It takes an hour to clear the distance.
I underestimated the difficulty of the terrain, and overestimated my ability to cross it. Seems I'm going to need to head back sooner rather than later, if the deadly temperatures of night are impending. I only have an hour before I need to start the return journey.
As I near the beacon's location on my map, I suddenly receive a message in my onboard system interface. Checking my inbox, I expect it to be from the Vintner team, but it isn't. Stopping in place under the overcast sky to scowl in confusion, I double check that Henna was correct: there is no SatNet signal here. I shouldn't be receiving anything from anyone beyond the Vixen system. So maybe whoever is sending this to me is here locally. Or here on Cipher-3.
RESTRICTED> THIS SHOULD HELP.
Attached are some files which I triple scan for viruses or malware before I dare to touch them, but find clean. Wondering as to who the sender could be, why they're doing this, or how they contacted me in the first place, I wait for the files to extract and decompress.
They're firmware upgrades. And blueprints, and procedures, and documentation, partly dedicated to a specific means of improving my baseline resilience and survivability. After scanning through the information, the gist of it is that I'm able to upgrade my capability all around. The benefits of doing so are blatant and inarguable, but I'm wary all the same.
Questions storm through my head. Too many to count.
nEPI-0023> Who are you?
SYSTEM> [ERROR: RECIPIENT DOES NOT EXIST]
nEPI-0023> …
SYSTEM> [ERROR: RECIPIENT DOES NOT EXIST]
I stare at the error for a long time, trying to make sense of it. Someone out there is giving me assistance for purposes unknown. I suppose refusing the help would be foolish. Still, I don't like not knowing who I'm indebted to, or being indebted to anyone at all. Regardless, I can't pass up this information, or the benefits it offers me.
So, right then and there, I take a look. Not only do these upgrades improve my aiming telemetry with firearms, it more than doubles my TFE metric–transmitter fluid efficiency. That, in turn, doubles my TFC–transmitter fluid capacity. Essentially, losing any amount of transmitter fluid will be half as critical for me, but only if I install these upgrades.
Might as well…
>NOTICE: FIRMWARE UPDATED TO VERSION 1.1
I check every diagnostic possible, but it seems I'm not being lied to by this anonymous benefactor of mine. This upgrade is helpful indeed, though I will remain wary of this stranger's intentions.
Feeling a good amount more prepared, and significantly more steady in the snow, I press onward. The beacon is a tall antenna poking up through a patch of pine trees, and as I draw closer I find the console attached to its wide, conical base. The aluminum sheeting has been chewed through by… something. A few wires look to be severed. Sparks fly at a steady interval of maybe three seconds as the machine continuously attempts to restart itself.
I send notice that I'm on location.
nEPI-0023> I'm at the beacon.
QUENTIN> [NOTICE: INCOMING VOICE CALL…]
I connect to the call.
"About time," he barks in my ear. "Send me your visual feed. Got it, got it. Ahh! Those damn anklebiters!"
I crouch down to get a better look at the machine's eviscerated internals. "Why would they do this?"
"They need scrap too. Self repair modules never stopped running for any of the machines out there, I guess. The shit that's in use tends to be warmer, so they just gobble it right up. Let's see here. Yeah. I see the problem. Looks like they got the cables leading from the power supply to the rest of the components. We're gonna need to bypass, replace, or rig up an alternative circuit. How's your rewiring skill, kid?"
"Ready and able." I boot up my electronics module.
"Might be able to salvage some cable from the old telemetry rig, or the offworld communications relay. Neither of those functions are of any use to us. See that jumble of purple up there? Try that."
I make sure the power isn't connected before I touch anything. Somehow the words 'alternative circuit' slipped past me until now. I'm not sure any electrician should be saying something like that. In any case, I pull at the nest of purple wiring and find some decent cables of similar gauge and material.
A spark jumps from the machine to my fingertips.
I hiss. "Ouch."
"You okay?"
"Capacitor bit me."
"Ha! Good to know I'm not the only one who forgets to drain them. Shit, do you have solder?"
"Yes."
"Good. Good. Go ahead and fuse those cables and then give them a good coat of that electrical tape."
"On it."
The soldering iron from my electronics toolkit is powered by my battery, and thankfully the molten tin doesn't take very long to cool. Not even a full second. Perks of these temperatures. Biting strips of electrical tape off with my teeth, I wind the makeshift wiring with copious amounts of the makeshift insulation. The components should be adequately powered now.
Admiring my handiwork, I ask, "What now, Quentin?"
"Check the fuse box, flip any that are off, then power it up."
I do those things, finding the power switch and giving it a push.
Nothing happens.
