Alex Alexander's Blog - Posts Tagged "icarus"

On my bookshelf is a book over 100 years old. It is a copy of 20,000 leagues under the sea from the 1890's. It's behind glass and is pretty beat up. The pages have that dry crumbled feeling to them. I don't think I've actually handled the book since I last moved 4 years ago.

This book is probably one of the most influential books in my life. Not only was it the largest book I had read at the time, but it was the first time I was truly inspired. Much of my childhood was spent building the Nautilus out of legos and creating new adventures for Captain Nemo and his crew. I even created my own background for Nemo's story and a legacy.

This imagination led me to rethink the other most inspirational story of my young life. Using legos again, I re-imagined another story which captured my imagination. When I close my eyes, I can still see the layout of the lego ship Icarus.

The first in a series of short stories is free on smashwords right now.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view...

In writing the Icarus Risen series I created a lot of history and stories about various events. Since the main characters are on tangentially connected, most of them were cut. These stories will hopefully flesh out the ImperiuM life.

This first one is about the Lnagrad contract. It's mentioned in flight of Icarus. Though it doesn't solely focus on Jubal, it actually sheds some light on his motives and reputation.

Hope you enjoy.

The Krell have a pivotal role in the second book. This is the intro to them. This isn't necessarily the final edit.
****

Throughout the spiral galaxy, the collection of voices had become known as Krell. Even the voices had forgotten their original name. Once, they were commonly referred to Trell until it became necessary to rename certain planets. Changing the topography of the stars allowed for an easier rewrite of history. Even Trell was a misnomer. Not that it mattered to the seemingly enigmatic species. Much like the continuity of time, names and titles only applied to corporeal entities. The Krell existed without the limits of physicality. At this point in their evolutionary advance, they no longer used traditional language.

Existing as a timeless species, the Krell had travelled with the ever expanding edge of the universe. When viewed against the backdrop of space and time, they had simply always existed. Aeons ago, the Krell left their elliptical galaxy behind. Setting out along the strands of dark energy spanning the known universe, they had a singular goal in mind. Their sole purpose was to contemplate and understand the nature of existence.

Reaching out through the expanse of space and time, the consciousness referred to as the Krell examined the very strands of existence. Infinite threads of time stretched out in all directions. On a large enough scale everything became predictable. Most organics simply couldn’t comprehend the scale required in order to see the universe unfold and eventually give way to another reality. After so much time looking forward, the Krell seemed to lose the ability to examine the past. Though they were in the minority, some voices believed that the ultimate answer may lie behind, rather than in front.

Unfortunately the intertwining and colliding realities had a few, very distinct convergence points. It was as if a knot tied the many of the strands together. Regardless of which path came before, all realities intersected. From these nexus points time became unpredictable. Despite knowing where the localized anomalies originated, little could be done to compensate. Held within the ultimate irony of the universe, was the fact that it was one of these anomalies which led the Krell to their new destination. After a vast length of time, which was meaningless to the so called Real Space society of the spiral galaxy, the Krell discovered their salvation.

It was as if the same ultimate intelligence which set the universe in motion decided to tease the ancient race. The anomalies were never far from their collective minds as the voices traveled with the edge of the known universe. Reaching out through the endless threads which transcended space and time, the Krell examined the first of these anomalies. All future possibilities which included the Krell suddenly converged to a single point before spreading out again. A cyclical pattern of oscillations could be seen from a distance.

Through this chaos of uncertain futures, a beacon shined brightly through the darkness of space and time calling the Krell to the first of many nexus points. Pining for absolution, they readily looked through the lens of time. Another species, it appeared, stood on the precipice of understanding that which the Krell sought. Reaching across the vastness of the universe, the Krell found the proper filaments for their trip. Plotting a course along the network of dark energy spanning all of creation, they travelled. Warping and folding space, the Krell traversed numerous galaxies. Jumping between quantum fluctuations with the ease of thought, the Krell travelled from a point further than their destination could even hope to see. Not enough time had passed for the light to travel such a great distance.

Sacrificing many voices in the process, the Krell accessed their almost forgotten knowledge. Using energy which rivaled that of a supernova, the Krell isolated the fourth dimensional coordinates necessary for contact. Releasing the energy inward, they folded the essence of the universe around themselves. For a moment, even light bent around the distortion created. Pleased by their relative accuracy, the voices arrived within a few thousand years of their target.

After expending so many resources to arrive, the Krell were at a loss. For the first time in aeons, they struggled to see along the threads of time and space. With their diminished numbers, the Krell were unable to see the scene which drew them to this destination. The universe was no longer a predictable place of order. Remaining anchored to a strand of dark energy outside of the galactic boundary, the Krell decided to send emissaries in order to observe and wait.

Sacrificing a few more voices, the Krell once again manipulated the fabric of space. Conduits were created to a few specific points of interest in the spiral galaxy. Despite all voices being equal, some dissidents began to express doubt. They believed that the Krell would never understand the fabled realm of physicals without force. These particular voices were not content to simply wait and observe. After a millennium trapped in debate, they decided to create their own path. Their voices eventually took root on a planet which would become known as Trell VII.

Given complete autonomy, these dissident voices focused on creating an answer to the great question rather than unraveling one. Eventually, the voices uncovered a promising bridge of knowledge. With luck, the answer was only a few millennia away. Many voices began to wonder if this was the forgotten beacon they had seen so very long ago.

Most voices, however, remained anchored a few light years from the edge of the spiral galaxy. They were content to observe existence and examine all the perplexities of physicality. Through their long history of observations and interactions with organics, the Krell witnessed an almost universal behavior. Regardless of the species, they seemed to possess a drive for physical perfection. Aesthetics meant nothing to the non-physical entities. Unbeknownst to the primitives, everlasting transcendence had nothing to do with appearances. The physical entities inhabiting the galaxy couldn’t even seem to decide if they preferred similarities or differences.

*****

After following the beacon so long ago, the Krell became prisoners in a single continuum of existence. Space and time ebbed and flowed around them independent of the enigmatic species’ wishes. The Krell remained as trapped as the physical entities they observed. They were no longer able to shape the universe with a collective thought. Time became a linear, unidirectional, series of events. However, a review of what the dissidents had been learning showed promise. Through a sense of cosmic irony, the Krell seemed confined by biological limitations. Specific genetic patterns were required to allow for proper nerve conduction and bio-electrical integration. Not only was human physiology compatible, but their limited intellectual evolution allowed for easy integration.

Forgetting the original beacon, the Krell had found a species near the galactic edge with enough genetic similarities to be promising. Unfortunately their extensive modifications made them poor candidates. At some point in galactic history this particular species was probably very much like traditional humans. Whether it was natural selection, selective breeding, or purposeful genetic manipulation, the species had drifted too far to be of use. Much like when the Krell tried to merge with the motile-arboreal species found throughout the outer spiral arm, they could not manage the physiological constraints. It was as if the Therackians were designed specifically to resist the Krell. This led to many voices offering explanations about their own forgotten origin. A variety of theories were immediately surrounded by debate. It was during millennia of contemplation and introspection that the Krell encountered the next anomaly.

