Quote:
The ship hung in space. No noise. No light. No movement. There was nothing to distinguish the craft from a derelict to any casual observer.
Not that any casual observer would have noticed the ship. From the front, it was pitch black, from nose to engines, and there was absolutely no reflected light. The engines were powered down, and the only exhaust glow was shielded from view by the odd looking tail array. The small craft resembled nothing so much as an old earth stealth bomber, and with good reason.
In the tight fitting cockpit, Zack kept a light hand on the controls. The whole mission depended on a total lack of movement on his part, but if he was spotted he had to be away in a second. A faint beeping in his ear told him the sensors were doing their automated best, but the cobbled together programming and adaptive sensors were only running at half the speed he had hoped for. Another problem, but not a serious one. With any luck he could sit around here for hours without being noticed. But that shouldn't be necessary. Even in their crippled state the sensors were literally drinking in the emissions of his subject; an Engreia Condor class vessel.
The massive cruiser drifted only a few thousand meters away from his puny vessel, yet its military grade sensors had not noticed the hole in space that his experimental hull had left. The mighty ship was loading troops from smaller transports that were ferrying back and forth from a nearby training base. There were a quartet of smaller fighters in close air patrol around it, and a further four escorting in the transports. Fortunately, none of the vessels had ventured around far enough to pick up the slight waste glow that was the unfortunate by-product of the new plating.
A new sound reverberated through the cockpit, shocking Zack. It was a deep female voice booming through the main speakers; "Your sensor sweep is complete, or do you want to sit there all day? Come on, you have work to do!"
Zack smiled and shook his head. "You have no appreciation for attention to detail." He hit the thrusters and the engines sprang to life. The old thrusters in this thing may not be the fastest, but they jumped from near dead to full thrust in the time it took for him to take his hand from the throttle to the main control stick.
He threw the ship into a end-over-end flip, pointing it dead away from the massive military ship and rocketing away. Once there was a bit of space between him and them he turned and ran for the nearby moon base.
"Just what do you think you are doing? Now you have a squadron of Engreia fighters on your tail!" And sure enough the CAP quartet had peeled off from their charge and were heading in on an intercept course. Their weapons sensors were easily tracking the blaring light emitting from the four engines.
"Need to see how this thing handles the pressure." Zack cut a course directly in front of the approaching fighters, offering them a beautiful broadside shot.
However, once the rear of the ship was out of their sight, Zack cut power to the engines again and let the blackened ship become a hole in space once more. Two of the fighters launched missiles at the elusive shadow, but they failed to find their target and flew off into deep space. The other two fighters managed to get shots off with their Vulcan canons. Only one of them was on target, but the hull of the strange fighter simply drank in the energy bursts. Zack reignited the engines and turned back towards the base, the glow from the back of the ship noticeably brighter.
By the time the fighters had recovered from their failed attack, Zack had managed to accelerate halfway to the moon. The fighters optimised engines started to quickly eat up the distance between them, but the head start was enough. All they managed was a long range missile launch.
Zack watched as the moons size increased till it filled his forwards view. Hitting the tongue switch on his headset he activated the radio again. "Hey, C, what is the rating on this moon?"
"K class atmosphere, gravity approximately double standard earth, low ratio oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere, swarming with defence networks. You are running out of time. What are you planning?"
"You'll see." Zack shut off the mike again. Pulling up at the edge of the moons atmosphere he took a quick scan of the surface. Choosing a large open area of water he turned the ship towards it.
The missiles launched by the fighters were catching fast, and suddenly a new array of lights started flashing on the controls as moon based defences targeted the vessel. Zack just smiled and slowly pushed down into the outer atmosphere. A horrendous glow started around the nose of the black fighter.
"Zack! Pull out of there!"
Ignoring the warnings he pushed the nose deeper still. Two of the missiles exploded well out of range, and one of the others burned out and plummeted towards the surface. The warning lights started dropping off the board.
"OK, you proved you point, now get out of there!"
"Oh, for the love of...." Zack decided not to drag things out any more. He put the stick full forwards.
The vessel dove straight towards the surface.
The small pristine black ship was shrouded inflames as it tore through the upper reaches of the thick atmosphere. Inside the cockpit sensors started flaring out as one by one they were overloaded and were burned out of existence. Finally only the direct visual feed was left running, until, that, suddenly and without warning, cut out. Zack was left alone in the dark.
Suddenly a brilliant light, surpassing even the light show of moments before burst through the left wall of the cockpit. Shielding his eyes from the glare, Zack turned towards the light. There was a human silhouette outlined by the dazzling glow.
