Once I was sure there was no threat nearby, I was able to relax a bit and settle in for a rest surrounded by four turrets and a buggy. It's nice to have someone to watch your back.

  ...Yeah, that's a bad way of putting it.

  Anyway, with that kind of cover and the ability to jump in and out of the car at any moment, I could feel safe enough to do some thinking over a cup of coffee.

  What was that? No, I'm pretty sure it was AlBa's promised opportunity for survival in exchange for the drone, but still... Death, really? It's easier to believe it's a delusion from the side effects of the meds. Especially since it's kind of a sci-fi setting, not a fantasy setting, even though it may seem comically absurd from the outside. I guess. It's harder for me to judge from the inside.

  Anyway, even leaving aside the weirdness and phantasmagoricalness, there were still practical questions. For example - how many more attempts do I have? What happens if I get my head chopped off, for example? How long will it be next time (hopefully there won't be a next time)? What happens if I shoot Death? Though the last one is still purely hypothetical.

  ...Really, I'm curious.

  After a good twenty minutes of thinking, I came to an unambiguous conclusion - I have no idea about any of the questions. I even tried to send a letter with questions to the Almighty Bastard, as an answer to one of his letters, but received the message "This addressee does not exist. At this time." Well, it was worth a try.

  The inspection of the farm and its surroundings showed that there were no living varkids around, but I couldn't rule out the possibility of eggs or larvae underground, so I was going to pump insecticide into the termite mounds; the client had given me a concentrate that still needed to be diluted. First, however, I emptied the farmer's armory: the insect sweep had depleted my ammunition supply considerably. The ammunition in the shed was not exactly plentiful, but it was decent, and in addition, I'd gotten my hands on Vladoff's three-barrel rotary machine gun. You'd expect a shotgun from a farmer....

  I found a shotgun from Atlas, too, though. In a slightly chewed-up suitcase of women's underwear.

  The damage from the varkids in the house wasn't much; I guess not finding anything to eat, the bugs ignored it. The fields and cattle pen were eaten clean, but that's not my problem. My problem is making the repairs I ordered.

  There was nothing particularly difficult, at least compared to the insect cleanup. Restore the power supply, make sure the communications and water synthesizer work, fix the fence... Then get in touch with the client through his communication node and get a reward. What could possibly go wrong?

  Pandora still reserves the ability to throw out the unexpected even when (and in things) you don't expect it. In this case, the surprise was the shotgun sent to me.

  No, the customer was not deceiving me - the weapon was working, and very powerful; the ECHO evaluated it as "Unique weapon. Legendary quality." However... It damn sure couldn't even be called a "shotgun".

  First of all, this gun absurdity did not fire shotgun buckshot. Instead, it fired three small circular saw blades, four centimeters in diameter. They penetrated the varkid's corpse through and through (the next one got stuck), so in terms of killing power I can't really make a judgment call, but the absurdity of this weapon gave me a slight headache. Okay the fact of circulars instead of buckshot. Okay the dubious fact that they were extremely prone to ricochets. But Pandora fucking Pandora, how is it possible for them to fly in a sine wave? It's just not possible!

  ...Pandora. A place where even weapons go mad. Well, or physics, and I'm not sure which is worse.

  In the end, my common sense decided, if not to accept it, then at least not to resent it as long as the gun does its job. The main thing is not to forget about ricochets - I wouldn't want to get back my own gift. In the meantime, I'll check the archaeological site, and if it's clear, I'll bring Claptrap and we'll search it.

  It wasn't clean. In the overexcavated soil of the archaeological site was found a bunch of scythids - either snails or insects with outgrowths on the sides, similar to small wings, and powerful jaws. There were quite a few of them, and some of them were capable of sudden and high jumps, followed by short planning, but they didn't pose a real threat - a couple of SG bullets or a good blow with a shovel was enough to finish them off, and unlike varkids they didn't attack together, only one or two at a time, occasionally three. So I just slowly took a few steps, noticed the scythids, jumped back to the turret, then, making sure that the vicinity is clear, moved the turret a dozen or two meters forward.

  It would take all day, but it was safe and saved a lot of ammunition.

