“We are here to honor Gunmetal, Hawk, Siren, Bronco and Tank. These brave soldiers lost their lives performing their duty to protect Phoenix and its residents.”

  Governor Orion Starbeard was standing at a podium that had been erected in the arena of Phoenix’s subterranean park. The arena was circular, covered in a protective dome and surrounded with circles of raised bleachers. One half of the bleachers had been filled with the citizens of Phoenix, all mourning to various degrees as they watched the memorial. The citizens of Phoenix were a cornucopia of various alien species, each of them gathered together in solidarity by this sad turn of events.

  Behind Orion were rows of chairs filled by the city guards, all wearing their formal uniforms. Front and center of the first row sat Captain Max Thrustar, his partner Dr. Birchett, Mayor Slate, and Duke Kholchek. On either side of them were the heads of the city’s Unions, each of them Colony Leaders representing their organizations. All of them were dressed formally. Even the Jo’Qin baker in charge of the Merchant’s Union was wearing a dignified black dress, gloves and clown nose.

  Orion continued, “Rebuilding the colony here on Org?a has been difficult. All of us have sacrificed much to build a new life here. The five men and women you see behind me have sacrificed everything in the hopes of giving us all a better tomorrow.”

  The normally clear dome that encased the arena lit up, showing pictures of Gunmetal and the guards in their uniforms. New images joined the scene, less formal, showing them laughing or sharing moments of camaraderie with each other. They were shown helping the community, assisting with construction, and training new recruits.

  “These were friends. Neighbors. Family. And we gather here today to thank them for their service and to remember them for what they were.” Orion’s gaze swept over the crowd as he spoke, “Heroes.”

  Orion Starbeard cut an intimidating figure. He was an Org, a burly race of porcine cyborgs. The heavily muscled figure was covered in cerulean skin with mottled purple markings on his cheeks and hands. There were glowing specks of blue LED light on his nose and his navy colored hair. He wore a formal dark blue suit, a white dress shirt stretched tight against his chest. He looked as if a chunk of space decided to step down from the night sky and put on a tuxedo.

  “In my culture it is considered a symbol of respect to bow your heads for a moment of silence to reflect and honor your fallen dead. I would like you all to join me as I do so,” Orion asked the audience.

  Orion stood back from the podium and bowed his head. He crossed his hands, with their two thick fingers and a thumb, in front of him as he did so. After a moment he looked up and was pleased to see the citizenry of Phoenix joining him in the gesture. Glancing behind him, the soldiers and colony leaders had also stood to bow their heads as well.

  Stepping back up to the podium, Orion continued, “Thank you. And now I would like to turn the microphone over to our very own Mayor Slate. Who has been overseeing this tragedy in my absence.”

  As Orion stepped away from the podium, the crowd opened their eyes and sat back down. Mayor Slate stood and walked towards the center of the arena. Catching each other’s eyes, the two men nodded to each other.

  Mayor Slate was dressed in his Galactic Navy dress uniform, his chest adorned with medals. His military cap was tucked under his arm out of respect. As he stepped up to the podium, a platform slid out from the bottom of the base. Slate stepped on it, and the platform raised him up to stand behind the microphone.

  Mayor Slate gestured behind him, “First, I would like to thank Governor Starbeard for that touching tribute. He may be the newest member of our community, but he has proven himself time and again a capable leader.”

  There was a smattering of applause from the audience. There were some boisterous Woos! and the metallic clang of metal hands clapping far too hard. Slate glanced up and saw Xing Orobaras, their resident hacker, causing a scene as usual. He let this slide. Xing was dating Orion after all, and had always been a bit weird in any case.

  “It is for that reason I must apologize to you for letting this tragedy happen while he was away on a vital mission,” Slate continued when the crowd settled, “I tried to discover the source of the errant weather that had been threatening our community. I couldn’t predict these disastrous results, but it still resulted in the deaths of five good soldiers.”

  The stadium went quiet. The rustling of the park’s carrot orange trees blowing in the artificial wind could be heard over the sucking silence. Slate clenched his fists on the podium, staring at them angrily as he replayed the decisions back in his head.

