Episode 126: Round Two

Captain Ortega peered around the domed shell of the power generator, one of the countless subsystems he’d seen in the vessel since breaking out of his cell. It was one of the first genuinely new pieces of technology he’d witnessed in Dyson’s arsenal, though its purpose was as old as the earliest human colonies, if not older: generating and manipulating power in such a way that different systems could interact with each other without causing anything to overload or suffer an outage. The device was intuitive and efficient from what Ortega could tell, and likely handled a lot of the trickier power management for his immediate area, though likely not for any crucial systems that could be easily exploited. Fortunately, when Trell finally arrived, she wouldn’t be able to use it to sabotage the vessel.

The other benefit that the power generator provided was its size and location. He could easily crouch behind it for a good view of the room it was in and even a look down the hallway from which Trell was most likely to make her entrance. Ortega had made some assumptions about Trell’s cell location, and it was possible that his insights on the layout of the ship had been wrong. Likely not wrong enough for her to be taking this long, but he was willing to wait longer just in case she ran into any complications.

Someone tapped on Ortega’s shoulder. His usual armored flight suit wouldn’t have even allowed him to feel it, but the vesperweave prison uniforms provided by the Dyson forces made the gentle prod accessible. Ortega took a quick breath and jumped forward, just in time to miss being hammered in the back of the head by an enemy first.

Veering around in the middle of the hall, he saw one of the special operations soldiers that invaded Tan’s ship to retake it for the Dyson Empire. She wore the same dark-colored cybernetic stealth suit and the same six-eyed observation crown. The lenses rotated to refocus on Ortega as he left the attacker’s immediate range. She was perched to the corner of the wall, and bracing herself with one arm against the generator’s dome, but shaking her fist at Ortega.

“Aw, come on,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to do that! I had the perfect set up, too. I guess that kind of thing just doesn’t work in real life.”

“It’s worked against me more than I’d care to admit,” said Ortega. “Gave me a lot of practice in not falling for it.”

“Ah. I guess I had to enter this kind of career a lot sooner to be able to get the drop on Captain Andrew Ortega of the Astroguard.”

“I think you’ve got the advantage on me here, in more ways than one,” he said, entering a defensive stance. “And you probably could’ve gotten the drop on me if you didn’t tap my shoulder first.”

“Can’t blame me for going for the gold, can you?” she said, dropping off the wall and walking out from behind the generator. “And the name’s Alsafi. You probably don’t remember because of the heat of the moment, how quickly it happened, and the mask, but I was one of the Wraithstrike agents who took you down in Tan’s ship.”

“I wondered how many of you there were,” he said. “And if I’d met you in that group. How did you find me?”

“Total luck,” she said. “I hop in and out of the corridors when I’m on duty. The Emperor’s additions to these cysuits, plus my own physiological something or other I don’t have the backing to go into, makes that kind of drifting easy.”

And then she vanished.

Ortega’s eyes widened. He ran to the generator and looked between it and the wall, deeper into the nook he’d taken as his own hiding spot. Instinctively, he turned around just in time to see Alsafi’s fist.

The blow knocked him back into the niche between the wall and the machine. He shook his head and looked up to see Alsafi, unholstering an energy blaster and aiming it at him.

“This makes twice I’ve taken you out, Ortega,” she said. “I’m sure that short-range teleportation is a huge force multiplier, especially when the enemy’s not expecting it, but still. Let’s get you back to the brig.”

The blaster in her hands glowed with an eerie, orange light and Ortega closed his eyes to ready himself for the energy burst.

Episode 115: Rupture In Negotiations

The Kinetic Kuiper zipped back and forth with a dedication that might look playful or meditative to someone unfamiliar with the quirks of petrakinetic thought patterns. From on top of the asteroid, Carmen Shift sat and watched the Dyson vessel as it saved the crews of the ships that she and the other two racers had disabled. She drummed her fingers seventeen times before her ride would suddenly stop and change direction without any noticeable impact on her or the other items scattered across the rock’s surface.

“Carmen?” said Vince Flashman, his voice crackling to life on their shared channel while he sat on top of his asteroid.

“Yeah?”

“You’re pacing.”

