White Sun of Pandora (Only psychos on Pandora) (Borderlands fic, litRPG elements)

[HelioBM]

Crossposted to Royal Road.

Welcome to the planet Pandora! Fresh air, new acquaintances with interesting personalities, ancient secrets and treasures - there is everything for every taste. An opportunity to prove yourself, get rich and famous! Hot beauties and incredible hunting trophies! Buy a ticket right now! Promotion - 100% off and a new profession on top of that! (note: survival is not guaranteed) * Dedicated to the Borderlands Dilogy. There was no third installment.

Welcome to Pandora!

This sucks... Literally everything hurts, and in different ways too.
I struggled to open my eyes... correction. One eye. The other still wouldn't open, but before I could get scared - more scared than I already was - I realized it was closed with some kind of shit.
One eye would suffice for now, I decided. Take a look around.
I was in some kind of earthen basement. Oddly enough, despite the pitch darkness, I could see pretty well.
It made me confused for a moment, but I could put that strangeness aside for later. There were more important matters at hand.
I was wearing some sort of... A spacesuit? Armor? Some sort of ultra-high-tech armor with additional attachments, perhaps.
The problem, though, is that some of the armor plates were damaged or missing altogether, these very attachments were trashed, and I was covered in... it was definitely blood. Dried. I've obviously been in some serious combat.
Except I'm not in the military. I'm a freelance programmer.
What's the last thing I remember? I went to apply for a job as a beta tester and debugger. Talked to some guy on a forum about games, and he ended up giving me a job. Then... Shit. My head hurt.
I grimaced and squeezed my eyes shut; the pain began to subside.
The rest of my body did too, and the weakness was slowly receding. Not quite, but enough that I could try to stand up, and even successfully.
The cellar I was in revealed a couple of odd-looking carcasses on hooks - the thought of food made me sick - a couple of closed crates, and some obscure parts and scrap metal. After a couple minutes I found what I was interested in: the hatch cover. Instead of a ladder, it was just the same crates.
Raising my hand to the hatch, I hesitated. With all this blood, it was possible that there would be unfriendly company waiting for me at the top. It was also quite possible that it would be locked - maybe I'd just been beaten up and dumped here? But that wouldn't explain the strange armor... Nor the night vision.
In any case, I put my ear to the lid and tried to listen.
The sound of the wind. And... This is all.
After hesitating, I pressed the lid.
It was unlocked and flipped open easily. I clung to the edge and was able to climb out of the cellar with surprising ease.
I saw the ruins before me. I was in a dilapidated house, and behind the missing wall I could see another house in a bad condition.
And on the dry gray earth lay bodies.
Strangely, unlike me, they were dressed in ordinary clothes.
Even stranger, I was less nauseous than I had been at the thought of food.
I looked up at the night sky clearly visible through the missing part of the roof. And at the huge, completely unearthly moon.
How far from Kansas have you traveled, Ellie...?
I got another pain in my head, and--

- So you've decided to go freelance? - Slavik asked.
- Well, officially I'm exploring new markets, - I answered. - The coprorations don't have to spend money on a professional scout, and they promise to pay me a penny. Plus I can officially call myself a middleman and trade our products. And I don't have to worry about being considered a deserter.
- I see, - grinned Ozhogov. - You managed to get out of it well. And what are you planning, where are you going to go?
- Have you heard about Pandora? - I answered with a question.
- That's where there's all the fuss about the Vault? - I nodded. - You're going to chase a fairy tale, hoping for a big score? I didn't expect that from you.
- Nah - I shook my head negatively. - Even if it exists, how am I going to find it, I'm not an archaeologist. I have a different calculation. There'll be plenty of adventurers for this story about the Vault - they already are - so the services of professionals will be in demand there. Someone to build - many of them will quit and settle down - someone to service the equipment... You know.
Slavik nodded and lit a cigarette from his gun.
- It's a big risk, but it can burn out, - he said. - Historically, many people have risen that way. But it'll be hot. Bandits, all sorts of scum... You'll have to shoot anyway.
I shrugged.
- Not as much as under Vladoff's wing. And it's easier to deal with bandits than with fighters-corps.
Slavik nodded in agreement.
- But you'll still need a good gun. - He paused and looked at the gun in his hand. - You know... Take it.
He handed the gun to me.
- Consider it a keepsake. And if it comes in handy, so much the better.

I shook my head. The memory was very vivid and realistic, and it didn't feel alien. Also, - I looked around, - the part of the house where Ozhogov's gift should be kept looked intact. I'd have to figure out what I was doing later, but I should arm myself first.

The house had been cleaned of everything of value that was in plain sight, but the robbers hadn't found the little secret safe, and neither had the cellar, it seemed. And while I could understand the former, the latter was a bit odd. They was in a hurry, perhaps...? In any case, I was soon richer by a few hundred Pandoran dollars, a elemental Vladoff fire pistol with a couple of magazines of ammo, and a set of electronic parts whose purpose I could almost remember. Almost, right there on the edge of my mind.
A strange sound made me turn around sharply, raising my gun. Something... Mechanical?
A second, and the source of the sound appeared from behind the broken wall. A strange little... Robot? Shaped like an inverted truncated pyramid, on a single wheel, with a pair of manipulators on its sides that resembled simplified arms, and a large camera-eye raised above the center of the body. Yellow, with a horizontal white stripe.
- Uh... Boss...? - came a voice that sounded a little unsure. - I'm, like, not that... I'm in the most valiant manner!

Once again, a stab of pain triggered a memory. Far less cinematic this time; I just remembered what it was. Or what.
CL4P-TP robotic domestic helper, manufactured by the Hyperion Corporation. Bought it upon arrival on Pandora. They offered me it for 300, I bargained it down to 50.
I got screwed big time on that deal.
- Boss, I'll prove it! - The robot suddenly jumped, and the tone of his voice changed to excited. - I wasn't hiding to save my life! I'll be right back!
He disappeared behind the wall again. He came back quickly, though, and with two objects in his "hands". In the right hand was a syringe filled with some kind of pink liquid, and in the left hand was some kind of device that looked like an ancient radio, perhaps.
- There! - the robot proudly announced. - Got it just for you, boss! Despite the hordes of enemies! Bullets whizzing over my head!
- Just shut up, - I sighed, feeling a headache of a different nature. - What's that?
- What is it? - There was obvious bewilderment in the robot's voice. - InstaHeal from Dr. Zed - he shook the syringe - and ECHO. Best in the village, newest model. Took it off the mayor's body, - he said proudly.
He drove closer, and -
- he stuck the syringe in my leg.
Surprisingly, it didn't hurt. In fact, as the pink liquid was rapidly absorbed - faster than I could pull the syringe out - I was clearly feeling better. Hmm.
- Okay, well, you've earned your point, - I muttered.
...Unless, of course, this stuff has some horrible side effects.
Anyway, for now, I switched to the robot's second gift. Twirling the device around in my hands, I noticed the mounts for hanging it from my belt, and the single button, which I shrugged and pressed.
"New user detected," a female voice sounded seemingly right in my ears. - "Checking... There is no lock. Would you like to change user?"
- Uh... Yes? - I muttered aloud.
"Acknowledged. Do you wish to integrate the device?"
Hmm.
- Well, yes, - I repeated.
"Accepted. Adaptation and integration in progress."
Suddenly my field of vision "blinked"; a streak of some kind passed across it, and then -
New details appeared in my field of vision. Above the robot's head appeared a yellow bar and the green inscription "Claptrap"; somewhere below, at the edge of my field of vision, but constantly perceived, appeared a red bar and some numbers.
"Welcome to the ECHO augmented reality system. There is a new message for you. We also recommend that you review the new user's manual," a female voice announced and went silent.
Shit. Did this thing remotely tap into my nervous system...? The further I went, the more various incomprehensible and difficult to digest. But first things first.
- Open new message - I said, and in front of me appeared a virtual window with the text.
"Hello, Player! Obviously, you have a lot of questions. You don't understand what happened, what's going on around you, or anything."
Indeed I do. And one would hope that there would be answers here.
"And you want to hope there are answers in this letter. Well... Yes. First of all: it's all my fault. Who's "me"? Obviously, the one who has the power to throw you into another world and block some of your memories."
- What an asshole... - I blurted out.
"I'm regularly called an asshole, but it's not true - I don't need to defecate, so I recommend using 'almighty bastard' or something similar."
...
"Anyway, it's not that bad! You've been given a rare opportunity to experience an exciting adventure! And you even have a pretty good chance of surviving it!"
...
"And by the way, I have your consent. A little deceitfully obtained, but still."
Ass... Bastard.
"So, you are on the planet Pandora, a crazy place in every sense. Your goal is to find the Eridian Vault that holds your ticket home. Since that would kill the interest for me and the adventure for you, the memories you have of this world are locked, and will be unlocked as they become irrelevant.
Just surviving on Pandora would be extremely difficult for you - much less getting to the Vault - so you got a bonus before you shipped out. A set of bonuses, even. Appreciate the generosity!"
I raised an eyebrow skeptically. Somehow that's... - I looked around, - questionable.
"A little spoiler. The world you're in is quite real. However, it's game-based, and for your convenience - and, more importantly, my interest - you get some game conventions. First, "class." Since no one likes repetition, you get the full-original "Vladoff's Combat Engineer" class with everything attached. Secondly, "leveling". In favor of non-violation of the realism of the world, it is made realistic enough, however, so I recommend that you do not spread your lips."
I kind of already figured that out...
"Your new ECHO will help you with it - on the command "status", you'll figure it out, it's not that complicated. And don't worry, your ECHO is indestructible. Thirdly... I didn't fulfill the third wish: respawning is too fat. Just try not to die for a while longer.
P.S. I don't recommend shooting Claptrap - he's more useful than you might think. And more annoying than you'd think.
P.P.S. Oh, and lastly: keep the exp pack for the first level-up."
In front of me appeared... Something. Some set of glowing lines and cubes, quickly taking the shape of a strange four-legged beast.
"Skag's cub. Threat level: 1." - reads the red lettering above it.
The beast roared softly.
- Eee-ee! Skag! - Claptrap shrieked and ran away. The beast crouched slightly...
I pulled the trigger of my pistol before it could jump. The barrel was jerked by the recoil, but the first bullet at such a distance still hit the beast's face... not exactly a bullet. The fireball smashed into the hide, the actual fire left burning on the nearly hairless skin.
The beast jerked back and squealed, and I hurriedly pointed the barrel at it again and fired a couple more bullets.
"Level up!" - A familiar female voice reported, and....

- If you don't look after your gear more carefully than your wife, you're shit, not an engineer, - the instructor informed me. - So all of you will now demonstrate your skills. Assembling, disassembling, repairing, using improvised means for maintenance... In general, the full program. Let's get started.
- What, right now? - someone said.
- Well, personally, you're free to go. The rest of you, did I not make myself clear?

I shook myself back to reality. It's gonna take some work.

Even though the bandits had taken anything they deemed valuable enough, there were enough materials left in the ruined village that I could not only patch my armor, but also repair Dr. Zed's damaged vending machine. And yes, I knew how to do that now. I had gained a large set of memories of technical knowledge after the "level-up", and it all felt quite native and familiar.
I also learned the "leveling system" provided by ECHO. Really, I'd only studied it so far; I was currently at "Level: 2", and it unlocked from the third. Still, the information was entertaining.
First of all, at the third level I would unlock a certain "Active skill", and after that it would be possible to level directly, which consisted of three branches of passive skills, most of which were five levels each. Descriptions of skills were unavailable - hopefully, for now, poking at random would not want to. However, something could be inferred from the names. "Assembler", "Dismantling", "Ammunition Modification", "Basic Military Training"... I can assume that I will continue to receive sets of memories.
With that more or less sorted out, and having taken care of the basics of my own safety - I not only repaired my armor, but also bought a "shield", a small device that generates a kind of protective field, from a repaired vending machine - it was time to move on to the next step.
I sighed heavily, pulled myself together, and spoke.
- Hey, Claptrap! What do you know about the Vault, and where is the nearest settlement?
It was time for me to take the first step in this fucking adventure.
Damn it.

 

[HelioBM]

I'm fucked. Objectively, though not physiologically.
It's not even about the state the township and me specifically are in. The "fucked" is, ahem, the existential state of the entire planet I'm on. I'd even say its middle name.
Memories, some information from the ECHOnet, and scraps of information from Claptrap - although the latter can be crossed out - were forming a depressing picture.
Pandora is not an analog of the Wild West, as I first thought. It's far worse.
For some reason, insanity was rampant here. There were different versions of why, some thought it was the result of secret research by megacorporations using the wild outskirts of the civilized galaxy as a convenient testing ground for dubious projects, some thought it was the result of exposure to Eridian technology from artifacts and ruins found on the planet. The Eridians, if anything, are some ancient extinct race of aliens whose discovery of their heritage on several planets has spurred human technology. And it was news of their "vault" on Pandora that got my "character" here.
Human technology, by the way... was weird. I mean, the level of development was very strange.
To begin with, humanity spread across six galaxies.
Not planets. Not star systems.
Galaxies.
One of the results of this absurdly wide spread was that I had no idea what was wrong with Earth, or even what year it was in Earth's calendar. Maybe with further level-ups something will come to mind, but for now - nothing. No history, no "geography", not even a little about politics. However, back to technology.
Another consequence of this absurdly wide spreading - or rather the opposite, what made it possible - was the ability to survive on alien planets with their microflora and biochemistry, provided by advanced biotechnology. My night vision is the first and most obvious greeting from these sciences, but in reality, the humans of this... world? are pretty far removed from the classic vanilla earthling. Perhaps the people here would be closer to Warhammer Space Troopers. Survivability and adaptability compared to the "base model" is insane.
The amount of genome problems too, though. Pics in ECHOnet... n-yeah, there are plenty of various freaks and mutants here. One would hope that this is a Pandora problem.
Anyway, my own injuries that I started this "game" with would have killed a normal person several times over, so I should be grateful, I suppose. On the other hand, then I might as well have started under more favorable conditions. Oh, and potential enemies have the same survivability. Ahem.
Which brings me to my next point. Weapons and defenses.
Force shields, the principle of which I didn't know (I can only nod towards the level-up again), were a commonplace item available at the vending machine. A bunch of different models and features, no mention of needing to replace the power source or expiration date. A black box based on legal trade secrets and patenting.
It was countered by firearms.
Six galaxies. Advanced genetic engineering. Force shields. And bullet weapons that require manual reloading.
Cognitive dissonance, man.
To be fair, it wasn't as primitive as you might think at first glance. Take my gun, which shoots... Plasma? It's hard to say. The ammunition, by the way, was a kind of standardized semi-finished product, suitable for any gun, and the gun itself, even a non-chemical one, was not just a barrel, a grip, and a trigger, but a complex device, but still.
Anyway, I didn't know what to think about it. I could only hope that as an "engineer" I would learn and understand something, but for now I just tried to accept everything as it was - what else could I do?
- By the way, boss! - Claptrap said. The little robot quickly regained his cheerfulness of mind... uh, is it even possible to say that about a robot? - despite the situation. My attempts to harness it to something useful, however, were quickly recognized by me as futile: despite its official designation as a "household helper," this gizmo was categorically incapable of doing anything normal. I didn't get rid of it, mostly because of the mention in the letter of that... that entity that threw me here. And also because I thought it was worse to be alone.
I could have been wrong about the last one. He's very annoying.
Still.
- By the way, boss! - Claptrap said. - I repeated it twice because it's important. Hey, I'm a poet!
- What did you want to say? - I asked tiredly.
- I just wanted to remind you that you've been contracted to work shooting skags near the settlement.
I looked around suggestively, raising an eyebrow.
- Don't you think that's a little, how shall I put it, irrelevant?
- But, boss, you said it yourself, - the robot objected, its somewhat squeaky voice changing to a lower pitch, - You gotta do the job. Besides, you can't get the reward without decoding the mayor's ECHO. This could be our first step to becoming millionaires under my wise leadership!
I habitually ignored his last phrase - this useful skill is developed very quickly, and even without levelling up. Hmm...
Here, perhaps, it is worth returning to the topic of technology of this crazy planet - and the areal of mankind in general. One of the most widely used technologies of the madhouse I have to live in now is "digitalization". The information I have is, expectedly, scrappy, but some important points are made.
Simply put, they have somehow managed to learn how to convert matter into information, and vice versa. Creating something out of nothing is still impossible, but storing and transmitting - and limited editing - objects as information is not only possible, but as commonplace as the same shields. My ECHO, for example, has fourteen "slots" for storing quick-access items, plus a separate slot for storing ammunition.
This technology also allows for password-protected packing of items, just for such deals: you give the mercenary a password-protected archive, and when the job is done, you give him the password. In our case, the archive was kept by Claptrap for some reason, and the AI in the ECHO could witness the completion of the task. Again, "hmm." I also need to raise the level, and to practice... But the ammunition....
- Ammo... - I muttered aloud.
The Claptrap jumped up and waved his hands happily.
- Oh, boss! I can help you solve this problem! You've got a shovel, too!
Well, yes, the small sapper shovel hanging on his hip was among the few surviving equipment. I don't know what the thing is made of, but it didn't have a scratch on it - though I tried to leave one.
- Can you help? - I questioned, without hiding my doubts.
- Yes! - the robot said cheerfully. - It's all coming together! No doubt it's thanks to my brilliance!
- Well... Okay, - I agreed. - Show me.
I hope I won't regret it.

- Skags are an extremely interesting native life form of Pandora - Claptrap told in a lecturing tone. - They are able to survive in the harsh conditions of Pandora on par with such survivors as bandits and psychos. This is achieved mainly by fearlessness and the ability to eat anything, including the same bandits and psychos. They usually regurgitate such inedible parts of them as weapons, ammunition, and brains, which makes skag litter a valuable source of trace elements and ammunition.
- Just shut up, - I said, sighing heavily. I never thought the first thing - one of the first things - I'd do when I got to another planet, was go through shit....
Pandora is a big pile of shit.

With some nuggets in it.
At least Claptrap was right. I probably wouldn't have believed him, but he cracked open the first pile of shit himself with a stick, revealing a standard package of ammo; the big plus was that converting them to a digital state eliminated the smell (though I still didn't understand why they had to be loaded into the weapon by hand).
Unfortunately, they weren't ammo for a pistol, but for an "assault rifle", an automatic rifle. At least there were still plenty of similar piles visible... though I didn't have the tongue to say it was "good".

The shovel clanked against something metal, and then Claptrap squealed.
- Skags!
He's good for something, though - notification...
I immediately broke away from the digging, raising the pistol that appeared in my hand - an application of digital construction.
...Shit.
Five familiar creatures, looking like a mix of a bald dog and some kind of strange tailless lizard, were coming in my direction. They weren't particularly large, about the size of a medium-sized dog; the augmented reality ECHO labeled them as threat level one cubs, but one was bigger, and it was level two.
I opened fire.
My accuracy left a lot to be desired. Though the gun twitching in my hand felt familiar enough, and I was shooting quite confidently, i lacked skill. And the accuracy of the gun was far from ideal.
At least the flames it produced were effective enough; two of the creatures fell with holes burned in their bodies. I replaced the clip, or rather the cartridge block, and kept firing; another skag caught fire, then another, but they were close by, and then the gun clicked empty as I pulled the trigger again, out of ammo.
The burning skag jumped and slammed into me. The shield prevented the impact from reaching my body, but it didn't stop it from staggering me, and then knocking me down. The second skag jumped, too, half a second after the first.
The beast's strange muzzle opened into four petals of a flesh-colored flower with stubby teeth, sprinkling me with... well, it wasn't nectar.
I brought my sharply sharpened spade down on it - right into its open mouth. The blade sliced through the flesh with surprising ease and slammed into the second skag.
- The shield is exhausted! - reported an unpleasantly positive-sounding female voice. - Please wait for the recharge. And try to not die!
I could almost see a smiley face after that phrase, but I didn't care about that now: a successful blow with the shovel's blade seemed to have finished off the first skag and thrown the second one off for a second, but the situation was still bad.
...Even worse than I'd expected.
I tried to get up, tossing the carcass of the dead skag towards the still-living one, but at that moment the last, fifth, beast made itself known, stopping a few meters away from me. It crouched down, strained its legs, opened its mouth, and, no, it did not jump. It belched out a lump of some yellow stuff.
It hit my leg; I shook it off immediately, shaking off the sticky stuff, but the skag next to me took advantage of it to claw at my arm. And it seemed that the homemade armor plate on my leg was dissolving with a hiss...
The one on my arm held a little better, but still gave me a couple seconds to strike again with the shovel. And another one.
"Level up!"
Another set of information instantly became native, long-known knowledge, and at the same time I felt a surge of strength that allowed me to leap abruptly out of my seat in the direction of the last remaining skag. This time I didn't hit it in the wrong way; I aimed for the still-open mouth, ready for another spit, and sliced the beast's head from the inside. Maybe it's just me, but it felt like I'd gotten a little stronger, too.
Skag collapsed, and I flopped to the ground. I wasn't really tired - was it the level up? - And even emotionally it wasn't too hard, but I still needed to digest what had happened. And, by the way, to study what was revealed with the level increase.
- Once again, the enemy has been defeated by the valiant robot of justice! - proudly proclaimed Claptrap, standing next to the corpses of the Skags.
He was such a... Claptrap.

 

[HelioBM]

- Hyperion is obsessed with elite status, - I said thoughtfully. - Jacobs maintains the "good old days" image. Atlas is just making money. And Vladoff makes adamantium into dishes, shovels, and dentures.
- And Malivan's a rocker! - Claptrap put in, starting to dance - well, as he imagines it.
- Uh-huh, - I agreed distantly. I kicked the skag's carcass, flipping it onto its back.
The level increase provided me with a set of information of varying degrees of usefulness, including some information about the political situation in the immediate vicinity - immediate on a cosmic scale, I mean. Pandora was a neutral territory with zones of influence of several megacorporations, but most of the planet's territory belonged to no one.
And yes, the main power and influence on this edge of this galaxy is held by megacorporations, not that they have swept up, but are replacing nations. Three of them have a major presence on Pandora - Atlas, Hyperion, and Dahl.
I'm the only one from the Vladoff.
Each of these technological colossi has its own army, and produces a lot of stuff, but the main necessities - I'm not even being ironic - that they supply to Pandora are weapons and shields. By the way, the Dahl are Vladoff's main competitors, occupying the same niche in the arms market: rapid-fire automatic weapons. By comparison, Jacobs' slogan is "If you needed a second shot, it ain't Jacobs." Specializing in one-shot kills and style, they even use real wood in the finish of their weapons.
Actually, there's quite a long story to be told about all of this, so I'd better get back to my current endeavor. I sighed and chopped the belly of the skag with my shovel, cutting it open.
Yeah, yeah. As Claptrap said - "Skags are Pandora's most valuable resource!" And in the belly of the second one I found a trophy: a half-digested hand, still clutching a Dahl pistol.
The strangest thing was that it didn't even make me sick.
At least this dirty work didn't go unrewarded: in addition to the gun from the guts, I got a submachine gun from the pile, with an unused half of the cartridge block in it. As Claptrap remarked, "these cartridges are not enough even to go to visit a friend", so I had to continue digging.

