Icarus: What Goes Up Must Come Down

 

Icarus, it has been fun.

Admittedly, “fun” has often meant being mauled by something the size of a suburban bus while attempting to sell coffee in a thunderstorm, but definitions become flexible after several hundred hours on a hostile alien planet.

Still, the writing is on the wall. Soon, CCF will be leaving behind the hostile coffee lifestyle and going to live in a forest, where the trees will presumably be less vindictive and the local wildlife will wait at least several minutes before eating Craig.

There are signs that the end is approaching. The missions are becoming fewer. The technology tree has surrendered its final secrets. The developers have begun repairing the bugs that made the game tolerable.

Most significantly, Myles has respecced his talents.

When Myles respecs his talents, the game is over. The remaining playtime is merely the digital equivalent of checking under the hotel bed to make sure nobody has left a phone charger.

Finishing the Quarrite Mission

The evening began with unfinished business.

The group still needed to locate the exotic Quarrite tunnel, convert the Quarrite armour into exotics using the biocleanser, secure the remaining rewards and return to Winchester without anyone being pulverised by an angry crystalline lifeform.

This was achieved with surprising efficiency.

The tunnel was found. The Quarrite armour was processed. Exotics were obtained. Zaph’s horse was stuck in a cupboard.

Then everyone headed home.

The horse-in-a-cupboard situation was neither part of the mission objectives nor particularly helpful, but CCF has always believed that a successful expedition should include at least one act that would be difficult to explain to an insurance assessor.

With Zaph’s horse safely stored among the household furnishings, the group began the journey back to Winchester.

It was during this ride that Myles finally discovered an important zoological fact.

Myles Realises Zebras Are Not Horses

Myles had been riding Patch for months.

Patch was dependable, loyal and striped. He had carried Myles across deserts, forests, mountains and several situations in which the phrase “Why is Craig over there?” had been followed immediately by violence.

Patch was also slow.

On the way back to Winchester, the others were repeatedly forced to stop and wait for Myles to catch up. Stripes and Crossing would surge ahead like racing animals bred by a secretive billionaire, while Patch followed at the speed of a supermarket trolley with one defective wheel.

At first, Myles assumed this was normal.

Perhaps Dave and Zaph were using some advanced riding technique. Perhaps they had better saddles. Perhaps Patch was simply conserving energy for the inevitable moment when Myles needed to flee something with too many teeth.

After several more pauses, however, Myles began to suspect that something was wrong.

Back at Winchester, he opened Patch’s statistics.

Speed: –3%.

Myles then examined Stripes.

Speed: +20%.

He checked Crossing.

Speed: +20%.

There was a brief silence as the truth emerged from the numbers.

During the week Myles had missed, the group had assigned him the lame zebra.

This had not been discussed. There had been no vote. No warning had been placed on Patch. Nobody had mentioned that every other zebra on the planet could outrun him while carrying a stone house and half of Dave’s reagent collection.

For months, Myles had simply accepted that everyone regularly disappeared over the horizon.

Now armed with this revelation, he inspected the equipment available for purchase from the orbital station.

There it was: a premium saddle guaranteed to increase horse speed by twenty percent.

Perfect.

Myles ordered it immediately.

The saddle descended from orbit in a supply pod, having travelled through interplanetary space at enormous expense. Myles unpacked it, admired the craftsmanship and read the manual.

The saddle was for horses.

Patch was a zebra.

After months of calling Patch a horse, treating Patch as a horse and expecting Patch to behave like a horse, Myles discovered that zebras are not, in fact, horses.

The saddle did not fit.

Presumably somewhere in the station’s customer-service department, a note was added to Myles’s account:

Customer ordered equine equipment for non-equine striped mammal. Refund denied on zoological grounds.

The group instead manufactured a bear saddle.

The bear saddle was apparently so terrifying to have strapped to one’s back that even Patch became five percent faster, presumably in an attempt to escape from it.

Patch was now only two hundred speed units slower than Stripes or Crossing.

Progress.

As the group says:

“We don’t have to outrun the Quarrite, we just have to ride faster than Myles.”

Patch, to his credit, has never complained about this arrangement. Myles has also stopped complaining, mostly because everyone else is already too far ahead to hear him.

Dave Discovers Volatile Material Becomes Useless If You Don’t Use It Quickly

Before leaving on the Quarrite armour mission the previous week, Dave had prepared a batch of volatile material.

The plan was efficient.

The material would continue brewing while the group was away. Upon their triumphant return, Dave would use it to manufacture grenades. There would be no waiting, no wasted time and no need to stand around the workshop watching dangerous chemicals do whatever dangerous chemicals do when left unattended beside Craig.

Dave returned expecting a neatly prepared stockpile.

Instead, he discovered that volatile material has a limited lifespan.

All forty units had become inert.

The material was no longer explosive, reactive or useful. It had transformed into forty units of expensive grey disappointment.

This was a valuable lesson in advanced chemistry: if a substance is specifically labelled volatile, do not leave it sitting on a bench for a week and assume it will maintain a professional work ethic in your absence.

Dave considered the inert pile.

The inert pile offered no comment.

Craig Discovers You Can Make Better Gear, Unless Dave Needs the Resources

Craig had ambitions of his own.

Having reviewed the available tools, or at least clicked through the technology screens until something shiny appeared, Craig decided to manufacture the finest pickaxe available.

The pickaxe required titanium.

Craig gathered the necessary resources and placed them in the foundry, secure in the belief that they had been reserved for his project.

This was his first mistake.

Dave required titanium for something else.

By the time Craig returned, the resources had vanished.

The titanium had been pinched from the foundry and reassigned to a more important project, with “important” defined as “the thing Dave wanted to build at that particular moment.”

Craig’s magnificent pickaxe remained theoretical.

Somewhere, perhaps, there is an alternative version of the evening in which Craig obtained his titanium pickaxe and became the planet’s greatest miner.

This is not that version.

The titanium would later be consumed by something much more expensive and considerably less useful.

There Is Still Money to Be Made in Coffee

The coffee crop was ready.

Coffee had once represented civilisation. A reliable agricultural industry. A reason to cultivate the land rather than merely strip-mine it and flee.

Now, transporting coffee for sale had become a grim endurance activity.

Myles collected the harvest and carried it to the market, enduring weather, distance and angry Quarrite along the way. The Quarrite had apparently taken a principled position against commercial agriculture and attempted to enforce it through blunt-force trauma.

The journey was no longer fun.

Still, the coffee sold for 1,200 Ren.

And 1,200 Ren is better than nothing.

It is also better than forty units of inert material, a horse saddle that does not fit a zebra, or an imaginary titanium pickaxe.

The Winchester coffee industry therefore continued, sustained by stubbornness, orbital commerce and the knowledge that even on a lethal alien world, somebody will pay a premium for a decent flat white.

The Best Part of Icarus Was the Broken Systems

Icarus has many systems.

Survival systems. Crafting systems. Weather systems. Farming systems. Systems governing oxygen, nutrition, temperature, construction stability and the likelihood that Craig will bring several monsters home with him.

The finest system, however, was the one that did not work properly.

For some time, Dave had been exploiting the weightless bag bug.

The technique allowed him to strip-mine caves and collect practically everything that could be removed from the landscape. Ore, stone, coal, sulphur, silica, random objects and possibly entire geological formations could be placed into bags without imposing the consequences traditionally associated with mass.

Dave used this shamelessly.

Where other players saw inventory limits, Dave saw a temporary disagreement between software and reality.

He would enter a cave as one man and emerge carrying the accumulated mineral wealth of a small nation.

Then the developers fixed the bug.

Suddenly weight had meaning again.

Dave was forced to confront a world in which collecting every object in sight caused him to become encumbered. Movement slowed. Inventory slots filled. Choices had to be made.

This was intolerable.

Icarus was simply not as much fun when Dave was constantly weighed down with stuff, particularly when the stuff had been obtained through entirely legitimate mining techniques that merely happened to rely on a defect in the laws of physics.

Dave became a proud, card-carrying member of MGGA: Make Games Great Again.

He remembered the good old days of Dungeon Siege, when a player could own a pack mule, pile every sword, shield, potion, cheese wheel and suspiciously damp piece of armour onto it, then send the mule to the shop by itself to sell the loot.

That was civilisation.

That was progress.

That was a society which understood that heroes should not be required to manage spreadsheets while standing in a cave.

Denied his weightless bags, Dave searched the technology tree for an alternative.

He found the portable dropship recall beacon.

Dropships: The Future of Inventory Management

The portable dropship recall beacon was a handheld device that allowed a prospector to fire a flare and summon their dropship to the current location.

This appeared promising.

Dave manufactured one and tested it.

The device worked precisely as advertised.

His landing dropship, previously stationed on the other side of the map, launched into the sky and flew to Winchester.

This immediately interested Myles.

Dropships contained fifteen inventory slots. Fifteen slots represented transport capacity. Transport capacity represented logistics. Logistics represented the possibility of moving vast quantities of material without riding Patch across half the planet at a majestic –3% speed.

Myles imagined mobile freight services, remote mining depots and a future in which crates full of pouches could be loaded into dropships to create layers of inventory storage that no responsible developer would ever have intended.

He acquired a recall beacon and summoned his own dropship to Winchester.

It arrived successfully.

Craig also wanted to try one.

Craig’s goal was slightly different.

He obtained a beacon, walked to the lake and threw it into the water in an attempt to make his dropship land underwater.

This was not a transport strategy. It was an experiment in whether expensive orbital equipment could drown.

The dropship landed nearby.

Craig’s contribution to aerospace research was therefore inconclusive.

Still, the recall beacons worked. Dropships could be summoned. Inventory could theoretically be transported.

For several glorious minutes, it appeared that CCF had defeated inventory management through aviation.

Then Dave looked farther down the technology tree.

What Goes Up Comes Down in the Same Spot

At the very end of Tier 5 sat the dropship landing pad.

It was the culmination of advanced technology: an expensive, powered platform designed to receive dropships with precision.

Dave studied the description and developed a plan.

The group could construct a landing pad at Winchester, deploy a dropship somewhere else, fill it with supplies and then recall it to the base.

It would be a freight network.

A revolution in logistics.

A solution to the tyranny of personal carry weight.

Dave convinced Myles to build one.

The landing pad was extremely expensive. It consumed all the group’s titanium, including the titanium Craig had earmarked for his pickaxe.

Craig’s pickaxe died so that aerospace might live.

The device was completed and carried outside for installation.

It would not deploy.