The dissident voices returned, though not by choice. All of the welcoming voices recognized the anomaly’s handiwork in the destruction of their largest outpost. Harvester, as the humans referred to it, was gone. After thousands of years waiting for the right moment, their progress was impeded just as the Krell thought their salvation was at hand. Some voices tried to see how many times they had come to this juncture. Unfortunately, the Krell could no longer see the endless realities unfolding. It would be an aeon before their strength returned. At least the dissidents had learned some valuable information. It was possible to integrate with biologicals by force.

Almost all voices sounded in agreement. This fool’s errand had cost too much already. Had the Krell possessed even half of their previous glory, they could have destroyed the spiral galaxy with a collective thought. Instead, they would conquer the expanse in hopes of understanding the great question. The Krell would move across the galaxy claiming what they needed by force. Perhaps then, they would solve the riddle of existence. In the end it would only cost a few sentient species in a galaxy too primitive to spread beyond its borders.

Again this isn't the final edit. Any feedback is welcomed.
***

Like most interspecies research vessels, the DeGrasse was officially known by a lengthy series of hexadecimal characters. Each of the twelve sponsoring civilizations translated the corresponding code to their own unique vernacular. Translation modules colonized throughout the brain took care of the rest. Seth often wondered if all cultures suffered from the same scientific nostalgia. Did they all name the ship after researchers of antiquity, or did they have some other societal norm? The Degrasse was one in a long line of research vessels with the same name. Miscellaneous ruminations such as this was one of the few past times during the lengthy trip. Even with the Continual Slip Stream generator pushing the ship along at ten lightyears an hour, the trip still took forty nine days to get this far out.

As with most interstellar research vessels, the DeGrasse was a series of geometric shapes surrounding a centralized hub and engine core. It was a large, and ugly, vessel. Each sponsoring civilization built its own modular habitat suited to their unique environmental needs. Though most of the twelve species cooperated at some level, a few were so inherently xenophobic that their only interaction was the exchange of raw data. The worst offenders never even set foot outside of their self-contained universe. This lack of cohesive teamwork manifested itself in a mismatch of shapes decorating the ship’s core. Balancing out the disproportional mass during spin required equal parts creativity and miraculous feats of engineering. Each attachment arm varied in length. Though mechanically sound, the Degrassse lacked symmetry. Seth was reminded of the mobile circling above his son’s magnetic crib.

Humans and Equestlians frequently worked closely together. Not only were Equestlians mankind’s first introduction to extraterrestrial life, but the species shared much of the same bio-chemistry. They could live side by side with little to no modifications needed for individuals or environment. Both species used simple cylinders housed towards the front of the research core. The location was prime real-estate for the scientific team. Being among the primary financial backers had its advantages. Of course their combined investment was always slightly surpassed by the ever present Oscians. The cylindrical shape allowed for independent rotation to create spin gravity if desired. It was not uncommon to experience interactions between the gravimetric plating and experimental data. Like all good science, independent observation was crucial. Besides, the ever industrious and suspicious humans preferred to plan for any eventuality.

Seth studied the orientation of the various, specie specific habitats with detached interest. Epithians had a cluster of three large spheres opposite and slightly back from the Terran/Equestlian enclave. Though they were among one of the more social alien species Seth dealt with, the Epithians sent only a few standard emissaries to the research core. Each sphere housed approximately seventy Epithians, but Seth could only recall interacting with about twenty different individuals. The aquatic Epithians lived in an environment primarily composed of H2O2, hydrogen peroxide. Their emissaries traveled in cohesive bubbles of liquid when roaming outside of their dormitory pods. A bioengineered organism was reared inside the liquid to generate a stable energy field and power the suspensor lift. Epithians were masters of molecular bonding technology. Equipment and tools could be freely passed through the surface membrane of the shimmering spheres with little to no residual transfer. Seth found the experience strangely disconcerting the first time he retrieved an instrument from inside an Epithian bubble. Logic dictated that the small device, and his hand for that matter, should be wet.

Changing visual filters, Seth focused on the Jorgians’ habitat. Supposedly, the mysterious species had been using the same ebony cube for a thousand cycles. Whenever a research vessel was decommissioned, the Jorgian team sent a simple message verifying that they expected to be part of the ship’s next incarnation. Conspiracy theories abounded as to where their financial backing came from. No one, not even the ubiquitous Oscians, had ever seen a Jorgian. Their only interactions were short text messages. Generally the information and data the Jorgians provided the research team did nothing more than reinforce what had already been extrapolated by others. Rarely had the species ever engaged in actual dialoguing. To Seth’s knowledge, the last official conversation was with the Oscians more than one hundred cycles ago. According to historical records it consisted of one hundred forty two sentences and ended with an unanswered question.

As the Degrasse began preparing to drop out of the Slip Stream, every scientific team began accessing their sensors. Raw data and sensor readings began streaming in through a nearby view screen. All habitats, except the Jorgians, were radiating EM emissions. Their large cube shaped extension appeared an iniquitous shade in all visual spectrums. According to every known scan, the Jorgians’ habitat was powered down with no life forms present. Seth knew he wasn’t the only member of the science team hoping that the enigmatic species would slip up and allow a glimpse of their secret. Scientists where the ultimate voyeurs after all. They spent lifetimes watching the universe unfold in the vain attempt to observe something which no one else had ever seen.

Philians were already broadcasting their readings on the ship’s general channel. As a species they seemed to lack the concept of personal boundaries or secrets. They freely exchanged information and openly communicated, but the airborne species rarely left their elongated habitat whenever any type of gravity was activated. The few Philians onboard preferred the wide open spaces of their habitat and ability to spread their iridescent wings. Seth’s first interaction with the species made him think of a technorganic butterfly with glittering nano-circuits imprinted on the wings. Philians were native to a small planet which consisted of an argon rich atmosphere and very low gravity. They felt crushed, and struggled to fly, in anything over a quarter standard gravity. Even with medical implants, their circulatory system struggled in what was considered acceptable gravity by most species. In one standard g their almost gaseous blood took on a thick, gelatinous consistency. Evolutionary biologists theorized that Philians diverged from one of the few known species native to deep space.

Seth’s momentary reverie was interrupted as the bright cobalt haze pierced the blackness of space. It was a resonance wave created as the Slip Stream’s terminus collapsed in their wake. Within a fraction of a second, the bluish hue changed shades. Imperceptible to the natural eye, Seth watched through his ocular implants as the ion drive activated casting off a slightly different bluish tint. Ambient energy pulses collided with the nebula based ion storms they were in the area to study. The grey composite hull seemed to irradiate a magenta hue as the nearby light interacted with the storms and was reflected off of the Yollarian’s crystalline habitat.

Stretching for light years in all directions, the ionic storms blew in from the edge of the galactic boundary. In children’s stories intergalactic space was a mythic realm were fantastical creatures of good and evil resided, often battling for the souls of sentients. In reality, intergalactic space was a harsh and somewhat monotonous place. It was a dead zone where molecular hydrogen would be accelerated to a high percentage of relativistic velocity. No known probe had lasted more than a third of a lightyear out.

