malicious note, as if it would love nothing more to strip everything from me, to flay me alive and torture me, exacting all of me in the final moments of my life.


    The beast, sensing my turmoil makes its move pulling itself up and reaching out at me.


    Since I¡¯m holding on to the cliff with my right arm and its got hold of my left I do the only thig I can do and detach the left arm of the suit. With a hiss the limb detaches and the pressure escapes as the metal bolts blow and pepper my shoulder with metal fragments that burn and sear into my flesh. With a jolt I feel the suit arm slide over my own scratching at the skin as it falls away, taking the humanoid with it to the floor below.


    It splatters on the floor like a over ripe tomato painting the rocks and gravel with a fine red mist that slowly settles, layering the rocks with the crimson patina that will be swept away by the wind and rain in minutes.


    A howling roar rips me from my reverie and I¡¯m suddenly reminded that the last one is waiting for me up above.


    When I climb up however it sees me clearly and growls, not intimidated I take a menacing step forwards and like a frightened animal it flees, terrified. Though intelligent and fierce, they are nothing more than primitive beasts ruled by instinct, the ghosts of memories may aid them, but it doesn¡¯t control them and apply enough pressure and they break, just like all animals.


    When I¡¯m sure it is gone, I collapse to the floor breathing heavily, laying down I open up my ribcage and breath deeply, the adrenalin seeps away leaving me shaking and exhausted. I¡¯m bone tired and my weary body doesn¡¯t obey my commands, my eyelids start to close, and I mumble to myself¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m sure a quick nap will be fine.¡±


    What¡¯s the worst that can happen? Sleep claims me moments later.


    ¡°Ronj¡­¡± the voice tells me before everything fades away.

 Chapter 39 - Moving On

    <u>Chapter 39 ¨C</u><u> Moving On</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    13<sup>th</sup> November 2342 (BSST)


    When I wake, it¡¯s a surprise that nothing bad has happened, I would have thought for sure that I would have been dragged off, slaughtered or ripped apart by whatever found me, instead I had a nice, peaceful nap after the adrenalin fuelled fight.


    ¡°Enigma, did anything interesting happen whilst I slept.¡±


    ¡°No, nothing potentially dangerous, though it depends on interesting, several interesting animals wandered around you, but they left you well enough alone.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, for keeping an eye out and all.¡±


    ¡°Of course, though I would recommend not to fall asleep in such a way again.¡±


    ¡°Well, obviously buddy, I didn¡¯t mean to fall asleep there, but I¡¯d been up for nearly a whole day and I was tired. The adrenalin wearing off makes me sleepy, ok?¡±


    ¡°Of course, Ronja.¡±


    ¡°Good, and less of the lip, bud.¡±


    I stretch and loosen up before getting to my feet, I yawn, and shake myself to fully wake up. A cold face bath would do wonders to wake me up. Or a cold shower, no, definitely a cold shower. Wake me up and clean me off because I¡¯m covered in blood and grime from the fight and I feel disgusting right now.


    Since I guess that I¡¯m moving now that the humanoids have found me, I¡¯d better try and salvage as much as possible from the old camp.


    The tools at least will be useful, and the pots of charcoal and metal will be good to have as they took a long time to get hold of.


    By the time I get to camp, the morning is well and truly behind me. Whilst walking with the broken suit, my back begins to ache as the uneven weight distribution because I lost the left arm has given me slight ataxic gait and the motion begins to hurt slightly.


    Looking around, I feel saddened, the work of the past year and a half lays strewn around me, the house and the pottery lies smashed into small fragments as shards of a broken crown.


    It takes me a while to get anything salvageable into a small pile.


    I have an axe, knife, shovel, spit and short-sword as the metal tools as well as a pot of charcoal, with my metal and glue and flour inside it. I manage to get my rope from the house and the fly wheel from the fire starter and fit everything inside the charcoal pot except for the sword, axe and shovel.


    The monjolo will have to stay here, perhaps I could come for it when summer comes around again.


    Moving on from the camp I head down the slopes, hunting for where I fought the humanoid. I find it after a few minutes and I stare, examining it with my eyes, it is withered and broken, the head rolled a few metres away since I left it and it sits, face down in the muck. I¡¯m glad, I don¡¯t want to stare at it, at the person it used to be.


    No matter how hard I try, I still find it tough to connect the beast to anything human. The size and features are so alien to me that my mind refuses to accept it.


