by G Aliaksei C
Let us assume the creatures and plants inhabiting the Rings evolved somewhat naturally, in a way that made them fit into the larger ecosystem - just like life on Earth. Earth wolves, probably extinct long before my time, evolved to hunt larger herbivores in most areas of the world. Hades Ring Wolves, in comparison, evolved with metal armor over rapidly repairing, plant-like flesh, razor-sharp teeth and four red, rapidly moving eyes that provided two hundred degrees of visual coverage. You could hunt Earth wolves with, for example, a hunting rifle. The same rifle would do absolutely nothing to Ring wolves, except as a snack before the main course.
They only reason I even called them wolves was the distant visual and anatomical resemblance to the relatively harmless Earth equivalents.
Amusingly enough my first thought was, “Can I domesticate it?”
What saved me was that this was not a pack animal.
Of my countless purchases for this trip, the axe came into play now. The all-metal tool went sideways across the deadly maw, providing me with a lever to flip the Beast on its side. Ripping the axe out of the toppled Beast’s teeth I began to bash the head until the creature stopped thrashing. Without remorse I kicked the corpse in anger. As before, when my heartbeat accelerated to full in a second, it now slowed back down to normal within another moment, calming the mind and the muscle into a non-murderous state.
I was not a warrior like so many from my time. I was a lab rat. What any Corporate soldier considered a relaxing warmup was, for me, an exercise of all my resources. The same wolves would have served as decent wrestling partners for, say, my brother, even without his vast augmentations. A day of jogging through the frozen rain and raging wind left me longing for a comfortable couch and a warm drink. Neither was available at my destination, though.
Why was I heading away from Monument Town, away from the Gates, away from civilization and complaining about it? Because great ideas always lose their appeal when you reach the halfway mark on your ammo reserves.
The wind was nearly lifting me off my feet. The constant bombardment of ice felt deadlier than bullets. The fog kept me blind, to a point where I could barely see the ground before me.
And these Beasts lived here, unconcerned by the conditions. You could probably put a hundred Earth wolves against a single local and have a hundred bodies five minutes later - not because of the strength of the local, but because the weather would kill the Earth animals faster than any fight.
That said something about the local’s survivability.
I had managed to spot the next three wolves before they could get close, mowing them down with the minigun and uncomfortably reducing the mass of my ammo packs. One of the Beasts still managed to close in, and I had to fire the anchoring harpoon into its gut. The harpoon, clearly not designed as a weapon, broke. I dropped it and continued moving, for some reason not enjoying the lightened load.
The next whim of the storm knocked me down with the first gust, and I had to use the pointed back of the axe like a pick, digging the reinforced steel into dirt and using it to keep me from sliding off the path.
When I looked up a few strained minutes later, my eyes locked on the black streak, visible through the terrible storm where nothing else was.
It wasn’t glowing, not doing anything that would make it more visible than a fence post. Yet in the fog and ice that made it difficult to see my own hands, this object was visible kilometers away.
The tasteless pillar of black remained unchanged upon the perfectly round hill where I first awoke in this time. I scaled the hill and rushed for the water pump nearby, pumping a flask full to replenish my diminishing supplies, then approached the Monument itself.
I started by bashing two large nails into the hill. Looping a long cable around the Monument I secured two ropes between it and the nails, and tightened tarp over it. The waterproof, fireproof, bulletproof fabric was originally designed as camouflage and protection against small arms on the outer Rings, but was now mainly used as part of a camping kit on the Waste Ring. This same tarp was what I wrapped myself in during the trip, and what kept me alive in the local dribble. The resulting tent covered most of my items from the continuous icefall, straining but holding back the relentless assault of the weather.
I was finally able to take off my helmet, a custom-built (or custom-drilled, since that’s what the modifications came down to) thing designed to fit over my horns. I shook myself, creating a small mountain of ice. My new armor was scratched and battered by the weather, barely functioning after the trip despite the tarp, but having accomplished more than I would have expected of something as cheap. Under the cover of the life-preserving tent I built a small fire, set up a personal beacon, and unrolled the bedroll.
It was camping in the extreme. My little tent, built of metal cable designed for several tons of tension and tarp that could be dipped in molten metal (albeit for a short time), strained in the wind, trying to unanchor either the obelisk or massive nails that held it in place. Neither gave in, creating a comfort I hoped would last. Inside, using the red moss and vines that scaled the Monument, I built a fire. The moss burned explosively, quickly heating my shelter.
I wondered if the locals were attracted to warmth.
No living creature dared approach me on my hill in the night weather, nor did I dare step out of my tent for fear of never returning. The only reason I made it here, to the Monument, without giving into the exhaustion were a series of stamina boosters, drugs which didn’t help much with my withdrawal but got me to my objective.
Throughout the night the motion sensors I stuck on the Monument woke me up several times. Every time the sensors were catching small Shadows out in the distance, beyond what my flashlight illuminated. The shapes would stop on the edge of the light before moving on, but never approached.
And if they did, I doubted I could stop them. I watched them shift away, feeling as if the warmth of the burning moss in the tent was the most welcome comfort of all.