The land surrounding Winchester was gently sloped, which was apparently too severe an engineering challenge for the most advanced landing technology on Icarus. The platform that could receive spacecraft descending on pillars of flame could not tolerate a mild change in elevation.

Dave therefore extended the platform over the lake.

Myles placed the landing pad on the new structure, connected it to the power grid and claimed ownership.

Myles’s dropship immediately launched.

There was a roar of engines. Fire erupted beneath it. The ship rose into the sky with all the majesty of humanity’s triumph over gravity.

Then it descended onto the landing pad.

This was encouraging.

To test the freight concept, Myles rode to the lakehouse to collect sulphur. The plan was simple: travel to the remote location, summon the dropship with a portable beacon, load it and then return it to Winchester.

Myles reached the lakehouse and activated the beacon.

Back at Winchester, the dropship rose gracefully from the landing pad on a pillar of flame.

It climbed into the sky.

Then it came back down onto the landing pad.

It had travelled several metres vertically and none horizontally.

Myles tried again.

The dropship launched.

The dropship returned.

Apparently the portable recall beacon had issued a complex navigational command which the dropship interpreted as:

Go somewhere else, unless there is a landing pad immediately beneath you, in which case reconsider.

Further testing commenced.

Dave switched off the landing pad’s power after the dropship took off.

The dropship rose into the air.

Then it descended once again onto the powerless pad.

The landing pad did not require electricity to attract dropships. It had become a gravitational anomaly, a sacred nesting site or a piece of airport infrastructure governed by union rules.

Myles unclaimed the pad.

The dropship took off.

For one thrilling moment, it appeared that the curse had been broken.

The ship descended nearby and crushed part of the greenhouse.

Technically, it had landed somewhere different.

The greenhouse would have preferred a less literal interpretation of the test criteria.

Myles then threw another recall beacon near Dave’s dropship.

Myles’s dropship ascended, ignored Dave’s pod, ignored the beacon and returned to settle obediently on the landing pad.

The group had built a device whose sole purpose was to ensure that a dropship already at the base could leave the base briefly and then return to exactly the same place.

It was a vertical transport system.

What goes up must come down, apparently in the same spot.

The landing pad was destroyed.

It was a totally useless device.

Fortunately, dismantling equipment returns half of the resources used to construct it, allowing the group to recover a portion of the titanium that had been sacrificed to this monument to technological optimism.

Not enough titanium for Craig’s pickaxe, obviously.

That would have been absurdly convenient.

Craig Is Quiet

While Myles and Dave were wrestling with the dropship landing pad, Craig became quiet.

Too quiet.

CCF has learned over many years that Craig’s silence should never be interpreted as inactivity. It means only that whatever he is doing has not yet become visible from the main base.

The group needed more wood.

A conventional player might chop down nearby trees and transport the timber home.

Craig identified a more ambitious solution.

He moved to a nearby hill where trees were plentiful and began constructing a sizeable stone house overlooking the lake.

The house was not a temporary logging shelter. It was a proper building, positioned dramatically above the landscape like the country estate of a minor aristocrat whose fortune had been made through unexplained monster incidents.

Having completed the house, Craig confronted another problem.

The direct route down the hill was inconvenient.

Riding around the hill would take too long.

Craig therefore built a double-width staircase from the stone house all the way down to ground level.

The group had requested wood.

Craig delivered a hilltop residence and a monumental public-works project.

The staircase descended across the hillside with the confidence of something designed by a civilisation expecting several thousand daily commuters. It was wide, imposing and entirely proportionate to the needs of one man who did not want to ride around a corner.

Nobody had asked for it.

Nobody planned to visit.

This has never stopped Craig before.

Tonight’s Campfire Song — by Dave

To be performed beside the fire while staring mournfully at forty units of inert material.

Started out with a C64,
Loading games from tape.
Waited twenty-seven minutes,
Then watched the program break.

Came to distant Icarus,
With drills and guns and beans.
Built a home, grew coffee plants,
And murdered local things.

Dave found bags with weightless space,
And mined the mountains bare.
Then the developers repaired them,
Proving life is never fair.

Now every pocket’s full of stone,
Each pouch has reached its end.
The landing pad goes up and down,
But will not go round the bend.

So spread the maps and pick a world,
Find somewhere new to stay.
Keep the bugs that make things useful,
And throw the rest away.

We’ll pack the mounts and leave the base,
Find forests, fields and prey.
But Patch will still arrive tomorrow,
Though we all left yesterday.

There was probably a final chorus, but Dave was interrupted by the sound of Craig adding another flight of stairs.

Did We Learn or Achieve Anything This Week?

Against considerable odds, yes.

We learnt:

• Icarus developers fixed a useful bug and replaced it with top-tier, broken equipment.
  The weightless bag, which solved an actual problem, was removed. The dropship landing pad, which solved no identifiable problem, remained proudly available at the end of the technology tree.

• Our time on Icarus is drawing to a close.
  The missions are nearly finished, Myles has respecced and Dave has begun nostalgically comparing modern game design with a pack mule from 2002.

• Myles will ride for months on a lame zebra and not complain.
  Provided nobody shows him the statistics, Myles will accept being two hundred speed units behind everyone else as an ordinary feature of group travel.

Achievements Unlocked

Dave — WTF Devs

Build super advanced, yet useless technology.

Dave reached the pinnacle of the technology tree, consumed the group’s titanium and created a landing pad that allowed a stationary dropship to briefly become airborne before returning to where it started.

Humanity has conquered space, but not lateral movement.

Myles — Endless Possibilities

Try to stick a crate full of pouches in a dropship to achieve infinite transport capability.

Myles looked at fifteen inventory slots and immediately began planning nested storage systems that would inevitably be patched by the developers three days after he perfected them.

Craig — Hill of Dreams

If you build it, they still won’t visit.

Craig solved the group’s timber shortage by constructing a substantial stone house and a double-width staircase down an entire hillside.

The house overlooks the lake.

The staircase is magnificent.

Nobody knows why either exists.

Next Week

Tune in next week to discover whether this was CCF’s final night on Icarus.

Will the group complete one last mission?

Will Dave find another broken system worth exploiting?

Will Craig extend the staircase across the lake?

Will Myles finally acquire a mount capable of keeping pace with moderate continental drift?

Or will everyone abandon the hostile coffee lifestyle and move to a forest, taking with them several tonnes of unused building materials, half a landing pad and one deeply inadequate zebra?

Whatever happens, Patch will arrive shortly afterward.

Icarus: In Zaph We Trust

 

The official account of the evening, subject to correction by anyone who was conscious, paying attention, or not Craig.

Before beginning, the Historical Records Department should acknowledge the existence of a competing account of these events.

According to Craig, he saved the day, pickpocketed a dragon, made muffins, and returned to base for lashes of ginger beer, where he was hailed as the best leader and an all-round great guy.

This account has several weaknesses.

There was no dragon.

There were no muffins.

Nobody saw any ginger beer.

And the question of Craig’s leadership remains before the tribunal.

Still, eyewitness testimony is notoriously unreliable, particularly when the eyewitness has spent the evening wiring several megawatts of electricity into an illuminated walkway up the side of a mountain. Craig’s version has therefore been retained in the archive under Historical Fiction: Aspirational.

The following is what actually happened.

Waiting for Zaph

Myles, Craig and Dave sat around at Craig’s hut at the lake mining outpost, waiting for rescue.

This was not a dramatic hut. It did not stand defiantly against an apocalyptic sunset while trumpets played and battered survivors gazed towards the horizon. It was simply Craig’s hut, which meant it had probably been extended in at least one direction without planning permission and contained structural decisions that made sense only when viewed through the wrong end of a telescope.

Zaph was coming to rescue them.

This took more than five minutes because Zaph had to ride across most of the planet to get there.

In CCF terms, five minutes is a dangerously long period. It is long enough for Dave to discover an unattended side quest, Myles to begin writing a procedure, or Craig to invent civil engineering.

Craig became bored, so he built another storey on the house.

Because Craig.

No structural assessment was conducted. No additional foundations were installed. No one had requested another floor. Somewhere deep inside Craig’s mind, however, a council planning permit had been stamped APPROVED, probably by Craig.

Myles became bored, so he made a list explaining the group’s latest escapade to Zaph, who had not read the previous week’s blog.

This was less immediately dangerous than Craig’s construction work, although it carried the risk of Zaph discovering precisely how much had gone wrong while he was absent.

Dave also became bored.

Dave wandered off to see how things were progressing at the mining camp.

This was the point at which boredom ceased being a temporary emotional state and became an operational hazard.

At the camp, Dave stopped to inspect the defensive hedgehogs. They needed repairs. Fortunately, Dave had a hammer and happily began working on them, surrounded by the calm satisfaction of a man performing useful maintenance.

Unfortunately, he had not noticed that the two Quarrite tunnels he had closed the previous week had reopened.

The first Quarrite emerged over the ridge and rolled up to investigate who was making all the racket.

The answer was Dave.

It is frequently Dave.

Over the radio came the sudden hiss of communication.

“Pssht!! – Hey Myles, why aren’t the turrets firing?” asked Dave. “Are they out of ammo?”

“No,” Myles replied, “I turned them off to save fuel.”

“Well, that sucks,” said Dave over the sound of sporadic gunfire.

Myles looked around the hut.

Why was Dave using the radio when he had only just been outside?

Myles grabbed the handset.

“Dave – where the f#$k are you Dave? What have you done Dave?”

“Little busy here – can’t talk,” Dave replied over the sound of gunfire and Quarrite roaring.

Myles grabbed his gun and ran down the hill, screaming at Dave.

“I can’t leave you alone for 5 minutes, WTF Dave?”

This was technically inaccurate. Myles had left Dave alone for substantially less than five minutes. Dave had simply used those minutes with remarkable efficiency.

Nearby, Stripes rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Humans!! he thought. Never a dull moment.

Patch snickered.

It is worth noting that neither zebra has ever claimed to have pickpocketed a dragon. Their statements are therefore considered more credible than Craig’s.

Zaph Arrives

Eventually, Zaph arrived carrying a spare generator and fuel.

He had crossed the planet to rescue three experienced players from a situation caused by one of them becoming bored beside a hammer. This is the sort of thing Zaph accepts without comment, partly because he is a good friend and partly because he knows ammunition is more effective than counselling.

Myles delivered the briefing while Dave sat in the naughty corner.

Things were better organised this time.

This is a phrase CCF uses when the ammunition has been counted and nobody is currently on fire.

Myles powered up the second turret. Zaph took up an overwatch position. Dave returned to the tunnels and closed both of them again.

No worms joined the fight.

