Transmission Intercepted 2000 short story by Jonathan Hicks Under a year after Episode IV - A New Hope
“Instructions?” Gern Omik looked up, shocked at the
voice. His lizard features hardened and his eyes blinked rapidly. The alien scanned the
deck. The shuttle he had just stolen was
dark and misty. The seats before him were clean and empty, the far door into the small
officer’s room and the one into the cockpit were open. The rooms were visible,
showing no signs of life. He couldn't understand how the ship had gotten off the station.
He hadn’t even got up to the cockpit.
“Instructions?” The voice was slightly tinny, and
Gern realised it was an on-board remote system and relaxed. The voice drifted from the
speakers scattered around the shuttle, soft and feminine with a delicate speech that gave
the ship a feeling of nobility.
“Instructions, please.” He stood, laid his rifle and his
huge sword over the seats and headed for the cockpit. He wiped his hands, suddenly
self-conscious of his grimy condition.
“Just take us out of here,” he said.
“I am sorry, that is not an option.” And as Gern entered the cockpit he
could see why. The space station was a drifting
hulk, entire sections torn away by heavy weapons fire. Decks were exposed, long streams of
metal jutting out into space, and the entire docking ring was gone. It looked like a great
animal carcass drifting in orbit.
“How did this shuttle remain intact?” Gern wanted to know.
“Basic survival instinct. I knew I would
be required soon enough and so disengaged when the Imperial warships appeared.”
“What do you mean ‘basic survival instinct’? You’re a
computer.”
“I am a direct memory scan of a human
donor, imprinted on an electronic neural net. I assure you, my desire to survive is as
strong as yours.” Gern had heard of these ships when
he had been in the Ki-Ki sector, but when he left they were still undergoing tests. From
what he understood, the ships fitted with these systems were dangerous - the imprint of a
memory simply didn’t work and caused mental instability in the copy. Still, he had
been away for a long time, now. Away from home. Perhaps they had perfected it. Perhaps the
Rebels had stole this one for no other reason than it was a ship they could use, risking
the fault. The vessels had been designed to
store a memory in its artificial brainchip, one that could be copied and implanted in many
vessels. It was to do away with the cost and time of training new pilots. Why waste
resources training a pilot when you could just insert one, with all the knowledge of
astrophysics and space travel, straight into the ship itself? The system could make more
independent decisions, better than any ‘droid which required instructions or
directions. On small ships like this, with limited capability and function, it was the
perfect idea. Any craft larger would have been almost impossible, what with the multiple
systems and many functions required to keep the ship operational. Even a brainchip
couldn’t handle that much data.
“How many others got away?”
“I am afraid you were the only one,”
the disembodied voice said. “There are no
others.” I’m alone, he thought. Fantastic. When he had sold out the Rebel cell on
the station to the Empire he thought he would have a little more time to escape.
“Well, the station can’t help us. Set a course for Amagad.”
“Gladly, but may I remind you that this
vessel has only limited hyperspace capability. It was not designed for long range use. We
would have to meet with a larger vessel and dock to make it there quickly.” Gern suddenly felt very tense. The
situation was not improving.
“With this ship’s capability, how long would it take to get to
Amagad?”
“Twenty-seven standard galactic days.” Gern leaped forward and slammed his
hand on the console, cracking the glass covering.
“Freck-damn it!” he roared,
slamming his other hand into overhead panels. His foot lashed out and booted the defunct
pilot’s seat, sending it spinning. He staggered back, elbowing the wall and then
slammed both his fists back down on the console, jamming his head against his hands with
gritted teeth and heavy breaths. He couldn’t hold back his frustration.
“This does not help our current
situation.”
“Shut up!” he shouted, lifting his head and looking around wildly, as if
trying to find the source of the voice. “I just want to go to Amagad!” If he wasn’t at Glann
Cipple’s Fortress by noon tomorrow he wouldn’t get paid. He was supposed to
infiltrate the Rebel base, find out what he could about the war and then get back, all
within forty-eight hours. Selling the cell out to the Empire was just a bonus. He had
worked for them before.
