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1

PM_ME_YOUR_BRUNOISE t1_iuc1fiw wrote

"Attention miner!"

The chipper, robotic voice drives into my now painfully awake eardrums.

"Your allotted sleep period of four hours is concluded! Get excited for your next mission on Hoxxes!"

Groaning, I feel my tongue peel off the roof of my mouth, lips cracking and head pounding as i test my vision as the thinnest of slits; still overwhelmed by the sterile humming glare of the florescent bulbs above my sleeping pod

"Rosie, remind me to punch the guy that programmed you at my next shore leave" I say, as I swing my legs over the metallic hard surface I was blessedly asleep on moments ago.

"Sure thing -MINER 0000002, DESIGNATION ENGI, I'll pen that right in! Now head over to the bar for a debrief of -GENERATING MISSION NAME....KARL'S GRUNDLE."

I sigh, smacking my lips together, trying to recall how many beers I had downed last night.

"Tell Lloyd to get an oily oaf ready for me, I need something to douse this damned hangover."

I hop off the pod, landing in my half dismantled armor, donning it in a familiar ritual despite half my brain not being awake yet.

We lost yet another greenbeard Scout... I still hear his tinny scream as he fell from the highest damn point in the cave system going for an Aquarq.

"I told that moron he was missing his body hover boots at mission brief but nooooo-" I slap in the rectangular clip of my Lok-1 rifle with a metallic click "He called em Quitter Slippers and blew me off!"

The door of my quarters opens up; I can hear the pneumatics struggling due to the corrosion in the... Well, everything on orbital space rig.

A familiar face greets me as I sling the rifle across my back and begin dragging out the repurposed mining equipment that I have come to rely on.

"Morning ENGI! You get a good sleep?". Yellow teeth crack in a loose grin as the yellow-armoured dwarf in front me me plants his knuckles on his hips; back straight as if striking a pose.

"Kiss my warty arse driller, you know damn well I'm not in the mood." I slam home the cartridge into the OSHA banned Breach Cutter; the whirr of electricity arcing and lighting up my face with a dangerous glow.

Unfortunately, I was trying to intimidate a man who wades into the thick of Hoxxes' hostile wildlife with an axe, a tank of flammable fuel, and a mad smile. My hostile visage falters as I get a whiff of the crusted gunk that remains on the armored dwarf's boots; recoiling and steering myself around the fat bastard.

"Hyehhh Hyehh! Relaaaax ENGI! It was just a break-legs greenbeard. We've already got another one waiting in the pod; legs shakin and piss runnin down his britches!"

Laughter echoes after me as a trudge to the Abyss Bar, mag-boots clanging as I round the corner with the subtle pull towards the metal floors I installed into them last week...I wasn't taking another chance after the gravity reset while I was taking a dump.

A green armored mass sits at the bar stool, head obscured by the fact that the poor bastard is slumped face-down on the bar in a puddle of what I hope it's just spit.

"Bloody hell gunner, did ya even get to your room?" My crimson-gauntled hand strikes the snoring dwarf's back; waking him with a shout of suprise follow by a groan of pain as the light hits his sensitive eyeballs.

"Argh, for Karl's sake ENGI can you let a man grieve!" The gunner covers his head in both hands, armor creaking as he staggers to his feet, leaning down to grab the hundred-and-twelve pound "Lead Storm" minigun before heading to the equipment table to tune his weapons.

I shrug, taking the seat beside the what-i-hope-is-sweat stained chair the gunner just hefted himself off of. A friendly red glowing eye pops up above the counter. The rectangular chassis of Lloyd, the orbital's bartender, glistens with fresh wax as he adjusts his clip-on bow tie.

"Round of oafs Lloyd, cold as you can make em." The panel of the bar in front of me slide open, a liquid Nitrogen chilled glass gleams with frost and fog as Lloyd happily beeps and leans over with a dispenser, filling the mug with the familiar brown stout of our union-mandated corporate beverage; many lawsuits were filed and fought to ensure any DRG operation had beer available for the humble workers.

