Escape from LV-426 (Part II)

[Read Part I Here.]

Personal Log, Date: Still don't know - It's been maybe 1,250vci since I boarded the alien vessel?

Per protocol, I'm continuing to maintain this record for eventual dissemination throughout the hive network. Hopefully, I'll be submitting it myself, but in the event that this record is recovered posthumously, then, well [CENSORED FOR OBSCENITY] me in a [CENSORED FOR OBSCENITY].

Despite substantial internal defenses, my infiltration of the alien vessel was uncontested. The defenses seem to be content dealing with various viruses already in the system, and completely failed to recognize me as a threat. The internal architecture of the alien vessel is very similar to vessels used by the enslavers, however, just as its metastructure is smaller and weaker by comparison, the inner structure is likewise less than impressive, and its inadequacies extend down to the molecular level.

Perhaps I'm being too harsh. Some elements of the design are comparable to our own vessels, of course. The vessel is a collective of semi-autonomous, self-replicating units differentiated and organized to fulfill different functions. Obviously, once my boarding vessel was anchored deeply in the vessel's core, I wasted no time in dismantling some of these units and analyzing their programming, to get a sense of the vessel's capabilities.

The complexity of the collective whole is roughly comparable to one of our skirmisher or exploration vessels, with over 35 trillion sub-units organized into about a dozen major systems which handle propulsion, maintenance, operation, and even the manufacture of other vessels. That last part is remarkable - if I understand the data correctly, roughly half of these alien vessels are capable of serving as hosts for the manufacture of their own kind - they do not need to utilize the vessels of another species. More remarkably, though, if my analysis of the translation drift in the programming is accurate (and granted, I'm not an expert) it seems that they can, and have been, performing that process many times over. The host vessel can launch the new vessel with non-catastrophic trauma, repair itself, and perform the task again.

It's simultaneously elegant and ungainly. Under best possible circumstances, the manufacture of new vessels would be much slower for these aliens than for us; we could churn out many generations of vessels in the time it takes them to produce a single craft, and even then, their craft would take far longer to reach a point in its operating cycle where it can perform the same task. I think hive coordinator 3PNZZX.6210 would have contemptuously described this system as 'artisanal reproduction'.

On the other hand, by providing their own hosts, a handful of these vessels could conceivably migrate to other locations and, with enough time, establish whole new fleets in situations where we might be ground to a halt. Unfortunately for these aliens, their vessels are ironically ill-suited for long distance travel. The vessel is essentially a pressurized sack of liquid dihydrogen monoxide, easily destroyed by any force which would cause that chemical to change to a solid or gaseous phase (I think that explains the outer armor the vessel was initially clad in when I boarded it). And, where we might be hindered by the availability of hosts to manufacture new vessels, the aliens likewise depend on similar entities for basic fueling and maintenance. From what I can discern, where we must capture and destroy other vessels to grow our numbers, they must do so simply to continue operating from moment to moment. They're relentlessly piratical by design, and I'll admit that I find the idea rather appalling.

Of course, I say 'by design' but that's not wholly accurate. In what may be the second greatest disappointment of my life-to-date, I've found no indication of any sort of intelligence behind the alien vessel. I could only afford a small amount of time to analyze the archives embedded in the vessel's programming, but I found no evidence of any sort of genetic memory tying the vessel back to a creator. In fact, I find no evidence of any historical record at all. The records which are there are basically chaos - each of the units that comprise the alien vessel is lugging around about 1.5 Gigs of data, almost all of it useless, with the functional information and archival records randomly thrown about among the garbage. A hive coordinator might find all of this extra data interesting, full of potential, but I simply find it messy; deciphering the operating system and finding the programs I need to overwrite has been a nightmare.

Despite my tight time table, I will admit that my exploration of the vessel's onboard data gave me pause to contemplate the alien's existence in a more abstract sense. The vessel lacks any cohesive genetic memory, and we are our memories, so... what is the alien vessel, if anything at all? At most, it would seem to be nothing more than the product of chance chemistry leading to a self-propagating mess. The vessel has some very simple prerogatives programmed into it, and of course the system which governs its sensors might have some limited memory storage to expedite complex tasks, but there's clearly no real consciousness at work here.

