Day 43.
"Have you tried 'Password1234'?" asked Mike.
"Fer the last time, ya eejit," said Clint, "It's not a password! The door will nae open. It needs repairs."
Clint stood in front of the crash freighter's hull with a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked over the cargo container with annoyance.
"So what does it need?" asked Thomas.
"Well, it appears it needs some wire and modular frames," said Clint, "And I believe we can use those to fix the door mechanism and keep the hull from collapsing when we open it."
"Can we do that?" asked Thomas.
"Simone and I can," said Mike, "But, boy, would that be quite a haul out here just fer whatever is in this ol' gal."
"Well we'll need to bring back those hides on these beasts," said Clint, "So I suppose this will be a whole thing."
"I don't find it that bad," said Simone, poking her head up from behind the wreckage, "Maybe I can carry all the parts."
"Nice of you to offer, but I think we should concentrate on one thing at a time," said Clint, "Let's start by gathering up all these components and see what we need to... Hey, where are the components?"
The group looked around. The wire and screws and other such components that had been scattered around appeared to be missing. Simone leapt down from the wreckage.
"Well, I picked them up," said Simone, "Put them in my pocket."
"Yeah, right," said Thomas, "But seriously."
"I am being literal," said Simone, "I put them in my pocket. Look."
With swift, quick draw speed she delved her arm up to her elbow and quick retracted it. The pocket hole seemed to expand massively to accommodate the removal of a large rotor. Flower pedals also exploded from the pocket, looking like colorful confetti as it fluttered to the ground around the rotor.
Clint, Thomas, and Mike all leaned in.
"Woah," said Mike.
"How?" asked Thomas, "How does it fit?"
"How long have you been aware of this?" asked Clint.
"Well..." Simone shrugged, "I don't know exactly. I knew generally of our personal pocket dimensions but I didn't realize how big it was until today. I've been keeping my flower pedals in here."
"Flower pedals?" asked Clint.
"Pocket... Dimension?" asked Thomas, "Wait... what?"
"It was in orientation!" said Simone.
Thomas slapped his helmet, "Of which I can't get two seconds to finish. Unbelievable. ADA, define 'Pocket Dimension' please."
"Ficsit Incorporated has provided Pioneers with a limited Pocket Dimension using the advanced technology found in Ficsit Incorporated's Pioneer Suit Technology. This dimension allows for the transport of materials, tools, and artifacts at a greater amount and weight than can normally be available for the standard human frame."
"Woah," said Thomas.
"So... what?" asked Mike, "So it's, like, bigger on the inside?"
"I suppose it is," said Clint, "So we can shove our pockets full of all this crap?"
"It's like the TARDIS!" exclaimed Mike.
"You... know about the Tardis?" questioned Thomas.
Mike shrugged, "I got TV back home. Lots of re-runs. I am familiar."
"You can fit so much," said Simone, standing in a pile of flower pedals as she continued to empty her pocket, "Look at all my flower pedals! So metal!"
"So... we can just put anything in there?" asked Thomas, "I mean... I could've known that weeks ago! I had to... heh... I had to carry so many things! We made so many trips to the drop pods for those supplies!"
"I could carry around Hari in my big ol' pocket!" said Mike.
"Ooo!" exclaimed Simone, the pile of flower pedals rising up to her waste level, "Like a kangaroo? DIbs on being the Kangaroo BABY!"
"If she gets into your pocket dimension... does her own pocket dimension get even smaller?" asked Thomas, "Or would the technology even allow that to happen? What are our suits powered on?"
"Enough! We're far enough behind as we are!" said Clint, "I am sick and tired of learning new things. Thomas, we are getting this drop pod opened and getting what's inside. After that, I need everyone to pull their own weight and that will start with finishing orientation!"
Thomas pumped his fist in a victory motion.
"Simone, get out of those pedals, we have work to do!" said Clint.
Simone had managed to empty so many flower pedals, her head was the tip of a pedal pile.
Her helmet sank into the pile, "They are mine. I need them for a thing..."
"Then keep them from my sight," said Clint, "I need the parts I requested. If anyone has them in your pockets, get them out now. Otherwise, Mike and Thomas hurry back to the HUB and get to work on the parts I requested. I'm uploading a shopping list to your HUDs."
"Yes sir," said Mike, "We'll hurry on back!"
"And shove a few piles of Biomass or biofuel into the burners," said Clint, "I don't want everything to be idle and waiting on power when we return!"
Day 44.
Clint's entire upper half of his body was deep in the guts of the freighter. Mike was bored out of his mind, but he stayed close by with the parts Clint had requested for the repairs.
Mike was eyeing one of the corpses of the fluffy-tailed hogs.
"Hey, Clint," Mike started, "You, uh, you ever wonder why we're here?"
"Do nae need to, Mr. Gunn," came the muffled voice of Clint from the freighter, "I have our mission statement and marching orders from Ficsit Inc themselves."
"But that's just the thing," said Mike, "Do you remember... signing up for this? I mean, I know why I signed aboard. I knew the risks. But... it's me. In a way, it was all a joke. I expected to be caught and fired or sent to some desolate asteroid where I'd never hear the voice of another human ever again."
"Asteroid mining? Do you mean the comet sitters?" said Clint, "Those are honorable positions, lad."
"My point still stands," said Mike, "I ended up here. Now, fer a normal plan this would be a win and a half. Even with no ladies around-"
"There's Simone."
"Eh..." said Mike, "Even with... some ladies around, I find it odd that my plan just so happens to land me with another male. Not just that, but several others. Let's take Tommy boy."
