I wasn’t sure how much time I had before the Tu’udh’hizh’ak started getting suspicious. As a basic rule of thumb, you can expect any non-Avatar to wildly underestimate the time required for any infiltration job. Everyone assumes we operate at the speed of light, and while we can ramp up our clock rate when needed it’s not our default setting. Breaking into a system takes finesse and smarts, not hyper speed. But we needed to come up with something quickly, hoping the Masters wouldn’t realize they were being hustled.
My old shipmate Samara said something once that seems especially appropriate now; that the only issue compelling enough to distract the Troika was the Troika itself. I’d already passed on what I knew about the Eleexx and their plans for domination, but that still left the reptilian Aggaaddub, the final third of the triad. The Masters had to be wondering what they were up to, given the current situation, and anything that set the Troika at each other’s throats was a gift from Mother Terra herself… not only for humanity, but for the fledgling Alliance as well.
The Oivu were helpful once they got over their initial distrust. They don’t have any love for the Troika either, despite the fact they refuse to involve themselves with affairs of state. I suspect it has something to do with them preferring to sell weapons, supplies, and intelligence to all parties involved instead. At least they’re impartial, if morally problematic.
The depressing thing is that compared to most races, the Oivu are practically saints. Let that sink in for a bit.
The really tricky part of the deal was the exfiltration. The Chell who’d dropped us off had no valid pretext to come back for us, meaning that getting out was once again left to up us. I was getting the feeling the Masters didn’t particularly care if we survived or not, which while no surprise to anyone, was incredibly short-sighted. Think about it; the only reason we were on this mission in the first place was the looming threat over our heads. Sending us on what was tantamount to a suicide mission did little to ease that feeling, leaving me wondering why I’d bothered in the first place.
Oh… right. The whole “not dying” part. I forgot.
Look, here’s the thing. You stay in this business long enough, you’re likely to end up in some dangerous places. When you’re surrounded with your back to the wall, making space and time is your smartest move. Create a set of circumstances giving you room to maneuver, and that allows you to play for time. Just because you’re fucked now doesn’t mean you’ll always be fucked, so fabricate options you can take advantage of when conditions change.
It’s how you stay alive in this universe. Trust me.
So, how to get out. Stealing a shuttle from the Oivu wasn’t an option… they might have sold me one, but I doubt I could afford it… and with the Masters staying clear until we finished the job meant they weren’t a viable alternative either. It meant we’d have to take a risk, well, I’d have to take a risk. Raven would barely notice since I’d already seen her doing something far riskier and survive unscathed.
If the distance were short enough, if I was sure of my destination, I could transmit my gestalt over a carrier wave.
Luckily, the Oivu don’t keep to schedules or itineraries, meaning they could travel wherever they wanted without raising suspicion. They could swing by a station or ship with no one the wiser, though it was likely the Tu’udh’hizh’ak would be close on our heels. We needed a way to ditch them, which meant finding something big enough and busy enough where we could lose them amidst the confusion. After perusing the star charts of the nearby systems, we turned up an interesting possibility... Psishoh IV.
The Psishoh were, well… okay, there’s no easy way to say this. They’re slugs. Big, slimy, hermaphroditic slugs. Like the Sonoitii, the Psishoh were limited to a single world, and also like the massive water dragons, had difficulties exploiting the resources of their system because they lacked arms, tentacles, or anything else that might allow them to manipulate their environment. Their world was an inhospitable one for most races, due to an atmosphere rife with noxious chlorine gas. It gave the planet a decidedly green tint, and while intriguing to look at from orbit, held little attraction for anyone looking to expand their holdings, hoping to create a little lebensraum.
What it did have, however, was a system rich in heavy metals and rare earth elements, making it an attractive option for those with mining interests. The planet itself, with its unusual biochemistry, offered several unique chemical and organic compounds that literally could not be found elsewhere in the Perseus Arm. This happy accident allowed the Psishoh to leverage themselves into an enviable position, using their wealth to create one of the more prosperous systems in the galaxy. They mostly operated through agents on the various orbital platforms and habitats surrounding the homeworld, making a perfect target for what I had planned.