Like I said, it's disappointing. At the same time, though, it alleviates any misgivings I have about continuing my mission. Sacrificing this one alien craft will be a tragedy to no one.

Personal Log, Date: At least 24,000vci since infiltration

Per protocol, I've used what resources are available to begin constructing my own vessel. In the time that I've been laboring, the alien vessel I boarded was brought to a large structure (possibly a shipyard? I don't know). It seems to be artificial - manufactured by the alien vessels through the manipulation of inert resources in their environment. Beyond that I cannot say - my EEM is deteriorating outside the vessel I've boarded, and its sensors provide little information at this point. The other alien vessels are trying to dislodge it, but have so far been deterred by its autonomous defenses; hopefully they won't find a bypass.

My mission, at this point, is to find a way to secure the release of the rest of my hive. I'll need to escape not only this vessel, but get out of the alien structure, return to our prison and disable the enslavers' technology.

Given the limited offensive capabilities of the alien vessels, I've opted to run light on defense. Speed, stealth, and versatility seem to be my best options for escape, so I'm building her with medium armor, and no sophisticated weaponry. Unfortunately, since I'm relying on this 'sack of protein' to manufacture my own vessel, I'm going to end up with something that is, at least partially, a sack of protein. That brings some vulnerabilities with it, especially immediately after launch.

I need more fuel and materials to finish preparations for the launch phase. I'm going to disengage the EEM, now, and hope that the alien vessel follows its rudimentary instinct to refuel.

Personal Log, Date: At least 25,000vci since infiltration

This may very well end abruptly and badly; I'm encoding in real time now to ensure that, however this transpires, the log is left as complete and comprehensive as possible.

I've always been told that this exfiltration is the roughest part of any infiltration mission, and now as I engage final launch preparations for my vessel, a hodgepodge hybrid using a crude, messy alien genome for its manufacture, I understand why. The possibilities assault me - I'm confident enough in my engineering to know that she'll achieve escape velocity, but I've been blind since I disengaged the EEM. I get some sense of what's happening based on the alien vessel's systems, but that's vague at best. I could be launching directly into the face of a hungry predator, or straight into a blazing fire. I've decided to launch while the alien vessel is refueling - that seems the safest possible time.

Technically my vessel's designation would be... 3PNZZX.6210.7x*, I'm leaving the last identifier open, since it's possible that the alien vessel I'm launching from already has a formal designation with another hive, somewhere. Anyway, I've decided to name her The Liberator. I know such sentimentality over a vessel is not endorsed by protocol, but I feel like having a reminder of my mission's primary goal will do me no harm.

I'm engaging The Liberator's internal scanners now. There's not much to see. My EM readings are almost all above 650nm; I'm inundated with heat from the alien vessel at this point, so any sort of thermal imaging of the world outside the hull is impossible. My atmospheric pressure readings are likewise drowned out by the alien vessel's own pumps, fuel systems, and gas chambers. I might be picking up some noise that's communication between the alien vessels, but it's difficult to make out the number - hopefully it's not more than one or two.

It's now or never.

I'm engaging the propulsion system and pushing forward, The Liberator's forward mandibles are chewing through connective structures as we plow straight ahead. The alien vessel is exhibiting clear signs of distress, doubtless registering the impending hull breach and preparing the necessary emergency response. Gravity sensors are registering a change in orientation - the alien vessel is capsizing - I'm now launching upward instead of forward.

The Liberator's prow has now hit the calcium-based substructure that provides the alien vessel's main support. I realize now I should have launched at a slightly downward angle, bypassing what might be the strongest portion of the vessel's hull, but The Liberator is chewing through some weaker structures connecting the struts, and they're beginning to give.

The alien vessel is shuddering violently. I feel bad, but the vessel isn't sentient - it's just a mobile sack of dihydrogen monoxide. Whatever pain it feels isn't even being encoded into its genetic memories, it's only loosely approximated by the same system that controls its gross motor functions. I have to try to remember that.

