From: "Chuck" Newsgroups: alt.startrek.vs.starwars Subject: [FICTION] The Arr Chronicles Date: Mon, 11 Jun 2001 11:02:14 -0500 This isn't a versus story, it's more of a Star Trek parody, which should be pretty obvious once you get started. The Arr Chronicles by Chuck Sonnenburg and Scott Gordee There was no dramatic music, no fanfare as Comm. Lance Armstrong exited the shuttle to join the crew of the USS Arr. All that was there to greet him were a few crewmen and a minor bridge officer. The skinny little man stepped forward, a large yet nervous smile on his face as he ripped off a salute. "Welcome aboard Arr, sir," he said politely. "I'm Helmsman Buddy Steele, but everybody calls me 'Nerves.' The captain asked me to welcome you." He shuffled his feet. "So I, so I did." "Yes, you did," Armstrong remarked, looking around the shuttle bay as the crewmen walked past him to collect his gear. "Where is the captain?" "The captain," Buddy said with visible discomfort. "The captain is working out at the moment." Armstrong stopped in his tracks. "The captain decided to work out instead of greeting his new first officer?" It quickly became obvious that Buddy wasn't interested in discussing the captain with Armstrong, but under his penetrating stare the ensign relented. "One of the first things you learn, commander, is not to interfere in the captain's routine." Armstrong frowned at the breach of protocol, but there was nothing he could do about it. "Why don't you take me to the captain," he said. Buddy had an expression like Armstrong had just suggested he stick his head in the reactor. "Now sir?" he said as he fidgeted with his hands. "Yes now," Armstrong said testily. Buddy swallowed but nodded slowly and emphatically. "Yes, sir," he said, his voice filled with a sense of impending doom. With a sharp turn he led Armstrong to the door and through the halls of the ship. While they were walking, whether it was to distract himself or out of genuine interest, Buddy began filling Armstrong in on the capabilities of the Arr. "The Arr is the first of a new line of high-speed, heavily-armed starships," Buddy said, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. "The Arr is the first and only Assault-class starship. It's purpose is to serve as a deterant by bringing superior firepower to the table." "Yes, I know," Armstrong said with distaste. The Confederation had learned the hard way that despite their ideals, they simply needed to have powerful warships to ensure its own safety as it continued its exploration of the galaxy. Armstrong didn't like it, but ships like the Arr were a necessary evil. "But we have such weapons in the hopes we never have to use them." "Yes sir," Buddy said, but there was a noticeable lack of conviction. They drew to a halt outside the simulator. "Computer, open doors." The doors slid open, allowing the two officers inside. Armstrong looked around carefully. The room was filled with huge, beefy men working out with giant exercise equipment. None of them wore any uniforms. "Which one is the captain?" he asked finally. "Uh, him sir," Buddy said, pointing nervously. "The one arm-wrestling with the orangutan." Armstrong followed the gesture until he saw a man in a grey T-shirt who had just slammed a monkey's hand down on the table. The man immediately jumped up and began pumping the air with his fist and shouting furiously. The orangutan sulked off as the man knocked the table over and tossed one of the chairs. Before they could even get there he had grabbed a dumbbell and begun doing an arm curl. "Captain Random?" Armstrong said uncertainly. "What do you want?" Random shouted, his body still saturated with testosterone. He stopped, and a slow smile crept across his sweaty face. "Wait a minute," he said as if he suddenly got the punch-line to a joke, "You're Lance Armstrong, right?" Armstrong saluted. "Commander Armstrong, reporting for duty, sir." Captain Random stood up and tossed the dumbbell at Buddy, who fell over backwards as he caught it followed by a tiny yelp. "Welcome aboard," Random said excitedly, shaking Armstrong's hand. "I saw your name in the files and knew immediately that you were the first officer I needed." Armstrong was a bit taken aback, considering how the captain had blown him off by not being in the shuttlebay when he arrived. "I'm glad to hear that, sir. I hope my record lives up to your expectations." "Record?" Random said, letting go of Armstrong's hand and walking a little ways away. "No time to read your record, we've got a peace to enforce." Armstrong opened his mouth and then promptly shut it. He wasn't exactly sure what the captain meant by that. "You spoke to my former commanders?" "Maybe you didn't hear me the first time," Captain Random said as he pushed a few buttons on the control panel. "We're a little too busy to waste our time like that." He turned around and peeled his T-shirt off. His face had an expression of intense concentration. "Sir," Armstrong finally said, "Am I to understand-" He was cut off as a clay disk launched out of a device ten meters away. The disk struck the center of Random's chest and exploded, showering the area with clay bits. Random let out an excited grunt and then hit his chest with the side of his fist. "Am I to understand that I was chosen for this assignment based solely on my name?" "AH! Yeah!!!" Random screamed as an even larger disk hit his chest this time. "Give it your best shot!" "Sir?" Armstrong prompted after a few more disks were fired. "Yes," Random said, brushing clay particles out of his chest hair. "I need strong men if we're going to pacify this portion of space, and I knew immediately that you were the man for the job." "Captain," Armstrong said as the shock started to wear off, "I'm positive I 'll do a fine job for you as your first officer. But, don't you think that you should base your decisions on more than just a name?" "Why would I do that?" Random said, stopping the assault and looking at Armstrong with his hands on his hips. "If it's good enough for your parents, it's good enough for me." "It just seems-" "Trust me on this," Random said. He hit a few more buttons on the controls. "Ensign," he shouted, causing Buddy to jump a foot in the air. The little man turned his full attention to the captain. "Face front!" "Yes sir," Buddy said, immediately turning to face the same direction. His eyes widened and he let out a surprised cry as a log swung down on a vine and struck him in the torso. He flew backwards, bounced off the wall, and fell face first onto the ground. "You see," Random said with pride, "that's a man named 'steel!'" There was the odd sound like someone clearing a clogged pipe and Buddy twitched where he lay on the ground. Armstrong asked if he was all right, but the only response was like someone scraping the rust off a grill. "I think he's really hurt," Armstrong said. "Hmm, must be sick," Captain Random said, looking at Buddy oddly. "Why don 't you take him down to the infirmary?" "You mean the sickbay?" "Eh, yeah, whatever it's called." "That won't be necessary," Buddy said, pulling himself up off the floor. "I'm fine." He whinced as he pulled himself up straight, ribs visibly protruding under his uniform. "You see?" Random said with pride. "Steel!" He slapped Buddy on the back, who promptly whimpered and fell down. Random looked at him with annoyance. "Way to hit the pressure point, sir," Buddy croaked. "You're a master of unarmed combat." "Ah, of course," Random said. "Why don't you finish showing the commander around the ship?" "Delighted, sir," Buddy said with a voice filled with pain. "This way, commander." He walked with an odd sort of shuffle towards the doors, rasping and wheezing with each step. Armstrong watched in morbid fascination, then followed him. A weight seemed to life off Buddy's shoulders as they exited the holodeck, but that didn't satisfy Armstrong. "I think your ribs are fractured," he remarked. "Only three or four," Buddy said weakly. "I'll live." "I'm afraid I must insist on going to sickbay," Armstrong said. Buddy's face fell as if he'd been ordered to cut his own throat. "It's not that bad," he insisted. "Ensign," Armstrong said with disbelief, "you're coughing up blood." "No-no! No, that's, uh, that's tomato soup. Yeah, I was eating tomato soup, and now I'm- I'm a little queasy." "Then you should go to sickbay." "Oh, no sense wasting the doctor's time," Buddy said. He tried to wave his hand dismissively, but he had to stop half-way through the gesture and grab his side. "I just need to walk it off." "Which way to the sickbay?" Armstrong demanded. Buddy hung his head as if it were a death sentence. "Follow me," he squeaked. He limped through the corridors until at last they reached the entrance to sickbay, where he seemed to freeze. "Well, here it is," Buddy said with as much enthusiasm as his broken body could allow. "If you need anything, I'll be on the bridge." He yelped as Armstrong grabbed the back of his uniform and almost dragged him into sickbay. The way Buddy was acting Armstrong was expecting sickbay to be some kind of torture chamber. He noted with approval that the room was spotless, and everything was in order. Some of the instruments were so clean Armstrong could have sworn they'd never been used. Buddy must just be one of those people uncomfortable around doctors. "Why don't you lie down," Armstrong said, "while I find the doctor." Before anyone could move a head emerged from behind the corner with a grin almost as wide as its face. When he spoke, it was with a high-pitched Italian accent that had a kind of manic edge to it. "Is somebody unhappy?" he almost screamed. Buddy took one look and fell over, shrieking wildly as he tried to crabwalk away. Armstrong had to grab his leg to keep his from leaving. "What can I dos for you?" the doctor said as he came around the corner. He was wearing thick rubber gloves that went up to his elbows, and a pair of goggles hung around his neck. He scooped up a hypospray as he slid across the room, and in one fluid motion injected it into Buddy's neck. "Some-body needs a hap-py pill," he sang as it discharged. His grin grew as he heard the sound, and they watched Buddy collapse. "That should helps him relax," the doctor said, then put the hypo to his own neck. He gyrated a little after the hypo injected, then tossed it over his shoulder. "Okee-dokey," he said, wiping his nose on his glove, "Let's gets this boy on the table." "Are you the doctor?" Armstrong asked. His tone implied that he couldn't imagine the answer would be "yes." "Yessirs," the doctor said, picking up the fallen helmsman, grinding his shoulder into the broken ribs as he dropped him on the table. "Dr. Baxter Scabs," he introduced, shaking Armstrong's hand with the sticky glove. "Okee- dokey, let's get to medicininging." He pulled out a scary-look bladed object and looked at it with approval. "This oughts to do it," he said with satisfaction. "You're not going to use that to try and cure him?" Armstrong said with horror. "This?" Dr. Scabs said, looking at Armstrong oddly. "Don't be stupids. This isn't a medical tool." He ran it along the front of Buddy's uniform, splitting the fabric, and then pulled it open. Armstrong felt a sense of relief; then Dr. Scabs opened the drawer. "This is a medical