Tunnel Rat - Interlude: The Snows over Cygnus Four
It was snowing again on Cygnus Four.
The delicate flakes of frozen oxygen and methane floated down slowly in the thin gravity of the planetoid, coating the barren hills surrounding his new home. The communication towers of the spaceport reached for the stars, branching out to form barren, metal trees that turned white while the snow was drifting down. Six-wheeled rocket carts taking miners to work on the crater wall threw up plumes of white behind them, their drivers enjoying a bit of fun while fish-tailing back and forth to see who could toss up the biggest plume. Weighed down by loads of ore, they crawled slowly but released from the bondage of weight; they accelerated so fast that drivers were known to black out and crash into the crater wall. The white flakes they kicked up would take their time coming back down. It was always snowing on Cygnus Four, and Julius wondered again why he was here, looking out through the small window of his cell at the snow-covered hills.
The hills were, in reality, the rim of a huge crater formed when a small comet had collided with Cygnus Four millions of years ago. The rock had melted and vaporized, and what was left pushed outward in a ring-shaped tidal wave that built higher and higher before freezing in place as the wave cooled, leaving a perfectly formed crater that would someday become a spaceport. The spaceport was there, sitting in the center of the crater, to service the tugs that grappled the huge ore barges and pulled them skyward to be loaded onto tramp freighters. The ore would be processed somewhere else where energy and manpower were cheaper. Cygnus Four had only three things on it: The mines that delved into its rocky walls, seeking the valuable parts of the shattered comet, the spaceport, and the prison.
The prison was there to provide the manpower needed for the mines. The work was done in cheap vac suites, and casualties were high. Men and women struggled to swing picks or man the laser drills in clumsy, old-style vacuum suits that the rest of the universe had quit using a thousand years ago. Each held only eighteen hours of air. Just long enough to get to the mines and back to work a double shift. The prison didn’t need to guard the miners; without air, no one was escaping, and besides this one crater, Cygnus Four was a barren planetoid without air, heat, or a way to leave. Once a year, the guards were changed. Other than that, only ore left the spaceport. The miners were never going home, their life sentences bought by Omnicorp. You mined, and you got to eat and rest. The social life was limited and as dangerous as mining.
Julius was preparing for his first shift in the mines, double-checking his air and making sure there were no pinhole leaks in the seams of his suit. You lost atmosphere that way, but also heat, and it was a debate as to which would kill you first. Dozens of frozen miners could be seen near the trails leading to the mines. There was no place to bury them, so their friends put their frozen bodies in groups or perched them on rocks where they had a good view. Some even looked like they were waving to friends. One small mistake and Julius knew he’d be there forever with them.
There is no sound in space, but there is vibration, and he felt it now through the solid rock of the prison’s floor. A ship was landing. Not a tug, a full ship! He could tell from the unbalanced engines that it was in trouble. It was a tramp freighter with barely any shields and malfunctioning engines. He wondered if it could even take off again or if the crew was doomed to join him here. It was calling out as it landed, broadcasting over the emergency radio frequency. His suit radio picked up the message
“Mayday! Mayday! This is the Free Trader Solar Queen out of Luna7. We need emergency repairs to our engines, refueling, and air for our life support. Repeat: Solar Queen is making an emergency landing in need of air and refueling.”
“Attention Solar Queen. You are trespassing on Omnicorp property. This isn’t a damned repair station. Take your battered piece of junk and get the hell out of here.”
“Omnicorp? Damn, I thought this was Hogan’s Hole. Can we cut a deal? We’re overweight, and I need to dump twenty tons of fissionable so I can shut the drive down. I need ten hours for repairs. That’s twenty tons of high-grade uranium fuel rods in exchange for some grub, some O2, and some time. What do you say, guys?”
Ten minutes of silence followed the offer and then a reply. “Attention Solar Queen. This is Jordan Bauer of Omnicorp. You have a deal, but one trick and we blow you to atoms. Unload the fuel rods, and I’ll send out a crew to get them, along with the air you need.”
“That’s great, Mr. Jordan. Be careful with the stuff. It’s not in shielded containers, so you’ll want people in hard suits to handle it for you.”
Bauer turned to his warden. “Send out the twenty inmates we have here waiting to work the next shift. They can load the fuel rods. A few years off of their lives won’t matter.”
And that’s how Julius found himself, along with nineteen other unfortunate miners, heading out to load radioactive fuel rods in an unshielded vac suit. The work was difficult, despite the low gravity that made moving the heavy crates easier to shift. Mass didn’t change, and while you could get a crate moving with a hard push or two, stopping it was a different story. A lot of new chums had died making that mistake. Four crates were loaded onto a cargo mover, and they started back to the prison, always watched over by two guards on the walls, manning the laser cannons. Halfway there, they spotted the second ship coming in, jets flaring at full power.
Julius stared in wonder. The fat engine module looked four times bigger than it should be, and she was burning a lot of hydrogen. Some idiot was shooting past overhead in a custom-built racer with a quad-fusion system. Someone in Omnicorp was yelling on the radio, and the laser cannons were swiveling to target it as it made its pass.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Attention! Unknown Ship, divert to space or be shot down!
