The young man stared in disbelief at the paper in his hand. Around him, students made their way through the commons in search of food, their next class, or the daily post. Nobody noticed him as his frown slowly shifted into a blank look of numb shock.
He was being expelled.
No, this had to be wrong. He had tried so hard to bring his grades up, clawing his way through piles of makeup assignments. He had studied late into the night, delving for the source of knowledge that remained locked inside his books despite re-reading the same paragraphs eight or nine times.
But no matter how hard he tried, the words always jumbled together into meaningless masses of text. He might as well have been trying to read an alien language.
His hands began to shake in rage as he balled up the note. But all too soon, his anger left, and all he felt was a deep, vast emptiness. Why bother? This was supposed to be his chance to make something of himself; the gateway to the beginning of his life! And now that gateway had seemingly slammed shut in his face leaving him stranded in a barren wasteland. All that money. All that time. And once the loan companies received word that he was no-longer enrolled, they would come calling for their money, plus interest.
He stood rooted in place for what seemed an eternity as his mind raced, feeling as if the floor were clawing at his legs.
And then, seemingly out of nothing, a rock-hard resolve solidified in his breast. No, this wasn't fair. How was a student supposed to pay back that massive amount of money in their lifetime? Most of his fellow classmates were projected to earn wages far less than their predecessors due to 'market saturation', and yet the school rates continued to climb each year...
Screw 'em. Let the lenders come calling for their money. They'd have to find him first. He'd at least had the foresight to refuse any co-signing of his loans by his parents. If he went 'missing' the lenders would not be able to go after his family. That, at least, he had done right.
The crumpled paper fell to the floor as the young man made his way to the large glass doors, pushed his way through, and disappeared without looking back.
Cory Walsh brought his hand down hard on the pilot console and silenced the annoying dweeping noise that had roused him from a warm and pleasant sleep. The panel sparked in protest, sending a small shock through his hand. Cursing, the man landed a shattering blow with his wounded limb that ensured the panel would not shock him again. Ever.
He stumbled over to the small galley with sleep-heavy eyes and groped around until his hand closed upon the small sealed container of coffee extract paste. The gritty substance flowed into his mouth like toothpaste. Synth Foods surely could have found a better way to make coffee space-friendly, couldn't they? Walsh gritted his teeth and swallowed while trying not to gag.
Soon enough, he was beginning to feel slightly more alert and aware of his surroundings. Sagging into the sweat-stained pilot chair he reflexively braced his right knee against the console to prevent the chair from swiveling off-center on its worn bearings. The dweeping had been a new message from one of his many acquaintances. He made a hand motion that should have sent the message text to the main viewscreen.
Nothing happened.
Walsh made the hand motion three more times before realizing his sleepy rage had damaged the image-capture panel. He sighed in resignation and proceeded to input the command manually. Still making stupid mistakes after all these years...
The message contained a brief explanation and the coordinates to what his acquaintance described as 'unclaimed shipwrecks'. As he paged through the different locations he noted several that were deep in hostile space. One entry in-particular grabbed his attention.
"Interesting..." he muttered, "That one might be worth a look."
He waved the message away and turned to find his boots. He was puzzled for a moment when he looked back to see the message still clogging the viewscreen, and promptly smacked himself in the head.
"Idiot..."
He pressed the corresponding key, and the message closed, revealing a swirling inky darkness beyond occasionally pierced by wicked-looking spires of obsidian. Walsh shuddered inwardly. There was something unsettling about this place. Perhaps that was why it had come to be known as the Badlands. One thing was certain; his current destination would be far worse by comparison...
Walsh bolted upright in his cot, his breath racing and body drenched in cold sweat. The uneathly shriek still rang in his ears as his eyes tore around the room. Nothing moved in the shadows, no phantoms leaped to attack, and no amount of logical reasoning could calm the irrational terror pounding through his veigns.
He ground his fists into his eyes in frustration. Almost a week had passed and still this strange insomnia plagued him. He was always tired, but could never sleep. When he did nod off his dreams were filled with inexplicable images of terror. Why? Why was this happening?
With great effort, he rolled out of bed and turned on the lights. The small room aboard Beaumont Station was adequate and homey, if a little utilitarian. Then again, that was Junker hospitality for you. His hand closed upon the coffee flavored synth paste and he trudged over to the loo. The events of the past few days replayed over and over in his mind, each time seemingly different and contradictory to the last.