Feeling the slight tug on his shoulder straps, Seth realized that all artificial gravity was cut. The DeGrasse was in a deceleration spiral. Within a few hours even the microgravity would make way to weightlessness. A melancholic despair gripped Seth despite the scientific readings streaming in. Accessing the ship’s internal comm system, he opened a channel to his Equestlian counterpart. “Larrelle, can you tell me why we’re out here? We’re about as far out as any vessel travels. Anything of interest is located near a Slip Gate. That’s why the gates exists.” Seth paused for an unconscious sigh and head shake. “Sorry, it’s just…I don’t know.” He closed his eyes and composed his thoughts. “My son just turned eight months old and I get called up for this mission. We lost most of our savings when IM stock plummeted a few cycles ago. I feel like we’ve been living fist in mouth since then. It’s kind of hard to turn down the fleet pay after that. I thought I could handle it, but there’s over a quarter solar cycle in travel time alone. You know the Oscians will want their money’s worth out of this flight. Forty nine days out and forty nine back. They’ll probably keep us here at least ninety-nine days. By time we get back, almost two thirds of a cycle will be gone.”

Larrelle’s canine like face appeared very sympathetic. Equestlian seemed like such a misnomer, but as with most human endeavors, the intergalactic translation was handled by the lowest bidder. “Trust me, I understand. A few cycles ago I left my mates to head out on a similar trip. One to the galactic center rather than the edge. I returned to find three new additions to my pack. Though no one will ever admit it to me, I swear the three young ones never quite bonded with me as they did with their other parents.” The androgynous species’ gender wasn’t a binary organization like humans. Equestlians required a minimum of four different genetic contributors for a viable offspring. Larrelle was from a pack of six adults. In the human sense, Larrelle was male. He had never given birth to any of the young. Though the navy made accommodations for such, the practice was often considered a career ender.

Larrelle’s face suddenly minimized within Seth’s augmented vision and was replaced by Razmudan’s. Though Oscian facial expressions were often hard to read, this one was quite obvious. The squat, four legged, two armed creatures were among the most powerful in the galactic community. Though accounting for less than one percent of Real Space citizenry, Oscians controlled a disproportional amount of wealth and power. Every industry had a few Oscians within their upper echelon. For the most part, Oscians preferred to be diversified rather than controlling one single enterprise. While every other species fought to be number one in any given endeavor, Oscians quietly claimed second place the galaxy over.

Seth knew how prejudicial it sounded, but he hated dealing with Oscians when they tried to make eye contact. Because their wide set eyes were located so far back on the side of their head, it was more like trying to make eye contact with a two dimensional profile. Besides, their rectangular pupils would be more at home on one of the dark fey creatures of intergalactic space.

“We’re here because the mission was paid for.” Tension spread through Razmudan’s goat-like snout. “We’re here following in the footsteps of…the Sagan.” The pause made Seth think that the Oscian had recited the entire string of one hundred sixty eight hexadecimal characters. “As the briefing file stated, these ion storms are not behaving in any predictable pattern. I’m sure you would care if some undetected quasar was sending enough radiation our way to sterilize the entire galaxy. Now if you two…” There was a series of nasally wheezing sounds as Razmudan used pejoratives not easily translated.

Seth was quietly taking the scolding when Larrelle spoke up. “Sir, I assume you remember that one of my ancillary duties onboard is that of morale officer. I was simply making sure Lt. Rire would not be distracted before…” Razmudan’s face instantly disappeared with a dismissive grunt. Seth knew the exchange was pyric victory. More than likely, the Oscian captain was still listening, watching, and even recording all shipboard communications. With a slight nod and smile, Seth thanked his Equestlian counterpart.

After the first few hours of scans and probes, the banality of the mission set in. At times deep space research had more in common with historical analysis than hard science. Anything worth studying had been observed, recorded, and poured over for thousands of solar cycles. The Merkann system had relics from civilizations no one even recognized and yet it drew little more than casual curiosity. Oscians alone had records of deep space phenomena spanning almost half a million cycles.

Floating near a holo-view screen in zero-g gave Seth a chance to stretch his proverbial legs. Medical implants did a good job of preventing fluid buildup in low gravity, but Seth’s legs wanted real movement. The initial readings were disappointing. A unique interplay of radiation and cosmic debris from the nebula wreaked havoc on the probes and sensors. Seth had spent the last hour reviewing logs and confirming what his colleagues suspected. As currently configured, the probes would remain useless. Whatever caused the signal disparity was creating false readings. Ion storm centers were observed jumping numerous AU’s in a fraction of a second. It seemed every team scanned for some type of wormhole to explain the anomalous data away. Except of course for the Jorgians, no one ever really knew what they were up to.

A Chiorexian face appeared in Seth’s vision. He only recalled interacting with the species three times during the entire trip. Seth had only met a Chiorexian in person once over his fourteen years of naval service. The elongated, blue skinned face spoke in a disjointed way. Similar to a terrestrial praying mantis, a Chiorexian’s mouth was located below the base of its head. “It is not a mistake. The ion storms are moving at superluminal speed.” Though a normally dispassionate race, the Chiorexian’s voice seemed embedded with fear.

Seth’s augmented vision became crowed with numerous faces and flashing icons. A frantic Epithian began exclaiming. “That’s not an ion storm.” Readings Seth didn’t fully understand were quickly filling his vision. Helpless, Seth watched in horror as a violet ion storm winked in and out of existence. Lightyears were being covered with every disappearance. From a great distance away, the scene would look like a simple, though large, ion storm covering hundreds of lightyears.

A strange alarm sounded on every available channel. It wasn’t fear that gripped Seth, but excitement. It was the same excitement that led him to become a scientist in the first place. There was a small voice deep inside which always looked for answers and explanations. He felt invigorated by the mystery being unveiled before his eyes. Seth divided his attention between trying to place the alarm and remaining fixated on a phenomenon which no one had ever recorded before.

Larrelle’s voice was loud and assertive. “Seth, for fate’s sake. Get strapped in. Emergency spin in less than thirty seconds.” The flashing alarm Seth had minimized in his vision suddenly made sense.

Quickly looking towards the nearest vacant flight couch, Seth kicked off from the nearby wall. He was less than three meters from his target when the bright blue light pieced the nearby viewing port. His ocular implants instantly dimmed to compensate from the brightness and save his vision. Emergency ion boosters located on every habitat began firing in their predetermined sequence to quickly spin up the Degrasse for standard space flight.

Searing pain accompanied the sickly snap of his tibia. Seth’s leg had landed on top of his water bottle. The small cylinder was designed to handle the high stress of acceleration. Its carbon reinforced composite held its shape. Unfortunately, Seth’s shin wasn’t intended to handle such high speed maneuvering even with his military grade implants and augmentations. Medical icons filled his vision verifying what he felt. A virtual image of a human skeletal hung in front of his eyes. A red image overlaid the broken bone. Seth’s concentration momentarily faltered as the medical implant sent morphine racing through his system. Acknowledging a red blinking priority message, he was assured a medical team would be assisting once the ship reached standard spin. Medites were racing through his blood stream to stem the worst of the damage. The microscopic machines would repair what they could and stabilize the site until the medical team could intervene.