"Oh, give it another few tries."
I click the machine on and off several times but nothing happens.
"Kick the goddamn thing, I guess."
I deliver a swift shin kick to the aluminum plating and the machine flickers to life.
That worked. Percussive maintenance.
"Aha! Knew it! Signal is clear as day! Alright now, kid, alright now!"
"I couldn't have done it without your guidance."
"Pssh. Whatever you say. Come on back. Let's talk about those holes in your armor."
Before I go, I scan the enormous expanse of the snowy crater. The VLF signal from earlier is still pinging in my receivers. I have no way of knowing how far away its source is, so I weigh the decision of pressing on versus turning back.
Before I do anything, I say, "Quentin, tell me something."
"What's that?"
"Do you know anything about this signal I'm receiving? It's northeast from here."
His tone shifts into severity. "Signal? What signal?"
"It's a locational beacon. Just like the one at the Station. You are in range of it; I was picking it up while I was there. The frequency is fifteen kilohertz."
"Shit, that's VLF. Kid, that source could be from thousands of kilometers away."
I turn around. "Nevermind. I'll head back. Right after I deal with these anklebiters that are closing in on me."
"Wha-huh? Hell, kid! Get back here in one piece, damn you!"
I hang up on him. Despite my foresight, one of the little centipedes gets the jump on me. Sure enough, it takes a bite out of where my ankles would be, if I had any feet. The pincers pierce my armor and a strike of pain arcs up my leg.
It hurts.
Glowing neon cyan transmitter fluid splatters the snow as I try to shake the thing off. Raising the butt of my rifle I strike down at it. The crunch when it hits is beyond satisfying, and the machine insect bursts in a cloud of depressurized sulfuric acid and sparks.
The other three dive at me but I see them coming, dodging clear without any effort. I switch to my pistol and take aim. Two of my shots strike true while the things are in the air, bhe third biter dives and escapes into the snow. I can see it wriggling around underneath, watching it circle wide and come around for another attempt at me.
I see it coming but the biter anticipated that. Unfortunately, it predicts my move to the right and lands on my midsection. The bite is piercing agony just under my ribs on both my back and front. It hurts so much I lose my breath. Dropping the rifle, I forcibly pry the thing's jaws open and spike it on the ground.
The force snaps the machine in half on the ice. I stand there gasping for air, clutching the hole in my right side, one eye shut as I wince and try to manage the pain. Damn, why did they need to give us Frames pain receptors? I would be much more efficient without them.
All in all, I don't think the damage is very deep or severe. But I will be having Quentin take a look at me as soon as I get back. After securing myself three more sulfuric acid canisters, I shoulder my rifle and limp on a damaged leg back toward Vintner. Cyan transmitter fluid dots my path behind me, a grim reminder of the danger I'm in.
At least I installed that upgrade.
Damn it, I'm under attack again.
Five of them pop out of the snow. Four make their leap, only one lands. Its bite punctures my chest, like having a nail driven in between my ribs. Something between a shriek and a cry leaps out of me as the pain explodes in my heart and mindscape.
My body reacts on its own. My Technomancy bursts into action, and from my hands I blast the creature with a sudden spray of ice. The cold makes it shrivel up and collapse dead, pincers taking more of my transmitter fluid with it as it dies.
My breaths are ragged and shallow.
I feel half dead, but I'm still standing.
Something kicks in and I move just right. All four remaining biters soar past me when they jump again. I draw my pistol and trace them as they burrow through the snow.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three dead. That leaves only one.
At least, it should have. More of the damn things keep coming, arriving from who knows where, circling in from all directions. One of them bites a chunk out of my thigh, and I pistol whip the damn thing, killing it. Gasping for air, I find my balance faltering. I can't keep this up. I can kill them just fine, but there are too many for me to handle on my own.
I'm about to die.
If more are coming, I need to run.
Immediately.
My attempt to escape fails and backfires. I pay the immediate consequence of turning away from them. All four of the remaining biters pile onto my back and my legs. Their bites are like knives. My knees give out from underneath me. I collapse into the snow as they tear into my synthetic flesh and internal components.
My onboard systems scream.
>ERROR: CRITICAL DAMAGE TO CHEST CAVITY AND EXTREMITIES
>WARNING: EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN IMMINENT
>WARNING: SIGNIFICANT RISK OF SYSTEM FAILURE
>WARNING: SEEK IMMEDIATE REPAIRS
My processors are shutting down one by one.
Just before I fall under, I hear gunfire.
The creatures scatter, leaving me for the carrion feeders.
As I lay dying, an unfriendly face appears with a welcome hand.
Zenith, it seems, is saving my life.