Ethan didnt answer her question at first. He was too busy using the axe as a walking stick and hobbling toward the tree line like a man twice his age. Time was wasting, and he needed to make it back to camp.
Each step sent bolts of pain through his legs and up to his spine, barely alleviated by the axe. His suit, now bleached and still steaming in patches, clung to him with a damp, chemical stink so powerful it felt physical.
“Sure, lets take your damn survey,” He said through fritted teeth, “I’ve got nothing better to do on the trek back.”
CelestOS: Thank you for opting in, Acting Captain Cross. As the only remaining member of the Peseverance, your feedback is important us!
The forest thinned around him as he trudged froward, his boots crunching on the hardening soil. The river quickly fell behind, and ahead the terrain opened into a wide stretch of scorched red dust. He knew where he was. He was close to the swamp. Almost 3 and half kilometers to base.
Ethan limped forward, never one to let even a death in the family hinder him in pursuit of his goals. He’d already done like a billion of these surveys, what was one more?
CelestOS: Initiating CelestiClean? Customer satisfaction survey. Please respond verbally or via hand gestures within thirty seconds for each question. Responses will be recorded and logged for quality control assurance.
A low hum filled the air as Ethan continued walking. With his helmet gone, and consequently his ability to maintain a hud, he expected CelestOS to just prattle off the questions in his ear, or display them on her screen as usual. Instead, the air in front of him flickered.
A pale-blue ripple formed, tracing a solid ring of light that widened into a projection. The same kind of holographic display she had used back during his ill-fated cliff descent. Back when she marked safe handholds and flagged stable platforms with yello glowing indicators.
Now the holographs projected som sort of floating panel just above his eyeline, translucent but crisp. The first question appeared in a clean, sterile, corporate looking font.
CelestOS: Question 1: On a scale from one to five, how effective was the CelestiClean? mist at removing external contamination?
Ethan slowly raised his hand and extended one very specific finger. “Here’s your rating.”
CelestOS: Acknowledged. One star awarded. We value employee expression in evaluation surveys.
“It was a 0” Ethan snapped, with far more venom that he intended, The AI was realy starting to dig under his skin. “I hope your server catches fire.”
Ethan moved forward again trying to prevent the questions from affecting his mood. He was alive. He had harvested everything he needed, and he had more than enough time to prepare defenses for the night. He wasn’t going to let some stupid AI and its stupid questions ruin everything.
But try as he might, he couldn’t get the holograph to go away. He stepped forward, trying to walk through it, it remained just in front of him, persistently at eye level. He turned his head, it turned with him. He slowed down, it slowed too, maintaining its polite, hovering menace.
“Back off,” He said, waving a hand throught it, which of course, did nothing.
CelestOS, though, chose to ignore him completely.
CeslestOS: Question 2: How would you rate the overall comfort and temperature of the CelestiClean? mist as applied directly to your CMS , and/or skin?
The panel pulsed cheerfully, as if genuinely exited for his answer. Ethan exhaled through his nose like a bull, his eyes twitching.
“Are you for real? What do you think it felt like?”
CelestOS: Reminder, participation in Celestitech Surveys is 100% mandatory. Incomplete surveys will result in temporary lockout of all Celestitech products, including but not limited to grav boots, Celestimed, Celesticraft, celestiforge, lifesip, celestireach, and Celestos autonomous units.
Ethan squinted through the heat haze, looking vainly in the direction of his camp to see how far away he still was. Thankfully, the minimap was still displayed on CelestOS’s screen, but unlike the hud, it didn’t have the distances marked.
Past the holodisplay, red dust swirled in the air; The trees had were all but gone here, and in the distance he could make out the red sea of grass likely 5 minutes away. He exhaled harshly, the heat making him breathe heavily. Veslaya’s sun was harsh in the afternoon, and there was no shade in sight.
What was the question again? Comfort? Ill let you know after my skin grows back.”
He jabbed his middle finger at the screen again.
CelestOS: Invalid response. Value recorded as 1 again. Disclaimer: Celestitech is obligated to inform you that all ratings submitted through this interface are legally binding and may be used to assess user eligibility for future pysch evaluations.
Ethan blinked. “Wait, what?”
CelestOS: Question 3: On a scale of 1 to 5, how confident are you that the CelestiClean? mist successfully eliminated all traces of Red Resin? Please consider both biological and psychological factors when making your decision.
Ethan was all ready to press the 1 again, but before he could lift a finger, middle or otherwise, the hologram pulsed once and flared brighter.
CelestOS: Please enjoy this informational video before making your response.
The screen shimmered again, before suddenly it expanded into a widescreen mode and a video began playing.