Carmen stopped drumming her fingers. The asteroid slowed, reduced its velocity to a third of its speed, and gently shifted direction again. The inertia hit Carmen properly and knocked her onto her side, scattering many of her snacks but none of the tools in her protected tool box. She reasserted her control over the gravitic and inertic forces at play on herself to prevent further rolling, and felt the Kinetic Kuiper slow to a “halt” (ignoring, for a moment, the difficulty in ever truly halting in a perpetually moving galaxy while in orbit around a planet and staying near an enemy vessel.)

Carmen stood, readjusted her headset, and looked back at the ship.

“No I’m not.”

“You were, though.”

“Vince, don’t-”

“Space-time: danger: wear a hole.”

“Xorn’Tal, can you be serious for once in your life?”

“Hey now,” said Vince. “He’s just trying to lighten the mood. Listen, Carmen… I think they’re stalling.”

“Obviously.”

“Carmen, do you have oxygen reserves?”

“Of course I do.”

“How long since you checked them?”

“My crew handles that,” she said.

“But you know where they are, right?”

“I’m literally in arms’ reach of a shielded supply box that has five pieces of hardware that’ll turn my racing gear into a heated space suit with enough air to get me home and back if I need it, and there’s an emergency shelter in one of the caves inside.”

“Are you sure the shangmere didn’t damage the shelter?”

“Yes!” she said, certain that Nectra wouldn’t have caused physical harm to a structure like that while escaping. She mostly stayed away from that part of the asteroid. Mostly.

“And it won’t be structurally dangerous because of all the other damage you’ve-”

“Vince, just shut up. I know what I’m doing. We’ll retreat when we’re good and ready.”

“Status: ready,” said Xorn’Tal. “Preference: together.”

Carmen winced.

“Look, Xorn… that’s nice and all, but you don’t have to stay out here if you don’t want to.”

“Carmen: crazy. Carmen: remains, Xorn’Tal: remains.”

“I don’t want you to-”

“Carmen, we’re not going to force you to go back, but-”

“Yeah, just try that.”

“-But, we can’t just leave you out here. You’ll get blasted by that ship, and there should be someone around to carry your ride back to civilization. Now look, Xorn’Tal can last longer than any of us because of how he breathes and because of his… well, because he’s turned his ride into a greenhouse, but we’re going to have to do something about breathing sooner or later.”

“Later,” said Carmen. “I’m stayin’ here as long as I can.”

A crackle over their headsets announced a hail from the Dyson vessel. Carmen switched to the channel.

“We’ve ret-”

“Ready to leave Mandrake alone yet?”

“…We’ve retrieved our wounded. You were… unexpectedly capable. Fortunately, the injuries were manageable. As such, we have considered your terms and are prepared to make the following allowance: you may remain near Mandrake, and civilian approved locations within Veskid’s system. You are not permitted to interfere with us or our mission in any way, and we will continue to use this space. The conquest of Veskid has already begun, and we will not concede to guerrilla tactics to maintain an inferior status quo.”

Carmen tapped her foot, thinking.

“Carmen?” said Vince, his voice coming through a different line. Carmen silenced her connection to the Dyson vessel.

“I’m thinking.”

“Carmen, that’s not a bad offer. You get to stay here, and they’ll probably ignore you.”

“I know,” she said. “My friend just really wants this a secret…”

“Carmen, I don’t think a skydiver’s really got anything to worry about if they’re seen by an invading army.”

“He’s n… never done this before. I’m more worried about him being in danger. I need to stay safe.”

“Haggle?” said Xorn’Tal.

“What?” asked Carmen.

“Price: too low?” said Xorn’Tal. “Offer: N equals shuttle. Accept deal equals deal plus N.”

“Hey now,” said Carmen. “Hey, yeah, yeah that could work! Nice thinking, Xorny!”

“Name: Xorn’Tal.”

“Yeah, sure, fine. A shuttle gets me down, allows some isolation, I don’t crash my asteroid…”

“I wouldn’t expect a yes,” said Vince. “On the other hand, they’ve been playing with their cards on the table so far, I don’t think it’d hurt to ask.”

“Gotta be something good about the plan if we all like it,” said Carmen. She reopened the channel to the ship.

“Okay, we like your terms, they’re almost good enough. We want a shuttle.”

“Why do you want a shuttle? You’ve got asteroids.”

“Yeah, we’ve been out here for a few hours. Try thinking about something for six hours straight and tell me that you couldn’t use a break room.”