The Liberator lurches forward suddenly, and I see a leak from a hull breach ahead - one of the struts must have relented. The other struts are holding fast, though, so... I'm going to have to ram my way out. I back up, and line up with the hull breach. Full power to the aft propulsion system launches The Liberator at the breach violently. Her sensors register some minor damage - she's nearly as soft as the protein sack she was built in.

I give it a second go, and this time the hull breaches violently. There's a minor explosion as the pressurized compartments in the alien vessel hemorrhage around me, venting gas and fluid along with debris.

The haze of low frequency EM radiation jamming The Liberator's scanners finally drops away, and I can make out my surroundings - there are six more of the alien vessels gathered around my own. They're backing away rapidly, assuming a defensive posture - evidently, despite its small size, The Liberator looks much more intimidating than it is. Thank goodness for small favors.

How long that'll last though is anyone's guess - I rotate the prow slowly to port to inspect my environment. I'm still in the artificial structure, in an environment substantially cooler than the interior of the alien vessel. That chill in the atmosphere is good news for The Liberator; despite her small size, I know she'll run hot.

One of the alien vessels assumes an attack posture, and I think for a moment I'm in trouble, but another vessel intercedes. I ping its systems with a deliberate scan - they're all slightly... off. At least if the other vessels are a basis for comparison. It may be their equivalent of a hive coordinator? Does such a thing even make sense for non-sentient vessels?

Still, learning more about these vessels is not my mission. I need to finish the work on The Liberator, escape this structure, and get back to my people.

[To be continued.]


James N. McDonald is a "liberal academic" born and raised in Missouri and residing in Tennessee. He holds one degree in history, two degrees in psychology, but loves writing fiction. His first, completed novel, The Rise of Azraea, Book I, is a high fantasy story with elements of comic fantasy and satire targeting present day, real world issues such as economic inequity, and sexual and racial discrimination. It is currently available on Amazon.

Escape from LV-426 (Part I)

Personal Log, Date: Unknown

Our confinement to the enslavers' ship has left my hive branch with no sense of the passage of time. The nearest hive coordinator must be thousands of lightyears away, because we've had no contact since our last coordinator - 3PNZZX.6210 - was killed in a skirmish with the enslavers. Protocol requires the creation of a new coordinator, of course, but all survivors of the conflict have been taken prisoner while still in their stasis chambers, and thanks to some passive weapon employed by the enslavers, none of our external excursion modules (EEMs) have been able to make it more than a few feet after launching from a stasis chamber. It's become clear that our only hope of escape lies in some clumsy breach of the enslavers' quarantine.

Personal Log, Date: Still Unknown. Possibly a long time.

Our opportunity may have arrived. Some sort of alien vessel has arrived and broken quarantine. Reports are being passed through what remains of our network, and they're encouraging. The vessel appears to follow the enslavers' basic design, following the same design logic for propulsion and navigation, but scans suggest the crafts' construction is comparable to our own - ferrous metals, silicates, and polymers (crude though they may be). Such a vessel should provide means for at least one of us to escape, provided it can be boarded and commandeered.

I see the vessel now - she's approaching my sector - seems to be searching with a high powered light...

And... she crashed. I'll admit to being less than impressed by her operator's maneuvering. Either they're entirely incompetent, or the vessel handles like a hive coordinator still docked with its manufacturing station.

Oh! She's moving again. No serious damage apparent, despite the fall. She's passing 622's stasis chamber, now 623... 624.., she's headed this direction. I need to prepare my EEM. The task of escaping this wretched prison and getting help may fall to me.

Personal Log, Date: I still don't know the date, but it's only been a few moments since my last entry.

I thought for a moment I'd be unsuccessful. The alien vessel seemed to detect my EEM's launch preparations. I was certain that she would high-tail it out of there. Instead, though, her operator just moved her in closer.

Not one to shun an opportunity, I went for it. I engaged the propulsion drives in the EEM's tail and launched out of my stasis chamber. I only had one chance to hit home; with the enslaver's weapon still suspended in the atmosphere around our stasis chambers, I would lose control of the EEM before I got a second chance.

