Surreal Experiences

The door to the government sector slammed shut on its own, and I found myself unaccompanied on Terminus IV for the first time. At first blush it appeared everyone bustled about, performing one task or another with dogged energy, but as I walked back to the Byrnhildr I caught things I had not my first time through. A group of off-duty TermSec employees, stripped of their armor and wearing navy blue coveralls with the word ‘inspector’ across their backs, huddled around a table playing dice. Another group shouted at a holoprojector displaying a sporting event I was unfamiliar with, smoking and drinking.

The air was thick with the scent of oil and hot metal, but the ambient temperature was kept to a comfortable level. Rust spotted the diamond-patterned steel flooring, but it was kept free of debris, and kneehigh self-driving carts carried materials back and forth between the inner-side of the fourth ring and the docking bays.

The Byrnhildr herself nestled against the far side of the station, her hull battered where we had taken laser fire during our first fight. I placed my hand against the metal siding, and closed my eyes. So this is my life now, huh? After a moment of introspection, I boarded my ship.

“It seems my prediction fell short,” Junk said the moment the hatch closed behind me. “And here I thought I was to be granted reprieve from your presence.”

I ignored his jab, and climbed the steps to my bedroom, collapsing on the plushy bed with a soft whomp.

“You should get off your ass and collect those bounties,” Junk said, sounding more irritated. “The Byrnhildr will not repair itself, and I cannot submit a work order without the requisite funds.”

“Fine,” I sighed, rolling onto my back. “Can you show me where to go? And how do I sell that pirate ship?”

“Check the drawer in your writing desk, there is a personal communication device inside. I can communicate with you through that, and upload a map of the station for your use,” Junk said. “As for the ship, I can fill out and submit the paperwork to sell it, but I need to know whom you wish to sell it to. If we put it on the open market, you will get more money but it will take longer, or we can simply sell it to TermSec for a fixed price and have it taken away immediately.”

With a grunt of effort, I pushed myself to a seated position, and reached into the drawer. “Is the device you mentioned this watch?” I asked, picking up what seemed to be a featureless wristwatch. It was just a wristband with a pinhole where the face should have been.

“I do not know what a ‘watch’ is, but what you are holding is the personal communication device,” Junk said.

I started to strap it on, then paused. “Hey wait a second, can you see me?”

“Of course.”

“Absolutely not. You are forbidden from peeking into this room,” I said.

There was a moment of silence before Junk spoke again. “If you rotate the device to face up, it will project information.”

“Don’t ignore me,” I grumbled, but did as he said. The tiny hole projected a hologram into the air. It showed a variety of things such as the time, temperature, and my heart rate.

“I have uploaded the map,” Junk said. As soon as he said it, the hologram shifted to display my position in three dimensions.

“Thats neat,” I said, and dropped my wrist to my side. “Just sell the ship to TermSec. I can’t be bothered to sit around and wait for a buyer.”

“Done,” Junk responded almost immediately. “I have taken the liberty of opening a bank account for you, all funds will be directed there. TermSec has purchased the ship for 110,000 Credits; the transfer will be complete by the time you leave the Byrnhildr.”

“Damn, that’s fast,” I said. “Guess I’ll go collect those bounties and do some exploring.”

“I shall submit a work order for maintenance while you are away,” Junk said. “Enjoy your time on the fourth ring—you will feel most at home here, I am certain.”

*****

The streets of Terminus IV were narrow, lit in dim, ruddy shades by flickering streetlights. The air had a dank, moldy quality to it that mingled with the distinct scent of recycled air, laying heavy over the residential district like a blanket.

The roads were laid out in a strict grid pattern, each intersection evenly spaced, and the housing blocks were all identical steel buildings. My wristwatch displayed the map in three dimensions, but even with that guiding my movements I found myself turned around more than once, confused by the monotonity of the city.

Beggars, garbed in ruined dockworker coveralls or tattered casual wear, dotted the intersections. They called out for food, money, and sometimes sex or drugs. I passed them by, careful not to make eye contact lest I draw their pointed attention, but my heart sank with each encounter. So much advanced technology, and yet nothing ever changes.

I knew that Terminus IV was large, but the scale was nearly immeasurable from the ground level. The fourth ring was roughly the size of manhattan—15 miles to make a full circuit, and 3 miles wide—but the density was astounding. Each city block was one singular building, all of them five stories tall. The residential district accounted for three quarters of the total space, and with some quick mental math I estimated the population of the fourth ring to be two million, which meant the station as a whole would be somewhere close to eight million in total.

With a dejected sigh, I pulled up my map once more, and plotted the quickest course to the government district. Exploration was a bust; as excited as I was to be in a futuristic society, I grew more disappointed the deeper I delved into Terminus IV. This it just depressing.

The government district was a different story. Though the roads were still narrow in comparison to a city planetside, they were swept clean. A varied and colorful skyline followed the gentle curve of the ring, skyscrapers and communications antennae reaching toward the heavens like grasping fingers.

“Now this is what I’m talking about,” I gawked, walking and turning in circles to take in the view. In the recesses of my mind I knew that I was witnessing extreme income inequality at work, but in the moment all I could do was marvel.

I made my way to the mercenary hub. Calling it a ‘guild’ felt strange—it was more like a union of independent contractors. I read up on it before leaving the ship. To become a member you paid a fee, and then a small cut of your earnings went to the guild. In exchange they provided you with ship maintenance, health care, and legal assistance.

