Chapter Text
By all rights, I should have died.
The odds of one standing in the right place at the right time to survive the initial explosion from one of the quantum drive engines experiencing catastrophic failure are dismally slim. Most of the crew had perished in a single instant, either burnt to a crisp from the surge or suffocated when sucked into the vacuum of space — if the sudden decompression didn’t kill them first. Combustion, asphyxiation, embolism, all sounded like awful ways to go.
Crew quarters probably should not have been situated directly below engineering, but Fazbear Incorporated was never known for stellar safety ratings. Cheapest interstellar travel seating in the market, though. Probably should have known better than to hitch a ride on a Fazco cargo liner. Yeah, hindsight is 20/20, but I had been pretty desperate for an affordable transport to Elysium.
Yet, it seemed the odds had been on my side that night, as I had only just arrived at the viewing port at the opposite side of the ship when its entire aft came apart, having chosen that moment to stretch my legs — kick that cabin fever in the teeth before it’d drive me nuts. That also meant I had been right next to the escape pods when the alarms shrieked and the bulkheads came slamming down.
I also somehow, through the fog of panic, had the presence of mind to slip into an emergency All-Environment Protection suit before throwing myself into the nearest pod. Just another way I had dodged death’s greedy grasp in that moment, as I watched the fire extinguisher knock itself loose of its mooring from the force of the pod’s ejection. It immediately launched itself against the ladder, bending on impact and leaking its contents inside the pod. I barely had time to register the AEP suit’s emergency oxygen back-up systems coming online before the pod went hurtling down into the nearby moon’s atmosphere, intense G-forces knocking me right out.
When I came to, about a dozen minutes later, the escape pod’s automated systems had only just begun dumping the excess CO2 outside and replacing it with fresh oxygen. I’d have long suffocated if I had not put on the AEP suit beforehand. At least, the excessive concentration of CO2 meant no fire had managed to break out from overloaded systems or the heat of atmospheric entry.
Sluggishly, I pawed at my seat’s controls until the restraints released me. My body simply slid out of the seat then, embracing the floor as a disembodied voice informed me of the moon’s breathable atmosphere. Only, the floor did not feel as stable as it should have felt. An odd movement seemed to subtly bob it back and forth, like gentle rocking. I did not have the energy to consider it any further, nor to consider the disembodied voice rambling on about the concentrated presence of some things called “leviathan-class lifeforms”, letting the faint rocking and coolness of the floor pull me under once more.
And here I was then, huddled in the corner of my escape pod, fighting waves of nausea that I could not tell were caused by nerves or the incessant movement of the floor. This felt like a terrible hangover, only without the fun party that should have come before. This had been an awful party.
“I want a refund,” I mumbled into the space between my knees, hands joined behind my head.
Controlling my breathing seemed a herculean task against the queasy feeling in my stomach, as I let my rattled mind process what had happened the past few hours. Because it had only been a few hours ago, that my life had still seemed somewhat in control before flying wildly off the rails. And though it was probably pointless to waste brain power on this, all I could think about were all of my personal belongings back in the crew quarters. I had lost everything: my savings, my clothes, little trinkets of my past life on Earth... All jettisoned into space, or disintegrated in the explosion. It was probably all very silly, considering the precarious situation I found myself in, but it really was all I could think about.
Could you really blame me? I never expected to find myself in this kind of a mess. I was not some big shot, thrill seeking space explorer. I was no seasoned freight worker. No avid alien world survivalist. Not even a simple cruise liner flight attendant.
I was a gardener. My feet belonged firmly planted in the soil of a garden world. I'd spent my entire life up to now solidly anchored on Earth, and never dreaming of leaving the safety of gravity and atmosphere, despite the increasingly uncomfortable quality of life on the crowded homeworld. Sure, I dreamed of greener pastures. Of fresh air and fertile land. But frontier life and adventures in the big expanse of space? Not quite.
So sue me if all my frantic thoughts circled uselessly back to my lost belongings, instead of productive endeavors such as taking stock of the situation. My old life was gone, all of it.
Well. Not all of it.
Carefully, I lifted my head from between my knees and reached down to my belt, slowly pulling up the Fazco-supplied personal digital assistant clipped onto it. It didn’t look like it got damaged in the crash, surprisingly enough. These things were cheap, mass produced and handed out like candy from every company worth its salt, so I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had snapped like the fire extinguisher during the less-than-smooth descent through atmo. I was glad it hadn’t.
I gently tapped the tablet’s screen, waiting only for a second before it came to life, and breathed out a sigh of relief as all my personal files seemed to have remained synchronized, despite the lack of network to connect to. Why Fazbear Incorporated made sharing all of its customers’ data onto its devices a requirement for using said devices, I never understood — something about a custom, personalized experience, bullshit — but I certainly would not complain right now. Not when it meant I at least still could see the faces of my family in my personal pictures.
My fingers thoughtfully traced over the smiling faces of my parents, my siblings. I almost joined them. Multiple times, in such a short amount of time, I had barely avoided joining them. A not insignificant part of myself felt the bitter pangs of disappointment at the realization. However… I had promised them I would live. Holding their ashes, desperately hanging on to the physical remains of what had once been my family, I had made them the promise I knew they would have wanted me to make: I would survive, and I would live. And, live I was going to. Closing my eyes, I took in a deep breath, steeling myself against the ever persistent nausea and the dread gnawing at my bones.
“It would appear that you are finally done ‘processing’!”
Ah.
The other downside of using Fazco devices.
I opened my eyes, leveling a glare at the PDA screen. There, in the corner, stood my nemesis, a small, bow-tie and top hat clad white bear, leaning against the picture frame. The universe’s most annoying, and ironically-named virtual intelligence.