tool," he said pulling out a huge saw. He clicked the switch and it vibrated with a sickening sound while dust and dried blood puffed away from the serrated edge. "Oh yeah," he shouted over the sound of the blade, "this'll get those naughty ribs out." "You're not removing his ribs," Armstrong said in disbelief. "It's no problem," Dr. Scabs said with reassurance. "He's got plenty more." "No," Armstrong said. "No removing anything." Dr. Scabs said nothing, he just pulled the goggles up over his eyes. "No removing his ribs," Armstrong shouted. "You mights want to step back," Dr. Scabs shouted back. "Sometimes theys spray good." Armstrong grabbed his shoulder and almost screamed in his ear. "No removing his ribs!" The blade whirled to a halt. "Are yous kidding me?" "No!" Dr. Scabs tossed the saw back into the drawer. Armstrong felt the bile rise in his throat as he saw the horrid collection of tools inside. "You wants him to keep the broken ribs, eh?" Dr. Scabs said with disgust. "Yous one sick mother!" "Why don't you just fix the broken ribs?" Armstrong said, trying not to scream at him. "And hows you want me to do that?" Dr. Scabs demanded. Armstrong looked around and picked up an instrument off the stand, then paused to remove the packaging. "Use this," he ordered. "Oh, I get it," Dr. Scabs said. "You're one of those quacks, right?" "Just use it!" "Okee-dokey," Dr. Scabs said, but he sounded dejected. Minutes later the ribs were properly healed. "If he's upset, though, let hims go crying to you." "I take full responsibility," Armstrong said sarcastically. He gave Buddy an injection which brought him around. He helped the helmsman down and they started walking out. "Commander," Dr. Scabs shouted after him. Armstrong stopped and turned around. "You wants a checkup while you's here?" He held up a hypospray in one hand and in the other some kind of instrument. It had four prongs which began pinching together, then spun around wildly with a high-pitched whine. "Uh, no thanks." "Okee-dokey," Dr. Scabs said. Then he looked at the hypospray, grinned, and put it to his own neck. "Oh yeah," he said distantly as he fell face forward on the floor, the tool still whining in his hand. Buddy was wiping the sweat from his face as they rushed away from sickbay. On the way he explained that the crew had gotten used to performing their own medical services when it was needed to avoid seeing the doc. "How can a butcher like that stay chief medical officer?" Armstrong asked. "The captain's never been treated for any injury," Buddy said. "Ever. And he doesn't like people complaining." "This is insane," Armstrong said. "You get used to it," Buddy said. A door opened and Buddy jumped two feet into the air, squealing. Before Armstrong could say another word he was running down the hall. "HI!" an officer said, shaking Armstrong's hand enthusiastically. He smelled like an animal cage. "Hi," Armstrong said, taking his hand back. "Um, excuse me." He went running after Buddy. "SEE YOU AROUND!" the man called after him. "Nice bloke, eh?" he said to himself. "Reminds me of me dad." Armstrong slowed to a jog as he saw Buddy leaning against the wall nearby. "Something wrong?" he asked the helmsman as he arrived. Buddy was panting. "No-no," he replied. "Um, should we continue?" "Do we dare?" Armstrong deadpanned. "You've seen the worst," Buddy said. "Just stay away from sickbay and don' t cross the captain and you'll do fine." "Perhaps we should head down to engineering," Armstrong suggested. "I'd like to meet the men and women that hold this ship together." "It's this way," Buddy said, pulling himself together and leading him over to the lift. "I imagine it must be difficult for them to keep this ship running smoothly," Armstrong said to fill the silence. "Some of these systems are prototypes." "Well, they can handle just about anything," Buddy said. "Just make sure to stay out of their way." While sickbay had been meticulously organized in appearance, engineering was a nightmare. There wasn't a single surface that didn't have a wire, hose, or conduit trailing across its surface. The floor was covered in different colored stains, some parts of the carpet singed by who knows what. The reactor was like Tim Burton's Christmas Tree, covered with all manner of electronic and mechanical devices. Its blinking was frightening, as if it was posessed by the devil. There was an unnatural whine, and as Armstrong approached he could feel his hair start to stand up. "What in the hell..." he said slowly. "I'll admit it looks bad," Buddy said. "'Bad' doesn't begin to describe this," Armstrong said with disgust. "This place is a disaster." "The engineers know what they're doing," Buddy said. "Believe me, I'd trust them with my life." "You have to, they run the ship." Armstrong squinted at the wall. "Is that gum?" he said with disbelief. He strode across the room and grabbed it. "No!" Buddy said, jumping forward. "Don't touch anythi-" He was cut off by the klaxons as lights began flashing. "Core explosion in fifteen seconds," the computer said cheerfully. Armstrong furiously tried to put the gum back on the spot, but it was old and dried out and only fell to the floor. "Three," a bass voice called across the deck. Armstrong whirled around and saw a rotund man with a large cigar and a beard come storming across the bridge. "I need gum," he ordered. An engineer seemed to materialize out of thin air. He was carrying a four foot-long wrench over his shoulder, which was an interesting effect considering he was only about five feet tall. He whipped a stick of gum out of his pocket and chewed it violently. His limbs were a blur as he snatched it out of his mouth and slammed it over the spot. The noise and the lights stopped, and the computer announced that the reactor was stabilized. The little engineer vanished, leaving Buddy and Armstrong alone with the cigar-smoking engineer. His movement was odd; he somehow managed to cover the distant between them in no time, yet he never seemed to rush. He took the piece of gum out of Armstrong's hand and shook it. When he spoke it was quiet, but it had a tone that wouldn't truck any argument. "Don't - touch - anything." Buddy cleared his throat, hoping to defuse the situation. "This is Comm. Armstrong, our new first officer." He tried not to sound nervous, but it was futile. "This is Lt. Thrust, chief engineer." The chief engineer's gaze never wavered. After a few seconds he finally smiled and shook Armstrong's hand. "Welcome aboard, sir," he said, his anger forgotten. "Care for some coffee?" "Uh, sure," Armstrong said as the engineer walked over to the dispenser. Buddy sidled over to Armstrong. "Don't drink the coffee," he warned in a very low voice. Armstrong glanced between Thrust and Buddy. "Why?" he whispered. "It's not poisoned, is it?" Buddy shook his head. "They spike it with caffeine and meta-amphetamines. If you're not used to it, one cup can send you to lightspeed without a ship." "On second thought," Armstrong said, "I should pass on the coffee." The chief engineer just shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said as he downed the cup in one gulp. One eyebrow twitched. "We were just about to engage the new system," he said to Buddy. "You want to see?" "What have you done this time?" Buddy asked, stepping over to the workstation where Thrust was standing. Armstrong followed out of morbid curiousity. "Here's an exterior of the ship," Thrust said. The Arr was sleek, with the exception of its two oversized engines protruding from the sides. It was obvious from a single glance that this was the fastest ship in the fleet. "Now," Thrust said, holding his finger up in the air, "watch this." He slammed the digit down and the ship's image swirled and... "Blue?" Buddy said. "You can turn the ship blue?" "Yes, ensign," Thrust said with pride. "Whenever we want." "Like camaflogue," Armstrong said, trying to think of any time when such a skill might be useful. "So you could also, for example, change it to red?" The chief engineer didn't move a muscle. The seconds ticked by, and Armstrong was afraid he might have somehow offended the man, but then... "We could try," he said resolutely. Before Armstrong could open his mouth Thrust shouted, "One ! Two!" Two engineers appeared side-by-side almost out of thin air. "The commander wants to turn the ship red," he announced. The one on the right immediately began talking a bluestreak. "Weneedtorealigntertiarypowerdistributorsacrossthecentralsub-axisandmodifyse lectiveoutputswithin..." While his voice flew the one on the left just opened his mouth and screamed, his bloodshot eyes wide-open. Their bodies began to tremble like they were made of rubberbands that were stretched to the limit, waiting for the tension to be released. Thrust took a deep breath. "Do it," he said. The words caused an explosion. Immediately the two engineers began literally running around the room, quickly joined by two more who seemed to share their sudden fervor. He watched as the one called One raced over to a panel, pulled it off, and tossed it aside. He reached in and pulled out yard after yard of wires, his hands a blur. Three, the one with the wrench, grabbed some twisted piece of metal off a pile of junk and sprinted to the opening, jumping up and grabbing the edge. One dropped the wire, grabbed Three's foot, and heaved him into the hole. Buddy must have seen the look on Armstrong's face because he immediately stepped closer and tried to reassure him. "Relax," he said, "they know what they're doing. They're the best in the fleet." Armstrong stepped back as Two went running by, holding an axe over his head and screaming "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!" He swung before he'd even reached a stop, digging deep into the metal panel on the wall. He swung again and again in an obsessive rage, turning the original cut into a jagged hole. Two tossed the axe aside and reached into the hole and pulled out a long black tube, then bit into it, spraying himself and the wall with a yellowish-brown fluid. "Zero, conduit," One shouted, and Thrust ambled across the room to the main control station. In the time it took him to walk the distance the last engineer, presumably Four, darted between the two walls six times as he made adjustments. Thrust entered some commands into the panel and the whine of the reactor changed its pitch, sounding more like a disturbed beehive than anything mechanical. This was followed by a sudden pounding that seemed to be coming from inside the reactor itself, the intensity and speed gradually increasing. One of the panels in the ceiling dropped to the floor with a bang as Three fell through the new opening, his body tangled in wires. "Four!" he cried. Four pulled a pair of wirecutters from his toolbelt, then turned and tossed it at Three like a ninja. The engineer snatched them out of the air and began snipping madly, jerking a little as he was shocked by each cut of the wires. While that was going on, Two had grabbed a pull cord on an engine connected to an intimidating collection of pipes. He pulled madly until the machine kicked into gear, its pistons drowning out the sound of the reactor while the pipes began to leak steam at the joints. "Engaging...." Thrust screamed over the din. The