Episode 152: Circuses

“How long until everything’s in position?” asked Zamona, pushing his way into the war room. The generals and strategists looked up from the terminals built into the chamber’s central table, and quickly shuffled their work into a presentable mess.

“Well?” said Zamona, drawing closer. “We don’t have a lot of time, and we’re losing people in the dog fights out there.”

“Losses are acceptable,” said Commander Sanchez. “We’re seventy percent in position. We might’ve run out of time on the smooth PR front, though.”

“How?” asked Zamona.

“We’ve received replies to the letters sent to the rulers of Veskid. They came with varying responses depending on who you’d sent it to and what you’d asked of them, but with the exception of one they all indicate that they’re expecting their responses to hinge on the result of your duel with Captain Andrew Ortega of the Astroguard.”

“And did you tell them that there’s not going to be a duel with Captain Ortega?”

“No, sir. You instructed us not to address that issue or comment on it because of the potential PR damage.”

“Good. Keep it that way. Who’s playing along?”

“Sir?”

“You said one of the leaders of Veskid didn’t say that they were waiting to hear about the duel with Ortega.”

“Oh. No, sir, I meant that one of the leaders didn’t respond, so they’re apparently not waiting on a duel.”

“You mean we’re being ignored?”

“Yes, sir. By BristleCorp.”

Zamona swung his fist to the side and punctured the wall, revealing structural fixtures, wires, and other components. Half of the lights in the room sparked and went dark. Harold looked at the ceiling and sheepishly pulled his hand out of the wall.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll get someone along to fix that… BristleCorp’s the big one, they’re the ones we need.”

“Sir, they’re not even involved in the administrative or legislative control of-”

“They control it all,” said Zamona. “Believe me, they’ve got their hands in everything. Someone wants to have a say in how often garbage gets picked up in an alley, they’ve gotta deal with BristleCorp. This planet’s one of their biggest bases. It’s the Cor Leonis, the brightest star and the heart of the beast. Or one of the hearts, anyway.”

“Sir, we can easily take the planet without them.”

“The planet’s just a bonus, Commander. Send them another message… let them know that I’ll personally take an interest in their activities if they don’t respond.”

“This’ll take time, sir,” said Sanchez. “We’ve got the public’s interest right now, if we wait for another reply from a company that most of the public isn’t even aware of-”

“Right,” said Zamona. “Well then… we’ll give ‘em time. Let Ortega out of his cell. Send him and a camera crew to my gym. If they don’t want cake, we’ll give ‘em the circus.”

Episode 99: Cooler Heads Will Prevail

“It looks different than I remember,” said Commander Sanchez, staring through the view screen. “I saw The Soul Survivor on the news once. The dome had a different curvature.”

“According to Captain Andrew Ortega, The Soul Survivor had a knack for reinventing himself,” said Pilot Tan. He stood on the bridge of the Morcalan Scuttler. His briefing on his own ship had gone well, but according to Commander Sanchez they wanted his insight into the vessel. Most of his information wasn’t anything that the Wraithstrike teams couldn’t figure out on their own, but he was able to identify the storage crates that contained the disassembled pieces of The Soul Survivor’s robotic body. Alsafi stood next to him, holding up the sturdy dome that Tan had identified as what passed for the “head.”

“Can I keep it?” asked Alsafi, holding it up to the light.

“The Emperor’s Herald says no,” said Sanchez. “The Emperor has an interest in unique and potentially useful technologies, and the still undocumented mechanisms within The Soul Survivor’s body count. Besides, even if it was the policy to allow Wraithstrike team leaders to keep trophies of this sort, that honor would fall to Wraithstrike Delta’s leader, not you.”

“Aww,” said Alsafi. “Stupid Delta team… Paul gets all the fun.”

“All the hypothetical fun, at least,” said Sanchez.

“The Soul Survivor can reactivate easily,” said Tan. “I don’t know how it all works, but Captain Ortega was adamant that no moisture be allowed in or near the helmet. I’m not sure if that warning stands when the helmet is removed from the body, but Ortega remained concerned about The Soul Survivor’s capabilities even when he was firmly in custody in the storage crates.”

“Your warning is appreciated and noted,” said Sanchez. “I will pass it on, and it will almost certainly be ignored. The Soul Survivor is to be interrogated If filling the jar with liquid is the way to do it, then it’s the way it will be done. We have rooms shielded from transmissions and researchers who don’t use the cybernetic lenses, though, so they won’t be at risk for the… ‘epileptic hypnosis’ that you described. It seems that traveling with Captain Ortega exposes people to outlandish scenarios.”

“The alternative was waiting, possibly forever, to be found in the Cypulchral Cloud,” said Tan. “It was worth the risk.”