[CELESTITECH PROMOTIONAL AD]
Product Line: CelestiClean? Rapid Decontamination Mist
FOR INTERNAL VIEWING ONLY
“Now standard on all personnel-assigned CelestOS units. WARNING: DO NOT EXPOSE TO SKIN.”
The screen flared bright white, blasting Ethan’s eyes so harshly he could see stars. A heartbeat later, the glow resolved into a clean, metallic corporate blue, and a video played on the screen.
A gleaming chrome canister rotated slowly in the air. Connected to it was a hazard yellow nozzle which sparkled under studio lights while a fine jet of aerosolized cleaner cut through a curtain of thick red mist. Whether it was some form of aerosolized spray, or blood, was anyone's guess.
A cheerful jingled kicked in, loud, brassy, bubbly and aggressively upbeat. Ethan realized it was the same damn jingle CelestOS had played back during the initial crash. The narrator’s voice followed, smoot and confident, with the tone of someone who had never been within 100 feet of the item they were describing.
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“Tired of walking through martian death clouds or wondering if that itch is psychosomatic, or actually terminal?” A brief pause, while the narrator let the hypothetical question sink in. “Say goodbye to filth, fear, and most of your upper dermis with the new and improved— CelestiClean?!”
A crew member marched into frame. His Jumpsuit which at somepoint must have been white, was utterly filthy, someone had painstakenly applied stains of green ooze, some sort of brown streaks, and a suspiciously red looking handprint across the chest. The man grinned with a plastic enthusiasm that no amount of money could fix as he stepped timidly into a swirling column of the aerosolized mist.
The cleaner struck him like the exhaust from a jet engine full of lemons. Steam exploded off his suit at the layers of manufactured grime were blasted away with industrial fury. When he emerged seconds later, he was pristine, polished, and bleeding from his eyes and mouth and he was visibly shaking as he silently screamed. The camera immediately zoomed in on the now completely white CMS suit.
“Using high-pressure Aerosol delivery and a generous helping of chemical ingenuity, the CelestiClean? neutralizes over 99.99999999% of all known contaminants, including but not limited to mold, bloodborne pathogens, regret, and most surface level biomatter. Or your money back guaranteed*
A disclaimer flashed across the screen for barely a second, and was so tiny he could barely even read it.
*Money back guarantee valid only if purchaser survives full CelestiClean? decontamination cycle and is infected by pathogens Clesticlean is known to cure. User must also remain biologically intact for a minimum of seventy-two consecutive hours thereafter. Claimant must also submit form CC-791 “Proof of continued respiration” within thirty minutes of treatment, and retain at least one undisolved fingerprint for identity verification. Guarantee automatically void in cases of liquefaction, disintegration, spontaneous combustion, or any other condition resulting in user death, partial death, or metaphysical relocation. In the event of non survival, all refunds are void, and remaining celesticredits? balance are graciously reabsorbed by celestitech to ensure shareholder satisfaction. Additional terms, conditions, and fees definitely apply.
Celestitech where our shareholders are our number 1 priority!
Another crew member tried to backpedal out of the mist, only to be tackled by two colleagues who smiled like stepford wives on camera. The three were consumed in a jet of the sterilizing vapor with the sound of their synchronized screams immediately cut off.
“Whether you are decontaminating gear, scrubbing moon dust from your boots, or just want that burning feeling of being freshly scoured by industrial grade solvents, CelestiClean? has your back, arms, and exposed face.
The screen split to show an interesting-looking asian man with an unnaturally sharp chin sobbing in an australian accent as he crawled through a pit of sludge. The other side showed the same man holding a manic grin and a thumbs up after being perfectly sanitized.
“Why settle for soap, when you could have scientific purification at your fingertips? Forget gentle dishsoap, CelestiClean? is fast, pressurized, and certain to clean up any oilspoils you might have accidentally released into the pacific garbage patch.”
The ad closed on a lone survivor limping across the battered surface of mars after the Resettling wars of 2055. His suit was completely burnt to a crisp, every part of its surface covered in black. The next instance he was sprayed by his CelestOS 2.5 unit which hovered just behind him. The jingle returned as he magically transformed into a pristine version of himself. The screen faded to black as the tagline appeared.
CelestiClean? because your cleanliness is our second highest priority.
The ad ended and Ethan just stood there staring at the screen. He had never actually seen one of their ads before having always ignored them, but that was. Well, it happened.
He stared at the survey question which was still floating a couple of feet in front of his face. He was waiting for a response or something to appear, but it just continued floating, menacingly. Seeing nothing changed he responded,
“I don’t feel confident at all. If anything I feel dirty after watching that ad.” He shuddered. “Do you know how many times it said not to use this shit on human skin? What if it gives me like space cancer or something?”
