After a long, luxurious shower, Orion toweled off and searched for new clothes. There was no way he was putting the filthy rags he was wearing back on. The master bedroom had some tacky polo shirts, khaki slacks and nothing else. The daughter’s room had more variety and fewer rotten clothes. He was afraid nothing was going to fit, but like before all the clothing adjusted to fit his size. He ended up donning a colorfully patterned shirt, some sensible denim-like overalls and a kind of windbreaker jacket with several neon pastel colors. He looked like the cover of an eighties teen magazine, but the musty smell was better than the rank odor wafting from his work clothes. He even found an elastic fabric band to pull his hair back in a neat bun.

  Grabbing the tape player and whatever toiletries he could find, Orion continued his exploration. He crept down the stairs to the first floor and saw that the front door was open. Equipping Sunflare he tiptoed down to the vestibule, closing and locking locking the door silently. Taking in his surroundings Orion spotted a living room to his left. There was a couch, armchair and three tray tables sitting around a big television with a test pattern on the screen. He shuddered, it looked as if the family had just gotten up and left during dinner.

  To his right was a kitchen set up in a classic style, large enough for a family sized dining table. The kitchen had a sink, large fridge and several appliances on the broken counters. There was also a large hole where the kitchen table would be from where he fell through the upper floor. He used the MUT to break down the appliances, though a few were in such disrepair that they only produced materials. Examining the parts in his inventory, he saw that he had several new Mod Chips mixed in with the scrap metal.

  ‘Mods could be considered like magic runes in a fantasy story,’ Apus explained. ‘They use circuitry as a way to pull elements away from other dimensions. Fire, electricity, water, etc. It’s one of the last bits of Sen-Tech available to people. Non-player characters can copy the process to make Mods but no one understands how they work.’

  Orion considered this, ‘That tracks. I don’t understand how a computer works, even if I can build one with parts.’

  In the basement, using the glow from Sunflare’s LED fire pattern, Orion spotted three of the skinny robots milling about. They were standing around in what looked like a rec room, if the Foosball and ping pong tables were any indication. There was a square gaming console and TV setup surrounded by several large bean bag chairs. One of which was sitting, exploded, in the middle of an Org-shaped crater. The robots had probably run in after the crash and were too stupid to stop from plummeting into the hole in the kitchen.

  The robots weren’t terribly tough, and after a few solid whacks with the battle sledge they went down one after another. He didn’t even level up, giving him an idea of how little a threat they were. He just hoped the basement muffled the sound so as not to attract other robotic zombies.

  ‘Rombies? Robombies?’ Orion mulled this over, “Eh, I’ll workshop it.’

  A water heater, the big score, powered by Aqua Mods. With this he could not only have hot running water, but produce drinking water for his bunker! He scavenged it and all of the exposed pipes he could see. There also seemed to be a kind of washer and dryer appliance. With the new water source sitting in his inventory, Orion backtracked and dematerialized the entire bathroom.

  Orion was ecstatic. Beaming at Apus he gleefully announced, ‘Oh yeah! No more recycled piss and swamp ass for this Org.’

  The next few days were spent gathering resources among the neighborhood. He built wooden walkways across the rooftops of the suburban homes, broke into them through upper story windows or carving out holes in the roof, and stole any salvageable parts. When his inventory got full he walked back up the scaffolding to the rest stop, dropped off materials and went right back to it. The suburban neighborhood became a network of bridges, the rooftops being roughly the same height.

  He even spotted a few yards with small gardens in them, any vegetation long since withered away. He took the risk to descend to the lawns that were safely fenced in, but dug up nothing but a few flower seeds. The big score was finding a collapsed greenhouse near the edge of the neighborhood, across the street from a long public park that bordered the forest. He broke down the whole thing, learning the Greenhouse recipe and obtaining dozens of seed packets.

  Taking a break to eat lunch on a roof, Orion listened to music and people watched. The area was devoid of skeletons, except those of neglected animals tied up in backyards or in small cages. He stared down at the robombies wandering the streets. They’d increased in number since he’d started salvaging. A chill ran down his spine as he briefly wondered if he was looking at the former residents of the homes he was pillaging.

  No matter how quiet he’d been, occasionally one would stupidly look up and spot him. It would give an eerie scream, like the sound of a distant siren mixed with an espresso machine. He would see the robots converge on the house, reaching for him, and Orion had to retreat till the heat died down.

