[Colony Director Orion Starbeard has selected a name for your new settlement. New building Recipe: Municipal Center now available!

  Welcome to Phoenix!]

  ‘Who’s Starbeard?’

  That was the first thought Captain Max Thrustar had as he woke up in the stasis pod. The announcement happened as soon as he regained consciousness. The second thought was wondering if they were still under attack. He felt the stasis pod shifting into position and the door opened up with a hiss of decompression.

  Max dove and rolled, ending on a crouch with his weapon drawn. He quickly scanned the room and realized he had two dozen prisoners staring at him, but the room was otherwise devoid of threats. Feeling slightly embarrassed, he stood and sheathed his pistol and looked around.

  Max himself was a handsome, heroic type. Tanned, well muscled, with a well trimmed goatee on his chiseled jawline. He had short black hair, his military style haircut just a bit overgrown. He had the look of a seasoned soldier. A scar marred his chin and there was a touch of gray at his temples and beard. His leather bomber jacket, worn over his guard captain’s uniform, made him look like every space-faring rogue you’d expect to see on the cover of a science fiction romance novel.

  “Is everyone safe? Does anyone need medical attention?” Max asked with authority.

  There was a chorus of dissension. No one seemed to be badly hurt, just some scrapes and bruises from the effort of escaping. Max examined the others in the room, ten of his best men had their weapons drawn on the inmates. People he recognized as convicts, but these were among the list he would deem ‘Model Prisoners’. Not only the least violent, but generally considered misfits even among their peers.

  The weirdest among them were part of a group colloquially known as ‘The Menagerie’. Most of their motley crew had woken up together and were already huddled together. Even the other prisoners gave them a wide berth. But where was everyone else?

  The door to the stasis chamber opened and Commander Slate walked in. He was flanked by two of the bug turrets Max saw defending the room right before he locked everyone in. He straightened as the warden entered, old instincts kicking in.

  “Everyone line up for inspection!” Max bellowed.

  Slate held up a restraining hand. “No need for that. I’m no longer in charge. Phoenix is under new management.”

  “Phoenix?” Max repeated, perplexed.

  The convicts were confused too, stopping halfway in their effort to form two lines. Everyone stared at Slate as he walked down the line. He nodded in approval, as if pleased to see who had woken up. He pulled up his personal HUD and started taking notes, Pewter appearing at his side and adding suggestions.

  Max held his crisp salute for a few more moments before impatience overtook him. “Warden, what is going on? Is this a rescue?” Max stepped closer and whispered, “is the attack over?”

  “I’ll explain everything in a moment,” Slate said. He closed his HUD and addressed the room, “Just know that our situation has changed. The attack is over, but the threat is still very real. We are cut off from civilization, and it’s going to take all of us to survive on this world we find ourselves stranded on. Are you with me so far?”

  There were nods and murmurs. The crowd gathered around the Grey in a semi-circle to listen closer.

  Slate continued, “The new Director and I have already discussed what to do when inmates, such as yourselves, wake up. As of right now, all of you have a full pardon.”

  There was a chorus of cheers. There was much celebration and slapping of backs, even a hug or two. The big Astropod, Neesya, scooped the rest of the Menagerie up and swung them in her excitement.

  Slate held up his hands to quiet them down, “But there is a very good chance none of us will survive.”

  The room went deathly silent again.

  “However, if we all work together, we have a real chance to make it out of here.” Slate continued, “We only have the very basics of survival. The weather itself is a hostile threat. There are dangerous animals near base, and beyond that is a deadly expanse of unexplored desert. And worse, there’s a whole city beneath our feet filled with the robots that attacked us.”

  The only sound that could be heard in the chilly air was the low, steady hum of the stasis pods around them.

  “But if you help us rebuild, make this planet habitable, then you will be offered an opportunity: To stake a claim on any of the land we’re able to Terraform. A new beginning!” Slate continued, “Or if you’d prefer, once we figure a way back home you’ll be offered a chance to go back to your old lives with a clean slate.”

  “HA!”

  Everyone turned to see a grizzled old Grey with a black eyepatch who leaned against the wall. He was covered with burn scars on his hands and face, which was lined with age and cynicism. Known as Uncle Pyro, we was infamous for his temper.

  Slate took this in stride. “Something amusing, Uncle?

  Pyro folded his arms over his broad chest, “You really expect us to believe that we’re just free now? That you’ve wiped away all of our past transgressions? Eh? What if we don’t want to work for you? What if I just left and struck out on my own? Who’s gonna stop me?”