Fighting unconsciousness stemming from the combination of pain and a narcotic induced stupor, Seth had his second biggest surprise of the day. A message came in from the Jorgian habitat. “Our mission has been accomplished.” Data which made no sense began streaming through his vision. Strange symbols not located in any known lexicon were dispersed throughout the raw data. At the same time, identical information was being broadcast through every known medium and on every known channel. Whatever the information was, the Jorgians wanted it to get out. Slip horizons were opening as Jorgian probes launched from their onyx cube.
Alex Alexander
Though he would never know it, Seth was grateful he passed out. Following the cryptic message, the black cube disengaged from the spinning Degrasse without warning. Had this been a normal spin-up procedure, the flight crew and the ship’s replicated intelligence could have compensated for the mass shift. During the emergency spin maneuver, the ship never had a chance. The large research vessel began to wobble and the support arms failed the moment it fell out of balance. Habitats broke loose and modules collided. Plumes of atmosphere jetted into space before igniting. Zero-g fires flashed into existence only to burn out a micro second later as the volatile gases were spent. The cube, however, defied the known laws of physics as it separated. There was no transfer of angular momentum as the cube simply distanced itself from the rotating catastrophe. Mathematically, it was as if the object was massless. This was exactly the type of puzzle Seth had always dreamed of unraveling.

Again not the final edit but I welcome any feedback.
***

Zamera spent the day walking the corridors of the Prometheus, subtlety eavesdropping on the crew and trying to gauge their readiness. She was grateful for the opportunity to leave the command deck. Day after day of tactical briefings and commissioning reports wore on her nerves and strained her lower back. At least the medical implant did an adequate job managing her migraines. Unfortunately, Zamera was heading to the Prometheus’ main cargo hold to deal with another personnel issue.

Despite his insistence of temperance, frustration had echoed in her First Officer’s voice. Zamera knew it could only mean one thing - Jarom was somehow involved. Prometheus was a reasonably sized ship. They were currently running with a crew of fifty eight. If necessary, the Prometheus could accommodate a little over one hundred crew members onboard. That number may be the upper limit of its design, but it was doable. Yet somehow, despite its size, the ship just wasn’t large enough to keep Farris and Jarom separated for very long.

Like most Equestlians, Farris considered himself more understanding than most of the other species he interacted with. Tolerance was an evolutionary advantage for the species, though this trait was often counterbalanced by a lack of humility. A species requiring four to eight individuals for mating couldn’t afford selfishness or egotism. Family packs commonly surpassed fifty offspring. Jarom, however, either relished testing Farris’ patience, or the priest was so mentally unstable that he simply didn’t notice his effect on people.

Walking down the final corridor before the main hold, Zamera paused. A soft white light radiated from the walls and illuminated the area with a perfect balance. There were no shadowy fringes along the floor or headache inducing glares on the ceiling. The slick sheen of the new decking and plating was immaculate. A subtle smile crossed Zamera’s lips as her fingertips traced a barely visible access port along the wall. Though she couldn’t quite place the feeling, the composite used in the walls simply felt new. Her entire life had been a menagerie of hand-me-down relics. From her power armor to her lost ship, Wolfe’sBane, everything was secondhand. Searching almost three decades of memories, Zamera could never recall being onboard a private ship this size. She certainly never imagined owning one. Of course, like most opportunities in life, all the wealth and power had come with a catch. This ship, their current mission, and her private army was all orchestrated by Delphi and predicated on the lies of her father. At some primal level the name Delphi even felt like a curse.

Despite the seemingly advantageous partnership, Zamera sometimes regretted following Delphi’s suggestions. The last enigmatic message was simple: find the priest and he’ll lead you to the prisoner. Without the prisoner you will never transcend the warrior.

Bringing the priest onboard had caused quite a bit of disruption. So far there was very little to show for Jarom’s passage. It was during these moments of uncertainty when Zamera reminded herself of a basic fact. Saying that Delphi was able to comprehend things on a much larger scale failed to capture the enormity of what was involved. Delphi was a multidimensional entity which somehow existed outside of the normal space-time continuum commonly referred to as true space. In simpler terms, Delphi was nothing more than a three dimensional shadow of a fifth, or more than likely higher, dimensional object. Though Delphi provided the plans for the Prometheus, including the advanced mathematics used in the ship’s mass manipulation engines, Zamera held no illusions about their partnership. Delphi had its own plans and designs, most of which presumably stretched on for thousands of years. Zamera was simply the most recent means to an end, and that end involved the Krell.

No one really knew who, or more precisely what, the Krell were. At one time the Krell were thought to be merely a subset of humans. As far as most Imperial citizens were concerned, the Krell were nothing more than an eclectic race of humans originating from an isolated sector of ImperiuM Space. In fact the vast majority of citizens in Real Space didn’t even believe the Krell existed. No one had actually seen a Krell since the infamous Day of Imperial Collapse. Indifference, it seemed, was a universal ideal regardless of the species. All indications were that the Krell had a singular focus on humans. This threat was overshadowed by the hundreds of millions of lives lost when the human empire fell into a state of disarray. During the past three years the unofficial numbers reached into the billions. Anyone who truly believed in the Krell threat had been recruited and was currently part of Zamera’s private army.

Zamera could feel a slight vibration as the frictionless actuator slid the composite door into its recess and granted access to the cargo bay. Farris stood with his arms tightly crossed. Tension was visible on the close cropped fur above his canine like brow. His eyes were locked onto a mostly cleared section of the bay. Farris’ left leg twitched as his foot rhythmically tapped on the diamond plated decking. A slight ripple ran along his snout as the black leathery nostrils flared. A twitch emanated from the white tip of his left ear each time he exhaled. Growing up around animals, Zamera found the similarities to a frustrated dog comical. Accessing her thought routines, she triggered the release of some neural inhibitors to hopefully stifle a smile.

Following his gaze across the hold, Zamera saw Ivan and Dexter standing a little less than one meter apart. Jarom frantically paced close by. He appeared to be talking to himself in a rather vibrant manner. Every few moments one of the Remnary brothers would lean over and strike out at the other. Each hit was accompanied by some guttural snarls which the translation modules failed to process. Even their playful banter appeared intimidating. Each of their four hands ended in six, long dexterous fingers. Like most soldier caste Remanry, they cut their pointer fingers and thumbs off at the third joint. This draconian practice allowed their large hands to better handle standard triggers and equipment. Outside of a mission the two Remnary acted like unruly human teenagers, but the brothers were two of the best soldiers Zamera had ever seen. As soon as boots hit the ground, they were a disciplined and tactically effective pair.

For any Remnary born into the soldier caste, life came down to survival of the fittest. Most xeno-anthropologists estimated survivability was about one in five at best. Soldier caste Remanry were always born as genetically identical quadruplets. This provided an evolutionary advantage for a species which still ate its young only a few millennia ago. Ivan and Dexter were unusual in that they bonded fairly early on. Teaming up, they eliminated all their hatch-mates within the first few years of life. From what Zamera gleamed from their records, this trend continued throughout their lives. The pair probably had more commendations and awards than the rest of their squad combined. They even survived a six year hardship tour with the Oscians.