  And it's slowly giving me "experience". True, considering how easily these things die, it should be a crumb, but still. One more level and I'll be able to close "Technical Competency." And after that... Well, there's a "skill" called "From You to Me, From Me to You" in the second tier of Construct skills, which is described as allowing me to... well, I'll be honest - steal ammo from the Vladoff' warehouses. Use the module built into the turret not only for its own supply, but also for my needs. Despite the fact that this skill had strong competition, but it remained extremely valuable, especially in situations like now, when ammo exhausted.

  In any case, it was better to gain "experience" slowly, long and safely, than quickly but dying in the end. Or at least even just getting injured. Even with the regeneration I have, that's pretty unpleasant. And I'm not at all sure I could, say, grow a new leg. There's cyber prosthetics in this world, but whatever.

  As I suspected, the second pest control session took all day. A Pandoran day, which is three times longer than a terrestrial day. In addition to the scythids, I also caught a small flock of skags, and then some rakks, the local "birds" that had nested on the roof of a couple of Dahl buildings.

  I never gained a level.

  One of the archaeologists' well-preserved huts provided a good opportunity not only to sleep, but even to eat: the pantry was filled with working memory modules containing food. An extremely lucky find; despite the meager ration, it was better than skag.

  ...Almost everything. The sudden memory of rach made me cringe. And then there are the protein briquettes from the field rations... What a load of crap I had to eat in the service of the Vladoff.

  Hmm. Or did I? Did my character even existed before I arrived on Pandora? Another question I'm not even sure I want to know the answer to. These memories...

  Rather than indulge in pointless unanswered questions, I headed to the FTS, to get Claptrap. Let him help me look if it's the only thing he can do.

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  - Uh, boss, aren't these the Eridian ruins? - The little robot asked apprehensively.

  - Yup - I said. - Come on out, we'll look for valuables and artifacts.

  - It's not a good place, - said Claptrap, still wary. - Strange things are happening in the Eridian ruins. They say the curses of the ancient Eridians await the plunderers of their... uh... trash, I suppose.

  I raised an eyebrow. At first I wanted to be sarcastic, or even laugh, but... After meeting Death, it was worth making additional assumptions.

  Still, I was 95 percent sure that Claptrap was behaving as usual. That is, exaggerating and making things absurd. The robot, meanwhile, continued.

  - They say there are anomalies lurking in such places that can turn a robot into an art object! Monsters, killer viruses, and other horrors... Who knows what to expect from these eridians?

  - Everyone does, I noted. - New technologies and profits.

  - Well, that too - the robot agreed. - Hmm. It's getting a little less scary... I mean, I'm a brave robot, and I'm not afraid!

  - In the face of potential money, - I chuckled.

  - Well, money is money - wisely said Claptrap, glancing at the inscription on my armor.

  I had nothing to object.

  Of course, Claptrap didn't manage to intimidate me, but we started the search with the huts built by Dahl - in fact, as I had done at the previous archaeological site. The probability of finding something of value here is still higher, as the acquisition of food stock showed. Although the latter raises the question: why were they abandoned? Foodstuffs from other planets on Pandora are more valuable than basic resources and simple constructs, but they appeared to have been abandoned, though no signs of battle, or any other reason for hasty flight, were noticeable.

  Somewhat odd.

  That sense of strangeness was further reinforced when I discovered a safe with cash in it. Well, with leftover cash, but still. It was as if someone had hastily raked out most of the stacks of money (by the way, the existence of cash in this setting is also puzzling), but was in such a hurry that there was still plenty left. It was starting to worry me, but this was a very fortunate circumstance, so I chose to focus on the positive, and what was for sure. Money, money, everything to collect and digitize... For this purpose, by the way, ECHO has a special procedure and a separate storage.

  Making sure that I didn't miss any banknotes, I once again studied the room, but there was nothing else interesting enough in this room. The next room, on the other hand...

  "External memory module detected! Localize?"

  Whoops. Again.

  It took longer this time; my target was hidden between the roof and the stretch ceiling, inside a strange-looking doll made of rags and twigs. It looked like it was supposed to represent Slenderman... Anyway, I pulled the chip out of it and played the first entry.

