NMS - Rain and Ruin, Part One

It pointed to the screen, covered in data and numbers that I couldn’t decipher, and said something that Ididn’t understand. I tried to think of the word for starship, and came up short; after an extremely convolutedperiphrasis, I had confused Urs even more. I pantomimed a starship next, sticking my arms up and pretending tofly around the room. Urs cackled, a high-pitched squeal of entertainment. It wasn’t the reaction I’d been hoping for. With a flash of insight, I retrieved the map from my storage pouch and mimicked writing on it. The Gekwatched for a moment, then opened a drawer and dug around in it before pulling out an old, battered-downpencil. It looked like it was stifling a laugh as it offered the tool to me – I couldn’t blame it. With everythingelectronic, most outposts had given up on writing by hand a long time ago. This pencil might not have been usedin years. But it worked, just as reliably as ever. I set about drawing a picture of a starship, crashing to a planet’s surface. I sketched the transmission tower,receiving the wavy lines of radio signals, as the ship fell from the sky in distress. Now easily able to understand,Urs ushered me over to the console, where it clicked through a rapid series of buttons. Finally, a deep red bubblepopped up on the screen, and Urs pointed at it, gurgling happily. I pushed it, and a security screen splashed up, filling the display with text. Since ships often had cutting-edge technology and blueprints in them, it made sense that all transmissions were encrypted to some degree – notrader wanted a Pirate or an enemy recon craft hunting down all of their shipments and stealing them. I wasactually a bit upset with myself, for not having realized earlier that I would be up against this. I scanned the screen, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. They were Gek numbers, giving some sortof math problem. I vaguely remembered learning somewhere – had it been in a data bank? Or had someone toldme? – that the three main races had different base numbers for their count systems, and that made it extremely 95

difficult to solve each other’s mathematics. The Korvax, ever efficient and computerized, used base two; the Gek,practical and steadfast, used base ten; and the Vy’keen, precise and large-scale logisticians, used base twenty. I frowned. I wasn’t about to spend hours figuring out how to do this, only to more than likely completelyscrew it up by the end. I tapped Urs on the shoulder. “Utenh?” I said, as meekly as I could. It shook its head, in the same pitying way that I might do to a particularly brainless animal, and elbowed itsway in front of me. It looked at the screen, looked off in thought for a second, and then hit one of the availablebuttons before backing up so I could take my place again. Coordinates flashed at the top of the display, and a crude map appeared. It was a mosaic of satellite photos,showing the planet’s surface in proper relief; a red dot stood out against the blueish-white background, denotinga crash site. It was in a mountain pass, with the final signal reading out from the slopes of a small peak thatbounded one edge of the valley. The ship must have clipped the top of a mountain, lost altitude quickly, and sliddown the side, heading in the direction of the tower, until it came to a stop. A low-speed collision as it wasdescending for a landing. I could only hope that its hull and technology weren’t too badly damaged. I pushed a small icon, a silhouette of a Gek and an arrow pointing away from it. A route of dotted linesappeared on the screen, leading from overhead image of the building I was in, all the way to the red dot. I flippedthe paper map over and traced the same path, a giant winding eel across the landscape, and marked the site ofthe crashed ship with a big, heavy X. I estimated a walking distance of about twelve kilometers – perhaps twohours over hilly, unfamiliar terrain – and sighed. I was getting so tired of walking. Going through my suit’s information stores, I pulled up the blueprints for ship tech and jotted quick notes ofwhat I should have, in the very likely case that I had to make some repairs: plenty of iron and zinc for the shields 96

and engines, and to make some carite sheets; plutonium, for launch thrusters; heridium for repairs. I wonderedwhether I should make an extra Dynamic Resonator to have on hand so I could leave this wretched systemwithout having to make any more stops, and decided that would probably be best. A few more items, and my list was complete. I folded it back into my storage pouch and got up, handing thepencil back to Urs. It realized I was leaving - already?, its expression seemed to shout, without a single word – andits face faltered, looking like news of a great tragedy had just arrived. For an instant, I sympathized: it was stuckhere on this deadly planet, no ship of its own, hardly any interaction with its own kind; a life of endless numbersand data, with certain injury from giant monsters waiting just outside the door if it ever ventured outside, and thethreat of raids literally coming from the sky at any time – it was enough to drive a sentient mind crazy. Even one ofa money-minded, purpose-driven trader like this. But though I could relate – I could not stay. I was not a trader, nor a laborious Gek on one of theiruncountable colony worlds. I was a Traveller, bound to explore and experience, and I had to be on my way. With afinal effort to say thanks – that I undoubtedly butchered badly – I was back through the door and found myselfstaring, once again, at the amber-tinted soil of Ambessia B, for what I truly hoped was the last time. 97