There's a lot of ammo in skag shit. It's like they ate all those bandits who robbed the settlement, and those didn't think to digitize the loot, so they carried it around in their hands... I shrugged. Well, I'm better off.
Strange as it may seem, I managed to adapt Claptrap to the useful business besides observing the surroundings: it turns out that in addition to his useful cowardice, he is quite good at searching for stashes, and he managed to find a couple of them in the ruined settlement and its immediate vicinity. It seemed like he should be trusted to pick through the shit, but he'd be harder to get rid of the smell than my shovel and armor, and I still intended to keep him around. Eventually my arsenal was replenished with a shotgun and a smattering of ammo. That's something...
A couple words about guns. ECHO issued a certificate on the available samples, in the spirit of "Low kill rate, low accuracy, high rate of fire", but to everything I have added "Trash. Recommend replacing with a better weapon." Unfortunately, standing apparently outside my house a vending machine digitally building Vlad's weapons for sale was irreparably damaged.
And, by the way, even without another level up, I remembered something. I - my character - had some friction with a local arms dealer named Marcus. He also claimed to know how to deal with competitors in one way or another... I wouldn't be surprised if he was involved in the bandit raid.
Unfortunately, I was too weak and too poorly armed to even think about revenge. For now, I hope.
...Still, the broken vending machine was not useless.
These machines, which look like the ones you can buy drinks in on Earth, don't actually store anything, all the goods are transferred from warehouses and digitally built, so there's no point in smashing them in the hope of getting to the contents... almost. There are exceptions, and it just so happens that my case happens to be just that.
It's all about my trade scouting license.
Oh, a license... It's a very catch-all term in this world. Man, my "class" seems to be about eighty percent consists of them...
The thing is that although digitization allows for fairly simple editing of materials and consequently the creation of things, but almost all ready-made standard schemes are patented, licensed, and you can only use them with the appropriate license. Almost to the point of "Do you have a license to tighten this type of nut?" Combat engineers like myself are trained to use off-the-shelf generic solution sets, which is what they are licensed for.
They're usually tied to DNA, so it's impossible to lose or pass keys to someone. It was possible to check the available ones with the ECHO, but mine showed that most of the licenses available to me were locked, and would open with level up and "character skills".
Still, some of my licenses were already active, and this allowed me to use the ammo supply and digitalization module forged from the machine.
No, I didn't have a free ammo license (I had a monthly "ration", but it was already used up). I did, however, have a license for "Maintenance of Vladoff Equipment", and this allowed me to do the trick, especially when combined with a license for "Protection of Vladoff Equipment".
At level three, I was given the ability to create a "Defensive Universal Military Battleturret", abbreviated to "DUMB". Seriously, that's what it's called. And, well, by a little fiddling with the licenses, I was able to add a module from a vending machine to the design, registering the modification in my ECHO for quick recreation. If I had been under the control of Vladoff's inspectors, this would have been impossible, but as a Frontier Scout, I had some leeway.
The result was unlimited turret ammo.
...Well, almost. If abused too much, the stockpile or accounting AI will notice a mismatch between ammo consumption in the stockpiles and projected profits, but that's a lot of spending to do. Without feeding money to the turret.
Maybe in the future I can get the turret to issue ammo for my personal needs as well, but not now.
In any case, the ammo problem appeared to be partially solved, and this was something to try out.

Such field turrets are used, in general, by the forces of all corporations, but each has its own peculiarities. Atlas, for example, takes the "Turret is cover" approach, and their Scorpions are all equipped with force shields. Dahl's "Sabre" are simply rugged and have a pretty good cannon, plus allow for the addition of an optional mini-missile launcher and magnetic grapple, for quickly placing the turret on an awkward surface.
The Vladoff's DUMB turrets are simply a chassis, an automatic control system for mounted weapon. Which the user selects.
Plus - characteristics can be adjusted to the circumstances and available resources. Minus - efficiency is very dependent on them, and it takes longer to deploy than the off-the-shelf designs of competitors.
The least amount of ammo blocks I had was for the shotgun, so I decided to use it since the turret has virtually infinite. Pick a configuration, register the result, deploy.
...What a load of crap.
- Oh! Lady, are you free this evening? - Claptrap said, and I didn't immediately realize he was addressing the turret.
That's so... DUMB.

Of course, it's not nice to make the ladies do the work... geez. No time on this planet and I'm already starting to go crazy. Calling turret a lady... All because of Claptrap.
Anyway, the plan worked out well, though I did replace the shotgun with an MG after a volley of wide shotgun blasts caught me and dropped my shield. Set up a turret near the skags' dens, get their attention, run back to the turret, repeat. A few hours and the neighborhood was cleaned up, and I was richer by a couple hundred bucks, some ammo, and a "grenade modifier" - a device that turns "grenade ammo" into grenades. Bonus from the late mayor.
The meat in the basement where I woke up on this planet turned out to be skag's. Pretty crappy, but edible.

- Well, I don't have any other uncompleted tasks here, do I? - I asked Claptrap, pulling him away from flirting with the turret. It felt like it was trying to bump him with its barrel... No, it was probably just my imagination.
- Negative, boss! - he reported in. - I mean, "No way, there's none left," not "No way, you're wrong about "there's none left"." It's a subtle but important distinction, so I want to make it clear so there is no misunderstanding between us. There is nothing more problematic than a misunderstanding between a human and a robot, though on the other hand it can be considered an inherent feature of our natures...
- Just shut up, - I said to him, rubbing my temples. - Okay, okay. The nearest settlement is thirty kilometers from here. What about transportation? I'm asking you.
He mumbled something, pressing his manipulators against the front of the hull.
- Claptrap! - I said menacingly. - Answer the question.
- But boss, you told me to shut up, - he remarked, and I rubbed my temples again. It's going to be a complicated... A complicated life.

 

[HelioBM]

In terms of transportation, the locals relied on anything what moving, so almost everyone had at least tractor, if not car: both necessary in Pandora's conditions and inexpensive, given the possibilities of digital construction. Most, however, kept tractors that could be used for work in the fields, not just for riding.
This was evident from the burned-out hulks near the settlement.

Naturally, the bandits could not help but make a mess of it.
There was no way to reconstruct these remains. Only complete material destructuring and re-creation, but I didn't have a license for that.
In terms of transportation, for travel, there was another option. A station for digitizing vehicles, or simply "rent-a-car". There was one nearby.
...The key word was "was." Despite the fact that most of it was made of metal comparable in strength to my shovel, and all the relatively fragile parts were protected as much as possible, the bandits had managed to destroy it as well. I say "bandits," but there were bite marks on the metal. It looked like human teeth, though.
...No, I just won't think about it.
In any case, I was left without anything to use as transportation.
I glanced at Claptrap.
...Nah. While the idea is funny, even ignoring the fact that I don't want to succumb to the madness, it's too slow and uncomfortable.
Though if you add jet engines to it....
I shake myself up, determined to drive that nonsense away.
So, what do we do? There's no point in staying in the ruins of the settlement, but it's quite possible, actually, to cross three dozen km of a wasteland swarming with skags and bandits on one's own two feet. Even for a normal Earthling, and certainly for an inhabitant of this galaxy, it's more of an inconvenience than a real problem. The digital construction even solves the problems of food and water... There is danger, of course - especially since skags aren't the only local life form - but with caution and the use of a turret, it should be quite possible to cope. I'll also gain experience, of both kinds. If I'm going to survive, much less return to Earth, I'm going to need it...
I pressed my lips together. Okay, I'm not gonna drag this out. I'll check a few things just in case, and get everything ready for the trip.
I glanced at Claptrap again and sighed.

So, let's check the licenses available now and at the next level. Filter: vehicle related. Filter refinement: vehicle creation-related.
...Really?
I was hoping for a posted open license for some kind of clunker, at least, I don't know, a moped or something. Or at least an engine that could be attached to a cart with a crowbar and some kind of mother.
The only thing my ECHO found was a bicycle. A Bacon model.
I rubbed my temples. Well, I guess it's better than nothing at all.
At least it wasn't a push-cycle.

Jerome had three on four wheels, and we had two on three. Valiantly traversing the dusty paths of a distant planet on an iron horse... Even though it's "meat" in name.
Still, whether it's the idiotic situation or the planet itself, something about it definitely affects the clarity of thought.
- Yahoo! - yelled Claptrap, who had brazenly grabbed the rear bumper of my vehicle and was taking advantage of the opportunity to ride at someone else's expense. - Carry me, oh my iron horse! By the way, what's a "horse"?
I hit him with my shovel without looking so he wouldn't yell.
- Oops! Got it, classified information - the robot said. - Oh! On the left, we can see an endemic of Pandora: the electric cactus. This not rare and not a plant is very useful if you don't have a high voltage source at hand and you want to cook the national Pandorian dish, "Shocked Skag-odka".
I tapped him with the shovel again.
- Oops! Okay, changing the channel. DJ Claptrap presents: Tubs-Dubs-Dubs-Dubs-Dubs... Oops!
I frowned and stopped the swing. This time I didn't get to hit him...
In the next second, I heard a rumbling and dragging sound from somewhere behind me. The source became obvious almost immediately: a small car was quickly catching up with us. A buggy, or something similar; four wheels, metal frame body, one seat for the driver, and another by the machine gun turret overhanging it.
Both seats were occupied by crazy-looking men with green Mohawks and white skull paint on their faces.
- Bro, you see that too? - yelled the thug at the turret, over the noise of the engine.
- "Bacon," the driver read the inscription on the frame of my transport just as loudly. - An undertaker on a meat bike is taking Claptrap to robot hell... Bro, I think we've been hanging out with psychos too much! We're already seeing glitches!
- We should take a vacation! - yelled the gunner.
- Agreed! - the driver replied in the same tone. - Let's turn towards the fucking islands!
...
- You see, boss! - Claptrap said smugly, as the buggy disappeared from sight and the sound of the engine was no longer heard. - My disguise worked perfectly!

 

[HelioBM]

The incident with the bandit's buggy has really tickled my nerves. I'm too vulnerable on that bicycle... With that noisy trailer. Even though it was unexpectedly useful.
Anyway, I'll have to get a wheelbarrow and armour it well at the first opportunity.
For a couple of seconds I dreamily pictured my future armored car before the bicycle almost hit a rock.
Well, I should not yawn such, else a fly might get in, or bullet might get in. I should move from shelter to shelter, and if I hear an engine, I should hide....
I should also think about my future plans. So far I've just been guided by the idea of "I need to get out to the people and then we'll see", but that may be unwise. I need an idea of how to be... i need a plan. I'd need money, equipment, a place to live, information... yeah, a lot of things. I got experience for killing skags; I didn't check if it was for the late mayor's assignment. Perhaps the new settlement could contract out a similar job? With a turret, it's not that dangerous. I need money and experience if I want to survive... That's the bare minimum, I guess.
At least, in terms of my own skills, I do have a certain minimum that allows me to survive on Pandora, and with the leveling I can open quite good prospects.
Not bad, but very dim. Good, but lame.
Approximate estimates of the plan of action, in the end, looked as follows: get to the settlement, find a job - construction, defense, shooting animals - save money and equip. The Vault? What Vault?
More seriously, there was no point in rushing to the Vault. There was nothing in the message from the Almighty Nonshitting Unknown Superbeing (in short, I wish for kick someone in ANUS) that I had to be at the Vault first, because I didn't need the loot, I needed the portal. Besides, in my current state... Even ignoring the fact that I simply have no idea what to look for and where to look, competing with a bunch of adventurers, among whom there are obviously many better prepared and equipped than me, is simply suicidal. I need thorough training, especially with the "leveling system" I have in place. So - work, hunting, gear... It's clear even to an dumb bear.
Perhaps, if there was one thing that didn't bother me... no, not so - didn't annoy me in my situation, it was the ECHO. The device, connected, it seems, directly to the nervous system or brain, could not stress me, but its usefulness and value are indisputable. That's something I'd like to take with me to Earth. There's a lot of money to be made from the ability to store things in digitized form, and I'm not talking about the ability to digitally build things, even with limited licenses.
Hmmm. And this one... Does anyone want alien technological treasure from the Vault? To me, the treasure is human licenses. Some of them can be bought from corporations, some of them can probably be obtained through less legal means under Pandora's conditions. Some, if I can make some headway, can be extorted from Vladoff. That's another goal for me: to collect useful licenses. They'll be useful on Pandora, and if I can return to Earth with ECHO, I'll use them at all.

It turns out that Claptrap is able to adjust his microphone to be able to hear the sound of the engine in the steppe of Pandora for a good few kilometers. Given the paucity of good cover and good visibility, that margin of distance was very valuable. Plus, although it was impossible to shut it up for more than a few seconds - you can't even physically unscrew the speaker, it self-destructs if you try to disassemble it, Hyperion's reverse-engineering protection - but I managed to get it to reduce the volume to a minimum.
So we drove along the map provided by the ECHO, looking for cover and twitching at any noise. Not too heroic, but when you have almost no ammo, I guess even a tough action hero would prefer to avoid unnecessary gunfights.
...Or rob bandits for their guns and ammo. Yeah.

Dusty, hot. The only consolation is no mosquitoes or any such nastiness. On the other hand, I wouldn't be surprised if somewhere on Pandora, there are giant, acid-spitting mutant mosquitoes. Or even able to transform. There are giant armored spider ants here for sure, I've seen them on ECHOnet, but they're to east of here.

I called the area around me a steppe, but that was wrong; a steppe should be straight and flat, and more lively. Around me it was more like a hilly desert. Not "sand, all around is sand," but stone, dust, and scanty vegetation. There were some earthy areas, some sand, but mostly the terrain was rocky.

A couple of times there were remnants of buildings of some kind, and I saw some huge skeletons, dried by the sun and weathered by wind and dust. They were not white, more like dirty gray, and their size, including the fangs in their skulls, made me tense.
One would hope that such creatures are extinct - or at least not encountered where I will be encountered.
I don't want to meet monsters like that.
I prefer girls.

When Claptrap heard the sounds of the engine again, another ruin was just ahead - a small house leaning over and half sunk into the sand. Except there was no sand. I need an idea of how it to became such...
Well, whatever caused this phenomenon, it was a hiding place, and bandits are dangerous, so I hurried to point my bicycle in its direction.
On the other side of the ramshackle building was a metal booth with a door that looked like a electro transformer. Unlike the building, it looked intact, except that the red paint was a little peeling and someone had scrawled some obscenities on it.
The engine rumbled past, and I decided to give in to curiosity. The stall door was closed but not locked, so I opened it cautiously.
...It turned out to be a toilet. Symbolically, it had survived what the dwelling had not.
There was also a gun in the drain. Rusty and useless, but the fact of the matter is...
Maybe someone had a toilet-trained skag.

The Claptrap managed to find five bucks in the ruins, and he was very happy about it. He mumbled something about the first step to taking over the world, but I tried not to listen. "At the end of this road lies madness," I don't remember the exact quote. Though it was threatening as it was, but why give in to it?

At first I didn't realize what had caught my attention, but my mind caught on to something and I looked closer. Hmm... Something sticking out of the ground. A person?!

More to the point, alive. He's was buried up to his waist, his arms fixed with some kind of iron in a strange pose - one bent upward, the other downward - but he's alive.
He also had a sign sticking out from behind his back that read "KoActu(s)a(ll)y Jim".
The fact that he was alive was revealed very simple: when I got closer - having first checked the immediate surroundings for ambushes - he opened one eye. Then he noticed Claptrap, and opened the other.
- Shoo, - he said hoarsely, his lips drying out. - At least stay out of my delusions, Claptrap.
- Oh, it's boss number four! - exclaimed the robot. - What a reunion! Let me introduce you. Boss number four, this is boss number twelve. Boss number twelve, this is boss number four.
I shook my head. Whatever he did, he'd probably suffered enough already.
...I mean, I'm not just talking about possessing Claptrap.

As one would expect from a homo recens, i.e. a modern man, it took a few minutes and a couple of liters of water for our new acquaintance, whom my ECHO designated, according to the sign, as "Cactuar Jim", to come to his senses. I had a stock of the water in my ECHO, plus a license that slowly synthesizes it from the air, so I wasn't greedy.
However, before digging this guy up, I set up a turret. All the more reason to be safer with it in general.
- A benefactor - exhaled "Jim", a thin, dark-haired, dark-skinned man with a small mustache, emptying a large metal mug that ECHO had been digitally building with water. - I don't know how much longer I'd have to hang around like this if it weren't for you. New to Pandora?
- Why would you think that? - I asked.
- Other than politeness and demeanor? There's a sure sign. You still do not get rid of Claptrap.
I nodded. A reasonable argument.
- Hey! - Claptrap was outraged. - The boss just didn't have a convenient opportunity.
- I didn't introduce myself, however - continued the rescued man, ignoring him with honed skill. - Slippery Jim. Former Maliwan agent, former Hyperion mercenary, and now adventurer extraordinaire.
I raised an eyebrow. This self-description... Questionable. Especially considering the condition I found him in.
Jim - the sign above his head blinked appraisingly, then reluctantly changed to "Slippery Jim" - looked at me expectantly. Well, in principle, I have no reason to withhold this information.
- Pyotr Dyatlov - I informed. - Officially - Vladoff's combat engineer, scouting the market.
- Well, the demand for guns on Pandora is good, - Jim agreed. - And speaking of guns. I've noticed that your armament is... far from perfect.
I cringed.
- Bandits.
He nodded understandingly.
- Well, I have a proposition for you. I wish I could thank you, but my options are somewhat limited, - he turned out the pockets of his light gray sleeveless jacket. - The bandits who put me in this cactus-infested place thought I knew where to find a stash of quality weapons. But they were wrong.
- So you don't know.
- So they couldn't find out the location from me, - Jim grinned. - But as a thank you, I'm willing to share its contents with you.
- Hmm... - I said. That's an interesting offer, and I could really use a good weapon, but it sounds like a trick, if not an obvious trap. I frowned, opened my mouth...
- Yyyyagrrr!
"Badass psycho, threat level: 6."
Right through a nearby wall, the remnant of some building, a big guy was rushing at us. He was over two meters tall, bald, wearing ragged pants, his left hand shrunken, while his right hand, clutching some sort of mix between axe and circular saw, was noticeably enlarged. Where did he come from? Even Claptrap didn't notice...
This thoughts still not stop me from acting same time.
The turret opened fire a little before I did. A streak of red dots crossed the chest of the "Badass Psycho", but it was as if he didn't even notice the bullets of the gun.
The pistol fire, however, made him flinch and slow down a bit.
The problem was that I only had one cartridge block left.
However...
A mental command, and the pistol disappeared and a shotgun appeared in its place. But that was enough time for the psycho to get next to me.
The impact of the sawaxe blew away my shield and threw me back, but the shotgun was still in my hands. A shot... half of buckshot missed him. Another shot at the psycho next to me... I could have sworn the pellets were bouncing off his skull.
The eyes, however, were not so durable. I took one out, the other was covered in blood (how did he survive with a pellet through his eye?!), and the psycho blindly swung the sawaxe. I rolled over - losing my armor plate in the glancing blow - and fired another volley. And another, emptying the magazine.
...The psycho fell, face down between my legs. I immediately slammed the butt of my gun into the base of his skull, but he didn't even flinch - dead.
Leaning on the back of his head, I hurried to get up and turn toward the sounds of fighting on the other side, but by that time Jim had just finished: when I turned around, he was sitting on the shoulders of another big guy, not as big as the psycho I'd killed, but quite muscular and armed with a shotgun ("Brawler, threat level: 4", the augmented reality told me), and slammed his fist into the back of his head. He immediately went down face-first, but Jim jumped away, and I could see the sharp pin sticking out his hand.
And not far away was another corpse, this time half the size of a normal man. But also armed, with an submachine gun.
- Not bad, - Jim said, picking up the captured shotgun. - So what about my offer?

 

[HelioBM]

- Let's take it from the top, - I suggested. - Obviously, I don't trust you.
- And that's only natural, - Jim nodded, examining the corpses for more trophies. - You can't trust anyone on Pandora, not even yourself. But cooperation and temporary alliances are possible.
He waved his hand, pointing at the corpses, and I nodded. If I hadn't taken on the psycho, it was unlikely he would have handled all three. Same goes for me.
- I wouldn't want our cooperation to end with a bullet in the back when we find our prey, - I said. - It's worth putting that aside for a moment, though. Where did those three come from?
Jim jabbed his finger at the wall the psycho had hit, and then walked toward it.
- The basement, - he said. - I'm guessing there's a mountain of empty bottles and nothing but. Get drunk, sleep for a couple days, wake up at the wrong time. The usual.
His guess was almost right. In addition to the trash - and the bottles - there was a box in the basement with several cartridge blocks, for a shotgun and an automatic rifle. The shotgun ammo had to be shared, and accordingly I switched to SG, putting the pistol on the turret.
- Back to our conversation, - Jim continued. - Probably the only way you can protect yourself from a shot in the back is not to put it. Well, a good shield and your own toughness also helps. When your partner knows he can't finish the job with one shot, and then there's a response, it makes him think twice. You have a shield... you do, and my weaponry - he patted the shotgun - isn't good enough to take it down reliably enough. Especially not at point-blank range.
I've pondered it.
- Is your stash of guns guarded?
- It's nice to do business with a smart man, - Jim smiled white-toothed. - Seriously, most bandits are so dumb and crazy you can't even fool them. Yes, there is a certain amount of security. I could take care of it alone, but I'd have to be better armed first. Two of us can do it without too much trouble.
It all seemed rather dubious, but the logic behind Jim's words was obvious. Hmm... I'll have to take risks anyway, and this seems like a good opportunity. The main thing is to be careful not to be backstabbed, both literally and figuratively.
- Okay, - I nodded.
- It's a smart decision. So, first we need to get my ECHO back. Without it, this operation will be much more difficult.
ECHO in this world is really important, but...
- And how are you going to get it back? - I asked. The "simple matter" of going and getting the stash was growing - expectedly.
- The bandits who put me away come back every day, hoping I'll tell them, - Jim explained. - So we just have to set up a proper ambush. First, we have to pretend I'm still buried. If I had any ECHO at all, I'd use a solid Hyperion hologram, but I'll have to do things a little differently. Can you get me on the comms? I need to call my ex.
I nodded, and he dictated a code; a cone of diffuse light shot out of the ECHO.
- Neural interface? - Jim said, but then an image appeared in the light: the head and part of the chest of a young... or not-so-young woman. The woman in the hologram was attractive, but it was hard to tell her age because of the makeup covering her. Red cylinder, dark hair... And a heart-shaped tattoo on her left breast.
- Hmm? - she shifted her gaze from me to Jim and back again. - Jim, sugar, do you have a new friend? Did you decide to call to brag?
- Moxie, you're my only love after money, you know that - replied the voiced one. - No, it's business. Can you sell me that doll? - he glanced at me - On credit?
- Hmm... - the woman stretched thoughtfully, stroking her chin. It's amazing how much can be conveyed by such a simple word, practically just one sound. - All right. If you're still alive, come to my bar in Yellowrock. I've got a job for you.
She did an air kiss and disconnected, and my ECHO reported an incoming archive.
A human-sized doll made of plastic and metal, very accurately portraying my Slippery familiar. I raised an eyebrow.
- It's love… - Jim explained. - After we broke up, Moxie couldn't let go of the memory of me.
- She's got bullet marks on her - I noticed. - And, I think, throwing knives.
- Well, Moxie's love is... peculiar, - the adventurer said, averting his gaze. - Now we'll need explosives.
I only had one grenade, but on reflection, I decided to sacrifice it.
Fun fact: modern grenades use antimatter as their "explosive". However, depending on the "modifier", the volume of the active substance and the efficiency of its use varies within extremely wide limits, from a few molecules to a couple of grams. Not only that, though - grenades in general come in very different varieties, depending on the manufacturer of the "mods".
Mine was one of the simplest and most primitive, but it made the job of converting the grenade into a booby trap easier. The power output, however, left a lot to be desired.
I - my character - had some manual, non-digitalized explosives skills, but at the current level it was "some," so I left it to Jim. He worked smartly and quickly; my participation was important, too.
I was making sure that Claptrap didn't screw anything up.
An ambush with that annoying little robot around is virtually impossible. Turning it off is also impossible. Jim suggested just shooting it, but aside from the "plot significance" I paid dough for it. "A lot of people fall for that," Jim remarked when I said that, nodding sagely.
And it's a pity about the ammunition on it, too.
So I wrapped Claptrap with the chain I found in the bandits' den, put him in the ammunition box, and buried him. I'll get it out when we're done with the next batch of bandits.
He actually started yelling indignantly at the speaker, but I told him it was for his own safety, plus he had the responsible task of playing the buried treasure. As I expected, Claptrap became self-important and turned down the volume when I compared him to the treasure.
Obviously, in the midst of all this, I've been keeping an eye on Jim. So far our interests were aligned, but...


The bandits were due to arrive in the morning for another attempt to interrogate their victim, but the day on Pandora was much longer than on Earth, something like sixty hours. And that left us with a fair amount of free time on our hands.
Jim went hunting. He grimaced at the sight of scag meat and remarked, "It's times like this that I think of pigcupine... Good thing there are better options after all," and soon returned with what I first took for cobblestones, gray and lumpy. On closer inspection, however, they turned out to be either crabs or some kind of large bugs that Jim and ECHO called "sand crayfish."
Taste... Specific.
Not bad, though. I provided the wok, water, and salt, and Jim, or rather his cyberprosthesis, provided the fire. Echo, by the way, gave a brief description of the "crayfish", confirming its edibility.


