Introduction

I’m in trouble. The inevitable has finally happened; I’m torn between two desires that are unable to coexist. The first is continuing as a loner and doing whatever I like without worrying about social norms or failing spectacularly in front of someone else. I want to focus on developing, rationalizing, and optimizing my own selfish reality in a way that is unique. It’s what I planned on doing since I’ve barely scratched the surface of this super-technology’s unlimited potential, but then my paradise was shattered with an alternative.

The unlimited factors that make up reality fucked up my primitive notions of perfection, and now I’m caught in a torrent of pros and cons—each with an immeasurable amount of importance. What, pray tell, is this disruptive “factor”? If you read the last chapter, then you’ve already met her.

I have no rules. I don’t ‘have’ to be alone; I’ve merely preferred it to socializing until recently. From my experience, most people are kind, helpful, and very, very boring. For a long while, I thought I was just another idiot who was unable to comprehend the implications of existence, but I soon learned otherwise. It turns out, no one else really cares. When they do think about it, they become depressed and overcorrect to a pessimistic view of reality—but only until they see the flaws in their extreme reaction and end up right back where they started.

When I present philosophical or ethical issues to these people, they became ‘worried’ about my mental state and would ask me to talk about my feelings on the subject. As if I could I feel anything but admiration towards our universe… it’s so incredible that our minds are unable to imagine its size, much less the unending number of properties, reactions, structures, and dimensions that populate it. Something so beautiful just exists, unable to appreciate itself. To think we are even a small part of this, isn’t that alone enough reason to live? I digress.

Rama, the alien ex-mafia, ex-cult leader, and now runaway convict has quickly risen to become a project-worthy interest (‘project-worthy interest’s take my undivided attention, whether I want them to or not). How? She’s unbearably interesting. I can deal with annoying, but how can I ignore a mind that is capable of both creating and demolishing entire civilizations? She does, however, “clean up” my neatly piled side-projects, which is a definite ‘con’.

You’ll see what I mean soon enough.

It’s been five sleepless days since our initial meeting (last chapter), and I have yet to speak a word or acknowledge her existence (except when she steals my stuff and dangles it over my head until I give a reply, but even then, it’s short and impersonal). I’ve spent my time hiding away and working tirelessly on Duncan mark III.

She towed along a hovering cart that carried a small mountain of various tools, containers, and other supplies as we left in search of another pod. Fortunately, the cart (which she named “Tug” just to mock me) was remote-controlled, so we were able to sit on top of it during our travels… though it moves at a crawling pace. Good god, I’m going on a quest with another lowlife, aren’t I? It’s okay if there are only two of us; this isn’t technically a ‘group’, right?

Chapter 5

It's the Little Things...

“What are you thinking about now?” the colossal woman asked… again. The cold shoulder has absolutely no effect on Rama—she just takes it as a challenge and celebrates even the smallest victories. I admire her persistence, but not really.

“Okay, I finished.” I announced aimlessly, holding up the reworked military-style suit. The fabric was extremely durable, which forced me to throw together a rough pair of laser-lined scissors and get creative with my limited resources. Specifically, I unwove a spare belt’s looser strings, then strung ten of them through a few lasered holes before meticulously weaving them into the clothing fabric itself (it was significantly more complicated, but this is a simplified summary).

The neckpiece is a circular piece of metal that I trimmed, bent, and carved into a latch for my very own space-helmet. Unfortunately, in order to attain such a precious item, I had to give my food-box to Rama, who used her monopoly to deny me sustenance until I agreed to talk. So, I haven’t eaten or slept in a very long time.

I added a few tricks as well, like a wire that releases a powerful burst of energy into the suit whenever it’s put on, which would kill pretty much anyone except me. It hurts like hell, but if I’m ever captured, it’s going to give at least one of my captors an unpleasant surprise.

I still have Catch (the glove) and Cutlass in perfect condition, though I designed a belt for them to hang on while not in use. Also, I made underwear from a strip of elastic and one of the larger padded military gloves, which I’m decently excited to try on. Frankly, I’m not even close to satisfied yet. If I wasn’t inundated in impurities, I would’ve cracked open my new helmet to figure out exactly how it works and then built my own. Oh well, I guess this’ll have to do for now.

“So, your speaking of your own volition now? Could it be that I’ve finally broken you?” Rama taunted from my left. I gave her a blank look, “I was talking to Duncan III. Turn around so I can try him on.” I went to slide off what remained of Duncan II, but the alien didn’t budge. She was laying on her stomach, using two (proportionally) slender arms to prop up a mask that did a poor job at concealing the criminal’s intentions.