A few short minutes later, I stepped into the guild hall. The building itself was a silvery, windowless tower that sat in the middle of the government district like an overlord, looming over everything around it. What the outside lacked in aesthetic appeal, the interior made up. The first story was a vast open-air lounge, with hardwood flooring, couches, and coffee tables. A waitress bustled between customers, slinging coffee and tea and booze in equal measure.

I made my way to the counter set into the far wall. “Hello, I am here to collect a bounty,” I said to the stylist receptionist. “And join the guild, if possible.”

The woman looked bored, but not unpleasant. With deftness that spoke of experience, she tapped a remote computer terminal, then handed the data pad to me. “Fill out your information,” she said.

I hammered away at the paperwork, filling in what I could and leaving the rest blank. When I handed it back to her, she gave it a cursory once over, then placed a small black box in front of me. “Finally, place your personal communication device here and wait for the beep,” she said. I did so. “Alright, your bounty comes out to 310,000 credits. I went ahead and took the admission fee out of that, bringing your total earnings today to 210,000. Your next step will be an evaluation.”

“An evaluation?” I repeated her statement as a question, and she looked at me with dull eyes.

“She’s just tired, don’t hold her behavior against her,” a man said from behind me. I turned, and found a stocky man a head shorter than me, wearing a flight suit. “The name’s Randall, I’ll be your evaluator today.”

“Oh, um,” not sure what to say, I decided it would be best to sound like an idiot, apparently.

“I called him here when you said you wanted to sign up,” the receptionist said, and I glanced over my shoulder at her. She had pulled out a paperback book and was no longer paying attention to us.

“I’m Gerhardt,” I said, and shook Randall’s hand. “What is this evaluation?”

“Don’t be nervous, it’s just a simple competency test. First up is space combat, then we will observe your hand to hand and shooting abilities. Lastly, if you have power armor, we can test your abilities in that. You will receive a letter grade for each category you test in, which will help us determine what types of jobs to offer you.”

“No power armor, unfortunately,” I said. “How common is it for rookies to have no experience?”

“Most of our members are former military. The lifestyle draws that sort of crowd, but we do get aspiring star seekers from the civilian population as well,” Randall explained as he guided me through the building. We descended a flight of stairs into a sub-level, and the atmosphere changed from open and inviting to austere and functional. A few minutes later, we found ourselves standing in front of a row of freestanding pods, their hydraulic doors open to reveal a single seat inside each one.

“Alright, into the simulator you go. You can select your preferred ship archetype.

I climbed in and selected a smaller ship that used speed and kinetic rounds to fight. The simulation was easy overall. I found myself struggling to control the ship, but the enemy reaction time was so slow that it did not seem to matter. Are fast ships just broken?

“Your piloting skills are pretty amateur, but you’ve got great reaction speed and instincts. With some practice you’ll make a decent enough pilot,” the man said, clicking on his tablet. “Next is physical stuff.”

We chatted as we made our way further back into the testing facility. Randall was an excellent mentor type, putting me at ease while carefully extracting information about my experience.

“Next up are some basic hand to hand combat drills, and a physical abilities examination,” he said, punching something into his data pad. We stood in a circular room, at the center of which was a clunky bipedal robot. “First thing first, gear up and spar. Afterward I’ll walk you through the steps for your physical examination.”

I donned a pair of padded gloves, elbow guards, and shin guards, and approached the robot. It waved at me—a surreal experience in itself—then bowed like any martial artist would before starting a match. Then, we were off.

The word ‘clunky’ turned out to be a poor description of the thing. While it was large, it was anything but clumsy—before I could prepare myself, it struck like lightning. I sidestepped the oncoming fist with a yelp, and pushed off my back foot to gain distance. On Earth, I had taken some martial arts classes as a teenager, much like any young boy would, and I found myself falling back on my instincts as we sparred.

The fight only lasted for a minute before I managed a successful counterattack. I redirected a punch, threw the machine off-balance, then lashed out with a kick. My shin made solid contact with its midsection, and I heard a distinct crunch.

“Holy shit,” Randall said, mouth hanging open. The robot slumped forward, then collapsed, its armored chest caved in. “I’ve seen some strong people before, but that’s nuts. Have you undergone gene therapy before?” I stared down at my hands and shook my head. What the hell?

The rest of the examination took less than twenty minutes. Both of us marveled at my physical abilities—I maxed out every weight machine, sprinted at full speed for more than three minutes, and reached a maximum jump height and distance that would shame world record holders back on Earth. It was, in short, surreal.

After that was an even quicker test: shooting. Being the red-blooded American I was, the firing range Randall led me to was familiar. I would not describe it as nostalgic, but I was more than comfortable enough to put a kinetic round into every target on the first shot—a feat I could have performed in my sleep even in my last life.

“Not often we see pilots with such skill on the range,” Randall said. “Pretty impressive. Anyway, that concludes the examination. I’ll explain how we assign jobs, and how to sign up for health benefits, insurance, and the pension fund while I escort you back up top.”

Several hours later I slumped into bed. Junk had seen to my basic necessities while I was out—restocking on food cartridges, toothpaste and toilet paper, and a dozen other small items I’d need. Too tired to ponder the strangeness of my day, I dozed.

“When I wake up, I wonder if I’ll be back in my old world,” I asked aloud.

“Doubtful,” Junk said. “All my data indicates this universe is unconnected to this previous place you called ‘Earth.’”

“Then how did I get here?”

“Unknown. You should get some sleep, perhaps a little rest will free you from these delusions.”

Junk was such an asshole. I fell asleep within minutes.