Dyson’s Game

Book 1: Salvage Claim

Chapter 10

Efraim

When I woke up, I was expecting the Broodmother’s domain. Hatchlings all around, rushing forth past cracked eggshells towards a warm, comforting figure wreathed in the soft glow of the sun.

Sadly, that didn’t prove to be the case. There wasn’t a warm, comforting glow – only the harsh light of fluorescent lights that was quickly expunged by someone shining a light in my eye.

I scream, flailing my arms around, only to find out that they’ve been strapped down into... something. Which wasn’t all that comforting, especially combined with the fact that my mouth hasn’t been snapped shut. So I did the only thing that I could do in a situation like this.

Scream. “I did nothing, I need a lawyer, you don’t need to bring out the screws I’ll talk–!”

The light shuts off with a click. I blink away the spots in my vision for a few seconds, eyes blearily glancing around my surroundings before my vision slowly clears up to reveal... a familiar room. White cradles, the smell of antiseptic, and accent lighting that’s tucked on the sides of packed regolith.

Someone snaps their fingers, and my eyes slowly turn back towards a Kal’Dari, finding them drawing back with a sigh. “Efraim. Calm the fuck down.”

A medtech, judging by the patch on their wrap. Thank fuck for that. “I–” I pause, glancing around me with narrowed eyes before turning back towards them, “–Where are we?”

“You’re back at base. Bossman and the rest of the crew on the other rover found you on the salvaged ship and brought you back.” They sigh, thumbing a comm by their neck, “... Speaking of which. Bossman, you can come in now.”

On the far side of the room, a door opens, and Bossman steps though, his expression still steeped in his usual seriousness. His cybernetic eye glances over towards me, before he closes it shut. “Good to see you’re back in good shape. Well, relatively at least. How are you feeling?”

I blink, before turning my gaze up to the ceiling. “... Are Shisholi and Klathi alright?”

Bossman glances towards the medtech, who lets out a sigh and leaves the room. As the door closes behind us, Bossman sits down on the cradle next to me, his shoulders slumping while crossing his arms.

“... They’re dead. You should know that.” He sighs. “You’ve been out for a few cycles to get your wounds treated. Cargo shuttle came in last cycle, and we got the caskets loaded up so that they could be shipped to their families.”

My shoulders slump. “I missed the funeral, didn’t I?”

“You did.” Bossman confirms, quickly gripping my shoulder before I could lean back into my cradle. “You needed the rest. Your quick run-in with the fer’shai gave you injuries that... well, they weren’t pretty to say the least.”

“That’s the thing that killed Klathi and Shisholi?” I hoarsely ask, before a snarl splits my lips an instant later. “Tell me that thing is dead. I fucking turned that fucking thing into a goddamn smear all over the ship’s fucking hull, so please, please tell me that thing fucking died–”

“It’s gone.” Bossman grins, and I let out a choked sob while I reached out for an embrace. “Don’t worry, Efraim. It’s gone. You killed it for good.”

“Good.” I gasp, trying to shift myself on the cradle to get closer, but I couldn’t feel my legs. “I... I don’t know what I’d do if even firing a goddamn mass driver at it wasn’t enough to kill the fucking thing...”

“People are already telling stories about that, you know.” Bossman mutters, and I turn to look at him with a look of alarm. He grunts and shakes his head, moving his gaze towards the door that led out of the room. “Not me. But Anthani has been frequenting the rest lounge for some time now after the entire thing, and he’s had one too many drinks. I’m thinking of rationing his alcohol intake if he doesn’t stop soon.”

“If rumors spread about me, I’m gonna kick his fucking ass.” I grumble back, taking a deep breath to steady myself before trying to... shift myself on the cradle, once again to no avail. “Hey, Bossman.”

“Hm?”

“I can’t feel my legs.”

Bossman frowns, pointedly not looking in my direction. “When we found you, you had been bleeding out over that ship’s hull. Moteng’s had to cook something up from whatever was in the cargo bay at the time to keep you from dying of blood loss... We had to do triage on your injuries. I... I hope you can understand.”

