Time: Three Months Post-Retirement.
Business at Vane & Rivet was booming. Mostly because the heavy machinery in the Scrapyard broke down constantly, and Julian Vane was the only mechanic in the hemisphere who could lift a combine harvester with one hand to check the undercarriage.
"Left a little," Rivet directed, lying on a creeper underneath a massive water-tanker truck.
Julian stood beside the truck. He placed his black iron hand on the bumper.
Lift.
He didn't strain. He didn't grunt. He just adjusted the local gravity of the truck's front end. The ten-ton vehicle floated two feet off the ground.
"Got it," Rivet slid out, holding a rusted alternator. "Bearing was shot. Pass me the 10mm."
Julian handed him the wrench—a custom-forged bar of steel thick enough to be a crowbar.
"You know," Rivet grunted, tightening the bolt. "Most people use a jack."
"Jacks slip," Julian said, lowering the truck gently until the tires kissed the dirt. "Gravity is constant."
"Hey, boss!" a scavenger shouted from the gate. "You got a customer! And he looks... shiny."
The Skyfall
Julian wiped his flesh hand on a rag and walked out into the yard.
The sun was high and brutal. The heat waves shimmered off the mountains of scrap.
Standing—or rather, hovering—at the gate was not a person. It wasn't a droid, either.
It was a Geometric Shape. A perfect, floating octahedron made of white ceramic and gold light. It was about the size of a beach ball. It hummed with a pure, non-threatening C-Major chord.
"What is that?" Rivet whispered, hiding behind Julian. "Imperial Probe?"
"No," Julian narrowed his eyes. "That's Harmonic tech. Pre-Collapse. Where did it come from?"
"It fell out of the sky about an hour ago," the scavenger said nervously. "Landed in the dunes. It floated here on its own. It's asking for... the Warden."
The octahedron spun. A single eye—a lens of shifting fractal glass—focused on Julian.
SCANNING...
A beam of blue light swept over Julian. It paused on his left arm. The black iron Anchor Arm absorbed the light.
IDENTITY CONFIRMED.
DESIGNATION: ANCHOR-PRIME.
STATUS: BIOLOGICAL. RUST-BASED.
The object floated closer.
"GREETINGS, WARDEN. I AM UNIT 77-B. DESIGNATION: SURVEYOR."
Its voice was synthesized, melodic, sounding like a choir spoken through a computer.
"I HAVE RESPONDED TO THE QUARANTINE SIGNAL BROADCAST BY UNIT: LIGHTHOUSE. I AM HERE TO VERIFY THE INTEGRITY OF THE CAGE."
Julian sighed.
"Great," he muttered. "The landlord sent an inspector."
The Inspection
"Come in," Julian gestured to the open garage door. "Mind the grease."
The Surveyor floated into the shop. It scanned the pile of scrap metal. It scanned the rusty droid Rivet was fixing. It scanned the coffee maker.
"OBSERVATION: ENTROPY LEVELS ARE HIGH. THIS FACILITY IS 84% OXIDIZED."
"We call it 'patina'," Julian said, sitting on his stool. "So, you're from the fleet?"
"NEGATIVE. I AM AN AUTOMATED SUB-ROUTINE LAUNCHED FROM THE LUNAR RELAY. THE FLEET HAS DEPARTED THE SECTOR PER THE QUARANTINE PROTOCOL. I AM HERE TO LOG THE FINAL REPORT BEFORE THE SYSTEM GOES DARK."
"Goes dark?" Rivet asked.
"THE SOLAR SYSTEM HAS BEEN MARKED AS 'BARREN'. NO FURTHER CONTACT WILL BE ATTEMPTED FOR 10,000 CYCLES. HUMANITY IS ON ITS OWN."
"Good," Julian said. "We prefer it that way."
The Surveyor floated closer to Julian.
"QUERY: THE PREVIOUS WARDEN (DESIGNATION: VALERIUS) ATTEMPTED TO VACATE THE POST. YOU HAVE ASSUMED THE MANTLE. DO YOU REQUIRE ASSISTANCE?"
"Assistance?"