“Plus talk about a war story,” said Alsafi. “Stranded in a hostile, uncharted region of space, the only hope of rescue being your enemies, contact with an ancient alien vessel… we should put this in our recruitment vids.”

“It does have all the right elements,” said Sanchez. “Just enough of the horrors of war to be exciting, and not enough to scare off recruits. Speaking of the horrors of war, you’ve both got ships to get back to. Wraithstrike Delta’s leader will drop you off on his way to bringing in this Scuttler for examination and possibly use during the second or third wave should they be necessary.”

“Stupid Paul…” said Alsafi.

***

“You need to get up, Captain,” said a voice. “I need some information.”

Captain Ortega groggily realized that he could think thoughts. His brain was still trying to reaffirm itself after the neural pulse, but he only had the dimmest recollection of that. He opened his eyes and took a moment to recall how to interpret visual stimuli. He was in a small meeting room. A metal table was in front of him, and he was sitting in a chair. He shook his head and looked up, seeing a familiar face on the other side of the table.

The man was tall enough that Ortega’s initial instinct was that he wasn’t even a human. He had dark skin and unbelievably thick muscles, especially in his arms. He wore a uniform that was cut to fit loosely on him, indicating to Ortega that the figure was not truly a part of the military structure but had a great amount of influence within it, a detail that wasn’t obvious from their previous view screen encounters. He also saw the massive gauntlets that the man war, as if he was a prisoner.

“Zamona,” he said. “Nice to meet you in person. It’ll be a relief not to end our conversation with you trying to blow up a ship that I’m in.”

“Yes, I do apologize,” said Harold Zamona. “Our first meeting didn’t give us a chance to get acquainted. I had a war to monitor and an Emperor to represent. That modified Morcalan science vessel needed to be destroyed. Imagine my surprise, then, when two days later I receive a transmission indicating that a self destruct sequence has been activated, and one of the faces captured by the ship before it explodes is yours. I looked up your record then… have I bitten off more than I can chew with you as a hostage?”

“Have I?” said Ortega. “I’ve not had time to look you up, but Doctor Rogers knew who you were, and seemed a bit star struck.”

“Yes, the… ‘Soul Survivor’ as he calls himself.”

“His name is Doctor Silas Rogers.”

“Mine is Harold Zamona, but sometimes people still call me The Iceberg. Old names can stick around.”

“He’s delusional. Calling him that feeds into his delusions.”

“I can respect that,” said Zamona. “I’ll be sure to instruct the technicians to only refer to him as Doctor Rogers when we wake him up for his interrogation.”

Any remaining grogginess left Ortega immediately. He tried to jump out of his chair, only now realizing the magnetic restraints that were holding his arms and legs in place.

“You can’t!” he said. “He’s deactivated, don’t risk waking him up. He needs to be firmly contained in a prison before he’s awakened, and only one with special containment procedures.”

“All precautions will be taken,” said Zamona, waving a gauntlet-clad hand dismissively. “We don’t intend to underestimate him. For starters, his apparent ability to hack the cybernetic lenses worn by many of our troops has been taken into consideration. The procedure will take place entirely within a network dead zone so that he can’t reach beyond the confines of the room, and the researchers will not be wearing the standard lenses.”

“I’m glad you think you’re taking precautions,” said Ortega. “He’s too smart, though, and he has technology in his body that are decades ahead of anything else.”

“Not decades ahead of us,” said Zamona. “Our Emperor is a brilliant scientist.”

“Perhaps a brilliant technologist,” said Ortega. “Everything I’ve seen other than the cybernetic lenses is just a reworking of an earlier technology, and the lenses themselves are based on a number of other pre-existing technologies. It’s impressive, definitely impressive, but not ground-breaking… except, perhaps, the Emperor’s Eye and the Virellium Wave.”

Ortega watched the Herald’s eyes carefully. They narrowed. There was a definite reaction to the names. If Zamona knew he’d been in Morcala for both events, was the reaction to the names themselves being known, or a reminder of just how much Ortega had seen?

“Incidentally,” said Ortega, trying to move on, “I’m sure you’re aware that cybernetic implants… which would include the lenses… designed to give subliminal suggestions to their users is a violation of a number of interstellar conventions. Conscripting soldiers is also generally frowned upon, especially in the Angelor Republic.”

“I’m aware of both facts. I’m also aware of the fact that conscript-based armies tend to have a higher likelihood of insurrection and mutiny, but we’ve been fine so far. Captain, I need to know what the Astroguard knows about Emperor Dyson, and what their intended plan is.”

“As far as I know, he’s just a matter of concern that they’ll prepare for,” said Ortega. “War with Morcala was likely as close as he could get to Astroguard jurisdiction without direct intervention. As soon as the public becomes aware that you can apparently make an entire armada jump further than any recorded single vessel, they’ll become very active in stopping you.”