“Understood. Understand that a shuttle represents a serious investment, and we do have resource concerns, but we can see what-”

From an empty region of space just off the port of the ship, blasts of laser fire hammered into the vessel’s hull.

“What? Shift, if this is-”

Another volley of fire impacted the Dyson vessel, and the voice went silent. Repeated bursts of fire continued shooting the ship until, with a final blast, the entirety of it exploded. Carmen stared at the now expanding cloud of smoke, debris, and plasma fire and almost forget to propel her asteroid back from the oncoming energy wave.

When she reached a safe distance, she peered through the void and saw the shattered remains of what had been a Dyson ship. Moments later, another ship, also bearing the Dyson logo, fizzled into existence, appearing where nothing had been before.

“Surrender, oh greatest of the petrakinetic racers!” shouted a bombastic, tenor voice. “You are now prisoners of The Soul Survivor!”

Episode 109: The View From Above

Carmen felt the crunch of the ship on the opposite side of her asteroid and scanned the skies for the next target. The nearly crippled law enforcement vessel that she, Vince and Xorn’Tal saved had given up trying to convince them to leave, and had instead left to find a dock where it could be repaired. More of the strange ships had blasted into the system near Mandrake, and most had ignored the racers, but four others had stopped to attack. Each racer had landed the final, crushing strike that left the ships drifting in the vacuum on two so far, and Carmen was eager to get to three before Vince or Xorn’Tal could.

Another ship neared Mandrake, bearing the same logo that Carmen had started to recognize, half of an eye’s outer edge with an entire pupil in the center. The ship was much larger than the flimsy fighter ships that she had been tearing apart.

“We might not want to take on that one,” said Vince.

“Show some backbone, will ya?”

“New ship: heavy structure,” said Xorn’tal. “Hull: strong. Aerodynamics: unimportant. Asteroid structure: weaker.”

“Maybe yours is,” said Carmen.

“Hey, Carmen, that shangmere lady carved up your ride pretty badly. It’s been a rush fighting off… whatever these are, but we’ve been taking some damage too. It won’t take them long to figure out that they can just target the single, mostly defenseless life form on each asteroid to end the problem. Besides, the police got away, so we’re not protecting the Phantom Matador data anymore.”

Carmen started to respond but a public channel began broadcasting. She switched feeds just as the incoming message started.

“Petrakinetic racers,” said the strong voice on the other end of the line, “do not interfere. We are the first salvo of The Dyson Empire’s attack on the Veskid system. We respect your desire to stand your ground. Understand that our fight is not with members of the federation, but with the authorities of Veskid.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were phrasing that to try and side with us by making the big tamales on Veskid seem like a common enemy,” said Carmen.

“What?” said the voice. “No, I’m not.”

“Seems like you are,” said Vince. “No different than corporations who try to look cool by paying celebrities to say they were paid to endorse their product.”

“Manipulation: not antagonistic: perpetual.”

“…What?” said the voice on the other end.

“He says that just because you’re trying to be hip, it doesn’t really mean that you’re wrong,” said Carmen. “It doesn’t mean that you’re right, either.”

“Ultimately, it doesn’t matter,” said the voice. “We’ll make a deal, though: you stop smashing our ships, we don’t blast your asteroids out of the sky. You can’t stop us from invading, but we’ll let you steer clear.”

“Not enough,” said Carmen. “I want you to stop passing by Mandrake. Don’t come near this planet when you invade the system.”

“Seriously?” said the voice. “It’s a major path, right on our route.”

“Look, either stay far enough from Mandrake that you’re not showing up on local channels, or know that you’re going to have to slow down to tangle with us until you take us down. Yeah, you’ll probably blast us out of the sky eventually, but how sure are you that it’ll be soon enough to keep us from being a liability?”

“Pretty sure,” said the voice. “I’m especially certain if we don’t let the first few waves against you be the model you’re used to fighting.”

“You’re telling me your military plans’ll seriously be hampered by going a bit to the left or the right for however long Mandrake’s orbit keeps it in your way?”

The voice went silent, but in the background Carmen heard muffled discussions. Soon, a new voice was heard.

“We’ll consider your offer,” said the new voice. “While we consider, would you give us time for this vessel to retrieve the ships you’ve disabled? We’re detecting life signs, but they may need medical attention.”