Had he flown to the Omicrons or the Sigmas? Why had he been out that far to begin with? He felt as if he were searching for something, but those details were always just outside the grasp of his sleep-starved mind. He had returned early because there was a problem. A problem with the cargo? With his ship? He didn't know anymore. All he could think about was sleep. His body had stopped caring about anything else.
There had been a ship. The... .:j:. Tanker? Had contacted him to respond to his distress call. But he hadn't sent a distress call, had he? Not in the ship's logs. No, the Soldiers.Fortune hadn't sent a distress call. Wasn't in the logs.
And then there was the Navy gunboat that stopped him from docking. Said he was transporting counterfeit software or something. Not a lot. Just one small blip. But that couldn't be right. His ship was carrying light armaments and munitions. Had three other Junker help talk the Navy gunboat down... what were their names?
So. Tired.
Cory's head slumped as he nodded off in front of the lavatory counter. For three glorious minutes he lay motionless, until he woke with a start.
Someone had called his name...
It didn't make any sense, and yet he was almost certain a voice had come from the hangar. A chill worked its way down his spine as his listened intently. But there was nothing. He moved to get up from the floor, supporting himself heavily on the counter. Movement in the mirror caught his eye and he spun toward the door to his room, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.
There had been a woman in the mirror. Just for an instant. She had been standing in the doorway, her face contorted in a silent scream. Her eyes had been staring straight at him.
But looking at the doorway now, she was gone. Cory Walsh didn't waste another minute. Within the hour he was back aboard the Soldiers.Fortune burning through H-fuel with reckless abandon. He didn't know where he was going or what he was running from. But with each passing hour he began to have the incrasingly uneasy feeling that he wasn't getting any farther away from his troubles...
GRANDE NEGRA, TEXAS SYSTEM
LIBERTY SPACE, 09.24.823 A.S.
Cory's head slammed into the control surface of the Bulldog, despite the safety retrains. His vision blurred as the small snubcraft careened out of control. The collision alarm screamed in his ears as the two massive ion engines whined in protest; trying in vain to correct the sudden course-change. Moments ago the auto-pilot had been safely locked onto the ScrapFinch as his limbs slowly became numb and sluggish.
Then a large hull-plate had drifted into the path of his fighter at the exact same moment the Nav Comp experienced one of its many hiccups.
Blood trickled into his right eye as the Junker fought to raise his head. His entire body felt as if it weighted eight-times standard gravity. Falling heavily back into the pilot seat, he was just in time to witness the Nav Comp overload and shut down. That meant his ship was burning through a field of sharp metal and rocks at 350 units-per-second with no guidance. There was only one option.
Gritting his teeth, Walsh forced his arms to respond. The emergency engine shutoff was tantalizingly close on the right armrest, yet it could have been half a lightyear away. He screamed in frustration, his hand inching closer as his physical energy drained. Just a bit more...
There!
His hand dropped onto the button, and the Bulldog ceased its suicidal charge into certain destruction. And yet, the ship was still under the effects of inertia. A small impact on the right sent the snubcraft into a gentle spin, obscuring any chance of seeing an impending crash.
Too tired to care, Cory slumped. His mind began to leak into unconsciousness. Somewhere, a harsh babble arose until it became shouting. The voice was screaming, RUN RUN RUN RUUUUUUUUNNN!!! A horrible scarred face appeared in the blackness of his mind; a face warped in a wicked grin. Walsh gasped as the churning apparition took on his face, its cruel mouth opening into a scream lined with jagged teeth. And behind those teeth writhed a long purple tongue the size of a cobra.
RUUUUUUNNNNN!!!
"SNELL!!!" Cory jerked awake, his body spasming painfully. A glance revealed that the Bulldog had finally come to rest, sandwiched in the crevice of an old jumpgate hull panel. Red emergency lighting cast an eerie pall over the cockpit. Then there was a chilling, creaking groan from the bowels of the ship.
The hull was beginning to buckle.
Summoning up the last of his willpower, he began recording a final message in the vain hope that his fate would not go unknown.
Then the hull gave way with a loud shriek of tearing metal and the Junker known as Cory Walsh remembered nothing more.
FOSTER BASE, CASSINI SYSTEM
LIBERTY SPACE, 09.24.818 A.S.
Yaroslava Ivanov licked her lips nervously, her tongue brushing over sharp metal piercings. Her electric-blue mohawk was combed uncomfortably to one side inside the flight helmet. Outside of the Lane Hacker Scythe, the medium-white star glared uncomfortably bright. Her hands were producing itchy sweat, yet she couldn't afford to be distracted. Not right now.