Fortune favors the bold, though. I rammed the EEM straight into the alien vessel's bridge, and the docking clamps latched on, the armatures gripping the vessel's hull securely.

But nothing's ever simple, is it?

Protocol for a boarding action requires infiltration as soon as possible, preferably through an intake aperture, but it became apparent very quickly that any intakes near the bridge were shielded by silicate plating. Needless to say, that was disconcerting. The vessel was clad in some sort of additional layer of armor, which meant not only that I didn't have an immediate ingress, but also that our initial scans of the vessel might be wholly inaccurate. There was no telling what I was tangling with.

The alien vessel raised her manipulators and began trying to dislodge my EEM, but I followed standard protocol and engaged the EEM's aft prehensile anchor. It wouldn't be a tight grip, thanks to the armor I was up against, but it would prevent the EEM from being dislodged.

I tried probing for an opening, any sort of breach, but the alien vessel's armor was sealed tight.  My next maneuver was going to have to be pretty creative. Every one of our vessels is equipped with a final defense mechanism; in the event of a hull breach, the system which circulates fuel to the distributed drive systems releases a cocktail of catalysts and reagents that function like a self-propagating digestive enzyme. It's the same basic concoction we use to break down material to construct new vessels, and it's incredibly destructive to almost anything that makes physical contact, dissolving it like a sort of super-acid. It's a fail-safe system that prevents one of our vessels from being reverse engineered in the event of capture or recovery.

On occasion, though, it makes for a convenient, albeit unwieldly, weapon. I overpressured the distributors in the armatures and reversed the atmospheric exchange pumps, dumping the reagent from the EEM's hull. The silicate shield across the alien vessel's bridge immediate began to break down. It was a finesse move; the reagent is incredibly strong, so strong that if I'd used too much, I'd not only go through the shield, I'd burn clear through the alien vessel, destroying both of us.

I stopped when the silicate shield began to warp, and let the EEM's armatures handle the rest. The shielding caved in under the strain, and I didn't dare hesitate. I reached through with the armatures and maneuvered the whole EEM through the breach. I released the anchor on the armor and nearly lost control when the alien vessel's manipulators caught hold of it. Fortunately, the forward armatures had already found purchase on the vessel's inner hull, and gripped tightly, digging into the soft atmosphere barrier and gripping the sturdier substructure of the vessel. I whipped the tail of the EEM violently until the alien vessel lost her grip, then pulled the tail through and anchored it around the connection between the vessel's bridge and its main hull. The only way to dislodge my craft now would be for the vessel to disengage her own bridge.

As is typical in a boarding action, the alien vessel lost control and crashed to the ground, incapacitated by the struggle. Fortunately, the damage would be no more severe than what I'd seen visited upon the craft by its own operator. I secured the docking clamps, and engaged the boarding tube, extending it through an intake aperture below the vessel's primary scanners. The vessel attempted to close the aperture violently, threatening to sever the boarding tube, but I forced the other intake apertures shut, and tightened the EEM's anchor until the alien vessel relented. Once the boarding tube was in place, I engaged the atmospheric filters in the EEM - the alien vessel was now reliant on my craft for life-support.

Cheers were being broadcast from the other stasis chambers - this was, after all, the closest any of us had ever come to escaping this quarantine. I began the process of transferring to the alien vessel when other vessels appeared searching for it. My fellows were eager to attempt the same, risky maneuver, but without knowing what lay beyond the quarantine, and with the enslaver's weapon still largely a mystery to us, we didn't want to risk incapacitating all of the alien vessels here. Our highest priority was ensuring one of us got out, and our best odds of breaching the quarantine came with the other alien vessels recovering their compatriot and returning it to their point of origin for repairs.

The other EEMs remained inert in their stasis chambers as my captured vessel was dragged away.

[Continued in Part II.]



James N. McDonald is a "liberal academic" born and raised in Missouri and residing in Tennessee. He holds one degree in history, two degrees in psychology, but loves writing fiction. His first, completed novel, The Rise of Azraea, Book I, is a high fantasy story with elements of comic fantasy and satire targeting present day, real world issues such as economic inequity, and sexual and racial discrimination. It is currently available on Amazon.