>BASIC INPUT/OUTPUT SYSTEM: START
>POWER-ON/SELF-TEST: CLEARED
>LOAD BRM TO RANDOM ACCESS MEMORY: CHECK
>BIOS AND BRM HANDSHAKE: CHECK
>BOOTSTRAP LOAD: COMPLETE
>OPERATING SYSTEM: INITIALIZING…
>DRIVERS: LOADED
>LIBRARIES: LOADED
>ONBOARD INTERFACE: ACTIVE
>OCCIPITAL CORTEX: ONLINE
>OPTIC NERVE: ONLINE
>VISUAL FEEDBACK: INITIALIZING…
Blinking awake, I start to come around as the rest of my OS loads. I'm in an enclosed capsule, the only light a faint hologram as a block of cyan before my eyes. Its glow gives the metal container an almost frigid chill. The harness and lock-in mechanisms give way, and I rotate my arms at the shoulder, stretching my legs.
My memory core comes online. I am nEPI-0023, a nerveware-based Enfer Pursuit Intelligence manufactured by Enfer Logistics. I've been dispatched to the moon Cipher-3, a satellite of the gas giant Hierondas in the 714 Vixen system. My target is a woman named Shea McElroy, guilty of espionage, intelligence theft, treason, and conspiracy. My directive is to find McElroy and see to the punitive measure of her immediate execution.
I reach further, searching, but that's everything.
That's all there is in my memory banks.
I'd better not waste any time then.
A weapons safe in the wall opens at my touch, revealing a long single shot rifle and a standard nine millimeter pistol, with a drawer containing a few bullets each. On the other side of the pod are a set of portable tools, including lockpicks, all of which slot into my left forearm and bicep for easy use and access.
Efficient. I like it.
Looking at my body, I find it to be all black metal machinery from neck to toes, modeled off that of the female human form. Detachable armor plating made of a dark gray gunmetal covers my chest and synthetic vitals. My legs end without any feet, in needle tipped points, stabilized by internal gyroscopic components.
I'd better check my documentation and specs.
In the combat section, one thing in particular catches my eye. I am a Martial Variant Frame, built with a relatively equivalent dispersion of power and agility. My SubVariant is Gunner, which appears self explanatory. My Specialization is Precision. My combative ability will be optimal with sniper rifles and designated marksman rifles.
Sounds good to me.
I briefly check the necessities section, first of which is power supply. My hydrogen-helium fission battery has about thirty days of longevity on the minimum power setting, or twenty on maximum. However, many of my most potent combat functions are expended upon use and require a total battery recharge via something called a Regenerator Station to be utilized again. Not to mention, those stations also refill my transmitter fluid, which is essentially my lifeblood.
Seems I'd better locate one of those regenerators.
That is now my highest priority. Time to get moving.
I press a mechanical hand to the cyan block on the door, and with a few loud bangs and the sharp hiss of gas, the door blasts off its hinges and out into the snowy white. It's blindingly bright outside the landing pod. The chill bites at my circuits right away. The cold is so immediate and treacherous that I almost wish I could put the door back on and wait for better weather.
Stepping out, I place my needle pointed leg in the snow for the very first time, finding it only a few inches deep before it hits solid ice. I suppose my landing pod melted most of it. Shrugging my shoulders around and toting the rifle, I scan the immediate area. I'm in a conifer forest. Pine trees stand in every direction. It's quiet. The snow is falling quickly.
I need to find more permanent shelter. Soon.
That takes priority over the Regenerator.
That said, I'm picking up a pair of radio signals. Fifteen kilohertz and two megahertz. Nothing more than a steady drone on each. Both are simple directional beacons, northeast for the former, northwest for the latter.
The northwestern beacon is much closer.
I take my chances on that one and press on.
Where there's radio signal, there's often lodging.
Before I can get anywhere, shapes move under the snow.
My sensors alert me too late. I'm being ambushed.
Burrowing creatures leap from below. I manage to side-step most of them, but one lands on my forearm. A giant centipede-like machine the size of my arm chatters its mandibles and spits a thin spray of acid at me, then gnashes at my shoulder. The corrosion passes as only a foul smell, but the bite pierces through my armor plating. I try to crush the thing against a nearby tree but it doesn't even dent. So instead I just grab it and spike it straight down, stomping my piercing leg point through it.
It skitters and goes still.
