Chapter 3

She introduced herself as Pie, short for “pioneer,” just as Reaper had guessed. Reaper had taken her function as a name too; a proper one felt undeserved, so in that they weren’t so different. Pie’s shoulders loosened once she realized ADA was speaking to both of them. She was very much a fire-first, ask-later type, and Reaper understood; her homeworld had drilled that reflex into everyone. Homeworld. The word still sat strange on her tongue.

Pie noticed the flinch and, without asking, patted Reaper’s head. Heat flashed across Reaper’s cheeks. Affection, this fast? Naïve, or fearless. ADA had said they were together, but ADA said a lot of odd things delivered like policy.

“Clarification,” ADA offered, on cue. “Pie is enrolled in FICSIT’s ‘Save The Day’ program, contributing to Project Assembly. Marketing frames this as ‘saving humanity.’ Operationally, it means building efficiently and not dying.”

Reaper’s gaze flicked to the window’s alien sky. Saving humanity. “Are there… Elins here?” she asked the night, not expecting an answer.

“Unknown,” ADA said, matter-of-fact. “Current census: one human, one pioneer-adjacent… and several thousand organisms categorized as ‘hostile until proven edible.’”

They traded the quick biography version. Pie asked if Reaper could build. Reaper shook her head. “I was created to kill.”

ADA added on, “Reaper has already demonstrated exemplary biodiversity management. Recommendation: act as a two-person expansion team. Pie advances industrial capacity; Reaper pacifies new territories.”

Reaper rolled a scythe chain around her wrist, thinking of the way her power had bucked and thrown her between stars. She wasn’t stepping off this planet until she could aim again. Practice would mean fights; fights would mean control; control might mean a way home.

“Then we move,” Pie said, already keying through a mental checklist. “There’s an area I can’t access because of the inhabitants. But it has oil. With oil, I can push real power into the factory.”

Reaper’s brows rose. “Factory.”

“Machines that make more machines,” Pie said, a little breathless in the telling. “I’ll show you.”

They set out at a steady clip. Reaper ghosted a pace behind the taller woman, eyes sweeping the grass in habits learned far from here. The walk stayed kind. Pie pointed at tidy hunks of metal and light, each with a purpose and a hum: a Constructor chewing ingots into plates; an Assembler marrying two parts into one. It was all beyond Reaper’s understanding.

No one else walked these paths. Buildings worked without hands; belts ran without footsteps beside them. Pie’s voice, eager with finally-not-being-alone, poured over details: ratios, clock speeds, “throughput.” Reaper let most of it wash past. Maybe it was lonely here. At least now there were two. Reaper certainly needed the company right now. Elina still weighed heavy on her heart.

They crested a rise and the land fell away into slick, dark pools rimming outcrops that glistened like wet bone. “Oil fields,” Pie said, reverent. “We tap them with an Oil Extractor, pipe the crude to refineries, then burn the Fuel in generators. That’ll wake the factory up.”

“Moving metal that moves more metal,” Reaper murmured. “Automatons.” She tasted for the usual prickle of enchantment and found none.

“Caution,” ADA added as they descended toward the first node. “Local hazards increase near resource clusters. Expect hogs, spitters, and ambient poison. Gas protection is advised if you insist on breathing.”

The spitter came out of the reeds with a hiss, glands along its throat pulsing. Heat shimmered in the air. Reaper shifted her stance and let the first lattice of fire pass, a measured sway, but heat still hit her cheek.

Smoke pulled her backward. Not here. Home. Before her name was Reaper. The village, before the war, had smelled of pine syrup and lake wind. Lanterns on bridge rails. Children racing along the roots. She and Elina had skipped stones at the Lake of Tears and counted how long the ripples lasted. On festival nights, Elina painted little stars on Reaper’s nails and said they would learn the real constellations together. Reaper had been working up the words to ask her out, awkward and happy. Then the fires started in the outer groves and the sky never quite cooled again.

When the fighting reached the heart of the village, she fought until her lungs filled with smoke and her hands stopped feeling the weight of her weapon. The ground was hot when she fell. She remembered Elina’s voice, and then nothing.

Later, something dragged her back. Cold first, then pain. The air smelled of ash and iron. Her body felt wrong, smaller and heavier at once. The shadows clung to her skin like wet cloth. A voice told her she could stand again if she stopped being who she was. So she did. She was Reaper. And she was created to kill.

The present snapped back. Rage burned through her veins. The spitter reared for another spat. Reaper took one small breath, stepped into its blind spot, and let the shadows carry her behind it. The twin scythes rose in a clean arc and fell in a decisive and final plunge. The corpse of the creature was pinned to the ground, scythes impaling it through its body.

Pie covered her mouth, nay, the lower half of her helmet. She stood there without moving. When her voice came, it was steady but small. “You have the power of a Mercer Sphere.”

There it was again. The same word that had trailed her since arrival, the same warning ADA had threaded into their briefings.

Pie eased back a step as Reaper alighted beside her. Friendly a moment ago, measuring now. Reaper frowned, not angry, just trying to understand the distance.

“I’m not sure about that,” she said, but gave it a thought. “My powers are different from the other Elin, yes. We are… were at war. Any edge was welcome.” She looked at her hands, at the fine soot still caught in the knuckles of her gloves. “Though, crossing stars in a single step is not what the other Reapers had.”

ADA broke in, helpful in the least helpful way. “Trace amounts of Mercer Distortion Field detected and dissipating. If you hear voices other than mine or other pioneers, feel free to ignore them.”