    As I examine it, I find spikes of bone all over. They split the flesh around it as they protrude, there are spikes on the heels, feet, knees, elbows, shoulders and numerous smaller protrusions on all the bones to protect it, like some sick cross between a hedgehog and a human.


    In terms of the internal organs, they seem to be atrophying severely but from what I can tell they are all there, even if they don¡¯t function.


    It is frankly amazing it is still alive, though I doubt it has a long lifespan.


    The muscles are dense and solid cords that obviously hold all the creature¡¯s power.


    The skin is several times thicker than mine, I suppose blood doesn¡¯t get all the way to the surface, which is why it sloughs off and starts to rot.


    Big swellings distort its body; they seem to be pockets of skin that the decaying organs fill up during their liquefaction as the monster rots from within.


    The necrotic cells smell gangrenous and it nearly makes me spew, thank god the air filter can handle it is all I say.


    It is a grewsome, harrowing sight yet I persist in examining it, if I can find an edge against them then perhaps I can beat them more thoroughly.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Whilst I¡¯ve killed five of them, I didn¡¯t come out of it well, the suit is damaged in a couple of places and missing an arm, I¡¯ve had my camp destroyed and I¡¯ve only killed five of them.


    I pause, shocked as I examine its neck, within the muscle of its neck I find a small capsule, no more than a half inch in length and significantly less in width. It looks like a pill.


    One end is rounded as you would expect whilst the other is squared off, it has a black coating compared to the grey of the rest of the capsule.


    ¡°Enigma, any clue?¡± I ask him, hoping he can tell me what it is.


    ¡°No, there is not enough data, get the suit to scan it and I may be able to tell you more¡±


    I do as he asks.


    ¡°It appears to have internal components, and a battery, whatever it is it uses electricity.¡±


    ¡°What could it be, a tracker?¡±


    ¡°Possibly, if you could crack it open I might be able to tell more.¡±


    I turn it over,


    ¡°No screws or clips, suggestions?


    ¡°Knife¡±


    ¡°Right of course, where should I try?¡±


    ¡°You see the seam, between the two sides of the plastic shell?¡±


    ¡°Yep, here?¡± I say after finding it, I press the knife point in at the end of the pill and wait for confirmation.


    ¡°Yeah, go there¡±


    I stab in gently, turning the knife to try and prise the two sides open. Eventually I try slicing around, following the seam, when I get about a quarter done it pops open.


    Success!


    Inside the little capsule, there is a small battery, a circuit board, some wires and another box which presses to the black end of the pill.


    Enigma confirms that I should open that up too.


    Inside the box there is a small piston and a small section of foam, it means nothing to me.


    ¡°Enigma?¡±


    ¡°It appears to be a transducer of some kind, you see that loose wire, the black one. It is a receiver, the signal then gets processed and a command is sent to this unit here, this is a transducer, the small piston produces some sort of signal for the creature, I can¡¯t determine much else.¡±


    ¡°Do you think it¡¯s connected to the signal we¡¯ve heard occasionally?¡± I ask him.


    ¡°It is quite likely¡±


    We both fade to silence as we ponder the newest discovery.


    Eventually though, I have to move on.


    Having collected all that I can salvage and examined the corpse, I decide it is time for a wash, despite the pouring rain I still feel icky, stripping out of the suit I sling my wet uniform on the rocks and jump in the pool, it takes me a few minutes to clean off the grime and sweat from myself before I tackle the suit, as the arm has come off it is no longer water-tight and so I can¡¯t get it in the water to wash it off.


    Phew, I¡¯m exhausted again, getting the suit clean was a monumental task, the little edges and joints mean the grime hides away.


    When I¡¯m done, I head off along the path I made yesterday in my frantic run. Somewhere in the fight I had lost the sword and unfortunately, I¡¯m not sure where. I know I had it beyond the ditch as I used it to kill one there, but I didn¡¯t have it at the cliff, so I must have abandoned it along the way.


    I make haste as I backtrack and soon I¡¯ve reached the sword, it was abandoned as I made the break for the cliff, unconsciously I had dropped it to increase my speed.


    At least I¡¯ve got it again, without it I¡¯d have very little chance of killing them, it allows me the reach to deal with them effectively, especially now that my left arm isn¡¯t protected.


    As I was searching my route I encountered the remains again, the two that I left to die in the ditch did in fact die, bleeding out in the ditch, the one I sliced open didn¡¯t make it far dying where it came to rest whilst the other; the one that impaled itself had managed to crawl a few metres along.


