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Extraction post-mortem

August 7, 2011 / added to TRANS_LOG / No Comments

The COM room is a touch too cool for Grayson’s tastes today. It’s a different temperature every time she uses it, as though someone is deliberately testing to see if environmental conditions can affect the decision-making process. She shifts in her seat and taps her fingers on the surface of one of the datapads – containing a report on the mission at the Antera colony – laid out before her on the conference table.

Across from her, Voss stands stiffly by his chair. “I understand,” he says in that particular manner that Grayson finds grating, as it does not imply anything even remotely close to understanding, “but the Caucus on Ssujak-resk will not like this, I assure you.”

Grayson rolls her eyes. “They must know Yveth is biased,” she counters defensively. She had difficulty believing that Voss’ superiors would see reason in Lieutenant Yveth’s actions; the man had evidently gone off on Crowley for no reason other than racial contempt or plain paranoia.

“Yes,” Voss concedes, “but it will still have an impact. Things are still a bit…raw, and he is trusted.”

Grayson shrugs a shoulder and gives him a dull look. “So why did they send him, then?” She quirks an eyebrow. “Feels almost like a setup, if you ask me.” An unfair thing to say, which she – of course – immediately pays for.

Voss grasps the edge of the table before him with a hand and leans his head to one side in annoyance. “I could make comparable comments about Crowley,” he says tightly, “but I suspect your reasons for including him were very similar to our reasons for including Yveth.” He regains his composure, taking the high ground once again. “You needed someone you could trust to do what was asked, and that you knew would be capable of adapting should the mission change shape.” He pauses for a moment, weighing his thoughts.

A scowl darkens Grayson’s face.

“Yveth’s experience with the colonies is considerable.” Voss states, the firmness in his tone making it amply clear that, past this point, the subject is closed. “He was the best choice for the Antera mission, and will be the best choice for future missions as well.”

Grayson eyes him suspiciously, but does not press the issue. Despite her opinions on his manner, the Lieutenant had, after all, accomplished what he had been asked to. Her face goes stony. “Granted, but if he doesn’t drop his grudge, he’s a liability in my books.” She rubs her forehead, feeling her lack of sleep from the night before. “I don’t want him to turn things into a shit show…”

Voss leans forward a bit.

Grayson stares expectantly at him for a while, and then it occurs to her that he likely didn’t understand the phrase she used earlier. “A mess,” she rephrases and smirks, amused despite the grim topic, “it means a mess.”

“I see,” Voss says and then draws away and finally takes a seat.

Relived to see him settle down and hoping that, as a result, he’ll also drop the attitude, Grayson rests her head back and takes one of the datapads in front of her into her lap. “At any rate, Crowley will work with him again – despite what he said.” She says conciliatorily. “He’s a good guy.”

“Yes,” Voss replies without any deliberation – a rare occurrence. “Yveth’s objectives were met, and as a result it is my personal belief that he will ultimately be satisfied.” He quickly changes the subject. “Speaking of which, what have your technicians discovered about the Oban transponder that was recovered from the communications facility?”

Grayson purposefully looks past him. “We’re still looking at it,” she says cautiously. “The latest report from Raleigh—“

“I’ll send word to the Caucus,” Voss cuts her off, “and have our technicians work with yours.” He scrapes his own datapad from the table and begins working.

“We’ve only had it for something like a day and a half!” Grayson snaps incredulously, watching the Executor log entries she can’t see. He looks up at her.

“Two heads are better than one – is that not right?”

Grayson stares at him, powerfully displeased at the discovery that – apparently – he is a fan of irony, and then irritably gestures at him to continue. He does. She looks down at the similar device in her lap.

“We can’t decode either signal,” she muses, growing perplexed as she passes a finger over Raleigh’s most recent data. “They left a team behind in order to set it up, so it’s got to be important…”

Voss nods once. “Agreed,” he says without looking up.

“And you’ve never recovered any of these before?”

“No.”

***

Later that same evening, Crowley grumbles as he walks around the couch and notices his datapad sitting askew atop the coffee table. Its smooth face glows a soft blue-white, indicating recent activity.

He gives the datapad a hateful look. While the contraption is occasionally useful, it remains something that is imposed upon him by work and that allows disagreeable persons to contact him at times when he’d frankly rather ignore their existence.

That and it’s already broken three times in the last six months, each time causing him to have to fill out a form – a form that must be delivered to the procurement people, the very same people who he believes have a special place in Hell.

Taking a drink from the glass of water in his hand, he walks to the table and stands idly by it, turning a distrustful eye down at the small device.

