PROLOGUE
The hum of the omnipresent power generator within the hidden war room was all that kept the three dejected alien figures company. They sat with bated breath around an ovular conference table, deep in the bowels of The Keep. The eerily dim white tube lighting neatly followed the contours of the interior architecture. The inactive surface of the holographic coated table reflected the depressed mood. At the head of the table was the Caliterrian representative for the High Senate, Soulin Lee’Nur, who had begun to drum his fingers with impatience. His thick tattooed hide and canine-like features were all blazon evidence of his race’s evolution from pack animals in the freezing wastes of their home world. The Caliterrian had been in existence, at some level for roughly ten million years. Soulin hailed from Sirran, Caliterria’s capital city, which was situated on the largest continent across the planet’s equator.
Perched to his right was Thaim-Paav Acil, a member of the Sarcurian Royal Family and their elected member of the High Senate. He lulled his head into his chest as he took a sharp breath inward. The Sarcurian were the most technologically advanced race and were vastly influential, despite the fact they were the newest addition to intergalactic society. In many respects their similarities to Homo sapiens were astounding which led many historical researchers to believe that the pair shared a common ancestor. Although evidence to support such a claim was scarce at best. The Sarcurian had a deeper red skin pigmentation, pointed ear lobes (which also allowed for a wider audible range) and a flat ribbed nose which somehow allowed a stronger sense of smell. This made Sarcurians expert trackers and hunters in comparison to mankind. Thaim had been born, much to his modest pleasure, into the nobility caste of Sarcurian hierarchy under the colossal energy dome of Rethera, the species’ ancestral home. City-wide protection was employed throughout numerous population centres across the planet’s surface and was necessary to protect citizens from meteor strikes, an unfortunate result of the close proximity Rethera shared to a huge asteroid belt.
The final figure sat opposite the monarch was the most bizarre of the collective. The Selin, 19217-JB, was a part of the asexual telepathic race from the idyllic garden world of Tearsin. They physically appeared stretched in comparison to other bipedal species. Its head was devoid of many expected features and housed only two sets of eyes, one placed like that of a predator and the other higher and wider like that of prey. The fact they looked so peculiar and communicated through telepathy, a technique they could also employ with members outside their own race, was why many were unsure and uncomfortable around them. This gained further weight as they were also naturally reclusive which in turn degraded what little social skills they had. The oddly assorted group sat content to allow the silence to persevere. Time melded into itself, completely indistinguishable between seconds and minutes. After what seemed like an age, an orb which pulsed with emerald conviction, materialised from the ether. It bobbed over them as its flashes intensified. “Relaying priority message from Guardian Sha’Ni,” it announced in a sexless synthesised voice. He’d had long enough to prepare but the news sent a shiver down Soulin’s vertebrae before he stiffly nodded in approval for the AI construct to continue. The orb morphed into a miniature representation of another Caliterrian, this one had the presence of a battle hardened warrior. He seemed calm; his hands clasped behind his back, yet it looked as though he was fresh from a conflict. His golden ceremonial armour was charred and dirty. A fresh wound occupied the right side of his face which appeared to have the signature of explosive shrapnel. “Guardian, I am pleased to see you standing before us,” opened Soulin in an exhausted but friendly tone. At least, as friendly as he could muster given the circumstances.
Soulin knew much of Talsek Sha’Ni and had bestowed the rank of Guardian upon him not three months previous. It was an honorary title in part, but was something every warrior aspired to and was always handed out by the ruling Forerunner, the political leader of the Caliterrian Empire. Opportunity for the accolade only came around every half a century. Two warriors were agreed upon to fill one available position. As tradition demanded, Talsek was forced into a gladiatorial style fight to the death. He emerged victor and spent several weeks under medical supervision recuperating from the injuries he had sustained. Even if he had required longer out of action the possibility would have been out of the question as the very fibre of galactic stability had shattered not long thereafter.
“I doubt you contacted the Senate for a heartfelt catch up, Caliterrian. We had been rather concerned when you stopped broadcasting communications,” snubbed Thaim sharply. This was much to the displeasure of Soulin who shot the Sarcurian a look of contempt. He understood the elderly monarch’s impatience, what with the pressure and impending doom weighing down on them, but he had no taste for snide remarks. “Apologies your excellency,” Talsek returned with an unnecessary courtesy due to the fact that the Sarcurian Monarchy had no relevance to Caliterrian social or political interests. It appeared to settle the mood and kept the brooding alien on side. From the back of their minds another presence was felt, the effects of the Selin’s telepathy.
