Chapter 1

Predators and Paywalls

The last few drops from my upturned canteen hit the sand, a final libation. Steph. Kimm. Charlie. Cheers to the beginning, toast to the end, that’s the salvagers’ way.

Canteen dropped.

Rifle at the ready.

Finger on the trigger.

Inhale.

Hold.

In my sights, a narnak rattler. Think tweaking cockroach x alcoholic black lab. It’s standing over a body, flesh in its maw. Poor Charlie. He slew a different brute of a narnak soldier with icicles, its body lying impaled nearby. Yet ultimately his ice sculpting powers weren’t enough.

Focus.

Exhale.

Revenge to deliver.

Pull the trigger.

[INSUFFICIENT RANGE!] A red exclamation point flashes across my vision.

The hell?! My attention jerks to the disto-reader displayed via my scope. 294 meters. I’m kneeling at the edge of a clearing, hidden behind brush. Getting closer means going out in the open. Screw that, it’s in range.

Pull the trigger, again.

[INSUFFICIENT RANGE!] my AI companion Erai shouts into my mind.

“Insufficient range!? What do you mean "insufficient range?” I whisper. “These hollow points are rated for 300 meters! That narnak rattler is 294 meters out!”

[You know you don’t need to speak out loud, right? I can hear your inner voice if you direct it at me.]

You know you can be useful rather than useless. Stick to the task at hand! I thinksay.

[Your bullets have a three hundred meter maximum distance, but that’s with no wind and low humidity. Right now, you’re firing against a 30-kilometer-per-hour sustained wind and humidity is at 85%. Maximum range is thus reduced to 276 meters. I told you to buy that distancer upgrade pack. It was on sale.]

I really hate the voices in my head. On the best days, I can tolerate my own. But I’ve never woken up and wanted to chat with my always-nagging “intern” Erai, an AI who lives on a chip implanted in my brain. And distance upgrade packs, what a load of crock. The worst part is that the bullets don’t change. Not physically, at least. Instead, my ammo will get a quick software update. Some weeks back, the a-holes at AmmoSol actually spent more money to make their bullets less useful by locking features behind software gates. Never figured they'd go this far.

Alright, how much is an upgrade pack now?

[A hundred and forty-seven credits for a five-pack. They were on sale for 89 credits. If you had-]

“How many credits do I have?”

[Oh, you’re at flat zero.]

“ZERO!? I damn well KNOW I have credits!”

[‘Had’ credits. Seems the Intergalactic Revenue Service levied your debit account six minutes ago. Right after that narnak ambushed Ste-]

“Stick to tasks at hand. Don’t rehash the past, I can’t handle that shit right now.”

Damn it. Some paper pusher issued the levy thinking my minutes are numbered and wanted to ensure they were first to pick over my carcass. Which, as an occasional taxpayer, I can respect the government efficiency, but as a broke dude about to get eaten, frankly I’m insulted.

Then there’s my Nanite Pool: drained to the zero point spamming Rapid Fire Mode when the narnaks attacked our camp. If I had points, I could use my Rogue Auto Aim skill. Old Corey told me to use my early funds to bolster my Nanite Pool but instead I leased a fucking spaceship.

Forget the range extenders, we’ll sneak closer and do this quiet like.

A bloated red sun takes up half the sky, cooking this planet alive. Around me, thick jungle. Ahead, sand and low weeds. I move forward, one foot after the other, out in the open, only a few more steps. My fingers itch for retribution. Then the narnak looks up, makes eye contact. I freeze. It freezes. I charge forward. The narnak’s tail goes erect and starts to rattle. It’s calling for the pack. Prey sighted.

Except today the hunted is also a hunter.

Rifle back at the ready. Finger on the trigger.

I pull and pull. Bullets fly. The narnak slumps. The tail goes limp. It keels over, dead. A notification pops up “Headshot! +75EXP.”

^^COOL DOWN!^^ The system messenger warns me.

[Oh! You should promote your silencer on your livefeed! See how nice and silent it is!]

Busy.

[But-]

Busy.

And then, a shriek. My attention shifts. Another narnak appears at the far end of the clearing, at least twenty yards out of range, tail rattling. Spin on my heels, run. I plunge into the jungle but it’s no safe haven. Narnaks hunt in packs and I could be surrounded. My neck tingles. I remember Kimm’s final moments, when the fangs sunk. Still, the ship we were going to salvage isn’t far from here and may provide sanctuary.