Two new messages blink up at him: one from Grayson – fuck that, he thinks and immediately ignores it, assuming from the length of the subject line that it’s some sort of meeting request – and one from Vinead-2 Central COMs. Given that he just spoke to his wife yesterday, it’s unlikely to be from her…unless something’s wrong.

He leans forward to get a closer look at the subject line on the second message, setting his glass down by the datapad. There are no words there, he discovers, just an auto-generated ID code from the COM system’s scrubbers.

Intrigued, he touches the display and plays the message. A somewhat familiar, synthesized voice breaks through the initial garbling:

“…is Lekket. I am aboard the vessel Ssu-rin; I am well. They will take me to Caicat, where my family will see me. It is not far.”

It takes Crowley only a moment to place the voice: the Ssujak woman from the ruined colony on Antera. He furrows his brow; hearing her voice in a different context is peculiar.

“I would like to thank you for keeping your word and coming back for me. I was afraid you would not.” She says sheepishly and with personal disappointment. “For that conceit, I sincerely apologize.”

Crowley smiles at this, thinking: and here I thought none of you buggers knew that word….

“In the same vein,” she continues, though more delicately now, “I would also like to apologize for my brother’s behavior.” She pauses, very clearly considering her words. “Yveth is…very proud, sometimes.”

Crowley’s eyebrows shoot up. A rapid fire replay of all his interactions with the Ssujak woman unfolds in his mind’s eye; cursing the odds, he begins combing the details meticulously for anything her brother could hold against him in the aim of further ruining their already toxic work relationship.

“I’m sure you can understand how he must have felt when he learned of the Oban attack on my colony.” Lekket continues, adopting a reasonable tone. “He was scared. A few weeks ago I gave him the news that I am finally with child – thus he expected two losses when he set out, not just one.” She sighs. “He blamed himself, I’m sure of it. He does a lot of work protecting the colonies, so it was…hard.”

Unceremoniously, Crowley drops onto the couch. He brings his hands up to rub at his temples. Had he been aware of Yveth’s situation back on Antera, he wonders, would he have reacted differently during the trip back to base, when the Ssujak lieutenant publicly tore a strip off of him for having abandoned his post? He makes a face. Unlikely, he figures, I called the guy an asshole because he acted like one. He deserved it. He shakes his head, recalling the disdainful manner in which Yveth had addressed him from, basically, the beginning of the mission on.

“Anyway,” Lekket finishes a little awkwardly, “I just wanted to say thank you.”

Crowley’s eyes flick to the softly-glowing screen of the datapad on the coffee table in front of him, just as it emits Lekket’s last sentence:

“I wish you luck, Crowley.”

Final

August 7, 2011 / added to TRANS_LOG / No Comments

Tonight is Grayson’s last night on Ssujak-resk, a fact that – as she considers her last few days – brings her a surprising amount of sadness. After getting over her initial disappointment at Voss’ absence, she promptly fell in love with the dusky planet and the shining hospitality of its quiet inhabitants.

Ssujak-resk on paper, Grayson concludes is nothing like Ssujak-resk in real life.

For the third night in a row, Grayson sits alone in the common lounge. She always occupies the same chair, even though there are three others there as well as a larger bench that might prove more comfortable in the long run. Ultimately, the seating arrangement doesn’t matter – the lounge itself features a huge window overlooking the expansive forests below, and that’s really what Grayson is interested in.

The lounge rises far above the canopy, a veritable sea of boughs stretching as far as the eye can see. The planet is overgrown with all manner of plant life; the Ssujak have cut into vast swaths of it, of course, in order to accommodate their sprawling cities and various installations, but still it clings fast to the edges of these strongholds of civilization, choking the vast bulk of the landmass in leaves and vines and trees all as black as night.

In fact, just about everything is black here. The flora, the fauna, the stone, the earth…it’s uncanny, but it’s that way for a reason. The planet’s star – a slow-burning red dwarf – is barely visible in the sky, appearing as an effaced, orange-colored blur in the sky. It produces very little light, such that Ssujak-resk’s day side is perpetually bathed in a sort of fading, reddish twilight. For this reason, every plant and animal – including the Ssujak – has developed adaptations to capture all possible light, including in the infrared spectrum.

The abundance of nitrogen in the air and in the ground causes the plant life to flourish despite the lack of light. Empowered by it, the plants grow impossibly tall and strong in order to escape the thick layer of fog that sits on land floods the planet, choking the sun’s rays almost entirely for miles up. Once above the mists, however, the trees must withstand the furor of constant high speed winds.

