My Glide On Death

Chapter 12: The Cyborg Conspiracy and The Lost Legend

I stood at the entrance of the research facility as it collapsed into rubble. Without wasting any time, I opened the holographic map and headed to the rendezvous where a truck would take me to the hideout. When I got there, the truck was already waiting, still and silent. I jumped into the back, and it started to move automatically. After half an hour, we arrived in a place that barely looked like a city—more like a large village. A few drones patrolled the skies, giving the impression that the truck had clearance to move freely.

The houses were dome-shaped, completely sealed off, though some had windows. The truck came to a stop in front of one such house. With a hiss, the doors opened, and the shift in air pressure confirmed the environment inside was breathable. As I stepped out, a man in his mid-30s with a light beard and mustache greeted me.

"Hey, Earthling. You must be Captain Gust, right?"

"That’s me. And you are?"

"Didn’t Hastings tell you? Eh, never mind. Name’s Kenneth Dorsey, but folks call me ‘Jolly Ken.’ I guess that means you can just call me Ken. I’m not THAT jolly."

"Ken it is," I said with a nod.

"Come on in—let’s grab some grub!"

The inside of the house was odd. The walls seemed to be made of metal, but not the kind of metal I recognized. It had an organic feel to it, almost like it could breathe. Ken brought over a spread—vegetable salad, potatoes, and sandwiches.

“Now, I gotta warn you,” Ken said as he sat down, “the food here isn’t exactly Michelin-star quality. Martian soil’s about as fertile as a rock collection. We have to grow stuff in special chambers. But if you ever get tired of veggies, there’s one thing that’s super tasty but… uh… technically illegal.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Martian flying worms.”

I raised an eyebrow. "Worms? Flying worms?"

"Don’t let the name fool ya! They’re huge and pretty deadly. Think more 'angry space snake' than 'garden worm.'"

"I’m vegetarian."

Ken stared at me in shock for a second, then threw his head back and laughed. "A vegetarian fighter pilot?! Oh man, that’s like a shark saying it’s allergic to fish! But hey, you’re missing out on some top-tier Martian cuisine though."

"I prefer missing out on space worms, thanks."

Ken grinned.

We ate quietly for a while until I broke the silence. "So, what's the next part of the mission? Got any intel?"

Ken paused, pretending to think it over dramatically. "Yeah, yeah. Just finish your food first, Captain. I’m not one of those 'spoil the mission on an empty stomach' guys. It's like trying to fly a spaceship without fuel, you know?" He chuckled and added, "Besides, this salad needs your full attention—don’t let the potatoes down!"

I couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Fine. Let’s eat.”

After we finished eating, Ken started doing the dishes.

“I’ll handle that,” I offered.

He waved me off. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Besides, there’s a Martian superstition that says if you make a guest do the dishes on their first visit, you’ll come back in your next life as a Martian worm.”

I stared at him, unsure if he was serious.

Ken burst out laughing. “Relax, it’s just a joke, man! I don’t believe in all that reincarnation stuff. But hey, if you really want to help out, charge Rotto—my truck. He’s running low.”