  - It's Patricia Tannis' diary. To whoever's reading this, shame on you. What if it's personal, or even obscene? Unprocessed hypotheses, for example.

  I shook my head. I had the impression that the diary's author was paranoid.

  ...Although - can one be paranoid about something that actually came true? I'm actually reading this diary.

  - But maybe that's a good thing. If you're reading this diary, we probably had to leave the station in a hurry, so I have a proposition for you. If you can leave the station alive, then.....

  - Aah!

  A high-pitched, almost childish, squeal was heard somewhere in the distance. It took me a few seconds to realize it was Claptrap, and I realized it on the run, shotgun in hand.

  - Z-z-zombie! - The robot stuttered and staggered away from the open door of the building. - Boss, tell me honestly, tell me the bitter truth - am I doomed? Did it bite me?

  I made a facepalm. Well, as much as the helmet would allow. I don't know what it is, but I'm 90% sure it's some kind of comedy again.

  - Don't worry, I have a reliable cure for zombifying robots, - I informed him.

  - Really? - The robot asked with hope in his voice.

  - Yup, - I replied and cracked it with my shovel.

  - Oh! It's really getting back to normal... - Claptrap said thoughtfully.

  The sign on the door said that this was the office of a repair engineer, which, however, could be understood by the set of mechanisms in the room that were being assembled, disassembled or repaired.

  And among them was a somewhat rusty, hole-in-the-hull mechanical model of a claptrap. Either a toy or just an engineer's hobby.

  ...As you might expect.

  Explaining Claptrap's mistake was easier than I expected. After that - and, just in case, having shown him this "zombie" (oh well...), I sent Claptrap back in search of valuables. Taking my share of what he'd already found.

  I myself, after considering my options, decided to finish reading at least the first entry in Patricia Tannis's diary first.

  - If you can leave the station alive, you'll probably be able to find my archives, which I've hidden in four separate places. Do you want to ask why I did it? Don't be an idiot! This is invaluable research information that should always be at your fingertips! Of course, I hid it in hard to reach places!

  Pause.

  - Well, my storage strategy may not be perfect, but it's not for a layman to judge me. Who's the top expert here, you or me? That's right. Anyway, I need this data, but given the threat that forced us to leave this place and is definitely here to stay...

  - Aah!

  The new screech was no less shrill than the previous one. I sighed, paused the playback, and leisurely staggered toward the voice. I kept my weapon in my hand, though - the scythid I'd missed might get caught, and Tannis's journal was a little unsettling.

  - A g-ghost! - Claptrap stammered. I sighed, walked silently into the building, and a few minutes later brought out a small holographic projector advertising "Hyperion's newest products," jammed on a projection of a claptrap.

  - Oh. Wow... - Claptrap said thoughtfully. - Who would have thought...

  Instead of words, this time I brought the robot back to work with a life-giving kick; the metal upholstery of the shoe allows it. He, by the way, does not even get damaged from such small applications of force - or rather, is capable of limited self-repair. In any case, that piece of wasted iron went back to schmoozing, and I went back to my journal .

  - ...Given the threat that forced us to leave this place and is definitely here to stay, it would take someone less intelligent and more prone to violence than me to bring them back. Some kind of bandit or adventurer. So someone capable of getting in here and finding that diary. Yes, I'm talking about you. Anyway, attached to this entry are the coordinates of the points where I've hidden the archives and my ECHOnet contact; for each archive, you'll receive a portion of the reward - money, weapons, and even priceless information... yes, I'm very generous, but you don't have to admire me, just do the damn job. Oh, and beware...

  - Aaah!

  I couldn't resist a double facepalm. What did he find this time, a set of parts? Is he gonna yell "Murder"? Or...

  - M-m-monster!

  ...Oh, or this. I shook my head dejectedly, and then...

  The flash wasn't so bright against the daylight, but it was quite noticeable, albeit silent. And then I saw what had caused it: a sphere that looked like a toy ball of lightning slammed into the wall of the building ahead.

  A projectile from an Eridian weapon.

  ...Time to save the annoying robot.