"Cheers Lloyd." I slap a few credits into the tip slot bolted to the counter, I small spray of confetti popping out of a launcher hidden behind the counter. "To the fallen." I whisper, as I tilt the frigid beverage down my throat, it's foamy froth washing away the thick phlegm of my gullet.

"Ayyy thanks ENGI!". The yellow armored asshole brushes past me as he strides towards the counter for his brew, as Lloyd finishes dispensing another.

I grunt in indifference as I turn away from the driller and the bar towards the mission information desk in the middle of the rig.

KARL'S GRUNDLE -EXTRACT 400 UNITS MORKITE -GATHER 12 GUNK SEEDS

"Crap, just what I needed, a mission where I gotta rely on the greenbeard.". I mutter under my breath as I turn around, grabbing a half-dozen plasma burst grenades off the coffee table before taking a step onto the drop -pod ladder.

Gears whirr and generators hum to life; the grinding of misaligned metal cinching into place as the bright orange cylinder looms in front of me. The perforated steel ramp clanks as I hear the comforting hum of the radiation shielding spring to life as I approach the pod.

"My home away from home, hope Gunner remembered to take a shite this time before settling in for a two hour drop." I proclaim loudly as I spy the shaking blue-armored form already in his assigned seat.

The new Scout does manage to have an impressive red beard despite being fresh-out-of-the-mountain. He cradles a shiny new GK2 submachine gun; If I could see his hands beneath his armor, I know it would be white knuckled around the grip.

"Bet you thought the company would give some seats with suspension, eh greenbeard?". I try my best to not sound condescending as I take the seat beside the terrified dwarf, clapping him on the shoulder

He starts, as if noticing me for the first time, eyes dilated completely as he reaches out to grab my arm.

"I.. I'm too young to die!"

His words stumble out over one another, his armor rattling against the vast amount of seat whose cushioning has rubbed, rotted, dissolved, or burned away.

"What, you mean again?" I say, locking my weapons into place above my seat alcove.

"A-again?". The Scout stutters, letting go of my arm

"Sure, again, just like five and a half hours ago when you ate shit after a sixty foot fall."

(Continued below)

39

PM_ME_YOUR_BRUNOISE t1_iuc23ic wrote

Replying to PM_ME_YOUR_BRUNOISE (#334,425)

"W-w-wait, that wasn't a dream? That happened?!"

"Sure did greenbeard, what, you think we can just fly recruits into this hellhole every time one of your morons die? They flash-extract your brain just as you die and imprint it into a clone waiting in the medbay."

My casual comment freezes the boy in place, and I cut him off as he opens his mouth to speak again-

"Not now kid, I'm mourning my friend, your predecessor's retirement, and nursing a hell of a hangover." My tone of finality seems to shut him up as he gulps, catching sight of Driller sauntering up the catwalk.

"Ohohoho! I see the break-legs put on his quitter Slippers!" The yellowed, crusted boots of the madman tap the sides of the Scout's boots; I guess he learned from last time, I didn't even notice.

The driller takes a seat as gunner ducks under the hatch of the drop pod, hefting his Hurricane Rocket Launcher like a lover into the alcove above his chair.

Red lights wash over us as the hatches close, the sirens wail as a countdown ticks down in the upper part of my helmet's HUD.

"Drop sequence initiated.". The bored monotone drawl of our manager trickles through my earpiece.

I glance back at the Scout, his hyperventilating coming through despite the rattling of docking clasps disengaging and engines firing up.

"W-why are we doing this- what are we fighting for!" The young greenbeard stutters out, and as one, the three of us scream out:

"We fight, for ROCK AND STONE!"

The timer hits zero, and the world erupts in a cacaphony of noise as sixteen G's of acceleration push our express elevator to hell towards Hoxxes.

42

ZionBane t1_iuemwew wrote

The thing no one tells anyone about space travel, is that living in a ship in space is like living in a dungeon underground, no matter where you are, you are still stuck in a box, with no windows, and nothing but artificial light to live by.

To most Dwarves, this is just life to us, in space, in in subs in the ocean, or in vaults underground, makes no difference.

