Episode 100: Jungle Jaunt

The village was designed like a fort, with an outer wall made of sharp, interlocking trees and massive boulders. Zack assumed they were the remains of trees, at least; they looked less like the tree he’d used as a bridge and more like the trees he’d hidden inside to escape the Haktorash with Chala, but they were much larger and darker. The distant sounds of chirps, hisses and trills from Sthenites grew nearer as they approached the city, but Zack was sure that they were deceptive. He might have imagined the motionless guards in the bushes, but he doubted it. Chala didn’t wait long enough for him to take second looks, though, so he couldn’t be sure.

“I need to come back out here for a casual walk,” he said. “Figure out where everything is.”

“You don’t want to do that,” Chala said, stepping out of the tree line and approaching the wall, moving quickly over the red soil. Zack saw the fastest flicker of a serpentine head peaking over the wall as they left the jungle. He took a quick look back at the foliage.

“Need more yellow in my trench coat,” he said.

“What’s that?”

Zack started to repeat himself, but two massive boulders began to roll to the side. Giant sthenites, with orange scales and scarlet feathers, coiled into view, creating a titanic gate. Zack stopped walking and watched the massive snakes, each easily half as tall as the wall itself. Chala looked over her shoulder.

“Tourist.”

***

Captain Ortega watched the three researchers carefully. Two of them pushed a small trolley that carried a crate, a crate from Captain Calen’s Scuttler. Ortega clenched his jaw at the sight of it. He didn’t know what was happening to Calen and Trell yet, but knew that he wouldn’t want to be the person telling them that the Dyson Empire had plundered their ship.

He also prayed that no one ever found the frozen goblet she kept hidden away.

“Thanks for helping us out today,” said one of the researchers, a blond-haired man in a white contamination suit. “It’s amazing to have someone with your experience helping us out.”

“I didn’t have many options,” said Ortega. “My primary mission is to keep Doctor Rogers contained while I take him back to the Astroguard. Your would-be Emperor may not permit the second part of that mission, but I’ll definitely help with the first, Doctor…?”

“Williams, Gregor Williams. These are Doctor Amelia Degnan and Doctor Clarence Carnegie.”

“We’ve looked over all of your recommendations for waking Doctor Rogers,” said Doctor Carnegie. “We have everything prepared to reactivate his systems.”

“If you have any other recommendations during the procedure, feel free to let us know,” said Doctor Degnan. “We understand that a rigid set of guidelines would have potential for manipulation by someone with this degree of intelligence, so if any potential for danger exists as the situation unfolds, please inform us and we’ll adjust the procedure.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Ortega. “It’s a relief to not have someone being unreasonable about this kind of thing.”

“We work to understand new or alien technologies, and Doctor Rogers’ robotic body counts,” said Doctor Degnan. “Your expertise with his criminal activities, while not technological, is comprehensive and makes you the leading expert in the dangers that he represents. Shall we begin?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” said Ortega. His adrenaline had been slowly rising since they entered the room. All he needed was an opening after Doctor Rogers came back to life, an open door to the lab after Rogers was aware of what was happening. The researchers appeared willing to follow his instructions… could he push his luck far enough to make them take Rogers’ helmet out of the room?

Doctor Carnegie went to a hydromill installed on the far side of the room. Ortega assumed that it wasn’t connected to this vessel’s primary water supplies, and if he hadn’t been hoping for some easy way for Doctor Rogers to escape he would make sure it was the case before the experiment started.

Doctor Degnan moved to a control panel, one that would allow her to manipulate the flow of water from the hydromill and collect any unexpected data. She also activated a view screen, and Harold Zamona’s towering figure appeared on the wall, overseeing the situation. Ortega knew that it didn’t actually change his situation, but Zamona’s presence did make the room more tense.

“When you’re ready, Doctor Williams,” said Doctor Degnan.

Doctor Williams nodded and approached the storage crate on the research platform in the center of the room. He carefully broke the crate’s vacuum seal and removed the lid. Gently, almost reverently, he reached into the crate and pulled out the large, oblong dome that rested within.

“Preparing the hydromill transfer,” said Williams, reaching for a hose at his platform.

“Wait,” said Ortega. “That’s not-”

“Hydromill active,” said Doctor Carnegie.

“Begin the hydration.”

“Wait!” said Ortega.

The three researchers froze, each watching Captain Ortega carefully.

“You really don’t…” he started, words failing him.

“Captain Ortega, what’s wrong?” asked Doctor Carnegie. “Is there any danger?”

“Is… no. No, there’s no danger.”

“Then can we get back to the experiment?” asked Doctor Degnan.

“No point,” said Captain Ortega. “That’s not Rogers’ head.”

The three researchers all slowly turned to look at the glass dome in Doctor Williams’ hand. In his view screen, Zamona cradled his head for a moment before reaching for the screen controls, deactivating his end of the feed.

“Are you sure?” asked Doctor Williams.

“Well, look at it,” he said. “It looks like the top of a fancy water cooler.”

“I… suppose it might…” said Doctor Degnan.

“It looks like the one attached to the hydromill.”

Doctor Carnegie looked to his left at the hydromill’s beverage dispenser and took a surprised step back. Captain Ortega looked between the three researchers.

“So… if by some chance all those crates at your feet have spare hydromill parts in them instead of pieces of Doctor Rogers… where is he?”

***

Pilot Tan finished the modifications to his vessel’s Hydromill, connecting the “water cooler” more directly to the ship’s primary functions as per the instructions that had been echoing in the back of his head since landing at Xol’s ship. The Soul Survivor’s Plan A had been thwarted by Captain Ortega, and the restorative properties of Ortega’s helmet had muted the instructions long enough for Tan to miss the window on Plan B, brilliant though that plan would have been. Plan C had been perfect to implement when the echoes of the Soul Survivor’s manipulated Cypulchral Signal came back to his mind.

Tan had almost failed in his duties as a sleeper agent after he reawakened, too. The plan had suggested taking use of the ‘Tight Schedule’ trouble phrase, but had also been based on the belief that Tan wouldn’t have the chance or need to enact that protocol until later. Tan should have known to use the different phrase… but in the end, everything worked out.

The hydromill kicked into overdrive and bubbles began to surge furiously inside the dome that represented the Soul Survivor’s head, now attached to the machinery in Tan’s ship. After a few moments, the room’s communication channels kicked in.

“Excellent work, Tan,” said the familiar, sonorous tenor. “I didn’t know if my posthypnotic commands would survive beyond the purging that Ortega’s helmet would provide.”

“They did,” said Tan. “I can’t say that I liked selling him up the river like that, and technically this action makes me a traitor to the Dyson Empire, but it’s the least I could do to help you out.”

“Of course,” said The Soul Survivor. “Oh, these ship readings are delightful. We made it to the Veskid System this quickly? Amazing… Tan, you and I have much to discuss.”

Much earlier, on another world…

“My recommendation is Ravelar,” said Harold Zamona, looking over the screen built into the glass of the table. “We’ll be hard to track once we’re there, and we’re already difficult to track so we might be gone entirely, especially if the trip is financed in my name.”

“Ugh, there?” said Zack.

“Don’t want to go to Ravelar?”

“It’ll be so humid,” said Zack. “Horrible for my usual wardrobe. I decided a long time ago that I’d never be caught dead in a jungle on jobs like these, but I suppose just once wouldn’t kill me.”

“Most of the jungles are all underground, though,” said Sister Barris, tapping the table to read more information on the world. “There’s no real BristleCorp presence, too, and that could help us.”

“It’s got no DMA either, and police who look the other way a little too easily,” said Zack. “Don’t get me wrong, a pinch of corruption in a police force can do a lot of good, especially for jobs like this, but get too much and we’ll be sold to the highest bidder minutes after we land with no DMA there to protect us.”

