by Z H Brown
“How long would it take us to reach the port on foot?” asked Slog. “Approximately five and a half local hours,” responded Tread.
The others groaned at the answer. Ansaria sympathized; a march like that through the desert followed by an undercover infiltration of the spaceport was a tall task to ask of even the legendary Imperial Royal Guards. Additionally, the longer they stayed on Oasis, the greater their chances of being found, and potentially tipping off the saboteur to their exact location.
“No good. We need to get there and off this planet ASAP.”
“I have a suggestion, sergeant,” interjected Tread. “We procure a vehicle.” “Negative. I don’t want us going anywhere near town.” “We will not need to, sergeant,” replied Tread.
He keyed his own TIG and a series of dots appeared on the map.
“These are facilities stationed in the desert. Storage areas, work sites, test grounds; all located in the desert with the staff and owners living in town. I propose we… accommodate transportation from one of these locations. The nearest one-,” he pointed at a dot not far from where the base was marked on the map, “is a scientific study area. Very small operation. I am fairly confident it will have adequate transportation.”
Ansaria turned the proposal over in her mind.
“Well then, unless anyone has a better suggestion, let’s go steal a ride. How far is it?”
“Approximately twenty minutes.”
“Then lets double time it, troops! Move out!”
The march through the desert had been uncomfortable, but doable. Alvara and Tread set the pace; the half-reptilian Gorgonian energized by the hot desert sun while the mechanical soldier marched without regard for the temperature. By the time they reached the research lab, the remaining members were pouring rivers of sweat.
The squad perched atop a nearby dune, their uniforms set to camo and Tread covered by a camouflage tarp to observe the facility. A single hovercraft sat outside a small, circular building located next to a two-story silo. Both buildings were bone-white with thick, black windows that were impossible to see through.
“Well, it’s our lucky day. A nice four-seater, perfect for the lot of us. Tread, you’re gonna have to hold M’s tail in your lap, unless she prefers to dangle it over the side of the craft as we go.”
“I think I can manage my own seating arrangements, Sarge,” said Alvara, not taking her trained eyes off the building.
Critter chimed in.
“Yes, Critter, I know there are five of us, but that’s not really an issue when one of the passengers could double as a hood ornament.”
“How do you want to play this, Sarge?” asked Alvara.
“I want us to stay as unnoticed as possible. Until our mission is complete, we have to go off the grid.”
“I’ve got an idea, Sarge,” said Slog. Ansaria raised an eyebrow. “Alright, Slog, I’ll bite. What is it?”
The squad had repositioned themselves on a dune directly in front of the parked hovercraft and Tread was once more equipped with his remote-controlled rocket.
“Remember,” said Ansaria, “We need to scare them; not endanger them.”
“I assure you, sergeant, my aim is impeccable,” Tread reassured her.
“It better be. Alright everyone, get ready to run like your worst fear was behind you.” Critter chattered from Slog’s shoulder.
“Then get into the spirit of it and picture some birds are after you, it’s not like Slog’s doing all the running anyway,” said Ansaria. “On my mark, Tread. Three…two…one…”
With an almighty boom the rocket impacted the sand just meters from the back wall of the lab. The building appeared to shake in the explosion, and Ansaria could only imagine what was going through the minds of the occupants inside: meteor crash? Sudden storm? Could their experiments possibly create such an effect?
The black glass doors slid apart and four beings rushed out. Two were taller than Ansaria, but incredibly thin. One was a meter tall crustacean, with two massive claws and a pair of small pincers beneath them. The last was a squat, four-legged being who slung each set of legs forward as it walked. All of them were wearing fully body suits, the white color and black face plate matching the building from which they emerged. A moment later, a small orb emerged and hovered after them, probably a lab assistant bot.