The Coms open and Ironfirst Graybeard calls for a meeting on the main deck, everyone is to attend.

I love these meetings, it's always good news, more work and less relaxation is always good news to me, there is only so many 20 hour marathon training runs you can before you just have itch to work on the real thing. These last two years in space have made me feel weak, I mean sure, working out, and all that, but, it does not feel real enough, not hard enough, the simulators are good, but there is just something missing about putting in real work, about harvesting the real thing, and seeing progress be made for the Clan.

I have my pick polished and razor sharp, like everyone else on the platform, as Graybread takes his place on the Podium. "Brothers! Sisters! On this Day, E-75,634-Of our King Fellhammer! We have found the mother load planet! rife with ore, and other natural resources! and get this my brethren! We are not on Mining Operation! Our Lord, and King has made it know that we will be colonizing this planet, while there are some indigenous animals, most will docile to our efforts, and none truly delve into the planet itself, so this could make for a wonderful peaceful coexistence, however, the dominate species is as yet unknown to us, so, we are going to take this carefully, in true Dwarven manner, we will attempt to make a deal with them! Be ready brothers and sisters! This will be a New Awakening! A new world! a Next chance at the Great Hold! Blood and Iron forever!"

I love his speeches! Short, sweet, and well, I kind of phased out during his two hour long ramble, but.. Blood and Iron! That is what made sense! YARRR! Dwarfs!

----------

"Balgor! Are you well my Brother!" I hear the call to me, but, for the first time in a long time, I don't want to answer. My axe coated in blood from these creatures, my armor broken with holes in it, from their weapons, and while I have to give it to them, they had some really powerful weapons, strong enough to break the Drundite plating of my armor, and even now, I feel my life blood seeping out from their attack. But what bothers me the most, is that I am the one that feels remorse for what I have done.

They never stood a chance against us, they never truly set foot off their planet so they had no idea what real war was like, what true battle could mean, they had been confined to their planet for so long they even fought among themselves, with no idea what horrors exist in space, but still they were audacious, greedy, when they met us, even going so far as to use crude atomic weapons against us, little disgusting hairless pink things.

I rise to a sitting position, I am tired, I am worn, and I look at the dead bodies of the, this species that called themselves, humans, scattered around me, like bloody rag dolls littering the floor, and I cannot tell if I have killed males, or females, children or adults, and somehow, that bothers me, somehow, as I look at their dead remains, it pains me in my core for they made us do. We have coexisted alongside the Narvarian, a brutal race of spacefaring worms, and yet these, things, felt that they, and they alone would best us.

knocking the body of a splattered human from my bracer, "I am here Grumdel" I call back. The sky lights up and I brace my shield against the blast, more of their atomic weapons, no doubt their strongest weapons, and about the only thing that has truly managed to injure our shock troops, but it's a such a wasteful tactic, in their last ditch hope to drive us out, these heinous creatures, willingly disposed all their own people just to win a pitiful fight, as opposed to seeking peace and coexistence.

Grumdel grabs me "Come brother! Greybeard has called an extraction of all mining and harvesting troops, they have poisoned the planet with their radiation to the point that it is no longer sustainable for life"

I drop my head "They would rather destroy themselves and their planet then share some ore and grass?"

Grumdel flicked one of the remaining human bodies off my puldron "Most Brutal aggressive little things we have ever faced, The War Marshal has decreed that we will leave a ship to monitor the planet, and come back in 50 cycles, when the contamination has settled, and try again"

Nodding "Alright, lets go Brother"

--------

It's been 45 solar cycles, and I have come to enjoy and hate watching these humans evolve and grow, but it fun to see that they have named this station "the moon", in 5 cycles the main fleet will return, and sadly, these humans, have learned nothing.

This time however, we at least know what to expect.

5

redelectricdreams t1_iuhc02r wrote

[POEM]

Away we delve into distant darkness Space has proven cold and charmless But still we pick at the copious carcass And revel in treasures tried in parlous

This planet once was a dynasty of dragons Hoarding fortunes that taunts and beckons We needn’t slay fiery father nor sons As it stays unguarded under the suns

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