“Helpy,” I ground out through gritted teeth.
Of course. Of course the unholy child of all the useless, malware ridden early 21st century virtual assistants would survive being disconnected from the ship’s internal network. There was just no getting rid of it. I did try. Oh, did I try disabling it — it was apparently possible, according to Fritz, in engineering. I never did manage that feat. But to be fair, I was never really any good with technology. And now, here it stood, a buck-toothed grin on its infuriatingly smug little face. Were those sarcastic air quotes, just now? Could it even do that?
“Congratulations, esteemed passenger! You have survived a catastrophic event and safely evacuated onboard a Fazbear-built escape pod. The hard part is over! You may now rest assured that you will be safe within our top-of-the-line, reliable Fazbear safety rated lifepod.”
I glanced at the broken, empty fire extinguisher lying dejectedly on floor. Yeah. That did not make me feel any better. Helpy carried on its pre-programmed spiel despite my obvious doubts, with its grating holovid advertisement announcer voice.
“While our lifepods do come equipped with non-perishable rations and water, it is possible that rescue will take longer than your reserves can last you. If this is the case, you may have to resort to good old fashioned resourcefulness, and leave the secure confines of your lifepod to scavenge for your survival.” The bear avatar winked and, hell, fingergunned at me. Who programmed this thing?
“You will find in your files an experts panel approved checklist of fundamentals guaranteed to help raise your odds of survival. Are you ready to take your life into your own hands, superstar? FazbearIncorporateddoesnottakeresponsibilityforanyphysical,emotionalorpsychicinjury,lossofproperty,dismembermentordeathsustainedwhileawaitingretrieval,bybreakingthesealsandopeningthehatchesofthispodyoutakefullresponsibilityofanyharmsubsequentlyexperienced,asperthewaiveryousigneduponpurchasecorportatewillnotcoveryourloss.”
“Wait, what was that-” I squeaked, “What was that just now?”
“Retrieval team ETA: [[ERROR\\invalidString%&[-” Helpy barreled through my questions, sound and image glitching momentarily. “E-E-Error— Attempting-tempting reboot-”
“’Error’? What does that mean? Helpy! What do you mean, ‘error’?!” I screamed at the spasming image, heart rate spiking.
The PDA abruptly turned off, leaving me staring at my own bewildered reflection.
“… Helpy?”
Deafening silence answered me.
Oh. Oh, this was bad. This was very bad.
The icy grip of fear sank its claws into my neck, a fresh wave of nausea taking over me. I gulped down saliva with difficulty, leaning over between my knees again to fight the spasms in my gut. What just happened? What did this mean? Was rescue not coming? Was I stuck here? My stomach lurched.
Would I die here?
The smiling faces of my family flitted through my racing thoughts.
No. I took in a deep breath, forcing down the bile in my throat and counting down from ten. No use in panicking. I would not die here. Not if I could help it.
Checklist. Helpy mentioned a checklist. That sounded like a good place to start. I forced myself to straighten up, bringing the PDA back up. Tapping on the screen got no response, but pressing down the power button made it light up with a small jingle. My shoulders relaxed as my family greeted me again. Good, my files were still there. And so was the accursed little bear, sitting down and gripping its head, icy blue eyes spinning around cartoonishly. I squinted down at the display.
“Helpy? Are you… okay?”
Its eyes suddenly stopped spinning, immediately settling down on mine. Ugh. I couldn’t repress the shudder that went through me. Almost as if in response, the buck-toothed grin returned, and the avatar sprung back on its feet.
“Never better!”
“O…kay. What was that?”
It tilted its head to the side.
“What was what?”
Oh, come on. I flailed my free arm a little.
“That! Just now! The glitching! What was that about?”
“I don’t understand the question. Please rephrase your query.”
My brow furrowed, a finger trying to pick at my lip through the helmet as I debated bringing up the retrieval team response again. Would it cause the VI to bug out again? It sounded like something along the way got corrupted, and trying to activate that protocol had caused the VI to encounter a series of error resulting in emergency shutdown. I didn’t want to accidentally break the PDA in my desire for answers, and lose what little I had left.
“Never mind,” I mumbled, reluctantly letting it go. “You said something about a checklist?”
“Coming right up!” Helpy beamed, then bowed with a flourish before disappearing along with the family picture behind the newly opened document.
My eyes flicked over the handful of bullet points, skimming through the contents, before I brought my attention back to the top. Probably best to just go through each one in order.
Administer first aid. Irrelevant in my case, unless I could materialize anti-nausea medication out of thin air.
Take inventory of available materials and supplies. Helpy mentioned something about rations and water being supplied in each pod. Looking away from the PDA screen, I glanced around the sleek interior of the pod, taking note of a fabricator, short-range radio unit, and first aid kit fabricator, before my gaze landed on what seemed like a cabinet. There. Feeling unsteady still, I crawled to the floor level protrusion, plopping myself down besides it. My fingers fumbled about a seam, until they found the latch and opened it. I peered inside.
“… Are you shitting me.”
There were supplies, yes. Food and water, yes. Two bars of space grade rations and two small water bottles tucked into a corner, to be exact. This was a two-souls lifepod. How in the world did Fazco expect survivors to survive on a single meal and sixteen ounces of water each? This would barely last me two days. Three, if I rationed the water, maybe. I seriously doubted rescue would come within three days, not in this desolate sector of space. I didn’t even know if there was a distress signal to answer in the first place.
My stomach churned again.