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VII AMBESSIA B [MOMENTUM] I fired my Scanner, and icons popped up all over my HUD in every direction. I got my bearings, orientingmyself to the mountainous landmarks in the distance, and started walking. Steadfast, I blew right past the volans that hovered around the building, unwilling to engage them. Theywere slow to follow, and soon I had left them behind. Now that the sun was lighting my way, my route was muchfaster than it had been on the way to the tower, and I made good time as I crossed hills and depressions, stoppingevery time I saw something I needed to harvest. Stuffing yet another flower of zinc into my suit, I focused on the positive: at least this planet wasn’t barren.If I had been stuck on Autrovo, with its complete lack of most resources and all buildings, I would have died forsure. There would have been no animals to hunt me down and kill me, sure, but there also wouldn’t have beenmuch to keep me alive in the first place. It was a small – but meaningful – blessing. 99

After an encounter with a giant heridium deposit, my suit sagged, full to bursting with elements. I could feelit weighing me down as I walked. I dragged myself to a nearby rock, sitting down with a relieved sigh, and tookstock of my inventory; I could free up some space by crafting the Resonator, and a few other minor cells and techcomponents. I looked around, and saw no immediate danger. Getting to work, I found that the overhead sun gave meplenty of light for soldering the small, delicate circuitry, and for smoothing out the wrinkles in the microdensityfabric. With a few heated blasts from my multi-tool, soon I had all the necessary pieces in their proper places. Isnapped them all together and welded the seams with a flourish, and then holstered my multi-tool, enjoying thesatisfying sizzling sound that the metals made as they cooled. A thin, wispy column of smoke trailed up into theair, and then dissipated entirely. One Dynamic Resonator – done. A shadow passed over me, and I looked up, tendrils of terror rooting inside my chest. A quartet of giantwinged creatures – maybe the same ones from the night before, maybe not; it was hard to tell from this distance –circled lazily in the sunlight, searching the ground for food. They either didn’t want or didn’t care about me,though, and after a few seconds of watchfulness, I relaxed. They were slowly receding, heading off in anotherdirection. My heartbeat slowed, returning to its proper rhythm. Checking my map again, I was pleased to see that I had covered most of the distance already. The shipwould be visible as soon as I crossed the next hill, but I’d have to climb a few hundred meters of elevation to getto it. I took a look at my jetpack status; everything was in good working order. I used some more of my stores to top off my suit’s systems, bringing everything back up to 100%. I felt –what was it, exactly? Safe? Good? I couldn’t tell, but I welcomed it immeasurably. After the last few days, it felt 100

almost strange to be this optimistic. I stood up and stretched, doing another look-out for any potential threats,and seeing none, was back on my way. I climbed the next hill, panting hard by the time I crested the top. A valley stretched out along the other side,sweeping away from me with gentle rolling slopes; across it, about halfway up the side of one of the smallermountains, plumes of smoke drifted airily skyward, marking my target with an easily-visible pattern. The zoom onmy Scanner homed in, and I could just see the light glinting off a pile of metal, half-hidden inside a long, gougingcrater that reached back up the mountainside behind it. I caught gleams of reddish-purple plates, reflecting thebright sunshine. My pulse pounded in my veins, and I gulped down some of my spare dH-m. I was so close to salvation. A few adult volans, and some juvenile stragglers, roamed through the area between where I stood and thecrash site. I took off in a run towards the crater, giving each animal a wide berth as I passed; only once did onelunge for me, bellowing its angry noises, and I launched over it easily, expertly triggering my jetpack to land on itsother side. I didn’t even look back. I kept going, my lungs burning. Now I was through the bottom of the intervening valley, and starting to go up the incline of the final hill. Itreared up above me, a sheer rock wall that went nearly vertical before plateauing again and dropping into thecrater on top. I had never been more grateful for my jetpack, and the way it always seemed to work, in anyconditions and on any planet. I hit the controls, feeling the thrust pick me up and fire me through the air like a rocket. I hadn’t gone morethan a third of the way up before my HUD icon flashed – a warning that I was nearly out of charge. I did a doubletake, and was floored by a sudden realization: I had forgotten that most of my upgrade tech had been destroyed inthe crash, jetpack boosters included. 101