“Good to know. Final question: will you assist us in waking Doctor Rogers, and making sure that he doesn’t trick us during his interrogation?”

Ortega hesitated. He didn’t want to do anything that might help the Dyson Empire, and an uncontrolled Doctor Rogers might be just the sort of wild card that could help to destabilize whatever Dyson was planning next. On the other hand, there was always the chance that unpredictable chaos might be favorably directed…

“Absolutely,” said Captain Ortega. “He’s bad enough without whatever you people would do to him.”

Episode 95: Wraithstrike

The explosion was little more than a flash grenade, a special effects prop made from emergency flares, fuel, and some spare parts to add an electrical kick. As Captain Calen released her Scuttler’s hold on Tan’s vessel, it provided absolutely nothing to the backwards drift that allowed the two ships to separate, appearing from a distance to resemble a celestial arthropod releasing an unfinished meal. It looked impressive, though.

***

“As you can see, I’ve almost finished the repairs,” said Tan. “The Morcalan vessel didn’t latch on as firmly as it might’ve. It’s an inefficient attack, one that almost requires the assistance of the other ship to pull off.”

Ensign Trell narrowed her eyes and shook her energy blaster in a manner that fell just shy of threatening. Captain Ortega smiled, getting the sense that Trell was finally growing to the point where she could tolerate Tan’s quirks. Commander Sanchez saw neither of them as she stared from the view screen.

“I see definite improvement,” she said. “The repair team is near enough, though. Do you believe you can truly finish the work on your own? Every ship’s participation is useful for making the initial strike more debilitating to our enemies.”

“I think it’s better to not waste their time,” said Tan. “If we get them back to the ideal position in our formation to do the most good for the rest of the fleet, it’ll help us. We’ve got a tight schedule, after all. I might be late to the party but I’ll definitely be there before the first wave of attack is over.”

Trell blinked. Something seemed off about their prisoner’s comment. She couldn’t say what it was, but the flow of conversation seemed wrong, and it gave her a sense of deja vu, as if she’d heard this conversation before.

“Very well,” said Commander Sanchez. “I expect you to be not just up and running, but combat ready in time for the strike. I’ll be altering your position to be in the final rush of fighters during our first wave instead of the third. That should help to accommodate any unexpected issues you have during your final repairs.”

“Understood, Commander,” said Tan.

“Hail Dyson.”

“Hail Dyson.”

The screen flickered off and Tan breathed a sigh of relief.

“Nice work,” said Ortega. “I think we’re just about in the clear to live through this.”

“Right,” said Tan. “What’ll you do now?”

“Hadn’t thought that far ahead,” said Ortega. “Trell, do you think Calen would be amenable to flying the Scuttler by Veskid? I could probably take advantage of their throughwave network to get a message to Astroguard Command. They couldn’t speak back to us easily, but it could let them know more about the nature of the Dyson threat and get them ready to respond.”

“Probably not,” said Trell, watching the pilot carefully. “But it never hurts to ask.”

***

Captain Calen paced from the Scuttler’s miniature galley back to the bridge. She trusted Ensign Trell to keep the prisoner on task, and to keep Captain Ortega from intervening unnecessarily. She had grown wary when the Dyson Empire’s repair vessel drew near, but it didn’t do more than get close enough to scan Tan’s ship for repairs.

She reached the door that led back onto the bridge, and paused at the sight of an unusual system message flashing at Trell’s station. She started to approach it, but when she stepped through the archway she saw the two black-clad soldiers standing on either side of her, pressed up against the wall to avoid visual contact until it was too late.

Their uniforms were cybernetic stealth suits, topped with observation crowns that both increased their vision and obscured their faces. It gave them the appearance of having six eyes, as three lenses could rotate into position for either eye to give different visual effects depending on what the environment called for. The suits were standard fare, but tweaked with the strange scientific flourishes that Calen was beginning to recognize as the Dyson Empire’s handiwork. The combination of unusual head-gear and cybernetic touches on the body gave the impression of an alien skeleton or shadowy mutant insect’s exoskeletal husk.

They had the undeniable advantage of position, equipment, and surprise, and if their prey had not been Captain Calen the attack would have worked flawlessly. Calen’s wild reaction allowed her to grab the arm of one of the intruders as it lifted a green neural pulse pistol, twisting it to the side to cause the weapon to fire harmlessly into the other side of the room. She continued the arm twist to spin the victim behind her, just in time for the second pistol to fire, striking the intruder and causing an instant loss of consciousness. She tossed the dead weight into her second attacker, but he jumped to the side.