On land, below the canopy, it’s a different story entirely. The wind is still present, but it is much more manageable. It stirs the fog, however, which bathes everything in obscurity and reduces visibility to a ridiculous degree. It never rains; plants capture moisture in their roots and from the air with specialized substances that they secrete in vast nets that sparkle like crystal veils when under illumination.

The fog is, of course, not something a human can safely breathe. It contains a nitrogen compound that the Ssujak and all other life forms here have adapted to or are dependant on, but if inhaled by a human will cause acute and almost instant nitrogen narcosis. Part of the Ssujak government’s special arrangements for Grayson and her team was to prepare a facility where both species could breathe freely; they achieved this by controlling the air composition in a large compound that reaches high above land.

A unique combination, to be sure, but now that the exotic experience is almost at an end, returning to the sterile, steel walls of Vinaed-2 seems so…mundane. It is for this reason that Grayson chooses to linger a bit longer in the lounge.

After her third hour of solitude, a voice comes from the door at her back.

“May I intrude?”

Lost in thought, Grayson’s reply is barely audible. “Sure,” she says distantly, drawing a leg up under her as the sound of footsteps from behind draws closer.

A shadow falls over her as the newcomer leans in from the side.

“Grayson,” he says with mild amusement, his face appearing before hers now. Her look of confusion takes only a moment to clear, but the moment lasts long enough to put a few, very basic things into perspective for him. With a good degree of discomfort, he remains patient until recognition dawns on her face.

“Voss!” Grayson gasps, eyes wide.

“Yes.”

She examines him unashamedly as he pulls away from her and settles into the seat opposite hers. Having spoken with a number of his kind already over the past few days, his general features come as no surprise, but still – those individuals didn’t carry any prior associations (save perhaps their names) and meeting them hadn’t required any mental re-imaging on her part. Voss is a different case. Seeing him outside of the familiar shell of his environmental suit and seeing his face for the first time is…very strange. It is also, she realizes as her gaze travels over his ebon-skinned visage and elongated skull, incredibly sobering. The thin-lipped, toothy maw, slit nose, and dark, seemingly pupil-less eyes – despite being, in combination, admittedly far more expressive than a bleak facemask – remain decidedly non-human.

“There is something?” Voss asks awkwardly, seeking out her gaze.

Grayson stares at him a moment longer and then snorts, leaning back in her chair. “Yes,” she says, managing to keep her wry smile from becoming a full-blown ironic grin, “yes there is. I’m trying to re-associate memories to a new face is all.” She reaches up to rub her eyes for a bit before looking at him again. “It’s a little challenging.” She adds, offering him a smirk.

Voss sniffs in amusement and relaxes in his seat, laying a dark, ridged hand atop his thigh. Ssujak clothing, Grayson discovered when she first sat with her hosts, is not unlike their already close-fitting exoskeleton and is more often than not of the same color, making it excessively difficult to tell what part of the visual ensemble is and isn’t part of the wearer’s body. Especially in low light. Having been, since her arrival, repeatedly startled by her hosts’ ‘sudden’ moves, Grayson now more closely watches the movements of their hands, legs, and blade-tipped tails.

“I understand.” Voss says calmly, eyes narrowing. He makes a pained expression. “I would have been here to greet you when you arrived,” he explains, moving on to a different subject, “but I was called away shortly after I messaged you last. I had to leave immediately and had no choice in the matter. I moved as quickly as I could, but I almost missed your visit entirely.” He tilts his head slightly. “I apologize for that.”

Grayson shakes her head. “Don’t,” she says, making a dismissive gesture, “sometimes things don’t quite work out. You did what you had to, and had you not made it, I wouldn’t have faulted you for it.” She shrugs, smiling, and stares past him. Outside, the overgrown forest canopy leans heavily in one direction, thrashing under the relentless assault of planetary gale-force winds. Indoors, that same wind is nothing but a dull, muted background sound. She takes a deep breath, comforted despite all the unfamiliar elements in her environment. “I’m glad you’re here.” She says.

Voss examines her silently for a moment and then leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He gives Grayson an earnest look. “Has everything been to your team’s liking?” He asks and then, as an afterthought, adds: “Have you had a chance to see much of the city?”

Grayson shakes her head again. “No,” she says, “I’ve been here the whole time.” Voss looks irritated at this and she gives him a helpless shrug. “Maybe next time, alright?” She snaps defensively, shooing him with a hand gesture. “Besides, it’s been just fine in here. The food’s excellent – even though I don’t know what half of it is – and the view’s breathtaking.” Her eyes wander back to the window. “No one’s complained to me about anything so far, anyway, but, we’ll see if they say anything on the trip home.” She winks at him.

