Worth It

Worth It


Lucius Maxwell stood silhouetted by the dayside of the dusty planet below him. “Do you know what the greatest reward in the universe is, Styles?” He took a long drag on his cigar. “Discovery.”

“Heh, there’s a few better things I could think of,” the mercenary replied, relaxed and tumbling an old silver dollar between his fingers.

“Discovery leads to knowledge, and knowledge to fortune. It’s taken me a fortune to get here.”

“Well, you’ve found a few things.”

“Have I?” Lucius scoffed.

“Two stations in high orbit. They’re old, but should have some value,” Styles noted.

“Rubbish,” Lucius corrected. “Antiquated scrap. The real treasure is down on that planet. The first world with any evidence of a sentient alien species.”

“Even lifeless, it’s a helluva prize. Your mission…”

“My obsession,” he corrected, “has cost me everything – a king’s ransom, my reputation, my daughter…” He trailed off, turning to the man. “They called me a damnable fool you know.”

“Yet here you are, knocking on the door of providence.” Styles flipped the coin then tucked it away.

“It’d better be worth it.”

**********

Lucius was sure to be the first, boots hitting the dirt of the alien world and he paused just to experience the moment.

“So, have you named it yet?” Styles wondered.

“Named?”

“Well, P-53239 Quantum 3 isn’t very romantic.”

“Andromeda,” Lucius replied.

“After your daughter. She would have liked that.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Lucius admitted. He’d spent years in his quest, assembling the most effective teams and setting them to work. His daughter grew up without him. Lucius promised to make the time someday, but never did. Unfortunately, he learned about her passing two weeks after she succumbed to the cancer. “Let’s get moving,” he said, anxious to give the lost time some value.

**********

They rocketed into the fractured remnants of a deserted metropolis, ancient towering spires soaring into a dusty orange sky. Rolling dunes drifted over old thoroughfares, drowning the corroded skeletons of long abandoned conveyances and filling every nook.

“What should we look for,” Styles wondered.

“Something, anything to make this worth it. There,” he pointed ahead. “That should do.”

They set down in an expansive plaza, an ominous coliseum looming over them. One whole side was collapsed, revealing the pitch-black darkness inside.

A team of mercenaries preceded Lucius, scrambling over toppled walls and under crumbling arches, past rusted steel girders and scattered wreckage. It was eerily quiet. Lucius picked a decaying piece of metal from the debris and dumped the sand out. “There’s nothing here,” he realized, rubbing both thumbs over the oxidized metallic surface. “At least nothing of value.”

“Perhaps we should…”

“Keep looking?” Lucius finished. “Everything here is worthless. It’s too far gone.” Frustrated, he tossed his piece of trash into the darkness. A crash in the distance was followed by a subtle clicking and then a glow. It approached them slowly from inside.

“Well, there’s something,” Styles noted.

Stumbling from the shadows, ratcheting tortured movement pushed crippled joints against half-actuated servos. A distant flickering teased the shadows, then disappeared again before returning as a virtual image materialized over a hunched automaton. It lurched over the detritus, dragging a crumpled leg. “Hello father,” it said, the image solidifying into a haunting form.

Lucius stumbled back. “No…not you.”

His daughter staggered forward, really a broken mechanical avatar. “Aren’t you even going to say hello?”

“What the hell are you?”

“It’s me daddy. I love you.” Then, it lurched suddenly forward, before an explosion sent it sailing back into the darkness.

Styles stepped ahead, his still-smoking carbine in a ready grip.

“What are you doing, Styles?”

“My job. We’re leaving.”

“Not a chance,” Lucius rejected. “Not until we’ve found something. Not until this mission becomes worth everything I've lost.”

“Little good it’ll do if we’re dead!” He pulsed three more shots into the darkness and his men opened fire. Styles took Lucius by the arm, dragging him back to the ship. “It’s not up for debate.”

The debris began to stir. An army of robots all with ghostly faces shook off the debris of a dead city. Their creators long slain, trampled bones were scattered amongst so many rags. Reanimated, machines now pulled their lances free and found new arms in the detritus. A thousand mechanical eyes turned toward them.

Styles tossed Lucius unceremoniously into the ship and engines engaged. They blasted toward space, leaving a sea of churning mechanical bodies below them, all clawing desperately skyward.

“You’re right,” Lucius agreed. “Not worth it.”