  Orion had left to level up their strongest fighters, braving a deadly vault to the north of them. Orion had left Slate in charge, and at first it had seemed simple. Having been the former warden of the Theta Sigma 3 penal colony, he thought he was up to the task. After all, he’d been in charge when they still thought that this was a Manifest Industries world, having been scouted out and approved for colonization.

  What he found instead was a hostile desert world with air that was toxic to breathe. Even with those difficulties, Slate went about the process of setting up the mining rig, suspending it over a large crater near their landing site. The crater seemed to be filled with resources, so with the aid of several sonic mining tanks and the giant laser drill the operations began.

  No one could have predicted what happened next. Giant worms sprang out from the crater, attacking the drill and tanks. Black humanoid machines burst out from the crater floor and rushed the unsuspecting colonists. It was a slaughter, dozens of the inmates and guards dying in the first rush. With some quick thinking, Slate and Max managed to retreat back to the colony base. The surviving prisoners and staff made their way back to the Cryo Stasis chambers and put themselves back into suspended animation. Slate had hoped to wait out the attack until rescue had come.

  Manifest Industries never sent a rescue party. They were left there for three years while the base and colony fell to ruin around them.

  Orion saved them. The man was a Sentinel, a legendary hero from the distant past, having been sent to this world by accident. But he rose to the challenge, rebuilding the base and bending the environment to his will to make it livable. Slate helped Orion build Phoenix from the rubble left behind by the Cy-Org attack. He had earned Orion’s trust, and been given the title of Mayor to take charge when Orion was away.

  Orion had trusted him, and Slate had failed him. But it was Gunmetal and his squad that had paid for his incompetence.

  Realizing he’d been silent for an uncomfortably long time, Slate continued.

  “I will promise to do a better job of protecting Phoenix from here on. I hope that with time, I can earn your trust.” Slate looked up at the crowd with a steely glint in his eyes, “But Phoenix faces a new threat. You all know about the weekly sandstorms that batter our home every Sanday. Many of you have also noticed the weather has been getting worse, and happening at random times. Some of you have even been injured while being out in unexpected storms.”

  There was murmuring in the crowd. Slate waited in hopes of the chatter dying down on its own but was forced to speak up over the noise.

  “The storms are not natural! We believe they are being controlled by Viceroy Bitterling!” Slate shouted.

  The bleachers went deathly silent. Slate tapped the tablet screen on the podium’s surface and pulled up the message from the Viceroy.

  An ancient, decrepit Terran replaced the images of the fallen soldiers on the screen behind him. The man was a cyborg, his left eye and much of his visible body replaced with chitinous black metal. He wore rich wine colored clothing and a cruel sneer. He carried a twisted bifurcated staff with a sickly orange portal floating between the spokes.

  The man’s voice was raspy with advanced age, “Greetings, Citizens of Phoenix. Your attempts to find me are futile. You cast me out to rot in the barren wasteland. But I am a forgiving man.”

  There were gasps and exclamations from the audience. The Viceroy was a well known terrorist, a high ranking officer for Manti-C.O.R.E. group. His cruelty was well known throughout the inmates of the Void's Asteroid Maximum Security Prison where he was initially incarcerated. He swiftly gained a reputation when he was shipped off with the Theta Sigma 3 colonists, gaining followers that shared his wicked ideals. People had learned to give the Viceroy and his right hand man, the Hiver assassin Styng, a wide berth.

  Bitterling learned toward the camera, “To Warden Slate, I present to you a peace offering. I will give you exactly one month to surrender Phoenix to me. I will take over as ruler, as was intended. I will be a benevolent monarch, once I have eliminated the city of any insurgents. As a show of good faith I shall stop the weekly sand storms.”

  The shocked whispers continued. This was the first time most of the population had seen this video. There were angry protests from the audience, drowning out Bitterling’s speech. Several people surged to their feet to approach the podium.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Orion paused the video and stepped forward to intercept the growing mob. The unruly colonists stopped, no one wanting to challenge the Sentinel. As some of the more mindful colonists started to quieten to hear the Governor speak, Orion shouted over the rest.