“You really think it’ll be that bad?” asked Azar, trying to look around the three people on his payroll.

“I think it’s a risk,” said Zack.

“Zack is just letting us know about the worst case scenario,” said Harold.

“And letting you know that the worst case scenario isn’t unlikely,” said Zack. “There’s a lot of crime there. Most of the planet’s run by a Pyrhian mob boss named Murk. He causes a lot of problems for the DMA on Veskid, and that’s where we’re strongest. Not sure I want to see him running unchecked.”

“He’ll be checked by me,” said Harold.

“Raw strength might not be what we want in a place like this,” said Barris. “Subtlety is essential here, and the tourism industry, sketchy though it is, is designed for rich people who don’t want questions asked.”

“The hotels do look nice,” said Azar. “I think I could enjoy it there. For a while at least.”

“All right,” said Zack. “Let’s assume you go there. Harold, you’d be along for security?”

“Naturally.”

“And I’d stay here to work on legal action against BristleCorp,” said Barris. “They’ve clearly put an assassination order onto you, Azar, and while a case against them will be hard, laying the early groundwork without them catching on shouldn’t present an overabundance of difficulties.”

“Assuming they don’t already plan on us doing something like that,” said Zack. “This is a new situation, but they’re not stupid. And it’s not like there’s a single person you can trick or bump off to make this work. You can’t shoot a corporation.”

“Is that Faulkner?” asked Harold.

“What? No, it’s reality,” said Zack. “Barris, you can probably get the preliminaries set up, but they’ve likely already taken steps to cut any paper trails to link them to the assassination attempts.”

“Isn’t that what you’re for?” asked Harold. “Find the dirt on them. Reconnect the paper trails, find evidence that proves that only they would have the resources to coordinate this kind of attack on an individual, and prove that they’re the only one with the motive.”

“Motive’s the hard part, actually,” said Zack. “Pettiness is hard to prove for a corporation since they’re usually more concerned with making money than getting revenge for lost money, the actions of individuals within a company notwithstanding. But yes, I’ll be doing a bit of that. It’ll just be tricky to arrange that kind of investigation from Ravelar.”

“Why’re you going to be in Ravelar?” asked Harold. “I’ll be there. Don’t think I can handle anything that comes our way?”

Zack tapped the table and stared at Harold.

“I just… assumed I’d be there as well,” said Zack. “But I suppose you and Azar can be there by yourselves. Taking the resort vacation spots all for yourself.”

“Just how it turned out with our skill sets,” said Harold, smiling.

“Right,” said Zack. “Barris stays here, Harold and Azar can live it up in Ravelar, and I’ll go between both places while researching.”

“Do we need that kind of attention drawn to you, Zack?” asked Barris. “Traveling is noticeable, and Harold already tracked you down once. Someone else might do it again.”

“Maybe,” said Zack, watching the former wrestler carefully. “But I’ll feel better if I can keep an eye on the situation from both sides. Just in case.”

Episode 96: Enemy Engagement

“Ensign Trell to Captain Calen. Come in, Captain Calen.”

Trell waited by the auxiliary communications array in Tan’s ship, sending a second hailing frequency to the Scuttler, ten minutes after the first. Her first instinct had been to open the hailing channel from the pilot’s seat, but remembered that a sudden call from Dyson’s forces might require a faster response from Tan that could interrupt her work. Her work at the moment, though, was calling her Captain, and she wasn’t receiving a response.

She walked from the auxiliary communications array to the ship’s dining chamber, a room even smaller than the Scuttler’s. Tan sat in one chair while Captain Ortega, still in his Astroguard flight suit, stood next to him.

“Trell!” said Ortega. “All wrapped up with Calen? I was just telling our host about-”

“No time for pleasantries,” said Trell. “Something’s wrong. I can’t get in touch with the Captain.”

“She’s not responding again?”

“Not at all,” said Trell. “She might have been occupied with some business the first time, but not for this long.”

“That’s starting to get suspicious,” said Tan.

“No, the first time was when it was suspicious,” said Trell. “If it happens twice, it means something has gone wrong.”

“Okay, let’s not jump to conclusions,” said Ortega. “Calen’s probably fine, but let’s play it safe and proceed as if she’s not. Could there be an issue with our communication’s array? Or with hers?”

“I ran a diagnostic the first time the message didn’t get through. We’re fine.”

“You were using the auxiliary array, though,” said Tan. “Could that cause a problem? Maybe communicating through the primary array at my station-”

“A problem like that would’ve been found by the diagnostics,” said Trell. “I checked.”

“Good,” said Tan. “I can’t count the number of times that I was sure I had a problem and there was just something unplugged.”

“Working from the primary station is also a great way to be caught on camera if your friends in the empire call,” said Trell.

“What are the odds of a communications glitch on Calen’s side?” asked Ortega, intervening when he saw Tan’s eyes narrow. “Have we sent any communications successfully since the simulated explosion?”

“Yes,” said Trell. “Nonverbal signals from computers mainly, but yes. Besides, if there was an error on that end, I’d receive a notification here. This is just a case of a channel getting to its destination but not being opened.”

Ortega tapped the wall with one of his hands. Usually he’d chalk up a situation like this to simple errors. This time, however, he had to factor in everything he knew about Captain Calen and everything he knew about the ways that problems occur in wartime espionage missions. A feeling began to creep up on him that he’d felt more often than he could count.

“Two quick questions,” he said. “First, you’re absolutely sure that Doctor Rogers wouldn’t be able to get out of that shipping crate?”

“Those crates were designed with the quick imprisonment of enemies in mind,” said Trell. “That includes abnormally tech savvy ones like your great enemy. I wouldn’t think his helmet would have regrown by now, though.”

“I don’t think it would, but he’s always creating improvements for his body,” said Ortega. “It wouldn’t surprise me to find out that he’s developed a faster repair system. I don’t think he’s a factor, but I like being sure… Tan, can this ship detect where people are?”

“I think so,” he said. “Why should we do that, though? We’re all here, and you say that the Soul Survivor’s not involved.”

“He’s not the only villain in the galaxy,” said Ortega. “Tan, have the vessel scan for other entities. Trell, do you think-”

With a bang, a panel in the ceiling burst down and into the room prompting a yelp from Pilot Tan. A woman in a black stealth suit with a six-eyed observation crown leaned down and into the room, holding a green neural pulse pistol aimed at Captain Ortega.

“No more time for subtlety,” she shouted, pulling the trigger and firing an emerald burst of light.

Episode 85: Triangulated Progress

Carmen stopped mentally prodding her asteroid and took a deep breath.

“Okay, we’re cool. I don’t think we’ll be crashing today.”

“That would’ve made an amazing news story, though,” said Vince, releasing his mental hold on the asteroid as well. “I can just see the headlines. ‘Flashman and Shift Missing on Mandrake: Racers Presumed Dead After Nebula Cup Qualifier.’”

“I think you got our names backward on that one. No way I’d get second billing to you.”

“They’re going alphabetically,” said Vince. He looked up from the rocky terrain of the asteroid and saw the comforting expanse of stars overhead. He knew that if they stood on the opposite side of the asteroid they’d see Mandrake filling the sky, and that its toxic rain clouds and vast jungles might just be discernible from this altitude. Instead, he saw the comforting image of three other asteroids, one being his own.

“Now we’ve just gotta get me back to my ride,” he said.

“Thanks again,” said Carmen. “Probably could’ve gotten myself out of the planet’s pull without help, of course, but I’d be having a mondo headache right now. One for the history books.”

Their headsets chimed, each with a tone that let them know that Xorn’Tal was trying to speak. They’d cut off the headsets to minimize distractions while tugging Carmen’s asteroid out of its fall to Mandrake, but now that they were done Xorn’Tal had something to say.

