The Last Scav

Ocean Federov scanned the eastern horizon one more time, pushing the limits of his E-Nocs, ostensibly looking for anything tracking him. The sun, not fully risen yet, was an intense orange smear across a white background and the heat distortion emanating from the hard desert pan made all the nothingness behind him tremble like a holopic on the fritz. If he didn’t retreat to the confines of his tent soon, the heat would overtake him and all of it would’ve been a waste. But the last look was necessary for safety, surety, sanity. He had to confirm that nothing was left. New Haveton, the Auto-Pound, Forest, Tequila, Jerry-Rigged, Starbuck, everyone and everything else was destroyed, gone for good. In a few more miles the dark blurry remnants he could make out of what was his home and family would be beyond the sight of his digital lenses and all hope of recovering any one else alive would be gone too. He’d risk the dangerous extreme of bare dessert exposure to hold onto that thin strand of hope for a morning longer. It was more real than what lay before him.

Assured for now, he removed the noc attachment from his iSpecs and the land behind him snapped back to normal relief: craggy, eroded, beige, and barren overwhelmed by the relentless white hot orb of the sun. A view he’d seen every day for as long as he remembered yet the drama was not lost on Ocean. Like it was inevitable that Earth would crumble to the power of this burning god it once thrived under. Inescapable. He sighed when his brain offered up that word. One of the last few Tequila said in her pre-recorded message.

The bots will win. They already have. I can’t explain it, Daimler. It’s inescapable. Except for you. I hope.

When the round bottom of the sun pulled up over Earth’s edge, Ocean ducked into the cool, dark of his scav bunk. He sealed the opening behind, took off his helmet, iSpecs, circ-veil, and breathed a deep sigh he could only indulge when free of protective gear. Deep chest filling, sucking in free moving air and exhaling without feeling his own humid breath immediately heating his skin and stifling his next breath. He could hear his own slow, full natural respiration rhythm not quick and shortened for the confines of his circ-suit. It was the kind of breath that reminded him he was freeperson, not a cyborg, not a drone. Fully biological A fact his protective gear could obscure, even to himself, after long periods of use and why the extreme scavenges were few and far between, back when there had been a High Council to regulate such things.

There are too many risks at this time, his father said when his extreme scav application was disapproved. The right side of the general’s face was deeply scarred and immobile but Ocean thought he read some sandness in the side of his face that could still express. Sad because this was the life his son wanted for himself, far away from the humanity of the colony? Sad that his duty as leader meant he had to deny his son’s wishes? Or was it not sadness at all but something else? At the time, it was too hard to ask, the unspoken things between them an insurmountable distance to cross. What would Ocean ask now if he had the chance?

During his scav training, Seine told him that just as vital as maintaining his circ-suit and sand sled were to their bodily survival, so were their memories and dreams to their mental survival. We have to know what we’re doing this for on the nights we’re searching for supplies in the rubble of the old civilization. And in the mornings when we’re bone tired, cleaning dust from gears and servos, dealing with the muck of our own excrement, we have to know why we’re gonna do it again tomorrow.

As he went through that well known routine now, those memories had a different flavor to them. The bitterness of regret, the mellow sadness of happy times gone, and saltiness of rage towards the woman who blew it all up. So far the only outlet he’d found for the last one was thinking of Tequila Patron while he disposed of the night’s piss and shit. She was like a sister to him before, and if Forest had survived she would have become an official part of the Federov family, but for turning his daily routine to non-stop memorials, she deserved nothing less than his waste and so much more than he could ever deliver.

Questions haunted him through his manu’d meal. Was it the madness of war? Overwhelming grief at the number of lives lost that week? Was it losing Forest that drove her to that last insanity? Did the bots capture her, torture her, break her mind, and release her back to the colony to self-destruct the last outpost of humanity? How long had she been planning it? Was there some interval of time when he could have changed his mind? In the past year he’d thought of so many questions and invented just as many answers he could never confirm, it was half a miracle he wasn’t insane himself from circuitous logic and repeating guilt trips. But like Seine explained, his saving grace was that he knew why he was gonna do it all again tomorrow.

After he ate, he brought out the necklace. The chrome, heart-shaped pendant glistened in the dim filtered light of his shelter. In a year, Dodge will finish his proficiencies and a few months after that some of our firsters will be ready to begin their own specializationsin the field, then ... (Did he sigh or just breathe deep when he paused?) ... then you can resubmit for an extreme scavenge trip. But I can’t send two scavvies from the same unit right now.

He slid his thumb across the smooth pad on the back and the locket lid swirled open. At least he didn’t refuse outright, she’d said. Two years apart won’t be so bad. I’ll probably be on my way back by then too. We can meet halfway. He believed anything she said when she smiled.

The 3-D projected holopic buzzed to life with another tap on the back panel. A miniature version of the same smile glowed before his eyes. That’s just your love, she’d say when he told how beautiful she was.

One more tap and the locket played a thirty second video loop. She blew him a kiss.

Here, I want you to have this. She said the night she left.

River, I scavenged it for you. The necklace in his hand was still warm from her skin.

Just over two years ago. It’ll keep you company for the next two.

One day the necklace’s battery would no longer take a charge. He closed it, put it back in his thermal’s pocket, and laid out on his cot.

Forest would want that. For you to survive, find Prada, and live the rest of your time together. It’s the last thing I can do for him. The rest I do for all of us. In the last long pause of Tequila’s message he could hear the bombs still detonating from the bunker she'd locked him. They sounded so far much further away than they actually were. He was right, Daim, we are already dead.

Would he find River before the locket died?

He closed his eyes and still saw her face. I love you. She blew him a kiss.

I love you. And another kiss.

I love you.

Was she still alive to find?

We are already dead.

I love you.

And how long could he live once the memories died too?

I love you.

We are already dead.

I love you.

I love you.