Miro and Moch Dinas

Pain speared through the man’s head as he regained consciousness, rolling slowly onto his side. Waves of nausea threatened to make him sick when he opened his eyes as his vision shifted and spun. Limb by limb, he checked for other injuries, but only his head was wounded, with a slick, viscous substance dripping down from his ears.

A loud rumble pressed into his eardrums and the surface he rested on vibrated to match, like the grumble of a beast’s hungry belly. Other than a distant pounding sound, he heard no other movement.

Panic gripped him as he searched for his attacker, but he was alone. As he scanned the space, he felt like a pair of eyes watched him back, like the room itself was waiting for him to act.

He was in a metal container of sorts, but not a prison. The grey pipes lining the walls supported him to his feet. Inside the long room, a thick haziness clouded the air. He wondered if this was a side-effect of the head injury, but upon further analysis, he found the source of the cloud. The pipes he used to stand snaked along the walls, ceiling and floor to connect to giant canisters in the centre of the space. He counted sixteen of them, each taking eight paces end to end, and domed tall above his head. Something damaged or dislodged several of the pipes from their ports, leaving gaping holes in the canisters, where a silvery powder billowed up from the holes and puffed into thick sparkling clouds.

A wave of red rolled across his vision, pulsing.

“Alert: Dangerous levels of Pallandium detected. Follow evacuation procedures immediately.”

The loud voice continued its warning, with a flashing red light beaming from either side of the tube-like room.

The man pressed his gloved hands to his face, trying to avoid inhaling the powdery substance as much as he could while he staggered in one of two directions. At the end of the room a thick metal door was ajar, ‌broken. The man blinked the grit from his eyes, squinting at the sign.

THROUGH TO CARRIAGE 3

-COMMUNITION-

Harzillentan Industries Est. 2073

If he had been wearing anything other than the skin-tight bodysuit, he would likely have gotten caught shimming through the doorway. An unmistakable yellow HI logo of Harzillentan Industries decorated the chest of his uniform. He inspected the other side of the doorway for a sign of the area he had just come from.

THROUGH TO CARRIAGE 4

-STORAGE-

Harzillentan Industries Est. 2073

The head-splitting headache hit his eyes as he strained to recall why he was here. Harzillentan Industries was a mining company. He knew that much. The employees were ‌resilient and tenacious; few could do the work they did. He didn’t think he was a miner, but he couldn't even remember his own name... Maybe he was a miner, but he certainly didn’t know what he was supposed to do with the machinery before him in the communition carriage.

The man pulled his palm to the side of his head, fresh blood glistening on the surface of his glove when his hand came away. He was still bleeding. In an instant, ice shot through his veins, something so cold he grimaced in agony before a soft warmness which soothed his muscles replaced the freezing experience, relaxing his body and wiping away the stabbing spear in his head.

Finally some clarity and sharpness returned to his thinking, unencumbered by the experience of pain! A few moments passed before he resigned himself to the fact his memory wouldn’t return so easily.

Silvery powder floated through the crack in the broken doorway and the man jumped back quickly, feeling refreshed with newfound strength and dexterity. He at least knew he had to move fast to get away from the substance. He didn’t like the shiny glint to his bodysuit where the powder had settled between the fibres.

Large machines filled the carriage, leaving only a narrow walkway at the side. The rhythmic pounding was louder here, originating from the end of the carriage. This machinery needed an operator, so he hoped to find someone to help. He trekked onwards. The enormous boxes hosted a vast flatbed in the centre underneath a lid. Silver-coloured rocks sat on the beds, half crumbled. From what he could tell, these rocks were Pallandium which was ground down into a powder to be stored in carriage four.

After the third metal contraption, he stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the dark red pool of blood seeping out from behind the next block. The hair on the back of his neck raised and his heart thudded quickly behind his narrow chest. Another wave of nausea almost felled him to his knees, but his iron grip on the handrail pulled him forward toward the gruesome mess. Three people lay dead, crushed by a machine which had broken free of its anchors and tipped on its side… unless it was pushed.

