The Colonist

The Colonist
Chris Wichtendahl
Copyright ©2020 Chris Wichtendahl
All Rights Reserved


Chapter 1
Rec Valentine sat in the descent shuttle, secured by threadbare straps long past their useful life. Replacement parts for colonial vessels were hard to come by, so some enterprising mechanic had used breach tape to hold the fraying straps together.
The battered old craft bucked and lurched as it made its way down from the long range transport and a clicking whine could be heard from the engines, causing Rec to wonder exactly how much of this ship was held together with breach tape. The ship landed on the docking platform with a jolt and almost immediately a buzzing alarm sounded. The voice of the AI piloting system crackled over the internal comms.
“Custodian Valentine.”
“Yes?”
“The transit tube has failed to deploy from the station. You must exit the descent shuttle on foot.”
“On foot?” Rec looked out the grimy viewport. Methane storms buffeted the platform and the ancient ship that stood upon it.
A panel shuddered open, revealing an environment suit that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since before the war, and Rec unstrapped himself from the seat with a weary sigh. He had spent his life in the colonies, venturing inside the borders of the Systems only a handful of times. In spite of this, he never failed to be surprised by how dilapidated colonial equipment always was.
He checked himself as he pulled the suit down from its hook. It was the Stellar Imperium now, no longer the Union of Interdependent Systems, not since the end of the war. He donned the suit, the smell wafting up from inside it a pungent introduction to the astounding variety of sentient beings who had worn it over the years.
He sealed the helmet in place and the smell got worse. The flow of stale air that was a bit higher in nitrogen than Rec usually liked was doing little to improve the matter. A headache began behind Rec’s eyes that he knew would only worsen if he didn’t get out of this suit and into proper atmosphere as soon as possible. He offered a silent prayer to whatever gods were listening that the colonial habitat was actually capable of producing proper atmosphere.
The shuttle’s hatch opened without incident, which Rec considered a minor miracle, and he grabbed the backpack containing every last thing he owned before hurrying down the ramp. It was a short jog to the main airlock, though Rec struggled a bit in the high winds of the storm. He cycled the airlock -- he had to run the commands twice, as the first time one of the keys on the pad stuck, causing a duplicate entry -- and entered the habitat.
He keyed the habitat’s activation sequence, which sent a signal to the descent shuttle. The shuttle pinged the orbital transport to begin unloading procedures. Soon the transport would drop equipment and supplies for Rec to unload and install in advance of the extraction teams that should be en route. Most mining operations lasted centuries before a planet or moon was exhausted of its resources, so the extraction colonies had to support generations of miners and related personnel. Once Rec had prepared the colony for habitation, usually a month-long process, the shuttle would return him to the transport, which would ferry him to his next assignment.
He glanced at the environmental readouts and saw that the habitat’s atmosphere was nominal, so he unsealed the helmet and took a deep breath of air before shucking off the disgusting suit as quickly as possible.
“This habitat facility is for the exclusive use of authorized Colonial Services personnel,” a calm and melodious voice said. “Please state name, position, and access code.”
“Rec Valentine. Custodian. RV-283X42.”
“Voice print and access code recognized,” the voice said. “Welcome to Resource Colony XJ-897-Z, Custodian Valentine. Please state preferred mode of address.”
“Familiar,” Rec said.
“Great!” The voice took on a warmer and friendlier tone. “How was the flight, Rec?”
“Tolerable,” Rec said. “You have a name I can call you?”
“My official designation is Theta-Omicron.Pi,” the voice said. “As you have chosen familiar address, you may call me Theta.”
“Nice to meet you, Theta.”
“Likewise, Rec.”
“Are the food processors working?” The answer to that question had been ‘no’ often enough that Rec always kept a week’s worth of rations in his pack.
Fortunately, Theta reported a qualified affirmative. “Protein sequencers are online. The nutrient paste dispensers are malfunctioning and only capable of producing carbohydrate slurry. Vitamin supplements are recommended until full nutrient production is restored.”
“What about the caffeine infusers?”
“Online.”
Rec nodded. “Good enough, then.” He made his way out of the airlock and into the entry foyer, which had its own hatch that could be sealed in the event of an airlock breach. He sat down at a desk in the main control room and rubbed his temples. “I’ll take a flask of liquid protein infused with caffeine, a vitamin capsule, and an analgesic tablet while I wait for the activation cycle to complete, please and thank you.”
“You got it, Rec,” Theta said. “Protein flavor?”
“What are my choices?”
“Chocolate, vanilla, mixed berry, and banana. An assortment of vegetable flavors are available, as well.”
“Blergh,” Rec shuddered. “Not until I have to. Let’s try mixed berry this time, Theta.”
“Will do.”
Within moments, a flask of viscous fluid and a small pill canister were delivered to Rec’s workstation via pneumatic tube. He opened the drinking spout on the flask and took a sip. It offered a vague mixture of tart and sweet flavors.
“How is it?” Theta asked.
“I’ve had worse,” Rec said, swallowing capsule and tablet with another sip. “Let’s take a look at the progress of activation.”
An array of screens and displays lit up, showing a series of graphs and charts, along with strings of alpha-numeric codes.
“Hm,” Rec studied the readouts. “We have malfunctions in three out of seven habitat pods and half our mining rigs,” he said. “That’s not good.”
“Sure isn’t.”
“Can you initiate repairs?”
“Repair bots are currently inoperable.”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“Diagnostic functions are offline,” Theta said. “You’ll have to