  Max slowly reached for his pistol but Slate held up a hand to stop him. Slate fixed him with a steady stare, and a contest of wills began.

  Max set his pistol to Stun but lowered it to his holster. This could get ugly. He knew the two Greys had a tense relationship.

  Uncle Pyro was a revolutionary, a so-called mercenary fighting to ‘overthrow the yoke of oppression’. Slate was a military man, dedicating his life to protecting average citizens from such acts of terrorism. They’d fought each other on the battlefield more than once, and neither had come away unscathed. He saw Slate unconsciously clenched his left fist, which Max knew had been replaced with a realistic cybernetic prosthetic during one such conflict.

  After a moment, Slate simply smiled. The move caught Pyro off guard, and he dropped his arms, stuffing them in his pockets and looking away.

  “You misunderstand,” clarified Slate. “You won’t be working for me. You won’t even be working for the Director. You’ll be working for yourselves. Together, for the benefit of everyone. And if you want to leave, we’ll give you as many supplies as we can afford to lose and you can strike out on your own.”

  A feathered hand shot up, “What will we be expected to do?”

  Slate turned his attention to Professor Ke’roy Queebeax. He was an infamous Kreelux inventor who landed himself in prison after the ‘Anti-Grav’ incident. He was an older gentleman with gray feathers, except for his head which was pink that transitioned to green along his neck. His white beak had a perpetual goofy smile and his eyes covered in yellow tinted goggles.

  His consummate partner in crime, Random Noun, was already perched on the Professor’s shoulder. The Hiver was small even for his race, covered in fluffy marigold fur with brown stripes. The segmented emerald eyes regarded Slate critically. With a buzz of his tiny wings, Random skittered and hid himself in the storage compartment of Queebeax’s jetpack.

  Slate brought up his HUD window, “I don’t expect anything. I presume you’ll fall back on what you’d normally do. All of you had jobs before falling on hard times. Blacksmith, rancher, techanic, etc. We’ll need all of those jobs to thrive here.”

  Slate closed the window again, “But before you make a decision whether you want to stay or leave, let me give you the tour. When you see what we’re working with you might still decide to try your luck out in the desert.”

  Max and the newly emancipated colonists followed Slate into the base. There was relieved muttering among the group that the base was clear of any carnage. While the others took in the rooms that were clear, Max was on high alert. One of the bug turrets clattered at his side as if picking up on his nervousness. He couldn’t believe this was the same base that, last he saw, was overrun by metal monstrosities.

  Slate was walking backwards down a hallway as he talked, not paying attention to his surroundings. Max saw the huge looming shadow move across the wall of the next hall, heard the ‘thump, click, thump, click’ of strange footsteps approaching. His gun was already out of its holster as the towering figure turned the corner.

  “Get down!” Max ordered, setting his gun from Stun to Kill.

  Everyone ducked, giving Max a clear shot. He fired three times in rapid succession. The creature raised its arm and all three plasma bullets hit their mark. One in the arm, one in the ribs and a gut shot.

  “Ow! Goddammit!”

  Max went cold. The robots didn’t talk. And they certainly weren’t blue with glowing freckles and tusks. He just shot an Org! He thought they were extinct, and he’d just shot the last one!

  “Dicks!” The Org complained, “This was my favorite shirt and you just shot holes in it! What the fuck, dude?”

  Except they weren’t going down. In fact, the Org just seemed to be getting angrier. Orion rounded on him and Max started to raise his weapon again.

  Slate smacked the pistol out of his hands, “Max, stop! That’s the Director!” Slate held up his hands to stop the Director before he got within grabbing range. “Are you okay, Orion?”

  Orion fixed Max with a heated glare, his right pupil starting to glow red. His breathing was shallow, his lung punctured. Blood was soaking into the pastel pattern of his shirt. Finally, the Org took a steadying breath and held up his hands disarmingly.

  “Fine. I’m…fine.” Orion plucked at his shirt and sighed, “Well I was trying to make a good impression, but I guess that’s ruined now. How annoying.”

  Max felt more than heard most of the crowd take a step back from him. No one wanted to mess with a man who called three bullet wounds to the abdomen “Annoying”. Especially one who seemed more concerned with the condition of his clothes than the puddle of blood forming at his feet.