“Hope he’s not been waiting long,” said Vince as they activated their comm sets.

“What’s up, Xorn’Tal?” asked Carmen.

“Officials: nearing,” said the plant creature’s synthesized voice.

“Good,” said Vince. “We can show them that we caught the Phantom Matador’s asteroid.”

“But the Matador got away,” said Carmen, glumly. “That… stupid bat.”

“Shangmere,” said Vince. “I don’t think they like being called bats.”

“Right, sorry,” said Carmen. “I’m just… we had him. The Phantom Matador was unconscious, on my asteroid, and officials were minutes away, and then that stowaway grabs him and leaps for Mandrake.”

“Look at the bright side,” said Vince. “He probably burned up in entry.”

“Right, but now we’ll never know who he was,” said Carmen. “I wanted him in jail. This’ll just give him a mysterious exit without knowing who he is. Watch, five years from now the racing federation’ll probably hire someone to be the new Phantom Matador and mess with racers again.”

“Maybe that’s what they did this time,” said Vince.

“I doubt it. The suits aren’t that creative.”

“Other concern: plasma report,” said Xorn’Tal.

“Plasma report?” asked Vince.

“Edge of system: racers/stragglers: watched. Sensors: long-range: energy signature: massive. Plasma storm: causeless.”

“I’m sure it’ll be on the news when we get back to Veskid tonight,” said Carmen.

“Hey, at least your friend’s jump went well,” said Vince. “You know. Eventually.”

“Right,” said Carmen. “I’ll need to pick him up eventually. You guys are still good not mentioning him, right?”

“Secret: safe.”

“Absolutely,” said Vince. “Gotta help out our fellow adrenaline junkies.”

***

Zack nervously watched the nearing ground, reflexively waving his arms even though he knew that the parachute would keep him safe. True to Carmen’s word, the robotic elements of the parachute were steering him toward a clearing, but the nearby jungle still loomed ominously.

He took a deep breath and braced for impact as he dropped the last dozen feet, but was surprised by the sudden jet of compressed air released by the parachute, providing some extra thrust to make the final moments of descent that much slower. The extra efficiency caused Zack to over-correct, and trip on his feet as he reached the ground.

He brought his arms up to keep his face from colliding with the ground. Just before he could get his bearings, the parachute fell as well, covering him. Already worried about the potential for jungle insects, Zack thrashed madly beneath the parachute, trying to extricate himself.

From the tree line, Chala watched him carefully, an arrow set in her bow. The newcomer certainly didn’t seem like the standard poacher, but he still had to leave.

***

Captain Ortega and Ensign Trell looked out the window of their dead ship, and witnessed the vast array of Dyson Empire vessels around them.

“This is… unexpected,” said Trell.

“Where are we?” asked Ortega. “I don’t recognize any of those stars. Was… was this a projected teleport? Can Dyson teleport ships? Some sort of jump drive?”

“It seems so,” said Trell. “But… I know it’s folly to try to recognize constellations from a variable position within a system, but I’ve crossed Morcalan space many, many times… something looks wrong about that.”

“Are you there?” crackled Trell’s communicator.

“Captain?” said Trell. “Captain, you made it with us?”

“It seems so,” said Captain Calen from within her Scuttler. “We seem to be in a mobile hornet’s nest, Trell… oh, the delicious targets… attacking now would be suicide, of course, we mustn’t attack yet…”

Ortega breathed a sigh of relief. Trell glared at him.

“I think Captain Ortega expected you to try to blast your way to victory,” Trell said.

“The thought crossed my mind,” said Calen. “Had we a dozen vessels I probably would, for victory then would be assured. But as it is now… we have a chance that we mustn’t squander. We’re in a dire situation, though, one that I’ve not yet solved.”

“And what’s that,” asked Ortega.

“How long until some ship captain looks out its window and realizes that we’re not a single vessel, but a depowered Dyson fighter being clutched in the talons of a powered Morcallan scuttler?”

A tense moment of silence filled the chamber.

“I’ll get to work on those reactor repairs, Captain,” said Trell.

“See that you do.”

Episode 84: Virellium Wave

“The system definitely has a numeric pad to the right of the pilot’s terminal, just like you describe, Captain,” said Ensign Trell, speaking into her communicator.

Captain Ortega looked at the console curiously, furrowing his brow.

“Input the numbers, then,” said Calen from the other side of the communicator. “Let’s not keep our dear pilot from his duty a moment longer.”

“Hang on a second,” said Ortega. “I was all over these computers earlier… that pad doesn’t do anything.”

“That pad is standard on most terminals like this,” said Trell.

“I know,” said Ortega. “That’s why I tried using it. I had to settle for the other numeric input along the top of the controls when the pad didn’t work.”

“You probably just had the number lock function disengaged.”

Ortega looked over the console more carefully.

“The button for that isn’t here,” he said. “I couldn’t engage or disengage it.”

Trell looked over the controls carefully before nodding her head.

“Captain, he’s right,” said Trell.

“What does that mean, then?” asked Calen.

“Stand by,” said Trell, kneeling beneath the console and removing a panel. Ortega prepared for a lengthy investigation, but was startled by a surprised gasp.

“There’s definitely a change here,” said Trell. “Definitely not standard.”

“What do you see?” he asked.

“It’s a rerouting,” she said. “Ordinarily I’d be spending minutes looking over the circuitry, but there’s a secondary circuit board here, it looks like it’s fed directly into the numeric pad. It also looks like there’s some rudimentary broadcasting components, probably capable of generating a low-power signal over a short distance.”

“Curious,” said Ortega.

Trell pushed her way out of the panel, smiling a more genuine smile than Ortega had ever seen. He stepped back so that she could stand up.

“One last thing,” she said. “You’re going to like this, Captain. The secondary circuity board that plugs directly into the numeric pad? It’s using the Phoenix Circuitry. The same style of circuits and materials used in this ship’s alternate systems are definitely being used in that one board. I think we’ve just found the Phoenix Circuit’s user interface.”

Ortega smiled and almost confirmed that he did, in fact, like the information, before he heard Calen’s low, rattling laughter from the other side of the communicator. He wasn’t the captain she’d been speaking to.

“That is delightful, Trell,” she said, amid triumphant chortles. “Hear me now: we’ve uncovered the weakness of Dyson’s impregnable defenses, the weakness that will lead to our final victory. I don’t know how, but this is the key to the Vaults of Vengeance. Input the numbers, Trell. Input the numbers and reveal the first true treasure to be pulled from the Cypulchral Cloud!”

Trell eagerly tapped Tan’s sequence of numbers into the panel. Quickly, and thankfully, the chiming alarm finally, finally stopped, prompting a relieved sigh from both Trell and Ortega. For a moment nothing happened, leaving the room in silence and stillness. Then, one of the screens over the console activated.

LAST COMMAND: 00:10:48:48

VIRELLIUM WAVE ACTIVATION: -00:01:12:12

“Virellium wave?” asked Ortega. “That seems… unlikely.”

“All Virellium functions through a wave,” said Trell. “Allegedly, at least. Morcalla’s never had much to work with. Most people talk about it like it’s a form of matter, but it’s actually a form of force energy, like in most energy weapons.”

“I know,” said Ortega. “The rarity’s why it seems unlikely, though, not that Virellium would have a wave.”

“It may be a small wave,” said Trell. “It wouldn’t require much to cover a system with a low-effect or no-effect field.”

“What are you two blathering about?” said Ortega over the communication channel.

“The numbers activated a console, Captain. It’s registering a command that came through almost eleven hours ago, and saying that something called a Virellium wave will activate in… one hour, eleven minutes, and twenty-nine seconds.”

“Oh, that’s intriguing,” said Calen. “For the record, sensors are indicating that the Phoenix Circuitry you’ve uncovered is beginning to activate. It’s… glowing. Under certain scan images you even look like a bird’s skeleton, surrounded by a halo. It’s quite poetic, I think. These are the ashes from which Morcala will rise.”