“What would they say?” Voss asks. The question is two parts curiosity and one part offense.

Grayson easily detects the hazard there and skirts around it. “Probably nothing of value,” she guesses, “people find the stupidest things to complain about.” She laughs. “Especially my people.” This finds Voss’ approval; appeased, he leans back in his chair.

“You leave tomorrow, is that correct?” Voss asks, studying Grayson’s casual demeanor. She is at ease; one leg gathered up under her, elbow on the armrest and chin in her palm, her face unaffected – even her speech is more natural. He has never seen her this way. The sight pleases him.

Oblivious, Grayson pouts to herself. “Yes,” she sighs theatrically, “just as I was really starting to get into the food, too.” She rolls her eyes. “Now I’ll probably not have a reason to come back here for another ten years…” She makes a derisive noise and trails off, her eyes momentarily wandering over Voss. It never ceases to astonish her how still he can be at times – like a shadow.

Her shadow.

She meets his dark eyes; he doesn’t flinch or look away. She wonders briefly what she might look like to him, given his limited ability within the visible light spectrum, and what he thinks when he’s so quiet…

An uncomfortable feeling wells up in the pit of her stomach. She lifts her chin from her palm at last and gets to her feet, then walks to the huge window behind where Voss is seated.

Holding her arms, she stares outside, watching the thick mists filter through the sea of black boughs. “I’ve done this every night.” She says wistfully, gesturing at the window. “I come here and sit and stare outside for hours on end. Sometimes I don’t even notice when it gets late – this place just hypnotizes me…” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “It’s really beautiful here, in a lot of ways. It’s amazing to think that I may never have known it,” she moistens her lips, “were it not for you.”

“Grayson?”

Grayson doesn’t reply. In her peripheral vision she watches Voss get to his feet and move over to her. She continues to face the window and swallows thickly. “I think I have feelings for you,” she admits. It takes a while for Voss to reply, and in the intervening seconds she finds breathing particularly difficult.

“There is something between us,” Voss eventually acknowledges, causing Grayson to turn to him with an enigmatic look on her face. He catches her eye and carefully chooses his next words. “What would you like to do about it?” He ventures. Grayson’s wide eyes search his briefly.

“I don’t know,” she replies, unsure and annoyed at herself for it. She breaks away from his gaze for a moment and stares down at the space between them, her mind drawing a blank. Her brow creases. “Anything,” she offers, and then looks at Voss again.  “Anything would be nice.”

Voss hisses a laugh at her tone and steps closer, tentatively reaching a hand around to the back of her neck. “I’m certain we can figure something out…” He muses.  His respectable attempt at confidence falls a bit short, however.

Amused and pleased, Grayson smiles, prudently choosing to remain silent. She slides an arm around his waist and leans into him, resting her cheek against his shoulder. He is barely warm to the touch, and his body presents many unfriendly angles.

“Yes?” Voss asks after a few moments. He reaches for Grayson’s free hand with his own.

“Yes,” Grayson confirms and twines her fingers with his.

Ssujak-resk visit prep

August 7, 2011 / added to TRANS_LOG / No Comments

Grayson’s initial assumptions about Ssujak-resk, back before she new anything about it beyond a basic description of its stunningly active galactic neighbourhood, was that it was probably a primordial world. However, after reading the reports delivered to her by ensign Raleigh a few weeks ago, Grayson quickly discovered that her assumptions were incorrect.

Its relative spatial importance easily usurped by the massive and dense Lisj nebula looming close by and barricaded behind an extensive asteroid belt, Ssujak-resk, a lone planet orbiting a dim star, is easy to miss. Raleigh’s report described a planet of respectable size, tidally locked to its dwarf host, with a thick atmosphere, a liquid core, and a companion moon. Curiously, the data included indicated varying, but nonetheless appreciable levels of radioactivity – a result, Grayson later learned, of supernovae actvity in the nearby nebula. Scans showed abundant complex life on the day side of the planet and far less of it on the night side. Finally, the atmospheric composition readout flagged the presence of numerous synthetic compounds – the environmental footprint of industry – as well as an overwhelming percentage of nitrogen and nitrogen-based compounds.

Not exactly a primordial profile, but not exactly a human-friendly one either.