- B three, - Jim said.
- Missed. B five.
- Killed... - sighed Slippery and flicked the scrawles on the sand. - I demand a rematch.
Uh-huh, two scumbags sitting on the ground in the unknown future on a distant planet, and playing "naval combat". Why not, really? Who's going to stop us?
I nodded and started drawing two squares on the ground again, with the muzzle of the gun. Both Jim's and mine playfields turned out remarkably even and neat.


- Five-two, I said. - Another game?
- I give up. - Jim raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. - How about a game of tic-tac-toe?
"Level up!"
Uh? I froze for a second. Why would I do that? Does winning count as completing a task? Or as actually winning?
Or is the Almighty Bastard just trolling?
- Just a second, - I raised my hand.
"Status."
That's right, the level has gone up. There was no automatic knowledge gain this time - though I definitely felt refreshed and... stronger, or something - but there was a message on the skill "screen" about an unspent point. The skills themselves were now unlocked - but not all of them. Three branches, each with a set of starting skills available. "Deconstruction" - available skills more effective destruction of armor and shields. Can be immediately discarded: not something that's really important right now. "Construction"... this is already more interesting. The first skill, "assembler", according to the description should simplify the creation of turrets (and other structures), as well as unlocks a set of licenses. The problem is that it didn't specify which ones. The second skill is "economy". Should reduce ammo consumption; I can assume there are some tricks to customizing ECHOs and/or weapons to use ammo blocks more efficiently. Valuable, no doubt, but other skills were strong competitors. "Technical Competency" - increases the effectiveness (all characteristics) of turrets and other structures, unlocks multiple licenses. At first glance a major contender, however I obviously checked out the remaining options first.
There were some interesting possibilities there too.
The "Life Support" branch. "Basic Military Training" speaks for itself. In the Pandora environment, military training, even basic, is a valuable thing. I honestly thought I already had something like this, but apparently not.
Unfortunately, the effectiveness of this skill again remained to be guessed.
The next was "field medic". And in addition to direct skills of first aid (and not only first aid, with sufficient skill), the description promised a license to digitally build a Vladoff's field medikit.
Oddly enough, this was no longer a shot in the dark. A quick search on the EchoNet revealed that Vladoff's standard field medical kit included a wide range of medications and stimulants for various cases, and a basic module "autodoc", capable of self-diagnosis and injections. This is quite rare on Pandora, and seems to be quite useful.
The third was "safety at fire". A set of methods of defense against fire and fire weapons, plus a license to synthesize a fireproof coating of armor. Not useless, but not a competitor to the previous skills.
In the end, the choice is between increasing personal combat capability, medical insurance, and turret. Taking into account all the factors, among which the lack of ammunition is at the top of the list... The choice, in general, is obvious.
I'm taking the turret improvement, and hopefully with its help I can take the "field medic" in the near future.


- Never underestimate duct tape! That blue stuff deserves respect far more than any of you greens. Even without additional licenses or special technical knowledge, it allows for things like this...


That was... somewhat different from what I expected. However, there is no denying the usefulness of the knowledge gained. Especially, there were different ones in this "archive". And plus, now I'll be able to refine my armor a bit.
Don't underestimate duct tape.


Pandora's night, how much is in those words...
Actually, no. Given the presence of night vision, it's only about half as dark as day.
The heat has gradually changed to coolness, but I was expecting a more abrupt transition given the semi-desert, if not completely desert, terrain. Perhaps it was the same improved body, though, and I simply tolerated the cold more easily. In principle, my armor had a built-in "air conditioner", but like almost everything else, it was broken and there were not enough materials for a complete repair (I hope to fix it as soon as possible). The shield also provided some temperature stabilization; I suspect an advanced model could replace a spacesuit. Though given the licenses and the need to sell more stuff, it's more likely this is provided by a separate device.
Pandora's night is almost an Earth whole day long, but both Jim and I were quite able to safely go without sleep for that length of time without any ill effects. I probably could have taken a nap under the guard of the turret, but I decided not to risk it. But Slippery (it turns out that's his real last name...) took a nap for a couple of hours - well, yes, he has almost no reason to fear that I'll kill him in his sleep. What was I saving him for? The only thing to take from him was a trophy shotgun.
I might still have risked a nap, too, but after the level increase, there was no trace of fatigue or sleepiness. At least it also provided something to do besides the burying of corpses already done: tuning the turret and refining the armor. Thorough as possible with limited skills and materials.
Theoretically, with the ECHO, it's possible to mine all the necessary materials from the environment in small quantities and digitally build everything you need from them. Unfortunately, I wasn't in the sandbox after all... apparently.
Nevertheless, there were still some things available. The metal from the frame of the building was not high quality steel or any special alloy like the one my shovel was made of, but there was a use for it. Actually, you always need some digitized metal, both for patching armor and digitally building turrets, and that's just the most obvious and important. The shells of "sand crayfish", by the way, also contained valuable minerals, but there were too few to count. However, since I had time, I didn't hesitate to recycle them as well. Who knows, maybe these half a gram of mercury, a gram of lead and a gram and a half of tungsten (unexpectedly) will come in handy.


The bandits appeared about two hours after dawn, in a car similar to the one I had already seen.
- I wish I had a sniper... - sighed Jim, who was sitting next to me. - Two bullets, and I wouldn't have to borrow from Moxie.
I shrugged.
- Maybe we could get some. In the meantime, we got what we got.
- And what we have, - the adventurer grinned. - Be ready.
I nodded, watching the bandits stop and get out of the car. They looked okay, not dwarves or giants, but there was something tense about them. Even at a distance the ECHO could identify them enough to assign a danger level (I wonder if it had something to do with my "levels"?...), and it was... disturbing. Fifth. The "badass psycho" had a sixth, but he was alone.
Also... During the night I'd poked around the FAQ and ECHO settings, and now I knew that the red bar indicated the general state of organic, living, creatures, the yellow bar indicated the integrity of armor, if any, and the blue bar indicated the stability of the shield (conventionally, its "health"). Previous bandits only had red stripes. Now, however...
- They have shields - I reported.
- It was to be expected, - Jim remarked. - Even with a trap it can be difficult. We'll manage, the main thing is not to let them get away. I'll attack, you deploy the turret at the car and support.
- Copy that - I replied briefly.
The puppet representing Jim was very realistic, but I was still a bit skeptical. Slippery, however, assured me it would work - and he was right.
The bandits approached the doll and said something; the doll, of course, didn't respond. Then one of them came closer and punched "Jim" in the face.
It burst into flames.
Alas and alack, the result was exactly what I feared. The power of the budget grenade wasn't enough; the blue shield bar on one of the bandits was zeroed out, on the other shrunk to a minimum and blinked alarmingly, but they were both alive.
And that had to be fixed.
If our little team had been more trusting of each other, it would have been worth it to lend Jim, as a stormtrooper, a shield. But he hadn't even mentioned it - and as it turned out, he could handle it just fine.
He'd also thought this attack through more carefully than it seemed.
The explosion raised a cloud of dust that blocked the bandits' view, and we took advantage of it. I rushed to the unattended car; set up my turret, and if I could, use the one on the car.
I was still in the process of deployment when the unkilled victims of the explosion jumped out of the dust cloud and opened fire - on me. They retreated to the wheelbarrow, saw the enemy... "SG and a machine gun, I think" - I automatically noted, restraining the first impulse to seek cover. A second, and the deployment was complete; my shield had sagged, but the accuracy of the bandits' fire left much to be desired.
I leapt over the car, taking cover behind it, and, sticking out again for a second, fired a short three-round burst from my own SG, trying to hit both of them.
Shield battles have their own specifics. Local shields have unlimited (for practical purposes) energy reserves, but blocking incoming damage destabilizes them; the "stability" of a shield can be thought of as its "durability reserve". Once destabilized, the shield projecting device goes into a reboot, or cooldown, something like that, and needs some time to regain protection. Stability is also gradually restored, but under calm conditions; simply, to keep the shield from regenerating, you have to give it no respite. Like... Well, yeah, like in the game. So I tried to prevent my opponents from regenerating shields, while giving my own a chance to regenerate.
The turret gave a voice, and then a shotgun blast rumbled out as well. And then another.
I opted to save my ammo.
"Level up!" - ECHO reported. Definitely for completing a mission... - "You have a new letter!"
- We have the treasure! - sounded off to the side. I turned sharply - and saw another car pulling away. This one didn't have a turret; in its place sat a short man in a... gas mask? and was giving me the finger.
And with his other hand he was holding a familiar crate.
They stole Claptrap!

 

[HelioBM]

Active skill: Defensive Turret. Creates a fixed turret using a weapon in your hand. The turret has an unlimited duration and a build/deconstruct time of 5 seconds.



Deconstruction


First tier


Dismantling - Increase in armor damage, +5%*skill lv.
Shieldlessness - Increase damage on shields, +5%*skill lv.


Second tier


Acid Mockery - Increase in acid damage, +5%*skill lv.
Shocking Truth - Increase damage with electricity, +5%*skill lv.
Explosive Success - Increase damage with explosions, +5%*skill lv.


Third tier


Triumph - When enemy killed by a crit, the clip is instantly filled. (While everyone is in shock and brains, seize the opportunity!)


Fourth tier


Stash - Extra money when inflicting crit kills.
Accuracy - Increased drop/rare drop chance of 1% per skill level. 2%*lv. when killing with a crit, 3%*lv. when killing with a single shot.


Fifth tier


Precise calculation - Any shot has a chance to be critical (This was on purpose, honest!).


Construction


First tier


Assembler - Reduces turret construction/disassembly time.
Economy - Reduces ammunition consumption.
Technical Competency - Increases turret performance.


Second tier


From you to me, from me to you - ammo regeneration next to the turret.
What do we have inside? - When the turret is destroyed, a random drop falls from it, the chance and quality depends on the skill level and character level.


Third tier


Bountyful Land - adds a minefield in front of the turret. (Well seeded! Now just wait...).


Fourth tier


Modernisation - Adds a turret shield, 10%*ur. of health.
Tuning - Increases the characteristics of equipment.
Ammunition Modification - Adds the probability of explosion, shock, or fire to ammunition (does not increase if it is already there).


Fifth tier


Standardization - if any characteristics of an item of equipment are below average for its type and level, they are raised to average. (Required minimum!)


Life Support


First tier


Basic Military Training - Health, accuracy, and melee damage increase by 1% per level.
Field Medic - regenerates 0.5%*skill lv. HP per second.
Fire Safety Technique - Reduces fire damage and the chance of ignition.


Second tier


Thorough Search - more ammo in containers.
Hoarding - increases the maximum ammo carried and inventory slots.
Keep your fingers out! - reduces electricity damage and shock chance.


Third tier


Fullmetal Shell - the first 25% of health is changed to armor (resistance to normal and fire damage, vulnerability to acid). (Good armor increases survivability! Usually.) or (I'm not tin can! I just want to live.).


Fourth tier


Alkali smothering - reduces acid damage and chance of corrosion.
There's Only a Moment - increases the duration of the Fight for Life.


Fifth tier


You Can't Go to Heaven with Cargo - In Fight for Life mode, when grenades are maxed out, throwing a grenade expends them all and lifts the character to his feet. (I'm not a shahid!)


Stroibat's Ghost.


First tier.


Faster, Higher, Stronger! - Increases melee damage, health, and running speed.
No - and don't need - increases melee damage for every ammo type at 0 ammo (including grenades) and every empty weapon slot. Increases damage with decreasing health.
Knight with a Shovel - +1%*skill level probability of absorbing ammunition when using absorbing shield. 1.5%*skill level probability to reflect projectiles when using other types of shields. 100% probability of reflecting projectiles when melee attacking them. Works with grenades.


Second tier.


Self-supply - knock out money and ammunition from enemies during a melee attack, the probability and amount depend on the skill.
Legendary weapon of Vladoff - double-click melee attack forces to use a circular attack, cooldown 10 seconds. Holding and releasing a melee attack throws a shovel, cooldown 15 seconds.
Fan Technique - Each skill level increases the speed of melee attacks. For each skill level, the melee attacks cooldown decreases by 1 second.


Third shooting range


Normative - increases the rate of fire and reload speed of all weapons. Additionally increases the reload speed and accuracy of assault rifles. Additionally increases the reload speed and clip size of Vladoff weapons.
Three is company - when more than one turret is active, the rate of fire and damage are increased.


Fourth tier


Hazing - additionally increases damage with level difference, depending on the skill.
Old-serviceman - increases health, accuracy, rate of fire, reload speed, maximum ammo, reduces shield lag.


Fifth tier


A bit of duct tape - melee attacks become shock attacks if the target lacks shock resistance. Throwing the blade additionally activates the effect of the projectile grenade modifier.

 

[HelioBM]

Added character skills in Extras.
P.S. Would like some comments.

 

[Bowburnit]

Firstly, I didn't actually read this. Two reasons; 1st being that it's walls of text without spaces between most paragraphs. Second, you used dashes (-) instead of quotation marks ("). I just won't read it.

 

[HelioBM]

Firstly, I didn't actually read this. Two reasons; 1st being that it's walls of text without spaces between most paragraphs. Second, you used dashes (-) instead of quotation marks ("). I just won't read it.

Click to shrink...

Because it is not quotation but direct speech. Using quotation is wrong, pretty annoying and hard to read.

 

[HelioBM]

The bandits' car had no engine humming at all, which answered one of the questions, "how they managed to sneak up unnoticed". But there were still a lot of questions, and the biggest one was -
- What the fuck? - I said indignantly.
- Think of it as a convenient opportunity to get rid of Claptrap, - Jim said. There are some questions for him, too, especially about the unspoken part of his ambush plan, but first things first.
- It's one thing to get rid of it yourself, and quite another to be robbed! - While maintaining my indignation, I said. - It's a useless robot, but it's my useless robot.
- Reasonable - Jim agreed.- Well, you'll have a chance to get even and maybe get it back. I know where they're taking him, we're going that way anyway, and now there's transportation... And by the way. Here.
"Received an incoming message with an attached archive," said the ECHO. The archive was passwordless, and contained a machine gun - well, or assault rifle, according to the local classification. Just the weapon I have the most ammo for.
- Now we're equipped and ready to go, - continued my temporary partner.
- Still not enough ammo - I said. - And grenades wouldn't hurt.
- We'll take trophies - Jim said. - Can you work on the car?
- Hmm... - I said. - I'll see what I can do.

The promotion after the battle - and probably the completion of the task - gave me another skill point. With a slight grin, I sent it to "Technical Competency" as well. Situationally more profitable, and in the long run not a stupid investment. Although it is unpleasant to be left without a first aid kit.
Huh. This set of memories was less... bitchy. Just... a hands-on course, I guess.
And now I can fix coffee makers. And even assemble them out of junk.
Useful, definitely.
Finish digesting my new knowledge (there really was a lot of useful stuff in there), I opened the letter.
"It's me again, your favorite Gamemaster, aka the Almighty Bastard (I still don't need to defecate). Normally at level five you'd only have to unlock an active skill, so appreciate the generosity! Not only two extra skill points, but, ta-da! with this letter unlocks the quest log (no automatic markers on the map, haven't earned it yet). P.S. It's up to you, of course, but I'd recommend saving Claptrap. Unless you want to get stuck on Pandora."
Hmm. A very opaque hint, though I can't imagine what this useless and mass-produced robot could be so important. It could be trolling, but I'd rather not take that chance.
All right, then. I'll get to work.

The turret on this buggy was a lot different than a handheld weapon. It's just an electromagnetic gun, a gauss gun. "Just" because handguns are actually much more complicated. On the other hand, the old issue came up again: unlike the handheld, this turret reloaded automatically.
My new skill allowed me to tweak this weapon a bit, but not much (although the power was slightly increased, as well as reliability). The armor was much more substantial.
Really serious armor, to which my heart lay, the small engine of the "courier", as this machine was called, would not pull if it was made of available materials, but at least something could be done. In its current form, the passengers - in the sense of driver and gunner - had almost no protection; the structure consisted mostly of pipes. Collect scrap metal, digitally build plates from it, attach them in the right places, check the stock of raw materials for digital building bullets... Jim was right, there was plenty to do, and it seriously increased our available firepower, even considering that the bandits had similar vehicles. I guess that's where my "class" could show itself. If I had a higher "level"... Well, it is what it is.
- Finished? - Jim asked. He's got a shield - and apparently a more powerful one than mine - and a gun. I'm guessing he still has at least a sniper in his ECHO. And it was all a bit tense; if anything, it's going to be harder to deal with him. I think we should stay close to the car - its turret is quite powerful. The other thing is that he realizes it too.
- As far as it is possible now - I answered. - Even the material is almost no left, but i did what I could. At least, we won't be afraid of a stray bullet.
By the way, here's a question: why doesn't the machine have its own shield? It's just weird.

Slippery explained the situation and the plan while I was tuning. The bandits we're dealing with are members of a gang called Don Quail. Their base is in an abandoned outpost of the Dahl Corporation; they had a fight with Atlas a couple years ago, then both were attacked by bandits, and eventually they got the outpost and all its contents.
- But because the bandits are stupid, - Jim reported, as something on the level of "air is transparent," - they don't know about everything in the captured buildings. They never found the secret armory, they only looted the regular warehouse. Plus Dahl was starting to build a small subway there; apparently they didn't get there in time, but the service tunnel is in place and can be used to sneak into the outpost unnoticed.
- Hmm. You know a lot, - I remarked.
- Well, I was a bit involved in those events - said the adventurer sitting behind the wheel. - Hyperion loves and knows how to pit opponents against each other, and they knows how to gather information too. If Pandora will eventually belong to someone, it will be either them or the skags. The skags, of course, is better.

In theory, stealthy infiltration is best done at night. In practice, because of my night vision and the sleep cycle of the local inhabitants, the time of day didn't matter. Plus the fact that I feared for Claptrap - if I were the bandit, I'd probably shoot him almost immediately after opening the box.
In the end, we set off as we were. I did take care of the disguise, though; the hum of the engine was muffled, and Slippery and I wore the masks that the local bandits liked. The point is not to hide your face, but to keep your face from standing out.
It worked. One time we came across a bandit buggy, however they ignored us.

The terrain quickly became more and more bumpy and hilly; then we began to see the remains of buildings of some kind.
- There were farmers here when Dahl was here, - Slippery explained. - Now it's bandits, and so on.
- Coprorations are a good fertilizer for growth, - I said. - Except that all sorts of things fly on it.
- That's a good point, Jim agreed. - Coprorations, heh... And in the end it's the adventurers who reap the harvest.
- I guess so.

The bandit's lair was housed in a building on a hill that was visible from afar, still generally white, though the current occupants had covered the walls with graffiti, and you could see soot stains even from a distance. Our path, however, lay to one of the ruins scattered around.
At first glance, it was just a pile of rocks with a lonely wall standing alone. Jim, however, after critically examining what was available, began carefully pulling out the stones. In spite of his lack of large muscles, he lifted the large stones without noticeable effort. Gradually, a passage was formed among the stones; looking at me, he removed a few more stones.
Behind the narrow passage was a narrow tunnel with concrete walls, lit by the dim red lights of the "eternal illumination" on the walls. It was cool here, but after the heat upstairs it was even pleasant.
I wasn't going to relax, though. Even Jim had to be wary, and there were bandits here.
- Grr!
I reacted ahead of my thoughts to a low growl from somewhere to the side. My hand raised a reliable weapon... No, not a trained shotgun.
I swung the shovel, slicing open the jaws of a skag leaping from a niche in the wall. The small carcass fell to the floor, bleeding.
- I feel a little awkward, - I muttered, looking at the collar and bow around the beast's neck.
- Vladoff's still keeps traditions? - Jim chuckled, glancing down at the shovel. - Yeah, that was awkward with the pet. He didn't raise any alarms, but we'd better hurry before the owner misses us.

Some pipes, some still-working equipment... It's an interesting level of technology in this world. It looks pretty primitive, but it's actually quite advanced, and can run without maintenance for a very long time.
Jim glanced occasionally at the holographic map projected by his ECHO; he didn't seem to have 'augmented reality', or rather it was more limited. At one point he stopped and kicked the wall.
- That'll do. Your exit.
We talked about infiltration options beforehand, and eventually settled on using my skills; even at my current level, my class gave enough options and tools.

Activating the right license. A couple of seconds, and a drill appeared in my hand, which began to make holes in the wall with a quiet hum. A hole, another hole, another... A rectangle about two meters high made of drilled holes.
Then the drill disappeared, and in Jim's hand appeared a grenade from Malwan, with characteristic green stripes, which he handed to me.
- Now we'd better get back - I said already on the run.
The technology of matter digitization has its own set of limitations, otherwise it would have been used instead of weapons long ago. Area of influence, speed, and so on and so forth... Just to take and digitize a piece of solid wall is not that impossible, but with the power of ECHO it would take probably twenty-four hours, and well if not Pandorian. But if you first split the stone into separate fragments, and partially dissolve it all... The explosion would raise the alarm, but the corrosive grenade works almost silently. And the multiple drill holes have a greater effect.
I have no idea how the local "elemental" weapons fundamentally work, but it's possible to use them.
The walls were thick, and one grenade wasn't enough. Fortunately, Jim's ECHO had four of them, so in the end they even had some left.
The first thing I saw on the other side of the wall was a huge, three meters high, door made of an incomprehensible material. It looked like metal, but it wasn't... The light gray surface was stained, but it was still smooth. But the bare walls around it were quite shabby and covered with drawings and inscriptions. With a lots of grammatical errors.
There was also a staircase leading upstairs. And that was it.
Jim went to the door, glanced around, and grimaced.
- Shit. No power, those stupid thugs broke something after all. - He glanced at the schematic that appeared above his ECHO. - We need to start the backup generator. Without power, the door can't be opened. There's a problem, though - it's in the main building, so there's no way to run it unnoticed, most likely.
He bit his lower lip and tapped his finger on the ECHO.
- Hmm. Here's an idea. Why not turn this problem into an opportunity?
I frowned.
- What do you mean?
- We've got an armory - he jabbed a finger toward a large door - a straight, well-shot passageway - a poke toward the stairs - lots of bandits, and turrets. As I recall from my time working for Vladoff, your turrets are completely digital, no unique core? You could build as many as you wanted, as long as you had the materials? - I nodded. - Here we go. You prepare the firepower, I'll lure the dead to it. And cover the rear. Maybe.
I didn't like his "maybe," but it seemed like a reasonable plan. There were two things... First, I only had infinite ammo for one turret. I could copy Vladoff's ammunition digitalization module, but there was a risk that my machinations would be detected in the warehouse. However, the armory should have a good stock of ammo blocks, so it's solvable. But the second thing...
- Grenades could be a problem, - I grimaced. - And even worse if they have grenade launchers. I could set up a few echelons, - I jabbed my thumb in the direction of the passage we'd come from, - but there's a good chance they'd all be wrecked and we'd lose the loot. My turrets are pretty flimsy.
Oh, yeah. Also the realization of Vladoff's ideas - we take quantity, not quality. Although with the increase of "Technical Competency" skill the situation improved a bit, but my DUMB turrets were still flimsy: there are no quality materials, the frame is made of ordinary iron rebar. They should have shields...
- I'm willing to go for it - Jim chuckled. - Destroying the bandits is a good thing in itself, plus, knowing Dahl, there'll be more than just guns in the armory. When I start the generator, I'll transmit the code to the door on your ECHO. Put me on a live feed so I can check out exactly what was there for the booty split on the results. In fact, I'm hoping to get a full sweep of the place. Don Quail owes me a debt, and I intend to collect it....
- If that's the case, I'm all for it," I nodded. I still need to get Claptrap back... I hope he hasn't been irreversibly destroyed.