“We need to die first, Captain,” said Trell. “I don’t think we’ve hit that point yet.”

“Agreed,” said Calen. “But it’s nice to know there’s an option.”

“I think you two are overextending and mixing the metaphor a little,” said Ortega. “Either way, it looks like we’ve got an hour to prepare for… something. This is probably a signal that’s been sent to the entire Dyson fleet, or at least a large subset of them. This may allow us to figure out what their next move is, but… if it requires the ship’s other features to function, we may be out of luck since we’ve not had time to repair the ship’s reactor since the scuttler’s Neutrino Load neutralized it. Can we repair the reactor in an hour?”

“If we’re lucky,” said Trell. “Probably not, though.”

“Work on getting it up and running,” said Calen. “If we can reactivate Tan’s vessel without it blowing up on us, it will be more useful. Assuming you’ll need more than an hour, though… if I activated the scuttler’s retrieval functionality, I think I would be within the field of energy that the Phoenix Circuitry is activating. Trell, can you calculate an appropriate point of attachment that won’t puncture the circuitry itself? Ordinarily I wouldn’t be concerned, but we may be able to let the scuttler’s engines guide Tan’s fighter, albeit clumsily.”

“Brilliant plan, Captain,” said Trell. “I’ll have that calculated in minutes.”

“Wait, what’s happening?” asked Ortega.

“The scuttler’s about to engage in some actual scuttling,” said Trell. “Scuttlers rarely use this function these days… and almost only use them to tear another ship apart in combat when it comes up… but due to the slow precision required, it’s an awkward combat maneuver, and has more use as a means for tugging deactivated ships around.”

***

Twenty minutes later, Captain Calen input Ensign Trell’s calculations. The scuttler closed in on Tan’s fighter vessel, and activated twelve drill-like lasers. It slowly drifted toward the fighter, matching its velocity and spin, and carefully punctured areas of the hull that would be more or less unimportant for the near future. As the laser drills twisted to more accurately cut into the ship, the field of phoenix circuitry energy enveloped the scuttler entirely.

Once the drills cut their holes, the beams stopped. Twelve metallic pincers dug into the side of the fighter, like a tick attaching to an animal. Usually a scuttler would flex, unflex, and twist its pincers at this point, causing it to shred and bring down most enemy ships, but Calen belayed that protocol before it became an issue.

“We have connection,” said Calen. “I think we’re good to go.”

“Understood, Captain,” said Trell, from the other side of the communicator. “I’ll begin the repairs to the reactor now. With luck it should be back online in two hours.”

“Hopefully we won’t need it before then,” said Calen, leaning back in her chair. “Keep me updated.”

Calen felt good for the first time since hearing Admiral Cresh’s announcement that Morcala was surrendering. She didn’t know what would be happening when the countdown ended, but she was certain that it was the next step to victory, and the next chapter in her glorious career.

***

Emperor Dyson steepled his fingers and smiled as he read the latest report. The Morcalan resistance was staying strong, but it was settling into a predictable pattern. They were causing damage… but it was all superficial and easily repairable. He felt they were probably enjoying the chance to play act as members of a resistance fighting against an oppressive regime. It was an annoyance, but as long as he didn’t try to stamp them out entirely, their acting could be a powerful asset.

The door to his throne room opened, and Harold Zamona crouched to make sure that he could enter without bumping his head. It was the closest that Harold ever came to bowing. Dyson was always cheered by Zamona’s willingness to be on equal terms with him.

“We are ready, sire,” said Zamona. “We can move on. Enough troops will be staying behind to keep up the defenses while the attack continues.”

“Wonderful,” said Dyson. “You know, it occurs to me that with the gathered energy we’re finally overcoming Alexander’s problem. There will never be an end of worlds to conquer, at least not in my lifetime.”

“Don’t spread yourself too thin,” said Zamona. “The ancient Romans had their conquered slaves whisper that victory is fleeting to their generals, and even that reminder didn’t keep them from collapsing in due time. And besides, conquering these regions is only a fringe benefit for our real job.”

“Of course,” said Dyson. “It is time to begin our primary work. As usual, I imagine that the components of The Emperor’s Eye have a different destination than the fleet?”

“Naturally,” said Zamona, smiling.

“Perfect. Would you care to do the honors?”

The Emperor gestured to the massive red and orange device at the edge of the throne room. Zamona smiled and approached the monolithic machine, opening the deceptively small cover over the circular input device. He reached into his shirt and pulled out the medallion he’d worn ever since entering Dyson’s service. He cracked it open and removed the colorful, curiously hot coin of Virellium energy from within.

He placed the single Virellium coin into the input device before closing it, briefly thinking to the moment of the coin’s acquisition. He pulled a lever at the side of the machine and heard the snaps of electricity from the internal diodes, the rumble of thunder within the crystalline orbs that surrounded the device, and the powerful energy within the coin cascading from the machine as it generated a wave that would affect Dyson vessels across the system.

The scent of ionization filled the throne room, and the sensation of a great fire surrounded everyone in all of the ships touched by the wave, Dyson and Harold included. The fire was hot, but strangely without pain…

…and then the moment passed where they ceased to exist…

…and then, in a cloud of plasma, the fleet reappeared at its next system.

“This is strange, folks,” said Mark Matthews, continuing his color commentary. “Long-range scanners keeping tabs on the race’s final stragglers are picking up a huge energy signature just outside the system! Technically out of bounds, but pretty close to the race track. Well, the race began with a party crasher, maybe it’s about to end with another. Just a few minutes before we get a good visual on the far side of Mandrake, though, so I should have news for you on that end soon!”

Episode 82: Fire and Iceberg

Another trill chimed through the fighter ship, an incessant tone that suggested something important was about to happen. Captain Ortega turned away from the computer screen, growing nervous as the noise refused to stop.

“Is that you?” he shouted. A few moments later he heard the aggravated sound of tools being set to the side.

“No,” shouted Ensign Trell.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

“There’s nothing on my readouts,” he yelled, stepping away from the room to walk closer to Trell’s workspace.

“There wouldn’t be,” she said as he neared the hole in the walkway where she’d removed a portion of the floor to get a closer look at the Phoenix Circuitry. She stopped crouching and turned off the light she’d affixed to her shoulder.

“Right, I know,” said Ortega. “If the Phoenix Circuitry is completely separate from the rest of the ship’s systems-”

“It is.”

“Assuming it is,” said Ortega, “then there wouldn’t be a readout from anything I could see on a computer related to the ship’s primary terminals.”

“Then why check the readouts?”

Ortega felt a strange sensation related to the usual falling feeling he lived through whenever he spoke to a technologist aboard a ship, a sensation suggesting he was missing something. Usually any technologists he spoke to didn’t have the capacity to kill him, however, and while he was sure Trell wouldn’t impatiently resort to violence he was also sure that she had considered it at least twice since they started searching through the systems.

“I checked them just to be sure,” he said, carefully. “And when I saw nothing, that’s why I thought it might be related to something you were doing.”

“It’s not me.”

“Okay,” he said. “Good. Now, we need to figure out-”

“It’s the phoenix circuitry itself,” she said. “Its own hardware is set up to make that noise.”

“Good,” Ortega said. “Progress! Sorry, I should’ve asked if you knew what it was instead of assuming.”

“I just figured it out,” said Trell. “It’s gotten a little easier now that I’m working with the assumption that all of the hardware not connected to the main systems is related to the Phoenix Circuitry, but it still throws me for a loop every once in a while. No way to tell what it means, though. We should contact the Captain, and ask her to interrogate our guest further.”

