Introduction

Why do I think it’s important to understand things (or at least try)? Well, technically it isn’t, so why would I waste time dwelling on concepts that don’t make me feel safe or relevant? If what I believe is in fact true, then every moment of life is precious and should be spent doing things that make me happy… right?

Believe it or not, desire for happiness isn’t what drives me; it isn’t hate, either. Wood isn’t the only material that feeds a flame, and happiness (including all its synonyms) isn’t the only thing out there worth having. As humans, we idolize love—so much so that industries sell equations and formulas (disguised as music, movies, etc.) that have been known to reproduce the “purest” feeling of love. However, love is not happiness. Love is insurance—so be careful who you buy it from.

Love isn’t what drives me. I do have a passion because I am undeniably an emotional creature, but I rarely sought out a measurable reward (which is probably why I was always so poor). Without the gift of an intrinsic purpose, I can either rot away or create my own—it is a concept that was originally made by humans, after all. So, now I do pretty much whatever I want at any given moment, only breaking this cycle to broaden my horizons and multiply my available resources (until the apocalypse, this mindset did more harm than good).

Why is this relevant? Because, if you remember how last chapter closed out, this presents a potentially fatal weakness that may be exploited: what if I want something that can’t be replaced? Even worse, what if that “something” is a person with feelings, thoughts, and (worst of all) expectations that I can’t satisfy? Yeah, love and happiness are great and all, but they cost far too much. I can’t afford an attachment to a dog, much less a love interest.

Fortunately, I’ve made a few precautions.

Chapter 4

Little did I know…

Weapon one: Cutlass. Using one orb, one regulator, a few pieces of scrap metal, and the alien’s saliva-plastic, I fashioned a laser sword that almost perfectly matched my size. The handle was comfortably molded to fit my hand, with a rounded knuckle-guard that made it resembled a pirate cutlass. The only major aesthetic problem was the unpleasant semitransparent plastic, which coated the entire weapon to make its use a bit more practical. The only practical issue was its ten-foot blade, which simply means I shouldn’t use it unless I’m willing to destroy everything in the immediate area.

Weapon two: Catch. A bit less generic, I used one orb (which was very small compared to the others, only about the size of a penny), two equally miniature regulators, scrap metal, elastic, and a little bit of reckless ingenuity to craft this little beauty. Apparently, the smaller orb produces a lesser amount of energy, which creates a significantly smaller laser (which is probably what the butcher knife from earlier had).

At first, this thread-like beam seemed to be useless in a fight, but upon looking closely at the butcher knife, I noticed something strange. The blade was slightly curved, and so was the brilliant yellow laser that ran along its edge, breaking yet another fundamental rule of the universe. In my excitement, I made a glove (separate from the bobble-head suit) and attached a regulator to its thumb and middle finger. Placing the orb on the backhand side, I then decided to modify one of the regulators to act as a laser receiver.

Taking apart a regulator was surprisingly easy; however, its internal structure was a bit more complicated. Fortunately, because both regulators were the same size and drew energy at the same rate, creating a functioning receiver was fairly easy. The difficult part was finding a way to release the energy. So, in using a bit of my “reckless ingenuity” along with some wire and metal, I rigged up the glove’s surface so it would release the excess in the form of miniature electrical discharges. It wasn’t really dangerous, but it looked cool.

I gave my creation a quick test and (shockingly) succeeded on the first try. Without burning my hand or incinerating the glove, I was able to block a light blow from Cutlass and even deal some damage to an unsuspecting alien fruit. This one project took up one and a half of my three days spent creating.

Weapon three (and four): Bladed Boots. Just like they sound, the smallest pair of military boots (adjusted to its minimum size) fit decently well, so I rigged them up with my last pair of orbs to create two three-inch blades that stuck out from either toe. With a few tests, I perfected it (within my current abilities), placing the activation button deep in the sole, so it would only appear if I applied a lot of pressure to the very back of my heel.

After going back to craft a belt to hold Cutlass, I stared proudly at my own reflection in the television screen (which, in case you forgot, is opposite from the Wall of Self-Care). I didn’t look cool since my suit was essentially the same, save a few structures placed to support my helmet and the weird button-up front I made (to get in and out without cutting any more holes). It was the potential that I admired; everything was finally beginning to fall into place.