"Alright, Ari. Initial powerup sequence checks out. Everything seems stable. Go ahead and move to Stage Two."
The young woman snapped to attention, "Roger that, Mactan Base."
She had dropped her birth name several years back in favor of the alias, Ari Kova. She really didn't want her surname 'Ivanov' to immediately bias first impressions. People tended to be judgmental enough without the knowledge that she shared a name with the infamous Coalition General...
Gingerly, Ari increased the power feed to the large oblong device strapped to the bottom of her fighter. Any information on what the device was supposed to do was strictly Need-to-Know. And her pay-grade within the Hackers meant she didn't need to know. Some anonymous organization had paid a large sum of money to have the Hackers test their secret project. So here she was, out in the middle of an abandoned system sitting on top of something that looked like a large bomb, responding to instructions being relayed from Mactan Base to the temporary comm array on Foster Base.
The empty viewports of the abandoned station stared at her like the eye sockets of a strange, alien skull. The feeling of isolation was unnerving.
A shudder ran through the fighter and brought her mind back to the present. "Uh... Mactan? I'm getting some strange readings. Are you seeing this?"
"Affirmative, we're seeing the power spikes. Go ahead and shut it down. Clearly there is something we missed."
The young woman's hands were shaking as she slapped the emergency shutoff switch which had been hastily wired into the console.
Nothing happened.
A flash of arcing electricity shot across the console as Ari Kova jerked her hands away. "Mactan! Command, are you there? Something is wrong!"
Screeching static ripped through her headset as another rogue bolt of energy arced between Foster Base and the Scythe. The young woman's mouth fell open in disbelief as a portion of the temporary Comm array vaporized from the blast. Then the fear hit, overcoming her shock.
"MAYDAY! MAYDAY! This is Lane Hacker Yaroslava Ivanov! Somebody respond!" Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered that she had unconsciously used her real name. Well, THAT cat was out of the bag now. There was another blinding arc flash, accompanied by a steadily growing whine from the small ship's powerplant.
"The Kronos Device is overloading! Repeat: Kronos is non-responsive! Can anyone hear me?! ANYONE!!!"
The whine was now a deafening screech that threatened permanent hearing loss. Outside, a strange oscillating pattern similar to a Jumpgate wormhole had begun to shimmer into existence. Then a sound like an old-fashioned gunshot rang out above the cacophony. Looking upward, Ari saw a wicked crack forming in the canopy. With another ear-splitting crack, the fissure raced downward to the edge. Outside, nothing was visible through the bright white sphere of energy that encompassed her ship.
"Oh gods," she breathed, "I don't want to die..."
Suddenly, a bolt of electricity lept from the console and struck the pilot square in the torso, pinning her to the chair in a death-like embrace. In its wake it left a scorched and melted hole in her armor, through which the stinking-sweet scent of burned flesh wafted out.
"HELP!!! HELP MEEEEEEEaaaaaaaAAAAAAGGGGHHH--" Her hysterical pleas were cut short as another bolt vaporized the young woman instantly.
The ship continued its death throes for only a few seconds longer before another charge found the O2 supply. The explosion severed the crippled powersupply from the bomb-like device which drifted a short distance away. Then without warning, the mysterious device detonated silently, sucking in debris like a black hole. A blinding shockwave erupted from the center and raced toward the stars, engulfing the entire system with deadly energy.
And there on the edge of the system, the blast caught up to a cloaked ship attempting to flee the scene of the carnage. The sleek, black vessel shuddered under the impact as its invisible shield was ripped away. Yet, strangely, as a second wall of energy washed over the ship, it began to turn transparent once more and disappeared without a trace.
Ari woke from yet another nightmarish sleep. The dream was always the same; crying out for help before a bright flash burned through her body. Each time she woke, she wished she were able to stay asleep. Things never changed and she had been adrift for so long...
She tried once again to stretch her limbs; to coax some form of feeling back into their stiff, rigid state. But nothing happened. Nothing ever happened. She was floating among a small cluster of debris in a gaseous cloud. Her spacesuit was without power, which meant no oxygen and no heat. Yet despite all this, Ari couldn't seem to die. And she wanted desperately to die, if only to put an end to the endless cycle of nightmares and waking paralysis.