“Deal,” said Carmen. “Signing off for now, call us when you make up your mind.”

Carmen switched off the main channel and opened the private one between herself, Xorn’Tal and Vince Flashman.

“I don’t trust ‘em,” said Vince.

“Obviously,” said Carmen. “They’ll try to push through before too long.”

“Consideration: withdrawal?”

“Wouldn’t be a crazy idea to pull back,” said Vince.

“Not just yet,” said Carmen. “I think we can slow ‘em down here for a bit longer.”

“Xorn’Tal and I can. Is your asteroid really up to it?”

Carmen concentrated and felt the structure of the Kinetic Kuiper. It was bad. There was a lot of density to it, but it wouldn’t be long before she was juggling multiple objects instead of propelling a single one. It was still repairable, but only just.

“It’ll have to be,” she said. “I’ve still gotta get my friend off that planet.”

“With just an asteroid? With no landing or retrieval gear?”

Carmen blinked.

“I’ll solve that problem when we get to it,” she said.

Much earlier, on another world…

Zack looked through his binoculars, an old fashioned approach that didn’t leave an electromagnetic signature like most long-range visual scanners and didn’t leave cyber footprints like redirected satellites. From his camouflaged tent on scenic Mount Porthinel he counted the seconds while watching the resort hotel that housed some of the richest and most celebrated people who ever wanted to relax without answering any uncomfortable questions.

Another thirty seconds and the doors to the gated pool area opened to reveal Azar and the towering form of Harold Zamona behind him, right on schedule. Over the last month, Zack had found the six best places on the mountain for observing Azar and Zamona. It had been rough going, but he was willing to accept the fact that Zamona legitimately meant no harm to Azar after so long. The two had enjoyed the luxuries offered by Ravelar, and Zamona hadn’t once done anything suspicious. Either Zamona was playing a very, very long game, or he was genuinely willing to assist Azar on this life of leisurely adventure.

Zack’s timer chimed. He took a deep breath and put away his binoculars. It would take him time to get off the mountain and even longer to walk to the space port, plus he should add time to dress in a manner that would make it look like he hadn’t been camping on a mountain for a month. He’d given himself two hours, but it would likely only take Azar and Zamona ten minutes, giving them plenty of time to enjoy some poolside fun. He’d have more of a head start than he’d need.

***

“He didn’t send a message saying that he’d missed the flight, did he?” asked Azar.

“No,” said Zamona, watching the passengers collecting their luggage. “But unless he’s not with the passengers of the Daring Dozen, he’s just not here.”

“I don’t like this,” said Azar, watching a blue-skinned cross between a mosquito and a jackal retrieving its luggage from the baggage claim.

“I know.”

“He should have let me pay for it all.”

“And miss my chance at testing out my infiltration technique?” asked Zack, walking up behind them. Azar spun in place, laughed at the sight of Zack, and gave the detective a quick hug. Harold Zamona merely smirked.

“You’re telling me you got on that plane without anyone knowing?”

“I had an earlier flight, actually,” said Zack. “I just knew that I’d be presentable by the time the Daring Dozen was disembarking. You don’t want to see a person right after they’ve been hiding by a Pestle Reactor for half a week.”

“You were hiding by the Pestle Reactor?” said Azar.

“No, but it’s fun to tell people that I can,” said Zack.

“I was about to say, that could cause brain damage, if not outright death,” said Azar. “I should know, some of my money came from working near an unshielded one for two hours a day to help Bristlecorp’s project finish on time.”

“You wouldn’t believe the things this guy did,” said Azar. “He’s been telling me all of the things he got his payment for. Can you believe they’d send someone with three Ph.D.’s into space just to do some soldering?”

“Absolutely,” said Zack. “But only because I’ve been doing my homework, and having a few other people do homework for me so that my poking around wouldn’t raise too many red flags. They needed the best and brightest to do the work, and with all the ethical concerns about programming artificial intelligences to be willing to toss their lives down the drain for projects on this level, they went with good old fashioned human laborers for suspiciously large payouts. Azar, we always knew that you were lucky to survive there, but I think I’ve found evidence that you’ve been even luckier than you knew. Some of those projects were all-but designed to kill off workers before they finished their work.”

“What?” said Azar, his brow creasing.