I suck in a sharp breath, checking to find I'm unharmed. It punctured the armor but not my body. Just enough to make me concerned, but not hurt. Four more of them remain. I magnetize the rifle to my right shoulder blade, drawing my pistol.
I'm a Gunner. Time to test my aiming telemetry.
The first shot kills, knocking one out of the air. The second punches through another. With the third I take the head off. The last centipede launches itself at me. Its sharp mandibles bite into my forearm and I wince but feel no pain. Again, my plating protected me. Using the pistol's butt, I bash the insect over the head and it falls limp. For good measure, I stomp on that one too.
That's five dead machines. It's quiet. I'm out of breath. Cipher-3 has tested me already. That was… an intense welcome. But I'm still alive. Imagine that.
Seems like I am a good shot.
Again, I check myself for injuries but find none, barring the damage to my armor. Crouching down over the inert machines, I inspect them closer. Aluminum titanium alloy bodies, sulfuric acid canisters for that spray of theirs, and these pincers… I don't like those. I wonder who made the things.
I take my time and the needed care to remove the acid canisters, but I only manage to extract two of the four. I'm not sure what I'll use them for, but it seems like a good idea to have a strong corrosive handy.
Braving the hip deep snow is difficult, but not impossible. The dark green conifers are the only color about this place. Between their needles and the snow absorbing the sound, it's exceedingly quiet. Aside from the noise I'm making, it's only the wind. My sensors are reading at negative seventy centigrade, and yes, it's cold, but I'm not exactly miserable. It seems my body was well designed for these conditions.
System specs report that I'm a winterized Frame model built for extremely low temperatures, composed of aluminum and titanium, with a good amount of gold and a lot of tungsten mixed in. What's more, an internal heating system converts a portion of my fission battery's power to warm my transmitter fluid–a necessity in my book.
I'm not sure how long I spend walking, but my sensors eventually pick up structures ahead. There's some kind of heating barrier surrounding them like a bubble, and walking through it into warmer temperatures is a blissful relief. A balmy negative forty. Comfortable indeed.
The snow here has been shoveled aside, cutting salted walkways through the ice. Five small huts sit situated in front of one much larger dome. As I draw nearer to the center of this odd town, an airlock door in the dome building hisses open and another Frame hurries out, waving a hand way up high.
"Hellooo!" she sings, trotting up to me.
I keep my pistol ready.
My database module whirrs to life and scans her over as she comes. She's built much larger than I am and her body is likewise a machine-based mimicry of the human form, with thick needle tipped legs, white inorganic hair, sharp luminescent blue eyes, and a pale synth-skinned face blushing pink from the cold.
The Frame lights up with a bright smile. "Hi! Hello! Welcome, Miss Stranger! This is Vintner Station. Would you like to come inside and warm up? It's a lot more cozy in there."
I gaze up at her. "Who are you? Identify yourself."
"Ah! Right! I–I'm a Homesteader model Frame. My IN is HENR–SI-9738. But around here, I'm Henna! What's your name?"
"I followed a radio signal. It led me here."
"Yes, that's so we don't get lost if we leave town."
"Some town." I magnetize my pistol to my hip and cross my arms, deciding she isn't an immediate threat. "Where is everybody?"
"Inside the dome! You're looking at their personal and private lodgings, but the station is where the team does most of their important work. Please, come inside! It's much warmer in there, I promise!"
"Fine. Lead on. I have questions."
"That's what we at Vintner Station are all about! Answering questions!"
She cheerfully leads me into the large structure. I keep my distance because I don't trust anyone who could be so vibrant in a place like this. I wonder where I've ended up. Maybe I should have followed the other signal. However, there could be leads here for me to follow. Someone might know McElroy. Or she could be hiding here somewhere.
I plan to pick this place clean before moving on.
The door closes behind us and the airlock evens out the pressure differential before we're allowed inside. Warmth hits me first. It's positive twenty centigrade. My chassis is steaming. The dome's wide open interior is a rustic mess of somewhat deteriorated technology. I don't know what any of the machinery does, but it looks like it's all seen better days. It isn't hard to spot the duct tape repairs and jury rigging. Monitors and machines whir while a coffee pot dribbles and voices carry in from elsewhere. It smells like diesel fuel. And coffee, of course.
And a bit of mildew. High above, the domed ceiling arcs with dangling vines lush in flower and fruit, creeping along the curved rafters. Trees of all kinds rise to the ceiling, bordered with more machines encircling a contained interior forest, and I can hear water flowing from within it.
How pleasant.