The man ran through all the possibilities, wondering if there was someone on this mining train who was killing the employees, or if there was a problem with the train itself, if the equipment was just in poor condition. He backtracked to a small porthole-style window, barely able to see the rocky tunnels they flew through at a blinding speed. The train was still moving, but its contents were clearly damaged. The large unanchored hunk of metal jumped four feet into the air, revealing the fleshy mess beneath before slamming down on the bodies again. The man gritted his teeth and gripped the handrail hard, unable to tear his wide and sunken eyes away from the disaster.

Seconds may have passed, but it was more likely minutes that the man stood frozen in shock, unable to force himself forward. The blood-spattered piece of machinery rolled toward him, jumping again as it hurtled into the side of the carriage barely a metre from the man’s face. A cry escaped him as he stumbled backward from the killer piece of metal four times the size of him. It now blocked the only clear walkway through the carriage.

Feeling defeated, the man stared at the immovable contraption which seemed to move on its own. He felt no pull of the train up, down, left or right to explain the nature of the thing’s movements. Briefly he considered climbing over it, but with only a couple metres between the top of the piece and the ceiling, he foresaw his own death if the thing moved again.

Ten long minutes passed while the terrified man did his best to avoid looking at the bodies around the corner. Instead, he focused on the train. The equipment the train held was damaged, as if the train had an accident or collision to rip the pipes and machinery from their anchors, but the vessel continued on; he could see as much through the porthole.

Perhaps it had fallen into disrepair, he wondered. After over a hundred metres of carriage length, he’d only seen three people, and they were already dead. To maintain this amount of equipment, he expected more staff. If he couldn’t find anyone else on the train, the conductor was his only hope.

The blockage of the walkway slid to the left, smearing the bodies beneath it and slamming into the left side of the carriage, denting the wall. The man launched forward, racing ahead of the danger zone toward the far end of the carriage. He glanced through the gaps of the machinery searching for survivors but found only a couple more bodies with ranging causes of death; some were burned, some looked as if the person’s face had rotted with translucent skin. He didn’t want to stop. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Instead, he pushed onward as fast as he could.

Relief released the panic in his muscles as the door to the next carriage came into view. It gave him a last burst of energy to run ahead, but he was acutely aware of the strain in his bony arms, the weakness in his thin legs.

“Stop right there!” a voice shouted at him as his hand hovered over the door grip. “D-don’t you move!”

The man angled his head slowly to address the person with a weapon gripped in their bloody, shaking hand. Broken glass lay at their feet. An emergency box was broken open by the doorway.

“Why aren’t you dead? Everyone else is,” their voice shook, their eyes were wild. “You killed them. You did this. Where am I?”

“No,” the man said, eyeing the weapon with fresh blood at the end. “You’re the one holding a weapon. You hit me over the head, didn’t you?”

“It’s your fault!” the person shrieked, blood vessels popping in their eyes, blood dripping from their ears. “You killed them! You brought me here to kill me, too! You can’t kill me if I kill you first!”

“You are wearing a suit like me, we are the same -”

The crazed person launched at the man, wielding the weapon above their head, ready to slam it down and scramble his brains like they must have tried before. Before his reflexes urged him to dodge, something shot out from the HI logo of his suit, piercing the attacker through the chest. The assailant froze, absolute agony screaming from their bloodshot eyes before they crumbled to the floor. The wire which threaded through the dead’s torso retracted back into the man’s suit, tucking underneath the HI logo once more.

Yellow lettering on the back of the person’s suit read HENZIK TALIOR. A name.

The man reached his arm between his own shoulder blades, feeling for the embroidery. A name. At the nearest glass porthole, he looked over his shoulder, trying to illuminate the letting under the lights.

MIROSLAV PHERICK

Miroslav. His name was Miro.

“Mister Talior has expired in carriage three. Please follow body disposal protocols.”

As the announcer’s voice rang through the speakers of the carriage, a digital panel by the door flashed with messages. Miro approached, picking through the notifications.