I would have to leave the pod and scavenge… And free Fazco from any responsibility over what might happen to me by doing so, if I understood Helpy’s sped up and muted blurb correctly. That was if there was anything to scavenge out there to begin with. My heart began to hammer against my chest. I closed my eyes, swallowed, counted down from ten. No panicking. I had to keep my head on.
I reached into the cabinet, grabbing one of the two flares there before standing up on two unsteady feet. Now seemed like as good a time as any other to tackle on the third item on the checklist. I checked the information display on the wall. The lifepod was intact, no hull breaches or secondary systems to repair. An oxygen and nitrogen atmosphere — in other words, a breathable atmosphere. Something about… flotation devices being deployed. I frowned at that last part, then turned that frown up at the ceiling hatch, where the darkness was slowly yielding to a pale rosy glow. I approached the ladder leading up to the hatch, taking a moment to consider my options.
Two days of rations, no way to know if rescue was on its way… Or giving up on any legal avenues against the corporation whose penny pinching ways most likely caused me to be stranded here. Cheapskate fools. And I had chosen them for travel. What did that make me?
I sighed, then grabbed a rung on the ladder. Not much of a choice to be made, for the sake of my prolonged survival. I removed my helmet, gripped the flare in between my teeth, and began to climb my way up to the hatch.
Survey the environment for threats and resources, the list had said.
The smell of salt was the first thing I registered, after I pushed the hatch open. A warm breeze kissed my skin as I pulled myself partially over the roof. I blinked the bright lights of the pod out of my eyes, peering into the fading darkness until my vision adapted to the low light.
Oh. Oh, no.
The flare fell from my mouth, clattering back into the pod.
No. This had to be some sort of sick cosmic joke.
I hurriedly climbed out of the hatch, standing on wobbly legs on top of the pod, as if that would change the sight in front of me.
Water.
Water as far as the eye could see.
I twisted myself around, nearly slipping over the polished metal beneath my feet. More water greeted my eyes. The gentle waves rocked my pod, rippling the surface all the way to the horizon. The hopelessly flat horizon. Not a single bump in sight, not a single hint of sweet, merciful land.
Just my stupid luck. I had crashed in the middle of an ocean.
“No. No no no no no-” I muttered frantically, slipping back inside the pod and sliding down the ladder.
I dropped to the floor as soon as my feet hit the ground, snatching the PDA I had left there.
“Helpy, where the hell are we?”
The bear peeked around the edge of the document, considering me with that aggravating glint in its eyes.
“This is lifepod number-”
“Don’t get cute with me,” I hissed to the VI, all traces of my patience evaporated with the details of my circumstances piling on. “What planet is this?”
Helpy’s grin thinned, its eyes narrowing. Apparently this thing didn’t appreciate being interrupted. Hypocrite.
“You are currently located in sector 8 near the equator of S/2202 B2, one of the two moons orbiting the planet 1983b, a class-T planet.”
“Okay, so this place has a name,” I groaned, rubbing one of my temples. That’s good. At least this place existed on some star chart, somewhere. There was some information about this world in the database. “Helpy. Please. Tell me that there’s land somewhere in this ocean.”
The corner of its grin twitched up. Oh. No, no-
“S/2202 B2 has been classified as an ocean planetoid.”
No.
Helpy’s grin widened.
Please, no.
“There is no significant landmass to speak of.”
Well. At least the nausea made sense, now, I thought to myself.
The dry, tasteless grub somehow assaulted my mouth as I masticated, sticking to my teeth and jabbing into my gums. Nibbling on the corner of one of the ration bars, I had hoped it would somehow help with the seasickness. Though it felt more like chewing on corkwood. Tasted like it, too. I swallowed, grimacing as the dessicated food grated my throat on the way down. Rinsing it down with water was not much of an option. I needed to save what little I had. That would probably be all I would have for a while.
A snort escaped me.
How ironic, to be so desperate for water. There was nothing but water on this forsaken moon. Saltwater. Perhaps later I could try to rig something to evaporate some of the seawater and collect the salt-free vapor. I tried not to think about the utter lack of tools in the pod to even attempt this. I tried not to think about a lot of things at the moment.
I took in a deep breath, tilting my head back until it thunked softly against the wall of my pod. Through the hatch in the ceiling, the sky had turned from rosy to a bright golden, a deceptively familiar pale blue beginning to creep through. I needed to go out there. I knew that. But knowing and wanting to are two very different things.
What little information there was of this world in the database had been anything but reassuring, not helping my hesitation. A desolate, uninhabitable and dangerous rock covered in water that travelers were warned to steer well clear of. I had no idea what I could expect to find beneath the surface, and heading out while it was still too dark to see what would be coming at me had seemed like a bad idea. But as the sky outside brightened, my excuse to procrastinate was running thin. My supplies would only dwindle, fast, and my condition would deteriorate with them. I better get a head-start on scavenging, while my stomach was still somewhat full and I was not too dehydrated.
My shoulders sagged with the sigh that left me, burdened with the weight of the daunting, unappealing task before me. No use putting it off any longer, it should be bright enough to see in the water now. I pushed myself up to my feet, groaning slightly with the effort, and shuffled to the cabinet to put away the mostly uneaten ration bar. I grabbed a flare and slipped it in the belt of my suit while I was at it, then turned to the fabricator and started gleaning through the available blueprints. Many of the options were not quite adapted to my situation (I doubted I would make much use of a snowsuit or a fire proximity suit), but some of them did catch my eye. Like a diving mask with a matching mouthpiece. It would be best not to burn my eyes in the saltwater, and prolonged contact of the exposed, thin mucous membranes of my eyelids, sinuses and mouth with the warm soup of alien pathogens that were these waters was definitely not a risk I wanted to take.