There were, however, bitey piranha in the river, which happily fed on Dave while he attempted to close one of the tunnels. Dave continued working, presumably on the basis that blood loss is simply another form of resource expenditure.

Zaph slipped past the fighting and closed the third tunnel.

The area was secure.

Again.

For the moment.

Operation: Save the Miners, Revisited

The group now had to search the camp for survivors.

Given the number of worms and Quarrite they had killed in and around the settlement, the idea that anyone remained alive seemed optimistic. The camp had spent the previous week functioning as a combined mineral extraction facility, battlefield and Quarrite buffet.

While Craig repaired the miners’ hut, the others searched the area.

Craig’s reconstruction work may explain how muffins entered his later account. A damaged support beam, viewed at the correct angle and with sufficient imagination, can apparently resemble a tray of baked goods.

The search uncovered two survivors: Biggs and Wedge.

This was possibly a developer gag referencing Biggs Darklighter and Wedge Antilles from Star Wars, although unlike their cinematic namesakes, these two had survived by lying injured in a hut while four confused contractors argued over medical supplies.

Myles brought out the Heal Device and scanned their injuries.

The diagnosis was straightforward.

One had a concussion. The other had a broken leg. Unfortunately, the group had not packed every possible medication, and paste could not be used for the required treatment.

This meant they had to build a medicine bench to manufacture tonics.

On Icarus, emergency medicine follows the same broad process as assembling flat-pack furniture. First, identify the injured person. Then discover the required item is unavailable. Then construct an entire industrial workstation from local timber, iron and whatever Dave has been carrying since Tuesday.

Once the tonics were produced, the concussion and broken leg were treated.

Biggs and Wedge were placed into stasis bags and shipped into space.

No discharge paperwork was completed.

The Traditional Post-Rescue Looting

With the miners safely dispatched, the group paused to assess the situation and steal everything that was not nailed down.

This is known as the CCF humanitarian phase.

Several problems became immediately apparent.

The sneaky developers had fixed the bag-sorting weight bug. Dave was now encumbered. Stripes was encumbered. Dave had to throw things away.

This was a traumatic development.

Dave does not throw resources away. Dave retains resources against a distant future need that may arise in a hypothetical expansion during the next geological epoch.

Somewhere among his possessions was almost certainly a piece of bark he had collected eighteen missions earlier because it “might be useful for alchemy.”

Dave was also out of rifle ammunition. He could not pick anything else up, and his gear needed repairs.

Craig was out of shotgun shells.

Myles’s equipment also needed repairs.

The group was also down one turret.

Myles had turned the turrets off again to conserve fuel. While everyone searched for the miners, wild animals had wandered into camp and eaten one.

There are few phrases that summarise Icarus quite as efficiently as the animals ate the automated gun emplacement.

Dave suggested returning to base.

Zaph, who had only just arrived, still had plenty of ammunition. His equipment was shiny. He was not encumbered. He suggested completing the next mission before returning.

This was the difference between the two strategic positions:

Dave represented the tired, battered and overloaded majority.

Zaph represented fresh legs, loaded weapons and optimism.

Optimism narrowly survived the initial discussion.

Operation: What Is the Best Way to Kill Quarrite?

The laboratory researchers in space wanted to know the best way to kill Quarrite.

Apparently, the mountain of dead Quarrite surrounding the mining camp had not provided sufficient data. Science required controlled experimentation, documented methodology and several volunteers standing dangerously close to explosives.

The researchers supplied some specialised equipment:

• Poison arrows

• A pickaxe

• Hand grenades

The mission required the group to kill Quarrite using:

• Projectiles

• Poison

• A pickaxe

• Explosives

Patch and Stripes pointed out that the best way to kill a Quarrite was with a zebra.

Their proposal was not included in the official trial, presumably because the scientists feared discovering that the most advanced weapons platform on Icarus was an irritated striped herbivore.

After a heated discussion, Zaph was outvoted.

Myles abstained.

The group headed back to base.

The return journey went extremely well for approximately forty feet.

As they entered the pass, they found a Quarrite tunnel and an angry Quarrite.

Projectiles

Projectiles worked.

Dave executed a hasty retreat while Zaph shot the Quarrite dead.

The scientific method had begun with an encouraging result: bullets remained effective.

Explosives

Explosives were more complicated.

Another Quarrite climbed out of the tunnel.

Zaph threw a grenade.

Nothing happened.

The grenade appeared to be a dud.

Zaph ran around dodging the Quarrite. The dud then reconsidered its career choices and exploded, killing Zaph.

The Quarrite, cheated of its intended victim, attacked Zaph’s horse, Mr Speedy.

Dave ran in, mounted Mr Speedy and rode him back towards Craig’s house.

This rescued the horse.

It also lured the Quarrite directly onto Myles and Craig.

Dave’s tactical manoeuvre was therefore a complete success, provided the objective was defined as save the horse and redistribute the monster.

With Mr Speedy safe, the group killed the Quarrite and rescued Zaph.

Craig closed the tunnel.

In Craig’s alternative report, this may be the section where he saved the day. The dragon remains unaccounted for.

The group held another vote.

All the mounts voted to return to base.

Zaph lost.

They set off again.

Dave paused several times to mine sulphur and made a side trip to the lake to collect more from the mine because the group was going to need a large quantity of gunpowder.

This was perfectly sensible.

It was also the kind of perfectly sensible detour that makes a return journey take forty-seven minutes longer than expected.

Preparing for Science

Eventually, everyone reached the house and began preparing for the mission.

Dave made cave-worm arrows, which were a significant improvement over the poison arrows supplied from space.

The orbital scientists had presumably developed their ammunition under controlled conditions. Dave had developed his by harvesting venom from underground horrors and attaching it to sticks.

Naturally, Dave’s version was better.

Zaph inspected his new pickaxe, which was designed to break armour.

Myles manufactured ammunition and bullets.

Craig was nowhere to be seen.

The group worked through the night.

Then the power went out.

“Craig!!!” yelled Dave.

“It’s not my fault; why does everyone always blame me??” Craig replied.

This was an excellent question in the same sense that “Why is the carpet wet?” is an excellent question when asked by someone holding an empty aquarium.

Dave inspected the power grid.

The batteries were completely drained.

There would be no more work that night.

In the morning, Craig proudly showed Myles his latest project.

He had run a power cable from the house to the mountain and up his walkway of death.

The walkway now had lights.

This was not a short walkway. It climbed the mountainside as an illuminated monument to poor prioritisation. While everyone else had been manufacturing ammunition, medicine and defensive equipment, Craig had apparently decided the planet required a scenic nocturnal promenade.

The group promptly disconnected it so the batteries could recharge.

Craig’s claim that he was later hailed as “the best leader and all around great guy” has been difficult to reconcile with the electrical records.

An Ominous Development

What was new on Icarus that week?

Apparently, the developers had concluded that the game did not contain enough opportunities for misery and mayhem.

They had added grenade launchers.

Dave breathed a sigh of relief.

The grenade-launcher information had been buried deep in the release notes, and everyone knew Craig did not read release notes.

The secret was safe.

For several moments.

Dave leaned over Stripes’ saddle and said, “Craig, I hear you know how to make Grenade Launchers. I want one.”

Stripes rolled his eyes, shook his head and stamped a hoof.

Dave translated.

“No, request denied.”

“I must have a grenade launcher,” Craig reiterated.

“No,” reiterated Dave. “Which bit are you having trouble with? The N or the O?”

Despite this sensible and democratically endorsed refusal, a grenade launcher could potentially solve Zaph’s close-range explosive problem.

Zaph therefore began manufacturing the launcher and its grenades.

Craig, significantly, did not receive one.

Civilisation endured.

Finishing the Quarrite Experiments

While the launcher and ammunition were being produced, Zaph went out to complete the scientific mission.

Pickaxe

The pickaxe was not especially effective.

Zaph attempted to kill a Quarrite with it, but the Quarrite was winning, so he called for assistance.

This was not a failure of the pickaxe as an armour-breaking device. It was merely evidence that breaking armour and surviving long enough to finish the job are separate engineering requirements.

Poison

Dave grabbed his bow and cave-worm arrows and ran up the hill to help Zaph.

Eight arrows later, poison worked.

It was simply a little slow.

The Quarrite had enough time to reconsider several life decisions before finally succumbing.

Pickaxe, Take Two

Another Quarrite approached.

The group shot the crap out of that sucker.

When it was on its final breath, they hit it with the pickaxe.

Science recorded this as a pickaxe kill.

Science has always benefited from carefully chosen definitions.

Explosives, Take Two

The next Quarrite was shit out of luck.

The group now understood the process.

They shot the sucker until it was almost dead. Zaph threw a grenade. This grenade worked, and explosives were officially confirmed as effective.

The laboratory researchers voted explosives the winner.

The group considered explosives a little risky and voted for projectiles.

The Quarrite could not be reached for comment.

Don’t We Have Three Zebras?

At this point, Stripes and Patch had received considerable attention.

An obvious question remained.

What had Craig named his zebra?

He named it Crossing.

All the other zebras laughed at Crossing and wondered what he had done in a previous life to deserve Craig.

Crossing declined to discuss the issue publicly.

Operation: Research Quarrite Armour

The next request arrived from the laboratory researchers.

The group had to travel to the desert, observe Quarrite, and collect samples from several different types of Quarrite armour.

They also needed to establish a Tier 3 outpost.

Dave and Myles began discussing exactly what qualified as a Tier 3 outpost.

Zaph immediately set out for the destination.

This was Zaph’s attempt to short-circuit the developers’ traditional joke, where players arrive at a remote mission site only to be told they require fourteen pieces of equipment they did not bring.

Dave packed the grenade launcher and fifteen impact grenades for Zaph.

Zaph quickly reached the designated location.

It was the lakehouse where the group had rescued the zebras during a previous mission.

Stripes, Patch and Crossing were going home.

Crossing’s homecoming was no doubt emotionally complicated. He had escaped the wilderness only to be claimed by Craig and named after a road sign.

It turned out that a Tier 3 outpost was fairly basic. It required:

• A hut

• Four beds

• An oxite dissolver

• A machining bench

• A biofuel bio-cleaning device

By the time Dave, Craig and Myles had unpacked everything they did not need and repacked for the journey, Zaph had already built the hut.

The biocleaner required research because the group had never built one.

There are chores, and then there is cleaning.

A little dust, grime and blood is considerably better than cleaning.

Nevertheless, the machine was researched, constructed and packed.

The others set out.

After what felt like an hour, they finally joined Zaph.