“Continue warrior caste, what news do you carry from your campaign?” Without the context of emotion, any conversation with the Selin often felt disingenuous.
“Dark Aurora has been a success, their fleet is increasingly disorganised and their situation is deteriorating rapidly. I stopped broadcasting as they were monitoring our communications. I make no apologies for my results.” Talsek let a subdued smile occupy his face but only for a moment and then it was gone.
Soulin took heart in Talsek’s news that proclaimed Caliterria was secure, yet shame still reverberated around the entire room. At what cost had success come? “We must escalate our initial efforts,” Soulin managed solemnly.
“You suggest genocide? Would that make us any better than them?” Thaim spat, completely repulsed by the very idea of the plan.
“Have they left us much choice?” Soulin roared, fuelled by the pride and fury at the suffering of past generations. The contemplative pause allowed tempers to simmer down ever so slightly before 19217-JB interjected once more.
“We once discussed that option and dismissed it just as quickly as it had surfaced.” It was an answer the Sarcurian rapidly agreed with leaving the Forerunner downcast and furious. “We shall draw up proposals for Senate congress in the next cycle,” concluded 19217-JB as Soulin forced back his chair and moved toward the arched doorframe. Soulin looked back more in disappointment than anger, much to the other Senator’s surprise, as the door unknotted behind him.
He met their eyes with renewed passion; “I only hope I do not live long enough to see the consequences of your mistake.” He dismissed their objections as swiftly as his proposal and slumped into the shadowy depths of the hallway beyond.
ONE
The breeze, its full force fractured by the many dense layers of forest, was rather soothing. The rustling leaves and the distant calls of numerous exotic avian creatures just added to the serenity. The crest of the first sun broke through the haze of the morning dawn, the warmth instantly recognisable as it licked at the bare torso of the young Sarcurian. He remained unmoved. He remained alert. Jarner sat crossed legged with a vacant mind in bronzed foliage, packed into a quaint natural clearing long enough that the lactic acid had begun to burn through his muscles. He refused to allow it to trouble him enough to move. The heat from the now half proud star was welcome comfort and brought much needed change across his pained body.
His ears perked up as the faintest sound alerted him to what he had been preparing for. The inexperienced would have dismissed it as background noise, animals hopping across tree branches or the wind catching a cluster of leaves, but he was much wiser. He sprung up, sweeping a trailing leg, which disrupted a pile of greenery and caused a loud crash. The aforementioned tree-dwelling creatures scattered at the sound. The outline of a barely visible silhouette imprinted itself into the ground much to Jarner’s amusement. The air shimmered in confusion as his would-be attacker’s stealth camouflage failed in stages, revealing a humanoid shape non-committal of gender, hidden behind the light armour of odd reflective material. Jarner stretched out his tired limbs as an arrogantly broad smile surfaced from the depths of his being. “Nice try,” he chuckled as he looked down upon his victim with playful pity. Without waiting to endure the indignity any longer the armour swung its legs and catapulted itself to a combat ready stance within milliseconds, much to the surprise of Jarner, who took a few tentative steps backward. He was now less sure of himself than he had been. It beckoned the Sarcurian forward with a mocking outstretched hand which did exactly as it had intended; annoy. Jarner rushed forward and by doing so, snatched the bait. He lashed out with a wild round house-kick but before it was fully executed he was caught by the attacker and up-ended with lighting reflexes. He lay and looked at the cocky showboating from a bizarre angle as the armour bowed and turned blatantly inviting another challenge. Jarner was far too hotheaded to sidestep the bait again. He brushed himself off and charged, unwittingly getting hit with a torso high kick from a skilfully planted boot. He hit the floor hard, carried by the momentum of the blow. Jarner didn’t get a chance to resurface as the figure pounced on top of him and inserted a pointed knee-cap into the crease of his spine. Its fist was raised but the blow never came. Jarner unclenched his eyes and something seemed amiss. A streak had shot across the horizon and from that, existence seemed to oscillate. Shapes began to slowly distort and the environment blurred in turn; in and out of focus. Eventually the world gave up and collapsed in on itself leaving the pair locked in position within a large, clinically white, panelled room.