"So, burned again eh? Two for two on this love for atmospheres, eh? At least this time you were under power when you died."
Clambering out of the simulator cockpit Zack hunted for some appropriate words. How could he sum up the whole point of a seeming suicide dive in the time before his boss interrupted again? Simple. Don't even try.
"Did you get the readings, C?"
"What, this?" Cayle asked, holding out a Malanite Crystal, "Full readouts from every sensor on every ship that took part in this farce. Hope it is worth it, cause it is coming out of your final pay check."
Zack reached for the crystal, but Cayle snatched it back.
"Speaking of final pay check, how about you do me one last favour. You come and let me buy you a meal and I will remove the cost of this last hour sim from your bill?"
"Sounds fair enough. So what is the catch?"
Cayle turned and walked out, still carrying the crystals.
"You'll find out if you follow me."
Not that any casual observer would have noticed the ship. From the front, it was pitch black, from nose to engines, and there was absolutely no reflected light. The engines were powered down, and the only exhaust glow was shielded from view by the odd looking tail array. The small craft resembled nothing so much as an old earth stealth bomber, and with good reason.
In the tight fitting cockpit, Zack kept a light hand on the controls. The whole mission depended on a total lack of movement on his part, but if he was spotted he had to be away in a second. A faint beeping in his ear told him the sensors were doing their automated best, but the cobbled together programming and adaptive sensors were only running at half the speed he had hoped for. Another problem, but not a serious one. With any luck he could sit around here for hours without being noticed. But that shouldn't be necessary. Even in their crippled state the sensors were literally drinking in the emissions of his subject; an Engreia Condor class vessel.
The massive cruiser drifted only a few thousand meters away from his puny vessel, yet its military grade sensors had not noticed the hole in space that his experimental hull had left. The mighty ship was loading troops from smaller transports that were ferrying back and forth from a nearby training base. There were a quartet of smaller fighters in close air patrol around it, and a further four escorting in the transports. Fortunately, none of the vessels had ventured around far enough to pick up the slight waste glow that was the unfortunate by-product of the new plating.
A new sound reverberated through the cockpit, shocking Zack. It was a deep female voice booming through the main speakers; "Your sensor sweep is complete, or do you want to sit there all day? Come on, you have work to do!"
Zack smiled and shook his head. "You have no appreciation for attention to detail." He hit the thrusters and the engines sprang to life. The old thrusters in this thing may not be the fastest, but they jumped from near dead to full thrust in the time it took for him to take his hand from the throttle to the main control stick.
He threw the ship into a end-over-end flip, pointing it dead away from the massive military ship and rocketing away. Once there was a bit of space between him and them he turned and ran for the nearby moon base.
"Just what do you think you are doing? Now you have a squadron of Engreia fighters on your tail!" And sure enough the CAP quartet had peeled off from their charge and were heading in on an intercept course. Their weapons sensors were easily tracking the blaring light emitting from the four engines.
"Need to see how this thing handles the pressure." Zack cut a course directly in front of the approaching fighters, offering them a beautiful broadside shot.
However, once the rear of the ship was out of their sight, Zack cut power to the engines again and let the blackened ship become a hole in space once more. Two of the fighters launched missiles at the elusive shadow, but they failed to find their target and flew off into deep space. The other two fighters managed to get shots off with their Vulcan canons. Only one of them was on target, but the hull of the strange fighter simply drank in the energy bursts. Zack reignited the engines and turned back towards the base, the glow from the back of the ship noticeably brighter.
By the time the fighters had recovered from their failed attack, Zack had managed to accelerate halfway to the moon. The fighters optimised engines started to quickly eat up the distance between them, but the head start was enough. All they managed was a long range missile launch.
Zack watched as the moons size increased till it filled his forwards view. Hitting the tongue switch on his headset he activated the radio again. "Hey, C, what is the rating on this moon?"
"K class atmosphere, gravity approximately double standard earth, low ratio oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere, swarming with defence networks. You are running out of time. What are you planning?"
"You'll see." Zack shut off the mike again. Pulling up at the edge of the moons atmosphere he took a quick scan of the surface. Choosing a large open area of water he turned the ship towards it.
The missiles launched by the fighters were catching fast, and suddenly a new array of lights started flashing on the controls as moon based defences targeted the vessel. Zack just smiled and slowly pushed down into the outer atmosphere. A horrendous glow started around the nose of the black fighter.
"Zack! Pull out of there!"
Ignoring the warnings he pushed the nose deeper still. Two of the missiles exploded well out of range, and one of the others burned out and plummeted towards the surface. The warning lights started dropping off the board.
"OK, you proved you point, now get out of there!"
