Taking a breath, I moved to the comm unit and activated the channel. "This is Pamela calling for the people who called for help, please respond!" Soon enough, the man and woman who had called for me returned to the room prostrating themselves.

  "Goddess, we implore you, the monsters have been killed by some great golem, what must we do to appease this creature?! Should we even attempt to destroy it?" My eyes widened at the realization that these people thought I was a goddess, but I panicked at the thought of the Defender being damaged.

  "Do not harm the Defender! It has always been exactly where it is, and there is one for each of the ten oldest settlements. Were the old settlements were destroyed somehow, then the defender should still exist within the ruins. The Defender has no life, it is only a vessel for myself or one of my compatriots to inhabit in order to aid you on the surface; without the Defender, I can not aid you directly. Your ancestors knew of this, how the knowledge was lost, I do not know. Perhaps the children were too young to be taught when the elder who knew passed away. There are many aids and defenses that should have kept those creatures far away, but if they are as covered from the sun as the defender was, then it would be unsurprising that they had failed. We shall need to find those defenses and aids, clean them, and teach you how to use them once more."

  "My Goddess, you controlled that golem?! We are blessed indeed!" More prostration, and I could tell I'd get nowhere with them currently.

  "I shall descend once more, at approximately midday tomorrow. The Defender needs time to regain its power from the sun. Keep the weeds clear from around the Defender moving forward; let no tree grow near it. The same care will be needed for any of the defenses or aids uncovered. I will be unable to speak through the Defender, so any message will be through this device. When I descend tomorrow, I will first ensure this device and its solar collector are properly clean; losing this device would prevent me from speaking with you at all. This is all I have to say today, be well until tomorrow."

  The prostrating woman beside the man spoke. "Thank you, My Goddess, we will ensure your messages are properly delivered." The man was about to continue the ridiculous conversation, but I was having none of it. I disconnected the signal, and let out an exhasperated sigh.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  I noticed an alert icon and looked at the message, only to groan in dismay. "Oh great, my Cryo-Pod is damaged. Computer, scan my Cryo-Pod, what are the chances I can repair it, or any of my compatriots who are still sleeping?"

  'Scanning, damage is extensive, coolant has damaged many key components. No spare parts exist, and the likelihood of repair by Technician Pamela is point zero zero one percent. The likelihood of Technician Johathan being able to repair the pod is point zero one percent. Further, the reanimation sequence will irreparably damage the Cryo-Pod in the same fashion. They are perfectly safe inside the Cryo-Pod, however, food stores are limited. Your own requirements will only allow food stores to last for a single year. It would be wise to arrange for debarkation prior to that point.'

  "Just perfect! Open a Communication Channel to the closest outpost. Maybe SOMEBODY can explain why I haven't been relieved yet. It would take AGES for a Cryo-Pod to decay to that level. How long was I in suspended animation anyway?"

  'No outposts in communication range. Your time in Cryostasis was approximately seven thousand sixty-four years and twenty-nine days, thirteen hours fifty-...'

  "Stop, that is sufficient! Seven millennia, that's insane! No outposts in range, there were eighty in range when we were sent here. There should have been, I don't know, seventy exchanges of personnel by now! What could have happened that all of those outposts are gone? ... Open the channel anyway, perhaps they have different comms now, and you can understand them, but they might still understand you."

  'Opening a wide range channel, using all frequencies known. Channel open, begin message when ready.'

  "This is System's Technician Pamela Ortega onboard Colony Surveillance Station Epsilon Omega to any outpost that can receive my message. We have not received any personnel exchanges in seven thousand years. The Cryo-Pods are beginning to fail, and the Colonist's Descendants have somehow forgotten all technology, and I'm being treated as a Goddess by the locals who "prayed" to the communication terminal. If anyone can respond to this message, I'd appreciate any assistance you can provide. Pamela Ortega out!"

  'Channel closed, awaiting reply.' Time went by, with no response, and I began to fear the worst. 'Signal incoming.'

  "Open the channel, read the message!"

  'Opening channel.' The screen crackled and fizzed with static, as a barely visible human figure tried vainly to appear on the screen.

  "Pa..m..a Or..ga, we r..v.d me.s.ge. L..t w.. no cha.e to as..t. On y..r ..n. S.rr.!"

  'Message ended.'

  "Damn it! Seems we lost a war, but with who?! Is there any point in leaving anyone in Cryo when it's time to leave? If I use up all the food, they won't have the time to fix anything if they wake up later. Analysis."

  'Analyzing,... it is irrelevant, the Cryo-Pods will not be able to reanimate the occupants after one and a half years. Further, even if they could be reanimated, there is only one descent vehicle, which can not return to the station without an occupant. It is recommended that all Cryo-Pods be emptied and occupants taken to the surface at the time of your departure. Chances of survival on Station are zero percent.'

  The computer's emotionless voice sealed all our fates. We had intended to descend to the surface once our relief arrived, but that should have been only a century after the Colony was initially set up, not seven thousand years.