My free arm and legs shot out as I flailed, panicking. Desperate, I grabbed the only thing within reach – astubby bush that protruded from the rock face, anchored deep inside the stone – and hung on as tightly as I could.My thrusters burned out, and my inertia carried me up, rotating around the axis of my fist, and I slammed, hard,into the wall above the bush. I flopped downward, coming to a rest on the short bundle of stems and trunks. Themomentum came and went, bouncing me up and down, slowly. I was stable, at least, so that was good. As long as I let the charge refill, I could go up from here and do thewall in stages, guiding straight up with my feet to help conserve my thruster usage. Uncomfortable, yes – but moreimportantly, non-lethal, unlike a fall from this height. A few moments passed and the bright blip! of a full tank rang through my ears. I carefully pulled myself upto a crouch, and put my hands on the wall for balance, then stood up. Looking over my head, I planned a route –and saw a small, solid outcropping that I could use as a second stop on my ascent. I hit the controls, and off I went. More fluid this time, I used my feet to run me on a straight course up thesheer wall of the mountainside, landing much more gracefully on the spot I had chosen; after a brief pause, I wasoff again, and before long, I soared over the rounded top of the cliff. As my thrusters sputtered out, I landed gentlyon my feet in the grass, right beside the slightly raised bulge of the impact crater. I stumbled forward, not focusedon anything except getting across these last few meters. Vaulting over the top of the pit with a triumphant yell, I cleared it and slid down the steep inner slope. I dugmy heels into the dirt, slowing down, and came to rest next to the sparking cargo containers that had spilled outof the hold. Common iron ore, mixed with bars of refined platinum and zinc, littered the ground. A nearby volans, further back in the gouge and higher up on the hill, saw my arrival and headed in mydirection, mandibles clicking. Under its floating tentacles, small creatures fled in panic, only turning back to look 102

once they had safely gotten to their burrows or taken shelter behind some solid rocks. I was so close now. I could feel the excitement welling up in me, and I wasted no time; I sprang up andstarted checking over the tech, the supplies, and the controls. I set diagnostics in one area as I inspected another.I pulled out and discarded anything that I couldn’t fix, salvaging what was left in order to fix the things I could. The damage was not as bad as I’d anticipated, which was a welcome change from the never-ending streamof disasters that had infiltrated my life over the last few days, but I did need to make some on-the-fly repairs. Allthe propulsion systems – pulse engines, launch thrusters, and hyperdrive modules – had been shattered when thehull hit the ground, and their fuel stores had leaked out not long after. I didn’t need to upgrade them completely –just enough to get off the ground. Just enough to get back to the station. I grabbed the necessary ores and flitted back and forth between blueprints, refining the materials as fast asI could while keeping an eye on the approaching predator. Another pair of them lurked further behind now, staringquizzically at their bold companion; they hadn’t seen me yet, but I was sure they would. If I stayed too long, Iwould be swarmed again – and this time, I no longer had the knife that had saved me last night. My chances ofsurviving another group attack were slim. At last, all the needed parts were crafted, and I shoved the components back into their proper slots, fanningaway the smoke and soot that had built up in the cargo and engine compartments. The Dynamic Resonator wasone of them, and I was extremely glad that I had built it earlier, when I had had a bit more time. I stepped back,sure I was missing something... Shields. Of course. Trawling through interplanetary space without a shield was basically hanging a giantsign across your ship that said helpless! I snatched some of the iron ore off the ground and jammed it into theshield fuel receptacle, feeling a tangible flood of relief as it easily disappeared inside. 103