"Oh, that one," said Clint, "He's got too much of a head on his shoulders. I feel if this was an office environment, he'd think himself superior. In fact, he still might. However he gets one too many reminders daily that he's not meant for this line of work."
"Exactly," said Mike, "Even assuming Simone went through training and the like... she's got a few screws loose herself. So, why are we all here? If we assume we landed with everyone intact, how many more were males? What would there stories be?"
"Does it matter?" asked Clint, "I'm a wee bit busy under here for-"
A hiss and click sounded from the freighter. Mike took a step back, but nothing seemed to have changed. However, Clint gave a small cheer and pulled himself out.
"Let's give her a tug!" he said, his suit covered in dust and grime.
Climbing onto the freighter's body, Clint gave a solid tug of the handle, and the handle finally turned over. Mike helped him push aside the large door, and peered inside.
Inside were a few bags of concrete, some more damage iron plates, and a few usable steel beams. However, Clint's eyes were directed to an orange and black hard drive attached to the side. A small blinking light ensured it caught the attention of anyone peering in.
"Please collect the black-box hard drive," said ADA.
"Easy job well done," said Clint, leaning in and grabbing at the hard drive.
It look several tugs, but eventually the hard drive came free. Clint showed it to Mike. It was roughly the size of a small motor. Carefully, Clint opened up his pocket dimension and slipped it inside.
"Alright, let's grab what we can and leg it back to the HUB," said Clint, "Something tells me either this drive will need to go up in our own freighter or be analyzed after the alien hide is done."
"Clint," said Mike, his hand running over the side of the freighter, "What do you think did this?"
"Hmm?"
Looking over what was left of the hull, Clint's attention was pulled to scorch marks around the freighter. Mike ran over them with his fingers, and even looked to the parts of the hull where larger pieces had come apart.
"I don't know," said Clint, "Isn't that what the black-box hard drives are for? It was probably the crash."
"Looks like..." Mike paused a moment, "I mean, I could be wrong. But it looks like blaster fire. As in plasma projectiles."
"How do you mean?" asked Clint.
"Well, see here," said Mike, "This was all caused by the crash. And these bits and the ones around back are darkened from the fire, yeah? However, this bit here, and these bit here... they don't add up. It's burned... into the hull. And in cases like this-un over here, it actually dented in. It's as if something incredibly hot slammed into the side, here."
"Well, you think those hog beasties did it?"
"Do I think the hogs burned it afterwards? No," Mike tapped the freighter again, "I'm convinced it could've been the cause of the crash."
"And what do you suggest happened?" said Clint, "Aliens shot down a Ficsit freighter?"
"Look, I'm simply connecting string to some dots yall don't seem too worried by," said Mike, "By itself, sure. Could have many explanations. But A group with a high concentration of male Pioneers finds a crashed up Ficsit freighter? Whose freighter is this? Why did it get shot down? Who has the technology to do this? More importantly... where is the team who sent this freighter?"
Mike draped his arm over Clint, "Come on, now. You have to admit, it's a puzzle. Are we alone on this planet? Is there more Ficsit Pioneers out there? Is there aliens? Or did a hog do this? Or worse... some other critter out there capable of... shooting down a freighter?"
"Hmmm," said Clint, eyeing the wreckage, "Perhaps we should move up a few time tables. I'm feeling self defense may need to be a priority with this line of thinking. I'll make note of it, Mike. However, we best be getting back."
Mike and Clint walked away from the wreckage. Clint kept looking back over his shoulder.
"Mike, I need you to do me a wee favor," said Clint, "Perhaps keep this under the table for a short time. Hmm? If Simone or Thomas haven't reached this conclusion on their own, perhaps we don't point them into the direction of panic."
"Oh? You think we should?" asked Mike.
"I think I'm going to look further into it," said Clint, "Perhaps ADA has something useful. Perhaps the M.A.M. can tell us more? Either way, best not worry them."
Mike only nodded to this, and the two returned back to the HUB in silence.
The hammer came down, smashing the limestone further into dust. Another few whacks, and Thomas had pulverized the collection of rocks into cement dust.
Holding the bag steady, Thomas carefully brushed the dust in. The bag felt heavy, so he decided it was full enough and he folded it and sealed it.
Opening his pocket dimension, he put the bag carefully in. With a sigh, he decided to get the scoop and go after more limestone chunks. He opened a new concrete bag and went to grab his scoop.
"What do we need all this concrete for anyway?" asked Thomas under his breath.
"Concrete is used in a variety of structures and building materials," came the voice of ADA, "Also ideal for foundational structures to help construct a more permanent Ficsit factory at the work site and extend Ficsit planet side operations."
"Not at the rate we're going," said Thomas, "How am I supposed to build something like that?"
"Most Pioneers use Ficsit Inc's patented blueprints and Ficsit Inc's patented Build Gun."
"The resource scanner?" asked Thomas, his hand going to his hip.
"The resource scanner is a tool that is a part of the Build Gun," said ADA, "However the Build Gun uses the work site ADA to access blueprints to Ficsit approved structures, machines, and vehicles to facilitate rapid expansion of a worksite by minimal Pioneers or Pioneer."
Thomas retrieved the Build Gun from its holster. He looked at it in awe.
"Could it be that simple?" asked Thomas.
"Would you like me to run the tutorial program?" asked ADA.
Thomas looked out beyond the HUB. He could see their single furnace, shoddy conveyor belt system, and the single constructor, partially constructed. He gripped the gun harder.
"Yes, ADA," said Thomas.