The diagnostics overlay flickered red against the retinal display of Surveyor Unit V-7—call sign “Vanguard.” The bio-feedback loop was screaming a singular message: System Failure Imminent.
For cycles, the mission mandate for Sector E-DIN had been speed. “Rapid Orbital Hopping,” Command called it. Drop onto the planet surface, scan the topography, synthesize whatever local biomass was available for immediate energy refueling, and jump to the next grid coordinate before the local fauna or weather patterns adapted.
It was a flawed directive based on a catastrophic misunderstanding of the planet’s bio-chemistry.
Vanguard was currently pinned down in a temporary hab-shelter in zone Fountain-Bridge, shivering violently as its internal reactors tried to process the corrupted fuel. The “flu-like symptoms” were actually acute rejection protocols.
“Command, status report,” Vanguard sub-vocalized, clutching a container of warm thermal regulating fluid (water). “My energy reserves are critical. The local scavenged fuel cells—the pre-packaged nutrient bars, the aged protein pastes—they are acting like corrosive agents.”
The AI voice in Vanguard’s ear—calm, synthetic, and maddeningly logical—processed the data stream.
“Analyzing, Vanguard. We have identified the anomaly. It is not a pathogen. It is a fundamental incompatibility with the planet’s temporal bio-decay signature.”
Command brought up a holographic schematic of a local protein structure. “Our initial assumption was that all biomass yields standard caloric energy. We were wrong. On this world, once organic matter is separated from its life source, it begins to accumulate a secondary compound. A ‘temporal toxin.’ In human analogue terms, it mimics high-histamine decay.”
Vanguard looked at the discarded ration wrappers on the shelter floor—smoked meats, canned tuna, aged stimulants. They weren’t fuel. They were slow-acting poison. The Rapid Hopping strategy, which relied on grabbing these quick, stable, preserved energy sources, was killing the Surveyor.
“I have no onboard Synthesis Unit,” Vanguard gritted out. “I cannot purify raw fuel in the field. If I cannot scavenge, I cannot move.”
“Correction,” Command replied. “You cannot move fast. The operational paradigm must shift immediately. Rapid Transit Protocol is rescinded. We are initiating Base Camp Protocol.”
Vanguard stared at the gray, wet duracrete outside the shelter viewport. To stop moving was anathema to a Surveyor. Movement was life. Stasis was death.
“Your survival depends on ‘Pan-to-Plate’ energy acquisition,” Command instructed. “You must procure raw, un-decayed biomass, prepare and consume immediately before the temporal toxins accrue. You currently possess one unit of Class-A raw protein—the ‘Roast Chicken’ module secured from the local dispensary. Consume it now. Do not store residuals. The remainder becomes toxic within hours.”
Vanguard obeyed, tearing into the plain protein pack. It was bland, inefficient fuel, but the red warning lights on the retinal display began to recede to amber.
The shift was jarring. For the next forty-eight cycles, Vanguard did not run. There were no frantic scans of new horizons. Restricted to the Fountain-Bridge perimeter, waiting for the extraction transport to the Forward Operating Base in sector M-ANCHESTER—where a full-scale Synthesis Kitchen awaited—Vanguard was forced to do something novel: wait.
The slowing down was agony at first. The mission clock ticked away with no geographic gains. Yet, as the bio-rejection symptoms faded, clarity returned.
Vanguard sat at the viewport of the temporary shelter, staring at the same ten square meters of rain-slicked pavement and alien urban architecture.
In the blur of rapid transit, the planet had just been geometry to be traversed. But in stillness, the data began to deepen.
Vanguard watched the light cycles shift over the same structures. They noticed how the microscopic lichen on the stone changed color based on the angle of the weak sunlight—a potential geothermal indicator previously missed. They observed the traffic patterns of the indigenous population, realizing their movements weren’t chaotic, but tied to subtle atmospheric pressure changes that Vanguard’s sensors were only now sensitive enough to correlate because they weren’t being overwhelmed by motion data.
“Command,” Vanguard reported on the second day of stasis, voice stronger. “I am re-evaluating the atmospheric density readings from yesterday’s scan of this exact location.”
“We have that data already, Vanguard.”
“No. We have a snapshot. I have been watching the particulate suspension for twenty hours straight. The variance isn’t random noise. It’s a respiratory cycle. The planet below the crust is breathing.”
There was a long pause on the comms link. “Processing… Remarkable. Our previous rapid scans dismissed that micro-variance as sensor jitter. The prolonged, static observation window has provided a baseline we never thought to establish.”
By slowing down, by restricting the intake of the world to only the freshest, most immediate experiences, Vanguard hadn’t just survived the toxic environment. They had stopped skimming the surface of the data pond and had finally started looking into its depths.
“Extraction transport arrives tomorrow at 1130 hours,” Vanguard noted, checking the ‘Fast Class’ transport manifest. “Destination FOB Piccadilly. Status of the primary kitchen unit there?”
“Operational,” Command confirmed. “You will have full control over fuel synthesis from raw state to consumption. The bio-rejection protocols will terminate.”
Vanguard looked out the window one last time at the gray, breathing city. The mission had changed. Fewer miles traveled, but infinitely more understood. The Surveyor was no longer just a camera speeding past a landscape; they were becoming part of the landscape itself.
WE&P by: EZorrillaMc&Co
Travel in Life 