The volans was almost on top of me now, dangerously close, and remembering how vicious its claw attackswere, I decided that would have to do. I had to get inside this ship, and hope it would lift off when I wanted it to. Ipressed the cockpit hatch button, frantic; the hinges popped open and swung out as the volans screeched, upsetthat its meal was escaping. The others behind it were now closing in, eager to join the hunt.Clamoring up the metal hull, I dove inside the cockpit and looked around for the button that would close theoverhead glass. The layout was completely unfamiliar, and my eyes darted back and forth in vain. I was lost. Ilooked up, my visor filled with tentacles and the hungry, chomping teeth of an alien mouth, and my ears ringingwith its loud, booming cries. I reached up, closed my fingers around the manual handle at the edge of the hatch, and yanked it down ashard as I could. An explosion of violent blue splattered my vision, and the unholy shriek simultaneously intensifiedand deadened, muffled by the glass. Something gelatinous flopped onto me, streaked with dark blue. But mostimportantly, the rough ka-chhk of the cockpit’s hatch locks cut through all the noise, and the console in front ofme lit up with bright lights. Outside the glass, the volans screamed and thrashed its mandibles, one of its tentacles spewing blood fromwhere I had severed the tip of it. Down by my feet, the missing piece spasmed, oozing blue across the floor of theship. I looked at it, then back up, barely registering that it was there. All I could think of was the ship. I had founda ship. I had fixed it. I was inside it. I could go. But did it work? I clicked my restraints in, linked my suit’s HUD, and checked over the controls, which all seemedoperational. Outside, the volans were smashing their tentacles against the cockpit glass and the wings, causing 104

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the yellow, shimmering shield to pop up when they made contact. The ship rocked slightly with the force, but Ipaid them no attention now. Finally, I saw the button I needed. Ships across the galaxy, though they may differ in layout, all used graphicicons rather than text to explain button functions, so that different races could buy and operate other ships withease. The button I needed had an icon of a ship on it, with an up arrow: launch. Beside it there was one with aship and a sideways arrow: boost. Then a ship with two arrows, protected by a glass flip-cover: pulse. At the endof the row, ringed in red and protected by a locked metal cover, a detailed white spiral, reminiscent of the galaxy.Warp. Perfect. I hit the launch button, holding it for what seemed like hours. Every agonizing second stretched out intoeternity, enough time for me to hear my every heartbeat and feel my every breath; I envisioned the furiouscarnivores outside breaking in and sucking my flesh right through the holes they would tear in my suit, ripping mylimbs from my body and cracking my bones open for the marrow. In that endless instant, I was sure I would die onthis planet, having come so close to making my escape. But then there was a bump, and a sudden acceleration. The treetops and the volans, just outside the glass,slipped away and vanished – one of their tentacles, trying to hang on, left a bloody smudge across the left pane ofglass – and all I saw was the bright, steady sunlight in the sky, tinged blue with the spilled ichor of the injuredcreature. I felt my body pushed back in the seat. I was moving. Scrambling, I rotated the ship to point upwards, perpendicular to the ground. I rammed my fist down on theboost button, feeling the instant power surge that shot the ship into the atmosphere. I fought with its gravitationalpull, knowing I wouldn’t be able to get enough speed unless I fired my pulse engines. But I had to leave the 106

atmosphere behind for that. Within a few seconds, the sky roiled through a color palette, turning from yellow to purple to black, and inthe distance I began to see the first signs of asteroid debris. I gingerly tapped the rotational thrusters attached tothe control stick, turning slightly on my course until I could see the space station through the cockpit glass. A muffled sound of relief crackled from my throat and tears pricked the edges of my eyes. I thought that thiscould be the happiest I had ever been in my entire life. It was incredible, to see such a thing after being left fordead. The sensation of spaceflight was better than I remembered; I swore it was even better than the first time Ihad left my home planet, heading for the stars. I lined up the destination crosshairs with the faint blue aura that emanated from the entrance to the station.Asteroids hung in the empty space around the ship, smashing into each other and flinging tiny pebbles and stonesin every direction. It would be suicidal to try and navigate through that at anything below pulse speed. A singlerock, just a centimeter or two across, could destroy one of my engines beyond repair if it clogged up one of theexhaust ports, or it could demolish my hull plating with the kinetic energy transference if I ran into one. It wasbetter not to take the chance. I flipped the cover off the pulse button, glad I had filled the reserves, and hoped I hadn’t miscalculatedanything during my repairs. My finger found the soft rubbery material and jabbed it, feeling it sink down into thepaneling below. This was the true test. The screen lit up with a countdown – and then I was shoved backward in my seat, feeling the familiar jolt ofincredible speed. The stars ran like drops of rain across my windshield, lines of light that embedded within me themost peculiar of feelings. Like I were watching something that living things were not meant to see. 107

