Episode 117: Morcalan Morse

ANY WORD FROM THE CAPTAIN

Captain Ortega tapped the phrases into the pipe behind the wall panel he’d managed to remove. He was growing more convinced that all of Dyson’s most visible technology was refurbished from other common sources, but less convinced that it was a slapdash job. The pipe had been there as he’d expected, but the panel had been reinforced. Astroguard had written manuals on how to escape from common cell structure designs like this, but the redesign would have been enough to thwart most who only had knowledge from the manual to work with.

As one of the most frequent consultants on the writing of such manuals, however, Ortega was ahead of the curve in the latest trends in escape artistry. He’d almost electrocuted himself on the first three workarounds he attempted, but the fourth allowed the panel to pop out of the wall without, he hoped, tripping any sensors.

NO

The terse reply from the other end was coming either from Ensign Trell, or someone who was very creatively imitating her without any difficulty. Ortega had tapped instructions on the bar that would have been audible to anyone in a mostly silent room, and he’d used some of the most common universal code patterns, ones derived from the ancient Morse Code patterns from Earth’s military and naval history. Trell had responded after he’d been repeating the instructions for twelve minutes, using the nearly-compatible Morcalan variation on the pattern. Ortega reached for the pipe and tapped again.

JUST RETURNED FROM ANOTHER DOCTOR DEBRIEFING

He thought about the message and resisted the urge to drum his fingers on the pipe. He decided to wait rather than add anything, as early attempts to incorporate STOP or punctuation into the messages using their two different codes had caused issues. Similar issues resulted when he tried to remember how to use Morcalan Morse, and Trell was either unwilling to switch from the Morcalan standard or had never been trained in the more commonly accepted ones, he wasn’t clear on that.

CAPTAIN GONE FOR TEN MINUTES

Ortega nodded and tapped his reply.

ANOTHER ESCAPE ATTEMPT

He resisted the urge to add a regular question mark, even though he was certain that Trell would be able to interpret it.

NO SHE HAD JUST RETURNED FROM ELSEWHERE FOR THAT AND WAS PUT IN THE CELL OPPOSITE FROM MINE BUT NOW SHE IS GONE AGAIN I DONT NOT KNOW WHY

Ortega looked over his shoulder. He was certain that he had a camera pointed at him even if he couldn’t see it, but the empty cells on the other side of the hall were the only things he could see. He reached for the pipe to tap again.

SHE MIGHT HAVE GONE TO ANOTHER DEBRIEFING LIKE MINE TO HELP EXPLAIN THE DOCTOR

WHICH DOCTOR

DOCTOR SILAS ROGERS

SOUL SURVIVOR IS EASIER TO TAP

Ortega smirked. He disagreed, but he was using a slightly different system. Trell was likely just taunting him to kill time.

SOUL SURVIVOR IS NOT AN IMMEDIATE CONCERN I CAN TALK YOU THROUGH ESCAPE IF YOUR CELL IS BUILT LIKE MINE BUT THE SHIP IS DIFFERENT THAN THE ONES IVE PLANNED FOR AND AN ESSENTIAL PART INVOLVES LOSING OUR TAPPING ABILITY

UNDERSTOOD

ASSUMING ALARMS DONT GO OFF WE CAN MEET AT WHAT I HOPE WILL BE A MOSTLY UNUSED CORRIDOR JUNCTION BUT IF ALARMS START WE WONT HAVE THE OPTION

He paused. After a minute, Trell started tapping again.

AFTER ESCAPE WE NEED TO FIND THE CAPTAIN AND SABOTAGE THIS SHIP AND HOPEFULLY DESTROY OTHERS, IN WHICHEVER ORDER IS MOST REASONABLE

Ortega frowned. He didn’t like the idea of destroying an entire ship if people were on board, but Trell could be reasoned with on the fly. Calen probably couldn’t, however, plus the Dyson forces had clearly entered war-time mode, and as such war protocols were on the table. Potentially mind-controlled conscripts weren’t necessarily fair war-time targets, though. With all those considerations on the table, it was also true that his chances of escape would improve with Trell’s assistance. He reached for the bar and tapped it again.

