"That's it, I've had enough," Jeanne pounded her fist on the project-screen, dispersing the holographic windows. "Put me on speakerphone."

  Ron complied, and Jeanne announced, "Step away from the capsule, assholes!"

  "Well, well, looks like our aliens are still kicking," the horned bandit sneered.

  "Ma'am," the bearded one addressed the camera, "we shot you down, now you're our prey. Don't make this any harder than it has to be. You don't understand the conditions you're in... Locus isn't what it used to be. Believe me, we don't like what we're doing."

  The third bandit continued to wield the torch, widening the slit in the airlock.

  "In about twenty minutes, he'll cut it open," Ron said, his voice tight with tension. "That's a powerful torch..."

  "In twenty minutes, he won't have hands to cut anything!" Jeanne declared, her eyes flashing with determination. "Show me the blueprint of our capsule."

  Ron displayed a three-dimensional model on the project-screen. Jeanne jabbed her finger into the image. "Right here. It's possible to get out through these corridors, isn't it?"

  "These are the drone launch shafts," Ron explained. "They're blocked by airlocks, but I can open them."

  Jeanne stepped to the center of the room and looked up at the ceiling. With a swift motion, she knocked out a panel with her fist and pulled herself up into the square manhole.

  "Communications check," Ron heard her voice in his helmet. "While I'm crawling, you think about how we can save Trevor and Meirong."

  "We can't!" Ron answered immediately, frustration evident in his voice. "Unless we hook up the orgmat tanks to the AKOS, they'll remain inactive."

  "I don't know anything, boy. Think of something. You're an engineer," Jeanne snapped. "But it's your responsibility to get them out of the buffer."

  "But why? What's the point of moving them from one storage to another?"

  "If we have to leave the capsule behind, I don't want the consciousnesses of our comrades to fall to those rogue bandits."

  Ron listened confusedly to Jeanne. "There is no logic in your order... Wait, are you all right? Didn't you go crazy after incarnation?"

  "If you're so fond of rules, then remember that in combat situations, all command passes to the member of the group who has the proper training."

  "But your order is dumb!"

  "Nevertheless, you will do as I ordered."

  "But don't you understand?" Ron pleaded, his voice rising in pitch. "A binary array of human consciousness is not the sort of thing you can save to a memory card and carry around in your pocket!"

  "Anyway, I'm not interested. Do it."

  "Fool!" Ron couldn't stand it anymore. "Even if I do find a storage unit of the right size, you need a constant power source to store the binary."

  "As I mentioned, my boy, I don't care about the technical details. Just do it."

  "But understand this..."

  "You call me fool again, I'll fuck you with a rifle barrel. You wanted sex, didn't you?"

  "We're about to get fucked by these thugs," Ron muttered, his face flushing with anger and embarrassment. "Take your turn."

  He called up the schematic of the onboard computer on the project-screen. He highlighted the data storage block on it and began to think. He glimpsed at the picture from the external camera. The bandit with the torch continued to work, while the bearded bandit and the horned bandit wandered along the capsule, kicking its walls and discussing something in low voices.

  "In theory... actually, we could disconnect the storage unit from the mainframe," Ron mused aloud. "But what about the power supply? That's the real question..."

  "I told you, I'm not interested in the details."

  "I'm not talking to you!" Ron waved her off, exasperated. "Crawl back to where you were crawling. I'm thinking out loud."

  "I'm in position, by the way. Open the airlocks."

  Ron touched the right icons, his fingers moving swiftly across the panel.

  "Even the most powerful portable power source won't be enough to connect them," Ron continued, his mind racing. "Even if you combine them into one big battery, it will last a hundred or two hours at most. So we need a power source that can replenish itself. Or something like a fuel generator... Like..."

  Ron crossed the capsule room and stood in front of a large container with buildbots painted on it, a glimmer of an idea forming in his mind.

  The container was the bulkiest cargo in the capsule, occupying almost half of the total usable space. Magnetic bolts secured the container's front lid, which could only be unscrewed with a magnetic-force wrench tuned to the appropriate frequency.

  Ron returned to the UniCom storage cabinet. He rolled out a toolbox, chose the right tool, and took it in his hand. The clamps tightened around his wrist, and Ron felt a prick.

  A new device was connected:

  — Shilling —

  A magnetic-force wrench.

  Manufacturer: China Binary.

  UniCom Connect: 1 connector (arm).

  Warning, this device has multiple modes of operation. Your level of the Data Processing attribute allows you to choose one. Increasing this attribute increases the number of simultaneously active modes.

  Did you know that background mode is active regardless of the selected wrench mode?

  Attention, background mode works only when the device is connected.

  Ron selected a mode:

  Engineering Precision.

  +1 to Touch.

  -1 to Vitality.

  Orgmat consumption: 3.3 units per second of use.