***

“There’s a horrible hum on your ship, Tan,” said Captain Calen. Pilot Tan was secured in the medical bay, tethered to the gurney with a lengthy restraint. Tan had felt uncertain about the arrangement when he first awoke to it, but had gradually started to feel like his location was one of the few things that, for whatever reason, was keeping the Captain from slipping into her own brand of cruelty.

“Oh?” he said.

“Yes, yes there is,” said Calen, sitting in a chair and leaning back. “I can’t fathom what it is, but we know it involves that Phoenix Circuitry of yours.”

“Oh!” he said, his face filling with recognition for a moment before speedily clearing.

“Oh,” he repeated. “That. I don’t know much about that.”

Calen raised an eyebrow.

“Why don’t I believe you and that wonderful poker face of yours?”

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m really not… okay, I know that I shouldn’t tell you anything, Emperor’s Orders and all that, and while I’ve got no real love for this whole Dyson Empire thing I’ve also got nothing against it. But I’m also a prisoner here, and you’re being really nice under the circumstances and I know that you’ve already thought about killing me today, so I’d like to give you something, I would, but… I really, really don’t know what to do or say here.”

“Say that which will keep me from giving in to that temptation, the temptation that you just mentioned.”

“Killing me?”

“Let’s not dwell on the delicious specifics right now. Know this, Tan: I want to be the one to kill you, I really do, but I can be persuaded to kill others instead. Don’t tax me, and just tell me about the alarm.”

Tan held up his hands in a strange combination of fear and exasperation.

“But I don’t know!” he said. “I can’t help you! If I knew more, I probably would, but I can’t! You’ve already got my name, rank and serial number, so can we move on?”

“You have a serial number?”

“Yes,” he said, defensively. He thought for a moment. “Did I not already tell y… Three Twenty-Two?”

“Is that your serial number?”

“Yes,” he said. “I think. It’s… it’s on a card back at my ship, you can have Captain Ortega or Trell-”

“Ensign Trell.”

“-Ortega or Ensign Trell pick it up if you want. But if you want information on that… noise, or the Phoenix Circuitry or the Emperor’s Eye, I can’t tell you much. They’re all connected, I know that much, but I’ve barely heard anything. I only heard the noise you’re talking about twice before.”

“Before what?”

“Before now.”

“No,” said Calen. “Tell me what event the noise preceded. That sound sets off something or readies something, and I need to know what procedure you followed. Where were you when it happened?”

“Piloting my ship,” said Tan. “Just before leaving my home system, and then once more before getting to your system.”

“So it lets you know to launch?”

Tan closed his eyes.

“Maybe,” he said. “It’s… hazy. I can’t remember much.”

Calen narrowed her eyes. She stood, walked to the gurney, and entered the commands to unlock his manacles. She grabbed him by the shoulder and began pushing him to the door.

“Wait!” he said. “Wait, no, don’t kill me!”

“I’m not killing you, coward!” said Calen. “That’s too good for you. I’m getting to the bottom of this noise once and for all.”

Much earlier, on another world…

Harold Zamona touched the brick wall of the laundromat, feeling it. It would break easily if he wanted it, but so might the gauntlets.

Since the horrible day of the abduction, he’d been growing stronger. It was wonderful at first, but he quickly reached the point where it was incapacitating. He couldn’t touch anything without breaking it, and his entire record in the wrestling ring was called into question. After destroying his apartment building one night in a series of accidents that started when his dinner was delivered, he was found legally not guilty of endangerment but was required to wear the gauntlets.

They worked marvelously, and his strength dropped to manageable levels. He couldn’t go back to being a full time wrestler again, of course… even if his weakness wasn’t artificially generated his mental stability had been in question since his claims about the abduction… but he could function in normal society. No one doubted that he’d met aliens… humans had been on the Galactic scene for quite some time, after all… but the ethereal, dream-like details of incomprehensible experimentation, coupled with a total lack of evidence (apart from his incredible strength) made it sound like a bad conspiracy theory. Only the sorts of people who believed in sightings of the Void Pilgrim gave much credence to his story.

The Iceberg did eventually reenter the ring on one amazing night, however. The influence of the gauntlets was reduced so that he could compete against four of the other hardest hitters of the day. As amazing as “The Night Where The Gloves Come Off” had been, he realized two weeks later just how fragile the gauntlets were; his strength was still increasing, and the gauntlets could break through use.

Four years and three pairs of gauntlets later, it was harder and harder to use them carefully. He didn’t like having to file for new gauntlets, and the required week of gingerly touching everything in the fragile world around him. As such, while he knew in his head that he could break the laundromat’s wall, he’d also noticed the telltale sparks and signs of wear and tear. He didn’t even know if the next model of gauntlets had been designed for him yet, and breaking them now could put him out of commission for months if he was unlucky.

Harold gritted his teeth and hoped that the worst wouldn’t happen before pushing forward. The wall buckled, the gauntlets sparked, and the bricks tumbled in.

Someone screamed, a woman’s voice. Possibly someone who worked in the laundromat? The smoke and dust kicked up by the collapsing wall cleared, but the scent of the crumbling dust remained. He scanned the comfortable sitting room, a sure sign that he was on the right track. After a moment, he saw the determined face of Zack Gamma, leveling a pair of Purcellian Strikers at him. Harold watched the DMA Agent sizing him up… before a look of surprise and confusion overtook the dedicated focus on his face. Zack’s pistols drooped.

It was only a moment’s hesitation, but it had served Harold well since he started this job. No one expected a minor celebrity to be their adversary.

Gamma was recovering, but Harold was already moving. Just before the pistols could point at Zamona, he swiped his arm to the side, knocking away the weapons.

“Where-” started Harold, just before Sister Barris fired the neural scrambler ray from the kitchen.

Harold felt nauseous, and the room started spinning.

“Shoot him again!”

“Zack, that’s not-”

“Look at the size of him, he’ll recover faster! Higher setting, shoot!”

Another beam of neuralizing energy collided with him and the world went dark.

***

Azar waited for the noise to settle down before opening the door to the bathroom, looking back into the rest of Zack’s safehouse.

“What happened out there?”

“Hi, Azar!” said Gamma, strangely chipper amid a scene of fallen bricks, settling dust, and sparking electricity. Sister Barris was dragging a dark, titanic man with massive gauntlets, moving him to a wall and a sitting position while Gamma was looking out of a hole in the wall into the alley. Zack gestured to the body with one of his pistols.

“You had some company. Same thing happens to me; right when I hop into the shower, that’s when someone knocks on my door. Fortunately, my plan of freezing like a midnight snowman distracted, uh… The Iceberg?… well enough that Barris could take him out.”

“You didn’t freeze, you were surprised,” said Barris, eyeing the sparking gauntlets on the attacker’s hands warily. “I’m also not convinced it’s The Iceberg.”

“It’s totally The Iceberg,” said Zack. “Look at him! Just imagine him with shorter hair and sunglasses.”

“Everyone who looks like him would look like The Iceberg with shorter hair and sunglasses.”

“Yes, but not everyone with a face like that would also have biceps the size of a grizzly bear on steroids.”

“Who is The Iceberg?” asked Azar. Zack pointed at the body, and Barris rolled her eyes.

“He was a wrestler, a champion,” she said.

“Yeah, until he went crazy a few years back,” said Zack. “He started talking about some sort of alien abduction story, saying these skinny gray folks with big eyes and weird ships stole him away one night and did experiments on him. Naturally, he was delirious the whole time and didn’t have many strong details.”

“Doesn’t sound that crazy,” said Azar. “Why would someone kidnap a wrestler, though?”

“No reason,” said Zack. “And there was no evidence, so odds are good that whatever he remembered isn’t what happened. A few months later, though, and his strength goes out of control. So strong that he was kicked out of his job, and couldn’t wrestle again. Who he is isn’t important right now, though,” said Zack. “What’s important is that we get you moving, Azar. If The Iceberg found you, then other people can’t be far behind.”