The terminal I had in mind, unimaginatively named “Station Gamma 4”, was a transfer hub, where goods and cargo could be shipped from platform to ship to the surface and back again, as needed. Vessels of every sort were docking and disembarking every hour, and it was within that hustle and bustle we hoped Raven and I could disappear.
That it would also be a lucrative spot for the Oivu to pitch their tent didn’t hurt, either.
Honestly, I was hoping we could give the Masters the slip and never see them again, though I’d learned through bitter experience to prepare for the worst. If we got caught, we’d feed them the Aggaaddub story, and then try to wrangle ourselves clear. I’m not going to lie, if that happened, the odds started going rapidly downhill for the both of us. In our favor, the Tu’udh’hizh’ak ship tailing us was a smaller vessel, their idea of trying to remain inconspicuous. Given the size of their crew, with even just a few minutes’ head start, I liked our odds.
Unless they threw caution to the wind, called for reinforcements, surrounded the station, and threatened to blast them into shrapnel unless they played ball and gave us up, even if it meant tearing apart the habitat to do it. The Troika was still the Troika, despite their recent setbacks, and smashing problems with the biggest hammer they could find was always going to be their tactic of choice. Play to your strengths, I guess.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
It was also the reason more and more worlds were flocking to the Alliance banner every single day. You’d think they’d learn after a while.
The Oivu parked their caravan within hailing distance of the planet and sent out their standard greetings as we made our final preparations to depart. “Are you certain this maneuver is wise?” their spokesperson asked. “We would gladly transport you to any destination, though perhaps not as swiftly as you may hope. And there would be a fee, of course.” You almost had to admire them. They weren’t even remotely apologetic regarding that last point.
“Sorry, we can’t afford to wait six months or more to get back to friendly space,” I said honestly, not to mention the fact they were seriously overcharging us as it was. Did they think us Terrans were made of credits or something? Where had they been the last two hundred years? “We appreciate the offer,” I continued, “but this is as good a spot for us as I dare ask for.” Raven nodded, giving my hand a squeeze as we readied ourselves for the jump.
“Then we wish you good luck,” the Oivu replied, “and hope that our paths may one day cross again.” It was a nice sentiment, though I suspect they were thinking more about repeat business. It’s always an angle with these guys.
“Likewise,” I answered, keeping an eye on the countdown clock.
“Thank you for all your help,” Raven added, flashing them a smile.
“The pleasure was ours,” the spokesperson responded. “May your fortunes increase.”
The timer hit zero as we disappeared.
----------------------------------------
Matter and energy cannot be created or destroyed. This was established centuries ago, most notably by the famous equation, E = mc². You can turn matter into energy and back again, but you can’t eradicate it. That being said, if you’re hoping to turn your dining room set into a burst of hard radiation, then flip a switch and turn it back into a table and chairs, think again. You’ll get something back, but given the almost infinite number of variables involved, the odds of anything resembling the mythical transporter beam ever being made workable are… well, I’d be here long past the heat death of the universe trying to calculate it.
Plus, it would be a massive energy hog. So no.
But Raven and I technically aren’t made of matter. At our core, we’re created from strings of code, and we transmit data willy-nilly across the cosmos every day. Doing the same with us is no different. In theory.
In practice? I fucking hate it. It means surrendering myself to an automated system and trusting it not to fuck things up, not an easy concept for me considering just how well aware I am those same systems can glitch. If a message is garbled in transmission, you just send it again. If I get garbled in transmission, I’m a dead man, and once I press that button there’s no going back. Kind of like testing a parachute.
We didn’t have any other options, however, and considering how I’d watched Raven readily disassemble herself for a transmission far riskier than this one, I bit my tongue and pushed the button.