  On the dawn of the third day he got about halfway to the roofs when he spotted several of the larger robot monsters in the growing press of metallic bodies. He might have been able to take them on, but the risk of getting swarmed was too great. Orion decided to return to the base, upgrade his living quarters, and replenish his dwindling food supplies. With several stacks of seed packs and plenty of materials, it was time to get the main facility up and running.

  Three days later, Orion woke and did his normal morning routine. As he ate breakfast (mostly ratillac bacon) he admired the new additions to his little bunker. After expanding the space, Orion had carved out a kitchenette with a fridge for food storage (also mostly ratillac) and an oven for food prep. Orion added an island counter in the open space so he could look into the workshop while he ate. Orion was still using the outhouse since he couldn’t figure out a septic system. But he did add a standing shower and sink for cleaning dishes using a spare water heater next to the small shed. Admiring his handiwork, Orion grabbed his supplies and headed to the base.

  Orion paused as the morning light reflected off the ground, reminding him to check his new greenhouse. He’d built a separate bunker to the east of the base, far enough away to give it proper sunlight through the day. The roof was ground level, made of clear glass that allowed sunlight to shine through to the room. He opened the hatch to check on the garden. He’d used the MUT to till soil obtained from the crater, sowing them with a few packets labeled ‘pot?to’ in Orgish. Nothing appeared to be growing yet, so Orion just watered the plots and climbed up to the surface. He hoped the seeds were still viable, and that the sandstorm wouldn’t rip up the panels with dust tornadoes.

  Orion frowned as he resurfaced, glaring at the horizon. “Looks like we’re about to get a field test,” Orion grumbled to himself.

  The sky was starting to darken, just like before the last sandstorm. He had intended to check his traps, but he had no idea how long it would take for the storm to hit the area. Not taking any chances, he gathered the outhouse, sink and shower setup with the MUT and went inside the main base. He didn’t know how well any of his underground shelters would fare against the coming disaster, but he knew the main base had held up admirably. He’d just wait it out, finish his work inside, and hope his home and garden survived.

  Orion secured the front doors the best he could and took a moment to stand back and admire his handiwork. The front half of the base was mostly cleared of robot bodies, and any alien corpses he found had been given a proper funeral. He had focused on restoring the life support systems toward the center of the base, away from any open holes in the outer walls.

  He thought back to when he’d gotten the air filtration system fixed in the cafeteria. After taking the first deep breath he’d had in weeks, Orion broke down in happy tears. Not even his bunker could filter out the noxious toxins in the air. He’d celebrated with a cake from a repaired food replicator, spending the rest of the night partying with Apus.

  As his repair efforts brought him towards the heart of the base, Orion noticed the robots further in were badly rusted. Near the entrance they were as tough as the ones found outside, but the deeper he got the more corroded they were. He even started to get stacks of [Oxidized Cybernite] in his inventory from the piles. As near as he could tell they were worthless junk items he couldn’t use.

  While Orion was smashing one of the large piles of rusted bodies, the crumbling scrap revealed a still active robombie buried underneath. The robot must have been pinned, but with the extra weight removed it started to rise to its feet. The head and half of its left torso were missing, the arm completely gone. Part of a skeleton poked out from the exploded hole in the chest, the shattered bones knitted together with metal sinews. It made up for this lack of a metal head by having eyes sprouting from all over its bloated robot body.

  As it shambled toward him, Orion smashed it with Sunflare. The fight took longer than normal because any damage started to repair itself almost as quickly as Orion could dole it out. Luckily the thing was clumsy and slow. Eventually, Orion pulled a thick crowbar out of his toolbox and used sheer force to pry its arm and legs off. When inky tendrils poured out of the empty sockets and tried to pull the arm back to the body, he used the MUT to put the discarded limb in his inventory. When the robombie was finally immobilized he just hammered away at it till the last chunks glowed blue and were absorbed.

  Checking his inventory, he noticed a [Health Mod] cassette, and [Mysterious Skull]. Pulling the skull out he looked at it more carefully. The yellowed bones shattered, the cracks held together with greasy black metal. The skull was thick, with a lantern jaw and prominent tusks. Even without appraising the item, Orion knew what he was holding. These chitinous black robots used to be Orgs. He noticed a notification in the corner of his vision and opened his HUD with a flick of his eyes.