The sound of high-pitched laughter poured from the ship’s radio. “Suck vacuum, you damned corporate vampire!” The ship rolled, displaying its logo: Three slashed claw marks in red across the white skull and bones of the Jolly Roger. Behind Julius, in the cargo bay, the top of two crates was kicked off as two men in tactical space armor stood up, holding plasma cannons. Julius dove for cover and wrapped his arms over his faceplate just as they unleashed energy bursts that targeted and destroyed the two laser cannons. They fired three more times until the guns overheated and had to be thrown away.
The Solar Queen began shooting a steady stream of laser fire that pinned down the guards in the barracks and command center, even if they had been brave enough to venture out. The Claw Master (Julius knew only one ship used that emblem.) roared across the crater close enough that the exhaust from their engines destroyed the communication towers as it flew past. And now, a third ship was coming in and landing near the warehouse that held the ore barges.
“Start moving people! Anyone that’s tired of mining and wants a vacation needs to get their ass down here and help load this ore.” Julius stood up and started to hobble in that direction. His old legs still had trouble moving in the suit. It turned out he didn’t need to worry about running. The two gunners each grabbed an arm and pulled him along, their exoskeleton suits giving them twenty times his strength and speed.
“Going somewhere, Doc?”
“Did you think we’d leave you here to rot?”
The bearded faces in the helmets were definitely Drogan Brotherhood with the race’s wide noses and ruddy skin tones. But he knew the voices of Ron and Don Moreski from decades of working together. “What the hell are you two doing here? And who else is with you?”
They laughed. “We’re rescuing you, recruiting sixty people for the rebellion, and stealing enough high-grade ore to keep us in beer and bullets for a year.”
“And as to who’s here…All of us, Doc. We all came. This idiot and me volunteered to take out the guns. Dan is piloting the Solar Queen, and Fritz is the lad on the guns, keeping their heads down. Abe is over there loading the ore. When word got out that they had you in prison, we all signed up for the raid to break you out. The rebellion is alive and well, but it needs a leader, and we voted you in. And, of course, making sure we earn enough money to pay off a few folks who fight for money, not ideals.”
“Just like old times, Doc.”
Within minutes, the ore was loaded, and the two ships took off while the pi-rats about the Claw Master used their massive energy resources to reduce the prison to rubble and keep anyone from shooting back. Julius watched the planetoid recede. Cygnus Four was beautiful, covered in swirling white clouds, but he hoped he’d never see it again.
“Alright, if I’m in charge, you have to tell me where we’re headed.”
The brothers popped their helmets and shook out their beards. “Well, Doc, we debated on that. But we need more firepower and more ships, and the best place to find that, along with some passable beer and a place to sell the ore, is out on the rim. We’re headed to the Scavenger outpost of Barnacle Bay. You’ll like it, never a dull moment with those girls.”
Julius had heard about it and smiled anyway. “It sounds fine. It’s good to be back.”
The lid of his pod opened, and hands helped Julius out. The familiar, laughing faces of the Moreski brothers swam into focus.
“How was your first dip into VR, Doc? Pretty damned cool.”
“The plasma cannon was awesome. When this damned game goes live, I’m buying me a dozen of them.”
Julius looked from one to the other, “How the hell are you two even here? I only arrived a few hours ago and thought I was going into the pod for a routine medical checkup. Then I woke up in a prison cell. Damn, that felt so real. How the hell did they make that work?”
One brother shrugged. “Simple shit, just a post-hypnotic suggestion. As you’re going under from the anesthetic, the pod whispers sweet nothings in your ears. Sets the scene nicely. We started in the middle of a bar fight, a familiar situation. Took us a little bit to figure out why we were fighting aliens and corporate goons.”
“Hell of a lot of fun, and the beer tastes like it should. I have high hopes for the seedy bars in this game.”
A dozen people walked into the room. Julius recognized Steven Duran, whom he had briefly met before entering the pod. “I hope you don’t mind the little surprise.”
Julius shook the offered hand, smiling. “It was amazing. I can’t wait to get to work, even if I don’t know exactly what you want me to do.”
Ron and Don had ideas.
“The Bar in the Dead God’s skull.”
“The Taco Stand on Helldiver7.”
“Gullivers Last Stand Bar and Grill.”
“Mama La Forges Salon and Engine Repair.”
“The Fusion Club in the Epsilon Ring.”
Steven nodded to them. The brothers had proven to be experts on the lore of SC6, much of which had never been officially published. “Everything. As of today, you are officially the lead designer on
Star Command Six. Another team is handling the creation of the universe, physics engine, economy, and ship technology. We need you to flesh it all out and breathe life into the universe. You’ll have all the assets you need to do the job, and if you need something else, just tell your assistants.”
The brothers grinned. “That’s us, Doc. They recognized our genius and hired us. Plus, pods were shipped out to two dozen of the old crew, anyone who wants to be involved in playtesting.”
Julius looked at the pod. It still felt real, like he had always imagined it to be. And now, he could create the world he loved for everyone else. “Then let’s get to work. Those bars won’t create themselves, and we have a rebellion to launch and evil corporations to get running.”