“I wish you two could do something more constructive in your downtime. I’m the one that’s gotta patch you up again once you’re done,” interrupted the ageing figure in the doorway. James scratched at his rapidly greying beard as he surveyed Jarner and Shayara who remained in the position he’d found them in. “You lose again?” He smiled at the Sarcurian as his extended hand heaved up Captain Shayara Ventii, releasing the pressure from Jarner’s back. The Sarcurian wheezed with relief as his defeated, sleepy violet eyes rolled with embarrassment. He departed the virtual environment chamber without another word. Shayara sniggered with childish glee as she discarded her helmet and retrieved a towel from behind a wall panel which she used to dab her brow. “What can I do for you, Doc?” she requested as she tied up her chestnut hair into a messy pony tail. “We’ve got something on the long range sensors. It’s good enough to get R051E excited, whatever it is,” informed Doctor James Crow. Shayara raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Far away from much of civilisation and at the corner of charted space, this was a rare and interesting discovery indeed.
The Pariah was a glorified fast attack and recon craft, too big to be a personal commuter and too small to be a conventional frigate, although its weapon systems and capabilities were slightly above that of the norm. The model had initially been penned to be a mass production model distributed to Senate Security Special Forces although the project was scrapped due to the exceptionally high cost of manufacture. Only the conceptual model was ever built by Indatech, the technology and manufacturing arm of the Senate. Shayara had spent numerous cycles adapting it to her own personal taste installing trinkets and gadgets as she saw fit, which had eventually turned the interior into a mass of circuitry and mis-matched equipment. She took a well-rehearsed step over the bare wires as she entered the bridge and slumped into the captain’s chair, just as the podium to her immediate right glowed an ambient cherry red. A miniature human female materialised at the tip. She was young and likely matched Shayara’s age of mid-twenties, with shoulder-length blonde hair. She was dressed very plainly in a casual shirt and jeans with a very girl next door feel to her. She sat there with her legs and arms folded and had a vacant expression. Her mind was elsewhere, busy computing a billion other requests which didn’t involve maintaining her avatar. “I have detected two rather weak emergency broadcast systems, both emitting standard Senate friend or foe identifiers,” the AI construct informed after an unnaturally long pause in a synthetic but oddly warming tone. Shayara was dubious at the news as she wrinkled her freckled nose; not only did few vessels deviate this far from standard cross system routes but the probability of two running into trouble was the least likely situation possible. Pirate factions and slave groups were often a threat faced on the cusp of charted space yet they tended to stick with easy money targets. A Senate-sponsored ship carried too much baggage in their opinion. It would have pressured the High Senate to take action against them but while they stayed small no one in power seemed to pay them much notice and that’s just the kind of operational arrangement they were happy with. It was possible it could be a trap, set up by a similar class of degenerate, but Shayara surmised a trap this far out didn’t make much sense and she was confident in The Pariah’s capabilities if it was. “Swept for any other signs of life?”
“Of course. None present. I only detected the signals due to our close proximity, even then they are incredibly weak. It is likely no one else is even aware of them.” AI construct R051E nodded confidently.
The sleek non-frigate emerged through a newly formed slip space rupture. It hugged the sides of the Pariah as sapphire particles danced about every inch of the exterior hull. Shayara’s emerald eyes flashed with the thrill of adventure as she drifted within a couple kilometres of the debris field. She recognised the remnants of what both ships had been instantaneously, the smaller of the two had virtually been ripped in half. “That’s what I think it is, isn’t it?” she questioned as she gestured her hand over the larger half of the split.
“Sarcurian Luminary,” responded Jarner who had recently joined them on the bridge and sat with legs up against the control panel.
“What’s a Luminary? Some type of special operations unit your people have got?” chipped in James from the doorway as he attempted to cross under the half suspended cables and through the numerous trip hazards and then thought better of it. Jarner cocked his head as he tried to decide on the most accurate description a human could grasp, “Members of the warrior caste who catch the eye of the Monarch are selected for the task. It’s a way of life. Sent out into uncharted space with a frigate and crew who eventually become close enough to be your family. Many spend a great amount of their lives away from civilisation.”