Approaching Prometheus’ first officer, Zamera tried to make sense of the situation. “Farris, what in destiny’s name is going on here?” The seriousness in her voice were indicative of the neural inhibitors at work.

Zamera accessed an ancillary thought routine via her neural feed. An artificial impulse raced down the enhanced nerve fiber towards its target. Output from the synthetic nerve caused the bio-crystalline lattice inside Zamera’s pupil to activate. Instantly the molecular lattice reorganized and Zamera’s vision zoomed in on the scene. Multi-colored outlines were drawn on the decking. The Remnary brothers were each standing inside a red square which had been traced on the floor. A larger yellow rectangle was situated between the two brothers. Three blue circles were drawn within the yellow outline. Each marking was inscribed with some type of lettering. Triggering a different neural command, Zamera accessed the ship’s surveillance system. A small window hung in her augmented vision. It didn’t take long for Zamera to recognize the ancient Thelorain lettering. Of course she had no clue what it meant. The Thelorian language wasn’t recorded in any known database or codex. Almost all of the culture’s history was purged following the Thelorian uprising. With Jubal’s passing, Jarom was the last living relic of the forgotten offshoot from the human empire.

The Equestlian’s gaze remained fixed on the scene. Farris tilted his head in Zamera’s direction and spoke. “Now watch this. Jarom is going to smack one of them with his cane, or walking stick, or whatever that thing he carries around is. To be honest, this part is actually rather humorous.” Sure enough, Jarom walked up to Ivan and smacked the Remnary’s trapezoidal head. Farris shook his head in a disapproving manner as Ivan rubbed his molted brown forehead. All four of the Remnary’s eyes were drawn back into a tight squint. Ivan almost missed the cane Jarom tossed his way.

For the first time Zamera noticed the age and stress showing on her first officer’s face. Small grey hairs speckled the black and white fur around his snout. The last three years had been hard on him. Some people could easily argue that Zamera also continued grieving Jubal’s loss in her own way. Farris on the other hand had been in a perpetual state of mourning. Not only was Jubal a constant in Farris’ life for decades, but he was also one of the few non-Equestlians to ever be named True Friend. In the Equestlian culture, Friend was a sacred title. Zamera didn’t think humans had any analogue for the honor. The closest concept she could ever decipher was life debt. She still thought that the translation team must have had fun with that one, a dog’s best Friend.

Jarom continued talking to himself as he approached the ship’s captain and first officer. Every now and then, the priest would look up over his right shoulder and mumble incoherently. Zamera hated the way Jarom always seemed to know when a video feed was focused on him. She was watching him approach when the priest turned his head. Suddenly, Jarom made eye contact through the small surveillance window hovering in Zamera’s augmented vision. The effect was quite disorientating.

Zamera took a deep breath hoping to find a sense of composure. She could handle the extra set of arms Jarom had grafted to his spine. The way her life played out over the past few years, a four armed human was only slightly peculiar. Ultimately, every issue surrounding Jarom always came down to his level of insanity. For whatever reason Jarom’s mental instability seemed to be getting worse. Initially, Zamera thought the priest’s demeanor was nothing more than some type of misguided attention seeking behavior. Unfortunately, his eccentricity was far too consistent to be a fabrication. Quietly, Zamera often wondered if Jarom was this crazy when he stood in front of his congregation. It was hard to imagine him directing a galaxy spanning religious movement in his state of mind. She almost hoped Delphi would begin sending cryptic messages again.

“Dare I ask? You’re drawing on my floor, and smacking the Remanry brothers. You realize they bite, right?” She shook her head struggling to maintain a cool temper. “They can eat you.” Zamera was sure Ivan looked up and smiled at that comment. “Quite frankly, I’ll probably let them.” She smiled back at the brother. “It would solve a lot of my problems.” Zamera was utterly dumbfounded trying to make sense of the situation.

Spreading his two natural arms in a submissive pose, Jarom gave a slight bow. His two synthetic arms slowly wrapped around his torso. Steepling his two artificial hands in front of his chest, Jarom spoke. “This is what we need to entrust delivery of the prisoner. I asked you to have a little faith. I am a priest after all. Why would I lie?” His placated look of bemusement was short lived. “I’m going to need some equipment sent to this spot. Well over there actually. It’s marked on the floor and needs to be exact.”

Annoyance saturated Zamera’s tone. “I told you repeatedly. We’re paying to have this person, this prisoner, released. In fact we’re paying everyone involved about two years…sorry, cycles worth of their salary.” Zamera hated how everybody reminded her that 'year' was indicative of a lowbrow dialect and poor upbringing.

Hesitating, Zamera accessed her neural feed. Various interpersonal routines and basic problem solving techniques were quickly downloaded into her frontal cluster. Semi-organic processors seamlessly integrated the knowledge into her higher cognitive functions. She held out hope that there’d be some insight into dealing with Jarom diplomatically. As expected, there was little assistance on dealing with his insanity. A few suggestions for phrases to use hung in her augmented vision. Ignoring all of them, Zamera rolled her eyes and spoke. “Look, we can’t take weapons, or Remnary for that matter, inside the prison. The rules are very specific regardless of how many credits we’re spending. Besides, we’re basically paying people so they’ll allow us to break somebody out of prison. We don’t exactly come off as the most trustworthy crew.”

Using his calm, pastoral voice, Jarom spoke. “Well then, just humor me. How about I make a deal with you?” The priest paused and raised his right eyebrow. “If things go swimmingly, and we don’t use any of the equipment set to be moved here, then I will gladly go on my way. Promise.” One of his artificial hands uncoiled and crossed his heart. “You can either drop me off on the next Confederate planet or just give me one of your fancy new shuttles. You can even send me a bill if you want. I’m positive I can find one of my flock to help me on my way.” His smile was disconcerting and his eyes had taken on the steely look of the soldier he had been a lifetime ago. Behind the violet hue of the information streaming through his optical implants Zamera could see confidence replace the insanity.

Heading back to the bridge, Zamera hoped the rest of her day would unfold reasonably well. She had originally intended to check up on Mussaed and his tactical team, but decided not to. The last thing she wanted was any further surprises. The large Therrackian was more than competent enough to work independently and loyal enough not to cause any mishaps. He was busy putting the security and tac teams through more drills. Their trips through the often hostile, unincorporated region known as Fractured Space had been relatively easy for the well-equipped squads. Mussaed had insisted on helping various locals to give his team real world experience working together.

For Zamera, the jaunts through Fractured Space were reminiscent of her childhood spent amidst border disputes and civil wars. Her adoptive uncle had raised her on the fringe of ImperiuM Space in the rugged Outer Territories. Small conflicts were common in the OT’s. Criminal elements flourished in the region as they hid out and exploited anyone they could. When other girls her age were dressing dolls Zamera was learning to field strip a carbine. She was already a commissioned officer in a local militia by time she turned eighteen imperial standard. After being abandoned by her father at eight years old, her life had had become predictable chaos. At least it was until she met Jubal.