Amazon did not survive The War, yet a very similar company had taken its place on the Rings. Permanent Services seemed to be the only entity capable and willing to deliver across the Ringworlds. Unlike Amazon (who used gravity cannons to fire finned packages in a ballistic arch to your doorstep), Permanent Services used a fleet of automated freighter spaceships and transport craft (the only non-Corporate machines allowed to exist outside the atmosphere of the Rings) to deliver cargo anywhere in very reasonable time. In my case, cargo was simply airdropped.
Just as the night moved on in its orbit above to reveal the blue fireball in the sky shining through the fog, the first of the packages arrived. The container fell from somewhere overhead through the raging storm clouds, using thrusters on the last hundred meters of the fall to come to a perfect stop centimeters from the ground, and settled down. The crate opened at both ends, and machinery began to climb out. The classic-yellow construction vehicles were quite alien, but not beyond comprehension. All six machines moved on eight spider-like legs, lining themselves up before the container. I brought up the Menu before me, connecting to the construction platoon, and put the automated brigade to work on a landing platform.
The machines stepped away from their crate, opened terrible maws, and bit into the ground like one would into an especially good piece of meat. A layer of topsoil was torn away, and a thick slab of quickly hardening stone was poured into the hole. The result was a layer of durable, light concrete.
In an hour the next three crates landed, this time on a foam-cement square a distance away from the black pillar, with significantly less noise and dust.
They even set up an orange windsock.
Two of the latest deliveries contained more sensors, lights, wiring and other parts required for my continued good health. The fourth delivery was a living space, with most living necessities and comforts inside the armored container. That container was quickly moved off the platform and had concrete walls put up around it, creating a buffer between the ranging weather and the relatively
thin metal walls.
The foam-concrete dispensers chewed into the ground once more, digesting it as they wen. For every cubic meter of dirt consumed, two cubic meters of concrete was put up. After securing the containers they went out, digging in two kilometers away from the Monument, and began building the first of eight towers. In a few hours a cement construct ten meters in height could be seen from the hill. The dispensers split up, laying an equally tall but thinner wall, connecting it to more towers, until the monument was surrounded in a cheap, durable fence in the shape of an octagon. Little more than a deterrent, the walls and towers served as mounting points for perimeter sensors and spotlights.
After manually checking twenty kilometers of wire, sensors and light (all under the ice hurricane, of course), and making sure they were set up to standard, I went to sleep in the relatively comfortable bed, in a foam-concrete bunker, much less worried about intruders than last time. Impressively enough the machines seemed unconcerned with the raining icicles that kept me in my mini-bunker. They raged all right, working non-stop to complete the wall.
Now the place looked like a small camp.
I wanted this camp to be a comfortable place for work, but also for it to be peaceful, quiet, isolated. I wanted at least a few weeks to myself, to acclimate to the new world, to decide what I wanted to do, and to catch up on what I missed in the last ten thousand years.
Having accepted that I would never again see everything I lived for, that all the most important things in life were long gone, I realized that there was nothing for me to do.
So I went to the only object in this world that belonged to me - my tasteless gravestone.
Isolation, though, is only relative - a midday perimeter alert had me rushing into the living container, grabbing my unused Class 2 minigun and binoculars, and heading towards the left-of-orbit, or north, tower. The finished octagon of the base was quite large, over four kilometers across, and without powered armor the run had me exhausted. Luckily the ice was not in a killing mood today. Setting the gun down I brought the binoculars to my face, scanning through the snowfall.
Remember my earlier comment about the local wolf-equivalents?
Plot twist: It was a pack animal.
Wolves, a solid dozen of them, were jogging across the valley. Through the short break in the storm I could see them a kilometer away, growing larger in my scope.
I unfolded the bipod, laid down behind the gun, and opened fire. Using enough firepower to, in my time, down an armored jeep, I began picking off the terrible creatures. The wolves broke into a sprint. They were fast, crossing the thousand meters in less than a minute. I managed to kill all but two before my ammo pack ran out. Realizing I had no time to reload I stood up, axe in hand, eyes glowing with the gold of a charging Coefficient.
Without a moment’s pause the two creatures leapt at the wall and clawed up, launching themselves on the parapet where I stood. Having dealt with these Beasts on my way here I knew how to approach them, swinging from the side to knock one of the leaping animals into the other. While they recovered from the roll I hacked down, killing one, then repeated the sideways cut with the other. The axe, designed for chopping trees and rocks more than combat, wasn’t even dented.
Competitive lumberjacking has never been so exotic! I thought. Then I wondered what the local trees were like.
My continued survival proved an interesting point - a Class 1 combatant - me - could, and did, survive and win against Class 2 enemies - wolves - if prepared. Could I assume Class 3 and 4 enemies were also manageable? Perhaps.