“What are they looking for?” James pressed still unsure at what they were, given the vague response which had served as an answer.
“Other civilisations, lost technology, lost knowledge. Anything and everything. Basically they’re explorers.” Jarner shrugged off, content he had fulfilled the question at hand rather well. Shayara moved closer to the panoramic view screen to study the second much larger space craft. It was most definitely a transporter and after closer examination bore numerous markings which linked it back to Indatech. Several possible scenarios surfaced and vacated her imagination much quicker than it was possible to digest them; none of which had any real substance.
Her curiosity was well and truly piqued however and it didn’t take long for a decision to be agreed upon. “Can that transport support life R051E?” Jarner swivelled in his seat already well aware of what his childhood friend was considering, he did after all know her tendencies far too well.
“Secondary backup generators have taken some of the slack although not well. We have a tight window,” assured R051E after not much thought or diagnosis.
“It’s our duty as Conscripts to Senate Security to at least investigate what’s happened here. Our only option, since the Luminary ship is a no go, is to board the transporter and try to fathom what happened that way.” Jarner rolled his eyes at receiving the orders he had expected as soon as Shayara had started on that trail of thought.
“I’ll prep the shuttle, we might get some valuable salvage from this escapade at least. How do you want to tackle it weapon and armour wise?” Jarner inquired.
“Keep it light this time, looks like we missed the fight.” Shayara favoured the advantage light and manoeuvrable armour had over weighty and bulky armour any day of the week, especially more so when zero gravity was likely in the mix.
Two
The cargo hold’s entry shielding, which kept the vacuum of space at bay, was still operational when the Pariah’s spherical drop ship eased its way through. The transporter wailed as the frost cracked under the propulsion systems of the boarding team, the interior had become a very frozen and hostile place. The ship touched down in a clearing barely large enough to sustain it. The rear hatch swung open with a poorly oiled squeak which eliminated any remaining element of surprise. Shayara clambered out first as her heads up display told of the dire condition of her new environment. It was evident reserve power was going the same way as the primary, environmental control was usually the first casualty in those circumstances. Her breath clung to the interior surface of her visor with every exhale. It was cold beyond her protective shell, much colder than it should have been. They’d likely have contracted hyperthermia within a few minutes if they hadn’t of been prepared, they still could if they suffered an unfortunate suit breach. A fact which didn’t bode well for finding survivors, she thought realistically. She primed her Indatech R19A assault rifle, a weapon widely popular among special operation units due to its power, compact design and the fact it was crazily customisable.
The hangar had evidently been a battleground that much was clear. “Where are the bodies?” Shayara observed more confused by the revelation than anything.
“No cargo pods either, that’s slightly peculiar given it’s a transport ship,” Jarner replied sarcastically as he nursed his skull which he had clumsily thumped against the hatch due to his haste. He swept the barrels of his two Indatech manufactured T21-S Predator heavy repeater pistols across the immediate landscape and drew a blank, “Consider the ghost ship secured, ma’am, are you proud of me?” He smirked. Shayara looked at him with a cynical look he’d seen a million times before when out on operation, it was her way of telling him to focus. Not that she’d shy away from giving him verbal direction if the look didn’t get his attention.
“It could be a trap so do take care, won’t you?” she jibed back in a deadpan manner. She wasn’t being sarcastic to worry him, probability was it could well be a trap. Slavers and pirates often used barbaric tactics to cover their tracks and satisfy some sick feeling of perverted ingenuity. Explosive rigged escape pods were a recent favourite and proved handy in dealing with witnesses which had slipped their clutches. “Traps I can deal with, it could be an ambush,” he mused.
“Forever the pessimist, Jarner.”
The pair dashed across the blood encrusted grate flooring as shadows disfigured every surface. The unstable lighting caused the figures to contort into grotesque shapes. They tentatively reached where the blast door should have been and Jarner fired a flare through the jagged hole to allow a visual in the murky corridor beyond. It spluttered at first, Jarner was half expecting it to be a dud, yet it impressed by igniting and basking the area in an ambient blueish glow. As expected, nothing moved. The flare had only revealed the final resting place of large chunks of the displaced door and a T junction at the far end. Shayara rolled her eyes and cursed the fact she didn’t know the basic layout of the standard transport vessel; “It’s never simple. I’ll go left.”