I could practically see the next few weeks’ events before my eyes—first, I would learn the technology, then somehow decrypt their language and apply both in order to craft an efficiently designed suit, tool set, and armory. It’s not that I plan to go around picking fights or anything, I just think it would be ridiculously cool to make them. Besides, if enough time passes and human (or alien, now that I think about it) society once again returns to the U.S., I might still be alive… I could probably sell these to fanatics and/or the government for a handsome price, then retire.

I shook it off, “Don’t get too far ahead.” I reminded myself. Before all of this happened, I taught myself (among other things) how to be patient, and one of the techniques I found to be effective was not thinking too much about the reward. Of course, this was severely abused and eventually led to an apathetic approach to just about everything… How to Accidentally Become Emo 101, class dismissed. Wait… is emo apathetic? It’s short for ‘emotion’… right? Whatever.

I smiled thoughtfully, then began sliding off Bladed Boots, Catch, and Cutlass before unbuttoning my awkward tights. “I haven’t given you a name yet, have I?” I thought out loud, wanting to break the overwhelming silence with any coherent sound. I slipped it off, then hung the helmet part up on a hook that protruded from the Wall of Self-Care, letting the rest hang freely. “How about Duncan? I don’t know why, but it looks like a ‘Duncan’ to me.”

My thoughts were interrupted by an abrupt alarm, and the concerning metallic scrape of locks securing the overhead exit. Having been engulfed in almost complete silence for several days, when the alien voice shouted from every direction, I nearly soiled myself before falling ass-first onto the large mattress behind me.

“Ga. Ru. Re. Ja.” A smooth, feminine voice calmly announced over a hidden speaker as the television screen turned yellow and began counting down. The symbol furthest to the right changed about every second, and the one to its left would descend every five seconds. Assuming this rule scales to larger numbers (because why wouldn’t it), then it’s probably safe to say their numbering system is like ours, but instead of counting 0-9, it goes from 0-4.

Cool. I looked with tremendous concern at the four numbers displayed on the screen and was quickly able to decipher the timer’s ultimatum. “4… 4… 4…0… 3…” I scribbled down the numbers (meaning I burned them into an excess metal plate with the butcher knife), then rounded down to 44400 (in hope of simplifying it a bit) and was forced to rely once again on an underdeveloped understanding of mathematics.

I’m just being dramatic; converting it wasn’t really that hard. The number furthest to the right is a single unit (or in this case, a ‘second’), then just left of that one is a number that represents five units, and so on. This allowed me to convert these symbols into something a bit more understandable (for me, at least): 4(*625) 4(*125) + 4(*25) + 0(*5) + 0 = 3,100. I figured that I had about 3,100 seconds before something bad happened, which (when divided by 60) is about 52 minutes.

I know it’s just basic math, but I can’t help feeling ecstatic about this new discovery. I can now recognize written numbers in an alien language—and I figured it out all by myself! Oh my god, this is so cool! “Ga. Ru. Re. Ja.” Yeah, yeah… I should probably try to figure out what’s going on.

I rolled over and stared at the screen, puzzling over its severe lack of details concerning the threat. From what I could tell, there weren’t any words specifying… anything. Not that I would understand it—I just thought it was strange. The screen maintained its deep yellow light, making me wonder if this is some kind of “code yellow” situation with an announcer just saying “this is a code yellow situation” repeatedly. If that was the case…

I pushed myself up, then hastily stumbled over to the Wall of Self-Care and began pulling open its various drawers in search of a manual. One after another, I slid them open, searching through countless large sheets of paper that were covered in the illegible scribblings of a decaying alien. “Ga. Ru. Re. Ja.” Came the voice, continuing its repetitious relay of a very important message concerning an event that will occur in the immediate future—it really is frustrating that I can’t understand it.

Exasperated, I slammed the final drawer and sat on the ground, temporarily defeated. Shouldn’t this soldier have an index or list of command translations somewhere? If he was human, all I’d have to do is check his smart phone or maybe… hang on. I glanced up at my suit, which hung exactly where I left it, inconspicuous as it tried to hide valuable information from me. Either that or I’m just an idiot who overlooked the most obvious solution to my problem.