The required equipment was installed, and the mission objectives updated.

The group now had to kill and skin four different types of Quarrite:

• Oxite Quarrite

• Copper Quarrite

• Iron Quarrite

• Gold Quarrite

For once, the group had remembered all the necessary equipment.

They had binoculars.

They had grenades.

They had skinning knives.

They had a grenade launcher.

This last item was about to become the dominant feature of the evening.

Zaph Discovers Indirect Fire

Zaph unpacked the new grenade launcher and went to a nearby Quarrite nest to practise.

The weapon was not as simple as it appeared.

It was a crude, single-shot launcher. It fired in an arc. Its projectile travelled slowly enough to permit reflection, regret and an abbreviated final prayer.

There was also the persistent problem of targets being too close for comfort.

The practice session ended with the group rescuing Zaph.

Again.

There followed a period of practical field testing, during which the grenade launcher demonstrated both its enormous potential and its relaxed attitude towards identifying allies.

The final results were as follows:

• Zaph killed Craig with a grenade.

• Zaph almost killed Dave with a grenade.

• Zaph killed several Quarrite with grenades.

• Zaph killed a Quarrite and closed its tunnel with a single grenade.

After this last result, Zaph declared the grenade launcher a resounding success.

Dave declared it a resource-hungry way to get the job done.

Both statements were correct.

Zaph’s conclusion measured efficiency in explosions.

Dave’s conclusion measured the sulphur bill.

The group eventually collected all the required armour samples and shipped them into space.

The researchers received their Quarrite armour.

The zebras survived.

Craig’s muffins remained hypothetical.

Tonight’s Campfire Song, by Dave

Dave concluded the expedition with a campfire song.

The original performance appeared to draw inspiration from an existing tune, so the official record has reconstructed it into something more specifically suited to Icarus, Dave and the unexplained economics of the local coffee trade.

When darkness settles on Winchester town,
And sensible people have all bedded down,
Dave saddles his zebra and sorts through the crop,
Then remembers some sulphur he simply must stop for.

He rides for the merchant with packs overloaded,
His rifle needs bullets, his armour’s corroded.
Yet somewhere ahead, through the cold and the fog,
Someone is turning good coffee to gold.

There were no reports of ginger beer accompanying the performance.

Did We Learn or Achieve Anything?

We learnt several important lessons.

Dave bored is dangerous.

An idle Dave does not remain idle. He repairs something, which leads him somewhere else, where he discovers a tunnel, a cave, a reagent or an unattended catastrophe.

When the power goes out, despite the denials, it is Craig’s fault.

This is not prejudice. It is pattern recognition supported by grid telemetry.

Turrets that aren’t turned on are useless.

They are also vulnerable to being eaten.

Close only counts with nuclear weapons and hand grenades.

Unfortunately, hand grenades also count when they land near Zaph.

Nailguns, despite the word “gun” in the name, are not guns.

This lesson presumably emerged during one of the evening’s quieter moments, although on Icarus, “quieter” means nobody is actively being consumed by the landscape.

There were also achievements.

Dave achieved – WTF Dave

Self-explanatory, really.

Handy

Create a portable battery.

Presumably one not connected to Craig’s mountain lighting project.

Myles achieved – Pointless

Bring turrets, but never turn them on.

The turret eaten by wildlife was unavailable for the awards ceremony.

Craig achieved – Lights Out

Drain 12 MW of battery on a vanity project.

The walkway looked very nice.

Briefly.

From space.

Zaph achieved – Short Fuse

Kill yourself with a grenade.

This achievement was earned before Zaph had even been given the grenade launcher, demonstrating an admirable commitment to professional development.

And thus the expedition ended.

The miners had been rescued. The Quarrite had been shot, poisoned, picked, exploded, skinned and shipped in pieces to scientists. The zebras had returned home. The turret had been eaten. The batteries had been drained. Craig had been killed by Zaph, and Zaph had been killed by himself.

No dragon was pickpocketed.

No muffins were produced.

No ginger beer was consumed.

Craig was not hailed as leader.

But his walkway had lights, and for one brief, glorious night, the side of the mountain shone like a beacon warning future generations not to leave Craig alone with the electrical grid.

Dragon Pickpocketed, Muffins Served

If Craig had been appointed Official Historian, every history book would be three pages long, Napoleon would have "won a bit," and the Titanic would have been remembered as "a minor boating inconvenience."

Here's a version that feels like something Craig would sincerely submit to the editorial board after several ginger beers.

---

Craig's Official After Action Report
(Submitted for immediate publication. Accuracy pending review.)

Last night was a textbook example of calm professionalism.

The mission began with everyone sensibly following Craig's flawless leadership. There may have been some monsters, explosions, frantic shouting and several near-death experiences, but these were all part of Craig's carefully orchestrated strategy and should not be confused with "things going horribly wrong."

At the pivotal moment, a dragon appeared.

Recognising that violence is often the least imaginative solution, Craig heroically approached the enormous apex predator and, through a combination of courage, finesse and fingers that definitely weren't shaking, successfully pickpocketed it.

The dragon, clearly impressed by this display of supreme confidence, allowed the operation to continue.

With the crisis averted, the party naturally acknowledged Craig's tactical brilliance. Myles quietly admitted that years of careful planning had merely been an elaborate prelude to Craig's moment of greatness. Dave agreed that, in hindsight, collecting all those crafting materials had simply been preparation for Craig's inevitable triumph. Zaph, never one for excessive praise, gave the highest compliment known to mankind:

"Not bad."

Returning to base, Craig demonstrated that true heroes are not defined solely by battlefield achievements. Great leaders also provide for their people.

Muffins were baked.

Fresh.

Perfectly risen.

Not a single one burnt.

The smell drifted through the settlement like divine intervention, drawing the weary survivors home from their various acts of panic and poor decision-making.

These culinary masterpieces were accompanied by generous lashings of ginger beer, served in celebration of another perfectly executed expedition in which absolutely nothing unexpected had occurred.

Toasts were made.

Glasses were raised.

Someone may even have started a slow clap.

By unanimous decision, Craig was proclaimed:

Leader of the Expedition.

Hero of the Realm.

Great Pickpocketer of Dragons.

Master Baker.

Generally Excellent Fellow.

The minutes record no dissenting voices whatsoever.

Any rumours that this account differs in even the slightest detail from what actually happened should be treated as malicious slander, fabricated by jealous historians who weren't there.

The End.

Icarus: The future is bright and battery-powered, or is it?

A Series of Excellent Decisions – Part 1

The Future Was Looking Bright

Myles stood alone upon a frozen hillside, surrounded by Quarrite.

The retreat route had been cut off. Dave was down. Craig was down. Zaph, through what history would almost certainly describe as impeccable timing, hadn't even shown up.

Sir Stripes stamped nervously nearby, wearing the expression of a zebra who had finally concluded that humans were, in fact, idiots.

Myles checked his ammunition, tightened his grip on his rifle, and looked out across the battlefield.

This, it seemed, was how the Crypt Creeps would be remembered.

Not with glory.

Not with honour.

Not even with a particularly good loot haul.

Just another cautionary tale told around campfires by prospectors who ignored every warning sign they were presented with.

---

Twenty-Four Hours Earlier...

Everything was going remarkably well.

Which, in hindsight, should have worried us.

Given the choice between two missions—one involving the civilised act of packing boxes and delivering supplies, the other involving fighting a horde of murderous alien wildlife to rescue stranded miners—we naturally chose violence.

The decision was made easier by Zaph announcing he would miss most of the evening.

"I'll be on around ten," he promised.

Excellent, we thought.

We'll simply spend the first part of the evening doing chores.

Nothing bad has ever happened after saying we'll just do a few chores first.

---

Chore 1 – Coffee

The coffee plantation had finally matured.

This was excellent news.

The Crypt Creeps' economy, much like several developing nations, now relied heavily upon the export of a single agricultural commodity.

Myles gathered the harvest, packed it carefully and rode into town.

The trader looked over the sacks.

"One thousand and seventy-seven Ren."

There was a moment of silence.

Our single biggest payday.

Ever.

Myles returned to Winchester considerably wealthier than when he'd left.

Dave immediately ripped every mature coffee plant out of the ground.

"They've finished producing," he explained matter-of-factly as he replanted fresh seedlings.

The agricultural cycle of life continued.

Myles watered the new crops while wondering whether modern civilisation had really advanced much beyond farming.

---

Chore 2 – Bullets

Experience had taught us two immutable truths.

Firstly, horde missions consume ammunition at an astonishing rate.

Secondly, bullets have an irritating tendency not to grow on trees.

So we manufactured our own.

Myles spent the afternoon feeding brass, lead and gunpowder into the ammunition bench until neat rows of fresh cartridges began appearing.

Four hundred rounds of 9mm.

One hundred and sixty-five rounds of 5.56.

Not enough to start a war.

Probably enough to survive one.

---

Chore 3 – Sulphur Doesn't Mine Itself

Naturally, all this ammunition required resources.

Dave and Myles set off on what had become one of Winchester's regular maintenance circuits.

Every mining outpost had hungry machines demanding fresh biofuel.

Every water wheel needed cleaning.

Every extractor required emptying.

Every smelter wanted feeding.

It was less "space survival" and more "property maintenance with occasional wolves."

The two made the familiar circuit.

Replace empty fuel cans.

Collect sulphur.

Collect iron.

Collect copper.

Brush leaves out of water wheels.

Head home.

Refill furnaces.

Repeat next week.

Myles had begun to suspect that civilisation itself had been invented solely to create maintenance schedules.

---

Chore 4 – Biofuel Dependents Anonymous

For weeks now, Myles had attended regular meetings of BDA.

Biofuel Dependents Anonymous.

"Hello, my name is Myles."

"Hello Myles."

"It's been seventeen minutes since I last filled a green biofuel can."

The group nodded sympathetically.

The truth was unavoidable.

There simply wasn't enough biomass on the entire planet to satisfy the insatiable appetite of the Large Green Can.

Every week became another cycle of harvesting plants, feeding composters, manufacturing biofuel, refilling cans, and wondering where all the time had gone.

Something had to change.

Fortunately, Dave had been reading the technology tree.

Well...

Reading might be overstating matters.

He had at least looked at the pictures.

A plan emerged.

The future would be electric.

Myles constructed a charging station.

Battery-powered lanterns replaced the old biofuel lights around Winchester.

Battery cave lights were produced for mining expeditions.

An electric dehumidifier appeared...

...which, somewhat awkwardly, still ran on biofuel.

Progress, apparently, wasn't always a straight line.