Just as she closed her eyes to sleep again, a light caught her attention. It was a small light, but it was growing steadily closer. Ari revolted against her frozen body, trying desperately to move. Then the light's source broke through the nebula's gaseous clouds. Ari stopped her struggle and stared.
It was a small transport vessel, scarred and beaten by debris. Mismatched cargo pods hung underneath the ship's spine, and an array of weapons bristled from multiple emplacements. "I'm here!" Ari thought, "please, notice me!" As if the ship had heard her silent plea, a searchlight fell upon her face. "Yes! Yes, please get me out of this place!" Her hope was almost hysterical.
And then, along the upper spine of the battered ship's surface, a strange turret swiveled around to face her. Hope turned to panic. "No. NO! What are you doing?!? Don't shoot me! I'm not a thre-"
Red hot pain lanced through her body, melting any coherent thought. She screamed in silent agony as the laser bit into her suit. The ship angled closer to get a better shot just as a blue flash of electricity discharged from the nebula and struck the ship.
For a moment, the blinding pain stopped. The ship appeared disabled, as the blue energy raced around the outside of its hull. Its course brought it ever closer to the point where Ari was certain she could reach out and touch the surface, if only she could move.
Then they collided and a blinding flash of arcing blue energy knocked Ari unconscious once again...
BARRIER GATE STATION, CORONADO SYSTEM
INDEPENDENT SPACE, 10.01.823 A.S.
The cool sensation of metal against her cheek made Ari open her eyes. In bewilderment, she stood and surveyed her surroundings. She was on board a ship. No, THE ship; the transport that had shot her. The cold metal of the deck felt uncomfortably dirty under her feet. Her brow furrowed and she looked down.
She was wearing her trademark bulletproof vest and rough slacks, though oddly her combat boots were missing. Now that she thought about it, where was her spacesuit? And who had helped her change?
A shiver ran down her spine as she realized this was a man's living quarters. The ship's bulkhead seemed to groan slightly in sympathy. Then... Ari felt a presence behind her. Turning, she saw a figure cloaked in white. The man's eyes were a piercing and unnatural bright blue. Everything else about him was pale and sterile. Then he spoke to her.
"You should not be here."
"Uhh, sorry? I thought I was rescu-"
"You should not be here." The figure interrupted. It suddenly occurred to Ari that he was speaking telepathically. His mouth had not moved once. But that stare...
"N-now wait just a moment. I was dying-"
"State your name and function or face deletion." The figure's voice had only serene peace behind it.
"Ah... Ari Kova? Lane Hacker? Nice to... meet you?"
"Hacker. You are malware." The figure concluded.
"Huh?! No, hold on! What are you talking about?!" Panic began to grow inside her chest as the blinding figure stretched his hands toward her like a bizarre mage.
"Delete." He stated calmly. A searing burst of white light shot from his hands and struck Ari in the heart. She flew back against the far wall, breaking several framed pictures free of their zero-gee mountings. She slumped over, torso smoking.
As the figure watched, Ari surveyed the damage to her body. There was a large gaping hole where her ribcage and heart should have been! Yet... no blood. She began to feel light-headed, but the fear helped. She stood on shaky feet, bracing herself against the wall. Anger roiled inside her.
"Why... why did you do that?"
The figure gave no answer as he raised his hands again. Then a thought struck Ari. This thing was a computer of some sort. And she... she was a Lane Hacker. She wasn't dead yet, for some odd reason.
"This must be a dream," she thought. "Huh. Well now that I know that, I suppose I can change the rules."
Just as the figure released his second attack, Ari mentally imagined the sequence for a redirect command. Then to her surprise, the figure's light bounced harmlessly into the wall, mid-flight. Oddly, the figure did not seem troubled. He brought both of his hands together and spoke the word, "Quarentine".
Ari's arms slammed into the sides of her body as if they were made of dark matter. Try as she might, she was once again immobile. Worse yet, her thoughts were incredibly dull and confusing.
The stranger's light attack came again. Ari barely managed to think of the script for force-stopping a program. And then everything simply froze; the figure and his attack just... floating there. Ari raised her arms and spoke a single word that shook with rage.
<"Delete!">
To her astonishment, blue light shot from her hands and stuck the figure in the chest. Then he simply... dissolved into thin air! Her legs began to shake as fatigue swept over her. In the corner was a well-used cot. Perfect.
Ari fell hard onto the bed, and for once was not afraid. She didn't know why, but somehow she knew there were no more threats anywhere on the ship. Just like she knew the gaping hole in her chest was now healed.