  Orgmat consumption is dangerously high for now, but the longer you work, the faster the synthesan's body adapts to perform the necessary actions. The body's attributes increase, reducing orgmat consumption.

  At first you have to be careful and watch the amount of orgmat. Of course, it's unlikely that Ron would get so carried away that he would twist the bolts until he was exhausted.

  Ron unscrewed the magnetic bolts on the container—the necessary wrench frequency already built into his interface.

  A message flashed in the corner of his vision:

  6 seconds of wrench Shilling.

  Spent: 19.8 Orgmat.

  Orgmat: 5,985/6,000.

  Each use of the device or active operation of the phenoms cost time and orgmat. When orgmat ran out, the synthesan didn't die but simply couldn't use phenomenal abilities or tools requiring UniCom connection. An "empty" fighter could shoot, but their accuracy and range were no match for a fighter using phenomenal abilities. An empty engineer, conversely, could no longer operate the buildbots.

  Ron didn't remove the magnetic-force wrench after finishing. The familiar tool provided a sense of reassurance, as it could be used for close combat if necessary.

  "Not as effective as a gun," Ron grinned, "But in skillful hands, a dildo is a weapon."

  "What are you babbling about?" Jeanne asked immediately.

  "Saving your lover Trevor," Ron replied. "I think I've found a way, but I need more time than there is strength left in the airlock flaps."

  "I'm working on it," Jeanne responded.

  One of the cameras at the top of the capsule showed a helmeted head emerging from a square drone hatch. Jeanne climbed out and, clinging to the surface, crawled carefully to the edge. The camera didn't lose sight of her.

  Ron threw back the lid of the container. Inside sat a squad of five construction robots, equipped with various manipulators needed for building structures, from plasma cutters to atomic welding or polyester steel atomizers.

  The buildbots moved on an ionic cushion, allowing them to overcome any terrain. They were also equipped with ionic jumpers, which consumed significant battery power but allowed quick ascents to necessary heights while dragging building materials.

  Four units were actual builders and laborers. The fifth unit of the link had only two manipulators and silicone caterpillars instead of jumpers. This unit, however, was crucial—a small neutron-free fusion reactor without which the entire link, and indeed the colony, would be doomed.

  According to the Explora project strategists, the deuterium reserves in the buildbot, plus the remaining fuel in the capsule's engines, should provide thirty thousand hours of energy for the four colonists.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Ron activated the Builder phenom and examined the row of buildbots:

  — 005 —

  Building robot

  Manufacturer: ?????

  Status: online.

  Class: mobile power generator.

  Reactor type: BTS-12.

  Reactor efficiency: 99.4%.

  Deuterium reserves: 999.2/1,000.

  Ron confirmed the connection, feeling a prick in his neck as the buildbot reactor came under his control. He placed a mark in the interface at the center of the room. Buildbot 005 flashed its indicators and rolled out of the container, freezing at the designated spot.

  "Well, colleague, now let's put you back to sleep," Ron said, ordering the buildbot to shut down completely rather than enter hibernation mode.

  The buildbot protested with a red warning:

  Shutting down unit 005 will cause the reactor to shut down. Restarting the reactor will reduce deuterium reserves.

  Continue?

  "Sorry, colleague, but yes," Ron replied.

  005 retracted its manipulators into the hull and powered down. Ron stepped in from the side and unscrewed the bolts with his magnetic-force wrench, removing the entire left side of the buildbot's casing.

  At that moment, the hissing of the plasma torch outside the door stopped. Ron turned his attention to the camera image, ready for whatever challenge awaited him next.

  Jeanne relished her favorite activity: shooting and killing.

  The torch-wielding bandit lay dead, his plasma torch scorching a ditch in the ground before stalling. The indicator on his UniCom blinked rapidly, showing an emergency binary array transfer to the server in progress, then went dark.

  The bearded sniper had managed to take cover behind an earthen berm, while the horned one made long jumps, aiming to escape the firing sector and hide behind the armored vehicles.

  "What a nimble fellow you are," Jeanne muttered.

  "One thing's good," Ron told her. "When you knocked out the one with the torch, there was a binary transfer. So everything's all right on Locus if BATS is working."

  "What's joyful about that?" Jeanne retorted. "The asshole's about to be reborn somewhere. We won't have that luxury."

  "That's right," Ron sighed. "We should register on the Locus server as soon as possible."

  "First, save your comrades. Then we'll register," Jeanne commanded.

  Each shot of her rifle sent a group of plasma discharges toward the enemy. Some dissipated in flight; others, subject to the planet's unpredictable magnetic or gravitational features, scattered. This firing mode sacrificed accuracy and wasted ammunition but increased the chances of penetrating the unknown UniComs' defenses.