  Slate rubbed a hand over his face with frustration. He calmed himself and waved a hand at the injured Org. Slate announced, “Let me formally introduce you. Everyone, this is Orion Starbeard, our new colony Director.”

  Uncle Pyro, however, was suitably unimpressed.

  “So you’re the man in charge, are you?” Pyro asked.

  Orion looked up from where he was wiggling a thick finger through the topmost hole in his shirt. He pulled his hand out from the collar and wiped blood off on his stomach.

  “For the given value of ‘in charge’ around here, yes. If you’re looking for a strong leader who knows what they’re doing well, sorry but I’m just sort of winging it,” Orion replied humbly. “But it’s worked so far, and with a few extra hands helping out I think we all have a real chance at surviving out here. And if it all fails and the colony can’t support this many folks, I will do my damnedest to make sure everyone gets back to the stasis pods until I can figure it out again.”

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  Pyro scoffed, “You’d just stuff us all back in containment? And then what? Stay out here all by yourself and fix the colony again?”

  Orion said simply, “It’s worked so far.”

  “And what makes you so special?” Pyro demanded.

  Orion scrunched his face up, looking pensive for a moment. Long enough that Pyro’s smug smirk faded. Pyro had probably expected some brash, cocksure retort from the burly stranger. But this goofy looking Org covered in neon colors and blue blood had given his veiled insult careful consideration.

  Finally Orion shrugged. “Because I’m a Sentinel. If you die, it’s game over. If I die, I just wake up a few days later and get right back to work.”

  There were audible gasps at the mention of Sentinels. Even Pyro was taken aback. Max snapped a glance at Slate, who nodded.

  “It’s true,” said Slate. “I’ve seen it happen. He saved my life by sacrificing his own, too.”

  The new colonists looked at Orion with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. Sentinels were supposed to be legendary heroes, capable of feats other people couldn't even conceive. If a Sentinel had brought this doomed colony back from the brink of destruction, maybe there was hope.

  Are we really free?

  Orion flinched at the mental inquiry. The Org looked around for the source of the question. As colonists turned to look at Neesya, he followed their gaze.

  Neesya was a warm banana yellow and covered with walnut brown freckles. Broad shoulders, thick chest with muscled arms and legs, all of it covered in soft padding. The look was further accentuated by a softly rounded face with thick pursed lips, a rounded bump that suggested a nose, but no visible eyes. Instead her head was covered with thick slug-like brown tentacles that partly obscured her features and lay draped over her shoulders. She was almost popping out of her torn striped prison wetsuit, specially tailored to keep her skin from drying out.

  She smiled gently to confirm Orion’s unspoken question. Max found it peculiar that Orion had been surprised by Neesya’s telepathy. While he had a standard issue universal translation chip from his time in the navy, no one else would be able to communicate without the Astropod telepathically translating their thoughts. Surely there were Astropod Sentinels, right?

  Orion composed himself and cleared his throat, “To answer your question Miss…?”

  Neesya, projected Neesya.

  “Neesya.” Orion smiled, “The way I see it, we’re all prisoners here. This planet has all of us trapped. What we need more than inmates is people willing to help defend this land. The best way to do that is to make sure you have a stake in it, too. And if you can’t trust that at face value well, you can think of this as community service in lieu of hard time in the mines.”

  Orion looked downcast, “You’ve already lost so much. We all have. I’m just hoping we can build something together that we can be proud of.”

  There was some muttering and whispers among the former inmates. Pyro stood next to Professor Queebeax. The Kreelux was stroking his chin thoughtfully, appraising the Director.

  Orion held up a hand, “Anyway, I’m sure you all have questions. I’ll be happy to answer any you might have, and Slate here knows about as much as I do now. If you don’t know what to do I can assign tasks, as can any of the colony leaders. But right now, I’m going to get cleaned up. Again.”

  Orion shot Max a withering glare, and he shrank back from it, mortified.

  “In the meantime, I’ll let you get back to the tour.” Orion started to walk off, “Oh, yeah. Right now we don’t have enough homes for everyone, but we’ll get you bunked up in some of the spare rooms here on base. I’m going to start making some new bunkers. If anyone wants to help, come find me and I’ll hook you up with one of these.”

  Orion unclipped the MUT from his belt and held it up to a chorus of gasps.

  Prof. Queebeax squawked, “Is that a Multipurpose Universal Tool? Those are legendary Sen-Tech artifacts! And you’re just going to hand them out?”

  Orion shrugged, “Sure, why not? They come in handy. Here, you can have mine. I’ll just make a new one.”