floor was shaking so violently at this point Armstrong had to brace himself against the wall. "Now!" There was a high-pitched squeak and one of the pipes broke away from the wall, and Armstrong smelled ozone. And then everything just seemed to stop. The sudden silence was eerie. Thrust pointed to the display, and Armstrong saw that the ship now had a bright red hue to it. The engineers were frozen. "YES!" Four screamed, high-fiving Two and knocking him over. Armstrong took a moment to catch his breath after the sudden excitement. The entire event hadn't taken more than a minute, but it was the most intense minute he'd ever had, and that included front-line combat. "Well done," he said finally. The assembled engineers, all drew themselves up to attention, but they couldn't hide the smiles of intense self-satisfaction. There was a bang that followed as Three fell flat on his back behind them. "Keep up the good work, lieutenant," he said, and quickly exited, followed closely by Buddy. The Arr Chronicles, Chapter 2 by Chuck Sonnenburg and Scott Gordee After their ordeal in Engineering Buddy suggested going to the bridge, which only succeeded in filling Lance Armstrong with an even greater dread. If this was what the lower decks were like, what horrors would be waiting on the command deck? "The captain runs a tight ship," Buddy insisted, although given what Armstrong had seen of the captain he wasn't optimistic. The ride up included Three, whose real name was actually Smitty. His chemically-enhanced stare made the silence even more uncomfortable, particularly the one crooked eye. "Lifts sure are slow," he remarked, and meant it. Smitty's eyes suddenly danced all over the inside of the lift, but at least his attention was elsewhere, allowing Armstrong and Buddy a moment to relax before exiting onto the bridge. He was almost frightened to look, but was relieved to see the room was exactly the way it was supposed to look. He allowed himself a brief moment to relax. "I suppose I should meet the second officer," he remarked. Before Buddy could speak a voice said, "I'm glad you could find the time to get around to it." It was an artificial voice, but somehow managed to be saturated with sarcasm. Armstrong looked over and found the source, the ship's science officer and third in command, who at the moment consisted of a brain in a floating jar. It was more off-putting than he had originally thought, but he refused to let appearances get in the way. After all, he would need to work side by side with this. entity, for years to come. "Welcome to USS Arr," the second officer said with a tone that showed he obviously didn't mean it, and wanted Armstrong to know it. This was going to be the hard part. The second officer's people had a language that was based on movement and odors, so the translation of their language into English had been less than stellar. "I look forward to serving with you, Lt. Comm." He took a breath. "QQQQ'LD'GLG-!NONEK." He had practiced it several times. The jar emitted an overly exhausted sigh. "Excuse me," he asked as if Armstrong had just slapped him in the face several times, "do I look like a three-stomached marsupial on the planet Beltid 7? Hmm?" "Er, no," Armstrong said with complete honesty. "Then please don't call me one." If a brain could bristle, this one was. "After all, it's not hard for me to remember your name. Of course, it's probably because I'm infinitely smarter than you. It's just that you'd think you could learn to pronounce the name of one of your own colleagues." "I'll try to get it right next time," Armstrong said. "I promise." "Yeah sure you will." "Perhaps you'd like to meet our weapons and security officer?" Buddy offered, seeing that the situation was going nowhere. Grateful for the save, Armstrong turned and looked to the first person since he got on board that didn't put him on edge. He was at his post eyeing all his controls with rapt attention. When they walked noticed the new first officer walking over he pulled himself up to attention. "At ease," Armstrong said with satisfaction. "And you are." "Lt. Johnny Riprock, sir," he replied, his voice so crisp it could have been starched. "Yes, I know," Armstrong said. "I read your file; you've had a rich history Lt. Riprock." "Oh sure, you can remember his name," the second officer called from behind. "I suppose if I made my name something simple like 'chair' you could remember it." Armstrong didn't reply, but that didn't stop the tirade. "Is that one still too hard? Maybe you could do word association, like 'ass?'" "I understand that you've been in over one hundred combat situations," Armstrong continued. "Yes sir," Riprock replied. "Amazing. You know I saw front-line duty in the Great Klinkon War. I have to admire anyone who could last that long without cracking up." "Thank you, sir." Riprock never allowed himself to relax. "I expect good things from you," Armstrong finished. As he turned to walk away he noticed the tactical console, and paused. The normal panel had been replaced with a series of large, color-coded buttons, each of which had the word "KILL!" printed across its surface. Deciding that he didn't want to probe further he stepped over to the first officer's chair, allowing himself a brief moment to adjust to life on this new ship. "Sir," Buddy said, "if you won't be needing me I'll resume my station." Armstrong nodded and the helmsman slipped into his chair and checked the controls. Yes, despite the minor problems this ship would do all right. Maybe things were a little quirky, but it would work out. He was nodding to himself with satisfaction at his new assignment as he watched a sixty-year old woman in a bathrobe walk out of the lift, a pot of coffee in her hand. If anyone else noticed, they didn't show it. "Excuse me," Armstrong said as the woman walked past. "No talk. Coffee," was her only reply as she shuffled past. "What are-" Armstrong stopped as she held up her hand, then put her finger to lips. Too puzzled to reply he watched her pour a large mugful and take a seat on the bridge. Buddy must have noticed Armstrong's reaction. "That's our communications officer," he whispered. "Bambi Hyde." "Stop - TALKING!" she roared at Buddy, who straightened up and faced front like a naughty boy in a Catholic School. Before anything more could happen the captain walked onto the bridge, now dressed in his uniform. He didn't speak to anyone until he'd taken his command chair. "We've got work to do." "Oh, what pray-tell, oh wise and noble leader?" the sarcastic voice of the second officer echoed across the bridge. "Good question, No Neck," the captain replied. Somehow the brain managed to look even more surly. "We've lost communications we planet Halusted III. Might be some trouble brewing. Riprock!" Johnny Riprock lurched and hit one of the buttons, and a laser blasted out into space, tearing through the nacelle of a passing freighter. "Damn fine shooting!" the captain said with admiration. "Get your team prepped for any hostiles we might encounter." "Sir, yes sir!" Riprock vanished into the lift. "Bambi," the captain said, turning to the communications officer. "What?!" she practically screamed at him as she lit up a cigarette. Captain Random smiled. "God your beautiful," he whispered, then sighed. "Send a message to command that we're in route to Halusted III." Bambi blew him a kiss, then pulled a plug out of one slot and slid it into another. "This is us, we're leaving," she spoke into the microphone, then took a long drink of coffee. The bridge was tense as they waited, wondering if they were flying straight into an armada. Fortunately there were no signs of enemy ships as they pulled into orbit around Halusted III. "Skies are clear, sir," Buddy said. "And there are no messages being broadcast. It looks like the planet's totally deserted. Captain Random nodded. "Riprock!" he called into the communicator. There was the sound of a plasma charger firing and a mute scream, followed by someone crying "Man down! Man down!" "Yes sir," Lt. Riprock replied, unphased by the screaming. "Deploy your peace keepers," Random ordered. "Just in case." There was a jolt as ten shuttles dropped from the bottom of the Arr and roared into the atmosphere. The image of the planet was replaced by an interior shot of one of the shuttles. The screen jerked as the shuttle touched down, the doors bursting open on Lt. Riprock's orders. The peace keepers rushed out of the shuttle onto the planet, weapons drawn and ready to mow down any hostiles. Armstrong could hear the faint sound of people saying "hut hut hut hut" as they ran down the ramps and spread out. After some time had passed Riprock reported back. "No sign of any hostiles." There was no mistaking the sound of disappointment in his voice. "Cowards," Captain Random said. "Not brave enough to wait around for the real warriors. Riprock, get your people back up here so we can take off." "What?" Armstrong said with dismay. "You're leaving?" "Not much point in staying," Captain Random said. "The planet's empty and the invaders are gone." "Yes," Armstrong said. "But, maybe we could figure out who was responsible." Captain Random opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. "And if we knew who it was," he said slowly, "we could find them!" He smiled and nodded. "I like it! Armstrong, go down there immediately and investigate!" "Uh, excuse me?" Armstrong replied. "You want me to do reconaissance?" "Absolutely," Captain Random replied. "It's your plan, I want to make sure it's done right." "Sir," Armstrong said, "with all due respect, isn't the place of your first officer on the ship?" "Commander, quit wasting time and get down there. Oh, and take Buddy here with you." "The pilot?" Armstrong replied. "Why in God's name would you send your first officer and your pilot down to the planet to do reconaissance?" "Hmm, you've got a point," Captain Random said. "Take Bracks with you." He looked at Armstrong with annoyance when he didn't move. "Now." Fuming, Armstrong got up and walked to the lift, Buddy close behind. He noticed Buddy's nervousness as they travelled down to the lower decks, which only managed to make him more annoyed. "Who's Bracks anyway?" he asked Buddy. "Probably the ship's cook." "No, not the cook," Buddy said, his voice cluing Armstrong in that he wasn't too far off. He wilted under the first officer's stare. "He's the comic relief officer," he said finally. "Halt," Armstrong said, then came around and gave Buddy a look like a grand inquisitor with a heretic. "Comic relief officer?" Buddy swallowed and immediately broke into a sweat. "The captain designates people to that position in the hopes of improving the ship's moral. Of course, it doesn't, but no one dares to tell the captain." Armstrong took a few deep, relaxing breaths. "Have Bracks meet us in the Teleportation Room," he said as the lift continued. "Um, I wouldn't advise that," Buddy said. He cringed as Armstrong gave him a look that could freeze helium. "Just a suggestion." "What foul fate awaits us there?" Armstrong asked with barely restrained frustration. "Well, you see," Buddy said, flustered. "Eddie Reese, the teleportation chief, isn't exactly. motivated. He's been known to cause some accidents by not being overly careful." "Such as," Armstrong