  “Please settle down!” Orion’s raised voice softened as the protests lowered to a dull roar. “Please. I was upset by the video at first too. The Mayor was acting under my orders to protect your best interests. In order to stop this threat we’ll need a concentrated effort. But you need to know the full story if we have any hope of surviving this!”

  The last few angry protesters went silent, many of them taking their seats again. Orion nodded and unpaused the video and Bitterling continued his tirade.

  “Build up your defenses and resist me if you dare, but it shall be futile. However, if you do not surrender, or if you send your dogs to find me again before the month is out.” Bitterling grinned with yellowing teeth, “Then I will reduce your pitiful colony to rubble.”

  Orion closed the video and nodded for Slate to continue, trusting him to say the right things.

  Slate nodded gratefully and leaned into the mic again, “This is what we are up against. We have a general idea of where the Viceroy and his cronies are located.”

  Slate pulled up a world map, most of which was blacked out with a fog of war. But a clear line of map was revealed, following a path to the west. Slate zoomed in on it.

  Slate highlighted the place where the map terminated, “Gunmetal and his team were heading west to try and discover the source of the weather. As you know, the storms always originated from the west, moving east. I’ll spare you the footage, but it seems as if they were attacked by a terraworm.”

  There were gasps of horror. Everyone knew how bad the titanic worms could be after their encounter with the raid boss Soilfang.

  Slate spoke over the rising noise, “We will not let their sacrifice be in vain! Viceroy Bitterling may mock us, but we will indeed build up our defenses! We will fortify our underground expansions. We will train others how to fight! The Menagerie can teach you new Trades and skills to anyone who asks!”

  Slate continued doggedly, “We must focus on building more sentry turrets. We must finish the BioDome! It will be hard, but I hope I can count on your help to protect our new home!”

  Slate was greeted with silence. You could almost see the gloom pressing down on the crowd. Most of the folks here were not violence criminals. Those assembled were mainly thieves, embezzlers, smugglers and cheats. Most of the violent criminals had been banished for not following the law of the land. A cyborg terrorist with the power to drop lightning or acid rain on Phoenix at a whim was more than any of them had ever dealt with. It seemed so overwhelming.

  Xing Orobaras jumped amid the press of worried bodies and shouted, “Yeah! Let’s kick some ass!”

  After a heartbeat, a few more folks jumped up and started to cheer as well. Bolstered by their friends and neighbors, others stood and joined the battle cry. In a matter of moments, the entire crowd was pumping one another up.

  Slate exhaled the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Orion clapped him on the back and gave him a tusky grin. Slate nodded and stepped down from the platform. When the podium had been vacated, Orion adjusted the mic.

  “We will start preparations.” Orion said. The crowd quieted down to hear their leader’s next words. “Tomorrow. But tonight, let us celebrate the lives of Gunmetal, Hawk, Siren, Bronco and Tank in the best way I know how.”

  The rapt audience hung on Orion’s every word as he asked, “Have any of you ever heard of an Irish Wake?”

  It took a little bit of explaining to the myriad of alien species what an Irish Wake was. But once Orion was able to get the idea across, Phoenix responded with enthusiasm. The open camping area was soon filled with long tables, benches, and grills. These were stored in a small shed next to a recently opened Park Ranger station built by the Construction Union. Orion marveled at how much had changed in the month he’d been gone.

  The tables were filled up soon after, piled high with food, flowers and drinks. The cafeteria chef Magrath wheeled over one of the portable food replicators. Setting up a grill with a long flat surface, she started to cook up a variety of comfort foods to suit a wide variety of pallets. Some of the other cooks from various food stands assisted Magrath so everyone could have a chance to take breaks without getting overwhelmed. Even the head of the Merchant Union brought several food carts piled high with pies and other sweet confections.