Alexander Wilhelm, Human president and newly elected representative of the High Senate, sat with regimented posture. He clutched a docpad in his right hand, a glass of whisky in his left and his mind was elsewhere. As the voice of humanity it was his role, one of so many, to schedule a meeting with the rest of the High Senate as soon as he’d been contacted by the personnel AI assistant of Senate Security Conscript, Shayara Ventii. Her exploits were legendary and had rightly earned Homo sapiens much respect among the wider galactic community, so getting a personal ping had caught his attention instantaneously. His mind formulated many theories upon hearing the details of her discovery, the most prominent and worrying of which was the thought of corporate terrorism. Using his contacts he had already discovered the ID of the missing Indatech transporter as well as rumours about the high level cargo it was presumed to be carrying. He didn’t know the specifics, even his clearance didn’t get him everything. The aliens were still wary of humanity. Was it possible the Sarcurian’s had seen the mystery haulage being carried aboard the Senate transporter Hope’s Deliverance as a threat? Did they find whatever it was harmful enough to want it wiped out of existence or had there been a high level dispute amongst the dignitaries that he was unaware of? It was feasible, but when he thought about it longer, weren’t they all on the same side at the end of the day? Alien politics was often more frustrating than human politics. If those questions were answered, the question still remained of what took out the Luminary vessel as the Senate transporter was not armed. The damage readouts were inconsistent with opportunistic pirates as such social waste did not possess such power capabilities; to his knowledge at least.
The holo-projector energised on his desk as a miniature stereotypical Butler waddled from inside. “The High Senate have authorised your meeting, Senator Wilhelm.” He paused, Alexander assumed this was for Human-like dramatic effect as AI constructs were more than capable of computing millions of bytes of data per second. “Scheduled immediately, of course.” Alexander nodded his approval at the welcome news as he got up and straightened himself out in front of his office mirror which ran the full length of the west wall. “Shall I keep you updated on any new data bursts from construct R051E, Senator?” questioned construct GR3AV35.
“Yeah, you do that while I go fishing.” Alexander smiled, he believed someone had to know something.
The internal and external pressure variations tested the fortitude of the ship’s hull as it wailed in agony continuously through the ever expanding darkening depths. Shayara progressed alone, vulnerable to the walls which seemed to almost loom over her. The slightest security came from the steady and reliable illumination from her rifle’s built in flashlight. Up ahead it drew R051E’s attention to scorch marks etched into the wall plates; the AI was capable of monitoring the team over their HUD and the dozens of tiny cameras weaved into their armour. Construct R051E was an advanced Vanguard class intelligence developed by a well-funded and recognised human company named Arcadan Industries, although her design was based on Sarcurian technology. “Damage vector and origin inconclusive,” she observed to a muted response, audibly disappointed, for all her tricks she was unable to give a definitive answer.
The vacuum of space overwhelmed every crevice of the lower decks as it subdued what little oxygen pockets remained. Jarner Nevo cursed his rotten luck, first for choosing to go the wrong way and second for being cut off when power to the airlock had failed as he tried to backtrack. Whoever had hit the Luminary ship had intended to kill it off, yet it was highly evident the same intention had not been a part of the plan for the Senate transporter. All the damage had been targeted toward engineering and it had decimated the main thrusters. The reactor had fried itself and emergency power pitifully limped in support with the insurmountable task of holding all the systems together. Jarner bounded on, as quickly as the gravity-less environment allowed, encased in suspended debris and severed circuitry. He breathed heavily as he became increasingly annoyed at his helmet obscuring his peripheral vision; a necessary yet irritating hindrance. Another airlock came into view and Jarner allowed a slim smile to occupy his exhausted face, due to the fact he’d been wandering aimlessly for some time attempting to locate any other exit. He’d considered blowing the wall out and getting picked up by The Pariah. The safety protocols built into the airlock wouldn’t allow themselves to be disengaged automatically while the conditions persisted on Jarner’s side of the ship yet this hardly concerned him. He’d grown up on Coroniss, the crime capital of the galaxy. He’d earned numerous useful skills and techniques because of this, including but not limited to, busting through locked doors of any shape, size and design.