My expression shifts as Bossman continues on talking, my arms falling back to my chest as I grip my shaky wrists. With wide eyes and a paling face, I slowly peel back the blanket covering the rest of my body... only to find nothing. No legs. Not even the lower half of my body. All that was left was clean gauze, clean fasteners, and clean bandages to... to...

“How long was I out?” I hoarsely ask.

“Nine cycles. Bries time.” I shudder at the blunt admission, even as I carefully poked and prodded at the... where my body ended. There was no pain, and I’m pretty sure I’m not hopped up on sedatives if I can speak for this long without slurring any words. “You were touch and go for a while. Even with the cargo shuttle just having arrived a few days before, our stocks of typranozome, alfricassares, and kolaphrarin are lower than what we normally want to have.”

“Are you...” I pause, trying to find the right words to say. “... Are you trying to guilt-trip me?”

“No.” Bossman sighs, a familiar tone that I always heard whenever he was tired of bullshit. And sure enough, I spied him rolling his eyes. “But our quartermaster’s been bugging me about it, and so I told him that he could very well talk to you if he’s so pissed that you’re taking up a large chunk of our medical supplies.”

I give a sullen glance to where my legs were. “As much as I’d like to give him a piece of my mind, I can’t exactly get there, can I?”

“For the moment, no.” Bossman leans back, pinching his snout before letting out a sigh. “It’s why I came here to talk to you about it – for the meantime, we’re going to place you in a wheelchair, but how we’ll proceed from now on depends on you.”

“Me.” I drawl, “For goodness’s sake Bossman, I’m a fucking cripple–”

“Half a century you spent working with us, Efraim.” Bossman snaps, “I’m not going to fucking leave you hanging dry when we could fix you. Are we clear?”

...

“Are we clear?”

“Crystal.” I grit out. “Sir.”

“Good.” Bossman sighs, using their cybernetic eye to project a few things in front of me. “First things first, we can get you a prosthetic. Temperature sensors, pressure pads, synthetic muscles... the works. I could pressure the company to try and fit in some ultracapacitors and solar arrays to make the entire thing as self-sufficient as possible, but that’s another issue.”

I gawk, staring at the rough shape of a four-legged prosthetic and the few specs that showed up on the projection. In-built recycling systems so that I wouldn’t have to expel whatever I ate, some kind of limited self-repair capability, and some of the other things that Bossman told me so far. What the hell is this?

“We could probably get the prosthetic’s manufacture started as soon as you give me the get-go, but it would probably take a local rotation before it arrives here. Not to mention the surgery and the checks to make sure that it connects well with your MMI, or you can still have some manual control of the prosthetic even with EMP blaring all around you.”

“That’s...” I trail off, my eyes still trained on the prosthetic that Bossman projected. “I... I don’t know. This just seems... too much.”

“You’re not gonna like the other option, then.” Bossman sighs, replacing the projection of the prosthetic with... an ordinary Kal’Dari, floating in a pod. “Complete biological reconstruction. With a complimentary trip to the Crownworld, since we don’t nearly have the required equipment to do so. You can also sneak in a juv-nat treatment as well, I think. Though that’s mostly standard for anyone who manages to get in.”

I stared at my options in stunned silence. One one hand, top-of-the-line prosthetics that would make any trans-Kal’Dari fritz at the sight. On the other, gaining back my lower body as if it hadn’t been surgically amputated at all.

“Well, I’ll let you come up with a decision.” Bossman cuts in a few moments later, his cybernetic eye whirring down while giving me a grin. “For the meantime, I’ll get that wheelchair in.”

The door to this room slides open, and my so-called ‘wheelchair’ rolls though. It was not exactly a wheelchair, but more like a tiny buggy fit for one person. Straps to hold me in place, a joystick for manual controls, upholstery that looked like it was fit for a Clanner, and suspension on the treaded tracks to keep me from feeling the slightest bit of comfort while I was on the damn thing.

Fucking suspension. On a wheelchair. “Bossman, what the fuck is this?”

“A reward for your valiant efforts in ridding the base of a potential menace.” He rumbles, his eyes twinkling with mischief, “Everyone chipped in. Especially after Anthani told everyone how you blasted that fer’shai with a ship-mounted mass driver. Try rolling up to the quartermaster in that, see if he doesn’t change his tune, yeah?”