"Oh, for the love of...." Zack decided not to drag things out any more. He put the stick full forwards.
The vessel dove straight towards the surface.
The small pristine black ship was shrouded inflames as it tore through the upper reaches of the thick atmosphere. Inside the cockpit sensors started flaring out as one by one they were overloaded and were burned out of existence. Finally only the direct visual feed was left running, until, that, suddenly and without warning, cut out. Zack was left alone in the dark.
Suddenly a brilliant light, surpassing even the light show of moments before burst through the left wall of the cockpit. Shielding his eyes from the glare, Zack turned towards the light. There was a human silhouette outlined by the dazzling glow.
"So, burned again eh? Two for two on this love for atmospheres, eh? At least this time you were under power when you died."
Clambering out of the simulator cockpit Zack hunted for some appropriate words. How could he sum up the whole point of a seeming suicide dive in the time before his boss interrupted again? Simple. Don't even try.
"Did you get the readings, C?"
"What, this?" Cayle asked, holding out a Malanite Crystal, "Full readouts from every sensor on every ship that took part in this farce. Hope it is worth it, cause it is coming out of your final pay check."
Zack reached for the crystal, but Cayle snatched it back.
"Speaking of final pay check, how about you do me one last favour. You come and let me buy you a meal and I will remove the cost of this last hour sim from your bill?"
"Sounds fair enough. So what is the catch?"
Cayle turned and walked out, still carrying the crystals.
"You'll find out if you follow me."
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Greg crept slowly along the corridor. His gun was raised, the sight being the only window through which the world was visible. The rest was darkness. The still air and soundless night made for poor hunting conditions, but he had to make do. War didn't wait for the grunts now, did it?
His boots making as little noise as he could manage on the wooden floors, he made it to the door at the end of the hall. There was still no sign of life, which didn't make things any better. His job was to find life, and he knew it was around here. Just a matter of spotting it before it spotted him. The life in these parts wasn't very pro-USA.
He pressed himself against the door, listening at it for a moment before gently turning the smooth metalic handle and pushing on the door slowly.
The hinges let out an almightly squeek, louder than any flashbang, and the sound shocked Greg into action. He was now certain that there would be someone in the room. Hell, sods law ruled in war. The one sound you make is the one that gets you killed.
Kicking the door the rest of the way open, he targeted the prone shape by the window, letting it have a swift burst of five rounds. The small bullets ripped through the figure, tearing through cloth to punch into the body below. The sound of their imact was as loud as the silenced gun had made. Too bad about the rest of the noises though, as the door clashed with a cupboard containing what sounded like a tonne of fragile glass objects.
The shattering noises masked any other sound for a few seconds, raising the levels of paranoia in Gregs mind, and forcing him to rely on his eyes in this dim light. Finaly, the repeated sounds died away and he felt more comfortable. He headed towards the figure to check the kill.
It was a damn dummy. A wooden body, the kind used for making clothes. It had been draped in an old cloth, seemingly abandoned like the rest of the building. Just great. His third kill, and it was a wooden sewing utility. The guys would laugh this one up when he reported in.
Extreme pain was the first sign. There was a huge roar of sound behind him as he collapsed. He tried to turn, but could only manage half a roll onto his side. His hip felt like it had been torn off. He brought his gun up and let it spray death down the hallways, its flashes registering, but his hearing not noticing anything anymore. His ears were too full of the sound of his slowly leaking blood.
A second hammer blow hit him, just below the shoulder. He dropped the gun, but no longer saw anything else going on beyond him. There was a feeling, a thudding feeling through the cold wooden floor. Almost like he had felt when he had fallen.
He watched with interest as the ceiling shrunk. The pounding of blood was lessening now, and he was able to hear the silence once more. The grey invaders were now starting their march from the edges of his vision, making their way across the field of vision.
With his last strength he reached for his radio and activated the transponder. Might just work. He surrended to the invaders, being taken prisoner by his own body as his consciousness slipped away.
His boots making as little noise as he could manage on the wooden floors, he made it to the door at the end of the hall. There was still no sign of life, which didn't make things any better. His job was to find life, and he knew it was around here. Just a matter of spotting it before it spotted him. The life in these parts wasn't very pro-USA.
He pressed himself against the door, listening at it for a moment before gently turning the smooth metalic handle and pushing on the door slowly.
The hinges let out an almightly squeek, louder than any flashbang, and the sound shocked Greg into action. He was now certain that there would be someone in the room. Hell, sods law ruled in war. The one sound you make is the one that gets you killed.