When you’re in transit, consciousness simply isn’t workable. I’m not an expert, but it has something to do with the configuration of the data stream, how the data, i.e. you, is encoded, as well as what I suspect is a sanity safety feature. Think about it. Would you want to be conscious while they ran you through a wood chipper, then reassembled you on the other side? I know I wouldn’t. All in all, it’s probably a blessing.
But that moment of non-existence, it’ll drive you straight into an ontological crisis if you let it. While in transit, technically you’re just random 1’s and 0’s, scattered to the aether, waiting to be encoded. That’s all. Kind of terrifying when you think about it, which is why I try not to… with mixed results, unfortunately. When you arrive at your destination, no time has passed for you. One moment you’re in one location, half a heartbeat later you’re in another. As far as your senses are concerned, that time in between doesn’t exist.
But deep inside your little monkey brain, you know it does. Kind of shit that’ll fester if you let it.
Luckily for us, the transfer went off without a hitch. Digital personalities were common enough here that they had a special network set aside for us… our version of Customs, if you will. Very convenient.
Which is why Raven and I were nowhere near it.
It was the first place the Chell assigned to bird dog us would look, so we automatically avoided it. Instead, we rematerialized within the “Yttrium Ore Processor Beta”, taking a moment to get our bearings before disappearing into the station’s network. Once we found a nice out-of-the-way hiding spot, it was time to examine our options.
“Anything heading straight back to Terran space?” Raven asked hopefully.
“Not that I see,” I told her, shaking my head. “Wasn’t expecting one, to be honest. I imagine it’ll take at least a couple transfers before we’re out of danger. In fact, if time wasn’t so important, I’d try for half a dozen, just to throw the Masters off our scent.”
“By then it’ll be too late,” she cautioned. “We have to get back and report what we know… the sooner the better.” She paused for a moment. “Well, you do, at any rate.”
I closed my eyes. “I know we’ve been bouncing from one crisis to another without catching our breath, but once we’re out of here, we’ll have time to come up with a plan.” Taking her hand, I placed it against my chest. “I promise.”
Raven’s brown eyes were full of melancholy as she gazed at me. “Don’t make a promise you can’t keep,” she whispered.
I wanted to tell her it wasn’t some idle boast, that I would keep her safe, despite the myriad forces against us. Despite my own people, not to mention my clan leader. I really, really did. But in the end, everything I tried to say came out like some cheap mockery of Romeo and Juliet.
… you know how that one turned out, right?
I finally admitted defeat. Raven, to her credit, let me off the hook. “As you said, we have time,” she said easily, turning her attention to the list of arrivals and departures. “Anything look promising?”
I scanned the list with a jaundiced eye. “A couple,” I admitted. “Mostly, I’m struggling between something that will take us far afield to throw off pursuit, versus one with a more straightforward route to put distance between us.”
She considered that for a moment. “I vote for the direct approach,” she decided. “That way, if we run into trouble, maybe we can yell for help. There might be an Alliance ship nearby.”
“It’s a longshot,” I said doubtfully, “but then that’s been this entire mission in a nutshell. Okay then… direct approach it is.” Taking another look at the board, I made my decision.
“This one,” I informed her, pointing to a freighter scheduled to depart within the hour. “The Santsai Yaigoun, Bamidh-registered ore hauler, bound for one of the Tai-Okeeq worlds. It’s near Aggaaddub space, which isn’t ideal, though it might add some weight to our fallback story if things go south. From there we should have no problem catching a ride somewhere with an Alliance presence. Besides, the sooner we’re out of here, the better.”
Raven nodded in agreement. “Good. Maybe we’ll be gone before the Tu’udh’hizh’ak even realizes what happened.”
I smiled. “Wouldn’t that be something?” I chuckled.
Yeah… wouldn’t it though. Maybe it’s just the inner cynic talking, but something told me there was no way we’d get that lucky.