"What a strange dream..." she mumbled, as she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
UNS-Providence: "Command, we just lost planetary defense platform Gamma. The defense grid is down to 50% strength."
Blackwood Command: "Copy that, Providence. Orders sent to Salvation and Revenant to strengthen the left flank. Maintain position and fire-pattern. Do not let any of the larger entities get within firing distance of the planet or transports."
UNS-Retribution: "Here they come again! 3 o'clock, right flank! Small ones up front with at least a half-dozen mediums trailing behind. Bombers by the look of them."
UNS-Brimstone: "Eris preserve us! They're going after the transports! All fighter squads, focus on the bombers! Repeat: target the bombers!"
LNS-Saratoga: "Sorry, Revenant. Navy Command has ordered us to fall back to protect the e-vac transports.
UNS-Revenant: "Those transports are dead either way if we don't stop this thing from firing!"
LNS-Saratoga: "Revenant, I have my orders! Clear this channel, now! Fighter wings, continue to defend the transports. That is an order."
Black-Leader:Brimstone, we're getting torn-up pretty bad by these snubs. Lost Black-2 and Black-7. We can't protect the bombers long enough to get them within torpedo range.
UNS-Brimstone: "Copy, Black-Leader. Bomber squad has been recalled. Regroup and form a defensive screen around Salvation.
UNS-Providence: "Detecting odd power fluctuations from Target Alpha. Something isn't right. It's almost like...
Target Alpha:**(ANGER)**
UNS-Providence: "SALVATION!! BREAK OFF!! IT'S A TRAP!!"
UNS-Salvation: "Helm, full-power to engines! Emergency stations! Get us-*static*"
UNS-Retribution:"No..."
UNS-Purgatory: "Command! We lost Salvation! Repeat: UNS-Salvation is down!"
Blackwood Command: "Confirmed, Purgatory. All units, UNS flagship Salvation is K.I.A. RNS-Ragnarok is moving up from Secondary Fleet to replace her."
UNS-Retribution: "Sensor spike! Power discharge! Sensors confirm pattern is consistent with Class-N anomaly!
Blackwood Command: "Retribution, please confirm. We do not see it."
UNS-Retribution: "Grid G-4. Anomaly travelling at 2,500 units-per-second. It's headed for the planet!"
UNS-Providence: "We've been tricked... "
UNS-Brimstone: "They lured us away from any intercept path!"
UNS-Revenant: "Helm! All power to engines, get us between that anomaly and the planet! DO IT NOW!!!"
Blackwood Command: "Alert! Incoming projectile headed for planet surface! All ships, move out of planetary orbit and brace for impact!"
UNS-Purgatory: "Revenant, what are you doing?!? You won't be able to get there in time! Break off and retreat!"
UNS-Revenant: "I have family down there!!! What am I supposed to do, just let them die?!"
Blackwood Command: "Revenant, you are ordered to retreat."
Blackwood Command: "-one hear me? Please respond. Repeat: Report Status. Blackwood Defense Fleet, do you read me?"
UNS-Revelation: "Blackwood Command, this is UNS-Revelation, Tertiary Fleet. Sir... we've lost the planet. They... they glassed it... The e-vac transports... everything is burning."
Blackwood Command: "God help us... All ships, retreat to rendezvous Epsilon. Repeat: Retreat order Epsilon.
*heavy sigh*
BARRIER GATE STATION, CORONADO SYSTEM
LIBERTY SPACE, 03.14.817 A.S.
The man sat on the floor with his back against the rough metal wall of the shipping container. It had been days since he had seen, let alone spoken with another human being. An untouched tray of food sat nearby, begging to be hurled against the wall of his makeshift prison as he had done with previous trays. But the fight had left him. Now, all he wanted was for things to end, even if that meant death.
His head lolled back against the side of the container with a dull thump as a crumpled picture slipped from his hand and drifted to the floor without a sound. For several long minutes he did not move, only occasionally hearing the muffled noise of ships docking or departing. Then his eyes found the rumpled picture.
It was a hastily taken photo. It was partially focused and the scene was hardly planned, and yet it was the most valuable piece of property he had. His hand began to tremble as he picked it back up. His daughter, no more than 7 years old, stared back at him as her mother worked to get her shoes tied properly. She had bright, mischievous eyes and wild hair. It had been her first day of school. She was so excited, so ready to go out and meet the world...