As if completely ignoring what Ethan said, a rating panel finally appeared. Yet again, he jabbed at the 0 with his favorite finger.
Finally she responded:
Celestos: Response recorded. Psychological state entered into evidence for continuing hr complaint.
Ethan took a step forward hoping the ‘survey’ was over. It of course wasn’t. At the very least he’d be back to the crash site soon.
The next question popped up before Ethan could stop moving.
CelestOS: “On a scale of 1 to 5, how would you rate the aroma and tactile memory imprint of CelestiClean??”
Ethan didn’t stop walking. He didn’t have the energy to stop. Or care.
“Tactile memory imprint?” he questioned, voice dry as the air around him. “What does that even mean?”
The holographic panel pulsed, logging the response.
CelestOS: Response logged. Customer displays resistance to Celestitech’s signature olfactory brand.
Ethan dragged the axe forward like it weighed half his body. Every few steps, it scraped the dirt with a metallic rasp. The sun was climbing higher, and the ground shimmered ahead of him, but the damn display stayed in front of his face like a bug that wouldn’t go away.
“Great,” he grunted. “Looking forward to being brainwashed by citrus.”
No reply. Just the subtle flicker of the next question queueing up.
The next question blinked onto the screen without pause.
CelestOS: “Would you recommend CelestiClean? to a coworker, subordinate, or medically revived associate?”
Ethan didn’t even look at the panel.
“Only if I want them to hate me.”
CelestOS: “Referral acknowledged. Commander Reyes has been flagged as a potential candidate.”
He stopped walking.
“What?”
The panel faded.
“CelestOS,” he said, louder this time, “do you know where Reyes is?”
Nothing.
She didn’t respond, instead he could only hear the steady hum of the forge ahead and the quiet hiss of wind curling across scorched dirt.
The holograms finally vanished.
Ethan stopped moving, just for a moment, and let his body sway. He set the axe against his shin, before he rubbed both hands down his face like he was trying to smear the last ten minutes out of memory. Everything ached. His fingers, his ribs, his calves. Even the muscles in his jaw hurt from clenching too long.
Finally, CelestOS’s voice returned, far too cheerful as always.
[CelestiSurvey? Complete]
+500 CelestiCredits? awarded
+Mission Credit: Sample Recovery Success
+Tier 2 Skill Module Recipe – Now Available
CelestOS: “Congratulations, Acting Captain Cross! You are now 92% more valuable to the company than your last performance review. Just 9070% more and you will no longer be classified as expendable.
Ethan stared at the screen with a cracked, lopsided grin. “Well, at least someone thinks I’m doing great…”
He forced his legs to move again. The ache was deeper now, somewhere deep inside. His suit’s fabric had dried into a crispy second skin, and every step sounded like he was walking through cellophane. But the terrain was changing.
The haze had mostly cleared. Cracked earth stretched out beneath Ethan’s boots, littered with blackened roots and wind-swept ash. The crash site sprawled ahead—no camp, just remnants. Escape pods lay scattered across the dry terrain, their hulls warped and sun-bleached, impact craters long cooled.
One pod was crumpled like foil. Another had split open along its side, a dark smear marking where something had been dragged out. At the center of it all, the CelestiForge stood idle but intact, surrounded by a neatly arranged cache of gathered materials.
Relief didn’t hit him all at once. It crept in slowly. Like the heat. Like the pain.
He dragged his axe along behind him, carving a shallow trail in the dust, and muttered, “Home sweet hell.”
He crossed the perimeter line.
The hum of the CelestiForge reached his ears first. A dull, metallic churn. CelestOS had already begun smelting down the ore he brought back.
He hadn’t expected that.
Ethan reached the edge of the crash zone and let the axe fall. It hit the ground with a flat, defeated thunk. He leaned against the side of the hull and sagged there, boneless, his throat raw and stomach churning from hours of adrenaline and starvation.
He was just starting to slide down into a seated position when something broke the quiet.
A cough.
He froze.
There wasn’t a sound it could be other than a cough. A wet, hacking Human cough.
Ethan turned.
A figure slumped beside the ruined ship, almost camouflaged in the warped shadows. At first, he thought it was another hallucination. Then he saw the foil blanket.
And the blood.
Reyes.
He sat against the hull like he’d been dropped there by mistake, his arms slack, his breathing shallow. An empty CelestiMed injector dangled from one hand. His uniform was torn to hell, crusted in dirt and dried blood. His eyes, red, swollen, and blinking unevenly, found Ethan and narrowed.
“…Reyes? What the fuck?”