For this reason, Grayson experienced mixed feelings when Voss’ request for her to come to Ssujak-resk arrived. The request came in weeks after Vinaed-2’s last round of discussions with Voss’ government, and after some lengthy deliberations a decision on the proposed alliance had finally been reached: they had accepted, and Grayson was to head to Ssujak-resk as a guest to seal the deal. The wait period prior to the communication had been stressful; Grayson had spent her days in meetings and her nights awake, worrying in equal amounts about things that she thought mattered and things that she had difficulty accepting perhaps didn’t. By the time the communication from Ssujak-resk arrived, she was exhausted, on edge, and ready to accept just about any outcome. Luckily, the news from Ssujak-resk was positive, and Grayson was instantly bowled over with relief; her mental acuity dulled by the unique combination of euphoria and lack of sleep, she accepted their invitation to an upcoming meeting on their home world and then promptly retired to her quarters for some much-needed rest.

It wasn’t until the next day, at around midday, that everything she’d ever heard from Voss about his home world came back to her in a rush, putting her blithe acceptance from earlier into sharp perspective: stepping foot on Ssujak-resk, she realized over a half-chewed mouthful of sandwich, presented some very serious complications.

Ensign Raleigh’s report was ready long before Grayson asked it of him, and he delivered it into her hands with a queer look that embarrassed her enough to cause her to choose to leave the room in order to review the data. Evidently, a specific data exchange between Vinaed-2 and Ssujak-resk had already taken place, as, in the following hours, she was informed that she and the team heading down would be adequately equipped to handle the particular environmental conditions present on land and that, in addition, the Ssujak-resk government had already made anticipatory preparations to receive them. She was assured that there was no need for her to be concerned about safety.

Despite this, Grayson’s nerves stayed on edge.

Three days later, the universal translators worn by the expedition team were updated with BETA audio codes for the Ssujak language. After taking part in some debatably successful tests on pre-recorded dialogue fragments and finding herself acceptably capable of understanding them, Grayson sent a message to Voss and requested that he reply to her without using synthesized speech. His reply arrived the following evening, and Grayson wound up listening to it multiple times; hearing his true pitch and various inflections was indescribably strange. He sounded nothing like what he’d sounded like to her up until that point.

In his message he explained where her team would land and what would take place immediately thereafter. He talked about the Oban and said one of the Moors would be present during her stay. He talked about food and lodging, but this segment was difficult to grasp – too many terms did not have direct translations.

Though she couldn’t understand the message in its entirety (the translator would often return nonsensical responses for certain words or even entire sentences), hearing it brought her immense comfort. The strongest effect came from Voss’ last sentence just before his parting words; she had to hear it twice in order to believe it – not because of the words themselves, but because of how easily she was able to detect the emotion behind them:

“Everything is in place, yet…I’m nervous about this, Grayson.”

The simplicity of it – of the emotion, of the interaction, of how effortless it was to understand him – allowed her to breathe more easily. The persistent worries surrounding environmental damage, equipment failure, and looking like a fool in front of the Ssujak-resk government mercifully receded that evening, leaving her with a healthy curiosity and a twinge of hope instead.

Objections overcome

August 7, 2011 / added to TRANS_LOG / No Comments

The instant the last officer leaves the COM room, Grayson turns and drives her fist straight into the side of Voss’ armored face. The surprise hit sends the Executor neatly to the ground, and Grayson follows him down, snatching at the front of his suit with what she suspects might now be a sprained hand. Despite this, her fingers quickly find adequate purchase and she brings her scowling face to within an inch of his.

“Don’t you ever,” she hisses between clenched teeth, instinctively tightening her grip on him, “ever hide anything from me ever again.” A bolt of pain tears through her hand and it threatens to sieze; she makes a face, but does not loosen her hold. “If this is going to work, we’re going to have to start trusting each other,” she explains tightly, “and you haven’t exactly been making that easy. Now, I understand that your people aren’t used to playing with others, and that what passes for a completely acceptable, responsible act back home might be slightly different than what constitutes the same here, but let me tell you something, Executor.” She leans in. “Your people and mine? We’re friends now. I know that’s a new word for you, so let me define it in case it comes up in the future.” Her dark eyes go hard. “A friend is someone you place value in your relationship with. I believe we see eye-to-eye on that at this point, but what I think you might be missing is this little part: friends don’t let friends march to their death.” She releases him at last and gets to her feet, then offers him her good hand. “Ever.”

With a conceding grunt, Voss grabs her hand and hauls himself up. “That is foolish—” he starts.

“I prefer ‘loyal’,” Grayson interjects peevishly, moving back to the conference table and leaning against the edge. She frowns and nurses her swollen knuckles.