[I knew going after that narnak was a bad idea.]

“It had my scent! It’d have continued after us as soon as it finished with Charlie or its pack turns up!”

[Still better-]

“Hindsight’s 20-20.”

I shoulder through the underbrush. Crawling, scratching, kicking, tearing, surging, pushing. Hot. Sweaty. Thankfully, Erai can’t really feel anything or she’d surely be whining about getting an AC upgrade.

A roar, low like thunder, from a fair distance off. That’d be the princess narnak. Big momma. Saw her earlier. Back when my crew was still alive.

Steph.

Kimm.

Charlie.

Damn it. Fuck this universe.

Moisture builds up on my envirohelm, muddling my vision. I hate tropical salvages, but the pay was pretty damn good. I’m tearing at vines and branches, then burst through, stumbling into a clearing. Rough ground, earth scorched to molten rock that later cooled. Decayed remains of tree trunks and roots. Where the McAlister went down five years ago. Roughly 500 meters away. Long haul freighter, ugly as sin. Industrial, brutal. Haven? I charge across the clearing, leaping over logs, trying not to get tangled on snaking vines.

Halfway there. A shriek, loud, clear. Peering over my shoulder, I eye a soldier narnak. It’s got my scent, no doubt about it. In the corner of my vision, my gun’s icon has turned green. I spin, drop to one knee, pull up, and shoot.

I miss. Of course I fucking miss. My gun icon turns red.

Back on the run. A quick glance over my shoulder. Damn! The Narnak already closed half the distance. This one’s freakishly fast and I'm still at least a hundred meters from the McAlister.

[IT’S LUNGING!]

I turn right as the bastard slams me to the ground, shaving 2% off my armor. My assault rifle tumbles out of my hands and beyond my reach. The beast has one paw on my right shoulder and its other paw pins my left arm. I manage to get my right hand on its throat and desperately try to push it off.

The narnak is about my size. One-inch-long claws, hard as iron. Yet it doesn’t bother using them. Instead, the beast focuses on pinning me down. I’ve seen this little dance unfold before. It’ll slowly wear me down, get itself in position, and bite my head clean off.

Is this it? Probably. I set out for adventure, to live in the Wilds of the galaxy. But I’ve found little more than debt and sweat and blood. Living out of a tiny spaceship I still owe a ton on. No more than 10 million followers in a universe stuffed with over a quintillion sentients. A nobody to most and a splash of cheap entertainment for those few who follow me.

The narnak is nearly in position to strike. If only I had Nanite Points, I could use my ‘Disappearing Act’ power.

Maybe I should welcome death with open arms?

Nah piss on that. I spit on its face, pure spite.

Life flashes. The departure dock with Old Corey, my mentor of sorts. For weeks he tried to dissuade me. Not then, though. He simply laid a hand on my shoulder, wished me luck, then handed me a spoon. Yeah, a spoon. A spoon with a very sharp point at the end of the handle. Old Corey also shared a few last words, an incantation for increased strength. Warned me not to use it, except for life or death, as incantations could be used only so many times before they expire.

Life or death.

“Jerry and Joe’s Fuego Spice chicken tenders give me strength! Jerry and Joe’s Fuego Spice chicken tenders give me strength!! JERRY AND JOE’S FUEGO SPICE CHICKEN TENDERS GIVE ME STRENGTH!!!”

The audience won’t hear the words. They’ll instead see an ad for Jerry and Joe’s. Only the AI demigods can program incantations and their compute doesn’t come cheap, but big money advertisers will pay the tab. Someday, some poor salvager will scream those words to no effect. But that day isn’t today, my nanites have gained strength and I’ve managed to push the narnak back. I yank my left arm free and reach down to my utility belt.

Need only a moment to find my trusty spoon. I take the sharp, pointy end, and smash it into the narnak’s left eye. It shrieks and jerks its head back, further loosening its grip. I shove with all my might and it tumbles off. My gun icon, green. I lunge for my rifle, roll, raise, and fire. This time I don't miss.

[Well that was exciting! Lots of yummy data!]

Getting back to my feet, I’m heaving. I pick up my trusty spoon and tuck it into my utility belt.

[Uh oh.]