said. "It's best not to say," Buddy said, swallowing to keep the bile down. "We' ve just basically agreed to use shuttles instead of bothering Eddie." "You know," Armstrong said with anger, "I don't see how Random can allow this on his ship." "Oh, Eddie knows to be careful with the captain," Buddy said. "But with the rest of us he doesn't really care. And as we've established." ".the captain doesn't like it when people complain," Armstrong finished. "Fine. Have Bracks meet us in the shuttle bay." Bracks was almost as nervous as Buddy was, if that were possible. He was talking to the Shuttle Chief while the shuttle was prepped for launch. "Now let me tell you a little about this here," he said with a low, gruff voice. "This shuttles got an armor set up to withstand more heat than you'd care to think about. This sucker'll cook ya like a thanksgiving turkey but the paint won't even peel." Somehow this didn't set Bracks at ease. Armstrong shook hands with the chief, Frank Pike, and then with Bracks. "I understand you'll be serving as our comic relief officer," he said, unable to hide the sarcasm. Bracks sighed. "Yes sir." Armstrong stepped past him into the tiny ship, then Buddy and Bracks followed. As they strapped in Bracks filled him in on the post of comic relief officer. "I was actually an interstellar archaeologist," he said. "The captain isn't really picky about who he has fill in this particular position." An alarm beeped and Bracks sighed, then began making farting noises by sticking his hand in his armpit. "Ha-ha," he said without a hint of sincerity, "flatulence is funny. Ha-ha. Laugh at my merriment." He stopped and looked even more dejected. "I know four hundred languages," he said dismally. "I've grown to hate my life." "Now remember," Chief Pike said through the comm, "there's going to be quite a drop. On the count of three. One." The ship dropped out of the bottom of the shuttlebay, the three men screaming in shock. "Oops, that wasn't supposed to happen," Pike said over the radio. "Gonna need to take a look at that.." "Buddy," Armstrong said, trying to remain calm, "the engines aren't firing." "I know, I know!" Buddy said in panic. "Something's wrong with the timing systems. I can't understand it. It's as if the circuits weren't even there!" Deep in the bowels of engineering, the quintet gathered around the consoles and watched the ship change from red to orange. "Yes!" Two screamed, high-fiving One. "I told you those timing circuits would work!" "Arr, this is Shuttle ID-10-T," Armstrong said. "Shuttle is out of control. Emergency tractor beams." "Negative, shuttle, you are outside of tractor range." Armstrong took a deep breath. "Okay, emergency teleportation." "No!" Buddy and Bracks said together. "We'll die otherwise," Armstrong said. "Chief Reese, come in." Eddie Reese was relaxing in the Teleportation Room, feet propped up one of the displays. Actually he was working.. on eating a donut. He let out a satisfied noised as he took a large bite of a jelly-filled and went back to reading the playmate magazine he had propped up on the console. The main controls for the teleporter began beeping, and in annoyance he threw the jelly donut at it to flip the switch. "What do you want?" he asked with irritation. "Chief," came a frantic voice, "we need an emergency beam-out!" "I'm busy," Reese replied, selecting a pretty plump-looking custard filled from the tray. "Reese!" the person ordered, "we need a beam-out now!" He made a frustrated noise. "I hope four's your lucky number," he mumbled as he pitched the custard at the console. The teleportation had several effects. One was that two naked crewmates were beamed into engineering. The fact that they were women had a profoundly confusing effect on the rattled engineers. Nonek was sent into the middle of the lift shaft, where he was hit by a passing lift seconds later. And the crew of the doomed shuttle found themselves back on board the Starship Arr. "Where are we?" Armstrong asked as he tried to adjust to his suddenly new surroundings. The place smelled awful, like manure mixed with industrial chemicals. "Oh no," Buddy said with horror. "What?" "Exobiology," he whispered, too frightened to move. "HI!" an exuberant voice called. "Nice to see you again!" Armstrong looked around until he saw the man he'd bumped into in the hallway earlier that day. "Whatchoo doing in here?" "Well-" "Interesting!" he said with enthusiasm. "But if I were you, I'd get out of there right away. It's not safe." "Mick," Buddy called, "what's in here with us?" "A Maldoovian Yellow-backed Spider," Mick replied. "Let me guess," Armstrong said. "It's six feet tall and deathly poisonous." "No, no," Mick replied. "Nothing like that. But it's mating season, see." "Ah," Armstrong said, looking around carefully for anything dangerous, "what exactly will she do?" "You see," Mick said, "they reproduce by eye contact." "What?" Armstrong asked, but before he could get any further he heard Bracks scream. He turned and watched in horror as the man's face started distorting, his eyes locked on the eyes of a small spider on the other side of the room. Lumps began to form and slide around under his skin as he continued screaming. "Aw crap," Mick said. "Get him to the doc, quick." Despite Buddy's protests Armstrong carried Bracks through the ship to the sickbay. The lumps continued to grow as they rushed him to one of the beds and tried to read the diagnostic equipment. "Is somebody unhappy?" a familiar voice asked. "Scabs," Armstrong called, "get over here and help us out." "Okee-dokey," Dr. Scabs said with cheerfulness. "Hmm, this looks bad," he said as he watched a lump the size of an orange roll under Bracks eye. He spun a hypospray in one hand, then pressed it to Bracks' neck, sending him into merciful unconsciousness. "I wonder if we should amputate before this spreads." "It's his head!" Armstrong shouted. "That's okay, I'll get him an artificial head." Before anything more could be said on the subject, Bracks' head split open like an overripe melon, and four tarantula-sized spiders crawled out. "Uh-oh, looks like we've got a problem now," Dr. Scabs said as the spider climbed onto Bracks' chest and hissed at him. "That doesn't look healthy." His hand whipped out and he pressed the hypospray to it, causing the tiny arachnid to have a seizure and a very tiny heart attack. "Engaging biohazard containment procedures," the computer announced, sealing the doors. "Begin sterilization protocols." "Okee-dokey," Dr. Scabs said. "I've gots a counter-agent right here," he said, rumaging through the drawer. "Ah, here it is." He pulled out a Smith & Wesson and began firing it at the spiders. "This'll fix them pesky biohazardsis." The spiders exploded as the bullets tore them apart, only to be sucked into the intakes to be reprocessed. When the last was blown apart and sucked away Dr. Scabs tossed the gun back into the drawer. "Biohazards neutralized," the computer said as the room unsealed. Armstrong and Buddy looked back up over the biobed they had taken refuge behind during the sterilization. "Are you ready for your physical?" Dr. Scabs asked Armstrong. "N-no," Armstrong said. "Thanks anyway." "Okee-dokey." Dr. Scabs pulled out a large saw. "Time to start the autopsy." He pulled the cord several times to get the engine started while Buddy and Armstrong snuck out. The Arr Chronicles, Part 3 by Charles Sonnenburg and Scott Gordee "What can you say about the great service of insert name here?" Captain Random said to those in attendance at Bracks' funeral. He held the infopad in front of him as he gave the eulogy. "I can think of no one who could have done a finer job than he did at state officer's duties and or rank, and I'm sure you all share that sentiment." Dr. Scabs blew his nose loudly in agreement. "He will live on as long as we remember... Gee, this is getting kind of long." "Just kick him out the airlock so we can get back to work," Bambi said horsely, lighting up a cigarette. There was no hiding Random's look of desire. "Godspeed," Random said, saluting the coffin which hovered off the floor and floated across the shuttlebay towards space. The engineering staff played "Amazing Grace" on their kazoos as he gently vanished into space. "Excuse me," said Buddy, tapping Armstrong on the shoulder as the crew began to drift off to their duties. "The doctor is here." Amrstrong looked over to give a friendly greeting to the temporary addition to their crew. Anticipating the devastation that would be found on Halusted III they sent in a relief ship. Dr. Zebar was to work in conjunction with the Arr to treat any survivors, but since there weren't any he had been prepared to leave. Armstrong had other plans, but he was a bit disappointed to not see Dr. Zebar anywhere. "Here, commander," a voice said, and Armstrong looked down at the tiny man, no more than four feet tall. "Dr. Zebar," he extended his hand and Armstrong shook it. "Pardon my error, Doctor," Armstrong said. "I wasn't aware that you were an alien." Dr. Zebar's friendly smile vanished. "I'm not an alien," he replied, visibly annoyed, "I'm just not as tall as you are." Armstrong sighed inwardly, silently cursing the day he was born for his recent luck. "Please accept my apology, I meant no disrespect. On the contrary I'm glad you're here. With this threat we can use experienced medics like yourself." The three started walking together towards the hallway. "We need every expert hand we can get." "Don't you have a medical staff in place?" Dr. Zebar asked as they passed through the doors and headed towards the lift. "Yes, but we're a little short." Armstrong whinced. "This way," he said as the door to the lift opened and the three stepped inside. A short while later they appeared on the bridge. The captain was busy discussing the tactical situation with Riprock as the trio approached. "Captain," Armstrong said politely. "...and if they can't give us the power we need, dammit we'll have to find someone else who can." He pounded on the table, putting a fist-shaped dent in it. He sighed and turned to Armstrong. "Lance," he said evenly. He looked down at Dr. Zebar. "Where'd you find the dwarf?" Armstrong closed his eyes and shook his head. "Dr. Zebar," he said, trying to make the name sound as professional as possible, "this is Captain Buck Random." "Oh yes," Random said, shaking Zebar's said. "They said they were going to send a little help." Taking a deep breath, Armstrong grabbed Buddy and pulled him over. "Ensign," he said with forced politeness, "why don't you take the doctor to his quarters." Grudgingly Dr. Zebar was led off, but before Armstrong could say anything Random had floated off as well. When Armstrong moved to follow Riprock stepped in his way. "Do you need something, lieutenant?" he said testily. "I've got a bit of an idea," Riprock replied, more to himself than anyone else. "About our new friend there." "Really," Armstrong said without the slightest hint of interest. "You know what I think he really is?" Riprock whispered. Armstrong just rolled his eyes. "He's a leprechaun." Riprock nodded slowly, glancing a little to the left and right to see if anyone might have heard him. "And that means there's gold around." "Lieutenant," Armstrong said finally, "let me point out two