  [Mission Updated: Org You Out There?

  You have discovered the presence of Orgs on an unidentified planet. Their bodies have been changed into mindless robots, seeking to harm organic lifeforms.

  Rewards:

  +10,000 XP

  New Mission Parameters:

  Discover the reason behind these changes and if possible, reverse the effects. Uncover the history of the Orgs and the reasoning for their disappearance during the Gate War.]

  Not wishing to dwell on the ramifications of the updated mission parameters, Orion got to work. He summoned Apus, whose guidance had been instrumental narrowing down which rooms to repair and in what order. Over the past few days he’d made a path through the hallways, restoring life support systems and the lights. It made navigating the base much easier, and far less creepy. It also gave him access to several essential rooms he’d need to survive this planet.

  He had tried fixing the bathrooms, but he’d been unsuccessful. The machinist trade seemed to have more focus on fixing machines and wiring, making him something of a space electrician. Plumbing appeared to be an entirely different skill set, and the best he could do was patch some holes with duct tape. He tried not to use the toilets in the base, anyway. Some of them looked like modern art sculptures made of porcelain. If Orion was going to be stuck here, he’d be forced to find one that accommodated the Orgish derriere.

  Not looking forward to that inevitability, he turned his attention to other matters. Orion had planned to work on the kitchen today, and the oncoming storm increased his desire to get started. He didn’t know how long the sandstorms lasted, having died during the last one. If it was going to be longer than a day, he needed to have a backup plan.

  Entering the newly restored double doors of the cafeteria, he set his tools on the counter. Orion pulled the pink headphones off his neck and was about to put them on. After some hesitation he sighed and put them back, choosing instead just to get to work.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Why the sigh, Sir?” Apus asked.

  Orion was already trying to figure out one of the panels on the wall. It had a rectangular glass screen and an opening underneath like some kind of vending machine. He’d seen similar panels in the halls but hadn’t really investigated them.

  “Hmm? Oh, it’s just the music.” Orion said distractedly, “At first I was just happy to have anything to jam out to, but listening to the same tape on repeat is getting old. We never found any other cassettes in our looting spree.”

  Apus asked, “Why don’t you just use the music streaming service?”

  Orion went still. He stood up and slowly looked at Apus. “The what?” he demanded.

  Apus shuffled back and pointed at the pink tape player at his waist, “The streaming service. There should be a button with a sound icon on it. If you click that, you should be able to access the Galaxy Network and access several music apps.”

  Orion unclipped the cassette player from his tool belt and looked at the buttons. Sure enough, a soundwave symbol was right next to a button with a circle on it. He pressed it and the device’s window turned into a touch screen with several music apps on it. A red icon shaped like a broken chain appeared on the screen.

  “No dice,” Orion said miserably. “Looks like we’re still offline.”

  “There may be another way.” Apus flitted to Orion shoulder and looked over the screen, “The developers spend a lot of time logged into Cosmic Horizons. The online features aren’t fully integrated, so some of the programmers have made public playlists of downloaded music and movies.”

  Orion stared at his bird companion and asked, “How do you know that? I don’t know that, and we share a brain.”

  “I’m here to help monitor your mental state, Sir.” Apus explained, “I have been programmed with information to improve your quality of life.”

  Apus flicking his eyes at the selection of apps, remotely swiping away from the familiar icons. The screen flickered across several pages of data Orion was pretty sure he shouldn’t have access to. The information moved too fast for his brain to process, but stopped on a computer screen filled file several folders. They were labeled with different genres of music and movies. Cautiously, Orion double tapped the file named ‘Metal’ and pulled up a huge list of MP3 files.

  The files themselves looked like they had been pirated, most of the titles were a jumble of numbers and letters. Heart hammering with excitement, he tapped the first song on the list. As the heavy pounding of drums started filled his ears, a tear rolled down his cheek. As the thrum of bass and the scream of the electric guitar filled his chest, Orion felt a kind of peace settle over him. Gene Simmon’s voice had never sounded so sweet.

  “I never thought I’d get to hear my music again,” Orion’s voice broke as he brushed away the tear.