… What? I said I struggled with technology, not science. This was Infectology 101. Don’t let unknown yucky fluids touch your yucky body fluids.
I checked the requirements for the diving gear, which were pretty minimal. But it didn’t change the fact that I did not have any basic materials to work with in the pod… or did I?
I turned to the broken fire extinguisher.
Turns out the process of dismantling the fire extinguisher into its basic raw materials, and using them to build one of the objects in the database, was a rather painless procedure thanks to the fabricator. Just put the thing in, and it spits out another, different thing. Rinse and repeat until you’ve achieved the desired result. Thank you Fazbear Incorporated for designing technology so damn simple to use that even a child could operate it. Fritz and his colleagues could complain all they wanted about the proprietary bullshit Fazco liked to abuse of so much, the lack of customization available, and them making jury-rigging their technology near impossible without destroying it in the process. I certainly wasn’t complaining at the moment, not while slipping on the shiny, brand-new mask over my eyes and nose, mouthpiece hanging over my chin. No alien turbo pink eye for me, no sirree.
Diving gear in place, I took a moment to think, sat down by the floor hatch and staring at the electronic tablet beside me. Should I… take the PDA along with me? Yes, it was the most precious possession I had left, and I probably would not make it without it and the information on it, should I lose it out there. But. As previously mentioned, I probably would not make it without it and the information on it, should I encounter some problem out there. It was no spectroscope scanner, but it could still run some very simple analyses, which was better than nothing. It could help me locate some of the resources I so direly needed.
One last issue needed to be addressed first, though.
“Helpy? Is the PDA waterproof?”
The PDA’s screen blinked to life, the VI’s avatar carefully eyeing me for a beat.
“It is.”
“Good. Guess you’re coming along, then.”
I grabbed the PDA, about to hook it to my belt. What I did not expect was for Helpy to protest the decision.
“This course of action is not recommended!” It objected, and, somehow, the already white bear seemed to turn paler.
“Why not? Does the PDA only resist a certain pressure threshold?”
“It can be submerged to depths up to 500 meters-”
I frowned at the screen, free hand on my hip.
“What’s the issue, then?”
The VI… hesitated? The pause was barely a second, but it stood out nonetheless, compared to the seamless flow of conversation it had upheld so far.
“There is no copy of the database in this PDA available for download from the lifepod should this one be lost. It would be ill-advised to endanger this PDA.”
“Well that would suck, but I’m gonna be careful,” I replied, about to hook the tablet to my belt before Helpy spoke out again, surprisingly quickly.
“There is no copy of the personal files archived on this PDA either. The loss of this PDA would entail the loss of all personal files.”
“You think I don’t already know that? All the more reason why I’m gonna be careful with it. But I’m gonna need that database and the scanning abilities of the PDA out there to find what I need, so deal.”
I didn’t mean to spit out that last part, but Helpy’s warnings were just repeating what I already knew, and adding onto my anxiety. Something about this entire interaction felt off, but I didn’t have time to ponder it. There were far more pressing matters at hand. At least the VI seemed to take the hint, shutting up at last as I finally slipped the PDA in its harness, then shuffled back so I could grasp the handle on the lower hatch.
Alright. Time to face the music. With one hand I slipped the mouthpiece in place, and with the other I pulled the hatch open.
Clear blue water lapped beneath the opening, pale sands covering the ocean floor not far below. Something small whizzed past, too fast for me to catch, and I waited for a second to see if it would come back before slipping my legs into the opening. The coast seemed clear, as far as I could tell. With one last deep breath, I let myself slip through the hatch, surprisingly warm water swallowing me whole.
After the bubbles dispersed, I blinked dumbly at the sight in front of me. I… don’t know what I was expecting.
Certainly not this.
This was far from the dangerous, forsaken world Helpy had painted with its database entry. Vividly coloured coral reefs stretched as far I could see, rising and dipping with the rocky shelves they anchored themselves to, carved by the gentle currents flowing through. Small fishes of seemingly infinite shapes and colours swarmed about, aimless in direction. Some nipped at the blueish purple vegetation, others at the corals, while most seemed content just to flit about. Bright morning sunshine dappled the scene in glittering golden light, and even the shadowy nooks appeared harmless. And it was far from quiet, as clicks, high-pitched chirps and squeals filled the water.
This place was thriving, thrumming with the strong, steady pulse of life. Desolate? In what world was this desolate? Sure, appearances could be deceiving, and danger could easily be lurking around the corner, but an empty, uninhabitable world this was not. The surprise wearing out, I felt myself begin to frown at the confusing discrepancy. I could accept that the initial scans of the planet might be a touch outdated, having been taken a couple of decades ago. But such a flourishing and diverse ecosystem could not have developed in this ridiculously short time span. How could Fazco have possibly missed this? Did I just happen to land smack dab in the middle of the most lively corner of this ocean world? That… seemed unlikely.
I pulled myself up the hatch just long enough to take in a fresh breath of air, then dove back in. In doing so, I noticed the shadow of the pod had moved from where it had been when I first slipped out. Currents were still pushing the pod about. Perhaps the first thing I should do is throw down the anchor before my pod drifted somewhere less hospitable.
Thankfully, the pod did come with an anchor. That was one less thing to worry about, knowing I could wander a little further out and not come back to find the pod gone. I didn’t have a compass I could rely on — which was, frankly, very stupid of Fazco, since compasses were extremely cheap and a vital tool in a survival kit — so I was still somewhat limited in the range I could explore as I had to keep the pod within my sight. I could still go pretty far out, seeing as there was nothing to break my line of sight above the surface. However, I had no intention of going that far out, for now, at least. Though I knew how to swim, I was still very slow, and I had a feeling I would tire out pretty quickly. Besides, while it seemed safe so far, I didn’t know what lurked in the depths out there. I needed to be able to make a quick retreat into my pod, should something happen.