He removed a small service panel and activated his holographical interface which emitted from his armour's wrist plate. He went to work re-routing power and manipulating firewalls. Lights flickered angrily in protest around the entryway’s frame. It screeched in submission after a little persuasion and parted just enough to allow the Sarcurian to squeeze through. It closed clumsily behind him and the nausea of pressure adjustments and the returning gravity soon took over. A reptilian-like hiss signalled the end of the switching process and the opposing door beckoned him to continue. “Keep up, old man, you’re way behind,” jibed Shayara over his headset competitively.
The Keep’s Auditor was displeased that High Senator Wilhelm was, as always, unpunctual. The Auditor, a fairly stocky Sarcurian who was tasked with making sure the political side of The Keep ran smoothly, took his job very seriously. Any tardiness cascaded into upcoming meetings and the whole thing became one big logistical headache. This is why before Alexander could even reach the seating area he was herded by Senate Security through the archway into a checkpoint and down the hall beyond. Alexander, unfazed by the abruptness, smiled warmly at a Human male he clocked amongst the rank and file of the checkpoint’s staff. He reflected on just how far humanity had come in the past decade. A century ago, such a well-respected position would have been reserved for the more established races such as the warrior caste Sarcurian or the ever loyal Caliterrian. Although the two aforementioned were still the most prominent players on the galactic stage, Humans were slowly making their ambition and presence known.
This wasn’t without opposition however; rapid expansion was frowned upon and divisions within Human society had surfaced. Some considered sharing power with aliens was an insult to what it meant to be Human and xenophobia was rife amongst many colonies. Typically, such worries originated from propaganda churned out by far right political groups and it wasn’t an affliction isolated to humankind as other races had their own variety of supremacy groups.
The steps to the speaker’s platform, as imposing as they were steep, came into view and clawed skyward at a sharp angle. The two thickly set Caliterrian, kitted out in heavy-duty ceremonial armour, stepped aside to allow the climb. The main decorative aspect was the flowing black and grey marble-like surfaces which covered all the walls, floors and ceiling spaces. Sapphire lighting intersected at set intervals in an attempt to calm and subdue. Alexander reached the summit. He surveyed The Keep in all its glory despite being here many times before. Hundreds of staggered seats outlined the two walls to both sides as they came to a point at the far end. This seating was for the representatives from many worlds, settlements and factions. At the tip of the polished onyx pyramid was a raised tier containing four throne-like seats belonging to the High Senate quadruplet. Three of the High Senate seats were occupied, the only chairs occupied in the entire gargantuan chamber in fact. The fourth belonged to Alexander yet centuries old traditions demanded him to concede it if he wished to address them on matters concerning his own species. It was a way to avoid bias; its effectiveness was yet to be seen.
The exuberance of the High Senate’s area depicted the power they held quite effectively. Being the foremost important individuals in the known galaxy, one would have thought that would have led to a kind of arrogance yet they remained surprisingly well grounded. A vote of no confidence was exceptionally rare and the position was only usually lost in the event of death. To the far left was an age old Caliterrian warrior greatly championed by his own race and well respected amongst every other despite his grizzly nature and blunt attitude. Arkan Sha’Ni had recently gotten the unprecedented rating of a hundred percent confidence in the polls and at over four hundred years of age, an unthinkable vintage in Human standards, he was still going strong. His chalky frame didn’t betray his age and Alexander assumed, quite rightly, the alien could easily break him in two if they were ever in a scenario which called for it. The fiery Caliterrian hailed from Neolo, his home world's second largest city which had gained precedence for producing a high standard of warrior. Alexander was unclear whether this reputation preceded Arkan or not. Next to him was the last member of the Sarcurian Royal Family, Queen Ora Acil who had assumed the position after the passing of her father. Her elegance was expected but even she was fending off the reaper at this point and without ever conceiving children of her own, the monarchy was doomed to die with her. The last figure was one that hadn’t changed in recent or collective memory. The Selin often reached ridiculous ages yet it was rumoured 19217-JB was beyond the norm. “Welcome High Senator Wilhelm,” introduced Ora as the other two settled their postures to accommodate the complexities of their seats’ flamboyant designs, “Do you care to expand on the limited information you used to arrange this meeting?” she questioned. She was rightly wondering why the Human representative couldn’t wait for the full Senate congress, scheduled only two days away. Alexander composed himself before engaging his voice, a skill he hadn’t had much luck with in his younger years much to his downfall. “You are no doubt familiar with the Senate Security Conscript vessel The Pariah, captained by Shayara Ventii. Well, six hours ago it discovered the wreckages of two ships on the cusp of charted space-”