  Apus visibly relaxed. “Excellent! Star-Lynx hopes to integrate movie and tv streaming services once the game officially launches, but hopefully this will suffice for now?”

  “It suffices.” Orion wiped his nose as he listened, “Hey, Apus? Could you send the Devs a thank you for giving us access to Earth music, please? Virtual heaven just seemed bland without my tunes, y’know?”

  Apus didn’t argue this time, “Message sent, Sir. Now, shall we get to work?”

  Orion grabbed his toolbox and pulled his MUT out of his inventory. Feeling invigorated, he grinned at the broken appliances with a renewed sense of purpose. He shouted, “Fuck yeah! Lets get cooking!”

  [Colony has reached LVL 1:

  Orion Starbeard has successfully established a new colony. You now have access to the Colony Menu. Continue to grow and expand your colony to unlock new colonists and buildings.

  Rewards:

  New Title: Director

  +1 Colony Leader Unlocked!

  Note: Leaders can provide information and guidance, assign missions and help with delegating duties to other colonists.]

  Commander Slate woke up from stasis. His first thought was one of relief. The mayday message must have gotten through! Someone must have fixed the communication issues. Maybe Max had stayed behind to fight off that strange horde of killer robots. Slate just hoped his chief of security had time to get to the safety of a stasis pod himself.

  His pod rotated into place, door opening after reaching floor level. Confusion hit him. The stasis chamber was empty. There should have been nervous guards and confused inmates milling about. His footsteps echoed in the cavernous room as he cautiously walked towards the exit. He was the only one awake, the other pods were still in cryosleep.

  There were several bodies of guards and inmates on the floor. Some of them had died of their injuries before they were able to get into stasis. Slate clenched his fists, wishing he could have done more. Even if they had been in critical condition, cryosleep would have preserved them until they could be revived. He made a mental note to have emergency supplies brought into the chamber as soon as possible. But why was he the only one awake?

  Commander Slate stopped just before the doors and examined himself in the reflective metal surface. The Grey in the mirror looked back at him, shorter than the Gray ancestors he was cloned from. His gray skin was still bruised from the battle. He had an egg-shaped head with large black almond shaped eyes, a large cranium, and a square jaw set in a grimace. A brain implant the shape of a crescent moon covered a nasty battle scar over his left temple. He was buff for his size, muscular arms and a broad chest. He always tried to keep in shape since leaving the Galactic Navy. His white button-down shirt and charcoal slacks were still stained with mud and blood from the attack.

  “Pewter. Status report.” Slate demanded, “What’s going on with the base? Are we still under attack? Did we receive word back from the company? Have we been rescued?”

  Slate’s personal AI assistant appeared in his vision. She was a holographic Grey in a sensible blouse and brown pencil skirt, wearing high heels and cat eye glasses. Despite being a uniform holographic green color, Pewter looked every bit like the personal assistant she was meant to be.

  Pewter adjusted her glasses, “Mining base is fifty-six percent operational. The attack has been stopped. Communications are still down.”

  Slate sneered at that. Not a rescue then. Slate continued, “How many people are awake?”

  “Two.” Pewter answered.

  “Damn.” Slate cursed, “Who’s the other person?”

  Pewter went quiet as data flashed across her glasses. After an uncomfortably long silence she responded, “Unknown.”

  That sent a chill down his spine. Tucking in his disheveled shirt, Slate unlocked the Stasis Chamber and opened the doors. He flinched as the three insect turrets swiveled on him, scanning him with their single eye. Recognizing Slate as a high ranking officer they turned back around and faced the wall of robotic corpses.

  Slate was impressed by the carnage, “Good work, boys. I think you’re the only reason we’re alive. Stand guard, I’m going to check things out.”

  The robot bugs chittered in response and Slate locked the door behind him. Nervously he scaled the wall of metal bodies, expecting an active war scene. Instead, the hall was damaged, but clear of carnage. No robots, no dead bodies, and no rescue crew. Something was definitely off. Not being in any immediate danger, he started picking his way down the uneven pile of destroyed robots, arms out to his side to try and keep his balance.

  There was a loud ‘clunk’ and a ’splat’ sound from the direction of the kitchen. A loud voice bellowed, “Yes! I did it!”

  Slate was caught off guard by a voice so close by and he slipped. Slate pitched forward, tumbling and bouncing down the sharp incline till landing on his back. The wind got knocked out of him and he sat there a moment, reconsidering his life choices up to this point.