I started setting up the turrets as soon as Jim slid silently up the stairs. The weapons I have are mediocre, but one of Vladoff's slogans is "Quantity goes to quality". It's true, there's no point in building too many, and I don't have enough materials... And I have a limited number of guns.
I decided to keep Jim's assault rifle and Ozhogov's fire pistol. The rest of the stuff went to work.
Suddenly lights flashed on the door and on the wall beside it; and then, a few seconds apart, two things happened.
"You have a new message," announced the ECHO.
A siren sounded through the building.
"Set up as much as you can and wait for guests. The key is in the appendix."
I wouldn't have been surprised if the key had turned out to be a real key, digitally constructed according to the diagram sent, but it turned out to be electronic nonetheless. The door began to open with a quiet hum, revealing bins, racks, and cabinets... actually, much smaller than I would have liked.
Whatever. As agreed, I turned on the live feed and recording, and hurriedly set about cleaning out the vault. Most of everything go into my ECHO, some ammo into the turrets.
...Shit. Some of the containers were locked. Nothing significant, I could probably open if I had the time, but there was a problem with it.
- Hey, idiots! - Jim's voice came from the loudspeakers from somewhere above, from behind the walls, but it was clearly audible. - It's me, Slippery Jim, and I've come to retrieve the treasure that's been under your noses, you idiots. I'm gonna tell you twice because you ain't got the brains to understand the first time. You had the Dahl arsenal and treasury in your basement, and I had the keys to it, and right now I'm raking out all the valuables. Adieu, assholes, enjoy the feeling of missed treasure.
Damn. You could've waited a little longer.
There was a stomping sound from the stairs, followed by the sound of gunfire.
- Argh!
- Biter, biter!
- I'll make a fur coat out of you!
The bandits reacted immediately to Jim's provocation, and though my turrets mowed down the first group almost immediately, the next group was able to return fire, taking cover behind the corpses of their comrades. They fired sporadically and not accurately, but still one of the turrets shimmered, and another broke off a support that had been hit by a lucky shot. I was rapidly shoveling the contents of the armory into the slots of my ECHO; like Jim had said, it looked like there was some sort of treasury here, because in addition to weapons, ammo, and armor components, I found wads of money. Well, like stacks... Thin stacks. The outpost was obviously not rich, and the weapons were not of the highest quality (still better than mine...).
That's it, I can't get any more out fast enough.
I leaned out of the vault with my new shotgun in my hand, and fired a volley at a tall bandit with an axe swinging at the turret.
Then I ran down the passageway to the exit.
One more volley, dive into the tunnel, and start the digit-building program.

- It's Don Quail! - The new voice was louder, and with a noticeable growl. - Whoever brings me Slippery's head gets twenty... no, ten percent of the treasure! And for his heart, a dozen vegetarian pies from our favorite chef, Jadreny. With jelly!
- Yum! - another voice intervened.
- You heard the man! - Don bellowed again.
- Grr...
The last sound came from the other side of the tunnel.
It seemed that the comrades of the murdered (not innocently) skag had come to visit, to avenge him....
And then - what I was afraid of: the rumble of an explosion. Local grenades aren't really loud, but indoors...
The sonic boom and blast wave didn't hurt me, or even stun me (again, thank goodness for an improved body...), but a couple of damaged turrets were completely out of commission. The others had taken some damage too, but they were still holding back the bandits, who were still being processed into mincemeat; and I had to make my way to the exit.
I fired my shotgun at the sound, reloaded, and fired again at the skag that came into view. Another volley, into the jumping maw. At the next one. Another shot, use the turret support to reload. Shake off the spit, kick the leaping skag, put a shot in at point-blank range. Turn around at the sound and shoot the bandit, turn around again, and shoot the skag.
A throw of the axe nullified the shield and knocked me down, onto the skag's carcass. Bullets whizzed over me, hitting the still-living beast as it jumped; the bleeding carcass fell on top of me. I rose, covering myself with it; volley, crouch, stack the carcass, creating cover. Another grenade exploded; there were almost no turrets left, no skags either. Salvo, reload; the shield reloaded and began to stabilize. A couple seconds, and a rush forward through the tunnel.
The bullet knocked down the shield, which had barely had time to regenerate. I'd have to get a more powerful one; no luck, I didn't have one in my arsenal.
But there was something else.
A shot into skag, and the shotgun in my hand was replaced by the tube of a rocket-propelled grenade launcher. The eyes of a couple of bandits pointing guns at me from the other end of the tunnel widened.
- Oops... - someone said distinctly.
- Oops indeed, - I agreed, sending a rocket - a rocket-propelled grenade - flying. - And Taubin is his prophet.
Unlike the hand grenades, the blast was palpable now. It pushed me in the back, but it didn't knock me down; the rumble was still surprisingly acceptable, too. The shield is reloading, but no enemies are in sight, but the exit is right in front of me. Changing my weapon to an assault rifle, I made my way out into the hole ...
...In place of our car was a melted lump of metal. And not far away stood a huge man - three meters tall, not a meter and a half in shoulders, and at least a meter thick. With two green Malivan machine guns in his hands. And on his shoulder sat... a monkey? With six limbs, four of which were juggling grenades. Uh, no, instead of one grenade, it was a pie.
"Don Quail and his tamed bullywang Mary Jane, - reported the ECHO. - "Sweet couple."
Oops.
Karma is such a bitch.

 

[HelioBM]

Probably the only thing that saved me was that the gang boss was looking the other way at that moment. And that gave me an opportunity not to be missed.
A mental command to ECHO, and the machine gun in my hands changed back to a grenade launcher. Sight, trigger...
The monkey roared. The bandit turned around unexpectedly rapidly, especially for such a big body; however, the rocket had already go off, and the distance between us was quite small...
Don opened fire, trying to shoot down the grenade; its velocity is quite low, and its size is not so small, so it is quite realistic. And if he got it in time, the explosion would cover the shooter - me.
Fortunately, he missed.
Unfortunately, so did I.
The grenade launcher I had was not very accurate; the deviation of the grenade from the aiming axis, according to the ECHO evaluation, was a good 20 degrees, and it was unpredictable, so there was no way to correct it, and I had to rely on luck.
And I had only two rockets, the ammunition of the grenade launcher itself, there were no additional ones in the arsenal.
Of course, I didn't stand still, especially knowing that. Dash behind the remnants of the walls that provide some cover. Changing guns.
Grenade!
As soon as I noticed the dark object flying over the wall, I changed my direction of movement - reflex again, ahead of thought.
I was still on a roll when a monkey - bullywang - jumped over the wall. Smirking at me, it picked up a bun and stuffed it into its mouth, which was visually somewhere in the middle of its body, and then tossed an actual grenade in my direction.
Fuck.
I got lucky again. First of all, while the grenade was definitely more powerful than the ones the bandits used, it wasn't very powerful, and it wasn't fragmentation either (maybe so they wouldn't kill themselves in the corridors?). And secondly, the explosion was still powerful enough to throw me aside - from a double line of corrosive bullets scouring the air nearby.
I fired a short burst from my own assault rifle, but the movement and the powerful recoil caused only one bullet to slip more by accident than by chance, just missing her shield. Uh-huh, she had a shield, and it seemed to be more powerful than mine. If mine was fully charged and stable.
For the next few seconds, I had no opportunity to counterattack. All I could do was maneuver to avoid being hit; fortunately, the ruins of the buildings provided ample cover. Explosions and corrosive bullets kept destroying them, but the bullywang was primarily a problem: the small, agile creature leapt over the walls without noticeable effort, and its grenades seemed to be endless. The explosions didn't really hurt me, and what did hurt me was absorbed by the armor, but it didn't allow my shield to regenerate. And I was afraid that time wasn't playing out for me: if I didn't run out of cover, either a couple of enemies would catch me - one mobility-limiting wound might be enough - or they'd get reinforcements, and that would be the end of me. I obviously didn't have a few seconds to set up the turret, either.
A shot came from somewhere above, and it wasn't the hissing pop of Don's machine gun. The bullywang that had jumped onto the next wall was thrown aside; its shield sagged, and then disappeared completely, along with part of the red bar representing its physical state - "health".
The animal roared in pain. Where the shot had come from could only be judged by the direction of the recline; and it seemed to have been fired from the roof of the former Dahl outpost.
I had just had time to think of this, when
- Mary Jane!
The nearest wall shattered as Don slammed into it like a truck out of control, nearly sending me into the next world... again. Luckily, he didn't even seem to notice me.
Boom! The third shot finally brought up the right association from the depths of my character's memory archives. A sniper rifle, from Jacobs - only they're so loud.
Don covered the bullywang with his body - or rather, his shields. The blue streak shrank by a power of a quarter.
- SLIPPERY ON THE ROOF! GET HIM, BOYS! - roared the bandit, firing two lines toward Jim's presumed location. I, however, did not look closely; Don had emptied the magazines of his guns, and now, while he was reloading and covering the bullywang, he was a perfect stationary target.
Fire a clip from my own machine gun at him. Immediately roll over, changing weapons, and empty a clip from the shotgun. Repeat with the SG... Don's shield went down, but he returned fire.
I was hit; the corrosive bullet quickly penetrated the armor on my leg and began to eat away at my flesh, but I felt almost no pain. Don certainly didn't either.
...When the next bullet from the sniper rifle pierced his arm, however, he still couldn't hold the machine gun. Wrenched by the recoil, the gun flew out of the bandit's grip and fell to the ground.
Given my previous experience with local bandits, it would be difficult to penetrate this mountain of meat with small-caliber submachine gun bullets, but Jim's shot gave me an idea.
My accuracy, especially in these conditions, left a lot to be desired, but the rapidity of my weapon and the fact that Don still had his pet's back played in my favor.
...Shit. Don's thick, long-sleeved overcoat seemed to be providing him with a good amount of protection. A high-powered sniper rifle pierce through it, but my pea-shooter....
And yet it all worked out as planned. Well, almost.
The bullets knocked sparks out of Don's gun, and the weapon jammed.
The next moment I was thrown back by a powerful blow as something slammed into my chest... a machine gun. Don threw the ruined machine gun at me.
The impact was quite sensitive; something crunched in my chest. And, of course, Don was not unarmed; a new assault rifle was formed in his hand from blue lines and rectangles.
I, too, however, had time to change weapons. To a pistol, a Jacobs weapon that had come from the Dahl's arsenal. The smooth black metal of the two barrels, the polished wood of the curved grip, and a drum for four shots. Two shots by two bullets at a time, mediocre accuracy, and a very awkward and long in-fight reload.
And a powerful recoil, as I immediately found out - stronger than the Dahl shotgun had.
Still, I held the weapon, and immediately fired a second shot.
I guess I'm lucky today, after all. I aimed for the arm to disarm the enemy, but when the barrel twitched, the bullets from my thunderstick went higher and to the left. Right in the neck.
Don's neck was covered by the armored coat, too, but the caliber of the pistol was larger than the SG, and Jacobs wasn't a Dahl, the killing power was much higher. The bandit wheezed and fell, clutching at his neck.
The bullywang screamed, and forgetting both her own wound and the grenades, rushed at me. I didn't have time to reload, but the shovel was still at hand. A blow, and the beast's leap was thwarted; another, and the sharpened blade sank into flesh. A final sob, and Mary Jane froze; her status bar drops to zero.
Perhaps I might even have felt sorry for the pair if it weren't for the set of human skulls on Don's belt (and a couple at bullywang's), each with "Death to meat-eaters!" written on it.
"Level up!"
The pain in his ribs and leg disappeared. However, as much as I wanted to quickly invest the skill point I had earned, there was no time to do so: the boss was finished, but there were still the usual bandits.
And as I looked up, I noticed several human figures appearing in the distance, on the roof. Jim had my back, now it was up to me to cover him....
...Or not. Rising to my feet and making sure that the leg damaged by the corrosive bullet was actually working properly, I ran towards the outpost, reloading my assault rifle as I went and taking in what was happening on the roof. The bandits surrounded a figure with a long-barreled rifle hiding at the very top of the domed roof; I took aim, as best I could at the distance and with a mediocre gun, but not in time.
The bandits rushed forward, apparently trying to take the enemy alive - and then there was an explosion, the epicenter of which was the figure with the rifle.
...Nah. I instantly calmed down. Slippery is definitely not such the man, even the nickname implies. I don't know what exactly happened, but I don't believe in the heroic death of this rascal. I've only known him for a short time, but I've made an impression.
In general, I'll assume that he's unharmed, and quietly continue to fulfill the task: to save Claptrap and take out everything of value.

First of all, I found a shelter and opened the status of my character - where, to my surprise, I found not one, but two skill points. The level, accordingly, was also 7, not 6. At some point I took a level and didn't even notice it; probably when the turrets were shooting off bandits. Well, or they gave me two at once for the "sweet couple".
Either way, I was once again in the throes of choice, compounded by the continued urgency. And the fact that there were two points made things worse rather than easier.
...Ah, fuck it. Basic military training and Field Medic. After all, you need to evolve harmoniously, and it's not always possible to set up a turret. I put in the points, and...

- And what will you do if your comrade's leg is blown off, eh? - hummed the instructor. - Medical engineers.
- No way... - my neighbor ahhed, lowering his gaze to the holster with duct tape.

It would probably be most accurate to compare it to an explosion in my head. Almost instantly - or even actually instantly - the discomfort disappeared, but the year and a half of training that had suddenly appeared in my memory left a strong impression.
- Harsh... - I muttered. - And useful.
The ECHO also beeped, announcing an incoming e-mail.
"Sender: Vlad's Supply Service."
It made me nervous for a moment, but I immediately calmed down when I read the next line.
"Subject: Field Medic graduate starter kit." It probably not because of the turret ammo, but because of the skill taken.
"Vladoff's Supply Service apologizes for a minor technical issue that delayed your receipt of the starter kit you were entitled to upon completion of your Field Medicine course. We hope that this 1 year 2 months 3 days 4 hours wait did not cause you any serious problems. We strive for the fastest delivery!"
- At least they would compensate somehow, heirs of the Russia's Post - I hummed. - Although if it's because of skill, it's not their fault....
Actually, it was already a bonus. I expected that I would have to purchase resources to digitally build a first aid kit first, but everything I needed was attached to the letter.
The Vladoff's field first aid kit was not what one might expect: it was a flexible metal bracelet. A case, a computer with a rudimentary AI specialized for diagnostics, and an equally simple and specialized module for digital constructing drugs. Plus an injector. Simple, reliable, and efficient - much more efficient than one might think. This thing, combined with the biology and physiology of the modern man, is able to raise even a dying man to his feet, in general. Pure corporate economy: it is cheaper to heal a soldier - a qualified soldier, not just cannon fodder - than to train a new one. Plus no equipment is lost.
Other corporations have slightly different math, but Vladoff's economists calculated it this way. Mostly because we have historically cheaper medicine.
In any case, this is an extremely useful acquisition, especially since I am now capable of something even without a first aid kit (and clearly realize the importance of hygiene on unexplored planets).
The second skill is also very useful, though less straightforward. A year of "basic military training" has taught me to shoot more accurately, to take cover better, to avoid shots better... A lot of things.
Lots of little things that can save my life and keep my enemy from saving his.
Bonus - paint mixing and painting skills. For applying camouflage coloring.
With all of this, and with my shield restored, I felt much more confident, and confidently headed away from the outpost. I left bandit leader's corpse still unlooted, after all.

Unfortunately, I was disappointed - partially. Don's shield was damaged, as was the machine gun I'd shot; I used both for materials. From the left I got two assault rifles, bullywang's shield, and Don's ECHO, which I was sure had something useful in it.
Unfortunately, the device was locked after the owner's death, and I had neither the skills nor the equipment to unlock it at the moment. Still, I took the device. It's small in size, and it might be possible to open it. At the very least, I could hardreset it, deleting all its contents, or sell it to someone as is.
I never figured out where bullywang got the grenades from.
Finished with the arsenal replenishment, I cast a glance in the direction of the most likely caved in by explosion underground passage and headed towards the outpost. After the turret massacre and the rooftop explosion, plus the death of their boss, it wasn't likely to be crowded. Rather, one should worry about the remaining ones scattering, taking everything of value. Better hurry up.
...Here we go.
A car of familiar design flew out of the open gate; I didn't see the shooter this time, only the driver. I couldn't see him either - the car sped away.
Hmm.
In front of the entrance, behind the wall, were three more buggies. Probably all the guards were busy - or dead - so I took the opportunity. The turret could be operated from the driver's seat, but I took position a more comfortable for shooting.
Just in time. Two bandits ran out of the building at once; one of them had a shotgun and an axe, the other one had an automatic rifle. And an axe.
Both turned into mincemeat before they could do anything - maybe even spot me. My stance doesn't do well with defense, so the best defense is elimination before they jump.
What happened next was surprisingly easy. Every now and then one or two bandits appeared, I shot, using the almost inexhaustible ammunition of the turret, repeat.
Eventually a stream of exp... uh, why am I being so dismissive about them. Experience and trophies, I mean. Anyway, the bandits eventually ran out.
Everything comes to an end. Even Pandoran bandits.

In fact, it was quite possible that they were still inside the building. Either they'd realized something was wrong and decided to be cautious, or like that time I'd met Jim, they were drunk and had completely missed the whole mess going on nearby.
Just in case, I set up my turret near the entrance to the building and cautiously made my way inside.

It was inside that I appreciated the value of Basic Military Training. Where before I would have passed by without a second thought, I could now see possible ambush sites.
And once there was one.
The two dwarves with sawaxes would have stood a good chance if I didn't have that skill. One tried to chop my legs off, while the other jumped down from above, aiming for my head, but their combination failed. A couple shots, and Jacobs' gun proved its killing power again, piercing through heads.
...I'm becoming completely desensitized to killing. On the other hand, it's self-defense, and there's no other way to survive on Pandora. And there's some doubt about the reality of this world and its inhabitants, despite the Almighty Bastard's letter.

- What's taking so long?! - Claptrap asked indignantly. I cracked him detachedly with my shovel, looking at the other two "inhabitants" of the room in which I had found the noisy robot. From the look of them - the barrels in their mouths - they'd killed themselves.
I glanced over at Claptrap.
- Oh! I mean, boss, I knew you wouldn't leave your treasure in the hands of dirty bandits!
- Something like this, - I said. I looked at the bandits again, and decided I didn't want to know. - Let's get out of here and get out of here.
- It's Loot time! - shouted the robot with joy. - This is what I was born to do! Well... Not exactly born, and not exactly for this, but STILL!
Shouting happily, he immediately set about the task; the pistols disappeared from the corpses' hands, and then Claptrap pushed one of them to the floor from the crate he was sitting on and started pulling cartridge blocks out of it.
- It's loot time - I nodded in agreement. And then... What was it Jim's ex said, Moxie, like?
Yellowrock?
That's where I'll head if I can't find Slippery.

 

[HelioBM]

When I returned to the armory, the locked containers were open and empty. Which didn't surprise me, really: I bet Jim had been here. And it's a safe bet that the most valuable items were in them.
And I can't even make any claims against him. He could have slipped away, but instead he gave me cover from the roof; if it hadn't been for that, the fight with Don would have turned out very differently.
In the end, I don't have much to complain about. A thorough sweep of the bandit base had made me considerably richer - though most of that "wealth" was in the form of trophy weapons that could be sold, but Claptrap had managed to find a few bandit stashes as well - and replenished my ammunition supply considerably. The armor was not only repaired, but also modernized, and as a cherry on the cake - in the yard I found a working buggy. Well, almost working, but it wasn't hard to repair.
Let's go to Yellowrock.

...I almost missed out on some good money. I was about to leave when the words "bounty on my head" flashed through Claptrap's chatter, automatically filtered by my mind from the general flow.
It turned out that there was a reward for Don and his bullywang - ECHOnet users had crowdfounded it. So I got out of the buggy and went back to the scene of the fight for proof. Got the liquidation fee, and separately for the heads... there was even a small impromptu auction for them. Then I had to scrape them off and digitize them. A messy business, especially with bullywang because of her anatomy, but money is money...
...Pandora is a bad influence on me.

There's a rock sticking out of the ground, clearly visible from afar, and everything around it is covered in yellow sand. I think I know why this place was named that.
I quickly noticed the name board at the top of this geologic formation, too; it served as the top rung on a pair of posts on the sides of the cliff leading to the top... well, let's call it a road.
And underneath the name board, two more were pinned up. One had the word "Wellcum" scrawled in white paint, and the other had two signs: "Fight Arena Open!" and "Visit Moxie's Bar!". Well, well. It's worth a visit for several reasons.

This... The settlement was not a place of residence, but a kind of cultural center, and i ask the word "cultural" forgive me for that. Simply here were concentrated establishments, to which relatively peaceful residents of Pandora came to relax and spend money - or make money, it is also possible. The only permanent residents here were the maintenance staff and the owners of a few of these establishments.
This was already evident from a quick look around the relatively populated area, which consisted of only a few buildings.
I locked the engine of the buggy and got out of it, heading for the bar. It was impossible not to recognize the right building due to the neon glowing signs on it, "Bar Loneliness".
I had only managed to take a couple steps when a rumbling sound came from the bar. The double doors swung open with a bang, and a short but very broad man in a green bowler hat flew out, spattering blood from a wound on his ruptured chest. Despite this, he attempted to stand up; the locals is very sturdy, as evidenced by the streak above his head demonstrated by the ECHO, which was only a third empty.
And then she came out of the bar.
Followed by her owner.
...Well, technically, the first one to appear was a red shotgun in the hands of a woman, but that doesn't matter.
- I'm proud of my caliber!, sweetheart! - announced a slender woman dressed in a purple dress, with the same-color cylinder on her head, with an overabundance of makeup on her face, and fired again.
...The calibers is indeed large.
"Mad Moxie. Don't mess with her..." - my Echo said.
Maybe I shouldn't go in there.
Unfortunately, she's already spotted me.
- Ho? Jim's buddy? Come on in, sugar. - She turned toward the bar. - And somebody, clean up outside.

It wasn't so bad inside. For Pandora, it was even great. Music, dim lights, people drinking or talking to each other... At one table a guy was kissing a girl of indeterminate age sitting on his lap.
- Moxie, you're still as beautiful as ever! - said the robot next to me. - And your calibers is still just as impressive!
- And you're still just as much of a tattletale, - the hostess said, relaxed, as if she hadn't just shot someone. - But thank you, that's nice of you.
At the far end of the building, I noticed a familiar face. As expected...
Jim waved at me.
- Have a chat, boys, and then come over to me - Moxie said. - For a more... intimate acquaintance.
I raised an eyebrow, but nodded, and headed over to Slippery's table.
- Good to see you again, buddy! - he said, smiling broadly. - How did Don like my parting gift?
- Mostly his people, - I said, sitting down. - They were overjoyed. Don was blown away, too, though. Bottom line.
Jim nodded sagely.
- It was as planned. Sharing the spoils?
- Including the ones in the locked containers? - I asked. He nodded.
- Fair enough.

In the locked containers, in addition to some money and a couple of premium guns - Slippery took a sniper, I took a shotgun - there was something that Slippery was aiming for from the beginning.
The fact of the matter was that the Dahl outpost we'd robbed was, in fact, a spy intercept station, collecting Hyperion service information. According to the adventurer's estimate, even though it was somewhat outdated, these archives could be sold to Hyperion's competitors for a handsome sum.
I didn't really like the idea of reminding my theoretical superiors of myself, but I had no other sales channels, and money is money, as I've already mentioned. I ended up surrendering some of my trophies in exchange for data and a shotgun.
Of course, Jim screwed me.
For better or worse? Which one's the bad one?
Oh, both.
- It's garbage, - I informed him calmly, taking a quick look at the data. I was expecting something like that, so I stayed perfectly calm.
- That's what you get, buddy, - said Jim, who was busy selling guns through the ECHO. - But it's not how useful the information is, it's how much you can get it for. I just got a good deal, now it's your turn.
I sighed and nodded. Okay, I'll make a compilation and then offer it to someone in Vladoff...
- Okay, con man, be happy. Who knows, maybe we'll work together again.
He waved his hand absentmindedly, continuing to stare at the holographic screen projected by his ECHO, and I got up from the table.
And now - gals.
In fact, I couldn't bring myself to call Moxie a "gal". Despite the excess of makeup on her face - so much so that I mentally compared it to clown makeup, or rather theatrical makeup - something else came up.
I mean not only respect for the impressive collection of guns behind the bar.
- Have a seat, sugar - with the same languid notes in her voice with which she shot that big guy, Moxie said. - I don't bite... during working hours.
- Pandora... - I muttered, sitting down on one of the free chairs in front of the counter. Moxie hesitated a little, but then nodded.
- Yes, our planet... makes an impression on guests, Mister Vladoff's Sales Representative.
I raised an eyebrow questioningly.
- Marcus Kincaid is my ex-husband - she explained. - We communicate from time to time.
I chuckled to myself. Something will have to be done with this local monopolist as well.
- I see - I said instead. - So, how can I help? Whatever Jim says, take the money for the doll from him - it was his idea.
- Already - the woman smiled slightly. - And what about how to help... I have something to do for a strong, attractive man... - she glanced at me - not afraid to release a hot charge at the first meeting... and with good technical knowledge.
Looks like I'll have to kill someone and build something.
Everything is as usual.