As soon as the group passed around the corner, Ansaria jabbed her hand out and the squad rose as one from the sand and raced to the vehicle. Slog and Ansaria slid into the front seat while Tread and Alvara piled into the rear. Slog slammed the mini-drive containing a hot-wire command that Tread had written on his TIG, and the vehicle hummed to life. Slog swiftly changed gears, slammed his boot on the pedal and the craft took off like a shot, rocketing up a dune, then out into the open desert and out of sight. As they raced away, the squad congratulated each other on a successful op.
None of them had noticed the second lab assistant bot that had observed them through the whole thing.
By the time they reached the spaceport, night had fallen. While the sky was moonless for the next few evenings, the squad needed no artificial lighting; the space port was an illuminated beacon, marking the outpost to observers approaching the planet from the night side.
The spaceport was the largest structure in the town of Oasis, though it was laughably small compared to other facilities Ansaria had seen. A lone control tower loomed over the sprawling complex that processed all the incoming and outgoing people, cargo and vessels. Six hangars sat in rows adjacent to the building, all of their doors closed up.
Currently, there were only three ships in the port; the largest was a dull brown vessel shaped like a brick with a triangular cockpit. Golden letters on the side marked it as the Twin Suns Mechanical and Robotics Trade. Another was a sleek, oval-shaped craft the color of mercury that bobbed as it hovered. According to Alvara (who stayed up to date on all the goings on in the outpost), that craft belonged to an executive from Voyanor Industries who was visiting the planet to scout for a potential factory spot.
The last ship was the one that had the squad’s attention. A thin, blade shaped ship with two pairs of backward sweeping wings, it looked big enough to fit half a dozen passengers.
“It belongs to General Mognor Rul from Tramator. His youngest daughter lives here and she just had her first child. The general took a personal shuttle to visit his new grandchild,” Alvara informed the squad.
“Beautiful,” said Ansaria. “Tread, you sure you can get us in?”
“It is highly unlikely that this ship’s security will cause a problem for me, sergeant,” responded Tread, a touch of irritation in his voice.
“Good. Slog, you sure you can fly her?”
“’'Vara, how many arms and legs does the general have?” asked the Crag, looking at his half-serpent squad mate.
“Two each.”
“Then we’re good, Sarge.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Come on, troops: we do this, and we’re half way towards saving the Empire.”
“Think they’ll promote you to major, colonel, or just jump ya straight to general?” asked Slog.
“Yeah, Sarge, after all, you’ll have the ride for one,” added Alvara with a half grin. Ansaria laughed.
“I think we’ll have to return the ship once we’re done with it, M. Alright Slog, gun it!”
Slog once more slammed on the accelerator and the craft raced down the dune where they had been parked and headed toward the port. Before the could slam into the static field ringing the perimeter, Slog slammed on the brake, swinging the craft around and bringing it to a stop lengthwise just a hair away from the fence.
Summoning her telekinesis, Ansaria lifted Slog (and with him, Critter) and Tread over the fence. Those two were needed in the cockpit, and just in case they had to bolt and leave the rest of them behind, Ansaria had given Tread the drive for the time being. With the first two safely on the ground, Ansaria lifted herself and Alvara over the fence.
The e
ffort left Ansaria drained, but otherwise fine. The group crouched low and made their way toward the craft. Since no alarms sounded, Ansaria figured that they were so far undetected, she just hoped they stayed that way. It seemed like an eternity before they reached the cover of the craft, but they finally did and Tread went to work. Once again, time seemed to stretch out unbearably for Ansaria, as every moment she expected to suddenly hear the deafening wail of alarms or the cry of voices as a worker or guard stumbled across them. However, Tread accomplished his task without incident, and the squad quickly boarded the craft.
The rear of the ship was composed of five compartments, all of them with their doors closed. A single door indicated the location of the cockpit, and in a moment, that door was open. The room was surprisingly large, with a pair of seats at the front for the pilot and copilot, another pair on opposite sides of the cockpit door, and a single, wide chair in the middle of the floor. While Tread and Slog took their positions, Ansaria sat in the chair. It wasn’t quite built for her (the back was too low and the seat and arm rests too wide), but otherwise it was acceptable.