  “Who’s there?”

  The unfamiliar voice called out and Slate struggled to sit up, wheezing and unable to catch his breath. A large shadow approached from the cafeteria entrance, a heavy ‘Thump Clack, Thump Clack’ footfall swiftly approaching. Taking a hoarse breath Slate was finally able to yell.

  “Intruder!” Slate shouted, “Defend...Stasis!”

  The metallic clatter of the turrets skittering up the wall caused the shadow to stop. The insectoid mechs pulled themselves into view and pointed red lasers as the shadowy figure, turrets humming as they powered up. Then one bug scanned the stranger, then turned to chatter robotically at the others. There was a brief but animated discussion among the turrets, then the laser guns powered down. The three insects looked at Slate with a simulated expression of confusion.

  “Rude,” the figure said. They walked closer, lifting Slate to his feet and dusting him off. “You don’t see me going around attacking strangers on sight.”

  Coughing, Slate nodded, “You got me there. In my defense, we were just under attack.”

  “I guess you’re right about that. This place was a mess when I found it.” The deep voice sounded genuinely sympathetic, “You lost people. That must have been hard.”

  Slate wasn’t expecting sympathy and finally took a better look at the stranger. Nothing could have prepared him to see an Org standing in front of him. They were nearly twice as tall as him, curvy but muscular, with a prosthetic leg and an AI hologram of a red bird on their shoulder. He’d never seen an Org before. No one in his lifetime had, except perhaps some of the oldest Zylvaans. The situation suddenly became a lot more complicated than he thought. Slate straightened himself and tried to conduct himself with some dignity.

  Slate introduced himself, “Apologies for the misunderstanding. I’m glad no one was hurt. I’m Commander Slate, and I’m the warden here at Mining Base MI-47. Nice to meet you, Miss…”

  “Oh, rad! I’m a warden too! Maybe you can give me some tips? I’m Mr. Starbeard. Orion Starbeard.” Said Orion.

  “Mr. Starbeard. And no, I mean I’m-” Slate corrected, “Nevermind. You’re not one of mine. How did you get here?”

  Orion shrugged, “I’m honestly not completely sure, but I popped out of the sarcophagus in the workshop.”

  Slate blinked, “Workshop?”

  Orion nodded. “Sure, upstairs. It has all the random junk in it.”

  Slate looked down, trying to refresh his memory. Did they have a workshop? He’d never heard of one being used. Granted they hadn’t been on the planet very long before the attack sent the entire base running toward the protection of the stasis pods.

  Pewter interrupted his thoughts, “The workshop had been co-opted as a storage room. I believe Max was using it as an evidence locker.”

  “Evidence?” Slate asked, thinking back to their supplies. They were personal items brought in by the colonists, but most were too dangerous to be given back.

  A memory struck him like a thunderbolt. There was an infamous art thief on board, wasn’t there? He had stolen all kinds of ancient Sen-Tech artifacts. If one of them was still working, that would explain the situation.

  Trying to keep his voice level, Slate asked. “Would you mind showing me? I’m not familiar with that room.”

  “Sure, follow me!” Orion clumped away, placing pink headphones over his ears.

  Slate was shocked to see the insect drones wave back before climbing down to resume their posts. He followed as Orion loped off, needing to jog to keep pace with the taller man. He saw no bodies as they navigated the hallways, either organic or synthetic. There was a lot of superficial damage to the infrastructure but the base was maintaining life support and most of the lights were on. He had no idea how long it would have taken for one person to accomplish all this on his own.

  Orion opened a door into a lit room filled with workbenches and just an astonishing amount of stupid, random stuff in various unsorted piles. If this was in fact Max’s handiwork, Slate was going to have a strong talk with him about his organizational skills. They weaved through the stacks and benches until Slate found himself standing in front of a futuristic, yet ancient-looking standing coffin. He remembered seeing it briefly in Random Noun’s file. But instead of just being filled with a plaster mummy, it was filled with swirling purple light.

  “You’re saying you fell through the Gate currently active in this ancient Sen-Tech artifact?” Slate gawked at Orion, “Are you a Sentinel?”

  Orion looked uncomfortable, “How much trouble am I in if I say yes?”