  Orion underhand tossed the MUT casually to the Prof, who fumbled it. Pyro caught it out of the air and handed it up. Both men gave Orion a horrified look that he’d treat such a rare and precious item so callously. The Org walked past, ignorant of their judgment and greeted a few other curious colonists before he stepped out of sight. Queebeax stared at the MUT with reverent awe. Random peeked out of his hiding spot and stared at the device as well. Joined by Neesya, the Menagerie had a huddled meeting.

  As Max left to brief his guards he overheard the whispered conversation.

  Pyro asked, “What do you make of him? You think we can trust him?”

  “Trust him? Hoo hoo!” Queebeax brushed padded fingertips over the MUT, “For one of these things, I’d follow him through the Void Gate!”

  A few days passed and things had settled into a routine. The colonists had taken to their new lives with enthusiasm and a surprising amount of competence. Most of them took to building, while others helped in different ways.

  Max was training a young, lanky Jrassk to be a guard. Max requested a training room and arsenal to be built, but it took a back seat to higher priority projects. In the meantime Max had been using Todd to train his new cadet.

  Random Noun had a lot of experience with building structures and city planning. His hive had owned a construction company on Sanctuary, which had later served as a cover story for his larcenous lifestyle. The company would often hire their services out to colonies, and Random had spent much of his youth building a variety of different structures on a multitude of biomes. It had been his suggestion to use Rokaos architecture to dig out the ground beneath the base and turn it into a kind of cave system.

  His blueprints illustrated plans to dig subbasements below the base, small at first, then expanding outward depending on their needs. The first floor was intended to be a social hub, and serve as temporary shelter for the colonists until more permanent housing could be constructed. Compact homes, similar in style to Orion’s bunker, would be erected along the edge of the basement. Life support stations were built along the walls, connected to the base’s power generator. This created a safe, breathable environment underground so people could work out in the open without the use of biosuits.

  Several of the colonists had asked for MUTs of their own and this sped up the process exponentially. Orgite panels shored up the walls and ceiling, as well as two sets of stairs leading to the basement level. Random Noun designed the artificial cavern to look like a town square in a small rural area. There was a brick crossroads directly beneath the base, extending in the four cardinal directions. In the center was a roundabout with a raised island, filled with a circular dirt lawn. The centerpiece of the island was a statue of Orion, carved by Slate, with a simple plaque that said ‘Orion Starbeard. Founder of Phoenix’.

  Along the side streets a few small crafting buildings had cropped up. There was no currency, the planet still cut off from the credit system, so they bartered instead. They mostly traded materials or labor for goods. Mine some ore, you could commission a pickax from Pyro’s blacksmithing station. If you wanted fresh vegetables you could work the greenhouse with Neesya. Professor Queebeax’s “Gizmo Shoppe”, as he called it, was a source of helpful or strange trinkets and inventions. Often the Kreelux would just waddle up to someone, hand them a strange tool or robot companion, and then waddle back without a word. People had been supplying him with materials out of sheer morbid curiosity at what he’d make next.

  The spaces that weren’t occupied with buildings had dirt yards. There were a few patches of scraggly, purple grass struggling to grow in the lawns. Orion suspected it might look like a public park if everything grew in. Helping with that illusion was a young Jrassk who had been painting murals on the walls and ceiling. While not as realistic as the underground city dome that showed a real time projection of a sky, it still made the underground look more cozy. She had even painted the strategically placed support pillars to look like Org?an trees, with cobalt trunks and purple leaves. The pillars doubled as UV lamps that helped the grass grow and kept the species that needed the vitamin D healthy.

  The underground stables and Orion’s house didn’t quite fit the design theme yet, and he could see Random discussing ideas with a few other workers. Which was adorable to watch because Hivers communicated through dance. Orion’s implant translated the dance moves into words in his mind. For some reason it also gave Random a faint French accent. As he tried to understand that weird detail, he overheard that the digging had stopped because they had run into an obstacle. Specifically, Bite Rock.

  The cluster of boulders was bigger than Orion had expected. There was no way they had just blown here, even with as bad as the sandstorms were. On the newly exposed stone he found more bite marks near the bottom. He was starting to suspect these might have flaked off the meteor and were flung here by the Terraworms. The rocks must have been in the way of their burrowing. None of the MUTs had even made a dent in it.