“As do I. But damaging the equipment on
this vessel will not aid us. I suggest you clean yourself and eat. There are plenty of
rations and clean uniforms in the officer’s room.”
“Eat and wash? Why? What good will that do? I’m stuck over a dead station
with no hope of getting to Amagad any time soon!”
“But what harm will it do? We are
stranded in this sector of space, that much is true. I have no information regarding the
whereabouts of any allies, and for that I apologise. I, however, do have the desire to be
gone from this place, and I promise I will do everything I can to do just that. But
considering you have no piloting experience and cannot aid me in the running of this
vessel, you may as well clean yourself and eat. You will find it refreshing, I assure you.” Gern couldn’t help but laugh
at the logic in the vessel’s words. He placed a hand over half his face and sighed
heavily.
“I suppose you can rely on a computer for logical courses of action. Get us
out of here. It won’t take long for Imperial warships still hanging around to zero
us.”
“I have already begun to break orbit. I
was awaiting instructions to do so, but my scanners detect two Imperial vessels
approaching and took the liberty.”
“Are they close?”
“Not close enough to engage. We will
easily outrun them.”
“Well, I don’t know anything about space travel. You take command and do
what you think is best.”
“Acceptable.”
“Bastard,” Gern spat, thinking about how Glann would laugh in his face if
he asked for payment after the agreed time.
“I beg your pardon?” He snapped back to the present and
looked around the cockpit.
“No, not you. I need some food, I think.”
“And a good shower and some sleep. The
officer’s beds are quite comfortable.”
“I’m sure they are.” He turned slowly and stepped
through the portal into the officer's rooms. A small area, with four wide seats that
doubled as beds, a head on the left and a small galley and storage room on the right. He
started to strip off his dirtied uniform The shower started automatically as
he stepped into it, the temperature of the water changing rapidly to suit his
requirements. He just stood there for a few minutes, letting the liquid pour down his body
and soak into his scales. Lumps of unknown substances became dislodged and travelled to
the outlet at his feet. He noticed a small wound in his left shoulder, and reached up to
pull a small shard of something from under his scales. Blood poured down his body and he
just pinched the slice together for a few moments. Gern pressed a switch in the
shower. The water stopped, to be replaced by warm air blowing throughout the small
cubicle. He let it dry the moisture until he felt comfortable and then walked back into
the officer’s room. Hardly a scratch, he thought to
himself. Hardly a damn scratch. He had watched bodies flying in all directions and here he
was, just bruised and cut. Nothing at all. Excellent.
“Just me,” Gern said, pleased with the outcome.
“I beg your pardon?” He pulled on a clean coverall from
a closet and slumped down in one of the seats.
“I said, why me?” He changed his tone after realising that the vessel he
was in was, after all, a Rebel ship. It wouldn’t do to have the vessel know that he
was responsible for the deaths of all the beings on the station. “There were loads of
us down there. Just me here. Doesn’t make sense.”
“Why should it make sense? From what I
observed, you were the last to get to my boarding ramp. Imperials were swarming over the
station. There was no reason to it. Why should war have reasons?”
“Oh, great, a philosophical shuttle. Well, I suppose making sense of it
won’t get me anywhere.”
“No, it will not. I am not a
psychiatrist...”
“...Thank freck...”
“...and so I will not presume to
understand. As you say, I am too logical for that.” Gern headed for the galley and
started to go through the vacuum packs stacked in the storage containers.
“Okay, lets get on with this. What’s the state of play around here?”
“My knowledge of the ‘state of
play’ is very limited, due to the fact that I have only managed to intercept a few
transmissions travelling this sector of space. My translation programs have deciphered
most of the messages and it appears that this is the current situation.