I would not find much on my first day in the shallows. Granted, I did not wander very far, and I was being careful not to overexert myself. I got winded pretty easily, and almost spent more time coming up for air than actually searching for resources. My cardio had never really been anything to write home about, before this. I had a feeling this was going to change quickly.
I did find some pieces of the ship not far from the pod. Only small parts of the hull and scraps, somewhat singed by atmospheric entry, but still a good, cheap source of metal I would not spit on. I even found a metal crate, dented severely enough that I managed to open it with only a little bit of prying on the lid, even without the use of a crowbar. Not that there was much I could use inside. Mostly ruined lab equipment, broken glass drifting up as I gently rummaged through the contents. The electronics were fried, but I still grabbed as much I could, hoping I could recycle the components at the fabricator.
I got a preprogrammed earful from Helpy when I returned to the pod with my spoils, something about illegal salvaging of Fazco property being a felony and a morally repugnant act. The VI did append its lecture with a brief line about the recycling of scraps and ruined parts such as what I had dragged back being tolerated within a survival context. To be perfectly honest, I did not care whether I was breaking the law. If Fazbear Incorporated wanted me jailed for this “vile demonstration of corrupt standards” then they could come get me themselves. Hell, I’d offer my wrists for them to put the cuffs on, if it meant getting off this stupid moon. I would gladly spend the rest of my life in some cushy federal prison, if I wouldn’t have to spend one minute more here.
But seeing as there were no means to tell if anyone were on their way, I would have to carry on my ambiguously legal salvaging operation, in the name of survival. Starting with the recycling of the components I carried back with nothing but my sweat and tears. Not that anyone could tell, with all this damn water. Helpy listened to my petulant monologuing with rapt attention, if the ever present grin on its avatar was anything to go by. No doubt recording whatever I said for Fazco to use against me in my future trial.
At least my efforts did not go unrewarded. After everything had been broken down to its barest components, I used what I had to give myself the most essential survival tools I could think of and afford — such as the compass Fazco had neglected to include in their survival kits. (Seriously, they could include a blueprint on the fabricator, but not the actual thing? Freaking tightwads.) I sat on the floor cabinet, examining the newly-built spectroscope scanner in my hands until a satisfied hum left me. With this, I could at least start scanning around for potential food sources, and perhaps even find other resources that could come in handy. Compass and scanner in hand, I had already gotten a head start on the fourth element in Helpy’s survival checklist : Construct necessary survival equipment using the lifepod’s fabricator.
But, no matter how eager I was to test the scanner, and ease my worries about my dwindling reserves, I simply could not bring myself to go back out there again. I was already so worn out, ready to nibble some tasteless corkwood, take a sip, and then conk out for a while. It had been a very long while since I had gone through such a workout. Setting the scanner aside with one hand, I used the other to softly pinch the plush roll of my belly. Yeah. This would probably also change in the coming days.
Moreover, the light passing through the ceiling hatch had already begun to take on a golden hue, once again. That was odd. It didn’t feel like I was out that long, despite how exhausted I felt. I could at least partially blame that on being up since before the crack of dawn. A quick dive through the PDA’s database answered my half-formed question. The days on S/2202 B2 were only roughly twenty hours long, and being near the equator, that meant I could only count on more or less ten hours of daylight. And that’s if the gas giant it orbited didn’t eclipse the sun. Thankfully, calculations showed that this would be an infrequent event. Still, that didn’t leave me with much daytime to make use of.
With the sun quickly setting, and the bone deep physical and emotional weariness settling in, laying down on the floor and passing out seemed like more and more of an attractive prospect. During the time that I had been out, there had not seemed to be danger of any kind to look out for, despite my vigilant surveying. But I did not want to take any chances in the dark. So, after eating a little more of the ration bar and sipping a bit of water, I dimmed the lights, laid down on the floor, and settled for the night. Between the slowly returning seasickness and hard metal floor, sleep was a little slower to come than I expected. Yet, lulled by the gentle rocking of the waves, it eventually did claim me.
And so the days went, for a little while. I would wake up, sore and aching from sleeping on the metal floor as well as all the exercise of the previous day. Then I’d eat and drink a little — after dedicating most of my second day in this watery purgatory to scanning the wildlife around me, I had quickly identified several edible species of fish and plants, much to my relief. There was even this weird little fish that propelled itself by filtering water through pockets made of a thin membrane then quickly ejecting it, that the scanner had identified as a means of obtaining filtered, drinkable water. I had nearly cried tears of joy when I had found out, and had dedicated most of my day to catching as many of the little critters as I could. They could be somewhat slippery bastards, though their reflexes and awareness dulled around dawn and dusk, making them easier to grab and swim off with. Catching the other species of fish had turned out to be more of a challenge, armed with nothing but slow, clumsy hands. But, as with the weird little membrane fish, they became easier to sneak up on and grab when it got darker. At least the plants didn’t put up as much of a fight, despite how hard I had to tug sometimes to pluck them free.