---

Dave wandered over.

"Can you make me an empty biofuel can?"

"You can just order a full one from the station," Myles replied.

"No."

"I need an empty one."

Myles frowned.

Whenever Dave insisted on something making absolutely no sense, experience suggested there was either a brilliant reason...

...or a spectacular misunderstanding.

Unable to determine which, he crafted two empty cans and handed one over.

Dave disappeared toward the industrial complex.

A few moments later...

"...OH SHIT!!"

The words echoed dramatically across the lake.

Myles froze.

Industrial accident?

Oil explosion?

Bear?

Craig?

He sprinted toward the workshop expecting flames, devastation and possibly several insurance claims.

Instead...

Dave was standing perfectly still.

In front of the Organic Extractor.

Holding...

...a completely full biofuel can.

Myles looked around.

Nothing appeared to be on fire.

Nothing had exploded.

No wildlife was actively eating anyone.

"How did you fill that?"

Dave didn't answer.

He simply raised one finger...

...and pointed.

The Organic Extractor hummed quietly away in the corner.

Content.

Efficient.

Almost smug.

Myles walked over.

There, mounted on the side of the machine in plain view...

...was a tap.

Above it, a sign.

FILL CANS HERE

Myles stared.

Then looked at the can.

Then at Dave.

Then back at the sign.

Weeks.

Weeks.

Not days.

Weeks.

"You asked me to build and install these weeks ago," Myles said slowly.

"Did you even RTFM?"

Dave shook his head.

He couldn't.

Speech had temporarily abandoned him.

Patch wandered into the workshop just in time to witness the silence.

The zebra looked from Dave...

...to the sign...

...back to Dave...

...and somehow managed to snicker.

Myles quietly picked up the electric composter.

It had served faithfully.

It had also been completely unnecessary.

The composter was decommissioned on the spot.

Biofuel production was officially relocated to the industrial complex where it belonged.

In its place, Myles installed the large green biofuel storage tank.

From now on, filling cans required little more than walking over, opening a tap and resisting the urge to question every life decision that had led us to this moment.

Dave stood quietly, contemplating the hundreds—possibly thousands—of litres of biofuel that could have been produced this way.

Myles stood quietly, remembering every fish he had lovingly fed into a composter over the past several weeks.

Neither man spoke.

Some discoveries are simply too painful for words.

A Series of Excellent Decisions – Part 2

The Sponge Conspiracy

With Winchester now proudly marching into the battery-powered future, there remained only one outstanding maintenance task.

Finding Craig.

He had somehow managed to miss the entire biofuel revelation.

The greatest technological breakthrough in Winchester's history had occurred without him, which admittedly wasn't unusual. Craig had an uncanny ability to disappear precisely whenever useful work was being undertaken, only to reappear moments before something exploded.

Eventually, Dave located him upstairs.

Craig wasn't building.

He wasn't crafting.

He wasn't even digging a hole.

He was standing in front of a cupboard, contemplating one of Icarus' great unsolved mysteries.

"Dave..."

A pause.

"...why is my cupboard filled with sponges?"

The question echoed through Winchester.

Dave looked genuinely surprised.

"My cupboard?"

"No."

"My cupboard."

"The one full of sponges."

Dave frowned thoughtfully.

"I know nothing about that."

"You know nothing about my cupboard?"

"Correct."

"What about the other five cupboards full of sponges?"

Dave's eyes shifted ever so slightly.

"I also know nothing about those."

There was a long silence.

Patch quietly wandered past.

Sir Stripes followed.

Even the fish in the lake appeared to pause what they were doing.

Myles finally broke the silence.

"Why..."

"...do we have six cupboards full of sponges?"

Dave straightened himself with all the confidence of a government minister explaining why taxpayers had funded a twelve-million-dollar consultancy into whether rain was, in fact, wet.

"It is part of the Lake Beautification Project."

"The what?"

"The Lake Beautification Project."

Apparently, whenever Dave cleaned the water wheels, the river produced large quantities of sponge.

Rather than throwing them back into the water...

...or destroying them...

...or asking whether we might ever need six industrial cupboards filled with aquatic cleaning products...

...he had elected to preserve them for future generations.

"It's strategic."

"For what?"

"You never know."

There are many philosophies by which one may live.

Some people believe in careful planning.

Others believe in minimalism.

Dave apparently subscribed to the doctrine that every object in existence would one day become critically important.

Possibly tomorrow.

Possibly several geological eras from now.

But one day.

Myles glanced out over the lake.

Something looked...

...different.

"Why is the lake green?"

"It used to reflect Winchester."

"The mountains."

"The moon."

Dave nodded proudly.

"I repainted it."

"You..."

"...painted..."

"...the lake?"

"Australian green."

"To celebrate six months on Icarus."

There are moments when asking further questions simply increases the amount of information you wish you didn't know.

This was one of them.

---

Realising the conversation was drifting dangerously close to the subject of biofuel taps again, Dave executed what military historians would later describe as an exceptionally effective diversionary manoeuvre.

"Oh."

"I found Craig's secret stone stash."

"You what?"

"It has been reclaimed."

"For the good of everyone."

Craig stared.

"My stone?"

"Our stone."

"My cupboard?"

"Our cupboard."

"My..."

"...never mind."

---

Chore 6 – Rescue Craig

Apparently deciding that domestic politics had become tiresome, Craig wandered off to continue work on his latest engineering masterpiece.

His mountain ramp.

Nobody knew exactly where it was ultimately supposed to go.

Craig certainly didn't.

But it was steadily getting bigger.

Several peaceful minutes passed.

Then...

"Um..."

"Guys..."

"I seem to be dead."

There it was.

The phrase had become so familiar that nobody even sounded surprised anymore.

Myles sighed.

"What happened this time?"

"I have no idea."

Which, to be fair, was almost certainly true.

---

The previous week Craig had established a worksite directly beside an active beehive.

The bees had objected.

Craig had died.

Surely, we reasoned, nobody could possibly repeat precisely the same mistake.

Craig hadn't.

He'd invented an entirely new one.

This week's construction project had been established immediately beside an active Quarrite tunnel.

The Quarrite objected.

Craig died.

Myles arrived to find Craig lying peacefully beside the very monster spawn point that had objected to his presence.

He revived him.

"Perhaps..."

"...we should finish the tunnel."

Before Myles could complete the seal, another Quarrite burst from underground.

Craig reacted instantly.

He ran.

Not away.

Up.

The nearest staircase led to a small platform overlooking his construction site.

Craig bounded up it with great enthusiasm.

The Quarrite followed.

Unlike bears...

Quarrite have absolutely no difficulty using stairs.

Craig discovered this valuable piece of zoological information only moments before dying for the second time.

Myles sighed once more.

Killed the Quarrite.

Finished sealing the tunnel.

Revived Craig.

Again.

You might think that after countless weeks on Icarus the planet would eventually exhaust its supply of creative methods for killing Craig.

You would be wrong.

Icarus treats Craig less as a player...

...and more as an ongoing research project.

---

Chore 7 – Exotic Opportunities

Fortunately, not every task involved emergency resuscitation.

A recent Exotic meteor shower had scattered valuable deposits nearby.

Dave and Myles transported two electric extractors to the site.

The machines hummed quietly.

Worked flawlessly.

Produced two hundred and sixty-seven Exotics.

Nobody died.

Nothing caught fire.

Nothing exploded.

Nobody accidentally discovered another machine we'd been using incorrectly for weeks.

It was suspiciously successful.

In hindsight...

Icarus was simply lulling us into a false sense of competence.

---

Chore 8 – Better Tools

Back at Winchester another familiar problem had emerged.

The wood cupboard was empty.

Again.

Our appetite for timber remained almost supernatural.

Walls.

Floors.

Defences.

Repair materials.

Fuel.

Everything required wood.

Craig was therefore presented with what could only be described as civilisation's greatest technological leap since the invention of the axe.

A chainsaw.

His eyes lit up.

Dave explained the operating principles.

Myles explained the maintenance.

Craig immediately disappeared into the forest making happy chainsaw noises.

The results were...

...mixed.

The chainsaw certainly felled trees faster.

Unfortunately, it also produced less timber than a traditional axe.

Which meant that, despite all appearances, we had successfully upgraded our technology while simultaneously reducing productivity.

The machine was therefore judged a complete success by Craig.

---

Operation: Liberation

Eventually the chores were complete.

The house was running.

The batteries were charging.

The biofuel flowed effortlessly.

Craig was only mostly alive.

It was finally time.

The mission briefing was refreshingly straightforward.

Travel to the mining camp.

Rescue the trapped miners.

Survive the incoming horde.

Even better...

The destination was marked on the map.

No mysterious riddles.

No hidden caves.

No "look for the suspicious rock that resembles another suspicious rock."

Just a clearly marked objective.

It felt almost suspicious.

---

We prepared carefully.

Oxygen bottles.

Water.

Food for ourselves.

Food for the zebras.

Winter clothing.

Medical supplies.

Repair materials.

Ammunition.

Everything was checked.

Then checked again.

Myles gathered everyone together.

"The plan is simple."

"We reach the mining camp."

"We establish defensive hedgehogs."

"We deploy automated turrets."

"Then we let the horde come to us."

It was a solid plan.

Almost disappointingly sensible.

Just before departure, Myles checked in with Zaph.

"So..."

"...still joining us?"

The reply arrived.

Unfortunately.

Not tonight.

Zaph wouldn't be making the mission after all.

There was a brief silence.

Three people looked at one another.

This would normally have been the point where wiser adventurers postponed the expedition.

Unfortunately...

...those adventurers weren't us.

Myles made the executive decision.

"We're going anyway."

History would later record this as another in our growing collection of excellent decisions.

---

The following morning dawned bright and clear.

Perfect travelling weather.

The Crypt Creeps saddled up.

Sir Stripes and Patch seemed considerably more enthusiastic than their riders.

Together we crossed into the Arctic.

Snow wolves appeared.

Snow wolves disappeared.

The occasional Quarrite attempted negotiations.

The negotiations were brief.

We reached our little stone refuge in the snow.

A beacon was lit.

Food was cooked.

Frozen fingers thawed beside the fire.

Then we pressed west.

Through the mountain pass.

Past the recently mined valley.

Around one Quarrite.

Past an entire pack of wolves.

Around another pack.

Eventually...

The mining camp came into view beside the lake.

The destination.

The objective.

The place where everything was about to go spectacularly wrong.

A Series of Excellent Decisions – Part 3

Operation: Liberation

The Crypt Creeps rode into the mining camp just before midday.