Kicking the door the rest of the way open, he targeted the prone shape by the window, letting it have a swift burst of five rounds. The small bullets ripped through the figure, tearing through cloth to punch into the body below. The sound of their imact was as loud as the silenced gun had made. Too bad about the rest of the noises though, as the door clashed with a cupboard containing what sounded like a tonne of fragile glass objects.
The shattering noises masked any other sound for a few seconds, raising the levels of paranoia in Gregs mind, and forcing him to rely on his eyes in this dim light. Finaly, the repeated sounds died away and he felt more comfortable. He headed towards the figure to check the kill.
It was a damn dummy. A wooden body, the kind used for making clothes. It had been draped in an old cloth, seemingly abandoned like the rest of the building. Just great. His third kill, and it was a wooden sewing utility. The guys would laugh this one up when he reported in.
Extreme pain was the first sign. There was a huge roar of sound behind him as he collapsed. He tried to turn, but could only manage half a roll onto his side. His hip felt like it had been torn off. He brought his gun up and let it spray death down the hallways, its flashes registering, but his hearing not noticing anything anymore. His ears were too full of the sound of his slowly leaking blood.
A second hammer blow hit him, just below the shoulder. He dropped the gun, but no longer saw anything else going on beyond him. There was a feeling, a thudding feeling through the cold wooden floor. Almost like he had felt when he had fallen.
He watched with interest as the ceiling shrunk. The pounding of blood was lessening now, and he was able to hear the silence once more. The grey invaders were now starting their march from the edges of his vision, making their way across the field of vision.
With his last strength he reached for his radio and activated the transponder. Might just work. He surrended to the invaders, being taken prisoner by his own body as his consciousness slipped away.
Quote:
Sitting in the bright room, Nick felt somewhat out of place. His past work had always been done in less... clinical environment. His normal 'experiments' had been illuminated by the only tools he had ever truly needed; the computer. But today all that work was going to be poured into a more practical, if distasteful, method of work.
The room was filled with a number of medical professionals. There were a pair of neurosurgeons that Nick had worked with in the past, that he had actually learned a great deal from. Today they were looking to him for answers.
A grey faced morgue worker lay the grisly subject of their attention onto the sanitized table. The brain of a recently dead user.
"Subject died age thirty five. He was institutionalized three weeks ago, showing major signs of advanced schizophrenia. There was no evidence of any such disorder prior to a certain event. The subject was reported to spend a full nine days under the influence of the Dreamweaver device, hooked up to a home rigged IV and catheter. Apparently he had recently lost his wife, and was trying to get some kind of closure.
"He was found dead in his rooms, seemingly a suicide. He had hung himself with bedsheets. There is a separate enquiry running into the events there. Our job today is to determine what damage had been done to the brain that caused such a disorder to come on in such short time."
The man walked back to the cold drawers along one wall of the room, opening one of the smaller ones along the side. Nick had been told that they were usually used for babies, a fact he could have done without. Today they were being used for the grim objects that he had been studying for years now.
The mortician pulled out a second brain, laying it on the table along from the first.
"Control subject is also a thirty five year old male, died through similar causes. No history of mental illness. Preliminary scans revealed a perfectly healthy brain, and no problems with any internal workings. However, nothing was revealed from the main subject either. Which is why you guys are here."
The two brains looked perfectly disgusting to Nick, who, despite his frequent studies, had never come into contact with a real corpse, let alone been around for a dissection or autopsy. He had no qualms with the process, or working with the final products, but the intermediate stages were something to be tolerated, not relished.
A set of cameras and monitoring devices were pulled into place, perfectly aligned to take all the details of the twin dissections in as they progressed. The neurosurgeons moved into position, each accompanied by their team of surgeons and nurses. They had spent hours going through the procedure, which had to be perfectly precise in order to give them the readings needed.
The first cuts were made, and slowly the peoples brains came apart. They were stripped into the component sections slowly and precisely, with the teams taking it in turns to make each step first, allowing the other team to copy their moves exactly.
Soon the first samples were ready. A thin section of the frontal lobe was ready for Nicks attention. The two slithers of grey matter were carried to him by the nurses, careful not to mix them up.
Nicks equipment was all set up and ready to go. He carefully pulled on his gloves and picked up the first slither, using two pairs of delicate tweezers and being careful to move slowly so as not to cause any damage. He lay the piece carefully onto the left hand device. To keep this a true test, he had no idea which subject the section had come from. He started his devices up, the sensitive electronics slowly coming to life. He started the recordings flowing, row after row of numbers flooding onto the screen. He lay the second slice, equally delicately, onto the right hand pad. A second set of readings soon joined the first.