“Spies and saboteurs!” she shouted. “You waste an ambush and must face me alone. Who trained you to throw away advantages like that? By the dread engines of the Farthest Fleet, you’ll suffer at my hand and be sent back to your precious emperor as the secondary payload of a bone missile!”

The intruder didn’t respond but instead fired again. Calen was already moving, easily sidestepping the blast before he pulled the trigger. She grabbed his weapon, pulled it from his hand, and lowered it at the surprised assailant.

“You’ve no training,” she said. “No training, no advantage, and no hope. I’ll give you your last words, because after this insult to the concept of weaponry puts you to sleep I’ll ensure that you never wake again!”

The third assailant, stepped out of the hallway, and fired at Calen. She never saw the attack, and spasmed furiously. She stilled suddenly and for a surreal moment it seemed as if she remained conscious through an act of furious will. She toppled forward an instant later, and the two remaining intruders breathed a sigh of relief.

“Wraithstrike Team Delta reporting full insertion,” said the third intruder as the broadcast channel opened through his suit. “Scatterport-glitch occurred resulting in one casualty, non-lethal. Vessel secured.”

“Copy that, Wraithstrike Delta,” said the voice of Commander Sanchez. “Await further instructions.”

Episode 93: Tight Schedule

“We’re glad you’ve been able to make repairs,” said the Dyson Forces Commander on the other side of the view screen, holding her hand to her temple. “However, protocol dictates that your ship will need an entire shakedown. Particularly with the Morcalan vessel affixed to it.”

“Understood, Commander Sanchez,” said Pilot Tan, nodding to the screen. “I do believe that I’ll be able to remove the Scuttler myself, though, and until I do that docking won’t be an option. You’d have to spend the time and resources to have a crew physically come over here, and that’ll delay both my schedule and that of the repair crew. I understand that we’re on a tight schedule.”

“Are we?”

“Super tight,” said Tan. “Incredibly tight. That was how I interpreted The Herald’s last instructions from Emperor Dyson, at least. We’re in a non-consecutive region of space, and most of our advantage comes from careful timing and the element of surprise.”

Commander Sanchez tapped a finger on the side of her head.

“This is irregular, but you’re right about the tight schedule. Given the circumstances… I’ll still be sending a repair ship your way, but work on them yourself to the best of your ability. The repair ship should be able to get to you before our operation in Veskid begins, but if you can get things finished before help arrives it’ll reflect well on you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Hail Dyson,” she said, saluting to the camera.

“Hail Dyson,” said Tan, returning the salute. The feed went dark.

Ensign Trell lowered her energy blaster and reactivated its safety mechanism while Ortega exhaled.

“Nice work, Tan,” he said. “I was worried for a minute.”

“We’re not safe yet,” said Trell. “We’ve still got to make enough of a change to the ship to make it look like repairs are progressing. We may also need to cause some superficial damage that will better reflect the kinds of issues that you reported, Tan.”

“Sorry,” he said. “It was all I could think of for some of the questions she was asking.”

“Honestly, I think I would’ve told them more or less the same things. You didn’t have a lot to work with. You moved us out of the frying pan and into a different pan a little closer to the oven’s controls.”

“So, the first step should be removing the Scuttler?” asked Ortega. “Just calling Calen and asking her to unhook would probably be too fast. How long should we wait to make it believable that one person could fix that kind of issue?”

“Two hours, which is too long,” said Trell. “I’m willing to bet that there’s not a lot of data on the lesser known functions of Morcalan specialty vessels, though. We might be able to make twenty minutes believable if we simulate a controlled explosion near some of the pincers. We can even claim that Tan did it to speed up his work.”

“Good plan,” said Ortega. “Up for some more acting in a bit, Tan?”

“If I need to,” he said. “Still don’t feel great about this.”

“Must be rough, keeping your friends out there from blasting you to death,” said Trell. “We’ll keep the contact minimal, so you won’t need to do it often. We’ll keep working here, and with luck the Dyson Empire won’t know we’re coming for them until it’s too late.”

***

“He wasn’t wrong,” said Harold Zamona. “We are, as he says, on a Tight Schedule.”

“He was very emphatic, sir,” said Commander Sanchez, speaking to Zamona through her view screen. “He wanted that point to be made, and he made it. It could be nothing, but I felt it best to inform you.”

“Yes,” said Zamona, steepling his gauntlet-bound hands. “Tight Schedule isn’t the trouble phrase until tomorrow. It should be Random Sensor Glitch today. Still… you were right to call me.”

“One of my officers suggests that he might be operating with local time instead of Dyson Mean Time. It would account for the error. As would a simple mistake when memorizing trouble phrases.”

“It might,” said Zamona. “Prepare to send your repair team as promised, but inform them that I will send some specialists along for the job, Commander.”

“Understood, Herald.”