Zamera was lost in thought as she rode alone in the secured lift heading to the bridge. Jarom may be creating a stockpile of weapons and equipment for some unknown plan, but this mission should go off without a hitch. She had authorized a hefty price for the prisoner. Interestingly enough, it was an Imperial deserter. Technically she was still in charge of the human empire, Imperial Space. Of course the name was a misnomer. ImperiuM, Imperial Manufacturing, was just an extremely large corporate slave state. Though IM, as Imperial Manufacturing was now known, had lost quite a bit of political and economic power since Zamera had taken over, it was still one of the single largest industrial entities in existence. Zamera, or her double, Sam, could have pardoned this mysterious imperial deserter. Unfortunately, that course of action risked drawing too much unwanted attention. At least the money was negligible in the whole scheme of things. Thanks to the black funds diverted from one of IM’s research divisions and Delphi’s seemingly unlimited resources, finances were the least of their problems.

Thanks to the sophisticated systems employed onboard the Prometheus, there was no sensation of movement in the lift. The silent actuators slid the lift’s door open. A sudden glare from the numerous screens and holos caught Zamera off guard and interrupted her musings. Before she could take a full step off the lift, Yeoman Parker’s invaded Zamera’s personal space. The diminutive blonde was always a little too cheerful for Zamera’s taste. She tried to mirror the young woman’s enthusiasm, but as always, Zamera fell short. Parker had a series of maintenance requests and performance logs for review. Nothing consequential but the Yeoman was nothing if not a fastidious clerk. With Farris spending more and more time dealing with Jarom, Zamera found herself bogged down in the bureaucracy of running a starship. With nothing more than a cursory glance, Zamera signed off on everything.

“Wait, Captain.” The Yeoman spoke up as Zamera tried to step away. “We received an encrypted data packet from the Hydro science team.”

Zamera felt speechless. “Does it have anything to do with the current mission? You know the one that’s happening right now. In less than two hours we’re going to be sending crew off this ship and possibly into a hostile area unarmed. So by all means let’s see what the science team on the other side of the galaxy wants to tell us. Please continue.”

Parker’s smile never faltered and her eyes kept their enthusiastic luster. “I’ll just hold on to this for later then. Let me know if you need anything Captain.” She vibrantly turned and headed back towards her work station.

Zamera quietly thought, I need to have a serious talk with Sam when we need a replacement Parker.

With an unconscious gesture, Zamera began to slowly massage her left temple. She wasn’t even aware of the act until her fingertips brushed her eyebrows. In a relatively short time Zamera went from being a lone courier operating within the now defunct ImperiuM to raising her own private army in Real Space. After spending her life believing that humans were the lone sentient species in the galaxy, a contract went horribly wrong. Zamera ended up in Real Space, the actual galactic society, after being saved by fellow courier, Jubal.

Zamera still shook her head in amazement at the thought. ImperiuM space, the galaxy as she knew it was nothing more than a confined slave state for Imperial Manufacturing. Tens of billions of human citizens were unknowingly born into bondage. At the heart of this tragic charade was Zamera’s estranged father and the elusive species known as Krell. Whatever the Krell were planning was stopped, or at least delayed. Billions of humans spread through the galaxy were liberated at the cost of Jubal’s life. The whole scene was a bitter sweet victory which haunted many of her dreams. Most nights she awoke with a scream trying to stop the Icarus’ last flight.

A small pulse in her left wrist broke her reverie. Once memories of Jubal took hold, they were often hard to escape. The ethereal voice of her medical implant interacted directly with the translation modules colonized in her inner ear. Turning her wrist over, she accessed her bio-comp. The integrated computer was the perfect synthesis of biology and technology. Special types of nerve clusters were engineered to integrate with the natural biology and the implanted hardware. Small holograms hung in the air above her wrist. A few slight movements from her fingers scrolled through the display. This was an inopportune time to run out medication. Besides inheriting Imperial Manufacturing from her father, he also left her with a gift which kept on giving. For most of her life, Zamera was haunted by migraines and recurring tension headaches. She was standing on a ship capable of manipulating mass by interacting in the subatomic realm of the Higgs field, yet no one had ever designed a retrovirus to rewrite the kinase I delta gene. Accessing the holo-interface she called for a runner to head to the medical bay. On her old ship, Wolfe’sBane, Zamera kept the small analgesic strips inconspicuously hidden around most areas. Since receiving her medical implant, the small strips were a thing of the past. At least they were until the inaugural mission of the Prometheus.

Dealing with the inherent drama between Farris and Jarom was wearing heavy on her as she took command of a ship crewed by about sixty people. Prior to this, Zamera was practically a loner. It had been over a decade since she led a team and she had never been in charge of more than twelve people at one time. Currently her time seemed occupied by the small issues which constantly arose. Farris assured her that once the crew settled in and developed a routine, things would ease up.

Though she could contact the ship’s pilot, CK, from her command station in the CIC, Zamera preferred the short walk to the pilot’s niche. Prometheus was currently running a Continual Slip Stream so the view was rather bland. Faster the light travel sounded much more glamorous than reality proved. While running a CSS, the ship was trapped in perpetual blackness. Outside the ship was visual wasteland. Due to the nature of Slip Stream travel light couldn’t penetrate the photonic dead-zone. Every now and then a spark of blue radiated as neutrino emissions crossed their path in true space. A ruby hue was indicative of ionic discharges from certain quantum anomalies. These occurrences lasted less than a second back in true space, but their photonic shadows crossed the barrier into the Slip Stream.

CK was comfortably strapped into her flight couch and synched with the ship’s replicated intelligence. Four obsidian-like eyes looked back and fixated on Zamera. It was virtually impossible read the facial expression of the small, bleach white pilot. CK’s face lacked a mouth and the glass-like eyes did not contain traditional pupils. Zamera found it impossible to learn CK’s native language even with special translation routines running through her neural-chip and ocular implants. PB’s, Pequeno Blancos, utilized ultraviolet communication by manipulating their skin pigmentation. The process involved precise and total control of their subcutaneous vascular system. It was an evolutionary marvel, unfortunately this unique method of communication meant PB’s did not possess language in the traditional sense.

The small white species communicated using concepts. Luckily they were one the more intellectually advanced species in the galaxy. They were able to learn most languages with ease. The vast majority of PB’s didn’t even bother with translation modules. Zamera and CK had long ago compromised on text communication. Recently, Zamera updated the translation routine to convert CK’s text into an audio steam. It was simple enough to run it through the translation modules colonized in her larynx and inner ear. Although on more than one occasion she forgot that no one else could hear what was being said. Growing up interacting exclusively with humans left Zamera expecting mirrored, two-way communication.