Snow crunched beneath the zebras' hooves.

The lake lay perfectly still.

The abandoned camp looked exactly as expected.

Myles looked around approvingly.

"Right."

"Hedgehogs first."

"Then the turrets."

"Then we'll trigger the horde."

It was, by every reasonable measure, an excellent plan.

Icarus disagreed.

Before anyone had even finished dismounting, the planet reached down, tore the carefully prepared script into tiny pieces and lit it on fire.

The horde...

...was already here.

The ambush arrived with all the subtlety of a tax audit.

Cave worms erupted from the ground, immediately coating the area in streams of poisonous spit.

The Crypt Creeps scattered in every direction.

Somebody yelled.

Somebody else was on fire.

Nobody was building defensive fortifications.

So much for the plan.

---

The worms eventually died.

The poison wore off.

Health bars began climbing again.

There was a collective sigh of relief.

Then two Quarrite burst from nearby tunnels.

Naturally.

The zebras, displaying considerably more tactical awareness than their riders, immediately fled the battlefield.

The humans...

...stood their ground.

History has repeatedly demonstrated that, when forced to choose between copying the survival instincts of a striped herbivore or standing in front of an angry rock monster with a rifle...

...we consistently choose the second option.

Three Quarrite fell.

Then another emerged.

Then another.

Myles finally noticed the problem.

"They're coming from the tunnels!"

Two active Quarrite tunnels.

Infinite reinforcements.

Suddenly this wasn't a battle.

It was a production line.

---

Myles attempted to deploy the automated turret.

He unpacked it.

Placed it.

Reached for the final assembly.

Another Quarrite charged.

Construction cancelled.

He tried again.

Another attack.

Cancelled.

Again.

Cancelled.

Eventually he reached the obvious conclusion.

"We're leaving!"

Unfortunately, Dave had already reached an entirely different conclusion.

"I'm closing the tunnels!"

---

While Craig and Myles fought desperately to keep two Quarrite occupied, Dave sprinted toward the nearest tunnel.

He slammed the sealing charge into place.

The tunnel collapsed.

One down.

Dave looked across the river.

Second tunnel.

Still active.

He grinned.

This was doable.

Ignoring every survival instinct his body attempted to communicate, Dave plunged into the freezing river and swam upstream.

Behind him, Craig and Myles continued what military manuals generally refer to as "panic."

Ahead of him, the second tunnel waited.

Dave reached it.

Started the sealing process.

The progress bar crawled forward.

Almost there.

Almost...

Done.

The tunnel collapsed.

Mission accomplished.

Then...

Icarus cheated.

Fresh cave worms erupted from the riverbank.

Poison splashed across the water.

Dave's health bar began evaporating.

He turned.

Started swimming.

Made it several metres.

Collapsed face-first into the river.

---

Craig saw Dave fall.

Without hesitation he charged forward.

"Got him!"

For one glorious moment it looked as though heroism might actually prevail.

Craig reached Dave.

Revived him.

The two turned to flee.

The cave worms looked at one another.

"Again?"

"Again."

Another volley of poison.

Dave fell.

Craig fell.

Silence.

---

Which left only one Crypt Creep standing.

Myles.

The hill overlooked the mining camp.

Below him...

Quarrite.

Worms.

Chaos.

Two unconscious teammates.

No realistic chance of victory.

This, finally, was the moment from the beginning of our tale.

Sir Stripes stood nearby, looking distinctly unimpressed with the strategic planning that had produced this situation.

Myles checked his remaining ammunition.

Raised his rifle.

If this was where the story ended...

...it would at least be noisy.

He fired.

One Quarrite staggered.

Another charged.

A cave worm spat poison.

A third Quarrite joined the fight.

There are heroic last stands remembered throughout history.

Thermopylae.

Rorke's Drift.

Helm's Deep.

This was not one of them.

A Quarrite hit Myles with all the grace of an avalanche carrying a personal grudge.

Myles died.

---

Total.

Party.

Wipe.

The mining camp fell silent.

The Quarrite wandered home.

The cave worms resumed whatever cave worms normally do between massacres.

The zebras, wisely deciding the humans were beyond saving, remained somewhere in the wilderness.

We hadn't been beaten this comprehensively since the Polar Bear Incident.

Which, despite our best efforts, remains impossible to discuss without somebody laughing.

---

Back at Winchester, three bewildered prospectors materialised wearing little more than envirosuits and expressions of profound disappointment.

Our armour?

Gone.

Our weapons?

Gone.

Our backpacks?

Gone.

Our zebras?

Still somewhere in the Arctic wondering whether they should seek new employment.

Myles looked around.

"I vote we call it."

Nobody argued.

Dave cleared his throat.

"If we log out now..."

"...our gear might disappear before next week."

Nobody liked where this conversation was going.

Five minutes later...

Replacement armour had been crafted.

Replacement weapons assembled.

Fresh oxygen tanks filled.

Water skins topped up.

Emergency food packed.

More ammunition produced.

Backup zebras saddled.

Apparently we weren't finished embarrassing ourselves just yet.

---

The second expedition proved remarkably uneventful.

Which somehow felt suspicious.

We crossed the Arctic without incident.

Reached the mining camp.

Craig immediately began constructing an emergency shelter because, if there was one thing this battlefield lacked, it was real estate.

Dave deployed a defensive wall.

Then another.

Then carefully arranged a line of hedgehogs.

At last...

The battlefield looked the way Myles had originally intended.

Only now it was several hours later.

---

Dave cautiously descended the hill.

Recovered the abandoned zebras.

The Quarrite responsible for flattening Myles spotted him.

Perfect.

The monster charged.

Straight toward the hedgehogs.

Wooden spikes met rocky enthusiasm.

The Quarrite discovered that running through sharpened timber is every bit as unpleasant as it sounds.

The Crypt Creeps enthusiastically completed the lesson.

One down.

---

Myles finally unpacked the automated turret.

This time...

Nobody interrupted.

The turret unfolded.

Powered up.

Rotated experimentally.

Ready.

We lured another Quarrite into the prepared defences.

The turret opened fire.

The hedgehogs held.

The Quarrite didn't.

A third followed shortly afterwards.

The worms attempted one final surprise attack.

They were met by concentrated rifle fire.

Sometimes preparation really does beat improvisation.

It would have been nice if we'd discovered that several hours earlier.

---

Meanwhile, Dave and Craig swam back up the river.

Recovered every backpack.

Recovered every rifle.

Recovered every embarrassing reminder of our earlier optimism.

They returned triumphantly to the emergency hut.

The Crypt Creeps were once again fully equipped.

The mining camp was finally secure.

The mission journal...

...well...

The mission journal remembered everything.

Dave attempted to erase the evidence.

Unfortunately...

He forgot to press Enter.

Our complete humiliation therefore remains permanently recorded for future generations.

Some monuments build themselves.

---

Tonight's Campfire Song

(To the tune of every overly dramatic folk ballad ever written.)

Come gather close, you prospectors bold,
And hear this cautionary tale,
Of three brave souls who sought great fame,
Then watched good judgement fail.

They polished guns and packed supplies,
Their confidence stood tall,
They even made the batteries work—
Then answered destiny's call.

Oh, the drums rolled out on Icarus,
The mountains echoed wide,
The plan looked perfect on the map...
Reality replied.

They reached the camp in marching step,
Their spirits running high,
But worms and Quarrite had arrived
With other plans nearby.

Dave closed one tunnel, closed the next,
Ignoring every sting,
For heroes never stop to ask,
"Is this a sensible thing?"

Oh, the drums rolled out on Icarus,
The poison filled the air,
Craig revived his fallen mate...
Then promptly joined him there.

Alone stood Myles upon the hill,
His rifle held on tight,
He chose to make one final stand,
Instead of taking flight.

A Quarrite judged that noble choice
With one decisive blow,
And Winchester gained three new ghosts
Who had a long walk home.

So heed this tale, adventurers,
Should glory call your name:
Bring batteries, guns and plenty of food...
But never leave your scout behind.

---

Lessons Learned

This week we learnt:

• There is, in fact, a tap on the Organic Extractor labelled "Fill Cans Here."

• Dave still doesn't read instruction manuals.

• Craig continues to treat monster spawn points as premium construction locations.

• Better technology doesn't necessarily produce better outcomes. Especially when Craig is holding it.

• Horde missions are significantly easier when your scout actually attends.

Last week our goal had been simple.

Complete the next campaign mission.

Technically...

...we did.

Eventually.

After one complete Total Party Wipe, a replacement expedition, and enough replacement equipment to outfit a small militia.

---

Weekly Achievements

Dave achieved: RTFM (Don't Read The Manual... Again)

Myles achieved: Last Stand (Successfully becoming the final survivor in a Quarrite ambush.)

Craig achieved: Oblivious (Constructing infrastructure immediately beside an active monster spawn point.)

Zaph achieved: Sorry, Not Sorry (Avoiding the entire Total Party Wipe simply by not turning up.)

Until next week...

...when Icarus will undoubtedly discover entirely new and inventive ways to remind us that overconfidence is a renewable resource.

Icarus: Now for Something New

 

Zaph was bored.

This is never a safe sentence. In ordinary households, a bored person might rearrange a bookshelf, alphabetise a spice rack, or take up sourdough until the kitchen begins to resemble a minor volcanic incident. In the Crypt Creeps Friday household, Zaph being bored meant something far more dangerous: he wanted a challenge.

No more of these go-here, collect-rock missions. No more gentle corporate errands from orbiting clipboard enthusiasts. Zaph wanted to hunt. He wanted to kill powerful creatures. He wanted to prove himself against the best Icarus could throw against us.

This was, of course, how tragedies begin. Not with thunder. Not with a warning klaxon. Just Zaph, quietly announcing that the usual level of reckless stupidity was no longer recreationally sufficient.

Dave, sensing opportunity the way a wolf senses a limping goat, talked Myles into buying the Great Hunts expansion. The logic was flawless, provided nobody examined it in daylight. What could possibly go wrong? We were experienced. We had guns. We had zebras. We had a base called Winchester. We had Craig, which admittedly undermined the entire previous sentence.

Settle in. It was going to get rocky.

We fired up the campaign. Some miners had gone missing in the desert, so naturally we needed to go find them. Dave mused that they were probably hanging out at the fisherman’s hut, because in Icarus all mysteries eventually resolve into either a hut, a predator, or a corpse with a regrettable inventory. But the actual miner-hunting would need to wait until Zaph was on.

And so, with the main campaign objective politely postponed, the group did what any disciplined expeditionary team would do.