I stood, patiently sliding each hand-crafted button through its hole until I was satisfied with the entrance’s size, then stuck my head in and up into the helmet. After a moment of reorienting the helmet, I spoke. “Ga. Ru. Re. Ja.” I did my best to mimic the accent, and to my relief, the mask responded by repeating the phrase back to me in the same feminine voice as before. The display warped and the background was distorted by a semitransparent green screen, which listed a series of symbols that I didn’t understand. I scrolled through an excessive amount of details before stopping on an image that may be helpful.

I noticed a little green dot that was connected to another yellow one by a thin (and yellow) line. Immediately, a couple of things popped into mind, but one theory in particular stood out above the others; I think I’m being summoned by the yellow dot. I pulled the helmet off, then looked back at the relentless timer with no small amount of dread. “44212 alien seconds left.” I thought aloud.

What am I going to do for an hour? I’m not ready for a fight, yet—I’d either risk destroying my suit (specifically the helmet) or do it the ‘naked and afraid’ way with Cutlass. I don’t have the time to learn their language, and I doubt they’d take kindly to an armed alien tumbling out of a fallen soldier’s pod. I can’t leave because the door’s locked (I probably could cut my way out, but there’s no way in hell I’m leaving this thing), and any interactions (violent or otherwise) would be on their terms, not mine. Oh hell, what if “they” are an army? If I’m caught, they’ll undoubtedly try to study me (not before beating the hell out of me, of course).

I racked my brain in search of options before finally coming to a conclusion. I need to modify my suit; isolate the breathing apparatus and create something durable to keep the debris out of my eyes without giving myself a severe handicap. Worst case scenario, I’ll lose everything and scavenge what I can off my victim(s). I can’t die (at least, I haven’t yet), so I’ll be able to take risks that would end a ‘normal’ human.

I grabbed my oversized helmet (which I had become very attached to over the past week-ish) and paused, “Sorry, Duncan.” I whispered, then used a sharp metal rod to pry out the air filter. Next, I hurriedly cut out and melted a piece of elastic into a practical shape to use as my mask’s foundation, before finally throwing together an awkward pair of goggles using elastic, a thin layer of spit-plastic, and a separate spit-plastic frame. The latter task was extremely difficult, since the lens had to be made perfectly clear (or at least close) but thick enough to survive a few hits.

With about five minutes left on the clock (03100 on the alien timer), I was… still not even close to ready. Standing ready in full gear (and a now proportionally sized head), my disappointment began to fade away into the background. Things are about to change very quickly; I’m flying blindly into a realm of beings, technologies, and improbabilities that I know almost nothing about, and I can’t wait to see what’s there. I mean… unless it’s just people. I’d happily exchange knowledge with them, but I have a feeling they won’t be very happy to see me.

I caught a glimpse of my own reflection and winced painfully. Military boots, one glove on my left hand, a belted button-up onesie, and a mask that made me look like a diseased toad. Let’s see, that would mean this getup includes Bladed Boots, Catch, Cutlass, and Duncan mark II—speaking of which I need to make a crotch plate soon. If I have to be seen, I’d rather not have my junk on display…

00010… 00004… 00003… 00002… 00001… 00000

During the next five minutes, I (along with everything else that wasn’t secured) rapidly traveled to every wall in the pod about eight times and even got to second base with two of them. It’s comforting to know that, when I eventually move on, I’ll have left my mark on those cold metal walls.

Alien Number Conversion Table

1 Unit 5 Unit 25 Unit 125 Unit 625 Unit /1 /2 /4 /8 /16

Example:

Alien number: 32412

Order: end

2/1 = 2 (one unit)

10/2 = 5 (five unit)

400/4 = 100 (twenty-five unit)

2,000/8 = 250 (one hundred twenty-five unit)

30,000/16 = 1,875 (six hundred twenty-five unit)

Add sum of products: 2+5+100+250+1875 = 2,232 (seconds)

A better representation would probably be:

1 1 1 1 1

1/1 = 1

10/2 = 5

100/4 = 25

1,000/8 = 125

10,000/16 = 625

1 + 5 + 25 + 125 + 625 = 781 human seconds or 11111 alien seconds

If you want to figure out the exact amount of time quickly (with a calculator), just follow the (above) instructions/examples.