After quelling my hunger with bland, fabricator cooked fish and unseasoned plant bits, I’d go out and gather more for my next meal. Whatever time I did not spend hunting food, I spent exploring the surroundings of the pod, searching for more scattered wreckage of the ship to salvage. There was... A lot of it. Perhaps, not long after the pods fell down to the moon, the ship followed suit, breaking into pieces during entry. I supposed I had gotten lucky that none of those pieces had landed on my pod, while I had passed out. Another gruesome fate avoided, somehow. But, most of what I found consisted mostly of pieces of the hull and other small scraps of metal, the crate I had found on my first day nothing but a fluke. If I hoped to find anything useful, I would have to find a bigger piece of the ship, something more intact.
And, I would gladly go out and try to find those larger wrecks, however… I was beginning to get the very distinct feeling that something else was out there with me.
I didn’t mean other survivors — their recorded messages had started filtering in the shortwave radio starting on the fourth day. I had felt rather silly, having the radio unit sitting right there, and never having thought of using it to send out a recorded message of my own, with my coordinates for any fellow surviving crew mates. I had simply been too engrossed in my immediate survival, and from the sound of it, so had they been, the five of them: Gabriel, one of the ship’s navigators; Jeremy, who I’d only seen once strumming his guitar to an audience of very drunk fellow workers; Susie, one of the cooks in the cafeteria; Cassidy, whose message had been mostly unintelligible, heavily distorted by static; and finally, Fritz, who by some miracle hadn’t been anywhere near engineering when it all had begun. It had been reassuring somehow, that someone I knew by name had survived as well. He’d been nice enough, in the few little chats we’d had. A real comedian, that one.
But no — this was not it. I couldn’t explain it, not exactly, but, as the days dragged on, I was increasingly convinced of it: I was not alone.
It had begun innocently enough. One morning, I had woken up, and dragged myself to the hatch to, erm, attend to some business. Look, nature was always going to call, survival situation or not. But as I had opened the hatch, a dead big eyed fish had just been there, floating right beneath the opening and waiting to be found. I hadn’t really questioned it back then, and I certainly wasn’t going to pass up on free food metaphorically falling into my lap. I had plucked it up, and had myself a nice low-effort breakfast after taking care of business.
But then it had kept on happening. I had returned from a fruitless hunt, only to find a dead membrane fish tucked underneath the flotation sacs of my pod. It was odd that it had happened again, but I still hadn’t been pondering my luck. I had done a happy little wiggling dance, humming a triumphant little tune, before grabbing my prize and having myself a fresh, “non-vegan” drink — as Helpy had called it. (The concept of non-vegan water had never been something I had had to consider before, but here I was.) The next time, it had been two membrane fish carcasses waiting for me, and I had begun to realize that perhaps this was more than mere good fortune. I hadn’t let them go to waste, but I couldn’t help the prickling sensation at the nape of my neck. When I had woken up to find more headless membrane fish around my pod, I got spooked, and turned right around to clamber back up my pod, leaving them there. I hadn’t left my pod again that day, straining my ears to hear anything out of the ordinary. Not that it had done me any good.
The dead fish had still been there when I peeked out the next day, untouched. They had stopped coming after that. However, I never could quite shake the unease as I had slowly begun exploring and scavenging again. I’d find myself glancing over my shoulder unthinkingly, with increasing frequency. Beneath the suit, I’d suddenly feel goosebumps rise, a cold tickle against my spine that couldn’t be explained by the new oxygen tank sitting there, but whirling around would reveal nothing but swaying alien kelp and scattering schools of fishes. Sometimes, I swore I could hear quiet croons, several octaves lower than the usual vocalizations of the fishes around me, and I could never tell if it was something making them, or just my jawbones groaning from how hard I was clenching my teeth.
It had to be paranoia. I had spent a while now isolated in an unfamiliar, potentially dangerous environment, without any preparations for what lied ahead, as Helpy had cheerfully explained, when weird and unexplainable phenomenas started happening.
“Humans have gone mad with less,” the VI had chirped, the bear avatar winking, as if that had been helpful at all.
I had rocked myself to sleep that night.
But I just couldn’t explain it otherwise. The dead fish remained a mystery, but I could not let this get the best of me. I still needed to survive. Needed to feed, to drink, to gather resources to equip myself better. Rescue was taking an awful long time to get here, and I simply could not afford to wait for them to arrive. I had to keep going. Had to find a section of the ship that had survived the explosion and entry, and find anything that could be of use. I was growing stronger by the day, more resilient. Everyday, I went a little further before fatigue caught up to me. I was ready to go out farther than ever and find that wreckage.
Before I settled for sleep again, the lights dimmed and a soft red haze cast into the pod from the ceiling hatch, I asked Helpy if it could estimate where the main body of the ship could have landed, from the ship’s last known coordinates, the angle of entry, and the trail of debris I had located so far. The VI narrowed the landing zone down to some coordinates a few kilometers northeast of the pod. It was only an estimate, based on a lot of incomplete data, but it was a start. It would do for now. I laid down, and settled for the night. I had a long day ahead of me.
I set out just as the horizon began to pale, stars slowly going out in the sky. The sunlight bouncing off the blue-green gas giant gave just enough light to make out the general shapes of obstacles and wildlife in the dark waters, when the widespread bioluminescence a shocking amount of fish and plants possessed did not suffice.
In my arms, I carried a waterproof locker I had built to carry whatever I found out there back with me. For now, it held food and water for the trek ahead, and batteries for my scanner and flashlight. On my hip, sheathed away, sat a survival knife. The only weapon in the whole blueprint database of the pod. After hearing the rather detailed and gory retelling of the massacre on Sirius-12 that Helpy had all too happily recounted, it made sense that Fazco would have removed all weapons from the survival database. It still didn’t make me feel any safer, not knowing what I could expect to find out there. I had yet to run into any kind of predator, despite the overabundance of small prey to be found. There had to be something, or else the glut of herbivores would ravage the ecosystem.