We immediately wandered off and started tampering with industrial equipment.

Operation: Mining Site Conversion – A Multi-Step Success Story

In the meantime, Dave decided to convert some mining sites we didn’t need — coal and aluminium — into something else, in the hope we could get more useful resources closer to home. This was sensible in the way many Dave plans are sensible: the desired outcome was clearly beneficial, and all intervening danger was filed under “character building”.

Step 1 – Fast Talk

Dave talked Myles into building a deep-mine conversion device.

This should have been the first warning. Dave rarely asks Myles to build something simple, like a chair, unless the chair eventually explodes, summons wildlife, or requires a small war crimes tribunal to operate.

Step 2 – Redact Critical Information

As everyone probably knows by now, when you need Myles to do something dangerous, it is important to leave out key information until he is committed. The trick is to give just enough detail to make the job sound achievable, but not enough to trigger the part of Myles’s brain responsible for adult supervision.

“Build this,” said Dave, spiritually if not literally.

“What does it do?” asked the last remaining trace of caution.

“Improves mining.”

This was technically true, which is the most suspicious form of truth.

Step 3 – Do Not RTFM

With the device made, we just had to work out how to operate it. Myles took it out for a playtest, as Dave had lost the instruction manual. This was unfortunate, because the manual may have contained useful sections such as How Not To Die, Why The Warning Lights Are Flashing, and Please Do Not Install This On A Mountain Because Craig Will Think That Is A Good Idea.

“Just remove the extractor on the coal mine, and place it down,” Dave suggested.

Myles did that, because history is apparently not a teacher, but a decorative wall hanging. The device was placed down and switched to scan mode.

Step 4 – Compare Tools

The radar we use for exotic detection draws a large circle that covers about 10% of a single map grid. It is big enough to be annoying, loud enough to attract predators, and expensive enough that everyone pretends to know what they are doing while standing near it.

This new device was different. It covered 80% of four map grids. It converted every unused mine, which in our case was four. On paper, this was magnificent. On Icarus, anything that covers that much territory is less a tool and more a formal invitation to the local ecosystem.

Step 5 – Downplay the Danger

“Any issues with this I should know about?” asked Myles.

“Well, it makes some noise, so it’s bound to attract a few animals,” Dave replied, flicking through the shopping guide for advanced defences.

This was classic Dave. The verbal equivalent of telling someone the volcano is “a bit warm”.

He had read the warning sticker before removing it. The one that said: “DANGER, DANGER, this device will attract giant creatures.”

In Dave’s defence, stickers are really just strongly worded suggestions from people with less confidence.

Step 6 – Installation

Myles suggested we install the device in the middle of our industrial complex, so it would be easier to defend out on the lake. Winchester already had walls, turrets, waterwheels, defensive chokepoints, and the general air of a settlement one bad decision away from becoming a documentary.

Dave thought about the damage giant creatures could do to the industrial complex. It was a rare and beautiful moment: the pause between someone proposing a plan and the mental image of an elephant using your generator room as a foot spa.

Dave promptly mentioned that it was bound to attract more creatures than the radar, so perhaps somewhere away from the base would be better.

This was reasonable.

Naturally, Craig then entered the conversation.

Step 7 – Never Surrender

Craig tried to convince the guys it should be installed on the side of a mountain, high above the ground.

This sounded like the dumbest plan since the gold dragon escapade of 2003. That was the historical event in which Craig attempted to pickpocket a two-storey town guardian gold dragon, thereby converting an entire settlement from “neutral” to “deeply committed to Craig’s removal”. Scholars continue to debate whether it was an act of courage, ignorance, or pure Craig.

Not to be put off by “NO!”, “NO!!!”, or “HELL NO!!!”, Craig borrowed the machine, carried it up the mountain walkway, and installed it on a stone platform where the guys would never find it.

We now knew where all the stone had gone.

This answered a long-running base logistics mystery. The missing stone had not vanished into construction, maintenance, or some useful communal project. It had been converted into Craig’s private alpine death altar, an installation combining scenic views, unclear structural integrity, and the sort of workplace safety compliance normally associated with pirate rafts.

Step 8 – Power

The new device was powered by refined oil, which, luckily, Dave had locked in a cupboard. This meant Craig was unable to power it and get everyone killed.

It is important to recognise good governance when it appears. In this case, governance took the form of Dave having both foresight and a cupboard.

Step 9 – Denial

Craig complained about the amount of shit he was getting over placement of the device.

Dave responded that the amount of shit was directly related to the amount of crap we put up with from Craig.

This was not so much a comeback as an equation.

Step 10 – Surrender

The one benefit of the mountain location was its distance from the zebra pen. This mattered. Winchester could be rebuilt. Machines could be replaced. Ammunition could be manufactured. But Stripes and Patch had already endured enough human strategy to qualify for trauma counselling.

So we decided to humour Craig.

And once again, 25 years of real-life experience was tossed out the airlock because it was too far to climb up the mountain to reclaim the device.

There are many ways a group can make a bad decision. Some are caused by ambition. Some by panic. Ours was caused by fatigue and elevation.

Step 11 – Preparation

With the location decided, it was time to prep for activation.

Myles decided to climb Craig’s ramp to check the installation and add the fuel. This was useful, because Myles immediately demonstrated that a single misstep leads to a quick fall to your death.

In fairness, this was valuable information. There are many safety audits in the world, but few are conducted by throwing the medic off the mountain and noting where he lands.

Dave installed defensive walls with spikes and hedgehogs to secure the start of the ramp. As Myles had located the spot directly below the device by falling on it, Dave also installed a ring of hedgehogs around this. It was practical, efficient, and deeply on brand: CCF surveying by terminal velocity.

Step 12 – Upgrade Defences

Now came the moment of truth.

Dave suggested Myles research an automated defence turret and build a couple for installation.

“Why?” asked Myles. “We can handle the wildlife.”

Dave chuckled. Then he laughed. Stripes brayed. Patch snorted.

“The radar attracts wolves, bears and elephants,” Dave noted. “This thing is nicknamed the Thumper, and lights up half the planet. So what do you think will happen?”

Myles pondered.

“A few bears?” he suggested.

Patch rolled his eyes. How could any human be so naïve, he thought. Patch has never been formally elected to command, but he has increasingly strong opinions about human leadership, and frankly his campaign platform is improving.

“Try giant worms and landsharks?” Dave replied. “Can we get a few platforms to stand on over here, Craig?”

Craig set to work, installing some platforms and stairs.

This is always a mixed sentence. Craig building platforms and stairs can mean “excellent vantage points for battle”. It can also mean “welcome to the surprise falling section of tonight’s entertainment”. The distinction is rarely visible until someone has already stepped forward.

Step 13 – More Ammunition

Myles built automated defence turrets.

“I have 50 bullets for each gun,” he declared.

Patch rolled his eyes.

Dave ordered another 200 rounds of ammunition. For each gun.

Myles installed the guns in the hedgehog circle under the platforms, where they sat looking reassuringly mechanical and expensive. There is something calming about an automated turret. It suggests civilisation. Planning. Engineering. A future in which the bullets go in the dangerous creature rather than, say, into the generator.

More on that later.

Step 14 – Get the Band Together

Zaph joined us to find out what was happening for the night. Myles filled him in, which was not a briefing so much as a confession with diagrams.

Zaph climbed the mountain to assume the sniper position. This was sensible. Zaph likes height, distance, and situations where the enemy is dead before anyone has to explain the plan to Craig.

The device stood ready. The ramp stood mostly ready. The hedgehogs stood where Dave had placed them. The turrets waited. The zebras judged. The mountain, if mountains can be said to have opinions, seemed unimpressed.

Step 15 – Turn It On

Zaph flipped the switch.

The machine pulsed. It roared. The mountain shook.

Was that the machine, or Icarus responding?

The ground shook, and a giant caveworm burst forth right in front of us. This was not the polite sort of wildlife encounter where something growls from the treeline and gives everyone a moment to check their reload. This was a geological objection with teeth.

The autoturrets fired. Zaph fired. We all fired.

The worm died.

Dave jumped over the hedgehogs to claim the loot, because Dave will risk impalement for alchemical reagents, unknown monster parts, or anything that might fit in a box labelled “useful later”.

Step 16 – Denial

“So that’s it then?” Myles asked. “Well that was disappointing.”

The machine roared.

Icarus roared.

Zaph noted, “We are at 5%.”

Another cave worm attacked. Myles checked the ammo levels in the turrets. They were doing fine. This was reassuring, which meant the universe was merely waiting for the correct comedic beat before becoming unreasonable.

Step 17 – Downtime

The machine roared again. Icarus took a break. We twiddled our thumbs, oiled our guns, and looked around waiting for the kicker.

Small worms attacked.

Easy peasy.

There is always a dangerous psychological moment in any CCF mission when things briefly appear under control. This is when the group starts thinking thoughts like “maybe we prepared properly” or “perhaps the platform is adequate” or “Craig has not made anything structurally murderous for several minutes”.

These thoughts are traps.

Step 18 – Ambush

A giant worm emerged from the mountain beside Zaph and knocked him off the platform, leaving the device unprotected as Zaph plummeted to his death.

There it was.

The kicker.

Dave ran for the ramp and scrambled up the mountain to deal with the worm. This is one of Dave’s great strengths: when something large, hostile, and poorly explained appears on a ledge, Dave’s instinct is not to retreat, reassess, or ask whether there is a better way. Dave runs toward it, presumably because somewhere inside him a tiny heroic idiot is shouting “reagents!”

Step 19 – It Gets Worse

Myles rezzed Zaph.

Zaph couldn’t find his gun.

Things were taking a turn for the worse, but at least it couldn’t get worse.

Never say this. Never think this. Never even make eye contact with the concept.

“Never fear, I am here,” Craig yelled, running up the ramp behind Dave.

There are phrases that inspire confidence. “Reinforcements have arrived.” “The turrets are holding.” “The ammunition is in the correct machine.”

“Never fear, I am here,” shouted by Craig, while running toward a mountain-mounted death device during a giant worm attack, is not one of them.

Step 20 – Almost There

Dave killed the giant worm.

“71%,” he noted, checking the machine.

The number was encouraging. It suggested progress. It suggested the Thumper might actually finish converting the mines before the mountain became a crater, the ramp became a memorial, or Craig discovered a new way to weaponise stairs.

Step 21 – Do You Have to Ask?

Dave turned around.

“Why is this platform so narrow?” he asked Craig. “A single misstep and I could plummet to my death.”