things. One is that there's no such things as a leprechaun-" "Ah, that's what they want you to think." "-and two," Armstrong continued, "Leprechauns are Irish." "And how do you know he isn't Irish?" Riprock demanded. "Well, I think the fact that he's named Zubra and is black kind of gives it away, don't you?" "Nah," Riprock said, looking at the lift Dr. Zubra had used earlier. "That 's just a disguise to throw us off. Did you hear a noise coming from the lift just now?" He leaned a bit closer. "I wonder if that's where he hid the gold." "Lieutenant," Armstrong said with all of the authority he could put into his voice, "to your station." Riprock pulled himself to attention so stiff you could use him to sharpen saws. He stepped back over to his first officer's chair and tried to think, watching absently as Buddy returned and resumed control of the Arr. They were obviously dealing with something extremely dangerous if it could wipe out that entire planet down there. "Commander," Capt. Random asked as he sat down in his chair, "did your investigation uncover any new information about whoever's responsible for this destruction?" "Unfortunately no," Armstrong replied. "None of the details make any sense. It looks as if the planet was bombarded with energy, but whatever could generate that much power should've caused far more damage than what we saw. It doesn't look like any type of weapon we've seen before, or any natural phenomenon as well." Random rubbed his cleft chin in imitation of someone thinking hard. "Does it look like the Klinkons?" "No, they wouldn't decimate the planet and keep it a secret." "I wouldn't be too sure of that," Random replied. "The Klinkons are completely amoral; I wouldn't put it past them." "Agreed, but only to instill fear. There's no point in being this brutal if they wanted to keep it a secret." "Well, whoever they are, they're messing with the wrong people." Random got to his feet and straightened his uniform. "Time for the dramatic speech," Nonek grumbled. "I'm all aquiver." "Since it's inception," Capt. Random began, his deep voice echoing across the bridge, "the Confederation has striven for peace with its galactic neighbors. We've met our fair share of friends," he inserted a dramatic pause, "and enemies. We offer the hand of friendship to the former, and the fist of anger to the latter. We will make a stand when we have to, no matter what the sacrifice. And wherever it's needed, the Arr will be there. The finest of ships, with the finest of crews." There was a loud bang behind the captain, and a puff of smoke and dust blew through the seams of the lift door. The bridge crew turned to see the doors open and One, Three, and Four stumbled out of the lift. Four held up a stopwatch. "One point eight seconds," he said with satisfaction before falling over sideways. One and Three tried to high-five but were so unsteady that One only managed to smack Three in the forehead and knock him into the back of Armstrong's chair. Three pulled himself up straight and saluted. "Lift's fixed, sir," he said shakily. "Since I know you're all too distracted to even think of paying attention to the sensors," Nonek said, "long-range scans are detecting an approaching particulate cloud." "Is it a nebula?" Random asked, his speech now forgotten. Nonek gave a sound like a mix between a scoff and a chuckle. "Do nebulas normally fly through hyperspace, Captain Braniac?" "What is it then?" Armstrong asked, peering at the scans. "Metallic, high-energy, not terribly dense but highly organized." "Wow, you know how to read," Nonek said. "Guess I should just turn the show over to you given the level of brainpower in this room." "Captain," Armstrong said, ignoring the sarcasm, "this is going to sound crazy, but I think that's a fleet out there." Random nodded. "Hiding in the cloud," he said thoughtfully. "No," Armstrong said, looking back at the enhanced image of the phenomenon, "it is the cloud." There was quiet as the weight of the words sunk in, and then the captain spoke. "Huh?" "That's a fleet of spaceships," Armstrong explained. "Billions of them, trillions! Each barely larger than a speck of dust." The captain scoffed at him. "Those can't be ships, no one could fit inside." "I know it sounds unbelievable, but remember that life can exist in the most fantastic of ways. This could be a sign of intelligence we've never imagined, a race of microscopic yet sentient life. This could be the greatest discovery of the century." "Should I lock on weapons, sir?" Riprock asked. "It's a pretty big cloud," Captain Random said thoughtfully, "we might need some torpedoes." Armstrong opened his mouth to protest but was cut off. "What do you think, the eight-ton or the twenty-ton?" "Captain," Armstrong protested, "did you understand what I said. This could be-" "There's a message coming in," Bambi spat, plugging her jack into a new slot. The bridge fell quiet as a tiny, high-pitched voice began speaking very, very fast. The crew was straining to keep up. "Identify-yourselves." Before there was even a chance the voice continued. "We-wish-to-make-contact." "Please-respond." "We-would-like-to-open-negotiations." "Er," Captain Random said, looking to his crew for some idea of what was going on. "You-have-declined-negotiations. You-refuse-to-reply." "Can we help you?" Armstrong offered. "We-have-established-contact," the voice said. "We-want-to-negotiate." Armstrong turned to the captain. "Should we begin the negotiation?" Before Random could reply the voice went on. "You- refuse-to-negotiate. We-take-your-silence-as-hostility. Reply-or-we-will- declare-war. Very-well,-war-is-now-declared. Surrender-immediately. You-refuse- to-surrender,therefore-we-will-destroy-you. This-is-your-final-warning. Very- well, prepare-to-die." "What just hap-" Random began, but immediately the space in front of them began to fill with energy beams. "Shields up," Armstong ordered Riprock. Riprock reached for a button, then stopped. "Sir?" "I have it, sir," Buddy said from the helm. "Shields at maximum." "I suppose you need me to explain the blindingly obvious," Nonek said with world-weariness. "It's clear that these are some kind of nanite race. Tiny robots for those of you too dumb to know what a nanite is, which is probably all of you." "It looks like they don't perceive time in the way we do," Armstrong observed. "Duh," Nonek said. "Their lifespan is very short no doubt." "Captain," Armstrong said to Random, "let me try and talk with them. Maybe we can solve this peacefully." "I'm not interested in backing down," Random replied. "We'll preserve peace by whatever force is necessary." "Please captain," Armstrong said, desperate as he watched the cloud continue its approach. "Oh, fine," the captain said with a huff. "But hurry up." "Bambi..." "What?!" "Open a channel," Armstrong replied patiently. He cleared his throat. "This is the Confederation ship USS Arr. We'd like to speak to your leader." "I-am-the-leader,-Zomar-the-First." "You are Zomar the First?" Armstrong tried to clarify. "No,-he-was-my- father,-I-am-Zomar-the-Second." "Okay. So Zomar-" "Zomar-is-gone;-I-am-Meltain." "Melta-" "Benthal-the-first." "Look," Armstrong said. "Let's just-" "Would-you-hurry-up. I-don't-have-all-second." "Oh forget this," Random said. "Let's just open fire." "Sir," Buddy said. "I'm reading four trillion targets." "I can get 'em, sir," Riprock said confidently. "Make that five trillion," Buddy said. "Not a problem," Riprock insisted. "Look," Armstrong said. "They're everywhere. We need to be very careful." Riprock just grinned. "I have a plan, sir," he said to Random. "I thought you might," Random rubbed his hands together. "What do you suggest?" Riprock took a deep breath. "We separate the saucer section." There was a hush on the bridge that was interrupted only by the quiet beep of the instruments. Buddy was the one who finally spoke. "Lieutenant," he said in a calm and even voice, "the Arr doesn't have a saucer section." There was a thoughtful noise from the three engineers as this new idea buzzed among them. Random was visibly annoyed. "I want you down in engineering in exactly one second," he ordered. "Not a problem," One said. The doors hadn't even closed as the lift rocketed down, accompanied by the overexcited cries of the three engineers. "You-are-like-the-rest," the nanites went on. "You-make-us-wait-forever. We-will-wait-no-more." "But-" Armstrong began. "Stretching-back-into-the-mists-of-history," it continued, "we-have-worked. It-has-taken-us-days-to-reach-this-moment-but-now- we-will-succeed." "And the-" Armstrong tried again. "Soon-our-new-weapon-will-be-complete." Armstrong opened his mouth. "It-is-complete." "Fast little buggers, aren't they?" the captain remarked. He hit the comm. "Hey, you guys hear that. They can build a weapon in under a second; can you?" "We'll try, sir," Thrust said confidently. There was a very loud bang in the background followed by the sound of steam and mild screaming. "Going to take a little longer." "Eventually-we-will-" "Too-late," another voice interrupted, "we've-already-done-it." "And-so-the-time-comes-for-the-final-step," the nanite leader declared. "And what's that?" Armstrong asked. The nanites spent several lifetimes putting in a dramatic pause. "To-conquer-the-universe." "Fiends," Random said under his breath. "You-will-all-fall-before-us," the voice continued. "And-we-will-rule-for-weeks-to-come." Armstrong, dejected, turned to the captain. "Then we have no choice." The captain took a deep breath, then turned to Riprock. "Let 'em have it," he said with a cold voice. "Aye, sir," Riprock said, his satisfaction barely hidden behind his crisp voice and intense stance. He ran his hand over the console as if it were a virgin bride and sighed with personal satisfaction. "All weapons?" he confirmed. Captain Random nodded. "All weapons," he repeated. Immediately the space around the ship was flooded with laser weapons from every emitter throughout the ship. Red, yellow, green, blue, and a host of other colors all tore into the cloud as Riprock's hands switched from button to button with a practiced touch, holding each long enough to get maximum output before risking overheating. "Torpedoes ready, sir," the voice reported over the comm. A fist slammed down on the flashing red button and torpedoes burst out of the tubes located across the front and back of the ship. They cut a path through the nanite ships and exploded, leaving nearly perfect spheres of destruction where they detonated. Riprock dry-fired the torpedoes a few seconds later, then pushed the button that called for reloading, returning to the lasers. "We've destroyed over one hundred million of their ships," Buddy reported. "But they're continuing to reproduce." Riprock's hands became a blur as he passed from button to button. The lights started to dim on the bridge as the weapons system demanded more and more power to maintain the assault. The nanite energy beams bounced harmlessly off their shields as the two sides continued to close the distance. "Sir," Armstrong said to the captain, "the weapons can't take this much. If we don't let up they'll burn themselves out." "We can't follow the safety protocol," Random replied, "they're reproducing faster than we destroy them. We need the speed." "We