    I am surprised that nothing came along to eat it, there¡¯s a few bugs but it seems to have been left alone by all the scavengers, perhaps they know better than to approach something that smells the way they do.


    I give the corpses a quick once over finding a capsule in one and not in the other.


    What does that say? I wonder, thinking about asking Enigma but I hold off, he won¡¯t have any insight here. Not anything useful anyway.


    I make it to the cliff and stare down at the floor, the beast is gone, perhaps the big cats got to it. I doubted they would be scared of anything, I spot the remains of my suit¡¯s arm down there and decide that I want it back.


    It takes me a while to work my way around the cliff and down to the base, but I get to keep my supplies on me, something that is well worth the time invested.


    The arm is wrecked, not only has the fall and subsequent impact dislodged the connectors but the metal has been sheered into several ribbon-like lengths by the humanoids claws.


    The jagged edges have clumps of the claws stuck on them as they dealt just as much damage to the beast than it did to the suit.


    Seeing its state, I decide to leave it, the electronics are buried in the metal, a metal that I won¡¯t be able to use or forge, I just won¡¯t be able to get a fire hot enough to make the metal malleable or work out the stresses through annealing. A shame, if I could have fitted it back on then I¡¯d feel much more comfortable.


    Since I¡¯m not getting anything here I decide to head off.


    About four hours later I run into the coral forest, the water level here has started to rise, submerging the former islands in a few inches of water, splashing my way across I keep watch of the deeper channels, though I doubt there are any predators lurking there I¡¯m not betting on it. It takes me a few hours to cross the coral forest, the pace is slow because of the sticky marshy waters that cling to my feet with every step.


    When I emerge, I enter a new area. Like so much of the world, it has lots of trees, but the gently sloping ground is covered with short grasses and small bushes, the grasslands are filled with herbivorous animals, thankfully they ignore me, one of them is reminiscent of a rhino, with hard looking skin and a large vicious horn that juts out from the tip of its snout.


    I make a wide berth to avoid it as I progress, soon the ground reaches a peak, the trees bunching up and becoming more densely packed as the ridge approaches, on the other side of the ridge I spot a river, it is about twenty metres wide with gently sloping beaches that drop off a few feet to the water.


    The river bottom is more shingle and pebble than soft sand, but they are round enough that when I walk on them it doesn¡¯t hurt too much.


    The ground feels firm as the water runs off into the river and the water table is rich enough to support the trees along the ridges, blocking much of the wind and rain. The river flows down towards the sea in the direction of the wind meaning that the little gully where I find myself settling is sheltered enough to relax for a bit.


    I think this will do well, I drop the pot down to the floor and take a seat on a smooth-ish rock. It cracks and crumbles to dust under the weight of the suit, splaying me over as I overbalance and end up lying flat on the floor.


    Sandstone, great!


    I sigh and let myself relax. I¡¯ll just take a little break and then update the log.

 Chapter 40 - The Bodies in the Marsh

    <u>Chapter 40 ¨C</u><u> The Bodies in the Marsh</u>


    Mk23 -IRJ Droplet ¨C Class 7 ¨C Carpe Victoria (Wrecked)


    Sector - Unknown


    Planet - Unknown


    30<sup>th</sup> November 2342 (BSST)


    Sitting beside the river that flows through my new camp whilst the rain continues pelting down has been my life for the last few days.


    At first, I had thought that the monsoon had started to pass; the howling wind had begun abating and the lashing rain had slowed its whipping vengeance.


    As if sensing my thought, the weather had then picked up anew. A full-on storm rolling in. Thunder and lightening roaring at me in the dead of night.


    It was two days into this current storm, and the banks of my river were fit to bursting. I sat further up the bank than I had thought I ever might need to, the shelter of the cliff sides and the little nook I had hid myself into a few days ago was only just available to me.


    Huddled into the walls, I stared blank faced at the raging waters, torrents of which cascade down from the cliffs and thunder down to the river below. Eddies and whirlpools fill up the river; white horses leap around the surface with free abandon and in those moments of perfect clarity, the world stands still as I observe its rage. I shiver as it screams at me, hiding away inside my suit. Nothing is so humbling as mother nature. Humans may have tried to claim dominion, but mother nature was still in charge at the end of the day, and never more than now.


    ***


    The slack waters that gently flowed by, carried forth the muddied scent of destruction. The storm had passed but a few hours ago, carrying the rain with it.


    Now, the sun was peeking out of the cloud-filled skies for the first time in weeks and the shining rays lit up strips on the muddy waters.