Even though he had designed and programmed the equipment, he had no idea what the numbers meant until everything was finished. Then, finally, the readings settled down and gave a visual representation. Even to his eye, the two images, mapping conductivity and paths through the mind, were identical. The computer could only find a fractional difference itself, well within the normal for this part of the brain.
"Nothing here guys. Give me a minute to prepare for the next slice."
He removed the slices, laying them aside for any further studies, and started cleaning the pads they had rested on with a specially prepared substance. The surgeons had almost readied the next slice, working quickly and efficiently. Nick was keeping up, but only just, and the work would be long and tedious. There were fifty possible slices they had identified as important, and the surgeons had said they would probably get a good forty five good samples at least. This would take hours, and Nick was the only one who was qualified to work the rather complex tests. One wrong move and the samples would get truly destroyed by the gear.
"All ready here, lets see what's behind door number two." Nick was trying to ignore that both the men he was now testing had been alive three days ago. To him, they had to be just a series of slices of rather strange grey gloop.
The room was filled with a number of medical professionals. There were a pair of neurosurgeons that Nick had worked with in the past, that he had actually learned a great deal from. Today they were looking to him for answers.
A grey faced morgue worker lay the grisly subject of their attention onto the sanitized table. The brain of a recently dead user.
"Subject died age thirty five. He was institutionalized three weeks ago, showing major signs of advanced schizophrenia. There was no evidence of any such disorder prior to a certain event. The subject was reported to spend a full nine days under the influence of the Dreamweaver device, hooked up to a home rigged IV and catheter. Apparently he had recently lost his wife, and was trying to get some kind of closure.
"He was found dead in his rooms, seemingly a suicide. He had hung himself with bedsheets. There is a separate enquiry running into the events there. Our job today is to determine what damage had been done to the brain that caused such a disorder to come on in such short time."
The man walked back to the cold drawers along one wall of the room, opening one of the smaller ones along the side. Nick had been told that they were usually used for babies, a fact he could have done without. Today they were being used for the grim objects that he had been studying for years now.
The mortician pulled out a second brain, laying it on the table along from the first.
"Control subject is also a thirty five year old male, died through similar causes. No history of mental illness. Preliminary scans revealed a perfectly healthy brain, and no problems with any internal workings. However, nothing was revealed from the main subject either. Which is why you guys are here."
The two brains looked perfectly disgusting to Nick, who, despite his frequent studies, had never come into contact with a real corpse, let alone been around for a dissection or autopsy. He had no qualms with the process, or working with the final products, but the intermediate stages were something to be tolerated, not relished.
A set of cameras and monitoring devices were pulled into place, perfectly aligned to take all the details of the twin dissections in as they progressed. The neurosurgeons moved into position, each accompanied by their team of surgeons and nurses. They had spent hours going through the procedure, which had to be perfectly precise in order to give them the readings needed.
The first cuts were made, and slowly the peoples brains came apart. They were stripped into the component sections slowly and precisely, with the teams taking it in turns to make each step first, allowing the other team to copy their moves exactly.
Soon the first samples were ready. A thin section of the frontal lobe was ready for Nicks attention. The two slithers of grey matter were carried to him by the nurses, careful not to mix them up.
Nicks equipment was all set up and ready to go. He carefully pulled on his gloves and picked up the first slither, using two pairs of delicate tweezers and being careful to move slowly so as not to cause any damage. He lay the piece carefully onto the left hand device. To keep this a true test, he had no idea which subject the section had come from. He started his devices up, the sensitive electronics slowly coming to life. He started the recordings flowing, row after row of numbers flooding onto the screen. He lay the second slice, equally delicately, onto the right hand pad. A second set of readings soon joined the first.
Even though he had designed and programmed the equipment, he had no idea what the numbers meant until everything was finished. Then, finally, the readings settled down and gave a visual representation. Even to his eye, the two images, mapping conductivity and paths through the mind, were identical. The computer could only find a fractional difference itself, well within the normal for this part of the brain.
"Nothing here guys. Give me a minute to prepare for the next slice."
He removed the slices, laying them aside for any further studies, and started cleaning the pads they had rested on with a specially prepared substance. The surgeons had almost readied the next slice, working quickly and efficiently. Nick was keeping up, but only just, and the work would be long and tedious. There were fifty possible slices they had identified as important, and the surgeons had said they would probably get a good forty five good samples at least. This would take hours, and Nick was the only one who was qualified to work the rather complex tests. One wrong move and the samples would get truly destroyed by the gear.
"All ready here, lets see what's behind door number two." Nick was trying to ignore that both the men he was now testing had been alive three days ago. To him, they had to be just a series of slices of rather strange grey gloop.