Caught somewhere between being amused at the petty justice at play there and being frustrated with himself for having allowed his pride to make that possible, Voss stares at Grayson for a moment, then makes a short, derisive noise. “Call it what you want. From my standpoint, I was doing you a favor—” he says, but Grayson cuts him off once again.

“Bullshit!” Grayson snaps, head whipping up to glare at him. She points an accusatory finger in his direction. “You were doing yourself a favor by pulling out before you had a chance to put yourself in our debt!”

“Further in your debt,” Voss corrects, taking a few steps towards her. “We were already in your debt.” Grayson narrows her eyes and he shakes his head. “But no, you don’t understand. All of this was…” He looks away for a second, struggling to find an appropriate turn of phrase. “Bad timing.” He returns his gaze to Grayson, who raises an expectant eyebrow at him. He makes a displeased noise. “Everything came together very quickly – I suggested the course of action that I thought was best under the circumstances.” He pauses, thinking. “This,” he says after a while and gestures to the two of them with a clawed finger, “was never supposed to happen. At least not now. Allowing you to commit your resources to our cause wasn’t something we – as a people – were prepared to accept.”

Grayson shrugs a shoulder. “Resources or not, we were committed,” she says flatly. “As soon as you contacted us and we agreed to help you, we were committed. That’s how it works.” She sighs heavily and rubs her forehead, a dull ache beginning to form there. “Why didn’t you tell me about the genetic link as soon as you found out? It would have made things easier—”

“Bullshit,” Voss cuts in, using the term for the very first time. Grayson gives him an annoyed look. “I felt strongly that it would have weight with the Oban, but it was by no means a guarantee and we needed to be prepared for the worst. You would have seen it this way as well, and we would have ultimately found ourselves in the same situation.” He draws himself up. “It was time to act. I did what I thought was best – for both of us.”

Grayson pulls away from the table and walks past Voss; she comes to a halt before the large, inactive viewscreen at the front of the room and stands facing it, silent, for a long time. Eventually, she turns her head to the side to speak and, when she does, her tone is considerably calmer. “So what do you think the best course of action is now?” She asks. “You have a lot on your plate in Sector 10 now that the Oban are to share it with you, and I’m prepared to leave you to it. Perhaps, after things have settled and if your people are so inclined, we can try this again. Hopefully under less…stressful circumstances?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Voss replies. Grayson turns to face him; though he finds himself unable to interpret the particular look on her face, it compels him to extrapolate on his previous sentence. “Though we remain wary,” he says carefully, a strange weight pressing down on him as he continues on, “we are genuinely grateful to Vinaed-2 for its speedy and pragmatic response to our plea. We didn’t expect it. We had, after all, given ourselves every reason not to.” He stops here and takes a few slow, deep breaths, as though considering his next words. Finally, he comes out with it. “It shamed us.” He admits. “All of us.”

Grayson tries but is unable to keep the corners of her mouth from turning up into a small smile. “Is that an apology?” She asks delicately. There is a high probability that the question will derail the conversation and potentially ruin her chances at hearing what she suspects Voss is getting at, but she still feels it’s worth it.

“No.” Comes the Executor’s decided reply.

Because of course it isn’t, Grayson grumbles internally, but manages to maintain her smile anyway. “So what is it, then?” She asks.

Voss shrugs. “What it is.” He states, irritated, then moves on at once. “My people wish to continue to explore the possibility of an alliance with Sector 9, if,” he adds, taking a step towards Grayson, “Vinaed-2 and her commander are amenable at this time.”

Grayson’s smile widens. “They are,” she replies with a polite nod, “and I’m relieved to hear that.” Voss relaxes visibly at this, and the two stand facing each other for a good thirty seconds before Grayson gives a perfunctory nod and turns to leave. “I’ll meet with High—” She starts, then stops abruptly when Voss’ hand graps her wrist.

“Grayson.”

She turns back around to look at him, eyes wide. “Yes?”

He bows his head slightly. “Thank you,” he says quietly. Grayson’s smile is foreign to him. He stays still for a split second longer, considering saying something more, then decides against it. He releases her and promptly exits the COM room.

Bad idea

August 7, 2011 / added to TRANS_LOG / No Comments

The door slides open and she steps inside, stopping only a few paces in. Executor Voss stands across the room with his back to her, facing the observation deck.

“Grayson,” he greets her, his synthesized voice extending the first vowel. Though characteristically perfunctory, his greeting is detectably curt.

“Executor,” she returns staunchly, willfully ignoring the implied warning. There is no doubt in her mind that he knows what this is about, and that this visit was entirely expected. What is confusing – considering his typical disinterest in conversation – is why he let it happen. She takes a deep breath, fighting to maintain her composure. “With all due respect, I think you’re making a mistake.” She straightens and levels a hard stare at his back.