Episode 77: Dangerous Protocols

“Nothing in this panel either,” said Ensign Trell, examining the book-thin component. She pushed it back into the wall and it locked into place with a satisfying clunk.

Captain Ortega nodded, resisting the urge to ask if she was sure. He’d seen more than his share of ship circuitry, and even performed emergency repairs under duress, but his field experience couldn’t match Trell’s actual engineering training. When it came to identifying if something was unusual in the computer circuitry, Ortega wouldn’t be able to do much more than confirm that everything looked like the standard fare.

Unfortunately, Trell’s time examining the hardware meant that Ortega was left sifting through what information he could on the ship’s software. Thanks to the CryptoBrick analysis earlier he had a few insights on where to look inside the ship’s computers, but most of the data was information he’d already seen.

“You’re sure that it’s safe to pull those components out of the wall while we’re accessing the mainframe?”

“Absolutely,” said Trell. “The subsystems are designed to be removed on the fly. The worst case scenario is that you’ll be without some data while I’m looking over everything. I’m starting to think that there’s either no trace of the phoenix circuitry on this ship, or that Tan already destroyed it before we arrived.”

“Do you really think he wouldn’t have told your Captain by now?”

“She wouldn’t torture someone in a medbay.”

“Really?” said Ortega. “That seems like the ideal place.”

A look of confused disgust crossed Trell’s face.

“What kind of sick person uses medical equipment for torture?”

“The… kind of sick person who doesn’t want the torture to be lethal?”

“People in your culture must not understand torture if it gets lethal.”

“People in my culture really don’t,” said Ortega. “We have laws against it.”

“So do we,” said Trell.

“Either way, there’s no signs of systematic destruction, or any kind of intentional damage against the ship,” said Ortega. “This place is almost pristine.”

“I suppose you’d have the expertise to recognize that,” said Trell. “Have you looked up information on self-destruct procedures?”

“No,” said Ortega, tapping new information into the terminal interface. “Good idea, though.”

The computer had a basic user command structure, one that Ortega felt was almost a few years out of date for a relatively new military power like the Dyson Empire. It was simple enough to use, but felt important.

“Why would someone with access to last year’s hardware use software that would have been on its way out five years ago?”

“Familiarity, perhaps?” said Trell, reaching for the next maintenance panel.

“Would you do it for familiarity?”

“No,” said Trell. “I’d only do it if I wanted absolute certainty that anyone using it would be familiar with the software. It’s probably a good idea for a rapidly constructed militia. The Soul Survivor did suggest… and our own experiences with Tan suggests… that this so-called Emperor quickly assimilates anyone with a modicum of competence into his service. If there was no time for a custom operating system… by far the best approach, in my opinion… an older system that people would be familiar with might help things along.”

“You’d prefer to make a custom operating system, though?”

“I already have one,” said Trell. “I plan on retiring to a moon fortress after I leave the military, one stocked with the trophies of a great career, and I’ve already established a preliminary system that can be modified for most of the kinds of bases I might acquire.”

“Would you incorporate any older operating systems onto your custom system? Something seems off about this.”

He pulled up the selected data. Five data files tagged as relating to self destruct systems popped onto his screen.

“I might,” said Trell. “I could take the graphical parts, overlay it.”

“Why would you do that?” asked Ortega. He tapped one of the files, the one titled ‘Self Destruct Protocols: Operation Eclipse Procedure.’

“Again, familiarity for others,” said Trell. “Guests. Or enemies.”

“Catering to familiarity for enemies?”

The file opened, and a video file started to play.

“No, not catering to them,” said Trell. “I’d use it as a decoy, or a lure. Set it up to look like it was a standard file system, probably even make a few non-essential commands work as expected, but just make it a facade that covers a ruse or trap. Something designed to lead them on a wild goose chase, feed them false information or activate a trap.”

The lights darkened in the chamber. Trell and Ortega looked up, surprised. The video file began to play, and every terminal in the room switched to the video as well. A large, dark-skinned man appeared, wearing a uniform of the Dyson empire and a pair of bulky, mechanical gauntlets.

“What did you find?” asked Trell.

“The Emperor’s Herald, someone named Zamona,” said Ortega. “I’ve seen him once before. Right before Doctor Rogers and I had to make it to your ship.”

“Congratulations on securing one of the Dyson Empire’s vessels intact,” said Zamona. “We also appreciate your interest in the Operation Eclipse Protocols, especially as they pertain to self destruct sequences.”

“He’s gloating,” said Trell. “Gloating in a video that might never have been seen. I admire the dedication, but it means we’re in trouble.”

“As you know, self destruct sequences involve legitimate security concerns which you, alas, have now become. If this vessel is within range, it will transmit images of your facial features, voice prints, or any other identifying characteristics which may be useful in learning who you are and what may have brought you here. The good news is that, while you will only have sixty seconds to live, you will gain a firsthand look at the self destruct information you sought, an experience that no one else alive can appreciate. Enjoy your final minute of life, and make peace in whatever way you see fit.”

The video ended, and a timer began counting down from sixty seconds. The lights returned to their standard setting, and a dull, dangerous hum began resonating through the walls.

Episode 76: Laser-Puffed Goodness

Pilot Tan entered the course corrections as he moved through the mists, grateful that the Soul Survivor’s alterations to The Signal no longer made it toxic for any computer hooked up to sensors. The Cypulchral Cloud was now no more dangerous than your standard nebula, and at only the size of a large planet it was easier to navigate. He wondered if, at some point, the planet might normalize in both its consistency and orbit enough to become an outlying gas giant of sorts, but that level of science was outside his general expertise.

An alarm sounded, suggesting that someone was trying to board the ship from one of the airlocks, using an entrance code. This confused him, but suggested good news; he wanted to help The Soul Survivor, of course, but it seemed strange that the Survivor’s plans would require marooning everyone at the remains of the space station. Perhaps some of them had made it back after all. He input commands that would allow the boarders access, after the airlock had time to cycle.

Minutes later, he heard the sound of the airlock door preparing to open. He double checked that he was in a safe patch of the cloud, and walked back to see who was entering. The airlock door spun open, and he smiled at the sight of Captain Ortega, carrying his helmet in one hand and holding up an Astroguard pistol with the other.

“Captain!” shouted Tan. “I mean… Ortega! Andrew? Can I call you Andrew? What’s… with the gun?”

Captain Ortega quickly holstered his pistol.

“Sorry. Wasn’t sure if I’d be welcomed when I got here.”

“Why wouldn’t you be?”

“Long story,” he said. “Didn’t think I was gonna make it here in time.”

“Yeah, shame about that,” said Tan. “But the Soul Survivor’s got his plans.”

“I’m sure,” said Ortega. “What’re you working on now?”

“Just piloting out of here.”

“Can I see?”

“Absolutely!”

Tan turned around to walk to the bridge, but stopped short when Ortega slammed the space helmet over his head. Moments later, there was a bright flash of light.

***

Captain Ortega sat in the tiny galley of Captain Calen’s scuttler. Flight suits were bulky and generally didn’t allow room for personal effects in their limited storage capacity, but Ortega had found ways to smuggle a few things over the years. One of the oddest was the box of cereal and flash-frosted milk he kept along with a shallow bowl and spoon.

With Calen back in command and the Soul Survivor’s body locked in a crate and Pilot Tan secured in the medical bay whether he wanted to be there or not, Ortega felt like he had the first moments of genuine relaxation since before he’d started climbing the volcanic fortress that Doctor Rogers had hidden away on Morcala days earlier. He took a few deep breaths and started eating the cereal.

“You’ve smuggled in your own meals?” asked Ensign Trell, entering and walking to the tanks where chilled water was kept. “I wouldn’t have thought a seasoned soldier like you would risk the extra weight.”