 

[HelioBM]

Moxie really knows how to satisfy a man. I got out of bed relaxed and satisfied. She was hot in the evening...
The bath, I mean.
Moxie's bar had a couple of "guest" rooms. Dinner, more or less normal, not a piece of crap, a bathroom, and a comfortable bed... Five hundred damn bucks, but I didn't regret them. Fortunately, as a result of the cleanup of the bandits, I earned something around two thousand. It would have been more, but I gave almost half of the weapons to Jim - he pretty accurately estimated how many trophies I managed to take.
- What a woman! She has a talent for erotic massage... - Claptrap, who unceremoniously rolled into the room, said contentedly. I glanced sideways at him, raising an eyebrow, but ultimately decided to ignore him as usual.
I'd better go find out how much breakfast will cost me and get to work. Plus... Perhaps I should ask Moxie what she knows about the Vault.
- You owe me fifty for maintenance and an oil change, sugar - Moxie said. I looked at her questioningly, and she pointed her finger at Claptrap, who was spinning around in front of the mirror.
- Claptrap - I said calmly. - I know you have your own money, so pay for your own cosmetic procedures. And if you do it again without warning, I will open your inventory system and take everything you have hoarded there. If I can't crack the coding, I will just throw it away.
The robot jumped.
- Of course, of course, boss! - he said hastily. - No need for such extreme measures! Here, Miss Moxie, please...
He stuck the manipulator into a crack on his "belly", in the lower part of the body, and took out several bills, which he handed to Moxie, driving up to her.
- You learn quickly, sugar - Moxie noted, turning to me.
- In my profession, the survival rate is low among those who do not know how to do this - I said. She nodded.- So what's up with breakfast?
After breakfast - yeah, the money's flying away... - and turning down the offer to participate in the arena battle, which Moxie seemed to be doing more symbolically - I got down to more important matters: work and the Vault.
- So you want to become a Vault Hunter, nut? - Moxie asked. - No offense, but that's an occupation for the most reckless and notorious adventurers, and you don't look like one.
I winced.
- I'm not try to. I have, let's say, a forced interest. And no, not related to Vladoff. Personal. If it were up to me, I wouldn't get involved, but we have what we have. At least I know for sure that the Vault exists.
Moxie nodded.
- On Pandora, someone always has a stranger story than anything you've heard before - she noted. - I might have some information for you, sugar. After you do my job.
Her assignment was fairly straightforward, and the problems with it were obvious - although, of course, there could always be some hidden catch. Simply put, I needed to install several vending machines in certain relatively popular locations. Having first exterminated the local fauna that could interfere with the installation process or damage the installed equipment. Moxie served as a subcontractor in this case - she took on the task of finding an executor for several interested parties, plus provided large-size digital construction equipment that will allow digital construction of machines on site, instead of physically transporting them. I wonder where she got this from?..
The immediate customers were Dr. Zed, the guy who ran the medical and shield trade, Marcus Kincaid, who I still had to deal with (and if the order had come from him alone, I'd be sure it was a set-up), and a Scooter who rented cars. Actually, his vending machine was itself digitally building equipment for large facilities, artisanally produced. I didn't know anyone on Pandora could manufacture such a thing.
Probably, in the local mess they managed to get the necessary license.
In any case, the equipment Moxie lent me was quite bulky and valuable, so I checked its functionality beforehand, so I wouldn't be charged for the "broken" one, and took care of the protective container for it. There's a minimum of fragile parts, and the case itself is solid, but this is Pandora, here bullets flying instead of mosquitoes, and skag burp eats through armor.
- Baby, why are you so cold to me? - wailed Claptrap, wheeling around the digit-building rig as I loaded it onto the trailer. - We would have made such a wonderful couple, you and I....
- Wail on the radio, - I said, as he was out of range of the shovel. - And get in, I've left room for you.

If only Claptrap could be entrusted with at least controlling the machine... Alas, the robot remained for the most part categorically useless. So I didn't have time to go through the Hyperion's files and select a few that would be interesting enough for the Vladoff. I expected to find some during the installation of the equipment, though.
Arrive on site, set up a few turrets, wait for them to take care of the skags, do the installation... It's a piece of cake. You don't even need an engineer to do that, except to fix it if someone messes up what's already in place.
Moxie's machine was logging the job as well. So far, everything was fair, and as I'd hoped, there was time to look at the files.
Chatter from someone's secretary about personal matters. Conversations between technical staff... maybe the analysts could catch something valuable, but in my opinion, nothing. A discussion about the best men's thong? Seriously? Some sort of virt-game streaming. Holy shit, is there anything useful in here?
I mean, comparable with such trash even the some skag-cooking recipes which i found here looked valuable.
Oops, unencrypted license file... shit, it is for the toilet.
Oh, damn. It's gonna take a specialized AI to go through all this garbage, I guess.
Wait a minute. ECHO has some kind of AI, if not the same AI.
"ECHO, can you sort the files by content?"
"Request acknowledged. Please specify sorting criteria."
О. A glimmer of hope.
"Importance and interest to potential buyers," I reported. And after a moment's thought, I added, remembering the recipes:
"And to me personally."
"Copy that. Proceeding with the sorting."
Even the AI needed some time to sort through that much information garbage, so for now I cleared the neighborhood of skag carcasses - a pity, but there wasn't enough to level me up - and set about installing the automatons. All three should stand in the neighborhood - I came for a wheelbarrow, at the same time stocked up on ammo, and maybe bought a new gun or shield. In fact, I need a new shield myself. I'll see what's on offer, I need to check it out anyway.
"Sorting is over" - said the ECHO, when I made sure that the shields here are about the same as mine - well, there are small differences and "specialities", and there are even a little more powerful than mine, but objectively I can not discount more than half of my remaining money for a shield that is only a little better than the existing one. - "Sorting type: custom. Bringing up the first hundred results."
Huh. Licenses (for all sorts of useless stuff, though), access codes (probably hopelessly outdated), maps of Pandora, marked with interesting objects (probably the most interesting thing here is the eridian ruins found), Hyperion's existing information about the eridians and Pandora... Moderately useful.
Hmm. And here's something a little more curious. An announcement from the ECHOnet is coupled with a couple of files, video and audio.
"Reward for information on Brennon Jazz, last known location is a workplace in Hyperion's IT division."
The first file was a video. An empty cafe in an office building, and two men; an older man, with light gray hair, in a nice suit, small glasses, neat beard; looked like a retired professor. The badge on the suit read "Lawrence de Quidt, Head of IT Department"; he was sipping coffee from a plastic cup. The other was much younger, more modestly dressed, much less neat-looking, and apparently sleep-deprived. Disheveled hair, bags under his eyes. His nametag reads "Brennon Jazz, IT Department, Debugger Programmer."
- Hello, Mr. Quidt, - the programmer said. - Sorry for the surprise, I didn't expect you to schedule a meeting here, and even more so that you would drink this.
- A taste of youth - replied the boss. - However, time is money. Report.
The programmer nodded.
- There's something very, very strange with the whole line of claptraps. Crashes and strange behavior of AI, especially experimental ones, are the norm, obviously, but there are oddities that are understandable, and there are oddities that are incomprehensible, in their case too much of the latter. Take performance. With the processors used in this series, they should fly, and generally be smarter than any other AI, but the actual performance is no more than five percent of what is expected. It seems as if there is some invisible process in the system, eating up almost all the resources, but we can't detect it. We've tried every possible test, and the results are on your ECHO.
The boss nodded.
- I've seen it, and I agree it's strange.
- That's not all, Mr. Quidt - the programmer lowered his voice, which did not prevent from hearing him perfectly on the recording. - I tried to contact the developer, for consultation. However, I couldn't find any data.
- Well, objectively speaking, I also wouldn't want anyone to know that I'm responsible for all these glitchy robots - the boss smiled a little. - Wait a minute.
A holographic interface appeared above his hand; his fingers raced. After a few seconds, Quidt began to frown, harder and harder.
- 'I'm the head of this damn department,' he muttered. - Why the hell don't I have access?
The programmer nodded without surprise.
- That's not all. I... - He looked me in the eye - well, or rather, in the direction of the camera. - You know, I think we'd better continue this conversation somewhere more secure, if you don't mind.
Quidt nodded, and they both stood up; the video ended.
The next recording was already purely audio.
- So? - Quidt's voice.
- Are you sure it's not being recorded here? - Jazz.
- This is my office, I've made sure it's secure. Only my personal recordings are recorded.
- Okay. [Cell phone rings] Well, I did a little investigating. First of all, Maxim Turner, as you know, was able to make Hyperion a success through large profits from several successive successful deals. First, he managed to sell two lines of semi-intelligent home appliances very profitably, and used the money to develop several other products, which also sold out quickly and at a good profit. One of these products was a large line of claptrap robot assistants. Yes, yes, Mr. Quidt, I realize that you know this, but - do you know who were the buyers of most of these robots?
- No, - came the voice after a short pause.
- Neither do I. There are no records, nor of the developers. There are marks about the sale of several large batches, there are buyers of individual samples. But we have no information on who bought the bulk, or how they came to be distributed throughout Pandora. Considering how meticulously the corporation keeps its records, that's extremely odd.
- And suspicious - I could almost see Quidt frowning. - I have no idea what any of this means, but you were right to come to me and insist on privacy. Perhaps I should stay out of this further, but... my professional pride is hurt. I don't want to... I can't just leave this AI in this state. Especially not after my statement about fixing bugs as soon as possible. Hmm... I see you're a talented and proactive fellow. Do you have any ideas about these hidden processes?
- Well, I'd like your permission... - pause - what's that?
- What's that?
- Some kind of hissing... cough, cough...
The file cut off.
I glanced suspiciously at Claptrap. His talk about taking over the world suddenly seemed a lot more serious.
...In fact, leveling up and surfing the ECHOnet showed that machine revolts are commonplace in this world. That's why most of the robots look like they've been assembled from recycled materials: easier to destroy in a riot. I even read, with links to archived news stories, that at one time there was a "Free Confederation of Toasters and Vacuum Cleaners", but it was destroyed after a civil war between the toasters and vacuum cleaners themselves was provoked within it.
...Perhaps Pandora is not the craziest planet in this galaxy.
In any case, given the available facts, there's something different here: the weirdness started even before individual units started showing... peculiarities of behavior. Also, the Almighty Bastard's instructions... Hmm. Some kind of plot intrigue, definitely.
There's exactly enough information to intrigue but only make it more obscure.
I shrugged. That leaves me as a pioneer, "always ready."
For curiosity's sake, I surfed the ECHOnet in search of information about claptrap. So much conspiracy theories... "Claptraps are generators of psychic radiation!" "Claptraps are undercover robot assassins!" "Claptrap is an eridian secret project to control humanity!" "Claptrap are the servers for Hyperion's secretly deployed teleportation network!" And perhaps the most satisfying: "Claptrap doesn't exist, it's a mass hallucination caused by Pandora's torsion fields!"
To tell you the truth, watching this nonsense really lifted my spirits.


Author's note: Comments is welcomed.

 

[HelioBM]

It was still possible to find a "lure" for the Vladoff. The Dahl intercept had collected enough to make it possible to find something interesting among the mountains of garbage information. Thanks to ECHO, I couldn't have done it without him.
That's what I said. A good word is nice to even an AI, I suppose.
The Claptrap doesn't deserve it.
I was extremely reluctant to make contact with the Vladoff; an attitude shared by most of the inhabitants of this galaxy towards all coprorations (not to be confused with their wares). However, money is money...
...After a bit of thought, I emblazoned this inscription on my armor.
There were two options of who to contact: either the requisition department or external relations. But in the first case I'd have to send it as a trophy, that is, I'd be entitled to a share at best, and it's almost certain that the "share" would be given out as a share of files. And they may also forbid to sell it to someone else. So the only thing left was to try to conduct through external connections, as a deal with someone from the outside. Ideally, I would use someone as a mediator, but I don't have anyone I could trust. Not Claptrap to use for that. Though, of course, the story would be fun, and good fuel for conspiracy theories... "Hyperion's robot turns out to be an undercover agent of the Vladoff!" I smiled.
It was possible to come up with something, of course, but there was an upside to give away this data as an employee of the Vladoff. There was no point in expecting gratitude from my superiors, obviously, but it was better to be a valuable employee than ordinary cannon fodder. For a valuable, promising employee there could be some support measures and some relaxations. It's a lottery, but it have a reason.
The question, however, is whether it is worth reminding about yourself at all.
However... If we recall the mention of the Almighty Bastard (AlBa, for short), this world is based on a certain game, and he (it?...) does not want to break its plot. So meaningful interference from the Vladoff is not to be feared, I suppose.
All in all, it's worth the risk.

I read my contract with the Vladoff, put together a request, sent it off. There are difficulties with interstellar communication in this setting, and there is no local representation of the office on Pandora... or rather, it's me. But it's kind of silly to ask myself (heh), so I'll have to wait until the request reaches address, is processed, and I get a reply.
Just glad I spent the communication fee as a business expense.

My request can take a long time to get through the Vladoff bureaucracy (possibly even years if it gets lost somewhere along the way), so I was glad I had work to do in the meantime. Moxie gave me something else, I found something on the ECHOnet message boards... It's not easy to find a good job on Pandora, but you can get by if you're willing to take risks. Here, in fact, even to go to the toilet without risk is rarely possible.
I didn't have to wait long this time, though. A letter from the Vladoff arrived the next day, and not just one.
The content was... ambiguous, and quite unexpected.
Briefly - Requisition and External Affairs (unfortunately, the former had somehow gotten wind of it) couldn't decide which department to use for this data. And, I have no idea how, but they managed to come to a compromise. They offered me to choose who to give it to and what to get for it.
External Affairs offered money and a deluxe model of Vladoff machine gun; not much money, but not a bad gun. Requisition, for their part, offered gratitude. And refresher courses (remote).
At first glance, the choice is obvious (I'll be honest: this information was worth much less than the amount offered). However... I can't say that my money situation was that difficult. But "advanced training"... It's comparable to a military promotion in itself, but more importantly, it gave me access to additional licenses.
Including a license to digitally build, own, and operate a prototype flying drone. Experimental Combat Rotory-Engine Tactical Initiative Nanosupport, that's... CRETIN...? What kind of idiot comes up with these names?
Well, despite the name, the performance of this thing was pretty good. A turret wasn't bad, but it wasn't enough; and a flying drone would be able to cover me in a surprise attack as well.
Anyway, the choice was between direct payment (and weapons) and an increase in... status? And combat effectiveness.
The rare case when what is more favorable for the corporation is more favorable for the individual.
Having made up my mind, I sent back a reply, and immediately -
"You have a new message!"
Huh. That was really fast.
"Sender: AlBa."
...
"Hey, cheater!"
Hey, why am I a cheater? I almost resented it out loud.
"Well, or exploiter, if you prefer. Either way, you're putting me in a difficult position. On the one hand, the rules are the rules, and you don't get a second active skill - not yet, anyway. On the other hand, rules are rules, and you've stumbled upon it quite honestly using the realism of the setting. So I have a proposition for you. If you agree to wait with the drone until a more appropriate time so as not to go against canon, I'll tweak a few things closer to canon, too, which will greatly increase your chances of survival."
I wondered. The very fact that he was asking, rather than just doing, meant that he wouldn't cheat... most likely. However, taking a cat in a bag is not something I want to do.
I was just about to send a "Can I elaborate?" response when I discovered the email had gotten more text.
"Would have preferred a surprise, but that would be fair, I guess. In exchange for temporarily giving up your second active skill, you'll get the ability to survive a fatal wound."
Huh. That's... Tempting. Sure, the drone would help with that wound simply by not getting me wounded, but its capabilities are limited, and snipers will always be a threat. Even with the physiology of Homo Recens, a large-caliber bullet to the head does not affect a person in the best way.
And don't forget about grenade launchers and machine guns.
I grimaced. The information is still insufficient, but perhaps it is worth it. After all, this is my life.
"Okay, I agree. But can I at least keep the refresher course, without the drone?" I wrote back.
"Deal".

The refresher course usually was a "virtual class" sent to the ECHO that had to be honestly taken and passed. Norm. In my case, however, it turned out differently.
"Upgrade! Archive received!"
The knowledge archive in my head unpacked automatically, unlike the item in my inventory, but... Is this what you call "advanced training"? It's just a survival course in different dangerous conditions, from the boss's office to the wife's parents' cottage! Useful, of course, but what does that have to do with an engineer's qualifications?
I shook my head. Well, you can't look a gift level in the teeth, and I saved time, but... okay. It's time to get used to the absurdity.
The item in the archive turned out to be a "smart visor" of the "Expert Engineer" model, which I immediately inserted into my helmet in place of the lost one. Well, I called it a "smart visor", by function, but the ECHO labeled it as a "Class Modifier". This model is pretty basic, but it also helped with shooting by indicating corrections and highlighting vulnerabilities. Useful, definitely, although I had a distinct feeling that there are much more advanced models... it is logical, actually.
And now I'm in the throes of choice again.
...Not so much agony, though. I've learned how to survive, the minimal skills of "Field Medic" plus first aid kit will suffice for now. Basic military training, complete with visor, will suffice for now too. My main support and defense right now is the turret, so I'll just keep taking care of it so it can take care of me.
I nodded and patted myself on the shoulder. Perfectly sensible, me. The main thing is to keep my sanity in this madhouse and everything will be fine.
So - Technical Competency.

- What are the two main weapons of an engineer?
- Automatic rifle and material-is-not-trifle! - said the audience in unison.
- Well, it looks like you remembered something after all - said the lecturer. - And now let's check how much. You are divided into pairs, take materials and automatic rifles, then one builds a shelter and hides behind it, the second fires... And then the survivors change places.

Composite manufacturing licenses, understanding of optimal shapes, hand assembly skills... Lots of stuff, really. Including an improved turret targeting system, and overall optimization of its AI.
Hmm, will digital barricade building count as another "active skill"?
Judging by the lack of reaction from AlBa, no.

The turret had no problem shooting another pack of skags, the generator in the abandoned house was brought back to working order, and the toilet, in which the spider ant had unexpectedly settled (it was a surprise that almost led to the need for me to use the house of this Pandorian creature), too, and even Claptrap was remarkably silent, engrossed in watching some robot porn in the ECHOnet. Everything was going suspiciously well.
So a message on my ECHO was to be expected.
"Sender: Department of Development and Expansion of Vladoff Corporation.
Subject: Assignment (Importance: High, Urgency: Medium).
You are tasked with finding and providing samples of Eridian technology, at least three (3, III) copies. Deadline: one (1, I) month. If unsuccessful, your status will be eliminated."
I grimaced. There was no sorrow... Well, it was to be expected that sitting on my ass for a long time would not work.
At least I still have the Hyperion maps showing the location of the Eridian ruins.
It would seem that "status eliminated" doesn't sound threatening, but corporations are used to eliminate it along with the host, so... I won't waste any time.
However, the road of a thousand li begins with a single step into Moxie's Bar.

- You're a lucky man, sugar, - Moxie remarked languidly, as usual. - I didn't expect to find spider ants in these parts.
- Ants to sugar, - I chuckled. I quickly learned to take the femme fatale's behavior in stride. Maybe someday I'll try to make a move, but not before I've thoroughly improved my armor and acquired a cooler shield. - In general, I've done the job, and I'd love to stay longer, but, alas, I must leave you. My bosses - I jabbed my finger upwards - remembered of my existence and sent me to search for Eridian artifacts. By the way, can you tell me if there's anyone I can get them from?
The lady glanced at the tip mug, and with a sigh I dropped ten bucks into it.
- Mmmm... - she said thoughtfully. - How good are you with a sniper, sweetheart?
I winced.
- An engineer's main weapon is a automatic rifle and materials-is-not-trifle. I still don't even own a sniper rifle, actually.
- Hmm... - Moxie drawled again. - You know, sugar, something tells me you're just being modest. And I'm rarely wrong about men. Let's go.
She came out from behind the counter and put a "away on girl business" sign on it.

Moxie took me to the firing range next to the building and handed me a futuristic-looking red sniper with a purple barrel. At the other end of the range rose targets in the shape of a man with an aiming circle, ahem, between his legs.
- Try it, - the woman said. Shrugging, I took aim.
The rifle felt familiar and comfortable, just like all the other weapons I had used. My hands didn't shake, the distance wasn't too great... Anyway, all three targets said goodbye to their equipment.
- Ouch. That was painful... I guess, - Claptrap remarked. - Good thing I'm a robot!
- I think you'll do just fine, Moxie remarked. - Here's my suggestion, sugar. I know who I can find the Eridian artifacts from, but if you do a little work for me, I'll throw in a bonus that you'll definitely need.
I suspect I know where this is going... I nodded.
- I'm all ears.
- I love determined men... - Moxie smiled, touched her ECHO and it projected a map. She pointed her finger. - This is where the lair of the Snake-eater gang is. Hint: there are no snakes on Pandora.
- Uh... Is that what I think it is? - I clarified, raising an eyebrow. Moxie nodded.
- I know their leader has an Eridian cannon. The gang is small, only a dozen people, so you can kill them all, but I'm interested in one particular one, Fater Grabbe - The map changed to a "photo" of a man, a burly man in his thirties. - I'd appreciate it if you'd rid Pandora of his presence, and I'd especially appreciate it, - she stretched the word slightly, - if you'd shoot his... Snake first.
I glanced at the man, at Moxie, and nodded.
Definitely best not to mess with her.

The fact that the power source of the local buggies was a miniature nuclear reactor made me nervous at first, but this was Pandora, man. Nuclear reactors are among the safest things here (seriously, extreme reliability and foolproof unless it's a Vladoff drone), and small radiation leaks aren't considered much of a problem at all. So in the end I decided to just be glad I didn't have to pay money for refueling.
The "merry" gang, according to Moxie, had set up on an abandoned farm, and that got me thinking. From what I've been able to see in my time on Pandora, the bandit population here greatly outnumbers the farmers. How the hell does the population of this planet even survive? What do they eat?
Skags, I suppose. Bandits eat skags, skags eat bandits, it's a cycle.
That explanation satisfied me, and I nodded to myself.
...I had a feeling I was missing something, but I decided to call it a day.

The easiest thing to do, of course, would have been to drive up in the buggy, shoot everyone I could with its turret, wash off, and do it again. Unfortunately, it was difficult to do that because of the concrete block fence surrounding the farm. It was not difficult to cross it myself, there were no barbed wire additions, but it was impossible to get the car through.
This time I left Claptrap at Moxie's, and told her in advance that I wasn't going to pay any of his bills, except that I'd be willing to pay a couple of bucks if he'd be chained up to something no less secure during my absence so he wouldn't do anything. Moxie said she'd do it.
Working for Moxie - and others - brought, in addition to money, a set of small bonuses. For example, Scooter let me use his "rent-a-car" machines to store my car in digitized form, and promised me a discount if I needed a new one. Hopefully I won't need to spend any money, but being able to keep the car so it doesn't get stolen is quite valuable. Not far from the farm there was one of the "rent-a-car"'s, which I used.
Naturally, I had the archive of the car locked. I stole it honestly, and I don't want it stolen.

I'm not a Solid Snake (and in general... don't talk about snakes), but I managed to sneak in unnoticed - not that the bandits were concerned about any measures to protect the territory. My plan was as simple as possible: infiltrate the territory, figure out the layout, set up a couple or three turrets in a convenient place, and then raise the alarm and enjoy the show.
But life, as it happens, took its own twist, calling greed to its aid.
Jumping off the wall, I took cover behind a pile of rubble piled in the corner and looked around. A couple of dwellings, a large barn-or garage, perhaps-a smaller shed. A booth of a street latrine.
The metal door of the latter opened, and out came the type Moxie had ordered, scratching his balls.
...I couldn't resist.
In my defense, before I actually took the job, I did some poking around on the ECHOnet. And, well, this whole gang is really worth shooting without even thinking about it.
And it pays.
The bandit stopped to stretch, and I took the opportunity.
Moxie's sniper was elemental, and fired quietly - just a low crackle and hum. Obviously it wouldn't have helped, as the person shot would have screamed in pain at the loss of his most precious possession, but as I noted, the sniper was elemental, and the bandit, who had little bolts of lightning running across him, was shaken and paralyzed for a second. Just long enough to take another shot, at his head.
It was enough for him.
Now he had to hurry - he could be missed at any moment.
- Fater, dear, what took you so long? The boys are waiting! - came a voice from the house that sounded like an impersonation of Moxie.
A man's, obviously.
I immediately started setting up a turret... and another one.
Not in time.
A dwarf in a leather belt "outfit" came out of the door. The bullet from the first turret hit the wall a couple of centimeters from his head, and he immediately dived back in with a scream that didn't fit his puny build.
- Emergency! We're under attack!
...Oh, shit.
I stopped the construction of the second turret, bringing it back up to numbers, and under the cover of debris, wreckage, and the junked-out hull of the car, I hurriedly crept away, going around to the other side of the house. There's a good chance I wasn't spotted - I was covered by debris, the dwarf looked away, and abruptly disappeared. So...
There was fire from the broken windows, but as I'd hoped, it was only directed towards the turret that was firing back. I could hear the screams of pain and mate.
Still, this flimsy structure won't last much longer. The poor thing needs support, and not only moral support.
Unfortunately, I didn't have much in the way of grenades, which would have come in handy now, but I still had my options.
Window, garbage... Having chosen a position, I stretched out my hand, and the blue cubes began to turn into metal. Not much stability, but there was some cover.
I patted the turret on the completed part, and the second it was complete, I dashed to the next window on the other side of the building. And as soon as the bandits reacted to the fire from the flank, I added a short burst of SG fire.
- There's a bunch of them! - yelled from inside the house. - Hold the fort!
That misunderstanding was to my advantage. If they'd all come together, I'd be in a lot of trouble, given my survivability and strength. And so... The ammo was a pity, but I'll sell the spoils - I'll make up for it.