“Absolutely,” said Zack. “Don’t worry, though, it might be our ace in the hole. Sister Barris and I were hoping to find evidence that would link BristleCorp to the price on your head in a way that would make them hyper-liable if anything shy of natural causes did you in, but we weren’t expecting quite so much. Seriously, Barris is good at her job.”

“She does seem diligent,” said Azar. “She could make sense of a document that I’d never be able to understand.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, smart guy,” said Zack. “Or her, either. Some of the riskier documents she procured through less than legal methods. I won’t tell you that she almost strangled the friend of someone who pulled a gun on her, and I won’t tell you that she now knows that her WimpHelm will, in fact, stop a knife.”

“You sure you need me on this security job?” asked Zamona.

“Absolutely,” said Azar. “Zack can’t be both here and investigating my case back home.”

“Right,” said Zack, thinking over the last month of mountain-side camping and spying on people who were paying for the privilege of not being spied upon. “Though with some of the dirt uncovered by the people I’ve been asking to do side research for me, it’s possible that I might be able to stick around for a bit longer than planned.”

“Excellent!” said Azar. “It’ll be wonderful to have you around.”

“Is it necessary, though?” asked Zamona. “A third party might draw more attention.”

“There’s a little risk, yes,” said Zack. “Unfortunately, I think it’s necessary. There are a few things I need to find out, and you’ll be the best person to ask, Azar.”

“I’ll help however I can,” said Azar.

“Good,” said Zack. “Because we’re going to figure out each and every way that BristleCorp tried to kill you.”

Episode 102: First Contact

Carmen heard the final report from her headset. The racing federation needed no more data at this time. She, along with Vince Flashman and Xorn’Tal, could head back to Veskid.

“Perfect,” she said, opening a private channel to the other two racers. “No more delaying. Do you think it would be suspicious to just stay here until everyone leaves?”

“Definitely,” said Flashman.

“Investigators: time: taking.”

“I figured. I’ll juice back to the dock, and come back out for ‘practice’ again in a few hours.”

“Hope your friend doesn’t mind waiting a little longer.”

“He’ll be fine. I programmed a perfectly safe clearing for him, no trees for anything dangerous to hide in or detectable toxins in the environment, and non-poisonous wildlife as long as he doesn’t actually go into the jungles. He knows that plans have to change, so he’s prepared to camp out a bit.”

“Good,” said Vince.

Suddenly, warning alarms sounded over their headsets, overriding the standard channels. Carmen tried switching to private networks, but nothing came through. She switched to the public racing channel and heard a distressed Mark Matthews.

“-ill unsure of just what’s causing the scenario, but system border security is calling for an immediate hazard declaration. All non-emergency transports are being instructed to head to the nearest dock, and that includes our investigations team. I guess the mystery of the Phantom Matador won’t quite be wrapped up during this broadcast day. To those just tuning in, it appears the previously scanned objects lying outside the system were-”

Another burst of static silenced Matthews’ spiel. Carmen closed her eyes and felt the asteroid at her feet, reminding herself that she was the only one aboard. A chime indicated that a private channel had reopened, and she rejoined the frequency.

“Still there, Carmen?”

“You know it, Flashman. What was that all about?”

“I’m not sure. I checked the other channels and heard Matthews saying it was time to ship home, though.”

“Signal: lost,” said Xorn’Tal. “Probability: low.”

“Why’s it low?” asked Carmen.

“Signal: fail-safes: multiple. Relay stations: multiple. Loss: system-wide communications: unlikely accident. More likely: sabotage.”

“Why would someone sabotage the communications channels?” asked Flashman.

“Goal: communication cessation?”

“Obviously,” said Carmen.

“Looks like I’m still getting local communications,” said Vince. “There’s some chatter on the racing federation’s local network. The police sound confused, but-”

Three ships blasted through the cluster of racing federation and law enforcement vessels. Carmen spun around, watching them as they emerged from the empty void in front of her, blasted overhead, and zipped off in the direction of Veskid behind them.

“Woah!” she shouted. “Not cool. That could’ve-”

A burst of light behind her prompted her to turn around again. Two more of the ships, fighter vessels now that they were moving slow enough for her to get a good look, had arrived, and were firing on the law enforcement ships while the racing federation was beginning to scatter.