In front of me, the space station loomed, getting closer with every instant. Within seconds, I wasdecelerating, the fabric of the restraints tugging at my suit as my mass flowed against it, and before I could evenreally comprehend that the pulse had worked, the PAD detected the station’s tractor beam and let it take over. Mynew ship lolled over sideways, turning until it was oriented properly relative to the station’s gravity. I let go of thecontrols, allowing the ship to be pulled through the entry doors, and up ahead I could see several other shipsoccupying some of the landing pads near the stairways. The beam swooped me down over an available spot,keeping me out of the way of traffic, and as it spun me back to face the way I had come, the engines switched offand cycled down. The noise faded away, and everything was still. I couldn’t believe it, even though I was here, living it. I searched the banks of controls, looking for the cockpit release. I found it tucked away, an unassuming darkcircle up in the corner, and when I hit it, the glass overhead cheerily moved up and out of the way. Sluggish withdisbelief, I undid my restraints, laid my hand on the hull, and jumped out. My boots met the metal floor of thecorridor, and a loud cloooong! echoed out in all directions. On the other pads, traders and scientists in the midstof conversation turned to look at me, clearly not pleased with the interruption. I just stood there, taking it all in. It was so good to be back here. The station’s floor vibrated slightly beneath my feet – the effect of some of the biggest generators in thegalaxy, working away in the kilometers of infrastructure below me in order to power the trading industry of thisstar system. Trading. I had a new ship, running on a bare supply of parts and fuel. I needed to scrap together some moreupgrades if I wanted to get out of this system. I couldn’t risk heading back out in this one again, with the Pirates 108

just waiting to pick off any weaklings. If I could sell anything I didn’t need, I would be able to buy more of thethings that I did. The thought of Enivest, still up there in the same spot – maybe even on the same shift; the Gek werenotoriously dogged workers – made me laugh. I couldn’t fathom how only a few days had passed since I’d lastseen the prospector, and all that had happened since then. I flung open the cargo doors as I daydreamed,revealing the void inside that was randomly scattered with packs of ore and other materials. Absentmindedly, Ileaned in on my hands, dipping my head to get past the lowered upper wall of the chamber. I wanted to see whatwas in there so I could decide what I could do without. My body blocked most of the light, leaving the hold mostly in the dark, which is why I was able to see thefaint, reddish glow in the back. I blinked, trying to resolve my sight to the gloomy cargo bay. When the glow didn’t go away, I furrowed mybrow and looked closer to see that something was hidden under the fabric in the far corner, a blunt bump thatwas just barely visible in these conditions, even with the soft red tinge that it emitted. It would be nearlyimpossible to see it unless the cargo area was basically empty, and almost completely dark. I climbed further inside to investigate. The fabric that covered the bottom of the hold, a thick carpet layer,had begun to peel back in the corner, and the previous owner of the ship had shoved something underneath itbefore replacing it back to where it was. My breath caught in my throat, realizing the implication of this. Something very dear – and probably veryvaluable – was hidden in there. But was it objective value – or sentimental value? Tenderly, I pinched the corner of the carpeting and pulled. It resisted for just a second before giving in, and Ipeeled it away from the corner to reveal a bright red object. I jabbed it with a tentative finger, awaiting a 109