To my undisguised relief and pleasure, there were no surprises or problems that I had already set up for. I lost two turrets, my shield was knocked down, and I took a couple wounds, but those were minor things. The turrets were reconstructed, the shield was restored, and the wounds healed almost right before my eyes - at least, after a couple hours, all that was left was redness, and that was fading away.
The trophies, unfortunately, were not so good. One shield of the same level as mine, a few guns and ammunition - the most valuable thing, in general - plus some money and two grenades.
...Perhaps the S&M kit could be sold to someone, but I didn't want to touch it. Not even in digitized form.
More importantly, one of the perverted bandits did have a weird-looking gun. Slightly "organic" looking, but at the same time it looks like it was assembled on the knees from improvised materials, mostly pipe scraps perhaps. ECHO hints and a bit of testing showed that there were no difficulties with its use; in general, the cannon is just like a cannon, except that it shoots something like small lightning balls. Damage on the wall was very small, accuracy was also so bad; the impression is that the assessment about the assembly on the knees from anything was correct. The only notable plus was that the thing didn't require ammunition: there was an indicator with the level of charge used for shots, and this charge was regenerated by itself. Unfortunately, even that plus didn't mean much: the energy in its battery only lasted for three shots, after which you had to wait. Totally impractical, so it was a good idea to give it to the corporation without regrets.

I'd been recording on the ECHO from the beginning to demonstrate Moxie's work, and now I sent the video to her. The response came back almost immediately, a video call.
- That's great, sugar, I knew I could count on you - Moxie gave me an air kiss. - And you've earned your bonus. Go to the location I'm sending you.
- May I know what it's about? - I asked.
- Of course, dearie. You see, corporations can sometimes be very useful. The Hyperion, in an attempt to bring a modicum of civilization to Pandora - yes, a hopeless endeavor, I know - created some of the traditional infrastructure on the planet, including a network of FTS... fast travel stations. They were supposed to be paid for, but... the access codes were leaked. I won't bore you with the details, but despite the measures they've taken, there are still... exploits. Which you could definitely use.
О. Looks like Fater's snake wasn't sacrificed in vain.

The exploit Moxie shared with me was flawed, requiring each station to register separately - except for a few ancient ones Hyperion hadn't gotten around to updating - but it was still a significant help.
So. My mobility has increased substantially, the room I rented from Moxie is still in range, and there are two more artifacts to find.
I'll get to work.

 

[HelioBM]

I have a complicated relationship with them. We meet and break up, then I find a new one and she leaves me too. You could say it's expected since I have a consumerist attitude, but the pain of the breakup is still there.
No, I'm not talking about ammo, as one might think. Although, come to think of it, that applies to them too.
I'm talking about grenades.
I looked thoughtfully at the grenade lying on the table in front of me. We'd met by chance; I'd taken a part-time job in Echonet searching for a customer's submachine gun that he'd lost while fleeing from the Skags, and which he planned to give to his son ("you know, he's only eight years old, it's a little early for an assault rifle..."). It's Pandora, man. Here, "I'm going to go play an RPG" has its own meaning), and in the process looked into an abandoned cabin. Where I discovered a couple sleeping bandits... why did I assume they were bandits? Well, wanted in Echonet (no reward, unfortunately). Also, their clothes had "BONDIT AND PRAUD WIT THIS" written on them.
Anyway, one of them put a grenade under his head instead of a pillow. Isn't he an idiot? It is uncomfortable.
Anyway, a bit of stealth action, and I acquired a tote of ammo, a couple trash guns, and her. Unfortunately, our relationship lasted even less than I expected.
I was just admiring her form, contemplating where to go next, when suddenly something fell from the sky, causing me to jump back and roll over. The first principle of survival, hammered into me by... level up, really: jump first, think later.
A large, clawed bird or reptile with feathered wings - and big claws - grabbed my grenade and soared again.
- You bastard! - I couldn't stop myself. Even magpies on Pandora is Pandorian...
Well, it wasn't really a magpie, of course. The ECHO identified the critter as a Bloodwing, one of the few flying species of fauna on this crazy planet. Wings of several species - Bloodwings being one of them - yet rakks, that's pretty much it. Of the animals, at least - there are still insects, and some generally incomprehensible shit called "spores", kind of like flying mushrooms.
Anyway, back to the present. I obviously wasn't going to leave such a shameless robbery to chance - grenades don't grow on trees, not even on Pandora... at least, not to me - so I rushed to my nearby car. I'll catch up to it, and if I don't shoot it, I'll get into the nest. Hmm, if I'm lucky, I'll find something else there...
With that in mind, I followed the thief. Fortunately, the sky was clear and clean, so I could follow the black dot, though it was a bit difficult to follow the off-road at the same time. Well, the car was designed for such conditions, and the terrain here is generally quite flat, with hard dry ground. Rock and dust, mostly, there are enough bumps, but for my car it is not a problem. It doesn't even bounce my ass too much.
Still, I can lose it. Give this like-a-bird a little more speed, hide behind a cloud or something, and that's it. There's a lot of possibilities.
I was lucky, though.
I didn't have far to go. When a low hill appeared ahead, the wing went down; at first I thought that the nest was on a lone dry tree on the top, but the flyer descended behind the hill. I, in turn, circled this feature and found the bird perched on the shoulder of a man perched on a rock beneath a pole with a remnant of a road sign.
Skinny and gaunt, in dusty brown or gray clothing, he wore a bandana on his head and glasses that resembled old-fashioned aviators' goggles. His narrow, long, and surprisingly neat black beard caught my eye, but three other things caught my eye more.
First, the sniper rifle behind the back of the falconer. Secondly, a large bottle in his left hand, from which he was taking a sip.
And thirdly, a worn, but obviously in good condition revolver in his right hand, pointed in my direction... precisely at my forehead, if my eyes and visor were correct.
"Hunter Mordecai. You get the impression you've seen him somewhere before..." - said the Echo.
I stopped the car. I thought for a moment, and got out. It didn't have it's own shield anyway, and if i could dodge at all, it would be easier to do it on my feet. Well, or take cover behind the body of the courier - the driver's seat is too shot through. Definitely need to fix that.
- Your bird stole my grenade - I reported. - Don't you feed it?
"Mordecai", if the ECHO's right - if he's known for something, no wonder the name came right off, the AI on this thing is capable of that, - raised an eyebrow at me. He took another sip, then answered. It was hoarse, but it was natural, not like a smoker or a cold.
- Well, Bloodwing likes snatch things, yes - He set the bottle on the ground and patted his pet with his freed hand; it made a nasty squeaky-squeaky noise in response. Shoved his hand into his belt pouch... hmm, I don't see his ECHO. Pulled out a grenade. - Yours?
- Well, I don't recognize her face, but it's likely, - I said. Mordecai nodded, and tossed it to me; the Bloodwing hissed again, this time clearly displeased, but his master patted his hand again and he was silent. I, in turn, caught the grenade and digitized it.
Hmm, it's probably not very safe or sensible to throw grenades, but okay.
- Thank you, - I nodded. - That was my last one. It's not nice to be taken away from you... Pyotr Dyatlov, technically a technical worker of the Vladoff and their trade representative, in fact - a mercenary of a wide profile. From hunting skags to designing and fixing coffee makers.
Surprisingly, the latter turned out to be quite a popular service.
- Mordecai, hunter, - Mordecai announced. Pointing a finger in the direction of his pet. - Bloodwing, bloodwing.
The 'bird' hissed again, with a note of snickering.
- Nice to meet you, - I informed him almost honestly. After all, he gave me back the grenade, and, although he continues to hold me at gunpoint, he didn't shoot - in Pandora's conditions it's definitely a good acquaintance. - May I ask what you're doing here?
Mordecai jabbed his finger at a road sign.
- Waiting for the bus.
It was impossible to tell from his tone how serious he was, and any absurdity is possible under Pandora's conditions, but ...
- This route isn't working yet - I informed him. - It will take some time to set up, I'm telling you this as an engineer. Try it in twenty years.
That made the hunter chuckle. And put down the revolver.
- I'll trust an expert. But seriously... Do you know the Hoge gang and the Scarred One?
I wondered.
- I've heard something about the former, but I can't say for sure, the latter I don't know.
- I hunt them both, - Mordecai said. I nodded.
- Wait a minute.
I entered the ECHO... oh. From Moxie I bought a list of options for where to look for Eridian artifacts; one of them was "Archaeological Site Number 3", but it was now occupied by bandits, and the notes read "probably Hoge's gang". Hmm.
- I have a suggestion, - I said. - I have a job related to the alleged location of this Hoge gang. I didn't take job with them myself, since I'm not sure they'll actually be there, but why not check together? If they're there, you get the heads and the bounty, I get a piece of the spoils.
- What exactly are you interested in? - The hunter asked, taking another sip from the bottle.
- First of all, the Eridian artifacts, - I admitted honestly. I don't see much point in hiding it. - Anything. And ammunition, which is always in short supply.
Mordecai tipped the bottle, shook it thoughtfully.
- Nope, - he sighed. - It's empty.
Then he stood up and strode toward me.
- I shouldn't be driving, so I'll just sit behind the turret, if you don't mind.
Yeah, that way you won't get fined...

 

[SGlenn]

Pretty interesting hope it continues

 

[HelioBM]

Along the way, I kept trying to figure out where I got this weird feeling that I'd seen my new acquaintance somewhere before... which probably makes him not so new. And his "bird," too. Come to think of it, Moxie evoked something similar too.
...And I probably know the reason why. They're both "plot characters", most likely. I can't be sure, but it's the most likely.
Not that it gives me anything or changes anything, though.

It may seem odd at first glance, but megacorporations, those carcharodons of capitalism, take archaeology very seriously. However, one only has to delve a little deeper into the issue and the reasons become painfully obvious. I've already mentioned that the Eridian artifacts have seriously pushed the technological development of mankind; it's like Mass Effect with the proteans, only without the asari.
...In general, there are girls with blue body and unusual innate abilities here too. They're called "Sirens," and there are only six of them in the entire human race, so the odds of meeting one are so slim that you don't have to worry about it.
...Or not. This logic would apply if I were in the real world, but if it's a game, and there's something as remarkable as "space witches" in the lore, of which there are only six, you can be sure that at least one of them is on the planet, and sooner or later all of them will appear. So it was worth knowing at least the basics - what to expect from them, how to recognize them... There was very little information, though, only mention of blue "tattoos" on their bodies, glowing when they used their abilities, and the abilities themselves, the latter even without specifics. What can you do, they are so rare that most people don't even believe in their existence.
Back to archaeology, though. Dahl isn't really a weapons company in the first place, but a mining company. They know and love digging and extracting everything valuable that is in the depths. They are also masters of quick and cheap monumental construction... but I'm getting a little sidetracked again. Which, however, can be understood: "Archaeological site number 3", which appeared ahead, caught my eye. Large reinforced concrete structures, whole and damaged, with white triangles of Dahl on them, and between them - strange statues, either half-destroyed, or originally were such. And strangely shimmering pillars and angular wall fragments.
Eridian architecture.
From our position, it was impossible to make out if there was anyone behind the walls, but...
- Wing, check, - Mordecai commanded. His pet gave a short, low snort and soared into the air. I steered the car toward some ruined cabin; there's no "rent-a-car" where I can store it safely, so I'll just hide it, lock the controls, and digitally build something to protect it from vandals....
...yeah, it's not very "just".

While I was doing that, the hunter's pet flew off and came back, so it was obvious that there were indeed bandits at the archaeological site: Wing brought back a couple of ammo blocks.
- Wouldn't he raise the alarm, bring the bandits on his tail? - I inquired.
- Nah - Mordecai shook his head negatively and tossed me one block, which I caught; a pistol block. - Wing led them away and they lost him. We should act while they're looking.
- Divide and conquer - I nodded.
- Sort of, - the hunter agreed. His hand reached for the flask on his belt, but stopped.
- The bandits will probably have some booze, - I said, jumping off the wheelbarrow and heading toward the archaeological site. Mordecai sighed.
- We'll see. Usually it's so-so stuff...
It's actually stupid to drink before a gunfight, but I decided not to point this guy out - we're not that familiar, and as long as he doesn't shoot in my direction, none of my business. Oh, and, it's worth noting, his hands weren't shaking at all, and when he was aiming at me - the aim was both firm and quite accurate. With Homo Recens physiology, anything is possible, really.
Luckily for us, the bandits didn't bother to keep any acceptable watch, so we found out without any problems that there were about two dozen jerks of different degrees of stupidity and recklessness in the archeologists' huts.
- How do we act, heroically or smartly? - I asked. Mordecai looked at me oddly, then shook his head.
- You wouldn't believe it; that's what I was going to say, - he said. - I guess smart people think alike.
...I didn't correct him. I'm smart.

Fortunately (again), AlBa did not demand that I went into a frontal attack, pathetically shooting the bandits coming from all sides. I act boring, monotonous, unheroic... If don't like that I operate a turret - I should have given another class, and engineer is the preparation and use of technical means. In principle, it could be fine if I were the same "siren"... only male, please.
Siren can use boring safe methods too, but she also has Incredible Cosmic Powers, as another blue character who has them used to say.
Anyway, I resorted to the tried-and-true strategy of "Set up a bunch of turrets, then lure the enemy to them". Only this time I put them not in a pile, but in several different points, and covered them with stone "barriers". As for Mordecai, who was supposed to lure the bandits to my field of death, and then, if necessary, support them with sniper fire, he settled down on one of the thick, high... walls? Admittedly, I'm not sure why the Dahl erected that structure. Perhaps they planned to build something substantial, but didn't follow through? In any case, Mordecai walked up to the concrete-like structure and began to climb up quickly like a gecko.
It looked incredible. Yes, the surface of the stone was not quite smooth, and there were potholes, pits and irregularities on it, but it was a vertical wall with small holes on the surface. He was wearing only leather gloves with cut fingers. I don't know how he did it.
It's really like a gecko. Or a spider.
He set himself up on a small rectangular platform on top of a concrete "pillar" with just enough room to lie down and display his rifle. I'm not a sniper expert, but aren't the two most important things for a sniper to be stealthy and to be able to change positions quickly? In this case, they're both not really applicable. And he doesn't even have a shield.
Well, I guess he knows better, even in terms of "how to kill myself"... I'll get more loot.
And if he really is a story character, plot armor will protect him.
I'd like that.
I myself used the sniper approach (although my main weapon was an automatic rifle): I prepared several shelters to which I could retreat, and hid behind one of them. The main work will be done by turrets, I will only support.

Good and well done work removes the possibility of adventure.
Unfortunately, mostly in theory. In practice, unexpected twists and turns are possible even in a more... normal reality than this one. And one of those unexpected twists was the presence of heavy weaponry.
The concept of "heavy weaponry", in general, on Pandora - in this world in general - is rather vague. For example, the machine gun on my car, unexpectedly, is not considered heavy weaponry, but some types of hand grenades are. Rocket-propelled grenade launchers, too, depending on the model, can be either heavy or light weapons, even though, like hand grenade modifiers, they use the same ammunition blocks. Even among shotguns, there are some that are heavy weapons... I wonder what kind of recoil they have.
Anyway, at first things went exactly as I had hoped. A few accurate shots from Mordecai - I could use a sniper too... - reduced the bandits' numbers and provoked their attack. From my position, I had a pretty good view of what was going on, especially with my visor, which could both magnify and highlight objects. It's not just for aiming.
Among this rabble there were less stupid and more dangerous than usual, who managed to react correctly: instead of rushing to the direction from which they were shooting, they hid behind the cover and started to aim at the sniper.
Well, they tried. Just as one of them pointed his own sniper in the right direction, a black shadow fell from the sky toward him. The would-be shooter screamed, trying to blindly swing his gun away from the wing, but it slashed his throat with its claws and soared skyward again - to fall on the next bandit, with a revolver this time.
The claws penetrated his skull like paper.
The two bandits, with shotgun and pistol, opened fire on the flyer. The bloodwing was faster, however; a slanted pike, and he dashed between the legs of the big guy with the shotgun... ouch. I grimaced and reflexively clenched my legs.
As it flew through its "triumphal arch," the wing clawed at bandit's most precious possession with its beak. Snake-eater, my ass.
That trick, however, caused him to slow down, and another shotgun wielder took the opportunity, pointing the weapon at a convenient enough target... neither he nor the other with the machine gun had time to fire: Mordecai was by no means chewing popcorn while his pet worked. Minus two more bandits.
In the chaotic shooting and shouting, the hunter and his pet definitely felt like fish in water. Or like a Pandoran bounty hunter in a gunfight, I suppose. Not every shot Mordecai fired was fatal, but as far as I could see, he never missed once, and he always took out the ones who were most important to take out right now.
And it didn't even have to be "who."
A scrawny thug with a skull on his face, which was fashionable on Pandora, at least among his colleagues, jumped out of the building and swung and threw something in Mordecai's direction. A grenade. And don't underestimate its danger - some modifier models make grenades homing grenades.
That wasn't the case, though. Not less dangerous, but... The bandit probably would have lived a little longer if he hadn't used a heavy weapon.
A sniper shot, and the grenade activated prematurely, barely leaving the thrower's hand. And then... Debris, grass, chunks of earth - everything from the neighborhood flew into the point where the hit grenade hovered.
Including the bandits.
Singularity modifier. Quite rare and expensive model.
If you looked closely, you could see a spherical zone of distortion, like hot air, beyond which the effect of mass constriction ceased to work. The zone wasn't particularly large, less than a hundred meters in diameter, but a goodly portion of the bandits were caught in it, and the gravitational force, compressed into one small grenade, ripped them off the ground and pulled them into a single clump. They screamed and tried to break free, but to no avail. Some, however, managed to grab onto something and avoid being pulled together.
That was the effect of the activation. And then, after a couple seconds, there was a detonation.
A soft "pumph...", a wave of distortion spread out to the sides, a weak jolt - and a mountain of minced meat with streams of blood crumbled to the ground. A singularity grenade can turn even light armored vehicles - of the appropriate class - into scrap metal. This one barely passed the lower limit of "heavy weaponry," but it was enough for the bandits.
And in the meantime, Mordecai never stopped firing.

Out of a couple dozen bandits, I only got three. Not mine, but the turrets. Mordecai did just fine without me.
Well, what can I say... I think I've met the main character.

 

[HelioBM]

Comparing with feats demonstrated by Mordecai and his pet, I felt somewhat... pale. However, if he really is the protagonist of this game, that's only natural. Protagonists, that's just the way they are.
Admittedly, the way he was collecting trophies was a bit inconsistent with the status. A normal protagonist collects everything that isn't pinned down, and what's pinned down, he tears off and collects... on the other hand, we're in the real world here, and Mordecai surprisingly didn't have an ECHO with his inventory. He did, however, take a few of the cannons that had survived the singularity grenade, which were more valuable and not too bulky; I suppose he would have taken the shields, too, due to their compactness, but none of them had survived.
Ammo, at least, was much better this time: the ammo blocks from the mangled weapons were recyclable (I recycled the weapons themselves for materials). For once I was able to feel like a normal white man with a thunderstick, rather than a bum saving every shot.
And then, having finished with the bandit camp, Mordecai and I began to explore the rest of the archaeological site.

The camp was somewhat less trashed and shitty than I'd come to expect from Pandoran bandits. (To be fair, the latter is figurative; I've noted before that toilets are one of the things on Pandora that can survive almost anything. And even maintain an acceptable cleanliness while doing so. Digitization technology rules...) To my surprise, there was even some of the equipment still intact; I suspect the bandits just didn't know what to do with the bulky and incomprehensible machines for extracting and sorting rock. My class gave me enough understanding that I could use them - but the machinery was only activated if I had a license. I seemed to have one, but only for the Vladoff's equipment.
In principle, the defenses could have been opened, probably - such equipment wasn't usually heavily protected, for lack of need - but I didn't see the point.
In general, this place wasn't really an archaeological site so much as a quarry combined with an archaeological camp. It also happens on Earth - they start digging, find something interesting, call archaeologists, they finish their work and digging continues. Or even continue digging aside, while the archaeologists are working; judging by a couple of abandoned quarry trucks, not as big as Belaz, but also not small, it was just the case here. In general, the question arises why these trucks with digitization technology are needed at all. Unless it is inconvenient to digitize directly at the place of extraction, and so they take it to the installation?...
Anyway, there was a lot of... stuff here. Including various materials, which I hurriedly digitized for future use - I use up quite a lot of them, especially metal. If it were up to me, I'd digitize everything I have, but the ECHO has a limited amount of memory, and cloud storage is paid for, and they can be robbed, as well as track users. But it's worth adding memory to the ECHO if possible.

Strangely enough, there was no sign of bandits in the small two-story building labeled "Administration" (with the "t" smudged over with something); even most of the furniture was still in place, though it was broken in some places, and there was garbage, mostly empty bottles and boxes, scattered on the floors.
...О. Not just trash.
"External memory module detected," the female voice in my head reported. - "Perform localization?"
- "Go ahead, - I said, and a white dot - or rather, a small white circle visible through the obstruction - pulsed in the corner behind one of the boxes. I, checking and making sure it wasn't booby-trapped just in case, pushed the crate away, and saw that the ECHO was pointing to an empty bottle.
Well, not quite empty: I could see a memory chip inside.
A message in a bottle, huh.

- The audio diary of the Director of Archaeology and Chief of Eridiology, Patricia Tannis. First of all, you who are listening to this recording - listening to other people's diaries is unseemly! Stop it now!
There was a pause, filled with background noises; some humming and distant grinding.
- Are you still there? Have you no shame? Fuck you. This is Patricia Tannis... oh yeah, I already introduced myself. I've only just arrived on Pandora, but I've already made quite an impression. It's a hell of a hole, but it's a treasure trove of all kinds of Eridian artifacts!
At the last words, the woman's voice became excited and joyful.
- Just this morning, several artifact samples have already been obtained, - the tone changed to an irritated one. - Unfortunately, those idiots damaged them. I'll have to oversee everything personally.
Hmm. I think I've found something interesting - maybe even a plot point. I continued listening to the diary while searching the building.

