Seen from a distance, the matte-black ship seemed to arc lazily towards the unchanging blackness of Sonhandra’s dark side. In contrast to the serenity of its progress, the atmosphere on board was anything but serene. Whilst the ship’s autopilot sounded regular status updates, the ship’s crew dealt with their nervousness in the best way they could and reflected on the events that had brought them to this point.
Following the ‘Lazy Susan’s’ successful rescue of the kidnapped xenoarchaelogist and the artefact, its crew had returned to Indri, bloody but triumphant from their confrontation with the Ashen Knives. During their struggle, the crew had accessed some data protected by heavy-duty ‘black ICe’: the sort that fried synapses rather than reveal its secrets. However, the Sahi’ir had access to resources most could only dream of, and had been able to crack the encryption to reveal the truth within. Intriguingly (or worryingly, depending on your point of view), the files contained only a set of coordinates relating to a specific point on the mystery-shrouded dark side of Sonhandra in the Holt system.
Weary and damaged, both physically and psychologically, the ‘Susan’s’ original crew were in no state to head into who-knew-what. However, the crew’s reputation had grown over the past months as one that ‘got things done’, and one that could attract rich and powerful backers to boot. Unsurprisingly, this had attracted a steady stream of hopefuls wanting to bask in their reflected glory. Most were turned away without a second thought, but three of them had shown just enough promise to earn at least a hearing. The youngest of them was a Baseline Human named Teslan Decampos. His Spacer heritage was obvious from his thin, rangy body, a result of spending his formative years in zero-g. Even after all the years humanity had travelled the stars, an unenhanced human spending a childhood in zero-g was still condemned to an adulthood of brittle bones and painful joints. But Baseline Spacers were a proud breed, and bore snapped bones and distorted limbs as a badge of honour. This particular Spacer had something in his favour, however; he was that rarest of beings, a machine empath. Whereas Sparks could talk to the ‘Susan’ through his cybernetic implants, Teslan instinctively ‘knew’ the condition of a machine just by touching it. Machines seemed to want to please him somehow, and the drones he continually tinkered with appeared to have an almost touching devotion to their creator. Perhaps related to this ability, Teslan was also sensitive to the Way and its weird effects far more than his companions. As the black ship moved towards the surface, Teslan seemed quite unconcerned, playing with his latest drone creation.
The second of the new recruits was not all that ‘new’. Dr H Y ‘Highball’ Sorenson was a Baseline Human in early middle-age, of proud, traditional Colonist stock. Carrying on the family tradition of medicine, Highball’s career had started out well enough. After completing his medical training, he’d signed up for a internship on a Mendicant-sponsored programme providing care to civilians caught up in the Sector’s incessant brushfire conflicts. This transformative experience taught Highball two things. One: he was a damned good combat medic, able to move easily across front lines without getting shot, his dedication to the patient acting as his passport. Two: he enjoyed the high from synthetic xenoadrenaline far too much, especially as the compound was highly illegal. However, his Mendicant sponsors were willing to overlook his foibles due to his ‘go anywhere’ attitude. When the Mendicants fell out of favour after supporting the wrong side in the Hegemonic Accession, however, Highball found himself out in the cold. After wandering from place to place, he was introduced to the crew of the ‘Susan’ through his now-underground Mendicant contacts. Now, he sat staring at Teslan as he tinkered with his drone, turning a hypospray of his latest synthex compound over and over in his hands, savouring the anticipation of the hit it would give him.
The final member of the crew was Deas Pascher, or ‘Lucky’ to his friends. Lucky had been everywhere and seen everything, usually whilst trying to throw off either his bad creditors or those who felt his luck at games of chance had been ‘enhanced’ in some way. Like Teslan, he’d seen how the blue-collar masses of the Hegemony lived their lives, and from an early age decided he wanted no part of it. Although his family had saved to give him the best education they could, all that he’d taken from it was an appreciation for the finer things in life; music, art, food, drugs... It was something of a guilty relief when the family scrap business went under and he could walk away into the life of a scoundrel and gambler. He spent the next several years conning, gambling and smuggling his way around the Sector; anything that could fund his lifestyle without being actual work. During a job supplying weapons to some doomed Indents trying to throw off the corporate yoke, he’d met Highball and they’d developed a professional rapport. So, when the crew of the Susan began to make waves in the Sector, Lucky had tagged along to see what was on offer.