And both of them had been violently taken from him in the inferno of a dying planet.
He had looked at this picture many times before, each time fueling his rage as he attempted to break free of his prison. But now, he was beaten and broken. And this time, as he gazed upon the photograph, something inside of him shattered like glass. The tears came, and he could not stop them until he finally lay on the floor and fell into an exhausted sleep.
_________________________________
Loud banging from the door startled him awake. Somewhere, a lock was released and a searing ray of light entered his eyes. The silhouette of a woman holding a powerful rifle blocked the entrance.
"Good, you're awake. The Colonel wants to speak with you." She gestured to the door with the rifle, "Come on, get on your feet. And don't try anything funny. I have clearance to shoot you if I deem you are a risk."
He was lead down several brightly lit hallways at gunpoint while the occasional passerby stared at his bedraggled appearance. His once smart and clean uniform was stained and rent, and he could smell the stench emanating from his clothes. At last they reached an unmarked steel door and the guard ushered him inside.
The Colonel sat at a starkly utilitarian desk, surrounded by stacks of reports and equipment. His heavy gaze lifted from the report he was reading and met the disheveled man's eyes. His aide quickly stepped back to his own desk, presumably to annotate the proceedings of a court marshal.
"Ah, Agent 1854. Come in, come in." His voice carried a deep resonance that gave an even more authoritative air to his graying handle-bar mustache, "Guard, you are dismissed, I don't think we will be needing any displays of lethal force. Fifty-four and I are going to have a nice little chat." All six feet of the Colonel stood from behind the desk and pulled out a chair as he gestured for the Agent to sit. The aide didn't even look up from his work.
"Now then, Fifty-four, allow me to first apologize for not being able to allow you some fresh clothes before we met. I recognize it isn't easy being locked inside a storage container for several days while awaiting a trial. But considering that you are one of the more... experienced individuals when it comes to hand-to-hand combat, well... I'm sure you understand why we could not justify the risk of allowing you more creature comforts."
The disgraced Agent simply glared at the Colonel, mentally ripping into his throat.
"Now then, I suppose you would prefer if we didn't delay and handed down a sentence as quickly as possible. However, under the circumstances, I am prepared to clear the charges and allow you to walk out of this room a free man."
A look of surprise crossed the Agent's face as the Colonel clapped a hand onto his shoulder and continued, "We need you now more than ever Fifty-four. We lost four ships at Manhattan, four! I don't need to tell you just how badly that hurts. Blackwood has been struggling to keep up with the alien threat despite all the best technology the Unification Pact can muster. We are outmatched..."
His hand slid off of the Agent's shoulder and dropped to his side. For a moment the imposing officer's figure seemed to diminish, to wilt. Then his eyes blazed with determination, "We found something. Something to help even the odds, if we can figure out how it works. And that is where I need you. You're a Junker. You instinctively know how things are put together. I need someone like that."
Agent 1854 cleared his parched throat, "Sir, with all due respect, I was actually looking forward to facing a firing squad."
To his surprise the tall officer threw back his head and laughed, startling the placid aide from his peaceful typing. "Oh! Oh my! You are a lost cause, aren't you? Ahhhhh. But that's just the point. You have nothing left to lose and everything to gain."
"Sir... I don't follow."
The Colonel's voice became hushed as he leaned in, "We have discovered an artifact from the previous civilization that we believe to be a prototype of some technology they were experimenting with before they... sterilized the sector. We aren't sure how it works, but from the glyphs on the casing our resident experts believe it might have been a weapon against the Seraphim. If we can figure out what it does and how to work it..."
"Sir, permission to speak freely."
"... Granted."
"Sir, why do you think I would care if the entirety of the Sirius sector burns? I have nothing left to live for. NOTHING! Not even revenge. And even if we succeed and "save" humanity, there is nothing to stop humankind from returning to our self-destructive ways.
"No, Colonel, there is nothing you can offer me besides the release of death that holds any meaning for me. So please, just put a bullet in my brain and be done with it."
The Colonel straightened up as his face darkened with anger. "And how are you any different than those 'self-destructive' individuals you so self-righteously condemn? I'm offering you a chance to redeem yourself; to give humanity another chance to right its wrongs. And the best you have to offer is some self-absorbed pity? Pathetic!"
Fifty-four's face reddened with shame. "I am no different. I wish I could say that I cared..."