The owner of the diary was clearly an emotional lady, with violent mood swings, but very passionate about what she was doing. And some of the things she wrote about were very interesting.
- Basically, the finds should be divided into four groups. First, "artifacts" are simply things that we have no idea what they really are or what to do with them. This could include even the walls of the Eridian buildings with those mysterious lines. There's too much work and too little of me to deal with it, and we don't have the finances for a clone army. Perhaps it's for the best - this world isn't ready for this amount of genius on one planet. - Pause. - What was I saying? Ah, yes, the categorization of the Eridian heritage. The second group is the simplest, most primitive, and useless - Eridian weapons. The nitwits in the finance department consider this area the most promising, so let them do it, I ordered to send all found weapons to them immediately, and let them shoot each other... but not all of them, someone must stay to send me money. Either way. The third and fourth groups - something that is of real interest, and I do not mean financial interest, but interesting... I wonder if a hypothetical outsider listener will even understand what I said here....? Anyway, to the point. The third group includes what I call "relics". These... devices at first glance look like small polyhedrons made of some stone-like material, similar to that of the eridian structures. When approached by, and especially in contact with, living beings of the "animal" class, they exhibit fluorescence similar to, again, the walls of eridian structures. Unlike the latter, however, relics have a markedly stimulating effect. Effects include, non-exclusively, such manifestations as increased physical strength, increased endurance, increased aggressiveness, accelerated regeneration, physical mutations, obscene compliments... though some of this is probably due to some socio-physiological trait of homo sapiens, or to toxins in the water. Note to self: make sure the water and staff are filtered, and stock up on antidotes and sedatives. Group four...
There was a heavy, long sigh, and I suddenly imagined a slender, pale woman with short, dark hair. I shook my head, warding off the delusion, and Tannis continued.
- Writings. Eridian writing exists solely to drive normal cabinet scholars crazy. Well, figuratively speaking. I hope so.
She sighed again, this time shorter and less gloomy.
- In fact, the eridian lithography we know is not really writing at all. It's a kind of memory device. If not for a chance discovery, we would probably still be wondering about the meaning of pictographs and searching for longer records... However, a few symbols and lines in the stone left by this mysterious species can contain a substantial amount of information in the form of a mental imprint. Unfortunately, this information cannot be copied directly, the pictographs themselves have no meaning. Fortunately, I am one of the few who are able to read the knowledge imprints left by the Eridians. Unfortunately, I have to personally digest them, decipher them, bring them into acceptable form, and write them down. While fascinating, it's not the easiest job even for a genius. Especially since these packets of information are often fragmented and inarticulate. Victories, defeats, the Vault... it's a headache.
The voice went silent. I waited, but instead of continuing.
"Recording ends. No new files."
Well, that would be enough for now.

If it weren't for the audio diary, I probably wouldn't have thought that this stone lying in a pile of pieces - samples? - of stone is anything of value, much less what I'm looking for. Even relatively smooth facets don't mean much - pyrite, for example, which was also present here, has that. Thanks to Patricia Tannis, however, I paid closer attention to it, and after a couple seconds the ECHO confirmed, "An Eridian relic."
Thanks again to her for the warning. I didn't touch the potentially mutagenic crap - I carefully digitized it from a distance as best I could. Given that digitization is a technology of the same Eridians, it shouldn't ruin the "relic".

Unfortunately, neither Mordecai nor I were able to find anything else of value, at least in itself, much less in terms of an assignment from the corporation. Of course, the hunter could have clutched what he had found, but I doubted it, especially since he had no ECHO in which to hide his find. Still, the visit was a success; the fact that I'd found another artifact already covered the cost of time and effort, but it also gave me a lot of resources (plus a point where I could get more if necessary, at least from the same trucks), bandit weapons that Mordecai wouldn't take for himself, ammo, and a new acquaintance.
Given that he is almost certainly the protagonist of this story, the latter may prove most valuable.

 

[HelioBM]

- Two out of three, - I muttered.
My new acquaintance Mordecai was kind enough to give me a couple of sniper lessons in exchange for a bottle of booze. Not that I was going to specialize in it, but it was always good to learn from the masters, and this guy was definitely a master.
Though, of course, a couple of lessons wouldn't do much, even considering that I already had the general skill to use any weapon... especially considering that. It was not bad to aim at a target that didn't notice me, preferably a stationary one, but to shoot at bandits running at me...
- You spent six rounds, - the hunter said with the same husky voice, kicking the corpse. One of those three. - It wasn't worth it. Better to shoot them with a revolver.
He patted the gun on his hip, which he had used to shoot the last of the three. One bullet, from a couple hundred meters away.
And yes, he was completely right - ammunition blocks for a sniper are not cheap, only grenades, whether hand or rocket-propelled, are more expensive. The life of a nameless bandit on Pandora with no bounty on his head is much cheaper.
- That's why I have a shotgun in the second ECHO slot - I noted. - A pistol is nice and economical, but I'm nowhere near your skill. And shotguns are also inexpensive.
- That's true, - Mordecai agreed, looking up at the sky; he put up his hand and the Wing fell on it. - Basically, it's enough for your style. When you can't prepare turrets and you're caught in close combat, you'll still use a shotgun or assault rifle. And if you can get ready, your precise shooting skills will suffice, I suppose.
- I hope so, - I grinned. In principle, I was planning to put a freshly acquired skill point into 'Basic Military Training', which should improve my marksmanship as well.
- But for now, practice with a revolver - added the hunter. - Wing had just noticed another group.
Actually, with Mordecai we had formed a rather strange partnership. We didn't hunt together anymore (he was a loner...), but I gave him a ride every now and then, for which he paid with some ammunition (he always said "sometime later..." to my offer to buy an ECHO), and we helped each other with small things. For example, I fabricated a coffee maker for him... it seems to he have become the last one in Yellowrock and the surrounding area.
My own coffee maker, by the way, is built into the buggy, hooked up to the reactor.
Anyway, we didn't usually hunt together, but for a shooting lesson, involving not so much even direct aiming skills as Mordecai's philosophy on gun use, he chose one of the gangs he'd taken a mission to clean up. He didn't share the money, but threw in some useful information about the habits and weaknesses of Pandorian fauna. And flora. (I once thought that even on Pandora grenades don't grow on trees; well, I was wrong. Fire melons, necrophages... The flora on this planet is just as crazy as the fauna - which should include bandits).

While I didn't get any money for these bandits, I did get some trophies in addition to knowledge and experience. Ammo, mostly, and one grenade. Mordecai had collected all the guns this time, since the fact that I was giving him a ride in the buggy meant I could haul them all away (I'd attached a trunk to the car; it seemed a waste now).
The hunter who slammed the lid shut turned in my direction, saw my wistful look, and hummed. And then tossed me a... Huh.
A shield. A better shield than mine, even if not by much.
- Here, - he said. - I couldn't have gotten this much without you.
Huh again.

"New message received with file attached!"
Well, that was sudden, especially about the file. Good thing ECHO messages are almost distraction-free, feeling... background, I'd say. Otherwise, I might have missed.
After shooting the skag - Mordecai had recommended shooting them in the mouth, preferably when it was wide open, but you could also shoot it in the gap between the jaws when it wasn't covered tightly, and it was really effective - I looked around, made sure the horizon was clear, and opened the message.
"From: Vladoff Corporation, Social Department.
Subject: Happy New Year!
The Vladoff Corporation wishes you a Happy New Year. In addition to your standard rations, you receive a bonus and gifts. Vladoff Corporation cares about its employees! Good luck and success in the new year, make us proud!"
That was... somewhat strange. I even looked around reflexively, but there was still no snow around - just sand, dust, and, the closest thing to a Christmas tree, some sort of cactus. Ahem. On what planet and in what region is this New Year's Eve?..

A closer look at the situation clarified things somewhat. It was the anniversary of my - my "character's" - work for the Vladoff. And it also turned out that the Vladoff gave me not only an ammunition ration, but also a food ration with bonuses for holidays. Specifically, this set included, in addition to a set of basic products, two bottles of vodka, two kilograms of tangerines, and a large bag of coffee.
No, you don't get it. A really big bag of coffee beans, very similar to what Santa Claus would carry.
...It feels like coffee has some kind of special meaning in this setting.
To be honest, the generosity of the corporation was suspicious, but since I didn't know what was wrong, I couldn't do anything about it, and the coffee was quite decent, I just accepted it as it was. Knowing the Vladoff, they might just have an overabundance of tangerines and coffee in their warehouses and need to get rid of it somehow.

Definitely, a mug of hot coffee makes even a day on Pandora quite bearable.
Boom! I shot the skag running at me and took another sip. I'd need more milk, I'll have to look for it in Echonet - I'm sure I can get some... In principle, it's really possible to live on Pandora.
Boom! The head of another skag was blown to smithereens. I bit down on the edge of the mug, holding it with my teeth, and reloaded the shotgun with my free hand. I'm running out of sugar, too, but that's no problem - I already know where to buy it....
...Hmm. I think I've really gotten used to life on Pandora, in just a couple weeks.
Basically, it's not so bad. Another level up and an increase in Technical Competency allowed me to build - a combination of digital construction and normal assembly - quite acceptable sleeping pods, and a set of household appliances, so that combined with shopping - and paying for work - through Echonet, I was effectively self-sufficient and self-supporting. Ammo scarcity was still a problem, but I'd more or less learned to deal with it - saving money, looting bandits, and skagging. I may not be as tough as Mordecai, but I was more than capable of standing up for myself, so the danger was reduced to a reasonable level....
...Of course, that didn't mean I was willing to live on the damn planet. Even if the ECHOnet partially solved the problem of communication - although the public on Pandora, well... - and even with the amenities were not so bad thanks to the ECHO and my "skills", but the conditions were far from ideal. And let's not forget the assignment from the corporation...
That remained a problem altogether. After getting two artifacts with relative ease, I had a stalemate. Probably, the problem was that most of the found Eridian weapons were immediately sent "upstairs", to the technical departments of corporations, and only the things that got to the bandits were preserved, and those hypothetical mutagenic "relics"... well, they are too similar to the fragments of Eridian buildings for the bandits to be interested in them, so the easiest way is out. Me need to look in other archaeological camps, but... even the closest one is far away. And there's no guarantee that they'll be found there (or that I'll be able to find them, which is not the same thing), so going nowhere on what remains a planet far from safe with no guarantee of success... Not a good idea.
Moxie, unfortunately, couldn't help either, and neither could ECHOnet. According to the femme fatale, she "keeps her ears open" and I had no doubt she wasn't lying, but so far no luck. I also told Mordecai that I would buy or trade if he came across something like this, but the hunter had not been seen at all in the last few days.
That's why I took Claptrap along for the new job. The robot was still as insufferable as ever, but I did manage to discover one dubious virtue: he was a natural-born, if you can say that about a robot, looter. Or is he a shmon-ach? In any case, his words "This is what I was born to do!" proved to be true: he regularly managed to find something of value where I seemed to have already searched everything, so whenever possible I took him with me, leaving him a share of the loot - at least when there was supposed to be something to scavenge. In this case, the job was to clean out the den of another small gang (which, as it seems, have something in common with mushrooms: cut a bunch, and in a week a new one would take its place), so there would be an opportunity to search.

The road to the place went smoothly and without events (Claptrap's chatter and a pack of skags by this point in my mercenary career don't really counts...). But on the spot... It was quite a sight.
I'm not sure if this place was formerly a small farm, or maybe a motel with a homestead, but almost certainly the skeleton on the pole belonged to the former owner. However, that wasn't what caught my eye at all.
As I quietly - a little work on the engine - rolled out from behind the hill, a very strange confrontation came into view. Standing in front of the open farm/motel gate was... well, if up to this point the phrase "bear/cabinet hybrid" would have broken, or at least dislocated, my brain, I now knew what it looked like. An almost angular big man with powerful, thick arms and shoulders, short haircut, with a completely beastly expression on his face, and with some kind of a stick in his hands... I mean two sticks.
And there was a buggy coming at him, engine roaring.
I saw the gunner turn his turret to point it at the big guy, but he didn't move. Instead, he threw one of his drones at what appeared to be a metal pipe.
The pipe, spinning like a helicopter's propeller, slammed into the buggy's turret and cut it down, along with half of the gunner's body.
The second pipe followed the first one like a spear, hitting the driver; the car swerved sideways and crashed into the wall.
I stared dumbfounded at what was happening, but that wasn't all. Another buggy appeared from behind the buildings; the big guy looked at it and pulled a rock out of his vest pocket.
It didn't hit the turret, only bent it, but now it couldn't fire. The thrower bent down and picked up a - rail? Or a construction beam, I'm not sure. Swung it in his hands... is he gonna throw that heavy thing too?
Nope. Without moving, he swung the rail over his head like a weird sword, and then, when the buggy was right in front of him...
...a crushing blow sent the machine flying into the air, flipping over and flying over the big guy's head.
The beam bent.
Uh-oh.
- Wow... - Claptrap said mesmerized. It seemed that even he was stunned.
Meanwhile, the big guy noticed me - or rather, my buggy, which I had stopped at a distance. He looked around, threw away his bent weapon, and pulled a post with a "no trespassing" sign out of the ground.
I got out of the buggy. No, in another situation I would have tried to get away, but there were two factors that made it a moot point. First, there was definitely something familiar about the type - the same feeling I'd had when I'd met Mordecai. And second, in the augmented reality of the ECHO, he was marked green.
Still, I raised my hands, cautiously approaching and tensely preparing to leap aside. And by the way, ECHO, how do you label it?
"BRICK," came the sign over the road sign above the big guy's head. Uh, I can see the "brick," but how do you label the man?
The inscription blinked and confidently changed to "Brick" with a "wave" across the letters.
- Uh... Brick? - I hesitantly said aloud.
Suddenly the big guy grinned widely, lowering his weapon.
- I didn't know I was famous, - he informed me.

 

[HelioBM]

As Echo had indicated, this guy - another version of the main character, perhaps? - was not hostile. According to him, he had just arrived on Pandora and wanted to rent a room at a motel (when I asked about the skeleton, he shrugged and said "well, I thought it was a decoration to attract customers..."), and when bandits showed up there, he decided that this was a convenient opportunity to get a gun (which he did, pulling the corpse out from behind the wheel and taking the shotgun off it).

- What, you arrived on Pandora without weapons? - I asked, raising an eyebrow.
- Why without weapons? - Brick (damn it... Did his parents work for Vladoff, by any chance?) was surprised. - Here, two of them.
With these words, he showed me his huge fists the size of a child's head, wrapped in some rags with bolts sticking out of them.
Well... I must be honest: given what i seen, his hands are really heavy weapons.
- Brrr - Claptrap shuddered. - Carrying robotic innards is unhygienic. And creepy.
- You're funny, - Brick remarked, glancing at him.
- The first five minutes - I agreed. - Then it gets annoying.

There were no live bandits left in the house; the ones in the buggy were the last. In terms of equipment, and consequently trophies, they were not impressive either - and Brick took everything for himself. Well, fair enough, I suppose... He did all the work.
I'd rather not argue with him anyway. And I hope Claptrap will still take something out quietly.
By the way, two of the bandits had ECHOs, but both devices didn't survive the encounter with Brick. In fact, in one case, the cause of the device's destruction - and the death of its owner - was literally a brick thrown with insane force. Seriously, if it weren't for the limited ammo, it would make sense for the Brick to use a throwing weapon instead of a firearm, I suppose. The same SGs are much less deadly.
Anyway, while the strongman and the robot searched the bandit's lair, I was dismantling the disabled buggies. It's a pity that we can't digitize their turrets, so that we can take them out and use them when needed; they're too big, in fact, they're the same construction as the buggy itself - reactor, frame... Actually, it's a very primitive construction with a minimum of parts. Still, there was something I could forage for spare parts. Shut down the reactors, again.

When Brick came out of the gate, I realized two things. First, he's definitely the protagonist of this game - at least one of them. Second, the physics of this world is definitely different from what I'm used to at home. Well, and thirdly, it needs to be captured for history.
The thing is that behind his back was a huge bag... no, just a bundle of loot. Weapons, some tools, furniture... Everything that wasn't pinned to the floor (and, probably, he peeled off what was pinned). A characteristic approach to loot collection inherent in normal players - and MC as our avatars.
That said, the bag was so large that Brick simply had to topple over. No matter how strong he is, balance is what it is; the center of gravity is shifted backwards, and there's nothing you can do about it. There's something wrong with the physics here...
- Are you going to carry it like that? - I asked this lawbreaker. Of physics.
Brick looked back at his load.
- Well, yes, why? - he inquired.
- It's far - I noted. - And inconvenient. And if the bandits came again, it would be even more inconvenient to fight them off.
- ...It is a little, - agreed Brick, glancing behind his shoulders again. He looked at my buggy. - Can you give me a ride somewhere where I can drop all this stuff off?
- No - I shook my head in the negative, leaving aside the question of how he'd managed to load it all on himself. - But there's a better option. We can try to upload everything through the network right here. I won't even take a cut of the middleman's fee on these pennies.
- What's in it for you? - Brick asked, pointing his sausage finger in the direction of the holographic interface ECHO created for him.
I shrugged.
- I've seen what you can do. I prefer to be friends with promising people, if not friends, then at least maintain a positive balance of relations. I'll help you, and you'll help me in some way... I can give you a ride too, by the way. Those two cars are too fucked up to fix.
Yeah. Buggy design is very simple and reliable, in fact, it's a killer, but those two were unlucky. Especially since the bandits had been very careless with them before.

Most of the junk was quickly sold for pennies, without leaving the place; Brick, continuing to fit the role of the protagonist, not so much seeking to earn more, but did not want to leave the loot, which can be collected and sold. I understand him perfectly well, and I'd rather let things serve someone than be lost here. Looting on Pandora is not even a punishable offense. Especially since abandoned items are usually worth next to nothing, thanks to digitalization, they can be easily produced. The main value and the most traded commodity on the planet is, in fact, weapons.
And that's what the big guy quickly sell through the network was not.
By the way, there were fewer and fewer large sites engaged in arms trading on the network lately. Marcus fuckin' Kincaid's anti-competition work is very thorough. Definitely need to talk to him, but... it's worth preparing for. Moreover, small batches of weapons that fit in my ECHO, trading was still possible, at least if you have time to find buyers and pad the price. Especially with the help from AI ECHO.
By the way, the study of my "skill tree" showed that in the future it will be possible to buy the ability to modify weapons. I'm not sure if this will be a license or some kind of exploit, but I'll be able to refine the weapon - possibly replacing parts.
Just for the record, but it turns out that the weapons here are modular. And in theory you can build your dream weapon from the right parts (even parts from different manufacturers are surprisingly compatible), but in practice it all depends not only on licenses, but also on specialized equipment. It's a shame - I'm quite sure that all the necessary functionality is available in ECHO, but corporations need to sell their equipment and their weapons, so this functionality is blocked in ECHO. Buy specialized equipment and licenses - and they are not available for free sale, they are produced by corporations for their own production needs... It's a shame, yes. Capitalism as it is.
Anyway, in most cases you have to buy guns from the corps and then resell them to each other as is.
For better or worse, Pandora is full of already manufactured weapons of all types and quality levels. Surprisingly, even the Vladoff weapons are plentiful, and that's not my fault - I wouldn't have had time to sell that many. Where it came from, given the corporation's minimal presence on the planet, is one of Pandora's mysteries.

I gave Brick a ride to Yellowrock, where Moxie immediately took him in stride - I think she took one look at the big guy's potential, who was in need of money, so she bought up most of his weapons - all but a couple of the guns he kept - and sent him off on a mission. Not very far, judging by the fact that he went on foot.
I started looking for a job near the nearest archaeological site, so the trip wouldn't be in vain.
I found some.
Basically, the two most common jobs for a mercenary on Pandora are shooting skags and shooting bandits. Pest control, basically. The other two, more specific to me, are repair and construction. In this case, I got a combination of both in one, although with a share of novelty. The owner of an abandoned farm ordered its cleanup and repair of key infrastructure elements. He offered good money and a great gun - a modified Jacobs Deluxe Shotgun.
The novelty element was that this time the pests were of a new species. Varkids, the local insects.
Of course, since this was Pandora, they were the size of the average dog. I remembered Mordecai's lecture on Pandoran wildlife.
- Varkids... - The hunter grumbled. - More of an irritant than a threat, but it's suicidal to underestimate them. Normally they're weak and outnumbered, but they're common. The problem is that there are some unusual ones. Wounded varkids can mutate; getting bigger, faster, stronger. They can be a real problem, so if you see a cocoon, shoot it right away. At least in this state, they're very vulnerable. But when they hatch...
He wrinkled his nose again and stroked his left hand.
- ...It's best not to let that happen.

To take Claptrap with me or not? It was a difficult choice. On the one hand, he could help with the search on the spot. On the other hand, do I have to endure his nonsense for hours on the way?
...The choice is obvious.
Actually, there was no need to choose. There was one of the Hyperion's "Fast Travel Stations" near the archaeological site, so I could get there on my own, activate the exploit, and then bring Claptrap back. There's no way to bring a buggy back to Yellowrock that way, the FTS doesn't move large objects, but there are "rent-a-car"s for transporting cars - digitize it in one, build it in another, no problem. So after grabbing a bite to eat at Moxie's, I immediately set out on the case. Money is money, and it's better not to delay the Vladoff's assignment.

Pandora's landscapes are infinitely varied, while retaining something elusively common... man, it's almost poetic. Though poetic is probably the last thing one would associate with this planet. And yet, it really was.
So far, most of what I'd seen of Pandora was a kind of rocky steppe-semi-desert with sparse, crooked vegetation, with packs of skags and bandits roaming about, and for a moment I'd gotten the idea that the entire planet was something like that - though obviously it wasn't. As I progressed northwest, the terrain changed, and changed even faster than I would have guessed. There was more vegetation, less sand; the steppe was turning into... I'd say forest-steppe, but the vegetation didn't look much like trees, and there still wasn't enough of it. What's it look like if not trees? I don't know. It was a mixture of mushrooms, ferns, and corn, I guess. There were several names for this stuff among the Pandorians, so you can't even name it exactly.
There were, however, more specific vegetation - for example, the "fire melons" mentioned by Mordecai, even identified by ECHO as such. Although they are not really plants, they are closer to corals. Protruding from the ground were hard, stalagmite-like tubes of stems, on which gas bags filled with a mixture of some flammable gases and no less flammable oil vapors were blown up. A strong enough jolt and all this, bursting, throws out in all directions a wave of not napalm, but rather unpleasant fire mixture.
Pandora, man. Even the vegetation is frankly insane.
Not that everything on this planet is hostile or dangerous, though. I've seen flowers that look remotely like little sunflowers, I've seen small animals basking in the sun. I saw landscapes that made me stop and take a picture.
I may have been wrong about the poetic.