“Is there anything to report?” Zamera didn’t need to wait long for the translation routine to convert the text to an audio stream. PB’s experienced life at a faster rate than most biologicals in the galaxy. Outside of her pilot’s niche, the small white creature frequently wore a restraining harness. It was a rather barbaric looking device designed to slow her movements by about forty percent. This natural speed was accompanied by a wide visual spectrum and meant her species made excellent pilots. They could see and react to deep space phenomenon faster than any other species. Further away from stars, space had an absence of visual light. CK was able to see in spectrums that most species used sophisticated sensors for. As an added benefit, their amygdala analogue was highly developed by human standards. PB’s rarely reacted to fear or anxiety. There was even debate as to whether or not they experienced the same range of emotions that most species possessed.

“Nothing yet, how far from the colony should we drop out?” CK’s virtual voice was slightly high pitched. Zamera sometimes found it hard to take the voice completely serious, but with CK hovering right around one hundred centimeters in height, nothing else seemed to fit. In the back of her mind, Zamera could hear Jubal lecturing her about species bias again.

“Let’s drop about two and a half million kilometers and try out the MME.” Zamera wanted to run the new tech as much as possible. It was an unheard of technology generously provided by Delphi. In essence, the Mass Manipulation Engine interacted with the Higgs field. Like the name implied, this quantum level interaction allowed the ship to manipulate the mass of an object.

After another quarter hour of travel, they reached their destination. A ship-wide alert went out to prepare for MME activation just prior to the transition to true space. A slight, momentary tingling sensation spread across Zamera’s entire body like a wave as the MME’s kicked in. With a fifty percent lower mass, the transition out of the Slip Stream and back to true space was almost unnoticeable. Using distant stars as a visual reference, Zamera could tell CK was taking the Prometheus through a handful of S curves as they travelled. If it wasn’t for the visual cues, Zamera would have never known. Though the soothing background noise standard on all ships was ever present, there was only a slight vibration to indicate movement. As they got closer to the prison colony, Zamera ordered the MME’s deactivated. She didn’t want to risk publicizing, or explaining, their new technology.

CK casually asked Zamera if they should park the ship in the designated zone or at the coordinates Jarom provided. In order to avoid the lengthy argument which was sure to follow, Zamera instructed CK to use Jarom’s coordinates. With a deep sigh she headed back to the command station in the CIC. A small ping in her left wrist was accompanied by a message in her augmented vision. Thankfully, the runner had arrived with her medication - Zamera’s headache was steadily increasing.
*****

Gadyantone was situated in a large asteroid field encircling the system’s primary planets. The colony’s position was fairly consistent within the asteroid belt. In space, nothing really stood still. Objects simply maintained a stable orbit relative to each other. Originally, Gadyantone was intended to house miners who set out hoping to exploit the resources of a newly charted star system. Unfortunately, the Telezai mining consortium acted a little prematurely. Unlike most planets in the local cluster, nothing of significant value was located near the corresponding star. Only the most basic and universally abundant elements were present. In an effort to recoup some of the credits invested, the rights were leased to a private organization. With some minor modifications and support from numerous sponsoring civilizations, a prison colony was put into place. Over the last few hundred cycles the complex had grown to the upper most limits of its potential. With a premium placed on space, the initial investment had been repaid many times over. Without anything of value or use nearby, the colony rarely had to worry about uninvited guests. It would be cheaper to buy someone’s way out of the prison rather spend the resources to attempt an escape this far out.

Responding to Prometheus’ signal, a series of pulse beacons sprang to life. Each of the small satellites began creating an electromagnetic field. Increasing energy output caused the amorphous bodies of rock to slowly move out of the way. The free floating bodies were held at bay by simple kinetic shielding. In the end, Prometheus was provided with a very specific course through the asteroid field. It was also a convenient way to trap any ships within the asteroid field.

Gadyantone was nothing special, and if it wasn’t for the beacons, the colony would have been almost impossible to find. The naturally occurring minerals in the asteroid field acted as amplifiers and extend the protective magnetic field. This cheap alternative not only buffered the cosmic radiation but also blocked any unwanted scans. Standard EM reading provided little information. The outer crust of the asteroid blocked most signals from prying eyes. Luckily, the Prometheus was equipped with more than just standard EM sensors.

At the end of the specified path was an entrance hanger. Long ago, the bay had been sloppily carved into a rather large and unassuming asteroid. Though too small for the Prometheus, one of the shuttles would have no difficulties landing. Prometheus headed towards the coordinates Jarom had provided. Concealed in the ship’s sensor wake was its counterpart, the Epimetheus. The small scout ship was virtually undetectable as it scanned the prison colony and attempted to infiltrate their electronic security. A subtle war began in the ethereal realm of Replicated Intelligences.

Soon the mission would be over and hopefully the Jarom problem would be solved, or so Farris hoped. Though he considered himself rather tolerant, Jarom was far from anyone’s sense of normalcy. In the past, the Equestlian only dealt with the priest on a limited basis. Usually Jubal acted as an intermediary and kept the peace. It wasn’t even that they had extremely different philosophical ideals. In fact, many of their concepts overlapped. More often than not, the only difference was that of semantics. Farris often thought that had Jarom been sane, they would have had great discussions and amicable debates. Farris’ culture even contained a similar mythology of God’s avatar living amongst the people. In both accounts, They not only taught those who would listen, but ultimately died for them as well. At the heart of their interpersonal conflict was Jarom’s personality and mannerisms. In short, it all came down to his insanity.

Though neither of them would ever admit it, Farris suspected that they unconsciously gravitated towards each out of remembrance of Jubal. Farris’ stoic lost Friend was common ground. It had been almost three cycles since Jubal was lost. Dealing with the loss had gotten easier, but Farris still missed his Friend. It seemed that reminders were everywhere he looked. Matters weren’t helped any by the way he had distanced himself from his pack. He rarely talked to them anymore and hadn’t been home in almost half a cycle. He had always been the introvert of the pack and his Friendship with Carpenter exasperated matters. Farris still remembered how his mates had howled when he had made the decision to name Carpenter a Friend, but after what the two of them went through, the honor was well deserved.

Farris didn’t need the implant’s medical monitoring routine to inform his that his anxiety was rising. He felt vulnerable despite being in top of the line military grade armor and having access to newly integrated combat augmentations. It seemed almost counterintuitive to be outfitted for fight while remaining unarmed. Theoretically, the combat routines which were recently wired into his neural interface would make him a formidable fighter. Unfortunately, besides some training, Farris hadn’t had the opportunity to test the system out. Despite his apprehension about the unexpected, Zamera asked him to follow Jarom’s lead. Though a request coming from the ship’s captain always felt more like an order. Hopefully when this was over, they could simply kick Jarom loose.

A few thousand kilometers away, the Prometheus hung in a stationary orbit around the colony. While the rest of the tactical team remained on alert in one of the shuttles, the Remnary brothers stayed within the ship’s main cargo hold. Ivan and Dexter followed Jarom’s orders and vigilantly stood guard over the specified hardware and equipment in the bay. The priest had even insisted on including Farris’ personal weapons, which the Equestlian begrudgingly handed over. Both of the Remnary brothers were outfitted in their battle armor and were rather heavily armed. They stood frozen in an intimidating pose. Whatever pep-talk Jarom had given the pair locked them into mission readiness.