can't maintain it," Armstrong insisted. "We need to find a different tactic." Before anything further could be said Nonek spoke up. "Torpedoes approaching." Somehow he managed to sound bored. "Approximately forty-seven billion." The shields buckled and gave as the energy overwhelmed their shield emmitters. One by one, three consoles on the bridge exploded, filling the air with deadly shrapnel and knocking crewmen to the floor with serious injuries. Armstrong rushed over to Ens. Hallis' side and helped her to her feet, putting pressure on the gash on her arm. "How did that happen?" he said with disbelief, looking at the remains of the system. "Why would our consoles explode if someone shot us?" "I've randomly installed a quarter-stick of dynamite in some of the consoles," Random said, not even looking at him. "It's a little game I play." With the shield down the nanite energy beams began striking the ship's armor directly, gradually chewing away at it. Buddy began trying some evasive maneuvers, but the cloud was everywhere, and it was impossible to stay ahead of the unending assault. "Get us clear!" Armstrong shouted, helping Hallis' to the lift doors. "Now!" He pushed the button for sickbay, then heard the sound of a frightened, descending scream, and glanced back at the closing doors. "Please don't yell," Buddy said nervously, "I don't work well under pressure." "Shields up," Random said, as if the mere words would make it happen. "We're working on it," Thrust said from Engineering. "Going to take another minute." There was a sizzling sound and a whisp of smoke came from the weapons console. There was the sound of someone being zapped by electricity, and it was quickly obvious that someone was Riprock. Despite it he continued slamming on the buttons, his body going into spasms as he pounded the controls, a low cry of defiance coming from deep in his throat. Beads of sweat started forming on his head as he started punching the buttons with his fist halfhazardly. In a final fit of anger he broke a glass case open on the wall with his elbow and grabbed the handle. Even Captain Random was trying to stop him at that point, but he gave a tug and the entire ship lurched, knocking the crew off their feet. The bottom of the Arr slowly opened. There was a deep popping sound, and a two-hundred meter-long missile dropped out the bottom and blasted towards the cloud. It passed right through it, came out the other side, and slammed into a moon, blowing it to pieces. "Dammit, Riprock," Random said testily. "You know we only have one Exodus Missile on board, and command told you we weren't going to get another one if we wasted it again." "The-time-has-come-to-end-this-war," the voice of the nanites declared. "Feel-the-might-of-the-Generation-Cannon." The crew fell silent as a distant glow began to appear within the cloud, starting at the edges. "Magnification," Armstrong ordered. The screen divided into four sections, showing the cloud with different levels of magnification. They saw a close up of the tiny ships, each a different kind of geometric shape, emmitting energy beams into nearby ships, which were passing it along to still other ships with more and more power. In the larger views, it looked like a wave of lightning was passing through the cloud towards a single central point. "Ensign," Armstrong said quietly, having an inkling of what was in store for them, "get us out of here." The ship turned, but as it did the beams reached the central point, a single ship with a multitude of sides to it. The energy flooded into it for maybe a fraction of a second. Then a whitish-yellow beam tore through space and passed right through their engine. The beam was the size of a pin, but the material began to disintegrate in an outward cone, then the entire engine exploded altogether. Random looked from the cloud to the image of the destroyed engine. "Damage control teams," he ordered. "See what you can do." "We need to get out of here, captain," Armstrong said. "I don't like it," Random said, not even masking the anger in his voice, "but for once I agree with you. Any ideas?" Fortunately, bridge officers do have an option when such a situation arises. It's called an engineer. "Thrust," he called, activating the viewer in his chair. "This is the bridge." Thrust was standing in the center of Engineering holding a cup of coffee. "We're sending a crew up to the engine," he said, taking a sip. "Going to take a while though." "We don't have time," Armstrong said anxiously. "I know it's supposed to be impossible, but is there any way we could possibly create a hyperspace jump with only one nacelle. Even a little one th-" "Oh sure, not a problem," Thrust said, taking another drink of coffee. Armstrong's mouth was still opened. "Excuse me?" "Yeah," Thrust continued, "we worked it out while we were having donuts last week." "All right," Armstrong said, steeling himself for the chaos to come, "let's do it." "Okay," Thrust flipped a switch on the wall. "All set." Armstrong was tense with anticipation. He slowly relaxed. "That's it?" "Yup," Thrust said, finishing the mug. "All set, whenever you want." Confused but unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth, he ordered Buddy to jump to hyperspace. Despite the damage, the ship vanished away from the cloud just before the nanites could finish another charge. "Set course for Base 191," Captain Random said. "We're going to need parts and weapons fast. Bambi." "What?!" "Let them know what's happened," Random said, ignoring the belligerance in her glare. "Sure thing, craphead." Armstrong stepped closer to the captain, keeping his eyes on the receeding image of the cloud. "This isn't over," he said with worry and awe. "Absolutely not," Random replied. "They're not dead yet." The ARR Chronicles Part 4 Chapter 4 The USS Arr sat in Space Dock as efforts continued to replenish their depleted weapons and fuel supplies and repair the damage from their ill-fated battle. Lance Armstrong, first officer of the ship, has looked over all the reports, but it didn't matter. The truth was he was no closer to figuring out how to deal with this dangerous swarm of nanites. He was becoming desperate, and in his desperation he reached a decision. Military Intelligence may be difficult, but if anyone might have information to help defeat this plague it was them. But that meant one thing: approval from the captain, who clearly believed that he could solve any and every problem with brute force. For all their sakes, Armstrong had to convince him otherwise. Armstrong found Captain Buck Random in the interrogation room. As he feared, things were worse than he could have imagined. "Now look!" Random shouted as he paced back and forth in front of the seated prisoners. "I know you're involved with these nanites! I know you sabotaged the ship on their orders! Now you're going to tell me what's going on right now!!!" "I want my mommy," a seven-year old girl said. "YOU DON'T GET YOUR MOMMY!!!" Random roared. The three children began sobbing in response, which only made things worse. "Wah!" "AHH!" cried Random. "Ahhh!" "ARGH!" "WAHHH!!!" "MMYAAAAAHHHHHH!!!" Random drew to a halt as Armstrong placed a hand on his shoulder. "Commander, you're just in time," he said. "They're ready to break." "Children?!" "Yes," Random said, looking at them out of the corner of his eye, yet somehow managing to show a sign of contempt. One of the boys began crying. "Sneaky devils those nanites." He quickly grabbed a chair and spun it over his head, dropping it to the floor and sitting in it in one graceful motion, his eyes locked on the terrified faces. "You made a mistake coming here," he declared in a low voice. "You'll talk.... even you." "Sir," Armstrong said, "that's a teddy bear." "Yes," Random said. "A bear with nerves of steel. I'd respect you more if you weren't trying to destroy my ship!" he shouted, slapping the bear with the back of his hand. "Mr. Snuggles!" one of the children said in horror. "Don't think the Geneva Convention will protect you," he said to the prone form of the bear. "I've got no problem extracting the truth from you! Dr. Scabs!" "Yes?" the good doctor said as he came to his side. Random picked up the bear and held him at arms length, looking at him with a mixture of hate and respect. When he spoke, his voice was low and cold. "Break him." "Okee-dokey," Scabs said, taking the bear. "Let's get medicininging!" "Sir," Armstrong said, having grown accustomed to the captain's behavior, "I'd like permission to discuss this with intelligence. They may have information that can lead to a victory over the nanites." "Absolutely," Random said, never taking his eyes of the prisoners. "One way or another will found out what's going on," he said loud enough so they could hear. Armstrong walked back towards the exit when he noticed the latest addition to the crew being grilled by Lt. Johnny Riprock. Dr. Zibar gave him a look that was filled with repressed malice over what was going on, but there was no time to intervene on his behalf. Riprock slipped a little closer and cracked his knuckles very loudly. "Now then, Dr. Zebar," Riprock said, "if that is your REAL name. There's this little matter about a pot of gold!" Armstrong tried to contact somebody, but MI wasn't interested in speaking to him. After several hours of banging his head into bureaucratic walls he gave up, wandering the station deep in thought. He didn't even notice as Two and Three went running past him, excitedly carrying one of the station's docking clamps between them towards the entrance to their ship. He wandered the station for over an hour, hoping something would come to him. By the time his communicator buzzed he was still unable to think of where to even begin. He listened to Buddy Steel's message and raced back to the bridge, hoping that it was something that could lead to a solution. "You said it was important," Armstrong said as he saw Buddy on the Bridge. "Yes sir," Buddy said anxiously. "The Confederation Intelligence Agency wants to speak with you." "The CIA?" Armstrong said, puzzled. "What do they know about our little problem?" No time was spent thinking that over. "Now receiving the secret transmission," Bambi said, plugging the needle into the appropriate slot. "Send it to-" Armstrong came up short as the holoprojector started to activate. "Not now!" he said with exasperation. "Ah!" she half snarled at him. "I don't send the message, you complain. I send the message, you complain. Make up your friggin' mind, craphead!" She finished by taking a pull off her cup of coffee. "Sir," Armstrong said to the hologram after it had appeared. He was a tallish man in a coat, a bit older but still gave the impression of muscular build. He smoked a cigarette, and his eyes seemed to be always shifting about. "Commander Armstrong," the hologram asked. Armstrong nodded. "We have much to discuss. The future of the entire Confederation could be at stake." "Of the galaxy," Armstrong agreed. "Absolute security is essential if we're too succeed," the hologram replied. He looked around at the multitude of faces that comprised the Arr bridge crew. At the moment, Two was peering over Armstrong's shoulder at the hologram, smiling wordlessly as Armstrong turned and glared at him. "Perhaps we should talk