“The flight suit carries the weight, not me,” said Ortega. “Besides, I take out a set of rations to make it fit. The two cereal boxes and milk are small enough to weigh less.”

“I never did like milk on cereal,” said Trell, filling a glass.

“I eat it dry if I have to,” said Ortega. “I always liked this cereal a kid. Deliciously puffed wheat and rice, the only cereal shot with a ray gun.”

“Are you quoting something?”

“One of the commercials. I was thinking about it after getting back to the ship, and got really nostalgic after everything calmed down. Not sure why. How’s the captain?”

“Better now that she’s back in command,” said Trell. “She’s approved your suggestion to go back to Tan’s ship and investigate the phoenix circuitry. And since it looks like The Signal isn’t a danger anymore, we may see if we can pick up anything on its sensors from the Dyson fleet that we couldn’t pick up on our own, just in case there’s some high end encryption that would allow their transmissions to go undetected. In half an hour we should be about ready to start a more thorough search if you can tear yourself away from your cereal.”

“Absolutely,” said Ortega. “It’ll interrupt the day of classic adventure programs that I’d been planning on, but I can get ready. Where should I throw this?”

He held up the box of puffed wheat and rice, and Trell raised an eyebrow at the outdated appearance of a man in a stylized Astroguard uniform who seemed to be giving a thumbs up to anyone who looked at the box.

“The Astroguard has its own cereal?”

“No, that’s Captain Mayday,” said Ortega. “I watched it every day when I was a kid. There was always some new interstellar danger or space pirate or unexplored planet for him to triumph against. The cereal was one of the show’s primary sponsors. He’s the reason I joined the Astroguard.”

Trell nodded and tapped a slot on the wall that opened, revealing a standard waste receptacle.

“It’s nice to see that at least some propaganda works,” she said, returning her glass and walking out of the galley.

“It wasn’t propaganda,” said Ortega, throwing away the box and following after. “It was actually critical of the Astroguard in a lot of ways.”

The smiling face of Captain Mayday continued to smile as the two vacated the room, as sure as an inanimate object can be that it had once again helped out a cadet in need.

Episode 20: Awake at Alpha Street

Carmen opened her eyes, slowly working through a dull throbbing in her skull. It was unpleasant, but she’d had worse hangovers in recent memory and was able to slowly push her way through it. The light wasn’t causing her headache to get worse, fortunately.

She was sitting on an uncomfortable rolling chair in what looked like an empty hangar. She shakily got to her feet, causing the chair’s wheels to emit a loud squeak. She winced at the noise and decided that she should give herself a few minutes to let her mind get back on track.

The environment was eerie and still. The lack of a ship or car in the small hangar gave it the expectant emptiness of deprived purpose while the lack of dust or disrepair made her feel like someone might walk in at any moment and ask why she was there. She wasn’t exactly sure why.

She approached the exit, opened the door, and gave her eyes a few moments to adjust to the (fortunately not too painful) brighter light outside. She saw an upscale, though old fashioned, walkway along a street. Her side of the street had small hangar spaces, while the opposite side featured signs that advertised restaurants or small gift shops. A holographic sign floated nearby, saying that this was Alpha Street.

Carmen remembered Helix, Zack’s checkup gone wrong, the failed attempt to fly away, and the elevator. She ran back into the hangar to look for any sign of Zack, but the space was empty except for the unpleasant chair. She found the hangar’s control panel in the wall by the door, and opened the only other exit to the room, the massive gate that allowed cars or small ships in or out.

The gate opened onto a scenic view of the nearby Veskid City at dusk. Carmen had hoped that there would be a lengthy flight tunnel which might contain a maintenance door, or something that would indicate a direction that she could look for Zack, but the drop from the hangar gate was instantaneous, blocked only by the faint blue hint of the energy field that prevented strong winds from blowing in.

She ran back out and saw Alpha Street. Zack was missing. If they’d been lied to, if Gamma had just been abducted by the DMA then he was already dead. If they hadn’t been lied to, Zack might still be somewhere in Helix. Someone didn’t want her to know where Zack was, though. She needed to find out why, and to find out where Zack went.

More importantly, she needed to figure out where to even begin looking.
***
“Wake up, Mister Gamma.”

Zack’s head pounded. He wasn’t sure who was speaking to him, or why the speaker’s voice wavered and rippled so much, but the the soothing tone didn’t do anything to make his head hurt less. A few more minutes would be perfect.

“I know you can hear me, Gamma. The poison’s effect does not last this long. I can understand a desire to sleep longer with the days you’ve been having recently, but we don’t truly have time for you to recuperate. At least, you don’t.”

Zack managed to get an eye open. He automatically went through the motion of rolling out of a bed, but found himself restrained. He thought more about where he was, and realized he was in a chair. In a very dark room.

Everything rushed back to him. So he’d been caught by the DMA after all. The people in the elevator had lied to him. The single light in the center of the room cast shadows that obscured the room’s edges, including the desk in front of him. He focused his eyes and saw a silhouette behind the desk.

“Who are you? Where’s Carmen?”

“Don’t concern yourself with Miss Shift… she’s been released into Helix, as missing celebrities bring more unwanted attention than missing detectives, especially with her impending races and your socially accepted fate of dying alone in a back alley. But your ignorance wounds me, Zack. After all that time we spent together, I would think my voice alone would give me away.”

“Good point. You sound like someone fitted for a pair of cement shoes who got dropped off in a wishing well. Not exactly the sort of voice you forget.”

“I see. Your predictable view of the people around you continues to be as out of date as your hat.”

“My hat’s fantastic,” said Zack. “Just wait for forest green to come back in style again, and another five years or so’ll make this look a classic. Just you wait and see.”

“Aheh… yes, I will. A pity that you won’t be around to benefit from such a poor choice in fedora. You may not remember me, but I can assure you that this last meeting of ours will be the final thing you ever remember.”

Zack searched his mind for any memory of this person. Perhaps they worked in a different department? One he’d worked with when he first joined, but not since?

“Look, if you want the DMA bounty, just finish me off and claim it. Congrats. You beat Fletch, and that’s saying something. She practically had me earlier today.”

“Oh? I hadn’t heard that the greatest assassin of the Desperate Measures Agency was in Helix. That’s… distressing on some level. Regardless, I do take pleasure in being the one to see you breathe your last, but I’m not with your beloved agency of thieves and murderers. Your death will be personal.”

“Okay, I give up. Who are you? If you don’t want the bounty, and you’re not a member of the DMA, then why do you want me dead?”

“This borders on insulting,” said the shadow. It stepped forward, though “stepped” was hardly the correct word. Its form seemed to flow and surge, most of its mass gently rolling over the desk while the remainder slid beneath, both portions merging with each other as the entity drew nearer.

Zack convulsed at the sight, even though it told him that the creature was liquid or colloidal in some form. He guessed Pyrhian even before he could see the creature properly in the light. It was dark blue, darker than most Pyrhian water people. There seemed to be an inky quality deep within it. It chose a human-like face with two arms and three pillar-like legs, likely to give it extra stability if needed. Zack exhaled once the creature was fully visible.

“That’s surprising,” said Zack. “I wasn’t expecting… anything like that.”

“I’m sure you recognize me now?”

Zack looked over the creature, baffled.

“No,” he said. “No, I’m sorry. Look, you’re… obviously a very memorable person. At least, for a human you would be. Pyrhians aren’t exactly common. Did I know you before your condensation? If I saw you premetamorphosis then maybe that’s why I don’t recognize you.”

“No,” said the creature, stepping forward. It covered ground quickly, with its three, loping legs stretching to cross the small distance with alarming speed. “We met when I was like this. We met, and after what you did I made sure that you would remember to stay away from me. I warned you not to come to Helix ever again. And you didn’t listen.”