“This is hardly noteworthy. Pirates and slavers often prove problematic to wanderers in those sectors, hence why travel there is ill-advised,” the Caliterrian interjected waving his claw dismissively. Arkan Sha’Ni was known to have little patience and thus enjoyed a much more direct approach than any other politician Alexander had ever come across. He guessed this was why he appealed to the impatient public as the whole political song and dance often got in the way of business being done. Alexander allowed a sigh to pass as he brushed off the rudeness of interruption, he was all for action but there were certain guidelines that had to be adhered to. “Granted that is true, however the two ships in question are an Indatech transporter and a Sarcurian Luminary.” A stunned silence clutched The Keep; it was most unwelcome and unexpected news, which put in the wrong hands could have put a huge amount of negative publicity against the Senate. There were more prominent questions to be answered but the selfish awareness of public perception was never far away from any politician in truth. “The Indatech transporter Hope’s Deliverance was carrying a high level cargo. I’m of the belief a rogue faction, possibly influenced by the Sarcurian Luminary on site, received a tip off on the transporter’s cargo and location.” Arkan pivoted in his seat just in time to witness the Queen’s ever present regal facade vanish in an instant at the accusation.
“What evidence are you basing such a statement on?” she seethed as if placed in the hot seat personally. Alexander didn’t pretend to be an expert at reading alien facial expressions, such an art was something which eluded him as of yet. It was still fascinating to him that the different races with their many languages and dialects could communicate at all. Centuries ago the Sarcurian’s had developed a microchip that manipulated sound waves and perception. It made it appear that everyone spoke a common tongue and was small enough to be conveniently placed into many everyday items such as clothing or jewellery. It could even be implanted into the skin, usually fitted in the earlobe in most political and public figureheads. But even to him it was clearly obvious, without any training or technology, he had hit a nerve and her rapid response led him to believe whatever had gone on, she hadn’t been a part of it. “Admittedly it’s currently a theory but as I speak The Pariah’s crew are scavenging for evidence which I do hope will lead us in the right direction.”
Jarner’s HUD flashed with an objective update in the upper right hand corner which brought a sly smirk to his face as he read first to the bridge; failed. A fact confirmed as he rounded the last corner to be confronted by a smug Shayara. “Stop for some fresh air did you, old man?” she joked.
“Quiet the opposite in fact,” he wheezed avoiding the irony of oxygen deprivation. Shayara squeezed through yet another demolished door which now served as more of a viewport than an obstruction. She emerged onto the bridge and deduced that most of the fighting had been done in the space around her. It had been a last ditch attempt to remain in command of the ghost ship, as was usually the case when being boarded by a superior foe. No threats were present on the pair’s arrival; in keeping with the lifeless precedent the rest of the craft had set.
AI construct R051E burst her jittery avatar onto the central command desk. “I am now fully integrated into the Deliverance’s systems. I regret to inform you that the ship’s power systems are insufficient to accommodate me for any decent length of time,” she informed as her avatar became fuzzy and inconsistent before phasing back, this caused the already unstable energy to flux rampantly.
“Do a sweep for anything relevant R051E and I mean anything.” Another flux this time audibly tested the fortitude of the crippled vessel which signalled the start of the AI’s data mine efforts.
“No data available, I detect a recent memory restore.” She paused, exceptionally frustrated at the very prospect of drawing a blank before a pulse rocked Hope’s Deliverance so hard Shayara feared the outer hull had buckled leaving them at the mercy of space. “My sensors have detected a significant current draw on deck 5a, the stasis pod centre. Enough to sustain a common class sentient life form.” Shayara looked as worried as she felt. She turned to face Jarner who knew they both were thinking the same thing:
“Bad guy or good guy?”