  Finally, one group of charges hit the horned man's leg, turning it into a shaggy mess of orgmat and UniCom remnants. He rolled on the ground—it was a matter of seconds to finish him off. But then Jeanne got her answer—the bearded man's sniper shot struck her shoulder. Her weapon disconnected from the UniCom's palm connectors, and Jeanne herself was thrown to the center of the capsule's roof, disappearing from the camera's view.

  The horned man seized his opportunity, standing on his healthy leg and waddling toward the armored vehicles, using his assault rifle as a crutch.

  Ron ran to the project-screen as if it might help Jeanne. "Are you alive? Are you all right?"

  "Don't distract me, boy. Get back to work."

  The camera turned slowly, searching for Jeanne. Finally, it found her. The sixty-three-year-old woman crawled toward the edge of the capsule again, using one hand while the other dragged listlessly behind her.

  Without raising her head, Jeanne removed a grenade from her belt and threw it toward the sniper. Then a second, a third. She hurled the last three in the direction of the trucks.

  The earth ditch shielding the sniper vanished, replaced by a small crater inside a larger one. But the synthesan's body was far stronger and more resilient than a human's. Even the grenade explosions couldn't tear the bearded man to pieces. However, the blinking indicators on the remnants of the UniCom showed that he, too, had gone to rebirth.

  "Jeanne, you're the best!" Ron couldn't resist praising her.

  "And you doubted me?"

  The grenades did no damage to the armored cars but forced the horned bandit to take shelter inside. A machine gun barrel on the armored car's turret slid into view but didn't fire.

  "He's afraid of damaging his prey," Ron deduced. "I bet their boss, this Ramirez character, wouldn't like that very much."

  Jeanne crawled away from the edge of the capsule to retrieve her rifle. Her wounded arm was beginning to move and heal, but it would take at least a couple of hours before it fully recovered—and that was assuming Jeanne had upgraded her Resilience.

  Glancing at the project-screen, Ron resumed his work. He removed the data storage unit from the buildbot, then approached the panel concealing the capsule's onboard computer. He loosened the bolts, overriding the alarming interface messages about the danger of interfering with the QCP (Quantum Computation Platform) when not all binary arrays had completed the embodiment procedure.

  "I know, I know, colleague," Ron muttered. "But our unfriendly locusians left us no choice."

  With these words, he connected the battery from the buildbot to the QCP data storage unit. He pulled up a black command line window on the project-screen and entered the command:

  shutdown -a

  This instantly initiated the QCP shutdown process, bypassing all warning signs and program termination protocols. The project-screen went dark, and the lights on the capsule's ceiling followed suit.

  "I hope I did everything right," Ron addressed the buildbots. "Actually, colleagues, Meirong should be the one digging into the insides of quantum platforms or buildbots."

  He extracted the data storage unit from the QCP case and inserted it into the buildbot case. The block was slightly larger, requiring some effort to push it in deeper. Even then, part of the block protruded, preventing the casing from closing completely.

  "Okay, you can live like this for now, parts hanging out," Ron said.

  He inserted the data storage unit from the buildbot into the QCP and restarted the system. As the project-screen loaded, several failure warnings popped up, and the computer rebooted again.

  "I broke something after all," Ron smirked. "Now we're left without camera or drone data."

  Ron fumbled for the power button on the bottom of the buildbot. The machine came to life, its LEDs flashing in a friendly manner. Ron froze in anticipation—if there was a download failure now, Trevor and Meirong's binary arrays might be gone forever.

  "I wonder if this could be called negligent homicide," he mused.

  "Well, colleague, come on!"

  The robot extended its arm, making circular motions, and Ron's interface prompted a request to reconnect unit 005.

  — ! —

  Attention, a non-standard data storage unit has been detected on unit 005.

  Scan the block to automatically start new instructions?

  "Uh, colleague, I have no idea what that means. We'll postpone that decision for now."

  — ! —

  Unit 005's reactor has been forced to shut down.

  Restart the reactor?

  "Of course!" Ron rejoiced. "I'm sure of it."

  The reactor startup procedure has begun.

  Till completion: 1/1,000.

  A rustling and banging sound came from under the ceiling. Jeanne jumped out of the hatch. "Did you do what I asked?"

  "Yes," Ron pointed at the buildbot. "Our comrades are in there now."

  "Well done. And you said it was impossible. You just lacked motivation, didn't you?"

  "Maybe," Ron laughed harshly.

  But in reality, he didn't feel like laughing. The insistence with which Jeanne had forced him to fulfill a questionable order was frightening and made him doubt her sanity.

  Jeanne walked over to the equipment locker. Grimacing, she pried the mangled UniCom from her left arm. A black hole gaped in the shoulder area, its edges melted. Deep inside, white muscle tissue was visible, along with part of the synthesan skeleton—habitually referred to as a "skeleton," although its structure differed from that of a human.