“Danger: Danger: Happenstance Query: Urgent!” said Xorn’Tal, his panic coming through despite the translator’s preference for monotonous droning.

The law enforcement vessels were finally returning fire after their initial shock, but faring poorly with mostly depleted energy shielding and early damage taken to their weapons arrays and engines.

“That’s bad,” said Vince. “That’s… the federation suits are getting out safely, at least.”

“Cutting off communications and attacking police,” said Carmen. “This isn’t cool. This is a preemptive strike for pirates or an invasion or something.”

With a shower of sparks, two of the three law enforcement ships went dark. The two enemy vessels turned on the remaining police vessel as it began taking evasive maneuvers.

“Inaction: poor strategy,” said Xorn’Tal.

“Right,” said Vince. “We’ve gotta get out of here.”

Carmen looked at the two drifting police vessels. She clenched her fist and willed her asteroid to soar toward the two attackers.

“Woah, Carmen, wrong way,” shouted Vince. “No one’s questioning that we’re the toughest civilians out here, so we should let the cops handle this.”

“They’ve just taken out two of those ships,” said Carmen. “Ships that have data from investigating the Phantom Matador’s latest disappearance. I doubt they found anything, but I’m not gonna risk gatecrashers from beyond erasing anything we might need. Go if you want, but I’m making sure these guys get wrecked.”

Carmen’s headset crackled as dead air filled the channel. Soon, Vince groaned.

“Saving cops. I think this is how I officially sell out.”

“Great,” said Carmen. “Let’s rock.”

Episode 101: Dyson’s Delay

“I regret to inform you that The Soul Survivor has escaped our custody.”

Emperor Dyson turned from his workbench, and Zamona was struck by how different he looked. The Emperor, when dressed in his full regalia, acted stuffy, regal, and rarely personable, though often polite. No longer wearing his mask, crown, or robes and wearing his work outfit, he seemed happier, or at least more in place. An understanding smile crept across Dyson’s face, and he shook his head sympathetically.

“That’s a shame, Harry,” he said. “I’d been looking forward to figuring out how he worked. If I could have. Reportedly, some of the Soul Survivor’s technology is a mystery even to him… I doubt that on some level, though. It’s possible all of his upgrades have come through simpler technologies that he finds more accessible, but I expect that he knows, on some level, how it all works together.”

“Do you really think you wouldn’t be able to work it out?” asked Zamona. “We’ve been able to reverse engineer every piece of alien hardware we’ve come across so far. You do have a gift for this, if I may say so.”

“I’ve been lucky,” said Dyson, turning back to the scattered tools on his workbench. “The right insight at the right time… even just living this long. There will always be mysteries outside of our understanding, and it’s possible that The Soul Survivor, through accident or intention, represents some technology that our dedicated team couldn’t unravel. Over the years, his escapades have demonstrated a bizarre talent for denying classification. Which reminds me, what of Captain Ortega?”

“In custody, and cooperative,” said Zamona. “For now, at least. The two Morcalans are not cooperative, and one of them has escaped twice. She’s got an excellent grasp of strategy and combat. Nothing we can’t contain, but it is putting a strain on our local resources.”

“Understood. Do you believe that you will be able to reclaim The Soul Survivor?”

“Maybe,” said Zamona. “He’s missing. We presume that he is with the pilot who had pointed us to the crates that contained the, uh… water cooler parts.”

“Water cooler? Tell me, can you confirm that we ever even had The Soul Survivor captive?”

“I can’t,” said Zamona. “I’d say we didn’t. Unfortunately, the pilot’s vessel has vanished entirely. It was in formation for our assault on the Veskid system, but then it stopped being there. It’s either some sort of advanced cloaking, or a new application for your Virellium Wave technology.”

“Amazing. I want a report on all the details surrounding that disappearance.”

“I’ll arrange that. Shall we continue delaying?”

Dyson picked up a tool on his workbench and slowly turned it in his hand.

“No,” he said. “No, without any possible new insights from The Soul Survivor, delay makes no sense. All communications in and out of the system need to stop. I won’t have our quarry get away.”

“This won’t kill it, you know.”

“I know,” said the Emperor. “But it’ll hurt it. We’ve hurt it before. It’s been dying for a long time now, but it won’t die without a little more effort, and every time we hurt it we get closer. Even if we don’t succeed in our true goal, the Veskid system will make a fine addition to this new empire. Begin the attack.”