elsewhere." "Agreed," Armstrong said. "Walk with me," the hologram replied. He started walking but, since the projector was fixed in place, his feet just slid back and forth on the projector. He turned back, then frowned. "Bambi-" "WHAT?!" "Reroute the transmission to my quarters." "Are you SURE this time?" she asked sarcastically, pulling the pin out and inserting it in a different slot. Armstrong rushed to his quarters where the hologram waited. "I'm not actually with the CIA," the hologram announced. "I was, but now I'm involved with other forces; wheels within wheels. I answer to men who, if they knew I was speaking to you, would make you, me, your entire ship just vanish." Armstrong felt his skin prickle. "Who are you?" He took a long puff off his cigarette. "You can call me Low Larynx. It'll be my codename for when I speak with you. My identity has to remain-" "Hey, Art," a voice called, "we're heading down to Santini's for some hoagies. Wanna come?" Low Larynx turned. "Christ, Steve! Can't you see I'm in the middle of something?!" "Hey, you griped all day when we didn't tell you last time," the voice said defensively. "Look, just beat it!" He turned forward, smoothed out his coat, and tried to compose himself. "Moron." "How much do you know about this?" Armstrong asked. "Is the Confederation involved?" "Up to its eyeballs," Low Larynx replied. "It goes higher and deeper than you can imagine." Armstrong thought a moment on that metaphor as the hologram continued. "I've been involved in this kind of stuff for longer than you'd believe. The Confederation ran some projects that would curl the hair in your nose." He dropped his cigarette, crushed it out, then relit another. "I was in covert ops from '68 to '74," Low Larynx continued. "Assassinations, arms smuggling, infiltration. I was Miss Akronia IV in ' 72. All of it very illegal, and very arousing." He exhaled a long stream of smoke. "Didn't even rig the contest," he mused quietly. Armstrong's faith that he was going to get any information - any useful information - was waning quickly. "Can you help me by supplying information about the Nanites?" he finally asked. "How can we defeat them?" Low Larynx shook his head. "You're asking the wrong questions. It's not the how that matters, it's the who and the where that's important." He pointed at Armstrong with his cigarette. "Who created these nanites, where were the experiments conducted, and how were they created?" "I thought you said the how wasn't important?" "Well this time it is," he replied sharply. "I see," Armstrong said. "So, can you answer those questions?" "It's not can I, it's will I," Low Larynx said. Armstrong waited. "So yes, I guess I will." He cleared his throat. "The Nanites came from Halusted III, the planet that was destroyed. They were an experimental project, designed to be a multi-tasking repair tool that would revolutionize technology as we know it." "Really?" "Yes. It would have forever impacted everything from engineering to maintenance. But they exceeded their designs, with fatal results. Dr. Ira Nee was head of the project, and probably the first one killed." He took another long drag. "They turned on him, just like Charlie's dog turned on him! Had to put the little beagle down. Then we had to put Charlie down. Poor Charlie." "Charlie sir?" Armstrong said, wondering where this was leading. "How do you know about Charlie?" Low Larynx asked suspiciously. "You just mentioned him." "Oh, I did." He blew some more smoke. "Natives of a planet we had to pacify, a little world called Psi-gonne." He seemed to drift a little as he thought about it. "Yeah, Charlie was everywhere." "They were called 'Charlie?'" "Hmm? Well, we never really knew their names, just called them Charlie because of their round heads and little red houses. They were all over Psi-gonne. What a hellhole. Nothing but rice patties and little red houses, but Charlie called it home." He nodded to himself. "Charlie was just like your Nanites. Oh sure, they're all small and cute, with their big heads and huge grins, little zig-zag spears, but don't be fooled. They'll turn and rip your throat out just as soon as look at you! Yeah, that was Charlie. Charlie was everywhere." He seemed to drift again. "Random and I fought them there all along the Sigma River; it was a nightmare. First they pinned us down at the Beta Delta, then the Gamma Delta, and then the Delta Delta! Oh, Charlie was goood," he said in a low, wicked voice. "Real good. Their little zigzagged clothes and tattoos helped them blend in with the trees. You couldn't see Charlie half the time. Couldn't stop Charlie, couldn't shoot Charlie, couldn't beat Charlie to death with a broken branch. And even if you did, there were two more where he came from; thousands of big round heads as far as you could see. Charlie was everywhere." He lapsed into silence. "Uh, sir," Armstrong prompted. "The Nanites?" "Huh? Oh yeah. Well, all I can tell you for certain is that this project was put together by Admiral Roscoe himself." Admiral Roscoe was the head of the fleet, and one of the most powerful men in the Confederation. "He authorized it without thinking of the consequences, and now, now even he doesn't know how to stop them. You have to find that out!" "I thought you said that didn't matter?" "Didn't matter? What the hell's the matter with you?! That's all that matters! Think we cared about piddly little things when we were fighting Charlie? No! We just blew his little round head off and moved on to the next one! We did it because we couldn't reason with Charlie, just like you can't reason with those Nanites. And you can't fight them the way you've been trying. You've got to be smart. That was the only way we could stop Charlie, the way we had to stop Charlie, because Charlie was everywhere." "Then what do we do?" "You've got to find a way to take them all down. They'll grow faster than you can destroy them, so you've got to find a weakness. Do some investigating." He dropped the cigarette and crushed it out. "If I know Random, he'll need some convincing to go along with it." He thought for a few seconds. "Tell him 'You need to pull away the football before Charlie can kick it!' He'll understand." And Low Larynx broke the transmission. Armstrong mulled it over. He was right; they needed more information, and heading back out there was the only way to do it. When he arrived on the bridge he saw the captain barking orders and Buddy cringing. When the captain noticed him he came over. "We're leaving. Thrust has the ship back together and I want a piece of these nanites!" "Sir," Armstrong said, trying to be firm, "I think the only thing we can do now is try to learn more about them. Brute force didn't work before; we need to try a different tactic." "Nonsense! Brute force is what made this Confederation great! It's what won us the war with the Klinkons! Brute force, commander, is the most loyal mistress you could ever put in your bed." "But you did have to pull the football away from Charlie first," Armstrong said. Random froze. Armstrong could see his eyes glaze at the memory. "Charlie..." "Only one way to deal with Charlie," Armstrong said. "And there's only one way to deal with these nanites. We've got to study them and learn their weaknesses. Then we can defeat them." "Hmm. You're right," Random finally said slowly. "Charlie can't kick the football if you pull it away." He smiled at Armstrong, then patted him on the back. "You're learning." "Thank you, sir," Armstrong said. "Helm!" Random barked, resulting in a small yelp from Buddy. "Take us out! We've got to teach a trillion little Charlies who's boss." As the ship pulled away, one of the main towers of Space Dock snapped without the aid of its main support pillar. The towers tumbled through space and tore through an extended pylon, ripping the station opened and venting air into space, causing it to tumble out of control towards the atmosphere. In the meantime, the ship turned magenta. The Arr Chronicles, Part V by Chuck Sonnenburg and Scott Gordee The Confederation Starship USS Arr sailed through the vastness of space with resolution and purpose. The only thing it lacked was direction. "Uh, heading sir?" Buddy Steel asked at the helm. "Forward." "Wise choice sir." The Arr was at the moment, the only ship to survive an encounter with a threat to the entire galaxy: an unstoppable cloud of nanite ships. Trillions of vessels capable of channeling firepower to such intensity that nothing could stop its destructive path. It was up to the crew of the Arr to find a way to stop them. Everyone caught up? Good. It's too late to go back and cover the whole thing again. Armstrong, first officer of the Arr, had convinced the headstrong Captain Buck Random to forgo brute force for scientific analysis. Given that the captain's motto was: "If brute force can't solve it it's not really a problem," this was significant. The only problem was that, given Random's attitude, if science failed this once it would always be given second place to brute force from now on. "I'd like to set course for Halusted III," Armstrong said to the captain. "I think that would be a good place to start our investigation." "Halusted III," Random said thoughtfully. "I know that planet." "That's the planet where we first met the nanites." "No, it's." Random rubbed his chin. "Oh wait, it was. It's. no, it was the. no you were right. Nanites. What about 'em?" "Perhaps there's information about them there," Armstrong said patiently. "It's the most logical place to start." There was the sound of a clearing throat, which was an achievement consider that the person in question didn't have one. Armstrong glanced over at the science officer, who was a brain floating in a jar, yet nevertheless managed to look smugly at him. "Did you have something to add, Mr. QQQQ'LD'JLG-CH-!NONEK?" The brain sighed. "Oh just call me 'Nonek' like the dumbass does! It's obvious you'll never figure out how to pronounce my name. Besides, simple minds think alike. Anyway, to answer your question, yes I do have something to add. First, don't say 'logic' again. It's like hearing a whore say 'celibacy.' Second, I couldn't help but your stupid plan and would like to point out that it is, in fact, stupid. I hope you understood that, or else I could ask the troglodyte at the weapons console to explain it to you." "Really," Armstrong said with a huff. "Yes, really," Nonek said, refusing to back down. "Allow me to point out just a few of the problems with your plan. Problem number one: the planet was decimated, which means the odds of any useful data surviving are minimal." "But possible," Armstrong said defiantly. "It's possible I crapped you out of my nonexistent ass," Nonek said without missing a beat, "yet did that happen? I don't think so. I think I'd have remembered that. Point two, even if the data was there it was probably encrypted, and we don't have time to decipher it. Three, you' re ugly. Four, considering how the data affected the systems back on Halusted III it's fairly likely that the data could act as a virus and spread this contagion throughout our ship too. Good plan fearless leader, perhaps we can just drop an Exodus Missile on Earth and save some time." Riprock looked up rather excitedly from the weapons system, but the two