  Ron averted his gaze from her injured arm, reminded of how autopsies of synthesan bodies revealed their inherently unhuman nature. The only thing human about them was their consciousness.

  Jeanne walked around the capsule, searching for the right container. "Hey, engineer, need your help. How do you unscrew these bolts?"

  Ron activated the magnetic-force wrench, its field humming as he applied it to the bolts. From the opened container, Jeanne pulled out a box of fixing spray. She took out one can and held it out to Ron. "Help."

  Trying not to stare at the disgusting mess of inanimate fibers and muscle tissue, from which drips of red orgmat oozed, Ron treated the wounds with the spray. It didn't accelerate the regeneration of the orgmat, but it fixed the tissue to the damaged areas, preventing further tearing.

  A layer of clear jelly covered Jeanne's entire arm, quickly hardening into a film. She then took out new UniCom parts from her locker and connected them to her damaged arm.

  "What are we going to do next?" Ron asked.

  Jeanne's eyes hardened as she assessed their situation. "Now we need to create weapons. Lots of them. I'm sure other natives will be coming here soon. We need mines, turrets, bomb drones, grenade launchers, rocket launchers. You can build some robot warriors, too. Get to it."

  "But—"

  "Ron, it's kill or be killed out here. We need to defend ourselves. Or we'll have to abandon the capsule and flee, taking an armored aboriginal vehicle. But even for that, we need heavy weapons."

  "I can't believe we'll have to leave the pod," Ron shook his head. "We can't survive on Locus without its resources."

  "Exactly. That's why running away is a last resort. Start working."

  "But—"

  "What else? Are you lacking motivation again?"

  Ron's anger flared. "Do you even realize that it's impossible to create all these weapons on the fly? Not only am I not capable of it—that's Meirong's job—but we don't have the facilities. Do you really think you can build a combat robot just by popping up a few windows in the interface? No. First, we have to build an assembly hall. Then you assemble and install several subject-printers in the shop, creating a production chain. Then you have to find the raw materials, create the necessary materials..."

  "But can you build anything? Hell, at least craft a rocket launcher. I can't just fight with grenades."

  "Jeanne, realize that real production is not like crafting in a game. There are only two subject-printers in our capsule, designed to create other subject-printers. We can talk about normal production of 'some rocket launcher' only when there's a workshop of ten subject-printers. And even then, it's impossible without Meirong."

  "Why?" Jeanne flared up. "You're an engineer, aren't you? And she's an engineer."

  "I'm a colonial engineer, and she's a production cycle engineer. I build the infrastructure for her, and she produces items for all of us. Didn't you study all this?"

  "While you were studying the planning of colonial settlements, I was studying how to defend them," Jeanne snapped back. "And, as you can see, so far my knowledge is more useful than yours. In fact, think of me as an engineer in assassination technology."

  Jeanne restocked the grenades and scattered the boxes of energy cartridges in the UniCom slots. "Okay. Let's think about this." She tapped her foot on the floor. "Can you launch this pod so we can all get the hell out of here? If you say it's impossible again, I'll—"

  "The capsules have a short flight mode," Ron said hastily. "It's necessary for the colonists to be able to move closer to valuable resources for the construction of the base."

  Jeanne moved closer to Ron. "Now you're going to say, 'But we're prevented from this and that?'"

  "Yes. The onboard computer has gone into an endless reboot. So we'll have to operate the capsule manually. No maps, no navigation."

  "Whatever, we just want to get as far away from here as possible."

  "But Trevor was our scout. I don't know how to fly a capsule."

  "It's nothing," Jeanne said. "I can fly anything, even a kite."

  "But here's the other thing—"

  Jeanne sighed and made a movement with her rifle as if she were putting it into Ron. "I sometimes think you're making up your own problems for us."

  "The pod was hit, in case you've forgotten. One maneuvering engine was damaged."

  "Why do we need to maneuver? All we want to do is take off."

  "The pod won't take off if one of the engines is offline. I need to go outside and fix it. Besides, the Buildbot has to come with me. I can't get the materials I need on my own."

  Jeanne thought fast. "I'll go back to my original position. Wait for my orders and then go out through the airlock."

  "But the aborigine has heavy weapons on his armored car..."

  "And I have the highest military science score of any colonist training center graduate. Trust a professional, boy."

  While Ron selected and strapped the necessary tools to his belt, Jeanne climbed back onto the container and through the ceiling.

  "Eh," her muffled voice rumbled. "If I had an army of robots, combat drones, and trained fighters, I'd show Locus who's boss on the planet."

  "Maybe it's because of people like you that Locus has become a blighted place," Ron shouted.

  Jeanne's reply echoed through Ron's UniCom helmet: "It's because of people like me that you're still alive."