“This general knows how to travel,” she said to herself. “I may just have to keep this ship after all.”
After a few moments of work, Tread and Slog had the ship activated and powering up. The instant it did, however, the comm. device in the ship activated.
“Attention! Unauthorized departure is a violation of Imperial law! Deactivate your craft and submit yourselves to spaceport authority officials!”
“Looks like they finally noticed us!” cried Ansaria. “Slog! Departure time?” “Just a few more minutes, Sarge,” said Slog, who worked the controls as Tread instructed him.
“Attention! Failure to comply with departure standards is a felony offense! Colonial Outpost Civil Authority has been contacted! Deactivate the craft and submit to spaceport authority officials!”
Ansaria could see from the viewport a dozen figures headed their way. Most were on foot, but some were speeding ahead in hovercarts. They would be surrounded soon, and she didn’t know if her squad could stop them from preventing their departure without potentially maiming or killing somebody.
“Slog….we need to leave. Now.”
“Attention! Final warning! Failure to deactivate your craft and submit to spaceport authority officials will be taken as an action of hostile intent against Imperial lives and property! Lethal force is authorized!”
“Slog!”
As soon as she spoke, the engines kicked to life. The antigravity units that lifted the ship created a wind storm that buffeted the spaceport authority officials, even knocking
those closest to the ground. The ship rose rapidly in the air, Slog now maneuvering the nose of the craft skyward.
As they gained speed and prepared to quickly depart from the planet, Ansaria caught a glimpse of the complex below. From a hidden compartment below the roof rose a large cannon; an anti-aircraft gun.
“Slog, punch it!”
The pilot gladly complied, the ship shot upward, racing towards the stars that filled the sky before them.
Just as Ansaria felt like she could breath again, the ship was rocked by a cannon blast. The ship wobbled, but quickly straightened out and accelerated even more. Two more energy blasts flew past them before they broke the atmosphere and escaped the cannon’s range.
All at once the squad breathed a loud sigh of relief before briefly giving a cheer. They’d managed to destroy a killer robot, steal a shuttle, and escape the planet, all without anyone dying; not bad for bunch of rookies who’d done nothing but get sunburned for the last sixteen months.
“Great job, all of you. I don’t care if I have to iron the Emperor’s cape for a year straight to get ‘em, but you’re all getting medals.”
“Hey Sarge, I think I stubbed a toe escaping that glitching bot: think I can get a Blood Ruby?”
“If anyone’s getting an award for being wounded, Slog, it’s me. Need I remind you that I got punched in the chest by that ‘glitching bot’?”
“Point taken, Sarge.”
“Give me a status report. How bad was that blast we took?”
“All our equipment’s reading good, and it looks like it only penetrated a few levels in the aft.”
“Good. Now, Tread, where are we going?”
“Imperial Military Center Epsilon is the logistic center nearest to the front: that is the most likely destination for the Emperor to re-supply before engaging in battle. We will need to stop and refuel before we reach the destination, but we should be there in time to rendezvous with his Imperial Majesty.”
“Best news I’ve heard all day, Tread. Alright, plug in the destination, power up the Z-Engine and let’s get out of here. Once we’re away, I think we could all use a meal and some bunk time”
The team gave another, more haggard cheer at the prospect of some food and rest, as Slog readied the ship for the jump. However, the celebratory mood was shattered as alarms sounded.
“What’s happening!?” said Ansaria.
“That blast scrambled some of the wiring in the Z-engine! The unit’s supercharged! The ship’s jumping to Z-Space!”
“Did you get the course set??”
“I did, but the systems overloaded! I have no idea where we’re heading!”
In front of the ship, a yawning chasm of black and purple energy had opened up and with a sudden lurch forward, the ship launched itself into the void.
