Bread Basket

1. My First Day

My ears were ringing.

If I'd still had my helmet my hearing probably would have been better protected, but I'd lost it at some point and honestly could not remember when.

At first I thought it might have been when the dropship crashed. It had been pretty hectic when that had happened, what with the front half of the vehicle exploding without warning. I still had no idea what had done it, but it hardly mattered. No-doubt the on-board computer had spent a pleasant micro-second recording the exact type of munitions that was about to impact the fuselage, but us fleshbags not connected to the controls would forever be none the wiser. Us passengers in the rear had survived surprisingly unscathed, at least until we hit the ground, then only those of on the left remained unscathed.

Or is it port? I don't know with things that aren't boats, the chip hasn't told me. I'll stick with left until someone corrects me. They probably would later. If I ever saw anyone ever again.

I don't know what happened to everyone else because when the blackness went I was the only one left strapped into what was left of the dropship. Everyone else had gone and left me. I'd definitely had my helmet then, though. I could remember clearly when a soldier with an Aquint allegiance-patch had come staggering into our wreckage. He'd obviously had me pegged for dead as he was all set to start stripping me for spares and ammunition when I had snapped my head forward and broken his face. I had definitely had my helmet then because I could remember the sound of his nose smashing against it.

He'd run off after that, blood streaming from the hands pressed against his face. Bit odd for someone who had signed up to be a mercenary - sorry, 'Corporate Defence Assistant' - to be so shy of fighting but maybe I'd startled him, I thought. He didn't come back, which had given me time to work the manual release on the harness keeping me in place. Must have lost the helmet after that, though things were still too fuzzy for me to pick out exactly where.

I mostly remembered the smoke. Or maybe it was fog. I couldn't put my finger on it, but everything was grey and it was impossible to see further than fifteen feet in any direction. The laser range-finder on my gun wasn't any use either, and kept telling me things were either incredibly close, incredibly far away or that nothing was there at all. I would have checked thermals, but those had been in my helmet and back when I'd had it I hadn't thought to look. I had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't smoke or fog.

Sometimes I'd see figures or shapes but whenever I got close they'd already moved on. I could hear gunfire, but it always seemed to be coming from behind me. Sometimes there was an explosion. Sometimes they were so close that dust would drizzle onto my head. Sometimes the dust was damp and had chunks. It had been a particularly close explosion that had left my ears ringing, after I'd picked myself up off the ground. I had the distinct feeling I was walking back the way I'd come.

Then again, it might have been the robot. The thing had been in a bad way when it came at me, but it was still a surprise. Spitting sparks and swinging its one good arm the helmet had been the only thing to keep my head in one piece. That had probably been it. I hadn't really been paying attention because I'd been doing my best to keep the thing away from me, but it sort of made sense to think it had been knocked clear after that. Just thinking about it made me shudder a little. Even with the amplifier-frame I'd been locked into I'd only just been able to overpower the machine, and it had been an arm short. I should probably count myself lucky the only thing I lost my was useful, armoured hat.

I had got the machine to stop trying to kill me by stoving its processor in with a rock I'd found. If anyone had been watching it would probably have been the least dignified thing they'd see all day. A scrawny young man in a budget-rate amplifier-frame and with blood flowing down his face struggling with a beaten-up, one-armed combat robot before finally beating it with mankind's oldest and most trustworthy of tools: a heavy rock. At least it had felt immensely satisfying, though the fresh and blossoming bruises on my throat were sore from where it had been just about to break my neck.