And yet.
The sun was just below its zenith when I approached the coordinates Helpy had calculated. Despite having my arms full and needing to stop twice to refill the oxygen tank, I had made good progress, propelled by the newly synthesized fins at my feet. Not stopping whenever I felt the cool prickling on the back of my head or heard gentle murmurs beneath the chorus of squeals had also helped save time.
Shallow, colorful coral reefs had made way for a gentle downward slope of sand and a thicket of green kelp spreading beyond the limits of my sight. It felt less exposed than the shallows, but I still couldn’t let my guard down — if I could hide in the dense vegetation, so could unfriendly wildlife.
I breached the surface once more, letting go of the locker so I could shrug off the tank and pull the pin at the top of it. As simple as flicking a switch, the air inside was expelled, and fresh air sucked in to create a perfect balance of gases. Once again, I simply couldn’t fault Fazbear Incorporated for its user-friendly technology. While the tank refilled, I held up my PDA one-handed, reading through the scan results of the surrounding kelp with mild curiosity. I was pleasantly surprised to find out that the thick fiber count made that species a prime candidate to be weaved into fabric and clothing at the fabricator. With enough of it, I could probably make myself some towels, or perhaps even bedding. Distracted by the luxurious promise of physical comfort, I almost didn’t hear the beeping of the oxygen tank, wondering if I could uproot a vine or take a cutting to bring back to my pod to plant in the shallows, if aquatic plants even worked on the same principles as land plants did. Filing these thoughts away for later, I prepared to set off again.
But just as I began to wonder how I was going find anything through the dense seaweed forest, a twinkle of sunlight caught my eye. I glanced up, then squinted at the bright glare up ahead.
Metal.
Peeking just above the surface, the gleaming surface of a structural beam reflected the harsh early noon sunlight. Well. That had been easier than I thought it would be.
What a let down that had been.
The main, intact body of the ship I had hoped for turned out to be only a small section of it, bent and singed beyond recognition. Even Fazco’s ships were cheaply made, it would seem. I had known I wouldn’t have long to explore the wreck before I would have to be on my way, if I wanted to be back at the pod before it was too dark. But in the end, I didn’t even spend half the time I thought I would sifting through the debris. Most of the wreckage was completely inaccessible, and the sections that weren’t held very little of interest. Some spoiled rations, a couple of water bottles I couldn’t tell were uncontaminated, a smashed coffee machine. After less than an hour of rummaging, I settled for grabbing the batteries and power cells that hadn’t blown, and stuffing the rest of the space in the locker with as much raw materials as I could.
I might have gotten a little greedy there. The moon may have been surprisingly rich in minerals so far, but it was a lot easier to grab and salvage parts of the ship to recycle, than hammer away with the handle of my tools at a deposit. I didn’t even know titanium could come naturally in deposits. Still easier to grab a sheet of the hull and let the fabricator deal with it. Eventually, I ran out of space, and more salvage sat in a pile, with no means of dragging it back with the locker occupying one arm. I glanced back at the kelp surrounding the wreckage. Maybe I wouldn’t have to leave much behind, with a little bit of resourcefulness.
A little while later, I knotted the last of the vines together, a large macrame bag now hovering over my lap. Sheathing my knife, I nodded with satisfaction at my work. It wasn’t the most complex of designs, or my best work, but as long as it did its job I didn’t care. However, I did pause for a minute, feeling the knotted vines in between my fingers. I wouldn’t have known how to do this without my… Oh. The smile behind my mouthpiece took on a wistful feel, distant memories surging in my mind of afternoons sat beneath the pear tree at home with my parents, watching one of them expertly weave macrame strands together until purses sat in my siblings’ laps. The sun had been merciless that summer, droughts and heatwaves turning the land into a sweltering pit, but we had still found little moments of peace and joy together, filling the time with crafts and games until we couldn’t notice the heat anymore…
Sudden stuttering burbles echoed through the clearing. My head snapped up, heart hammering in my chest as I whirled around. I couldn’t see anything in the swaying fronds around the wreck, eyes frantically scanning the surroundings. But it had gotten unsettlingly quiet in the time I was lost in memory lane. I didn’t like it one bit. Shoving the fading laughter and cicada buzzes to the back of my mind, I hurried to the pile of salvage and stuffed as much of it as I could fit into the bag, as fast as I could. I wouldn’t waste one more minute here.
I grabbed the locker with one hand, the bag in the other, and immediately headed back southwest. The weight slowed me down a little, but with some luck, I would make it back before it got too dark to spot my lifepod.
A flash of yellow and orange suddenly blinded me. The next thing I knew, terrifyingly sharp teeth filled my vision.
I screamed, nearly losing my mouth piece.
Purring gurgles rolled out of the teeth, and I immediately ducked, turning back towards the wreck without any thought behind it. Kicking my legs as fast as I could, I barely made it to the structure when an orange blur popped from behind the hull, making my heart leap in my throat. How in the-?!
I didn’t wait to see it come at me, veering to my left and diving into a gap in the structure. More stuttering burbles bounced off the walls of the wreck.
It almost sounded like laughter.
Cold fear wrapped around my neck, squeezing down until I struggled to breathe. I had half a mind to burrow down and wait until whatever that thing was moved on, holding my breath to make as little noise as possible. My heartbeat was thunder in my ears.
A shadow fell across the opening. Screw that. I fled, claws barely missing my ankle as I squeezed myself and my loads through the gap between the wreck’s hull and the interior of the ship, blind panic pushing me forward until I found a different breach to propel myself out of.