“You’re not going to look away, are you?” I asked in a dull tone. Rama’s legs idly kicked through the air, silently staring at my nearly exposed frame. “You won’t get some reluctant romance scene out of me. If you become more invasive than useful, I will kill you.” I warned. I’ve never had much trouble maintaining a poker-face, since my expressions only ever ranged from pissed off to bored. It used to make some people feel bad for me, but I didn’t even notice until someone pointed it out.

Ah, I spaced out. I’ve unintentionally been giving her a death-stare for the past ten seconds… I would apologize, but that would be counterproductive. With a defeated sigh, I turned back to the task at hand and quickly slid off the nearly destroyed skinsuit before immedia—wait, it got stuck!?

I quietly cursed at the stupidity of this human design (particularly how our feet tend to be wider than our ankles) and desperately tried to rip the sturdy elastic off. After several moments, I succeeded in stripping completely naked and flung the blood-stained material out into a grayscale terrain. Without looking towards the observer, I grabbed my hand-crafted underwear and shoved one—then both legs into its soft opening.

“Why do you want to be alone?” Rama asked suddenly, her mask seemingly unresponsive to my frustrated movements. A sharp inhale brought the alien back to reality, and she looked up a bit further as if trying to lock eyes with me, “I only ask because there is nothing worthwhile to achieve. Even if you became some kind of god, there wouldn’t be anyone else around to rule or… share it with or whatever. You can’t climb to the top of nothing, so why the hell would you want to isolate yourself?”

I paused for a moment, genuinely surprised by the abrupt question, then finished pulling the military-style pants up to my waist and thoughtfully tightened its matching belt. I accepted a deep breath of dry, apocalyptic morning air, “What would you expect my answer to be?”

When Rama heard my question, her legs stopped kicking and she glanced away as if searching the patterned air for an answer. Five, maybe six seconds passed slowly before her voice broke the silence, “I suspect you have some kind of personal goal in mind—one that would only be hindered by socializing. Either that or you’re just a misanthropic introvert… but then again, if that was true, you most likely would’ve killed me when we first met.”

I’m impressed. It turns out she has a significantly higher opinion of me than I thought. Slipping on the slightly awkward undershirt (which I made first), I was finally able to grab the custom-made button-up military jacket. “No, it’s nothing dark or epic. I have no real goals or even a distaste for humanit—gah, ffffucking…!” I had just begun my revelation when Duncan III’s final button completed a circuit and the entire suit shocked a few motherfucking demons out of my soul.

“Ow.” I complained under my breath and straightened the jacket with a forceful jerk, ignoring my audience’s giggles as I continued, “Anyway, I’m not a misanthrope.” I hesitated, aware of my own life’s cliché but also tired enough to not give a shit, “Put simply, I had a family. I valued them—along with my one close friend—more than my own life, and when they ‘fell prey’ to a death that I was supposed to share, I… broke.”

I laid down on my side to adopt a more comfortable position, thankful for Rama’s mask, which allowed me to look directly at her without becoming nervous or twitchy, “Naturally, I tried—and failed—to kill myself on several occasions but found that I couldn’t even suffocate or starve my way through hell’s gates, so I did the next best thing; I found a way to live with it.”

“Most people are either frustrating or boring (according to my weird set of standards) and should be avoided unless I want to become a misanthrope. The others are, um… risks that I’m no longer willing to take. My mind is the only thing I have, and if I make attachments, then losing someone important might destroy what little sanity is left.” I stated matter-of-factly.

“So…” I finished, “…are you satisfied, or is my life story not detailed enough to earn a decent meal?” Rama remained silent for quite a while, meticulously processing the information—which she will almost definitely use to manipulate or torture me in the near future. Oh well, life goes on.

I kind of enjoy putting my thoughts into words, since it makes them seem a bit more tenable, so Rama’s inquiry was actually pretty useful. The criminal rolled over, her first movement since the beginning of my lame tale, staring aimlessly towards the sky. “You’ll get your food after I’m satisfied with our conversation.” I gave her a disapproving look, which she easily shrugged off, “It’s the first one I’ve had in a fucking week, you know, and you’re not even that bad at it… once I pry your mouth open.”

I smiled slightly at the compliment, remembering how nice it is to have someone around… even if she’s trying to be manipulative. Rolling onto my back so our bodies ran perpendicular to each other, we spent a few moments quietly observing the polluted sky.