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.”

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 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 78: Neutrino Load

Ensign Trell and Captain Ortega jumped into action almost before the video from the Emperor’s Herald finished playing. They ran for one of the doors at the side of the ship’s command chamber, but the door slammed into place as they reached it. Trell angrily punched the door before she turned to a maintenance panel at the side of the door and ripped it open. The dangerous humming around them began to increase as the timer on the monitors in the room gradually ticked down.

“That humming is the ship’s reactor core kicking into overdrive,” said Ortega. “It’s the sound of a systematic overcharge designed to cause an explosion.”

“You’re sure?” asked Trell, tossing the panel’s cover away from the wall and looking into the maintenance niche.

“Pretty sure,” he said. “Zamona’s wrong when he says that no one alive’s experienced this kind of self destruct sequence from a firsthand location. If we can get to the reactor core quickly enough, we might be able to disable a lot of these systems. Or we could just make a break for it and try to reach the airlock.”

“The airlock’s too slow,” shouted Trell as she disconnected two cords and reconnected another to the vacated connectors.

“Only if we let it cycle. In emergencies it can be reworked for an explosive jettison. It might even help launch us further away from the explosion.”

A sudden spark and cloud of smoke issued from the maintenance panel and the door reopened. Trell pushed her way out, picked herself up, and ran through the door, Ortega moving along with her. Another door slammed into place at the end of the hall and Trell clenched her fists, stifling a frustrated scream before she moved to the wall. She paused and frantically began moving her fingers along the gray metalwork.

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s no maintenance control point,” she said. “At least… none I can find.”

“Should we go back?”

“No time!” she said. “And even if there was, do you think any other route from that room wouldn’t have more security doors?”

Another noise, a high-pitched whine, floated through the air, and Ortega turned his head in the direction of the reactor.

“That’s new,” he said.

Suddenly, all the lights in the corridor grew brighter before going off with a sizzle and a pop. After a moment, emergency lights powered up, creating a dim glow that outlined the path and the location of most exits. With a gentle hiss, the door in front of them lifted up.

“Definitely new,” said Ortega. “I don’t… I admit I’ve never seen a self-destruct mechanism do this. Have you?”

“No,” she said. “This isn’t a standard protocol. Unless…”

“Is everyone alive over there?” said Captain Calen’s voice from over Trell’s communicator. Trell activated it to respond.

“Yes, Captain,” she said. “Some sort of self-destruct sequence was activated, but all the power has turned off now. I don’t know if we’re still in danger or not.”

“You’re not,” said Calen. “I’d been monitoring your situation and the reactor was going to blow. I decided to fire a neutrino load, something that could harmlessly reach through the hull to neutralize the energy.”

“You had a weapon that could do that?” said Ortega. “I mean, I know weapons exist that can do that but most ships aren’t armed with them.”

“Our ship is designed to be able to neutralize ships without fully destroying them so that they can be salvaged later,” said Trell. “We also have features for gradual retrieval operations. Why do you think the ship type is called a Scuttler?”

“I… guess I hadn’t thought about it,” said Ortega. “Do they power up quickly?”

“No, I was targeting your ship in case of treachery,” said Calen.

“Of course,” said Ortega.

“Trell, you may be interested to know that you’re not entirely without power over there,” said Calen. “Some extra system lines your vessel, tracing its way through the exterior hull. It seemed like part of the main systems when everything else was running, but it’s clear now.”

“Can you tell what its purpose is, Captain?” asked Trell.

“I’ll work on that,” said Calen. “Right now I can tell you that it generates some sort of energy field. It’s low-grade right now, but could be increased, infusing the entire ship and everything immediately around it with some sort of high-energy radiation.”

“Immolating itself,” said Trell, opening her eyes wider.

“What?” asked Ortega. “Oh. Oh! Good call.”

“What that?” asked Calen.

“Captain, you may have discovered the Phoenix Circuitry we’re looking for,” said Trell. “It’s a long-shot, but it’s possible that the Phoenix Circuitry is a device designed to surround the vessel with some sort of energy. If we can figure out what that energy does, we might know what the Phoenix Circuitry is designed for.”

“Then you’ve got work to do,” said Calen. “With any luck, the Dyson Empire’s just given us a weapon that we can give right back.”