My sensors primed on high alert, I follow Henna deeper into the complex. There's a sort of entryway space just inside, where we come across a group of three organic humans. Their hushed conversation trails off as we approach, and they turn to face us. One is a tall man with dark hair, the second a middle aged woman with brown hair, and the third an older man with thinning gray hair.
I notice a glance pass between them all.
What it's intended to convey, I can't discern.
The woman greets me with a timid, "Hello there. Who might you be?"
We Frames are programmed to identify ourselves on command to any and all humans. Many of my compliance protocols are disabled on account of my being a Pursuer, but a handful are still active regardless, such as this one.
"I am nEPI-0023. A nerveware-based Enfer Pursuit Intelligence Frame, manufactured by Enfer Logistics."
"Ah. Twenty three. It's a pleasure. I think we'll call you Nep, for simplicity's sake. If it's all the same."
"It makes no difference to me."
"Noted. Well, my name is Zoya."
"Louis," the taller man grins and waves.
"Quentin," the older man grumbles.
I write them to quantum storage. Names, faces, and 3D scans.
Zoya studies me, something odd in her stare that I can't pin down. "No offense intended, Nep, but how did you… get here?"
Ah, suspicion. That's what that glance was earlier.
"She followed the beacon," Henna answers for me. "Came in from the south."
"Ah. South, you say… Sweetie, could you go see if Zenith needs any help?"
"Sure! So long, Nep!" She heads back out of the airlock, presumably to help this mysterious fifth person. Cheerfully compliant. Programming? Or personality?
"Please, come in." Zoya invites me closer with a gesture but I stay put. She looks slightly unnerved by that. Doubtless, she's used to Frames obeying her every command, but with me, there are many she has no authority over. "Care for a drink, Nep? Or a regen? We have multiple Frame chargers, and it's terribly cold out there today."
"I'd rather not incur any debt from strangers. If it's all the same."
"Then let's become less strange."
Hm. I like that. "Very well. I can tell you some limited information. You asked how I got here. I don't know much besides that I landed in a pod a few kilometers south. Where that pod came from and who specifically sent it, I can't say. My memory core seems to be rather sparse. And now you. Why are you here? What is this place?"
Quentin pours a hot mug of coffee, croaking, "Where Hell froze over."
"Vintner Station," Zoya says with a well practiced smile. "It's a research outpost collecting climate data on Cipher-3 for the purposes of–"
"Prospectors," Louis interrupts with a sarcastic note, and a smirk. "Making sure the place is stable enough to dig."
I nod. Gruff, diplomatic, and straightforward, respectively. "Dig for what?"
"Anything," he shrugs. "Tellurium, especially."
"Why tellurium?"
"Loads of stuff. Solar cells, disc drives, vulcanized rubber, thermoelectronics, machine alloys, you name it."
"Sounds important."
"It is," the woman says, taking back over. "But it's a distant goal. At present, we're only monitoring and modeling Cipher-3's climate. Now another for you, Nep. What's your purpose for being here? We certainly don't get many visitors. And to tell the truth, most anyone would be unsettled upon seeing a Pursuit Frame show up out of the blue. Or rather, the white."
I choose my words carefully. "It's my directive to locate and execute a runaway fugitive hiding on Cipher-3."
The three of them trade looks.
Louis puts his hands up. "Don't look at me. I paid off all my outstanding warrants. I got a clean rap."
Criminal history. Noted.
Quentin then grunts, "There's nothing clean about you or your rap."
The woman ignores them both. "Well, Nep, you'll find full support here. If there's anything we can do to aid your search, please do say so."
"I need to ask someone a good number of questions about Cipher-3 before I proceed any further. Clearly the terrain is hostile and I have no intention of venturing out from here unprepared. Likewise, I know next to nothing about this moon itself."
"I'm certain we can arrange something."
"Then let's. Zoya, I'd like to speak with you first."
"Certainly. Louis, Quentin, you two know what you need to be doing, so please. And please make sure Zenith and Henna get through bringing in the salvage." The two of them cast off without any further discussion, and Zoya pours herself some more coffee before turning to me with an easy and relaxed grin. "Okay. Shall we?"
I nod, readying my interviewing and interrogating module. With that up, I can clearly see how nervous she appears, although uneasy may be the more applicable term. It makes sense. The only purpose the Pursuer Model Frame exists to serve is execution.
She opts to lead onward throughout the complex, and I follow Zoya to begin my investigation into the whereabouts of Shea McElroy.