I stare at the... at the ‘wheelchair’, my jaw still hanging loosely from my mouth.

“Does it...” I trail off, “Does it have... like, I don’t know, MMI compatibility?”

“Pretty sure it does.” Bossman shrugs, “We got it from a catalog from the Crownworld, though we had to pay extra shipping costs for the cargo shuttle to make a detour. Though I’m pretty sure the crew liked it.”

Ah. Crownworld engineering. Suddenly, everything made a lot more sense. “And there’s still enough krannts for me to get an operation to fix my legs?”

“No, this one’s a long-term investment.” Bossman chuckles, shaking his head at the sight of the wheelchair smoothly parking to a stop right next to my cradle. “You should’ve heard the others talk about breaking their own spines just so they could have a go-around on this thing.”

Morbid. But not entirely unwarranted. I'd do the same if I were in their positions, given that everyone wanted to get their hands on something from the Crownworld.

“Well too bad for them, I have first dibs on this thing.” I darkly mutter, turning towards my boss while shooting him an embarrassed cant. “So, uh... Lift me?”

Bossman snorts, shaking his head but nonetheless lifting me up to the wheelchair. As he straps me down, I spool up my MMI, watching as the diagnostics quickly flit through my vision and disappearing... before I let out a yelp as the backrest suddenly leans back and oh. Oh...

“Someone’s having fun. Just don't set the pitch too low and go sleepwalking around the base..” Bossman chuckles, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “Anyways, judging by your expression, you didn’t regret taking up that weight loss program?”

I stare. To his credit, Bossman coughs, and immediately does a one-eighty, holding up a hand to stop the tirade of insults that I was about to send his way. I still opened my mouth to speak though, only to hold my breath when I watch his expression turn from sheer panic to determination.

Needless to say, something’s wrong. “What is it?”

“Something came up.” He replies, his words clipped as he began to move behind me. I held up a hand, pointing towards my MMI, and Bossman stares at me for a second before giving me a curt nod, making his way towards the door. Needless to say, I followed right after his heels. “Satellites detected a Clanner ship doing a decceleration burn towards our sector. Transponder says that it’s from Clan Okmoshi.”

“Isn’t that uh...” I cross my eyes, listing off the Clans that I knew off the top of my head while the door to the hospice slid open. “The one that manages the station up in the poles?”

“No, that one’s Clan Kawarra.” Bossman replies with a shake of his head. “Clan Okmoshi’s the one responsible for our security apparatus. They’re also one of the main Clanner investors to this base, though I’m sure they’ve got some other hoildings somewhere around Bries as well.”

“So... Security inspection?”

“Presumably.” Judging from Bossman’s tone, he wasn’t too sure. “We’ve just had an recent incident that killed two of our staff, one being part of this base’s security. They’re probably going to launch an investigation of their own.”

I sense that there was something else there. “But...?”

“I don’t know.” Bossman grumbles, “It’s been a while since I dealt with Clanners. Who’s to say what’s going on in their circles?”

Fair point. With another spool of my MMI, I increased the speed of my wheelchair so that I could keep up with Bossman, neatly swerving around a cook that gave me a jaunty greeting that I returned back.

“Can I come?” I ask, causing Bossman to stop in his tracks. I raise a brow in his direction, glancing up towards his face, only to find him sporting a peculiar expression, like he was having constipated thoughts. A second or two passes before he lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping while he continues to walk towards the.... where was he going, exactly?

“Fine. You can come with me to the docks under one condition.” I nod along, “Don’t tell anyone about what you encountered back on that ship.”

... What.

"Bossman–"

"Not now, Efraim." He snaps back in a clipped tone, his cybernetic eye all but whirling to life. "We'll talk about this later when the Clanners are gone. Not when they're about to arrive in a few minutes."

I stare at Bossman's back, my wheelchair slowly crawling to a stop while I glared at his back. Don't tell anyone what I found on that godforsaken ship? This... whatever the hell this 'fer'shai' is supposed to mean?

Something's wrong. Something is very, definitely wrong.