At this point, we should note that Craig has a history of architectural accidents: building walkways with gaps where you plummet to your death, and doors you open, step through, and plummet to your death. And now we can add extremely narrow walkways that a goat couldn’t traverse to the list.

This is not merely a design flaw. It is a portfolio.

Some builders produce villas. Some produce fortifications. Craig produces navigable litigation.

Step 22 – Nailed It!

We survived.

This was unexpected enough to require a moment.

The coal site converted to copper, and the aluminium site converted to silica. Dave declared the mission a success after installing the extractors.

And he was not wrong. The device had worked. Nobody important had permanently died. The zebras remained intact. Winchester was not flattened. We had more copper, more silica, and a new entry in the safety manual: Do Not Let Craig Choose the Installation Site Unless the Alternative Is Worse, and Even Then Sleep On It.

Operation: Find the Miners

The devs billed the Great Hunt as a campaign: a series of missions leading to a grand finale. This was new. Different. Certainly a break from “go here, collect this, ship it to space”.

So we sent Zaph off into the desert alone.

Standard recon.

This sounds reckless until one remembers that Zaph is usually happiest when several kilometres away from the group, quietly solving problems with a rifle. Meanwhile, the rest of us prepped for the mission and awaited news of what we needed to bring.

Zaph arrived on site and found something strange: a well-prepared mining site. It had a house, a stable for the animals, an outhouse, mining and drilling equipment — but no miners.

This was different. It looked nothing like one of our hurried constructions. There were no half-finished walls, no suspicious gaps in the floor, no ladder ascending toward a health insurance claim. It had the unsettling competence of people who had read the instructions.

As Zaph poked around, a strange new creature we had never seen before pounced.

Zaph fired.

His bullets bounced off its armour plating.

This was new.

Zaph ran to the outhouse, hid, and called for backup.

Zaph hiding, calling for backup — that’s new.

Myles leapt on Patch and headed out. Dave hurriedly grabbed some bags from the adventurers’ cupboard, jumped on Stripes, and headed out.

Craig looked around.

“Where is everyone?” he asked.

“I will just stay here and look after the coffee crop,” he declared, in his best “you won’t regret leaving me unsupervised” voice.

No one believed this voice. The voice had form. The voice had built ladders to nowhere, installed machinery on a mountain, and once tried to negotiate with gravity by ignoring it.

Myles and Dave arrived, set up turrets, and fought the creature. With enough bullets, it turned out you could shoot its armour off to get to its rock-hard underbelly.

WTH. That’s new.

Victorious once more, we looked around. We found the dead miners, torn apart. We found the large excavator sitting on a disturbed patch of ground. Then the ground shook as another of the creatures called forth.

This was it. Our Moria moment.

The miners had dug too deep, disturbing the Quarrite, who were not happy at being woken from their thousand-year slumber.

One imagines the Quarrite had been enjoying a perfectly respectable underground existence: darkness, quiet, perhaps a little sedimentary ambience. Then along came corporate miners with drills, paperwork, and the sort of optimism usually punished by ancient things beneath the earth.

We fought the Quarrite off as another emerged before we finally got our shite together and used our pickaxes to collapse the opening.

This detail deserves respect. After all the guns, turrets, panic, armour plating, and shouting, the solution was to hit the problem with a pickaxe until the planet stopped offering us lizard-crabs.

We won’t even mention that during this fight Myles panicked and put bullets in the generator instead of the turrets.

Except, obviously, we will mention it.

Myles put bullets in the generator instead of the turrets.

No one died.

That’s new.

Once the smoke cleared, we put the meat on the fire to cook, stabled the zebras, slept in bunk beds, and didn’t even worry if the house would still be standing when we returned. This was an unsettlingly civilised evening by our standards. There was shelter. There were beds. There was cooked meat. There was no immediate sign of Craig modifying the roof.

In the morning, we grabbed everything that looked even remotely useful, packed it on our zebras, and headed home. This is the CCF definition of a rescue operation: confirm all miners are dead, loot the premises, and return with the air of men who have performed a public service.

Myles and Dave stopped on the way to clean the waterwheels and collect the titanium, iron, oxite, and platinum. Because even in the middle of a campaign about missing miners and newly awakened subterranean horrors, housework remains housework.

Back at Winchester we unloaded everything. Zaph put some posters on the wall. Dave installed a dog statue in the generator room.

There was no sign of Craig.

But the crops were watered and packed.

This was suspiciously helpful, which is one of the most dangerous kinds of suspicious.

We repaired our guns, restocked ammunition, and stocked up on food. There was a sense, faint but present, that the Great Hunt might be less a series of missions and more a curriculum designed to teach us why miners should have better evacuation procedures.

Operation: Find the Miners – Part 2

With all the miners dead at the main site, we had four small mines to check out for survivors.

Let’s cut to the chase.

All the miners were dead.

They should have spent more time building defences and less time building fancy mining sites. Their architecture was lovely. Their survivability was not. Somewhere there was probably a corporate training video explaining the importance of productivity targets, and nowhere in it was a section titled What To Do When Armoured Lizard-Crabs Pour Out Of The Ground Because Dave’s Friend Zaph Wanted A Challenge.

We killed hordes of cave worms. We fought off multiple Quarrite. We looted everything that wasn’t nailed down. If it was nailed down, it was assessed for whether the nails were worth removing.

We survived a sandstorm. We closed numerous tunnels.

Stripes took it to a giant caveworm, distracting it while we burned through our ammunition supplies and broke our guns. There are moments when a zebra becomes more than a mount. Stripes became strategy, tank, moral centre, and possibly the only creature present with a functioning survival instinct.

Zaph died.

But we saved his horse.

This is how priorities are established in the field.

Finally, the monster was dead.

We credit our success to leaving Craig at home.

This may seem harsh, but the evidence is compelling. No unexplained ladders appeared. No one opened a door and stepped into an architectural punchline. No machinery migrated to the side of a mountain. The coffee crop was, by all accounts, doing well. Sometimes leadership is knowing when to deploy Craig, and sometimes leadership is knowing when Craig is best applied to agriculture.

The Housework

We headed home. Zaph logged, so we did the housework.

The usual mining site trips followed: collect the resources, refuel the drills, keep the industrial machine fed, and pretend that this is not how most of our heroic adventures actually end.

Avoid the Quarrite.

WTH? That’s new.

Quarrite tunnels were popping up all over the place. Simple resource runs had become a Quarrite-infested nightmare. Thank you, devs and corporate miner schmucks, for waking them up.

For the record, a Quarrite is a large, heavily armoured lizard-crab critter that rolls like an armadillo. And they just keep crawling out of the ground if you don’t close their tunnels.

This changes the tone of a simple errand. Previously, a mining run involved checking fuel, collecting ore, avoiding the occasional wolf, and muttering about inventory weight. Now every trip had the potential to become a wildlife documentary narrated by someone increasingly worried about ammunition.

Myles led a Quarrite onto a hedgehog emplacement to kill it. This was elegant by our standards: use the spiky thing for the spiky problem. No explosions, no mountain platforms, no generator full of bullets. Just practical battlefield pest control.

Dave then asked Stripes to go super stompy and distract the Quarrite so he could sneak up and close a tunnel.

Stripes attacked a wolf.

This distracted the Quarrite, who rushed out and attacked Dave.

Dave ran around the opening, trying to dodge the Quarrite and whack it with his pick. It was less a tactical manoeuvre and more a man arguing with geology while an armoured crab-lizard tried to repossess his ankles.

Stripes stopped playing with the wolf and came over to lend a hand. Myles and Stripes killed the Quarrite while Dave closed the tunnel.

Again, the zebra saved the day.

Again, the humans took credit.

Tonight’s Campfire Song – Ballad of the Crypt Creeps

The original campfire number had the correct spirit but bore a suspicious resemblance to something sung by men with berets and a much better chain of command. So, in the interests of keeping the lawyers asleep and the campfire warm, here is the CCF-safe version: same sentiment, less court-adjacent marching cadence.

Four fools fell from orbit bright,
Packed with guns and half a plan,
One read maps by lantern light,
One built walls because he can.

Dave found ore and made a farm,
Looted glands and called it need,
Zaph shot danger from afar,
Craig built stairs no goat should heed.

Patch stood calm and judged the lot,
Stripes went stompy through the fray,
Turrets chewed through every shot,
Still we shouted, “CCF way.”

Quarrite claws beneath the sand,
Caveworms punching through the clay,
Myles put rounds in generator hands,
Somehow no one died that day.

Coffee watered, zebras fed,
Guns repaired by firelight’s sway,
If the miners all are dead,
Loot the camp and ride away.

So raise a mug to plans ignored,
To narrow ramps and worms that spray,
To copper won and bullets poured,
Another night, the CCF way.

Did We Learn or Achieve Anything This Week?

We learned that shit just got real. The fecal matter has hit the rotary impeller device.

We learned to be careful what you ask for. Zaph asked for a challenge, and the Quarrite have awoken. This is what happens when boredom is allowed to influence procurement decisions.

We learned that next time Zaph says he’s bored, tell him to suck it up instead of accepting the challenge. There is nothing wrong with a quiet night of collecting rocks. Rocks do not usually have armour plating, ancient grudges, or the ability to burst out of the ground beside the sniper platform.

We learned there can never be enough bullets. Automatic rifles chew through ammo like Craig builds ladders: quickly, excessively, and with little regard for what happens afterwards.

We learned Dave’s plans are based on outcomes. A few deaths are an acceptable price for more copper.

Last week, we didn’t set any particular goal, and we smashed that.

We made some upgrades on our base.

Myles installed an advanced orbital exchange device; the drop pods now land close. This is excellent news for anyone tired of chasing deliveries across the wilderness like a courier in a hostile nature reserve.

Dave upgraded the beehive, totally unrelated to Craig’s fear of bees. Any suggestion that this was psychological warfare is both unfair and insufficiently proven.

Myles installed a chemistry bench, because explosives don’t invent themselves. They require benches, ingredients, poor judgement, and someone willing to say, “This will probably be useful later.”

Craig upgraded his deathtrap to stone, so it is camouflaged against the mountain. This is important, because nothing says “safety improvement” like making the hazard harder to see.

Dave achieved: Real Man — don’t read the instructions.

Myles achieved: Panic Under Fire — install the bullets in the generator.

Craig achieved: Deathtrap — have Myles plummet to his death from your platform.

Craig also achieved: Apiphobia — develop fear of bees.

Zaph achieved: Boredom Overcome — kill a giant cave worm.

And somewhere beneath the sands, the Quarrite stirred, stretched, and began preparing fresh paperwork for our next resource run.