The Colonel's hand came down hard on his desk and set the metal ringing. "Son, you don't get it! This device? It's our last chance! We are overrun! I haven't even mentioned the best part for fear of getting your hopes up, but if that's what it takes...
"The device has a rune etched on the surface that until now has defied our xeno and linguistic experts' best attempts to decipher. But just last week we had a breakthrough. One of our very own, Agent 1877, cross-referenced the rune as a combination of the word for dimension and endurance. She has assigned it the tentative translation of 'time'."
The Agent was nonplussed. "... What are you getting at? Time travel?"
"NO, confound it! This device might be an escape route! Something the old civilization was attempting to develop on a large scale to defeat or escape their rebelling creations! Think about it! If all of the aliens and old-ones were wiped out from the 'doomsday device' in Omicron Major, how are we now fighting those same aliens that were extinct?!"
"They... they came from another time?"
"Not just another time, Lad... think in broader terms."
"You're not suggesting... that these creatures are from... another dimension, are you?" The look on the Colonel's face was more than a confirmation. "No... no that's not... you can't be serious?"
"Yes, Fifty-four, I am. You don't think it strange that we confirmed the extinction of both races of xenos here in the Sirius sector and never once came across a live specimen, and then suddenly in the year 801 we suddenly have these purple demons crawling all over the place as if they had just... appeared out of thin air? And how about the odd coincidence that they knew exactly how and where to hit us, almost as if they had encountered, and fought, humans before? And yet, we know for a fact that both species of xeno-life went extinct long before humankind evolved to its present state..."
Agent 1854 stood rooted in place, mind racing. If this was all true and the Colonel wasn't going mad... there just might be hope. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, his voice and gaze distant.
"I need someone to oversee the study and testing of this artifact. Someone who can figure out how it works and how to adapt it to our technology. Think you're up for the challenge, Junker?"
Fifty-four gave a weak smile and nodded in resignation.
"Good! We'll get you all cleaned up and escorted to your new quarters." The Colonel clapped him on the back and began to turn away.
"Ah, Colonel, one more thing."
"Yes?"
"Does this project have a name, by chance?"
The corners of the Colonel's mustache lifted in a grin. "Why yes, indeed it does. We're calling it the Kronos Device."
OPEN SPACE, OMEGA-49
BORDER WORLDS, 09.12.823 A.S.
Agent 1854 stood at the forward viewport of the Unification gunboat, unmoving save for his eyes. The universe moved around him as he meditated.
It had been years. Long, aching years of searching. And still he had not been able to find the wreckage of the Scythe used to test the Kronos device. He knew the fighter had jumped through the anomaly, just as his ship had been pulled in after. And yet, on the other side of the rift... nothing was consistent. The remains of the ship were nowhere to be found. His navigation system could not pinpoint his location until he realized that he was not in Cassini anymore. A quick recalibration of the ship computer confirmed that his present location was Omega-7.
But how? Nothing made sense. It was as if the universe had shifted. It wasn't until he ran across a Corsair Battleship patrolling the southern regions that he realized the truth.
The prototype Daam K'Vosh device had worked. To an extent. The Colonel had been right, it was a trans-dimensional jumphole generator.
But now it was gone. And only the Scythe's black box would have the data necessary to reconstruct it... if the wreckage had been transported to the same dimension.
Doubt creeped into the agent's mind and he viciously batted it away. No, there was still a chance. There was still...
The Colonel. His last words before the testing of the device began chilled his heart.
"Remember Son, we need this to work. If the worst happens... we will have no choice but to dispatch a small unit to slip into enemy territory... and use the artifact there to sterilize the sector. We're not going to let the Seraphim live to see victory."
How long did he have? How long before that team reached the artifact? Or was it already over?
He didn't have time to waste, and yet he was helpless to his circumstances.
Then, a soft trill from the console broke through his melancholy. He stepped over and brought up the display.
Someone had reactivated the tracking software on the Scythe. Which meant... someone had found it.
Moving with renewed purpose, Agent 1854 connected to the Spyglass Network to begin the trace. He wasn't sure how, but his Hacker Scanner seemed to be compatible despite coming from an alternate dimension. Perhaps that was a sign...
There, he had it. The tracking software was reporting location changes. Whoever had reactivated it had also performed a download of the ship's databanks. He burrowed in using the illegal software at his disposal. Finally, a ship designation was uncovered along with its transponder ID.
"The Soldiers.Fortune," he mused. "An 'Albatross'-class Junker ship flown by one Cory Walsh..."