"I POSSESS BLUEPRINTS FOR PLANETARY RECONSTRUCTION. ATMOSPHERIC SCRUBBERS. TECTONIC STABILIZERS. AETHER-GENERATORS."
Rivet's eyes went wide. "It's a genie! Ask for a fusion reactor! Ask for a spaceship!"
Julian looked at the floating shape. He looked at his black hand.
"No," Julian said.
"What?" Rivet stared at him. "Julian, it has the cheat codes for civilization!"
"If we use their tech," Julian said, "we rely on their tech. And when it breaks—and it always breaks—we won't know how to fix it."
He looked at the Surveyor.
"We're doing things the hard way now. We build with what we have. We fix it with our own hands."
"LOGIC: INEFFICIENT," The Surveyor stated.
"Logic: Sustainable," Julian countered. "Rust is slow. But it's real."
The Surveyor spun its segments.
"VERY WELL. WARDEN'S DISCRETION ACKNOWLEDGED. REPORT FILED: HUMANITY HAS CHOSEN... THE SCENIC ROUTE."
The Parting Gift
The Surveyor prepared to leave.
"PROTOCOL DICTATES I DEACTIVATE UPON COMPLETION OF THE SURVEY. MY CHASSIS CONTAINS RECYCLABLE MATERIALS. PLEASE DISPOSE OF ME ACCORDINGLY."
The glowing light in the octahedron began to fade. It drifted downward, ready to become just another piece of junk in the Scrapyard.
"Wait," Julian stood up.
He caught the floating shape with his gravity field before it hit the floor.
"You don't have to die just because the job is done," Julian said. "That's old-world thinking."
"QUERY: I HAVE NO FURTHER FUNCTION."
"Rivet," Julian looked at the kid. "Does the shop computer still crash when we try to run diagnostics?"
"Every time," Rivet nodded. "The RAM is fried."
Julian looked at the Surveyor.
"How are you at math?"
"I CAN CALCULATE PI TO THE LAST DIGIT."
"Can you run inventory?"
"THAT IS... BELOW MY PROCESSING GRADE."
"It's honest work," Julian said. "And the view is nice."
The Surveyor hovered, processing.
"RECALCULATING PURPOSE... ACCEPTABLE. I WILL ASSIST IN THE CATALOGING OF... RUST."
The New Employee
Two hours later, the Surveyor (now nicknamed "Surv") was floating above the main desk. It projected a hologram of the shop's inventory.
"ERROR: YOU HAVE 4,000 BOLTS BUT ONLY 3 NUTS. THIS RATIO IS DISTRESSING."
"We'll order more," Rivet grinned, happy to have a floating super-computer as a coworker.
Julian walked out into the sunset.
He looked up at the sky.
The Moon was rising. Somewhere up there, a relay station was shutting down. The signal was cutting off.
Earth was officially off the grid. No more Emperors. No more Aliens. No more Guardians.
Just people. And a lot of scrap metal.
A motorcycle engine roared in the distance.
Julian squinted against the sun.
A cloud of dust was approaching from the North. It wasn't a scavenger. It was a single rider on a sleek, white hover-bike.
Julian recognized the engine sound. It was the White Raven's escape bike.
"Company," Julian called back to the shop.
The bike skidded to a halt at the gate.
The rider took off her helmet.
It was Lyra.
She looked dusty, tired, and angry.
"You left," she said, walking up to him.
"I retired," Julian corrected.
"You left your coffee mug," Lyra threw a ceramic mug at him.
Julian caught it with his black iron hand. He didn't break it. He had been practicing.
"I missed the mug," Julian smiled.
"Is that all you missed?" Lyra crossed her arms.
Julian looked at her. He looked at the shop. He looked at the vast, quiet desert.
"No," Julian said softly. "I missed the noise."
Lyra sighed, the anger draining out of her. She looked at the shop sign: VANE & RIVET.
"You need security," Lyra said. "Someone to shoot the Warlords when they try to haggle."
"The position is open," Julian said. "But the pay is terrible."
"I'll take it," Lyra walked past him into the shop. "Hey, Rivet! Where do you keep the beer?"
Julian watched her go. He looked at his mug.
He took a sip of the imaginary coffee.
"Life is good," Julian whispered.