“Yes.”

Stunned, Grayson blinks. “Yes?” She echoes, struggling to process the unexpected response. She moistens her lips and turns her attention to the peculiarly-sparse star field beyond, a frown creasing her brow. “What? Why, then? Why—”

“I maintain that you are uniquely short-sighted,” Voss says flatly, cutting her off mid-sentence, “but in this instance I cannot hold you entirely at fault for the crudeness of your assessment.” After waiting a bit for Grayson to have a moment of personality (which she curiously does not take advantage of), he continues. “Consider the likelihood that there are additional factors outside of your knowledge.”

Grayson shakes her head. “Be that as it may,” she starts, allowing the slight, “I hope you understand that this is it. Our gateway into Sector 10? All the progress we’ve been making with the Oban Moors? Those things are gone – forever – if you’re part of the launch tomorrow.”

Voss turns his head to the side. “Do not insult me with the obvious.” He replies. “Our concerns with Sector 10—”

“Are things we already agreed to help your people with!” Grayson snaps, instantly dropping the cool demeanor and taking an aggressive step forward. “Almost a year ago, when you determined the data was suspect, we agreed to send reinforcements to Sector 10. We agreed to share supply line coordinates. We acknowledged that the nebula needed to be surveyed. We told you we would back you up no matter what happened!” She gestures sharply. “None of that has changed! None of it!”

“Grayson,” Voss tries, turning to face her at last. “Vinaed-2 cannot—”

“Listen to me, Voss,” Grayson growls as she crosses the room determinedly and comes to a halt before the towering Executor. She frantically searches the dark surface of the elongated environmental mask concealing his face. “I”, she repeats, stabbing the fingers of one hand to her chest for emphasis and then stabbing them into his, “promised you.” She pauses, staring at him, then retracts her hand and nods once. “Do you understand me?”

Executor Voss remains still as always. “Yes,” he replies, “and you have my deepest gratitude.” At this, Grayson relaxes visibly and steps away from him, then turns to make her way back towards the exit. “However, my decision remains the same.” Grayson stops; her fingers curl into fists at her side. “It is an unacceptable price for the forces of Vinaed-2 to pay.” Voss states with finality.

Grayson turns, enraged. “I—” She starts, but the Executor cuts her off at once.

“Regardless of promises made.” Voss adds.

Grayson attempts one final time to bore through the inscrutable and fails. Before she can convince herself that she is in any state to continue dialogue, she turns back to the door and forcefully presses the key panel to let herself out.

“Grayson,” the Executor calls just as the door slides open.

Grayson stops and stares into the empty hallway beyond.

“Trust me.”

Grayson continues to stare forward, trying but ultimately unable to settle on a single response. During this period of deliberation, the door closes with a soft hiss. After calling it a wash, Grayson waits five seconds, curious to see if Voss will add anything more.

Of course, he doesn’t; he’s already said everything that needs to be said, and Grayson knows that. She knew that when she started the count to five. She raises her hand to the door panel once again and presses the button.

As soon as the door slides open again, she is gone.

Transponder detail report

August 7, 2011 / added to TRANS_LOG / No Comments

Reaching out with a soapy hand, she feels around for the datapad she knows is on the floor just on the other side of the window sill. Once her fingers graze its surface, she snatches it up and pulls it outside with her, then props it precariously against the far edge of the window frame. She wipes her hand on her pants quickly and then touches the screen to activate it.

Glare from the sun makes it impossible to see who the caller is. She squints. “Grayson here,” she greets the featureless dark blob staring back at her.

“Grayson,” the person – who turns out to be the Ssujak scientist Lekket – says in her pleasant, if tense, synthesized voice, “we have information about the Oban transponder. Do you have a moment?”

Grayson drops her washcloth into the dirty pale of water sitting beside her. “Of course.”

Lekket looks off to the right, momentarily distracted by something, and then faces the screen again. “We finally figured out the code,” she starts, tapping two fingers to her breast briefly – a gesture Grayson has seen before but doesn’t entirely understand the significance of, “and it is a basic thing. The device sends coordinates to a central control unit and receives an acknowledgement in return. It does this at an interval; between messages, it leaves a channel open.”

Grayson shrugs a shoulder. “For what?” She asks, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. In the shade, Lekket’s features become easier to distinguish. Her close-fitting environmental suit, of a red so deep as to be almost black, gleams in the clear light of Vinaed-2’s lab; the ensemble gives her the sleek, biomechanical appearance that is the hallmark of her species’ aesthetic taste.