Several days went by in peace like that. The times when I wasn’t killing wandering wolves I spent on the roof of the living container (when it wasn’t raining deadly things like rocks and ice), charting plans for the base, and trying to get a tan. The icefall stopped, snow melted away, and a sort of short spring season came about. This, of course, did not mean cool winds and sunny days. Icefall was replaced with recurring lightning storms, and now the wind carried cold rain instead of ice. If the precipitation was no longer deadly, it was only because the constant bolts of blue light impacting the ground all around were. Forget one in a million yearly, the chances of being struck were closer to one in two every day here. The only thing keeping me somewhat safe were the crystal pillars scattered about the valley floor. These seemed to attract most strikes, making for a beautiful show of light and thunder. Red moss spread out from these mounds of crystals, giving the view a malevolent crimson tone. The decent weather, only sometimes interrupted by ten-centimeter hail, improved my mood greatly and made work more pleasant.
Living on Earth towards the end of my life was absurd. Unthinkable. Unsustainable. Deadly. Dreadful.
Living here was simply a challenging exercise.
Another factor contributing to my comfort was the water provided by the pump near the Monument. Having tasted the buffet equivalent I knew, through that reference point, that the water here was simply amazing. Every gulp filled me with the energy and strength that was so demanded by the environment.
Towards the end of the first five days a small, automated maintenance workshop arrived, and was quickly set up by the air strip and landing pads. The robots, having worked non-stop until now, were the first to be serviced. Dents in the armor were flattened out, and paint was reapplied.
My favorite acquisition landed that evening as well. The Class 2 hovertank descended under its own power, unsheathing its guns and flexing its engine. This machine, the costliest of my purchases, was the most reasonable and cheapest design on the market. It had no turret, instead relying on the ability to hover for aiming, and had a sloped, heavily armored front for protection.
The security purchases did not end there. Having turned all my cash into loan deposits I couldn’t afford proper defenses, but some things that didn’t have to be immediately paid off were within reach. For example, I could hire a small, robotic security team, since the full payment only had to come through at the end of their service term.
Unlike me the twenty robotic weapons platforms did not mind the wind and rain, covering the distance between the Gate and the Monument in record time. They were strange machines, vaguely Humanoid, armed with oversized rifles and covered in light armor. The platoon operated as a single hive-mind when together, each responding to the same name.
I was always awed by how work changed machines. A tractor would roll off the factory line shining, smelling of fresh paint and oil. But a year of real, constant work turned the machine the same shade as the ground it worked. Rust and dirt, impossible to wash off or scrape down turned the bright colors of paint and metal duller and grayer. Should such a machine survive several years without a complete overhaul, it becomes an irreplaceable part of the landscape, as much as the trees and hills, camouflaging better and better into the view.
This collection of machines was fresh, clean and positively shining in the rare glimpses of sunlight and more frequent lighting strikes, and felt quite out of place in the storm. The mud and dirt accumulated over the trip looked purely cosmetic.
“Greetings! I am Jim, from Ice Wall Mercenaries,” said the platoon together. One of them stepped up, the armored face-screen presenting a simplistic digital smile. “It is an honor to work for a Corporate.”
Up close, the Jims were… disappointing. They were simple, tall, Humanoid robots covered with integrated weapons and armor systems. They didn’t impress the imagination, nor did they project confidence. The term ‘cannon fodder’ came to mind. Each purely decorative head had a round, smooth surface for a face. There, projected from within, were two glowing dots - eyes designed to Humanized the war machines.
“Jim, call me Mr. Frost.”
A hand extended towards me, and I stared at the limb, confused.
“Are handshakes not a Human, Corporate tradition?”
Ah, yes, handshakes. Again. I reluctantly shook the limb, trying to suppress the combat reflexes and adrenaline triggered by physical contact, so often associated with combat
in the Corporate culture I knew.
“I apologize. This is my first contract. I am quite fresh to the Waste Ring. Very exciting to have a Corporate as my first customer! I have only ever met one other of your kind!”
Void dammit it, a green recruit. No wonder they sent him to me for so cheap.
I had contracted Jim from a company called Ice Wall Mercenaries. They were one of the two major mercenary outfits that serviced Hades Ring, and the robotic security service was by far cheaper than the alternative provided by their competitor, Concord. Of course I expected sub-standard service for so little payment, I was being used as a proving ground for a unit of theirs - Jim.
“I am sure you’ll get used to it. I need the perimeter guarded. There will be some costly equipment arriving soon that I want safe.”
“Can I make modifications to the perimeter fortifications? More stairs to reach the top and such?”
“Sure…” I blinked, glancing the aura of sentience, identical in every one of the mechs. I did not expect the machines to be alive, especially for how little I paid to rent them, but could find no issue with the fact. Creative thinking was an asset I could quantify. “You can have one of the foam-concrete dispenser robots, but I need the others working on my bunker.”
“Excellent!” As we spoke all but one of the mechs spread out, eighteen heading for the perimeter, while one ran for the Monument. “Mind if I use your shiny new maintenance facility if I need repairs?”
“Of course Jim. Take the tank if you need it on patrol, too. I am not traveling any time soon.”
“That will help! This is a high-Class zone, bordering two hotspots, so if anything attacks us we will need everything we have…” A single look at me changed his tone. “Do you plan on putting up a waypoint beacon? Resource mines outside the perimeter?”
“Once the main bunker is done I will install the Waypoint, but you don’t have to worry about resource mines.”