I squinted at the bright sunlight, blood pounding in my ears, but the coast seemed clear. I didn’t wait to see where the sharp teethed creature was, making a beeline for the kelp. A whimper in my throat, I disappeared into the swaying vines, swimming straight ahead without any thought to where I was heading to. All I needed at the moment was to put as much distance between that thing and me.
A few minutes of aimless, panicked swimming later, I stopped, attempting to catch my breath. Quiet, almost curious sounding trills tittered from what seemed far behind. I probably didn’t have long. I snatched the compass from my belt, corrected my heading, and started kicking my feet again.
My heart was only beginning to settle once more when the teethy maw emerged from between the vines again with a sharp squawk. A shriek escaped me, adrenaline surging again as I swung what I was holding at the creature. Which happened to be the locker and macrame bag, drawing an indignant squeak out of the thing. Making the most of its distraction, I dove beneath it, barely registering a pale blue underbelly as I swam as fast as I could through the thicket.
Unburdened by my spoils, I was much faster.
I emerged from the edge of the forest a while later, turning back only when the vines started to thin out and the coral reefs took over.
I didn’t get much time to catch my breath. Not long after, in the distance, I could make out a little bit of orange, red and blue shooting through the fronds, seeking. For the love of- What was it going to take to lose this thing!? Cursing my comparatively crawling pace, I dove for cover in the coral reefs, slipping in the current-sculpted trenches before it could spot me.
It seemed to have worked, for now. The trill sounded out again, quieter, but close. It hadn’t seen me. Good.
For what felt like an eternity, I moved through the small canyons and tunnels as carefully as I could, barely disturbing the water. Stopping and tensing at the first sound. Breathing sparingly, giving the noise of the tank and bubbles less of a chance to give me away.
Above me, a long, low keen rang out.
I froze.
Looking up, a blue underbelly flanked at each side by a fluttering red and white mantle passed over the trench I currently hid in. I immediately pressed myself against the rock wall, eyes glued above, holding my breath. I held myself there, heart ready to burst through my chest, waiting.
And waiting.
And waiting.
When my lungs screamed for air and my chest burned, I finally risked a breath. The hiss of the tank roared in the quiet, a flurry bubbles shooting up for the surface.
My heart stuttered, body tensing, expecting those terrifying teeth to pop out again.
A minute passed.
Nothing.
Far in the distance, the low keening rang out again, falling in pitch — a slow, mournful call, that squeezed at my chest. A beat passed, and the creature cried out, an urgent warble rising in its call.
I couldn’t help it. Slowly, I pulled myself until I could peer over the top of the trench, eyeing the direction I’d seen it head to. Sure enough, my attention was immediately drawn to the brightly colored beast, sticking out like a sore thumb even in the vibrant reefs. How had I ever missed it?
It hovered in the middle of a wide, open space, about a hundred yards away, all oranges, yellows, reds and glowing blues. The latter especially at the tips of the thousands of appendages growing along its back. The creature was pretty far away, too far for me to make out any more details than that, other than it looking… oddly unthreatening. Blue-grey antennas swayed nervously against the currents from its head, twitching this and that way as it scanned over the distance, staring down the opposite direction of my hiding spot, ignoring the fishes darting close around it.
It seemed like I did manage to confound it, for now. Hesitating, I glanced over my shoulder at the distant kelp forest. I probably wouldn’t have the time to go back and search for my lost loot in the thicket of fronds, not if I wanted to make it back before nightfall. The sun was past its zenith, the clock ticking away.
The creature trilled low and quiet, a sorrowful edge to the slow whistle, calling my attention back to it, my brow furrowing. At this distance, it looked almost small, hovering quietly in the empty clearing.
Lonely.
A stream of bubbles rose noisily as I exhaled. The creature’s head snapped around, and my heart skipped a beat. I swiftly ducked back in the trench, crawling until I could squeeze myself back under the overhang, heart rate picking up again. The sharp teeth flashed back in my mind, and I watched anxiously as the blue underbelly of the beast shot past the trench, in the direction of the kelp forest.
By some miracle, it hadn’t seen me. I wouldn’t wait to see if it came back this way. Knowing it was now heading in the opposite direction of my pod, I made the most of it to make my escape, scurrying through the corals and trenches as fast as my burning legs could propel me. Salvage be damned, I didn’t want to die for a bunch of batteries and hunks of metal.
When my tank ran out of oxygen, I didn’t stop to fill it. Instead I simply stuck to the surface, my arms free to help paddle my exhausted form forward.
Twilight had made way to dusk when I finally spotted my lifepod in the horizon, a black blot against the rapidly fading glow. I did let out a cry of relief then, hoarse and strained with the fire in my lungs.
I almost didn’t make it to the familiar, beckoning hunk of metal ahead, my adrenaline-fueled swimming having since slowed to a pathetic crawl. With one last burst of panic-induced energy, I pushed the heavy hatch open, and scrambled to clamber up within the safe confines of the pod before slamming it shut. I scrabbled to the corner of my pod until my back pushed into the wall, willing myself to flatten against the surface until I melded with it.
I couldn’t, of course. Instead, I kept myself pressed against it, eyes frozen on the hatch as my chest heaved with my heavily gasping breaths. I could feel my heart flutter erratically, beating against my ribs as if it could escape through there, refusing to slow down. I strained my ears for any keening sound or low burbling that could penetrate the thick walls of the pod, but I couldn’t hear anything over the blood rushing through my veins.
I stayed there a long time, gaze fixed on the hatch as if it could explode at any moment. Sharp teeth kept jumping towards me whenever I blinked. Eventually, I spoke, my voice cracking with the effort.
“What the fuck was that?”