response; nothing bad happened. Satisfied, I picked it up and brought it out into the light for a proper look. It was a heavy red stone, spherical and dense, aglow with energy. It fit in my hand, but seemed like itbelonged somewhere else. Somewhere more...deserving. I held it right up to my visor, trying to see it from a goodangle. Carved in a band around the middle, in perfect, single-stroke lettering that seemed exactingly precise, wasjust one word. One word that meant nothing to me. ATLAS I mumbled the word to myself, cross-referencing it with all the knowledge I had of any alien language. Icouldn’t come up with anything. All the while, the stone shone unflinchingly, a pure and intense red that bathedme in its light. Still puzzled, but eager to get up to the trading terminal, I put it in my storage pouch and went back to thecargo hold. I collected what I could spare after topping up my systems, and with a sizable effort managed to haulit up to Enivest’s office on the second floor. Just like I thought, it still sat on its chair, flicking through screens onits electropad. It could have been a Korvax for the amount of electronic dependency it had. “Ammr, Enivest,” I said, trudging past, not looking. It lifted a single hand and gave a noncommittal wave inmy general direction. I dumped all the supplies into the terminal, watching the numbers rack up slowly as I sold off the pieces. I 110

sighed at just how slowly they went up, wondering suddenly about my other ship, full of gold that would haveutterly changed my life. I pushed the thoughts away. It would do no good to dwell on that. And besides, somewhere out there in allthese planets, there were many more full of gold. And other strange materials, worth even more than that. My attention returning, I continued with the sales and soon all of my ores were gone. I scrolled through theBuy tab, picking up a warp cell for pretty cheap; I could have made it, but I would need one to leave this systemanyway, and this was just so much easier. Now I only had one item left: the strange red stone. Shrugging, I took areading to see what the price of such an oddity was like, and my resulting yelp caused Enivest to look over at me,its eyes stern. Atlas Stone, the terminal said. 120,381u (+75.1%). My eyes wide, I stared down at the artifact, my thoughts scrambling over each other. More than 120,000Units – for one item? That was worth more than a whole cargo slot of gold. But – why? What was this thing? I picked it up, turning around to address the Gek prospector. It might have seen one of these before. It wasstill staring at me, as if expecting an explanation for why I was still invading its space. “Enivest, you ever heard of –“ I spun it around so it could see – “an Atlas Stone?” At the word Atlas, it lowered its electropad and burned its eyes into mine. “Atlas?!” it barked, its tone more ferocious than I had ever heard. “Uh – yeah,” I replied, racking my brain for the correct Gek word. “This here says Atlas-“ Enivest shot out of its chair and stormed over to me, letting loose a flurry of fast and angry Gek words. I 111

tried to follow along, and failed horribly after just a few seconds. When it reached me, it poked an accusatory rigidfinger into my thigh, and it was careful not to get too close to the stone in my hand. “Alyuris anvista capzolano!” it yelled, pushing me toward the door. “Anvista! Q’ul anvista!” I protested, unsure of what was happening. My pleas went nowhere, and before I could get any moremeaningful information I was outside the door of Enivest’s office. It still held up its finger, pointing at me with firmdedication, and it still spoke quickly and heatedly, telling me off in a language I didn’t understand. All of myattempts to interject were completely flattened. Other traders glanced up at us, eavesdropping on the now-publiclecture I was receiving, and pretending not to be interested in the unfolding drama, As quickly as it had started, Enivest finished the rant with a vigorous gesture to the end of the hall, wherethe exit was. I looked over there, to see if I had missed something important, but only saw a ship flying out intothe expanse beyond the reach of the tractor beam. When I turned my head back, Enivest had closed the door onme. I thought of knocking, and then decided against it. The language barrier was just too much – I wouldn’t beable to get anything useful here. I looked down at the stone, gently glowing red along my palm and fingertips. Why did that particular word upset the prospector so much? Why was this stone so valuable – literally themost valuable single item I had ever held? What would make a Gek made about that? I frowned, completely at a loss. “What are you?” I quietly asked the stone aloud, gripping it tight. I could have sworn it glowed brighter withmy words – but it didn’t give a single one back to me, except that one tantalizing clue: I am Atlas. 112

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PART TWO: [XXXXXXXXX] XXXXXXX Region XXXX : XXXX : XXXX : XXXX XXXXXXX light years to Euclid Center 117