Chapter VI
Aboard the Throneship Part I
Zero (or Z-) Space Engines were developed sixteen years into His Majesty’s reign with the aid of scientists from all the worlds so far encountered (though primarily from Delvin, Pryzm and Pacmop.) The previous generation of faster-than-light travel had been very short-range: just a few hundred light-years at a time. The collaboratively built Z-engine allowed access to a much faster means of travel by sending the ship into a Zero Space tunnel, which allows a ship to circumvent thousands of light-years at a time.
--Excerpt from The Newcomer’s Guide to the Empire
Another shift aboard the Throneship was coming to end as the massive vessel continued to tunnel its way through Z-Space. While the Emperor had been on the bridge earlier, he had long since retreated to his private quarters, leaving his major-domo, Administrator Delta, behind in his stead.
Most of the bridge crew was less than pleased with that, as the Administrator had the unfortunate habit of micro-managing those under his authority, as well as asking for reports and updates with irritating frequency.
The shift change bell chimed and the secondary crew filed onto the bridge to take their positions. The primary crew gladly turned over their spots and began making their way to the exit.
All except Diamond.
A bald-headed, fanged biped approached the communications officer, who hadn’t moved a centimeter despite the activity going on around him.
“Chief Diamond?” said the young officer. “Your shift is over, chief.” The green polygon continued to ignore him.
The officer reached out to touch the Prizmid. “Chief?” he asked again.
As his fingertips reached the crew member, Diamond suddenly sprang to life, rapidly spinning around and knocking the crewman’s hand away.
“Yowch! What’d you do that for?”
~Forgive me, Comm. Officer Crayus. I was….distracted.~
“Is there a problem here, Chief Communications Officer Diamond?”
Delta, who had noticed the commotion and floated over, was now staring at Diamond, lights blinking across his screen.
~No, Administrator Delta. I was distracted and did not notice Comm. Officer Crayus’ approach. His appearance…startled me.~
“Well, Chief Communications Officer Diamond, have you recovered enough to allow Communications Officer Crayus to assume his duties?”
~Yes, Administrator.~
“Then please exit the bridge and stop disrupting procedure.”
~Of course, Administrator.~
Without another word, Diamond hovered over to the exit where the rest of the bridge crew was waiting for him.
“What was the hold up, D?” asked Ranyor, the reptilian helmsman. “I’m so hungry I was seriously considering eating Xior.”
“I’d like to ssssee you try,” rasped the insectoid navigator.
~Forgive me, I was preoccupied by my work and did not notice the shift change. Officer Crayus startled me out of my work and I received a reprimand from the Administrator.~
As the lift that would take them to the ship’s mess hall arrived, Doctor Redavere, the Emperor’s scientific advisor, said:
“That’s funny; I didn’t even know someone could sneak up on you, Diamond.” As the rest of the crew piled into the lift, Diamond quietly replied.
~Neither did I.~
The bridge crew piled out of the lift and made their way to the mess hall. Dr. Redavere was leading the way, talking excitedly into her comm. unit to her assistant, who was updating the doctor on a project. Heronatus, Imperial Chronicler and ship’s historian, was engrossed in an article being projected from his TIG. Xior and Tantius, the ship’s navigator and weapons expert, respectively, were engaged in friendly ribbing with Ranyor, the helmsman. Pulling up the rear was the silent Diamond.
The large mess hall stretched out before them, with two long rows of tables filling the room. The food serving area covered the right wall, doorways leading to other lifts and halls lined the rest of the walls. Other crewmembers were filling up the room, though the bridge crew was able to jump into the line before it filled up to quickly.
The crew received their food and sat at a table. Dr. Redavere said a quick prayer over her plate of vegetables and other plant matter before beginning to eat. The doctor’s current primary project was finding a way to mass produce the teleportation system used by the Throneship: currently, only the massive vessel was capable of producing enough energy to utilize the system efficiently. She was knowledgeable about countless fields and was responsible for studying technology created, assimilated or discovered by the Empire.