As expected, the craft’s internal lights began to dim as it crossed the 2.5 km mark above the planet’s surface. Or rather, the lights themselves stayed as normal, but the crew’s ability to perceive the light began to falter. In a galaxy full of strange things, the dark side of Sonhandra stood out as being a beacon of downright weirdness. The surface itself was pitch black, and sensors were unable scan the surface. Assuming this was due to some sort of Precursor interference effect, the early explorers had tried to observe the surface using enhanced human eyesight through optics; still nothing. They’d then tried to send automated probes to the planet surface. The probes had returned as per their programming, recording devices running. Eagerly, the scientists had viewed the logs, but found the sections that should have revealed the planet’s secrets were just static. Manned probes had been sent, but the terrified Indent occupants had lost consciousness on approaching the surface and, although apparently unharmed on their return, had no memory of their trip. Eventually everything had been tried, but to the frustration of all, nothing worked. Eventually, the Hegemony gave it up as a bad job and moved on to other, more profitable activities. But, armed with a set of coordinates from the Ashen Knives vessel, this crew were about to take a step in to the unknown. As their vision failed, the crew also felt consciousness slipping away from them. A slight hiss followed by a contented sigh told Teslan and Lucky that Highball had found his own way of dealing with the situation, leaving them alone with their fears as consciousness fled…
When the three crew regained consciousness, they found that their ship was stationery. Status panels indicated that their docking umbilical had been engaged, but to what was unclear. Apprehensively, the three donned vac-suits and ventured out of the airlock. Ahead of them was a standard blast door of Hegemonic origin. However, the material surrounding it was altogether stranger. It appeared to be a hard black substance, but not of any material their scanners could analyse. To Teslan, the material seemed...alive somehow, but neither machine nor organic in nature. However, the door had a familiar locking mechanism, so Teslan got to work opening it. Beyond was a circular passageway of the same dark material with a gridwork of metal forming the floor. As they moved forward a passageway to the right came into view. Gingerly, Teslan held out one of his drones to extend one of its optics around the corner. Through his wrist-mounted comp-pad, Teslan saw a standard security droid stamping forward; clearly, he’d triggered some security protocol on entering the complex. Thinking quickly, he tasked one of his drones to move past the side corridor and speed ahead further into the darkened corridors. Apparently, the security droids were only equipped with basic algorithms; whoever had established this facility clearly didn’t expect any unwelcome visitors, so these were more an afterthought than a serious attempt at security. As the crew held their breath, the lumbering droid reached the intersection... and turned away from where they shrunk back against the wall, following the decoy drone as it sped around the corner. As its simple brain began to consider its next move, the three slipped around the corner and headed off the way the droid had come. As they passed a row of heavily armed but immobile security droids, the crew heaved a sigh of relief.
Carefully, they made their way deeper into the complex. As they did so, it seemed to them that shadows began to move of their own accord and more than once they thought they heard their names being whispered just on the edge of hearing. The feeling of being watched increased, as did their nervousness until eventually, they arrived at a T-junction. As they watched, the black material of the tunnel wall seemed to bulge outwards. To their horror, the bulging matter began to twist and change, forming what appeared to be a screaming face. As the whispers grew louder, the crew felt their sanity began to slip. Thinking quickly, Teslan grabbed his companions arms and began to speak to them; of their homes, their hopes, anything that could ground them in reality. As he did so, the wild look began to fade from their eyes and the tunnel wall became just that once more.
Shaken, the crew moved onwards until ahead of them, they could hear evidence of activity. The tunnel finally opened outwards into a large, well-lit cavern. In the centre of the cavern was a large data core with a dozen or more analysis droids spread around it, each working on a different Precursor artefact. Next to the data core was a humanoid figure clad in what appeared to be a standard heavy vac-suit, although its helmet had been heavily modified with a framework of cables and wires of unknown purpose surrounding it. The figure seemed to be conducting the activities of the analysis droids as if they were an orchestra, and the air was filled with the chatter of machine language as they reported their findings. As they crouched behind a rack holding unknown devices, Teslan sent forward his last drone to link with the data core, to see if any information could be downloaded. However, there was too much interference to allow remote access to the core, so Lucky decided to put his nickname to the test and crept forward to download the data from the drone. His luck held out just long enough to access the data, but on his return he caught some equipment on his vac-suit, causing it to clatter to the ground. Immediately, the figure turned and gave the crew their first view of what lay behind the face-plate. Instead of the expected human or xeno form, it appeared that the vac suit was occupied by some sort of gaseous form. As they watched, it formed itself into an approximation of a human face for a moment before once again becoming a swirling gas. The horrifying sight was compounded by the voice that echoed from the suit’s vox; although it spoke standard, it seemed to fade in and out of hearing, and seemed to be heard as much in their minds as through their ears.
As one, the crew turned and began to run back to the ship. As they did so, Lucky stammered something about what he’d seen of the data he’d extracted. Something about casualty estimates in the Iota system that were in the billions...
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