“The Imperial forces have started to break up now they consider the Rebel
threat in this sector over. After Coruscant discovered their dealings with the P’ro
Dynasty, they broke non-hostility agreements and started attacks on the P’ro. Keraya
have been allied with the P’ro for generations and took this as indication of war.
The En’K’Far, a breakaway faction of the P’ro Dynasty and another enemy,
has signed a non-aggression pact with Coruscant
“The Rebellion are still trying to draw both Keraya and P’ro into the
Alliance. The Janos Executioners in the nearby Setnin Sector are preaching a holy crusade
and are killing anyone who disagrees with it. Their conflicts have spilled over into
En’K’Far territory, and they have retaliated, sparking new conflict in the outer
arm of the galaxy. With multiple border skirmishes, there are a total of five species
fighting for domination in this section of the galaxy, religious beliefs, territorial
rights or political viewpoints.” Gern had slowly placed an unsealed
pack marked gutra meat into the heater, and as the ship finished the report it pinged and opened automatically. He took the food
from the heater and stared at its grey and green composition.
“This whole galaxy is tearing itself apart.”
“What one does not understand, one
usually conquers or destroys. It does not seem to matter what race it is. Difference has
always generated distrust and sometimes hatred.”
“Well, that’s the only thing we’ve got in common with other
aliens.”
“Thank you for making my point.” With a wry smirk, Gern walked back
into the cockpit with the meal. He pecked at it with a two- pronged fork and exaggerated a
sigh.
“I have no reason to stay. I don’t even know where I am actually, do
you?”
“I have no communication traffic or
contact from any local stations. I have to now make my best judgement on what to do. My
primary programming instructs me to self-destruct, protecting the details of this
ship’s capabilities. Considering there is no direct threat, and that my primary
programming also instructs me to protect the lives of my crew and passengers, I see no
viable option but to take you to the nearest place of safety.”
“So Amagad it is, yes?” Gern asked hopefully. He shovelled a large amount
of the food into his mouth and savoured the taste of a hot meal.
“A journey to Amagad will prove nearly
impossible. I suggest we try to find other vessels and review our options once we have
made contact.” With a surly expression Gern
swallowed the food. He bit back his anger; all that was going through his mind was getting
started on the most direct route to Amagad. He knew the ship was not capable of such a
feat but at least he could get the satisfaction that he had tried.
“Then let’s go. Look, I can’t just keep calling you
‘ship’, don’t you have a name?”
“I am the Steel Wing, a VTA-seven class shuttle. I have no other
designation.” Gern let the words sink in. There
was no way he was going to call her by her actual ship name, even if he shortened it to
‘Steel’ or ‘Wing’. He settled for a direct pronunciation of her class
registration.
“Veeta. From now on, I’ll call you Veeta.”
“That is acceptable.”
“And I’m Gern. Not mister or anything else, just Gern. If we’re
going to spend a lot of time together then we should at least be comfortable.”
“Gern? Gern Omik?” He smiled, a full smile that he
didn’t really feel.
“That’s right. So, let’s go Veeta. You're the pilot.”
“Gern Omik?” the computer asked
again. Gern looked around nervously.
“Yeah, what of it?” There was a clicking and a whirring
sound as the remote system accessed a file. It displayed a time index on a screen and then
played back the recording. The recording was, according to the
monitor Gern was looking at, an intercepted transmission. This is Gern Omik on secureline three
forty calling Captain Shreems. Respond. This is Shreems of the ISD Malevolent. Gern Omik. I was beginning to think we wouldn’t
hear from you. My apologies Captain. I’m
transmitting the co-ordinates of the Rebel base now. Congratulations. We are very close to
that position. If you wish to be paid, Gern, I suggest you leave the station immediately.
How can you spend credits if you're dead? Shreems out. The recording stopped.
“Like I said,” Veeta said,
“I intercepted a few transmissions.” Gern slowly stood, wondering what
would happen next. The door to the cockpit slammed
shut. He whirled, shocked and frightened. Then the blast shields came down heavily over
the viewport, the control stations dimmed as they were turned off. The lights started to
dim.