  Several ranchers arrived with bushels of blue corn from the greenhouses. Someone set up a large pot to boil on a hot plate, and others took time to shuck the produce and set the prepared vegetables into the boiling water to cook. More veggies arrived and were prepared into a large salad bowl by a few other helpers that were less handy in the kitchen.

  Duke Kholchek arrived with two large kegs of beer hoisted on his shoulders. Ssteev, Dr. Birchett and Captain Thrustar’s adopted teenage son, followed behind on his triceratops mount Btssee. Btssee had two more kegs strapped to her saddle, and the dinosaur showed no signs of discomfort.

  Soon the beer was tapped and plates were full, and the colonists began to share stories about the fallen soldiers. There was some laughter, and quite a bit of crying, but everyone had something to share about those brave souls that had lost their lives.

  Sitting in a place of honor at a table away from the food were five holographic photos of the guards. People had been piling up offers of pastries, flowers or alcohol as their cultures dictated. Professor Queebeax had managed to find some empty books, which Orion introduced to the curious crowd as Guestbooks. Soon people were writing farewells and kind words in the guest books to return to their families.

  If they could ever find a way to escape Org?a, that is.

  Orion was watching the proceedings from a distance, leaning up against one of the dark trunks of the perpetually autumnal trees of the park. He was surrounded by a small gathering of cybernetic animals, many of them eating or snoozing around him. The biggest one was his faithful mount Major Canis, his star speckled purple fur rising and falling as he dozed.

  Orion was holding a plate in his hands as he leaned against a tree, glad that people were getting into the spirit. It was all very respectable, and people were remembering and celebrating the fallen just as he’d hoped. Life had been hard for the colonists, even before waking up on this dangerous alien world. There was enough to mourn already, being trapped on a hostile planet that was actively trying to kill you. Having a sorrowful funeral was too much of a bummer after all that.

  Besides, soon they’d have to fight again. Orion wanted them to remember why they were fighting, and who they were fighting for.

  What he was fighting for.

  Orion reflected on how strange his life had become over the past few months. A year ago he had been slowly dying from late stage cancer in the real world. He had been a space Orc VTuber, and had been an entertainer in the game industry for more almost two decades. When it was clear that his condition was terminal, his friend Regina Douglas had recruited him to beta test her new game Cosmic Horizons: Online. She had sold it as a full integration simulation that would download his mind directly into the game to give him a kind of digital afterlife. But one in which he could still communicate and even play with his still living friends in the outside world.

  And it worked! But just as he was about to step into the tutorial stage, there had been a fatal glitch that transported him to this planet. It had been difficult surviving on this planet, resulting in his death several times. Despite that, he kept coming back, damaged and infected with a strange digital virus that was affecting his cybernite implants. It had been a hard, painful road to get here. But seeing the community he helped build come together like that made everything worthwhile.

  Once again he was struck with the importance of his role here. He was a Sentinel, a player character. He had seemingly infinite respawns, like many MMORPGs, which while realistically painful were only temporary. Everyone else he knew was an NPC, and digital or not they had but one life to live. If he made a mistake it wouldn’t be him that suffered the consequences, just everyone around him.

  Even if everyone he’d met since waking up on Org?a were just lines of code, they seemed too real to just dismiss them as video game characters. They could be touched, had emotions, hopes and dreams. He heard their stories about their homelands, their families, watched them fall in love and make friends. He’d seen their fear and felt the hot splash of their blood on his face. He’d made a vow to protect them, and five good soldiers had died while he’d been away leveling up like some newbie gamer. He’d failed them.

  Orion wondered if this was how comic book superheroes felt.

  Sensing his partner’s mood, Major looked up and licked Orion’s free hand with a whine. Orion smiled and looked down, giving his cyworg partner a comforting scratch behind his furry pointed ears.

  “I’m okay, boy.” Orion reassured him, “Just overthinking again.”

  Orion reached down to pick up his beer from the ground, gently shooing his Ratillac King partner Gemini away from the beverage. He took a deep swig of the hoppy Kreeluxian IPA and set it down again. He lifted a terraworm burger to his mouth as a voice interrupted him.

  “There’s where you snuck off to.”