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Chapter 0.A
(I’d) Rather Be Anywhere Else
Nested between the eroded roads and barren sandhills of an arid wasteland, there was an old gas station with a neon sign that still flickered. Simply left to rot until whoever or whatever decided to reclaim it, just like everything else. Whether that be a roaming band of nomads or maybe even plant life—if that was still possible on Calmede.
But until then, its carcass is picked apart by two space wanderers—Aliens as they are usually called—who have found themselves stranded after having packed a bit too lightly… and their camper van being T-boned by a stray comet.
Free
, the self-proclaimed “Self-made Machine,” a lanky and simplistic construct of red hard light. Save for his straight horns and the singular eye that covered his entire face; he looked like a stick-figure brought into the third dimension, especially with the grabby-orbs he had instead of hands.
Frost
, no title self-proclaimed, a deer-skull-headed semi-organic machine with “horns” like birch branches; Clothed in a fluffy fur jacket and cargo pants, seemingly inappropriate choice for the climate but they paid no mind. Although eyeball-less, within their shadowed eye sockets were small sliver blue pupils of hearth fire.
Purple-tinted golden rays of light shined unto Free, the broken glass reflecting and illuminating the room with dusk light. He was hunched over a severely dented and weathered safe, its paint replaced with a thousand layers of sand and dust.
“Come on big money no—!” Free shouted as he cracked open the safe with just his bare hands, one holding a stray piece of scrap which acted as a chisel and the other hand transformed into a hammer. Dust exploded off the safe, creating a smoke screen that would have suffocated a creature with normal respiratory systems, thankfully Free was not one of them.
Unfortunately, he did have an exposed and sensitive ocular system.
He was blinded for a moment, his eye shining redder than it should, but once the smoke cleared the fruits of his labor were revealed. Hundreds upon hundreds of paper notes scattered across the floor, each had what looked like faded portraits of important people from a bygone era.
“Whammies…” unfortunately, once again—they were effectively worthless to an Alien like him.
Wiping off ruby red tears, he investigated the safe further, looking for valuable materials or at least something of interest—finding that packed within its corner was a pristine set of pins within a clear glass box and a blank plastic square. He groaned while pocketing the pin box, looking over his shoulder lackadaisically at a pile of rubble in the center of the establishment.
“Yo Frost, how's your search going, find anything good?” he yelled, walking out of the back room with his hands in his pockets, the retail-rubble rumbling as he walked closer and a pale blue emitting from its cracks.
Out of it emerged Frost, their horns snagging plastic bags and soda rings, they then spoke, their voice gravely and cold, “I have not.” They swiped the debris off themselves while Free picked off what they could not reach. “Break?” they asked, placing their pitiful loot into their trekking pack.
“Eh, sure, why not,” Free patted dust off his clothes and sighed in frustration, “Not like we got anywhere to go anyhow.”
They exited the building, walking over to the Camper—their ride, living space, Free’s source of frustration, and Frost’s pride and joy. Free slouched onto its side with his arms crossed while Frost took refuge under the gas station’s sign, sitting on an empty box and looking eastward towards the soon-to-be night sky.
“All we need is just a handful of wires and a bit of fuel,” Free said, eyes closed and almost half-asleep already.
“Mm-hmm,” Frost produced a hunting knife from their coat, eyes still fixated on the horizon.
“My expectations for a gas station to have decent scrap were low,” he lowered himself down onto the desert floor. “But a gas station without gas is ridiculous, we may have to dig for it.”
“Indeed,” Frost sharpened their knife, still staring into the horizon which was right out of Free’s view.
For just a few moments, Free was enchanted by the silence of the desert’s dusk, the light from what was left of the sun soothing him. The situation they were in was dire to say the least, and this planet was much worse than others they had visited, but at least they weren't in immediate danger.
Putting away their knife—Frost broke the silence, “Alternatively to going from an abandoned gas station to another abandoned gas station, we could go over there.”
“Where?” Free cracked his eye open, seeing Frost pointing eastward. Frost did not answer, so he asked again, but still received no response, having to get up to see what his companion was talking about.
From what they have seen so far, he expected some nomads or maybe a bunker full of goodies hidden right beneath the dunes… Only to see that Frost was pointing at a half-rotted skyscraper which had three emerald rings looming above it and a massive pillar of green light emitting from its center—piercing right through each ring and splitting the sky in twain.
Free squinted, looking back at Frost—who was trying to hide a slight smirk—then at the pillar of light then back at Frost again. “No, nope, naw, nada,” he said while shaking his head, “That right there is the definition of planetary baggage!”
“Baggage always has something useful within it,” Frost said. “Food and water, medical supplies, insight into this world’s past…” Free looked at them annoyed but they continued, “...plenty of solid fuel, a smorgasbord of electronic parts, or even some RM technologies… I could go on.”
For a moment Frost had captured Free’s attention, his look of doubt slowly shifting into curiosity, but that soon faded, “You do drive a hard bargain, but no, even if it had the Thing.”
“The Thing? I am not quite sure what you are talking about, please elaborate.”
“You know what I am talking about.”
“I do not know.”
“I’m not saying it.”
“What could ‘it’ be, I wonder? There are various things to be found within that construction—even beyond what I have listed before. Faded paintings, moldy paper, broken glass, ancient weapons, treasure troves, dark machinati—”
“Still not saying it—let’s just get going already,” Free slinged his backpack into the Camper, “Just let me tape a few things up before you start driving that deathtrap again.”
“Glad we came to an agreement,” Frost said as they caught up to Free, ready for the long bumpy drive ahead.
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