Mister Talior has expired in carriage three. Please follow body disposal protocols.

Alert: Dangerous levels of Pallandium detected. Follow evacuation procedures immediately.

Mister Gensigh has expired in carriage three. Please follow body disposal protocols.

Mister Pablit has expired in carriage three. Please follow body disposal protocols.

Mister Erut has expired in carriage three. Please follow body disposal protocols.

Missus Chombre has expired in carriage three. Please follow body disposal protocols.

Mister Weap has expired in carriage three. Please follow body disposal protocols.

Alert: Tracks 03-49 and 177-242 are broken from carriage three.

Missus Erut has expired in carriage two. Please follow body disposal protocols.

Miss Arniul has expired in carriage two. Please follow body disposal protocols.

Alert: Malfunction of the hot water pressure. Cease operations to repair.

Alert: Tracks 34-42 are broken from carriage one.

Mission has been extended until storage is 100%. Management has been notified.

Reminder: deadline for mission end is today.

Storage is 83% to full

Certain dread filled Miro’s heart. This train was a deathtrap. A look down at the body by his feet was evidence enough, but the notifications struck fear into him. Maybe it was the reason he felt no grief… at least, that’s what he tried to convince himself. If Miro was honest, there was room for grief at the passing of Henzik, but he didn’t remember who the person was, or if he was supposed to care. What bothered him most was wondering if he was to blame. He did nothing to activate the wire from shooting out from his suit. It just… happened.

THROUGH TO CARRIAGE 2

-PURIFICATION-

Harzillentan Industries Est. 2073

The sign beckoned him to enter the next carriage, but he didn’t need the extra encouragement. A bone-chilling smash sound tore through the air like the train was about to split in half. Miro pushed the door open and dove into the next room without a second thought. A primal reactivity took over his body, urging him to survive. Live. Thrive. Don’t die.

At first, Miro was thankful to see this carriage was shorter than the others, but then he felt the suit’s weight double and an oppressive wetness smother his face like he was underwater. Instinctively, he took a breath in. It was a mistake. Miro’s lungs filled quickly, his mouth was coating in a sour mist, and his chest burned. He coughed and heaved, but the irritation and strain grew.

Stumbling past the opaque waterbeds, Miro tripped over a leg strewn over the walkway. The acidic air stuck to his eyes and pinched his nostrils. He forced his eyes open to the sting, ready to lunge forward, but a bright lemon colour caught his attention. A yellow balaclava covered the head of the person. With no regard for the person, Miro ripped the material mask off the head and pulled it over his own. A moment more of choking passed before the air thinned, filtered by the material as he breathed. The burn in his lungs gradually subsided, but he continued to lie heaving on the floor of the carriage, listening to the water sloshing in the tanks next to his head.

“Alert: Mister Pherick’s suit has exhausted its endorphin supply. Please seek assistance from a VI device for a suit analysis.”

Miro’s ears pricked at the sound of his name. The man rolled onto his side with a groan, hands shaking as he climbed to his feet. The woman on the floor was clearly dead; burns covered her skin. Dipping his head was the best attempt at an apology Miro could muster. He knew it wasn’t enough. A smaller woman next to her was maskless, with her skin covered in a silver coating.

As he trekked the last fifty metres to the next door, Miro noticed the vigorous sloshing inside the tanks and waterbeds, but no machinery encouraged the water movement, and the train seemed steady in its tracks.

Miro tapped the digital screen by the next doorway. Reading the sign while he waited for the device to load.

THROUGH TO CARRIAGE 1

-FILTERING-

Harzillentan Industries Est. 2073

The screen flashed.

Alert: Mister Pherick’s suit has exhausted its endorphin supply. Please seek assistance from a VI device for a suit analysis.

Miro tapped to close the pop-up, looking back at the main menu.

Employee status

Mission status

Virtual Intelligence

Notification History

He tapped employee status, trying to ignore the repeated word ‘expired’ until he found his name. Miro’s profile opened.