“Veeta?” Gern asked weakly as the darkness encroached. “Veeta, what
are you doing?”
“You have betrayed my friends.” Gern swallowed nervously and slowly
backed to where he remembered the door to be. It was almost pitch dark, now, and the
darker it got the more the sensation of fear filled his body. The remote system screamed and then
started laughing, a high-pitched laugh that made Gern wince.
“You betrayed my family, lizard. You
will pay.. pay...” This was the fault Gern had heard
about. These systems couldn’t handle emotional strain or intense situations. They
could accept these things once they had happened, but found it difficult to handle things
out of their control, things that they desperately wanted to do something about but lacked
the limbs and articulation to do it. Gern ascertained that Veeta wanted
to kill him, couldn’t find a direct application to follow through her plan and had
become frustrated. The oxygen reprocessors shut off.
The lights finally gave out. There was silence. Until.
“Self destruct, two minutes.” Gern fumbled at the door’s
controls, trying to open them but failing miserably. She had shut off the power. He
reached down to the lower part of the door, felt around for the frame and managed to
squeeze his fingers under the rubber seal. Gern’s muscles knotted, and the muscly
alien strained as he yanked. The door latch broke and the portal
opened. The officer’s area was still lit and he knew he had to get to the rear of the
shuttle, to the escape pod. He tumbled out of the cockpit.
“Where are you going, my sweet?” The lights in the rest of the ship
were dimming, the air pumps and other life support systems shutting off. Then the fire
suppression system came on. Carbon gas blew from multiple vents, filling the ship and
making Gern gag.
“Stay with me, one final dance.” Gern took in a huge gulp of what
oxygen was left and charged down the ship, past the empty seats. He grabbed his sword and
rifle and jumped for the escape pod.
“Don’t leave me. You have to stay
and die.” He forced his way in, slamming the
portal shut and hitting the ejection pad. Veeta had no control over the pods in case of
system shutdown and Gern, for one, was glad of this design feature. The lifepod ejected, blowing away
from the ship as the rear end started venting gases. There was a huge explosion as the
engines overloaded and Gern narrowed his eyes as the vessel erupted, vaporising totally as
the combined explosion of engine failure and weapons detonation filled the viewport. Great, he thought, trapped in the middle of nowhere in a lifepod. All I
can do now is hope someone finds me. The monitor on the pod wall
flickered into life and Gern looked at it, checking around to see if he had accidentally
hit a switch. The monitor glowed white.
“Did you miss me?” came a
female voice. Gern backed away from the screen,
the movement being completely reflexive.
“Wha... how...?”
“I dumped my core memory into the
lifepod computer. I wouldn’t like us to be separated. I can’t control this pod.
I have no control over its functions.” Gern breathed out, relieved.
“But don’t think I’m going to
let this ruin our trip. Would you care to sing with me?” Veeta screamed. It was so loud and
high pitched that Gern had to clamp his big hands over his ears to stop the pain. It was
continuous, oppressive, relentless. No amount of kicking and punching
could stop the scream. The pod had been designed, after all, to withstand impact damage.
Using his weapon may short a system and kill him. Gern looked with despair out of the
window, roaring his anguish at the scream which went on. And on. And on.
Transmission Intercepted 2000 short story by Jonathan Hicks Under a year after Episode IV - A New Hope Histories - A Jonathan
Hicks story in which the assassin Gern Omik sells out the Rebel Alliance to the Empire and almost pays for his betrayal with his life. Showing the lengths to which certain Setnin
characters will stoop to make a credit, Transmission
Intercepted is set at a vital time for the Rebellion - just after the destruction of the first Death Star when the Empire was surging through
the galaxy hunting down every Rebel, led by Lord Darth Vader,
obsessed with finding young Luke Skywalker. Cast of Characters Gern Omik Veeta Captain Shreems |