“Buddy, I think you’ve got the wrong guy,” said Zack. “I’ve never seen you before in my life. I’ve never heard your voice before. I don’t remember ever meeting anyone like you, and I’ve definitely never been told to stay away from Helix. Whoever you think I am and whatever you think I did, you’re lookin’ for someone else.”

A look of genuine confusion crossed the Pyrhians face.

“How can you forget this? I refuse to believe that my contribution to your personal history would be so mundane as to be forgettable. And it’s simply insulting to think that I, Murk, would make such a gross mistake in identifying you.”

“Murk… wait, I know that name. You’re the one who…”

Zack thought about what he was going to say, carefully putting it all into place.

“Oh?” said Murk. “Has your memory been jogged?”

“No,” said Zack. “I mean, maybe. You’re allegedly responsible for a number of smuggling operations in Veskid City. Some people thought you might be based in Helix. Are you that Murk? Whether or not the reports are true, mind you, I’m not interested in that…”

“Of course I’m that Murk. You know very well the kinds of businesses that I run.”

“No, I don’t,” said Zack. “I just work with people at the DMA. Your name comes up sometimes.”

“Playing dumb doesn’t suit you, Gamma. Instead, let’s see how you fare at playing dead.”

Episode 17: Imprisoning Pull

“Shouldn’t we cycle this thing’s airlock?” asked Zack.

“You planning on taking a civillian car into space?” asked Carmen as she powered up the engine.

“No, but isn’t it better to be prepared?”

“It’s better to get us out of here,” she said. “You wanted out of this town fast, and I’m going to get you there fast.”

“Right,” said Zack, activating his seat’s safety harness. “Sorry, I’m just paranoid today.”

Carmen muttered what was probably an agreement. The hover-pods activated, providing enough lift to let her rotate the car until it was facing the exit. The forward thrust rocketed them out of the hangar and into Helix’s air space before it quickly slowed down. Carmen, confused, flipped a few switches experimentally. Zack didn’t notice and, in fact, seemed to be enjoying the change.

“Okay, that’s a relief,” he said. “Just getting out of that town, I feel better.”

An alarm sounded, and Carmen flipped the switches faster, pushing her foot all the way down onto the thruster control pedal.

“What’s wrong?” asked Zack.

“Tractor beam,” said Carmen, checking her dashboard. “We’re being targeted by a tractor beam. From Helix.”

The car finished slowing down, coming to a momentary complete stop in the air.

“Why does a city have a tractor beam?” asked Zack, nervously looking back. Through the rear window he could see the green energy lancing through the air from a horizontal spire that jutted out from the super city. The green field of energy was slowly spreading over the car. Looking up he could see it beginning to cross the top window.

“I guess it’s a leftover from when they were planning to make Helix go into space before that whole plan got scrapped,” said Carmen. “It’s one of the perks to the racing federation housing a lot of its work here. It’s not come up yet, but if an out of control racer can get close enough to Helix, the tractor beam could pull their asteroid in.”

The car began to float backwards, pulled toward the tractor beam’s emitter like a fish being pulled toward a fishing rod by a patient fisherman.

“No, no, no,” said Zack, watching the creeping green glow. “We can’t let this happen. This is on purpose. Whoever’s doing this knows that we’re here.”

“Right,” said Carmen. “Fix it.”

“Fix it?” said Zack. “How should I fix it?”

“i don’t know, use your crazy superspy knowledge. Don’t you have some emergency gadget or know some secret about the frequency of standard tractor beams so that you can disrupt them?”

“What?” said Zack. “No. Why would I know that?”

“I don’t know, you’ve just got that… paranoid vibe about you. You know things.”

“Well why don’t you fix it?” he said. “Use that crazy mind power you’ve got to shake us out of here. Give the car an extra boost.”

“I’m petrakinetic, not ferrakinetic,” she said. “I can’t move metal. Does this look like an asteroid to you?”

“No,” said Zack. “But you can keep an atmosphere on an asteroid, so I thought maybe you could do other things.”

“Well I can’t do THIS thing,” she said, angrily. “There’s not enough rock in this ship for me to propel it.”

The green glow finished enveloping Carmen’s car, and the gradual backward pull became smoother. Carmen gave a final, frustrated rev of the engines before powering it down entirely.

“So, I’m guessing there aren’t any rocks down in Veskid you could use, then? Or loose chunks of Helix’s structure?”

“Not that’d be big enough to do any good,” said Carmen. “I’d have to try ripping something off of one of its walls. I’d need to get a good grip on it, and that’d be hard. Cement and concrete are trickier than good old fashioned stone. It’s too hard to get a grip on it. Mentally speaking.”

Zack stared back at the spire that was generating the tractor beam. He disengaged his safety harness and stood, pacing to the back of the car.

“So, that’s it, then,” he said. “I guess it’s no real surprise. No one’s ever gotten away from the DMA before, not when it’s one of their own. I should’ve turned myself in as soon as I heard of it. …I wonder if they’d have let me donate my own bounty to charity. A little late to do that now, though. I never should’ve thought there was any hope at all.”

“Oh!” said Carmen. “I just thought of something, actually.”

“What is it?” said Zack, leaping to Carmen’s chair. “I’ll take anything. Anything at all.”

“Well, I don’t think I could dislodge a chunk of wall large enough to knock us out of the tractor beam,” she said. “But I might be able to dislodge something else.”

“Really?” said Zack. “Like what?”

“Shh,” said Carmen. She closed her eyes and furrowed her brow. Zack watched her for a moment then looked back at the tractor beam’s emitter.

“So what are-“

“Shhhh!” said Carmen.

A hairline fracture developed on Helix. With some thought, Carmen was able to work that fracture, extending the crack and widening it. Too thin to see, it was all that she had to work with.

The tractor beam pulled them ever closer to Helix. Zack watched nervously as the car was maneuvered toward a section of the outer wall. A gate opened, an old-fashioned blast door with interlocking connectors that reminded Zack of a terrible maw. He couldn’t see through the shadows inside this hangar, and he doubted that it was one of the standard hangars available to the public. Zack grew more and more nervous the closer to Helix he came.

Carmen grew more and more confident the closer to Helix she came. While her petrakinetic powers could work over great distances, proximity helped. The inverse square law applied, in a fashion, both to the raw power of her abilities and to the finesse with which she was able to apply them. The fracture widened and began to carve a circle in Helix’s outer wall. The circle went deeper, and the edges started to carve inwards. A semicircle of stone was very slowly dug out.

Zack heard an alarm. A quick check of the sensor readout indicated an environmental hazard.

“Carmen, I don’t know what you’re doing, but…”

Suddenly, the chunk of wall holding the tractor beam was ripped from the side of Helix, causing the entire ship to shudder.

“Ha!” shouted Carmen, looking up through the window. The glow of the tractor beam began to fade and flicker, though the aura maintained itself.

“What happened?” asked Zack.

“Since I couldn’t save us, I thought I’d take out the beam,” said Carmen. “Only… shouldn’t the tractor beam shut off? I would’ve snapped the cables connecting the beam to the city’s power supply.”

“You might’ve shut off the power supply,” said Zack. “That might not shut off the power if it had capacitors installed.”

“Shouldn’t capacitors shut off in the event of a system failure like that?” asked Carmen.

“Helix was built before those safety standards were fully in place,” said Zack. “It would be a good idea, but… it looks like it didn’t.”

Carmen and Zack looked up at the now-teetering spire that created the beam. It tipped forward and the ship suddenly dropped, held steady in relation to the spire through the aura’s inertial manipulation.

“Hang on,” said Carmen. “This might be the ride of a lifetime.”

The spire finally fell out of its place on the wall, causing the car to enter a downward arc, whipping itself toward the outer wall of Helix at a deadly speed.