AGREED

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 40: Performance Review

Harold Zamona gingerly picked up the glass and began to drink. The poison within the beverage mixed well, creating an unusual flavor. He would still prefer to not take such measures in his endless quest to weaken himself, but he did take some wry pleasure from the knowledge that he probably had the most discerning palate of any human where strength-sapping poisons were concerned. The gauntlets were more effective by far, but when used in conjunction with other means he could feel like he wasn’t constantly on the verge of overpowering their capabilities.

The large monitor on the side of his meditation room crackled to life with an annoying chime. Harold glared at his beverage and made a pointed decision to finish his drink. The chiming grew more insistent in tone, volume, and frequency while he finished the last poisonous drop. He carefully set the glass back onto its table, and turned to face the screen.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said.

The computer knew enough of his moods to interpret that statement as an activation command. Emperor Dyson’s genial face appeared on the screen. His immaculate outfit and well trimmed beard annoyed Harold more than it should have.

“Harry,” said the Emperor. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No,” said Harold. “It’s not a bad time. Not as such. Morcala is trying my patience.”

“Oh? Is there no fight in you, then?”

“There’s plenty of fight in me. The Morcalans aren’t fighters. They’re play actors.”

“Quite committed to their roles, though.”

“Yes. They’ll march to their death even if ordered not to by a superior. I told you that having Admiral Cresh in our pocket wouldn’t be enough.”

“I concede that you were correct,” said the Emperor. “The Neural Guidance Facilitators are either not ready, or the Morcalans are made of sterner stuff. It took too long to affect just one of them, and even his position of power was not enough to sway the masses.”

“The Suzerain would have been more effective. She has less control over the military, but more influence on public opinion.”

“What’s done is done,” said the Emperor, waving his hand dismissively. “We have enough of a foothold to fight the Morcalans as we would any other planet.”

“I’m still not convinced of that. We may need to leave a greater force than usual here. A token military presence with automated troops won’t suffice.”

“Not yet,” said the Emperor. “My hope is that we will soon discover an internal conflict. Their personal pride will override their patriotism in due time.”

“Don’t underestimate them,” said Harold. “They’re already unorganized, and their guerila tactics are almost more effective than their standard military techniques were when they were following orders. They nearly destroyed the lens before extraction.”

“They did?” asked the Emperor. A look of genuine concern crossed his face.

“Did you not know? It was in my report.”

The Emperor looked crestfallen, as if the suggestion that victory had not been such a certainty was a greater loss than an actual failing would have been.

“That is… upsetting. I apologize, Harry. I hadn’t taken the time. That lens is nearly irreplaceable.”

“I know.”

“And essential for the final stage.”

“Yes. It is. Using it as a weapon now is, as always, a tremendous risk.”

Emperor Dyson slumped in his throne. Zamona considered, not for the first time, how much of an effort he put into the show of it all.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We got it out in time. And even if they’d been able to damage it, we would have been able to repair the damage. It would have slowed us down, but they wouldn’t have damaged it beyond the point of repair.”

“Good,” said the Emperor. “Excellent. I’m eager to leave Morcalan space and continue our great work elsewhere. Do you have our next targets in mind?”

“I do,” said Harold. “Other systems are finally beginning to take note, and governments within the Angelor Republic are considering you more than a local problem now. We can expect stronger preparations against our arrivals moving forward. But thanks to your technology, Emperor, we won’t have to keep moving in a straight line. Or even a continuous one.”

Dyson sat up in his chair.

“Oh, wonderful… we harvested enough energy for the entire fleet to use?”

“More than enough,” said Harold. “Once we finish establishing ourselves here, we’ll have our pick of any system in the Republic.”