“A command,” Lekket replies, shifting uncomfortably, “and that is the true reason for my call.” Her image wobbles about for a second as she moves over to a desk and perches herself atop it. Something near her falls to the ground with a clatter; she ignores it. “Grayson, we have reason to believe the device you recovered is a wormhole generator.”

“You’re sure?”

Lekket lifts her chin. “Yes,” she replies steadily and Grayson nods once. She leans in closer to the screen. “In addition, we know this device is not unique,” she warns. “We were able to track the signal back to the central control unit. There are four others like this one – all on or near colony worlds.”

Grayson stares past the datapad, her eyes focused on the window sill’s peeling white paint and her mind elsewhere entirely. “Where is the control unit?” She asks. A distant insect’s brittle song is carried on the wind, rising above the other ambient sounds.

“In the nebula – near the original Oban wormhole.”

“Did we jam the device?” Grayson asks, chest tightening.

“No.”

Grayson returns her attention to Lekket at once. She reaches out and grabs the datapad, bringing it close. “Why?” She asks, trying to be delicate so as to not put Lekket on the defensive, but strongly suspecting what the answer will be. Lekket, Raleigh, and Chief Kardis are all smart people – far smarter than Grayson. There is no way they haven’t already assessed the danger the transponder-generator represents. The possibility that the Oban might have Vinaed-2’s coordinates is a terrifying prospect, but that they retain the ability to trigger the device – whether they have Vinaed-2’s coordinates or not – is much more disturbing. Should they choose to activate the device, the station, the neighboring planet, and anything in its general vicinity would be instantly obliterated in the birth of the resulting wormhole…

Lekket’s tone becomes apologetic. “We did not because we tried and could not. There is…unfortunately very little to interact with.” She taps her chest again with two fingers. “When we figured out what it was saying, we noted the coordinates it was transmitting – it was sending Antera’s position. This surprised us, as we were expecting it to have updated to our own. Today, still, it communicates Antera’s position.” Grayson stares at her blankly. To address this, Lekket chooses to add an addendum. “We are either lucky, and this particular device was damaged back at my colony, or we are less lucky, and the coordinates were simply locked in.”

At this, Grayson makes a face. “But either way we have to assume it can still be triggered.” She concludes grimly. “It’s just a matter of how long we have before that happens.”

“Yes.”

“Can it be destroyed or otherwise neutralized?”

Lekket looks to the right again. “Probably…” she muses and then turns the screen around to show Grayson what she’s looking at. Visible through the window of the office Lekket is presently in, Ensign Raleigh and Chief Kardis crowd over a small cluster of computers towards the back of the lab; in the foreground, under a host of overlooking monitoring equipment, a spherical object the size of an orange sits passively within a fortified container. Raleigh turns to look at it suddenly, an angry frown on his face, and then notices the screen of Lekket’s datapad pointed in his direction. Caught off-guard, he gives Grayson an awkward thumbs up and then quickly turns back around.

“….but we must continue discussing how best to do that.” Lekket finishes, re-appearing onscreen. “Those two are working on that right now. Though,” she comments, “the device seems quite stable. We could bring it to dead space—”

“That won’t help us with the other four…” Grayson cuts her off, thinking. She touches the screen and pulls up a list of contacts. “At the very least, we can’t leave those things out there – we have no idea when or how they’ll wind up playing those cards, and I’m not comfortable watching them set up.”

Lekket draws back. “You plan to fetch the other devices?” She asks, conflicted. She’s dropped the datapad down to her lap; a few segments of her spine-like tail, now visible onscreen, are coiled tightly around her upper thigh.

“Yes,” Grayson replies curtly. She raises an eyebrow at Lekket. “How long will it take you three to agree on how to destroy these things?”

“A few hours,” Lekket ventures, “I suspect…perhaps. But, there is no guarantee—”

“Now that you understand what the transponder is saying,” Grayson edges in, an eager gleam in her eye, “can you change it?”

Lekket remains silent for a few seconds, and then nods slowly. “Yes…” She says, enunciating cautiously. She turns to look in Raleigh and Kardis’ direction again. “I believe I can…”

Grayson smiles. “Good,” she says, “then I’ll speak with you again in a few hours.” Lekket faces her again, but Grayson’s eyes are already scanning the contact list floating just over Lekket’s shoulder on the screen; she selects a few of them. “Thanks for the call – I have a few of my own to make now.”

Lekket acknowledges this with a slight inclination of her head and promptly terminates the connection.