1
Er'dox
The distress signal shouldn't have existed.
I stared at the frequency analysis scrolling across my console, watching the data populate in real-time while my primary processor core ran the numbers for the third time. Same result. Same impossible result.
"Confirmation on signal origin?" I asked without looking up, my voice steady despite the wrongness of what I was seeing.
Krev, my second-in-command, leaned over the neighboring station. "Confirmed. Technology profile is completely unknown. Not in any database. No match to any registered civilization in Shorstar or neighboring galaxies."
"That's not possible."
"And yet." He gestured at the screen with one four-fingered hand, metallic green skin catching the console lights. "There it is. Broadcasting on emergency frequencies, but the modulation is all wrong. Like someone built a beacon from first principles without knowing standard protocol."
I pulled up the technical specifications, studying the signal architecture with the methodical focus that had made me Chief Engineer of Mothership. Every piece of technology told a story,where it came from, who built it, what design philosophy guided its creation. This signal was telling me a story that made no sense.
The power source was a chemical battery, primitive, inefficient, like something from Garmuth'é's industrial age. The transmission array was a hybrid of at least three different systems, none of which should interface properly. And the distress code itself, while recognizable in intent, followed no known pattern.
"It's dying," I observed, watching the power output fluctuate. "Whoever built this is barely keeping it functional."
"Should we ignore it?" Krev asked. "Could be a trap. Pirates use exotic tech signatures to lure in rescue vessels."
A valid concern. I'd responded to seventeen distress calls in my four years aboard Mothership, and three had been ambushes. But pirates used exotic signatures that were still recognizably from known technology bases. This wasn't exotic—this was alien in the truest sense.
The console chimed. Captain Tor'van's summons.
I saved my analysis and made my way to the bridge, my boots ringing against Mothership's deck plating with the solid authority of proper engineering. The ship hummed around me—power conduits, life support, the subtle vibration of the dark matter drive holding us at warp—all of it singing in perfect harmony. My domain. My responsibility.
The bridge was chaotic when I arrived. Captain Tor'van stood at the center, his scarred silver skin seeming to glow in the tactical display lighting, his cybernetic eye tracking multiple data streams simultaneously. Around him, the bridge crew moved with practiced efficiency: Zor'go at security, Zorn monitoring medical, Vaxon managing navigation.
"Engineer," Tor'van acknowledged without turning. "You've seen the signal?"
"Yes, Captain. I've run preliminary analysis."
"And?"
I pulled up my findings on the central holodisplay, letting the data speak for itself. "Unknown origin. Technology profile suggests a civilization with advanced theoretical knowledge but limited resources. The beacon is improvised, barely functional, and deteriorating rapidly."
"Could it be a trap?" Vaxon asked, his deep voice carrying someone who'd seen too many battles. At 8'8", he was the tallest among us, all warrior muscle and tactical paranoia. Good qualities in a security chief.
"Possible but unlikely. The power signature is too weak, too unstable. No pirate would broadcast something this pathetic."
"Pathetic can be effective bait," Vaxon countered.
"Noted." Captain Tor'van studied the display, his ancient eyes—one biological, one cybernetic—taking in every detail. "Location?"
"Hostile environment," Zor'go answered, pulling up the planetary data. His silver-gray skin reflected the blue light of his screens. "Class Seven planet, extreme temperature variations. Surface temperatures reach 250 standard units during day cycle, drop to near freezing at night. Minimal atmosphere, high electromagnetic interference from mineral composition."
"Life signs?" Zorn asked, his forest-green hands moving across medical sensors. Our CMO, broader and softer-featured than most Zandovians, had an interest in xenobiology that bordered on obsession.
"Inconclusive," Zor'go admitted. "The EM interference is scrambling our scanners. But if there are survivors down there, they won't last long. That planet is barely habitable even during the cool cycle."
Captain Tor'van was silent for a long moment, running calculations I couldn't see. Risk versus reward. Duty versussurvival. The eternal balance of a ship that made its purpose from rescuing the stranded.
"Helm, set course for the signal origin. Best speed." He turned to face me directly. "Er'dox, I want you on the rescue team. If this technology is truly unknown, you'll need to interface with their systems directly."
"Understood, Captain."