    The rushing water had stirred up the bottom of the river, shifting the layers of silt and exposing the rotting remnants that had laid on the floor during necrosis, releasing pockets of mephitic gas that rose from the water, filling the air with the heady scents of death.


    Soon, the cause of such smells came tumbling down the waterfall. Carcasses and lots of them, fish, mammals, birds and all manner of creatures tumbled over, landing with a wet slap on the water. Often they would break apart on impact and the denser bones might break off and slide down into the oozing mud, to stick forever more.


    The broken remnants floated onwards towards the sea and out of sight.


    But still they came, the carcasses disturbed by the necrotic gasses and formerly turbulent currents.


    I stared at the lazy river of horrors, absorbed in the scenes that passed me by, scrolling off like an old-fashioned film.


    But this wasn¡¯t the ending credits, no! It was just the prologue.


    Following the animal carcasses down, the wet slap of something larger rang out.


    My eyes snapped over to it, leaving the birds behind. Now, rising up from the water like the lady of the lake in the Matter of Britain, the shape rises up, clawed hand emerging first, the water streaming over the rotting flesh.


    As the current of the pounding waterfall releases the rest of it, the lady rolls over and the vaguely human shape floats to the surface.


    Over the next hour or so, another few bodies turn up, floating along in the water. I stare, emotionless on the surface yet I¡¯m absorbed in my own world, fear roils and boils in the soup of my emotions as my vision begins to flicker.


    The river begins to morph into a marshland, the water stained red and the floating grasses squashed down as a boot comes crashing down but inches from my head, kicking up the water into my eyes and drenching me.


    I¡¯m back to the river and the tweeting of birds in the early morning.


    The marsh.  ¡°Get going troops! We push onwards! Nec receptus deditionem iter.¡± A gruff voice shouted. The motto of the infantry, it meant ¡®no retreat, no surrender, march on.¡¯


    A foolish sentiment if I ever heard one but that was the way of the infantry. Meant to impress the idiots who found it inspiring and focus those incompetent leaders on acquiring a goal even if there were far better ways of doing it. At least while the morons were busy, the actual generals could do it properly, using them as a distraction at the very least.


    My vision faded back to the river and I leant over, absorbed in the past as memories bubbled to the surface, swelling and encompassing me like the very river.


    The marsh, once again. It bloomed, and I felt myself fall back in time, gripped once again in that first horrific conflict.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    The rubbing whisper of synthetic leather, the squelch and boom of the marching feet sinking into the marsh, the clack, clack of the guns against our packs and the coughing wheeze of the soldiers in the thin air filled our ears as we marched.


    The smell of the death took hold and we shivered, anticipation and fear rife within the ranks. We were the fifth wave to take to the swamp. Ten thousand strong, to delay the relief efforts for just a few minutes before the next wave took their turn. Marching over our blistered, bleeding bodies as they sought to delay just a few minutes more.


    It was the tenth battle in our ongoing war with the Sectanids and a bloody brutal battle it was. They were vastly inferior in space and air warfare, however they had a technology we had called gravitational needle mines that had forced us to fight them face to face. Boot for boot in the mud on one of the occupied planets.


    The planet, R6JPD-Earth-Beta-1, had been a potential site of human expansion on the free frontier and we had staked a claim to it, as it was the closest to our needs.


    But before we had got anywhere near colonisation, the Sectanids had seeded the planet, transforming the once solid, bountiful planet into the horrid marsh they loved. It was no longer useable and though we would abandon it shortly, we couldn¡¯t let them have the foothold.


    Only a short step from R6 was the Human planet E7. A strategic point, it held the line so to speak for entry to the human arm of the galaxy and closed us off from attack from the free frontier.


    Letting the Sectanids have this would be disastrous, hence the battle of attrition on R6 that we were currently engaged in. Already forty-thousand had marched to their death across the swamps and marshes of R6 and many more were to come.


    The treeline faded back, and the fifth wave and I began the run to the first and only trench. A wall of bodies throwing themselves forward, absorbing the counter fire as we pressed onwards. Men and women collapsed around me, horrific wounds scarring them for life ¨C if they survived.


    I pressed my face into the back of the man in front of me, the first three lines had been cut down already and the fourth was up.


    I stepped over someone, careful to avoid them, though I felt a jolt, I looked down. I hadn¡¯t stood on him.


    It confused me.


    Like a tree falling, the man in front of me started to fall, poleaxed.


    I grasped at his hand trying to steady him, but it just twisted him around as he dragged me to the floor.