What I saw on the approach to the farm made me frown. The conical termite mounds of varkids were in abundance; far more than I had expected. This was going to be a challenge.
The first thing I did, obviously, was to find the FTS on the map and use the hack, after which I left the buggy in the wheelbarrow next door and headed for the abandoned farmhouse where I began to find a place to set up the turrets. I'd picked up a set of weapons over the course of my bandit sweeps, and the turrets' performance had improved as well - they even took shotgun rounds into account so they wouldn't hit me, though I still had to be careful with shotguns - and I had plenty of ammo, too, but still, judging by the number of "termite" mounds, there could be problems. Bandit guns were a budget item, and I'd had the unfortunate experience of a skag pack leader not noticing the bullets being put into its hide; I'd only managed to finish it off by fully discharging the shotgun into its open mouth. Despite Mordecai's stories, I had not yet had a chance to evaluate the effectiveness of my weapon against varkids, but I remembered his warning that if you hit one, the whole swarm would fly.
I chose a small hill a little away from the termite mounds - and the giant insects roaming around, which looked like grasshoppers with a stinger at the end of a relatively flexible abdomen and powerful jaws - and began to set up the turrets. One, two, three...
The rattle was not loud, but it still made me jerk sharply and without thinking I fired a short burst at the approaching insect. One of its wings flew off, a greenish liquid spurted out, and the bug crashed to the ground.
The wounds, however, didn't stop it from running very fast along the ground away.
And then came the reaction of the mass of insects roaming around the farm.
Fuck.
The bugs attacked, mostly silently. The rustle of paws on the ground, and the low chatter of the few that flew up - they mostly preferred to move on the ground. However, the total number of sound sources made them quite loud.
Even more so the sounds of gunshots.
For the first moment, it seemed like things weren't bad. The varkid shells weren't as tough as I had feared, and were penetrated by Jacobs' pistol bullets, their shotguns, and Vladoff's assault rifle. Maliwan's fire SG worked pretty well, too.
Unfortunately, there were just too many bugs. Zerg rush as it were...
I tossed a grenade at a particularly dense bunch of insects. Shit, I should have put the buggy next to me, its turret would come in handy now, and it would be easier to escape... Should I try to break through? But the fucking bugs have the hill surrounded, we need to clear a path first. If only we had more grenades... It'll be hard to escape anyway, the varkids run fast. Faster than they can fly.
A couple of pulsing red cocoons in the distance; they burst and spilled out in sludge and debris. The odor, surprisingly, was neither nasty nor strong - something spicy, though with a slight rotten note. Another grenade on those who got too close, reload the weapon. Knock down another cocoon, shoot the belly of the varkid clinging to the turret.
A blow from behind. I almost fell down, but I knocked the varkid caught in the armor plates on my shoulder with the butt of my gun. Shoot the...
...shit. In the second it took me to kill him, another bug got caught in my leg.
Chop with my shovel, machine gun in my other hand, clear the space next to me, moving to cover the turrets. Cover the turrets, switch to shotgun - more effective at swarms, up close. Jacobs' shotgun is powerful enough to kill, and if not kill, then at least kill a few bugs at a time; combined with the turrets' fire, a patch of free space is formed around the swarm... it's hot in both figurative and literal senses - the turrets stink of heat. If you use the rhythm of turret fire, you can reload in time... the last grenade is coming. If I had a singularity modifier...
A red cocoon that had reappeared in the distance burst before I could fire at it, and a varkid twice the size of the usual ones emerged from it and immediately took off. The buckshot hit it tangentially - and bounced off the shell with sparks.
At least the black spike it threw in response suffered the same fate, sliding across the armor plate on its shoulder and bouncing off to the side. But the problem remained.
I switched to the machine gun and fired a short burst, trying to hit the vulnerable belly; then another, and another, and another, until the cartridge block ran out.
My leg burned with pain, but I was still lucky: two bullets hit the belly. The insect, splattering juices, fell, but it still wasn't dead; more than that, it tried to run toward me. Another bullet between its jaws, however, put an end to it... but while I was dealing with it, the regular varkids come dangerously close. In fact, there were noticeably fewer of them left, the turrets were not wasting ammunition, but there were still too many.
Shovel, bullets, weapon butt blows - everything was used, including kicking the carcasses of their dead kin into the advancing beetles. It was hard to push the rustling wave back, freeing up some space, but still the doa...
My other leg burned with pain, and a drop of bubbling and sizzling slurry fell to the ground nearby. I stumbled and fell to my knee; somersaulted across the reclaimed space, letting another volley pass by, and found two more Badass Varkids in the air in front of me.
Fuck. As I took up the front line, I lost sight of the cocoons growing in the rear, with rapidly maturing and mutating individuals in them.
A drop of acid shot from the green-colored varkid's belly and shot into the turret, causing it to stutter and then fall silent. (Fuc*+1)^2...
I tried to cover both of them at once with the shotgun while they were near each other, but the successes were modest - sparks on the shells and seemingly damaged wings, at least one of them landed. And with a jerk from side to side it ran towards me.
Another volley of shotgun fire, and the ammo block ran out. And then, before I could reload, with another leap, the Badass Varkid was right next to me; the blade blocked its jaws, but the curved belly with the black stinging spike at the end hit me in the chest.
I tried to take a breath, and couldn't. The world went dark quickly, distorting; everything around me slowed strangely. Poison? And where had the ECHO augmented reality interface disappeared to...?
In the gloom around the varkids, turrets - everything froze.
Someone patted me on the shoulder.
I couldn't move my body or limbs, but my head moved; I turned around.
- I'VE GOT A LOT TO DO, SO HURRY UP, - said a skeleton in a black robe with blue lights in his eye sockets, pulling out an hourglass that hovered in the air from somewhere in his robes. - I'VE BEEN ASKED TO MAKE A SMALL CONCESSION TO YOU, SO I'M NOT TAKING YOU AWAY - YET. BUT ACCOUNTABILITY IS ACCOUNTABILITY - a bone finger tapped the form, one that followed the clock, the sand in which quickly poured from the upper flask to the lower one. - SO I NEED TO TAKE SOMEONE. ANY REPLACEMENT WILL DO, NO ONE CHECKS ANYWAY, BUT I STILL HAVE BILLIONS OF CLIENTS, SO LET'S DO IT ASAP, I WON'T WAIT LONG.
This time the finger tapped the clock.
- Should I kill someone? - I asked. ?Death? nodded, and I felt that I could move again. With some difficulty and sluggishness, but I could.
The varkids also began to move again, gradually accelerating, but I was faster. I reloaded my shotgun and fired a volley - the first one knocked the varkid which pierce through my chest, ripping the smooth stinger from its wound, the second tore its belly to shreds.
- IT WILL DO, - Death nodded, snapped his knuckles, and disappeared. The world was back to normal.
My chest was sore, but the first aid kit had already administered painkillers and a cocktail of other medications; I was able to keep fighting. Changing the weapon to an assault rifle... oh.
One of the remaining turrets avenged the death of its comrade almost without my help: a few lucky shots and the creature was on its last breath, all I had to do was finish it off.
"Level up!"
Just in time... I'm feeling stronger, and even my wounds seem to have healed. Doesn't all these murders count as sacrifices to the "Almighty Bastard", hmmm...?
Never mind. That's something to think about later, if I don't die now... again.

The "second breath" from the level up was enough to outlast the remaining varkids, of which there weren't so many anymore. I can't say it was easy, but I did it, and that's what counts.
I'd have to check and destroy the remaining "terminites" and think about what had happened - really, Death? Or just an act from the Almighty Bastard? - but first I'll retreat to a safe place, take a break, and tend to my wounds.
Yeah. That's a good idea.

 

[HelioBM]

Once I was sure there was no threat nearby, I was able to relax a bit and settle in for a rest surrounded by four turrets and a buggy. It's nice to have someone to watch your back.
...Yeah, that's a bad way of putting it.
Anyway, with that kind of cover and the ability to jump in and out of the car at any moment, I could feel safe enough to do some thinking over a cup of coffee.
What was that? No, I'm pretty sure it was AlBa's promised opportunity for survival in exchange for the drone, but still... Death, really? It's easier to believe it's a delusion from the side effects of the meds. Especially since it's kind of a sci-fi setting, not a fantasy setting, even though it may seem comically absurd from the outside. I guess. It's harder for me to judge from the inside.
Anyway, even leaving aside the weirdness and phantasmagoricalness, there were still practical questions. For example - how many more attempts do I have? What happens if I get my head chopped off, for example? How long will it be next time (hopefully there won't be a next time)? What happens if I shoot Death? Though the last one is still purely hypothetical.
...Really, I'm curious.

After a good twenty minutes of thinking, I came to an unambiguous conclusion - I have no idea about any of the questions. I even tried to send a letter with questions to the Almighty Bastard, as an answer to one of his letters, but received the message "This addressee does not exist. At this time." Well, it was worth a try.

The inspection of the farm and its surroundings showed that there were no living varkids around, but I couldn't rule out the possibility of eggs or larvae underground, so I was going to pump insecticide into the termite mounds; the client had given me a concentrate that still needed to be diluted. First, however, I emptied the farmer's armory: the insect sweep had depleted my ammunition supply considerably. The ammunition in the shed was not exactly plentiful, but it was decent, and in addition, I'd gotten my hands on Vladoff's three-barrel rotary machine gun. You'd expect a shotgun from a farmer....
I found a shotgun from Atlas, too, though. In a slightly chewed-up suitcase of women's underwear.
The damage from the varkids in the house wasn't much; I guess not finding anything to eat, the bugs ignored it. The fields and cattle pen were eaten clean, but that's not my problem. My problem is making the repairs I ordered.
There was nothing particularly difficult, at least compared to the insect cleanup. Restore the power supply, make sure the communications and water synthesizer work, fix the fence... Then get in touch with the client through his communication node and get a reward. What could possibly go wrong?

Pandora still reserves the ability to throw out the unexpected even when (and in things) you don't expect it. In this case, the surprise was the shotgun sent to me.
No, the customer was not deceiving me - the weapon was working, and very powerful; the ECHO evaluated it as "Unique weapon. Legendary quality." However... It damn sure couldn't even be called a "shotgun".
First of all, this gun absurdity did not fire shotgun buckshot. Instead, it fired three small circular saw blades, four centimeters in diameter. They penetrated the varkid's corpse through and through (the next one got stuck), so in terms of killing power I can't really make a judgment call, but the absurdity of this weapon gave me a slight headache. Okay the fact of circulars instead of buckshot. Okay the dubious fact that they were extremely prone to ricochets. But Pandora fucking Pandora, how is it possible for them to fly in a sine wave? It's just not possible!
...Pandora. A place where even weapons go mad. Well, or physics, and I'm not sure which is worse.

In the end, my common sense decided, if not to accept it, then at least not to resent it as long as the gun does its job. The main thing is not to forget about ricochets - I wouldn't want to get back my own gift. In the meantime, I'll check the archaeological site, and if it's clear, I'll bring Claptrap and we'll search it.

It wasn't clean. In the overexcavated soil of the archaeological site was found a bunch of scythids - either snails or insects with outgrowths on the sides, similar to small wings, and powerful jaws. There were quite a few of them, and some of them were capable of sudden and high jumps, followed by short planning, but they didn't pose a real threat - a couple of SG bullets or a good blow with a shovel was enough to finish them off, and unlike varkids they didn't attack together, only one or two at a time, occasionally three. So I just slowly took a few steps, noticed the scythids, jumped back to the turret, then, making sure that the vicinity is clear, moved the turret a dozen or two meters forward.
It would take all day, but it was safe and saved a lot of ammunition.
And it's slowly giving me "experience". True, considering how easily these things die, it should be a crumb, but still. One more level and I'll be able to close "Technical Competency." And after that... Well, there's a "skill" called "From You to Me, From Me to You" in the second tier of Construct skills, which is described as allowing me to... well, I'll be honest - steal ammo from the Vladoff' warehouses. Use the module built into the turret not only for its own supply, but also for my needs. Despite the fact that this skill had strong competition, but it remained extremely valuable, especially in situations like now, when ammo exhausted.
In any case, it was better to gain "experience" slowly, long and safely, than quickly but dying in the end. Or at least even just getting injured. Even with the regeneration I have, that's pretty unpleasant. And I'm not at all sure I could, say, grow a new leg. There's cyber prosthetics in this world, but whatever.

As I suspected, the second pest control session took all day. A Pandoran day, which is three times longer than a terrestrial day. In addition to the scythids, I also caught a small flock of skags, and then some rakks, the local "birds" that had nested on the roof of a couple of Dahl buildings.
I never gained a level.
One of the archaeologists' well-preserved huts provided a good opportunity not only to sleep, but even to eat: the pantry was filled with working memory modules containing food. An extremely lucky find; despite the meager ration, it was better than skag.
...Almost everything. The sudden memory of rach made me cringe. And then there are the protein briquettes from the field rations... What a load of crap I had to eat in the service of the Vladoff.
Hmm. Or did I? Did my character even existed before I arrived on Pandora? Another question I'm not even sure I want to know the answer to. These memories...
Rather than indulge in pointless unanswered questions, I headed to the FTS, to get Claptrap. Let him help me look if it's the only thing he can do.

- Uh, boss, aren't these the Eridian ruins? - The little robot asked apprehensively.
- Yup - I said. - Come on out, we'll look for valuables and artifacts.
- It's not a good place, - said Claptrap, still wary. - Strange things are happening in the Eridian ruins. They say the curses of the ancient Eridians await the plunderers of their... uh... trash, I suppose.
I raised an eyebrow. At first I wanted to be sarcastic, or even laugh, but... After meeting Death, it was worth making additional assumptions.
Still, I was 95 percent sure that Claptrap was behaving as usual. That is, exaggerating and making things absurd. The robot, meanwhile, continued.
- They say there are anomalies lurking in such places that can turn a robot into an art object! Monsters, killer viruses, and other horrors... Who knows what to expect from these eridians?
- Everyone does, I noted. - New technologies and profits.
- Well, that too - the robot agreed. - Hmm. It's getting a little less scary... I mean, I'm a brave robot, and I'm not afraid!
- In the face of potential money, - I chuckled.
- Well, money is money - wisely said Claptrap, glancing at the inscription on my armor.
I had nothing to object.

Of course, Claptrap didn't manage to intimidate me, but we started the search with the huts built by Dahl - in fact, as I had done at the previous archaeological site. The probability of finding something of value here is still higher, as the acquisition of food stock showed. Although the latter raises the question: why were they abandoned? Foodstuffs from other planets on Pandora are more valuable than basic resources and simple constructs, but they appeared to have been abandoned, though no signs of battle, or any other reason for hasty flight, were noticeable.
Somewhat odd.

That sense of strangeness was further reinforced when I discovered a safe with cash in it. Well, with leftover cash, but still. It was as if someone had hastily raked out most of the stacks of money (by the way, the existence of cash in this setting is also puzzling), but was in such a hurry that there was still plenty left. It was starting to worry me, but this was a very fortunate circumstance, so I chose to focus on the positive, and what was for sure. Money, money, everything to collect and digitize... For this purpose, by the way, ECHO has a special procedure and a separate storage.
Making sure that I didn't miss any banknotes, I once again studied the room, but there was nothing else interesting enough in this room. The next room, on the other hand...
"External memory module detected! Localize?"
Whoops. Again.

It took longer this time; my target was hidden between the roof and the stretch ceiling, inside a strange-looking doll made of rags and twigs. It looked like it was supposed to represent Slenderman... Anyway, I pulled the chip out of it and played the first entry.
- It's Patricia Tannis' diary. To whoever's reading this, shame on you. What if it's personal, or even obscene? Unprocessed hypotheses, for example.
I shook my head. I had the impression that the diary's author was paranoid.
...Although - can one be paranoid about something that actually came true? I'm actually reading this diary.
- But maybe that's a good thing. If you're reading this diary, we probably had to leave the station in a hurry, so I have a proposition for you. If you can leave the station alive, then.....
- Aah!
A high-pitched, almost childish, squeal was heard somewhere in the distance. It took me a few seconds to realize it was Claptrap, and I realized it on the run, shotgun in hand.
- Z-z-zombie! - The robot stuttered and staggered away from the open door of the building. - Boss, tell me honestly, tell me the bitter truth - am I doomed? Did it bite me?
I made a facepalm. Well, as much as the helmet would allow. I don't know what it is, but I'm 90% sure it's some kind of comedy again.
- Don't worry, I have a reliable cure for zombifying robots, - I informed him.
- Really? - The robot asked with hope in his voice.
- Yup, - I replied and cracked it with my shovel.
- Oh! It's really getting back to normal... - Claptrap said thoughtfully.

The sign on the door said that this was the office of a repair engineer, which, however, could be understood by the set of mechanisms in the room that were being assembled, disassembled or repaired.
And among them was a somewhat rusty, hole-in-the-hull mechanical model of a claptrap. Either a toy or just an engineer's hobby.
...As you might expect.

Explaining Claptrap's mistake was easier than I expected. After that - and, just in case, having shown him this "zombie" (oh well...), I sent Claptrap back in search of valuables. Taking my share of what he'd already found.
I myself, after considering my options, decided to finish reading at least the first entry in Patricia Tannis's diary first.
- If you can leave the station alive, you'll probably be able to find my archives, which I've hidden in four separate places. Do you want to ask why I did it? Don't be an idiot! This is invaluable research information that should always be at your fingertips! Of course, I hid it in hard to reach places!
Pause.
- Well, my storage strategy may not be perfect, but it's not for a layman to judge me. Who's the top expert here, you or me? That's right. Anyway, I need this data, but given the threat that forced us to leave this place and is definitely here to stay...
- Aah!
The new screech was no less shrill than the previous one. I sighed, paused the playback, and leisurely staggered toward the voice. I kept my weapon in my hand, though - the scythid I'd missed might get caught, and Tannis's journal was a little unsettling.

- A g-ghost! - Claptrap stammered. I sighed, walked silently into the building, and a few minutes later brought out a small holographic projector advertising "Hyperion's newest products," jammed on a projection of a claptrap.
- Oh. Wow... - Claptrap said thoughtfully. - Who would have thought...
Instead of words, this time I brought the robot back to work with a life-giving kick; the metal upholstery of the shoe allows it. He, by the way, does not even get damaged from such small applications of force - or rather, is capable of limited self-repair. In any case, that piece of wasted iron went back to schmoozing, and I went back to my journal .
- ...Given the threat that forced us to leave this place and is definitely here to stay, it would take someone less intelligent and more prone to violence than me to bring them back. Some kind of bandit or adventurer. So someone capable of getting in here and finding that diary. Yes, I'm talking about you. Anyway, attached to this entry are the coordinates of the points where I've hidden the archives and my ECHOnet contact; for each archive, you'll receive a portion of the reward - money, weapons, and even priceless information... yes, I'm very generous, but you don't have to admire me, just do the damn job. Oh, and beware...
- Aaah!
I couldn't resist a double facepalm. What did he find this time, a set of parts? Is he gonna yell "Murder"? Or...
- M-m-monster!
...Oh, or this. I shook my head dejectedly, and then...
The flash wasn't so bright against the daylight, but it was quite noticeable, albeit silent. And then I saw what had caused it: a sphere that looked like a toy ball of lightning slammed into the wall of the building ahead.
A projectile from an Eridian weapon.
...Time to save the annoying robot.

 

[sanza601121]

OK, this being an (detected as) translation from http://samlib.ru/d/dawydow_s_a/beloesolncepandory.shtml - first question: is author aware about this posting here?
And add, please, "Translation" tag...

 

[HelioBM]

OK, this being an (detected as) translation from http://samlib.ru/d/dawydow_s_a/beloesolncepandory.shtml - first question: is author aware about this posting here?

Click to shrink...

I am author.

And add, please, "Translation" tag...

Click to shrink...

Don't know how to do it.

 

[HelioBM]

Despite my serious intention to rescue Claptrap, there was no rush from me this time. Considering how many owners this robot had managed to change while staying on the move (and I highly doubt that no one tried to shoot it), it should be able to "survive".
Though, of course, my logic only applies if this world even existed before I appeared in it. There's no certainty that this is actually the case.
But either way, a "story character" shouldn't be able to die so easily.
...Hopefully.
That last thought made me add a step though. It would be a shame if I put too much trust in an assumption that turns out to be wrong. It's hard to tell what kind of restrictions and conventions are actually in place in this world.
- Boss, save me!
Well, at least he's still in one piece if he keeps yelling.
I peeked out from around the corner of the building for a split second and immediately ducked back down, catching a glimpse of a figure flying through the sky and a ball of lightning flashing in my direction and smashing into the wall. It was bad, really. Judging by the marks on the wall, these volleys are noticeably more powerful than the Eridian cannon I've been dealing with, plus the enemy is fast and flying. And don't forget that shields don't like electric attacks.
I thought about that last thought while rolling across the floor inside the building, where I had jumped through a broken window. The ball lightning that flew through the window left another scorch mark on the floor; I slid under the thick table in the center of the room and knocked it over, closing one of the windows.
- Boss, I'm kind of in danger here! - Claptrap kept yelling, which made me use my leveled-up robot-ignorance skill. And then my digitalization skills. The firstly sealed another window with a temporary patch, and the then began to create a turret behind another window, outside the building, selecting the active weapon as a SG. It's low damage, sure, but i still need something able to hit - whatever that flying thing is, it's fast.
- Boss, know this: you were the best of my Vladoff engineer bosses! But if I die through your fault, my undead electronic spirit will haunt you in your accounts!
Claptrap's continued rambling only confirmed that the actual threat to the robot, if any, was small.
A section of the table blackened and began to crumble; I digitally built the patch again. And then took up the next turret.
...And immediately bounced, interrupting the process, barely noticing a movement in the sky. Just in time - the shell of the Eridian weapon glittered again, crashing to the floor.
The already mounted turret rattled, and immediately caught a personal projectile. Fortunately, the theoretical vulnerability of technology to electrical discharges is so obvious that it was taken into account by designers long ago, and all "tender parts" are covered with dielectrics, so that in practice modern technology does not have such vulnerability.
Unfortunately, "does not have such vulnerability" does not mean "invulnerable". The salvos were powerful enough to do noticeable damage to my flimsy turret, overheating it and melting the metal; at the same time, it seemed to be misfiring. The enemy clearly outclasses me in quality; I'll try to take quantity over quality.
While the unknown flying thing was firing at the helpless (alone) turret, I climbed up on the beam next to the window overlooking the "visor" in front of the house and started the digital construction of the second turret again.
Barely made it in time. The turret was just about to materialize when it flashed in my direction again; I jumped off the beam, and another ball of lightning came within a couple of centimeters of my cheek. The turrets clattered at double the pace... oops. One went silent, and with a glance in its direction, I made sure it was out of action.
Claptrap's background noise continued his "aria" - does he ever shut up? - But I continued to ignore him. At this rate, this flying thing is going to take out my turrets as fast as I set them up, and my turrets aren't infinite. I need something... Oh.
This time I started digitally constructing not a turret, but a barrier covering the area in front of the window on the outside of the house. The electric ball flashed again, but this time the enemy was unable to interrupt the construction; this direction of fire was covered by a wall capable of withstanding a sufficient portion of hits.
And now... Turret, another turret, another turret, and even another turret. Deconstruct the remains of the first one, of course. And only after that, deconstruct the barrier.
The enemy seemed to expect it. A hit in the shoulder area blew away my shield, and I got a jolt of electric shock... if I survive, I'll add dielectrics and something fireproof to my armor. I need armor ceramics.
My arm stiffened and twitched painfully, but the auto-medikit started doing its job while I was still in motion. Four turrets equipped with two pistols, an assault rifle, and a Maliwan SG were doing their job, too.
I waited for the shield to reset and stabilize, and then, picking up the Dahl machine gun I'd recently trophied from an abandoned farm, I ventured out the window again.
This time I managed not only to notice the enemy, but also to fire a volley in his direction. More than that, I even hit it. Unfortunately, the result was that I got hit again, but this time I wasn't paralyzed; probably because of the drugs left in my blood.
Alas, there was one big, fat disadvantage in this mix of positives and negatives: I managed to notice that this flying thing, which looked like a stick man, had a shield. And with the flyer's maneuverability, it's extremely difficult to shoot down that shield, even with four turrets working together.
Something has to be done about it.
There are few options, however. I can't put turrets indefinitely; I don't have so much material, ammunition or guns. If I could somehow immobilize it.....
Shit. I see two options: either hole up in the building and hope this thing flies away on its own, or take the risk.
I've always been a normal, cautious person.

I've always been a normal, cautious person. So what the fuck am I doing?
I leapt out of the building, covering myself with a digitally constructed tower shield made from wood and pottery shards found in the building. To remember Mordecai's lessons, to pull myself together, to channel adrenaline into useful targets instead of shaking hands. Wait for a volley of flying crap, stop for a second, peek out from behind the shield....
I see the target, I don't see the obstacles.
I open fire.
To hit a fast-moving target with a sniper, you either have to be a real master or you have to be foolishly lucky.
Beginner's luck. Yes, beginner's luck, and I will insist on that wording.
My mediocre sniper shot couldn't knock out a third of the shield of the Eridian Guardian, as the ECHO labeled the thing. But it was enough to make the Guardian flying towards the bullet jerk backwards and twist slightly, which had two consequences at once:
First, his return shot went far into the milk.
Secondly, he caught the volleys of two turrets at once, one of which was equipped with an electric gun from Maliwan.
And thirdly, the shield of the "guardian" was nullified, and he began to fall, sparking with discharges.
...And then the three turrets went silent: out of ammo.
I assumed my idiocy quota was exceeded for many months to come. I was wrong.
- For the stroibat! - I shouted, and rushed at the falling enemy with a shield in one hand and a shovel in the other. The edge of the shield was charred from a particularly powerful hit, and began to crumble into ash, but in a second I was already close to the target; one more hit taken on the shield, and I with the fury of a berserker (stroibat-version) hack the slender limb of the "guardian" who had not had time to restore the shield with a shovel.
The thing proved to be fragile. The blade sliced off the cannon like a tree branch, and I started hitting the remaining limbs, then "neck"... If the "guardian" had any other weapons, he couldn't use them.
A few seconds later, I poked the immobile remains of the "guardian" with my shield; there was no reaction. The ECHO was no longer displaying the "health" bar either, and given that this device of mine seems to be a divine artifact, I suppose it can be trusted even with alien tech from aliens... although, technically, it's us humans who are the "aliens" here. Either way, this thing is definitely "dead".
...Hmm. I think I found my third Eridian artifact. Albeit somewhat damaged.

In fact, upon closer inspection, I concluded that it had been damaged before my time - at least one leg was definitely broken off, and the body was showing signs of damage.
Shit. If it hadn't been for that, I'm afraid I'd have had a harder time. Perhaps fatally harder.
I need a shield and a bigger weapon.

- And shame on you for not doing everything you could to save that poor, helpless robot!
The bigmouth, as it turned out, hadn't stopped his rant the whole time. However, upon seeing me, the unscrupulous electronic bastard immediately switched gears.
- Oh! Boss! You're okay! I'm so happy for you! I've been strategically positioned and preparing to support you in battle! Morally. Moral support is the most important thing!
...I think I have another purpose in this world. To find whoever made these robots and have a good talk with him.