MIROSLAV PHERICK

Senior Pilot of The Quaker VI

BODY

Heart rate: 82 beats per minute

Blood pressure: 180/120

Temperature: 37.2 degrees celsius

Radiation levels: 350 rads

HIAID SUIT

Endorphins available: Low

Potassium Iodide treatment available: Almost depleted

Serotonin available: Low

Artificial gravity: Active

Warning: Extended use of Potassium Iodide treatment can include side effects such as iodism, skin rashes, gland swelling, and memory loss.

Theories raced through Miro’s mind at the speed of light as he pieced together his predicament. He was highly irradiated, with very little of the treatment left for his suit to deploy. It was likely he had already taken too much of the medicine, with memory loss listed as a side effect. It noted he was the pilot, but he couldn’t recall!

Miro’s shaking finger poked at the mission status menu.

Mission: Mine 16 million tonnes of Pallandium from Moch Dinas by mission end

Status: Delayed

Storage: Unknown

Vessel condition: Low

Miro ground his teeth, frustrated by his inability to understand the stats. He searched for a communications button, but found nothing. He tried to find the train’s current location, but again found nothing. From a nearby porthole window, the man peered into the rocky darkness flitting by.

As pilot, he had to make it to the front of the train. If not to slow its speed, then to call for help, or identify where he was. With a new sense of direction, Miro pushed through to carriage one, jogging past the trough and conveyors through to a short spiral staircase where a sign read:

THROUGH TO PILOTS CAB

-RESTRICTED ACCESS-

Harzillentan Industries Est. 2073

A small panel on the door flashed brightly with Miro’s name as he approached and the door slid open to welcome him through. Disappointment bloomed. There was no co-pilot. Miro’s eyes darted across the panels, concerned by the flashing lights. A three-dimensional map graphic twisted and spun as the train changed trajectory rapidly on its own, skimming the edge of the map. The map seemed patchy, as if pieces were missing. Miro frowned at the map and studied the view through the front windows, facing a rocky wall eaten away by metal pincers jutting out from the train which swallowed the rock as they rocketed forward. Like an apple infested with a worm, the train riddled the rock with holes and caverns which could rival the greatest gorges on Earth.

The pilot seat felt familiar and Miro sank into the cushioning, flicking the vessel out of autopilot as he took the controls. A large cavern loomed ahead, a giant hole in the map. Miro swore, pulling the train as hard as he could to one side to avoid the disaster. The vessel dodged it only by a mere kilometre, shooting up and around the danger in Miro’s capable hands.

Miro hit the emergency button. After three long dial sounds, a voice sounded.

“The Quaker VI, your emergency is acknowledged.”

“This is Senior Pilot Miroslav Pherick. Vessel is in poor condition and has sustained heavy damage, the crew has expired. The train was left on autopilot and has consumed too much terrain for us to return to the station. Repeat, I can’t see a safe path to the station.”

“Mister Pherick, our records show autopilot has been active for two hours. Why did you leave your post?”

“I -” Miro hesitated, desperately trying to remember why he left the pilot cab. “Something went wrong. Everything started breaking.”

“Mister Pherick, why did you leave your post?”

Miro frantically pulled the vessel down to circle beneath another cavern.

“I can’t remember. The engineers forgot how to fix something, or they weren’t responding. I don’t know!”

“Mister Pherick, your mission was extended beyond the safe scope as requested by your crew. You knew the risks.”

“What risks?!” Miro shouted, struggling to keep pace with the lack of solid surface approaching.

Before he could receive a response, the train burst through the rock into open space, the empty expanse. Miro could only gape in hopeless horror at the barren promise of death. The end of the train exited the rock roughly, propelling ahead of the pilots cab, the carriages curling like a snake about to eat its own tail. The vessel rotated and turned enough for Miro to see the asteroid crumbling to pieces before him. Moch Dinas was a hollowed-out shell of what it once was, with a small broken space station floating away on a desolate piece of rock, becoming a speck among the stars.