I had always imagin—wait, why am I doing an internal commentary? I’m supposed to come up with decent conversation (if I ever want to eat), so I need to find something to talk about. I suppose I could try to make my “internal commentary” into an “external commentary”, but that would probably be more of an annoyance than a conversation. Damn, this is hard; all I can think about is the weather. Perhaps I should just take my eyes off the skies… good thing I was already planning to die alone.

“I learned a lot about human… well, specifically American culture on my way here, and I noticed that your world seems to believe that everyone is equal. However, your leaders, celebrities, and anyone else that is well-known or affluent receives a lot of special treatment. Some were practically worshipped as a superior being, while others are condemned for practically no reason whatsoever.”

“How can such a controversial society be maintained—rather, why does it flourish? With law, there is never freedom; in freedom, we are never safe. Even the universe itself has laws that we must adhere to, not only as sentient beings but as objects with mass, so freedom can only exist as an illusion—these are all philosophies that your world is very familiar with. How, then, is it possible for this society to function?”

Rama brought her long-winded question to an end, and now I’m certain that she has thoroughly figured me out. I smiled, enjoying the influx of personal beliefs and even new theories that came to mind as the question piqued my drowsy thoughts. “It’s because we’re dumb.” I stated bluntly. “Oh?” pried the inquirer in an almost (but not quite) sarcastic tone, “Do elaborate.”

After being temporarily distracted by her old English lady accent, I inhaled deeply and readjusted my position to maximize comfort. “’America’ is… was a proud brand, and the people who wore it were usually even more so. It was originally meant to symbolize acceptance and a degree of freedom so extreme that couldn’t be found anywhere else in the world, but by the time I came around, it was mostly associated with pride.”

“Driven to be successful, businesses began to sell anything people would buy; technology, sex, art, etc. Politicians that couldn’t win with logic used emotion; complex issues would be reduced to a single, inaccurate reference or phrase that would be instantly beaten into the dirt; and those in power would keep the masses in check by turning them against each other.”

“Freedom is an illusion, but if that illusion expands past your proverbial ‘horizons’, then how could anyone ever tell the difference? How can this illusion be maintained? Well, some evil group of ‘villains’ are always mere moments away from stealing your freedoms and eating all the children. That’s why you must support the ‘heroes’ who will save you.”

I let out a sigh, then shifted my weight to better my inhibited circulation, “Humans are, by nature, superstitious creatures. Our worlds have to be seamless, or else the cold vacuum that is our reality will suffocate us. Some discover and cling to a sense of meaning or purpose, like equality or the notion that any of us deserves anything. A few, like myself, prefer an open-ended universe and find comfort in knowing that there is no ‘cage’ like destiny or value wrapped around our reality. That’s my theory, anyway; we’re all too dumb to understand the universe, so we just pretend like we do and roll with it. That’s why paradoxical concepts like ‘freedom’ can still exist in our societies. It’s actually kind of beautiful, in a frustrating and slightly depressing way.”

Oh no. I just externalized my internal narrative in front of someone. Looking up at the unresponsive alien figure and wondering if she might have fallen asleep, a question of my own sprung to mind, “What is your world like?”

Yup, I was right; she’s asleep. Well, so much for talking to people, which I’m never going to do again. Next time I’m trapped on a hover-dolly with a curvy, nine-foot alien, I’ll just pretend to be a frozen yogurt fanatic or something, so she doesn’t ask me fun questions. “Po Gu.” Rama commented, “My world’s name is Po Gu. It means ‘Place of Life’.”

Well, I feel like an idiot. “What is Po Gu like?” I pried, hoping to unlock a few of Rama’s secrets and gain some insight into her thoughts. She stirred, contentedly placing a supporting hand behind her space-helmet and breathing deeply, “It… was a nice place…” she paused to inhale, “…until I convinced half the population that they would become gods in the next life if they served me in this one, hung all of the major world leaders by their intestines (except one… he hung himself), and scared all the heretics right off my planet.”

What?

“Now that I’m gone, cannibalism will probably become more of a tradition than a daily activity, and the anarchy will give way to a primitive hierarchy. The cult will probably devolve into a normal religion after about ten generations or so, and the succeeding world will eventually thrive. They’ll probably name the world itself after me, too. I’d like to visit Po Rama someday, just to observe and maybe ‘guide’ their growth in a more… interesting direction.”

Holy shit.