Tales from the Drift: A Perfect Endeavor

An electric glow bathes the artificial landscape around me, assaulting my senses with a kaleidoscope of neon blues, greens and pinks. The sound of moving mechanical lifeforms and low-altitude vehicles creates a cacophony that somehow manages to generate an odd harmony with one another. Hundreds of beings, both organic and mechanical alike, maneuver the wide open streets of the megaplex city with guided purpose.

Aballon, the so-called Forge of this system and where I now stand, is something I’d never experienced in my long-life: a world inhabited by self-upgrading machines. Not confined to one form, these machines—anacites as they collectively refer to themselves—have spread across the small world closest to the Pact Worlds’ sun, gradually converting the world into something wondrous. Yet, even for a species who could so easily disconnect themselves from organic concerns, they’ve built their great cities to accommodate those around them.

Illustration by Leon Tukker

I came here to study the Pact Worlds, to walk its many worlds and meet its many people in hopes of learning their cultures. One of my siblings had spent much of their time in this place and had come to respect the Pact Worlds’ people. Another sibling, now deceased, had sought to one day venture to this star system, although their intentions were far less academic than my own. As for my final sibling, I couldn’t be sure if they even know this place exists.

An elevated vidcast monitor several hundred feet wide displays a white-furred rat woman snacking on an apple while partaking in an interview. Vendors of all backgrounds shout out to passersby about the quality of their wares, each making shop in alcoves at the base of massive structures, their presence something clearly intended by this place’s inscrutable designers. Even the walkways that I find myself on are designed to facilitate both organic and robotic beings alike. Hidden lines, invisible to those without augmented sight, direct the settlement’s robotic inhabitants in their maneuvering. Meanwhile, the unaugmented organic lifeforms disrupt the transit with chaotic movements that routinely cause minor fluctuations in the otherwise perfect transit lanes. A controlled chaos of sorts.

Taking this all in over the course of a few seconds, I compile my first impressions on this world.

Something pushes against me; the slightest force against my leg.

“Greetings visitor,” a synthetic voice speaks in the Pact Worlds’ common tongue, emitted from a blocky, rectangular robotic lifeform less than half my height. Its vocal tone is clearly intended to mask any type of association with other species, yet it is fashioned to be appealing to all listeners. “Apologies for this unit’s unintended interaction. This unit had not properly processed your presence in this area, possibly due to a scanning malfunction.”

I smile because that’s what others would expect of me. “No apology is necessary. It was my mistake not to properly respect this world’s traffic laws. Though, if I may make another imposition, may I ask you a question?”

The small anacite rolls back on its tiny automated wheels before adjusting the position of a small telescopic appendage to view my full body, scanning me to resolve its prior error. “This unit does not serve a critical function. This unit will respond as best it is able.”

“You’re a mechanical being, as are most on this world. Why are most the vast settlements of this planet designed with the lives of organics in mind?” I ask the question as I’ve yet to truly discern the answer—a rare occurrence for me.

“This unit understands your query. Answer: Aballon and its many megaplex settlements, such as this megaplex of Endeavor, were designed in respect for Those Who Wait.”

“Those who wait?”

A mechanical whirr of sound comes from the blocky anacite’s telescope as it adjusts a viewing setting. The other robotic beings around us change their ordered line to curve around the conversation. Far above, I see the ysoki woman on the vidscreen take another contented bite from her apple. The small anacite in front of me makes a final calibration before recalling its telescope into its interior, having completed its scan.

“Some anacite units designate themselves as Those Who Wait. Such anacite units conclude that our creators, the First Ones, will one day return to Aballon and as a result our world must be made amenable to them.” The small unit continues its response as a new line of anacites forms a second queue around us, curving in the opposite direction of the existing stream. “Other anacite units designate themselves as Those Who Become. Such anacite units conclude that they must take on the role of the First Ones and seed the galaxy with new anacite lifeforms.”

I maintain my smile and nod my head in appreciation of the explanation. The vidcast screen in the background has shifted to an advertisement led by a skeletal figure that is more of an assault on visual senses than anything near as succinct as my recent exchange.

“What of you, do you belong to Those Who Wait or Those Who Become?”

“This unit does not possess sufficient importance to hold such a belief. This unit exists to assist in the stability of Endeavor’s traffic flow, a task in which this unit is currently failing.”

I look down at the small anacite, taking in all of its simple boxy form and the elegance in its design save for the aesthetic displeasure most other beings would see in it. As the small anacite’s vocal emitters finish its statement, I can’t help but feel my siblings mocking me from the past. I stifle my annoyance by suppressing my smile.

“That seems a shame. Perhaps I can offer a more important existence? Would you be willing to act as my guide on this planet? I have credits.” I offer my hand down to the anacite.

“Acceptable. Assisting newcomers is of higher importance than my current designation.” An aperture opens on the anacite’s frame, releasing a metallic rod that ends near my hand. I clasp the appendage.

Together with my new guide, I step through the break in the curving line of anacites. The remaining robots adjust their movements to form two perfect lines of traffic. Perfection without words.

About the Author

Thurston Hillman is the Starfinder Society Organized Play Campaign Developer. He lives in the frigid ice deserts of Canada, where he's written and developed several products for both Starfinder and Pathfinder. Prior to working at Paizo, Thurston worked in the aviation and technology fields where he travelled the world for several years. You can find Thurston on Twitter at @OnCallGM.

About Tales from the Drift

The Tales from the Drift series of web-based flash fiction provides an exciting glimpse into the setting of the Starfinder Roleplaying Game. Written by members of the Starfinder development team and some of the most celebrated authors in tie-in gaming fiction, the Tales from the Drift series promises to explore the worlds, alien cultures, deities, history, and organizations of the Starfinder setting with engaging stories to inspire Game Masters and players alike.