    I ended up straddling him, staring eye to eye with the first corpse of my life. The first one so close. The bombing of my childhood had seen me grasp death hand in hand, but this, this was something else.


    He had been struck by a PNL beam. Pulse narrowing lasers were terrible, terrible weapons, but only now had I grasped just how terrible they were.


    The laser had struck him on the face plate, melting through it in seconds and spraying him with the molten sharps of plastic composite that they were made of.


    The remaining laser pulse had begun to sear his face bubbling the skin like a marshmallow in a fire, the plastic fragments welding to his skin. I thought he looked like a human smore. His eye had popped, and the socket was leaking some form of fluid that tracked down his face, making him cry.


    I threw up right there, before being squashed down by the boots of the men behind, thinking I was dead already.


    I scrambled to my feet and retook my place in line as we rushed to the trench. Laser fire and projectiles screamed overhead lighting up the skies like a stage show, only this time it wasn¡¯t for show.


    We made it, from the ten-thousand that had started, I thought perhaps just over two had made it.


    The trench was an important position as it kept us engaging the Sectanids. If we let off for but a few moments, they would be able to get reinforcements. The needle mine field had stopped air support and to get the relief craft in they would have to deactivate a section of the field. To do that they had to drive us back to prevent an artillery strike, so this trench was the all-important position. If they could control it, the battle was over and R6 was theirs.


    All along the wall, soldiers poked their heads up and fired back, the Sectanids had, however, released a smoke screen through which they fired at us. We were firing blind and broken but we wouldn¡¯t give up, no matter how many of us fell.


    Life in the trench was short and hard, the three days that I spent fighting had scarred me for life, by body and by soul. I saw things that shook me to the core, things I hadn¡¯t seen before. I could have walked away, should have even. But I knew, this was who I was now. Soldier, nothing more, nothing less.


    Three days into the fight and the Sectanids had grown desperate. Despite killing thousands of us, they were losing, with no reinforcements coming in this stalemate, they were slowly dwindling members and the even match wouldn¡¯t last much longer.


    As the sun set on the day and night took hold they gave us a last-ditch push. Running over the marshes with unnatural ease. We slaughtered them with our guns, but the looping strides of these vermillion crested bugs ate up the ground in quick order. As our tired eyes struggled to keep track of them they made it to the trench and slid in.


    Chaos!


    That¡¯s what it was.


    Men hit men, Sectanid against Sectanid and the pile of death grew ever higher in the meantime.


    It was last ditch efforts for us all, we couldn¡¯t give up the trench and they couldn¡¯t let us have it either.


    Bullets flew, grenades, boomed and the whistling scream of the projectiles cheered us on.


    Click.


    Shit.


    Grenade, grenade! I thought, scrambling for one.


    Pull the pin!


    Boom!


    Darkness.


    I cried out, gasping as I came back to myself. The memories had come back with a vengeance. The bodies in the river had been eerily similar and the memories, once buried, had come rushing back in, gripping my heart with cold dead fingers. Like a twisting knife in the gut I felt the acidic burn in my throat and the blurry vision encroach signalling the vomit inducing clenching as I shook.


    The days in the trench had quenched me in the reality of battle. The training had forged me, but the battle had made me.  I¡¯d been sharpened to the knife I was today ¨C respected and revered in black ops - by the commando training that the commanders had offered.


    Having dragged me out of the trenches with but a dozen others they thought I had something special, to survive that hell, I had had to, they reasoned. I¡¯d been awarded a medal and sent off for training.


    I had never told anyone that the only reason that a na?ve infantry girl had survived was that she had knocked herself out with a concussion grenade and survived only by chance.


    Never would it be revealed.


    The battle on R6JPD-Earth-Beta-1 had been the first major conflict between the Sectanids and us. I was twenty-two at the time and so new the paint was barely dry, but after it, no-one had ever looked down upon me. The trench win had been the end of the conflict but the whole battle had been just as bloody. A hell of which only a few thousand survived, only a dozen or so from the trenches.


    Of the three-hundred-thousand humanity had sent, only six-thousand-four-hundred-and-twelve survived, many of whom retired or died shortly after.


    But it was worth it, the Sectanids had lost their foothold on our arm and they had moved on after a few space battles without needle mines.


    Fourteen years later, and I was here, beside a river. Once again watching the bodies of people whose hell I could understand yet whose name I didn¡¯t know. Reliving the memories I had worked so hard to put away, and feeling the pain all over again.


    I sighed, at least the sun had come out to play.