Farris found Jarom’s demeanor a little too exuberant on the final approach towards the facility’s landing bay. They were about to head into a prison colony, not exactly the most pro-social of environments. Luckily the ride over was mostly quiet. Jarom said only a few words, though he did mumble and nod to his imaginary friend quite a bit. Farris was relieved that they docked without incident or argument.

Entrance was about what Farris expected. The landing bay was a combination of prefab components and natural structures. Quite a few areas showed evidence of subpar repairs. Globs of emergency vacuum foam were scattered in various places. A long line of the substance clearly outlined the juncture of a composite wall and a natural outcropping. Farris sardonically thought that the Jarom problem would be solved if the bay lost environmental containment. After all, Jarom insisted on wearing his normal threadbare robe. As far as Farris could tell, the priest hadn’t even worn a vacuum rated base-layer.

There were sensors built into the supports all around the landing bay. The fairly standard recording systems were busy scanning their faces and looking for errant EM emissions. Farris paused and looked directly into a nearby sensor node. He was sure their faces were being run through every known database. Of course the real reason he looked into the feed was far more nefarious. Accessing his combat interface, Farris used a series of extremely high frequency light-waves to upload an intrusion package into the sensor system. Within seconds his augmented vision was filled with the facility’s schematics. A green, blue, and yellow path appeared in his augmented vision highlighting possible routes should they decide to take a more direct approach. A few meters in front was a brightly outlined maintenance hatch he would have surely missed if not for the combat enrichments.

Taking a subtle, but deep breath, Farris almost hesitated. Running through the options in his neural interface, Farris found the command he was looking for. A low level energy field began to pulse from the bio-comp located in his left forearm. Instantly, highlighted silhouettes began appearing behind the shielded walls of a nearby corridor. Farris had a three hundred sixty degree augmented view which extended about ten meters in every direction. Most outlines appeared to be individuals casually working at desks or performing some other mundane task. However, the combat system identified three potentially lethal hostiles up ahead. They glowed a bright crimson as Farris’ vision provided a readout of their equipment and weapons. According to the information streaming through his vision, Farris’ armor should withstand about half a dozen direct hits before it became compromised. So far no one seemed to detect the combat enrichments interwoven through the Equestlian’s body. Though the implants were from one of IM’s off the books contracts, there was no way of knowing who had records of them.

Farris and Jarom casually strolled down the corridor as they were escorted to a plain looking composite hall. Opaque silica lined each side. Thanks to the synchronization between his combat enhancements and ocular implants, a scanning team composed of three warders was visible through the frosted glass. They were all outlined in a deep ruby hue. All three had the standard array of basic implants. Nothing top of the line and certainly no enrichments.

Deep inside the technological sally port Farris and Jarom were scanned, searched, and scanned again. Farris was eyed suspiciously by the security personnel and given extra attention due to the combat armor he wore. Jarom’s simple robe was quickly dismissed. Farris smiled to himself knowing that this was all a show. His low level scan had revealed that the main security measures were located just outside the landing bay. There was enough firepower there to destroy the shuttle if they chose to.

All of their footsteps echoed inconsistently as the small group proceeded down the corridor. Misaligned sound was one of the first indications that the gravimetric decking was failing. Farris was quietly distracted as he wondered if the gravity generator was in need of repair or replacement. He suspected that his thoughts were nudged in that direction by the combat enrichments interacting with his neural interface. Rarely did he mentally rehearse fighting styles for zero-g or microgravity.

A dark, seemingly random design of shapes and lines littered the composite flooring. It was clearly human designed and produced. IM manufactured items to be used in a wide range of settings. Flooring used by stock humans was frequently decorated in such a way to hide stains and damage. With optical filters and the varying visual spectrums common throughout the galaxy, little could be hidden from view. Farris found it almost comical how primitive human logic could be – out of sight, out of mind. Perhaps his lost Friend was right and the human species wasn’t ready to be part of Real Space.

Walking down the brightly lit composite hallways, Farris noticed view screens which showed numerous locations throughout the colony. There were well over one hundred thousand people housed in what amounted to ten different prison complexes. Four of the complexes were located a few thousand kilometers deeper in the asteroid field. Two of these distant structures were for the non-carbon based life. He wasn’t sure which would be more lethal, the gravity or the atmosphere. Slowing his pace to further examine the view screens made certain facts abundantly clear. From what he could see, most of the maintenance funding was used to keep up the administration section. Virtually every correctional block looked run down and in drastic need of repair. Cracks along a structure exposed to the vacuum of space never ended well. Vacuum foam was intended to be an intermediate fix, not a permanent solution. Shaking his head in disgust, Farris wondered how well the administrators managed the atmospheric requirements for the various species. He observed an Equestlian housed with a Rogerian. Without some expensive biological modifications, neither could live indefinitely in the other’s environment. It would be an extremely slow death dragged out over a decade for one of them.

Awards and decorations adorned the walls ahead. Every plaque congratulated the warden, and sometimes even his staff, on keeping various sectors of Real Space safe. Farris had an issue with a criminal justice system which incentivized incarceration. He understood, and supported, the need to make a profit. After all, the confederation council’s sole purpose was to ensure the economic structure proffered throughout the galaxy. He even agreed that some individuals needed to be locked up indefinitely for public safety. Unfortunately it had become far too common, and easy, for localities to use the criminal justice system to penalize poverty. Too many sectors manipulated their legal system to address social issues. It was easier to avoid helping the impoverished if they were convicted criminals. Some of the more litigious systems still criminalized mentally ill individuals who did nothing more than self-medicate in socially unacceptable ways.

Jarom’s silence didn’t last very long. Farris listened as the priest began to incessantly drone on. Despite trying to focus on the low level field scan he was busy running, Farris couldn’t help but hear Jarom. The priest was busy conversing with one of the human warders assigned to escort them to their destination. Apparently, the warder was a member of the priest’s congregation. Pausing outside their destination, Jarom looked as if he was privy to a secret. Barely contained excitement trembled across his brow as the warder punched in the door’s code on the small keypad.

In the center of the small room was their prisoner. Farris was instantly enraged by the man’s condition. Scraggly, matted hair couldn’t quite cover up the vacuum scars on his face. A restriction mask was covering the prisoner’s eyes and extended down to his mouth creating a ‘T’ shape. Even through the mask it was clear the man’s left eye had ruptured. The prisoners face was covered in bruises and was swollen in numerous places. A deep purple welt surrounded the area near his missing eye.

Equestlians believed in the sanctity of all life. Farris had no moral qualms about killing when the need arose. However, abusing the helpless crossed quite a few lines. This man barely seemed conscious. Farris was busy, vocally expressing his frustration when the Fluvian Warden stepped in. The thin limbed motile plant-like creature was busy defending his prison when Jarom interrupted. Farris stood dumfounded at the priest’s audacity. Even the warden paused at the interruption.

“Do you want to see a magic trick? It’s quite a good one. Let’s see if he remembers.” Jarom began moving his arms in the overly dramatic fashion that Farris had come to despise. Every time Jarom did it, Farris was reminded of Jubal’s disdain for theatrics. Jarom moved right up to the prisoner’s ear and whispered. “Jubal”
Alex Alexander