  He’d asked Uncle Pyro to make him a new pick, something sturdier than his crude Orgite model. He was hoping Pyro could use the gold ERROR crystal, but even Pyro couldn’t identify it. Orion offered him samples of all the metals and crystals he’d obtained and one stood out.

  Pyro held up a chunk of twisted black metal, “Where did you get this?”

  Orion examined it, “Ah, sorry I don’t know how that got mixed in. That metal came from the evil robots.”

  “This is cybernite!” Pyro exclaimed. “This is the same kind of metal Org implants are made of. It’s unique because it’s produced inside bone marrow and grows with you as you age. It’s malleable but durable and-wait, you said the robots are made of this?”

  Orion gave an affirmative grunt.

  Pyro’s implant projected a holographic visor and used it to examine the metal, “It’s full of impurities. There’s some kind of black gangue I’ve never seen before. Could you leave this with me? I want to run some tests.”

  “Sure. I don’t need any grungy bone metal.” Orion sighed, “So there’s nothing you can use?”

  Pyro added the samples to his forge’s materials chest. “I didn’t say that. Can you bring me some more of that metal you got off the mining tank? That’s solid iron right there, nice and reliable. Orgite’s a good starting ore but nothing beats iron, tough and plentiful on most worlds.”

  Orion nodded and prepared to leave.

  “One more thing,” Pyro stopped him, “lemme see your weapon. Slate mentioned you had a battle sledge?”

  Orion turned and pulled Sunflare out of his weapon wheel, presenting it to the Grey. Uncle Pyro examined it with his HUD visor, pulling up its stats. After a moment he gave a nod of approval.

  “Mm, Not bad, Rookie! If you ever want some smithing tips, come to me. I can raise your level a bit.” Pyro set Sunflare on his workbench, “leave this with me too. I’ll increase her level, add some mod slots, and give her some nice buffs.”

  It wasn’t a question so much as a statement. “Oh. Okay,” Orion was both proud and hurt by the exchange.

  Pyro reassured him, “Don’t take it as an insult. If you’re going to be defending this colony I want you packing the best weapons and armor I can provide. This is my job, Son, my specialty. I can’t fight an army of killer robots on my own, but I can make sure you have an upgraded arsenal.”

  Orion perked up, “I guess that makes sense. I appreciate it, I’m sure Sunflare’s in good hands.”

  “The best, I assure you. Now go get me that metal,” demanded Pyro. “Oh, and speaking of upgrades, you should talk to the Professor. Especially if you have any firearms. Keeroy’s the best techanic on this or any other planet.”

  “Okay, I will. Thanks Uncle!” Orion waved and left.

  That gave Orion an idea. He swung by his place first and then visited the Gizmo Shoppe. Queebeax looked up from his work table as Orion entered and set his work down.

  “Ah, Mr. Starbeard, our mysterious benefactor!” Queebeax walked closer, “welcome, welcome! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Pyro recommended I pay you a visit. Says you’re a great techanic.” Orion explained.

  Queebeax blushed, “Isn’t he sweet? And yes, I’ve been known to dabble, hoo hoo!”

  “Do you know anything about this?” Orion pulled the BioDome generator out of his inventory and set it gently on the counter. Queebeax picked it up and analyzed it with his goggles. HUD windows appeared in front of the pinched pigeon face and he scrolled through his crafting menus. He pulled out his MUT and fired at the disc, breaking it down into its base materials. The recipe appeared in Queebeax’s HUD.

  “Ah, there we are! Now let’s see.” Queebeax examined it, “I can replicate it, but it will require a lot of components. Yes, yes, more than we have, surely, but I’ll make a list of items to fetch. If we can obtain them, then I can make it. But it will take a lot of BioDome discs to carve out an area large enough to contain the base.”

  “It’s a place to start, anyway,” Orion said. “Get that list to me or Slate, and we’ll start collecting. Pyro said you could also upgrade firearms?”

  Queebeax rubbed his paws together. “Certainly! What have you got?”

  “I picked up one of the guard shotguns my first day here. That could probably use some buffs for close range combat,” Orion began, “But I was mostly wondering if you could do anything with this.”

  The Pocket Nuke was pulled out of storage and set down on the counter with a heavy ‘thump’! Queebeax’s mouth dropped open and he lifted his goggles. He leaned in and examined the weapon, inspecting the power cell and looking down the thick barrel. The Professor fixed Orion with an intense stare, beak pulled back in a manic grin.

  “You keep bringing me such magnificent toys, don’t you?”