officers ignored him. "Point the fifth, calculating the risked loss of time versus the benefits we'd glean from going there are so simple even the dumbass knows better. Sixthly, is the data even compatible with our systems, or will we just magically compensate for a different system of programming? Seven." "Okay, I get the point," Armstrong said. "Really, it only took you 'til seven," Nonek said. "I didn't give you that much credit, I'm impressed. But I would be remiss if I didn't point out that, Seven: we'll be letting the nanites get even further away." "Yes, I understand." "Good. Point Eight. Is that your head or did your neck throw up?" Armstrong threw up his hands and stalked back to his chair while Nonek continued. "Point Nine, you didn't consider that the probability of finding useful data at recent targets is much higher than at the site of their first attack." The fifty members that composed the engineering team stood at attention. Zero, the lead engineer, paced back and forth before them as they vibrated like guitar strings. "Men," he said loudly, "we have explored the spectrum, and we have made it our own. But now, a new challenge has arisen. They say candy striping is impossible, that it cannot be done. Well men, I don't believe in can't, or won't. I don't believe in don't, ain 't, not, negative, and perspicacity. In fact, I don't believe in anything I can't spell, like pneumonia." They nodded in silent agreement. "And today, we will prove them all wrong." Zero held his breath. The trembling grew fierce, like a bowl of jello on a trampoline. His eyes swiveled left, then right. "Do it." The room exploded into complete stimulant-fueled mayhem. "Point Seventy-two: Any computer data is no doubt obsolete considering the rapid evolution of these creatures." Nonek again cleared his absent throat. "Point Seventy-three, the nanites have destroyed eight planets since our initial confrontation. While scientific investigation is all well and good, maybe it's time to follow the lead of the dumbass on this one. Point Seventy-four." "Wow," said Buddy, "I had no idea what a bad idea that was." "Lucky thing he's not the captain," Riprock agreed. Random stood up. "Do we have a football yet?" he asked loudly. "No? No damn football!" He sighed loudly. "I'm going to the workout room to box with a kangaroo for a while. Call me when we have a football." He stormed out. ".some bad body odors in my time," Nonek said, "but you take the cake. I mean, I can't even smell!" "Buddy," Armstrong said loudly, "set course for the site of the last attack. Maximum speed. And Nonek," he said to the brain, which had just started into a dissertation of what rodents Armstrong resembled, "if you're so smart, I'm sure you can figure out a way to stop these nanites before we get there." "Oh, an appeal to ego," Nonek said. "I never saw that coming. Perhaps you'll try some reverse psychology on me next. Or maybe you won't. Hey, look, it's already working!" "I think he's being sarcastic, sir," Buddy said. "Can't slip anything past you, gopher," Nonek said. "Just analyze the data and report back to me," Armstrong said. "Okay," Nonek sighed. "Well gee, that was a really hard tenth of a second there. What do you wanna know, besides how to tie your shoe?" "You're finished?" Armstrong asked. "Okay, time to stop the clue bus, we've got a straggler," Nonek said. "Yes, I'm finished. Do you have a question, oh ye of the sloping forehead?" "Okay," Armstrong said, half-hoping he could he stump Nonek, "how does their superweapon work?" The image of space vanished from the main viewer as Nonek showed them enhanced images of the nanite ships. "Each nanite ship is a perfect geometric shape. Cubes, tetrahedrons, spheres, the occasional triakis octahedron, and one very special ship." The cloud of ships passed out of view until a single one was visible. "One ship to focus all the energy." Armstrong squinted at it. "That's a." "Yes," Nonek said, "a dodecahedron. Twelve sides.. that's two hands and two big toes." "Yes, I know what twelve is," Armstrong said sharply. "Of course. It's when you get past twenty sides that you have the problem. In any case, you see the problem." Armstrong looked at the ship carefully but, knowing what the response would be, had to admit he didn't. "What's so special about it?" "What's so.?" For the first time Nonek was stunned into silence. "That's a perfect dodecahedron." "Yes?" "A PERFECT dodecahedron," he repeated, as if that was all that was needed to get the point across. "You just." he floundered. "You really don't understand, do you." "Enlighten me." Nonek must've been stunned; he didn't take the opportunity to insult him. "It can't be done. It's the ultimate shape in every sense. It 's perfection, the beginning and the end, the key to all knowledge and power, it's.. it's beautiful.." Armstrong watched the rotating shape on the screen. "We can cripple their main weapon if we destroy it," he said. "No, it's impossible," Nonek said. "One in trillions won't be easy," Armstrong said, "but if we-" "You don't understand! It can't be destroyed. It's designed to manipulate and control energy." "You mean, even you can't find a way to destroy it." When Nonek spoke, it was with reverence. "I am unworthy to speak to the mind that could create that. It's a genius as far above me as." Armstrong waited. "As you are above me," he said, providing the insult himself. "Is that what you were going to say?" "I have to go lie down," Nonek said, and his jar floated away. Armstrong watched him go in disbelief then looked back to Buddy. "It is very pretty, sir," Buddy agreed. "Just give me one shot sir," Riprock said with a grin. "At ease," Armstrong said. "Let me talk with some experts on the subject before we go off half-cocked." "Ah, something different," Buddy agreed. "That'll show those nanites." As predicted, Engineering was like an overturned ant hill, if ants were all ranting psychotics. It made a riot look like a wake. If machines had religion, this would be the stuff of sermons about the pains that would await dryers that horded socks. "Zero!" Armstrong shouted over the racquet. The chief engineer spotted him and began his casual gait across the room, somehow avoiding being hit by the criss-crossing crowd like a witch dancing between raindrops. He offered a cup of coffee that Armstrong politely turned down. "What can I do you for?" Zero asked, taking a sip himself, then a gulp, then polishing off the cup and crushing it in his hands. The fact that it was made of porcelain didn't seem to matter to him at the moment. "I need you to build me a weapon for a most unusual kind of ship." "Not a problem," Zero said, taking a sip out of a mug that somehow had appeared in his other hand. "They say it can't be done," Armstrong warned. "Don't believe in can't, sir," Zero said. "Good." Armstrong held out a pad and activated it. A hologram of the nanite ship appeared. The only sound that was heard was the sound of Zero's mug shattering on the floor from where he dropped it. Zero's voice had a slight quiver to it. "Is that what I think it is?" "It's a nanite ship," Armstrong said. "We need." He noticed a sudden calm had gripped the room. The appearance of the hologram had done the work of several crates of valium on the engineering staff. "We need to find a way to stop this." He was jostled as the crowd gathered around him to get a better look. Two reached out to touch it, but Nine slapped his hand away. Two held his hand sheepishly, apologizing under his breath. "Sir, is this for real?" Zero asked. "You're not pulling a prank on us?" "Chief, I've no time for games, people are dying. I need you to find a way to stop this ship." Fifty-one pairs of eyes turned to look at him. It was as if he just asked them to extinguish a star with a glass of water. "I need a cigarette," One finally said, wandering away from the crowd. The rest followed suit, shuffling away to various parts of the room to sulk or just lie down. Thirty-seven threw up, but somehow managed to do it respectfully. "What're you doing?" Armstrong demanded. "We don't have time for this, we've got-" "Sir," Zero said, his eyes still fixated on the pad, "you have no idea what you're asking us. If you'd asked me to reverse a black hole, turn the ship inside out, or turn back time, I'd tell you we'd try, but this." he gestured at it with reverence and defeat. "You have no idea what you're dealing with." "It's just a shape!" Armstrong said hotly. "Just a shape," Zero said, as if Armstrong was a child who didn' t understand what death was. "The precision of the design to make a perfect dodecahedron. You're talking about the work of a thousand generations working precise mathematical equations and complex physical analysis. It's not just engineering it's - it's philosophy and music and. just a shape." he shook his head. "I don't care," Armstrong said. "Building is hard, destruction is easy." "The dodecahedron cannot be destroyed by any energy or craft that we possess," Zero said. "It was constructed in the fires of a black quasar; only there can it be unmade." "Then we'll-" "We'll die," Zero said. "Any mind that can construct that can never be tricked." And he sulked off to his station, pulled out an extremely dusty bottle of whisky, and poured a tall glass. He downed it in one shot. "Just a shape.." The klaxon for the red alert sounded. Armstrong took one last look at the morose group, then returned to the lift. The Arr Chronicles Part 6 by Chuck Sonnenburg and Scott Gordee The doors to the lift opened and Comm. Armstrong stumbled out, having the sensation that his spine was now located somewhere near his feet. The bridge was chaos, even more than usual. Even from where he stood he could see the size of the nanite cloud compared to nearby planets; the fact that they could be compared sent a chill down his feet. "Report," he said, hoping a crewman was levelheaded enough to fill him in on the details. He was surprised when Captain Random began rambling at him. "There's the ships and we need a football and we don't have a football! Do you see a football?! I don't see a football!!! And now they' re bigger and there's not a football in the universe big enough to take them down and-" He was cut off as Bambi slapped him across the face with enough force to leave a hand-shaped welt on his cheek. "As you were," he said in a more normal, commanding tone. Bambi made an obscene gesture as she shuffled back to her station, sipping at her coffee. "I'm afraid that we haven't found that football, sir," Armstrong reported, taking his chair. "At this point I'm not sure anything can stop them." Random had a rare look of concentration on his face. "Does anyone have any suggestions?" "All weapons, sir!" Riprock said excitedly. "We have the element of surprise." "I don't think that'll matter," Armstrong pointed out. "All weapons!!!" he repeated, as if Armstrong had somehow failed to grasp the point. "Uh, sir," Buddy said, "the nanites are firing their generation cannon." "Evasive maneuvers!" "Initiating gradual turn to the right, sir," Buddy said. "Wait, it looks like they're firing in another direction." The crew watched in silence as the whisker-thin beam leapt out of the cloud and hit the star at the heart of the system. It was eerie in the silence of space to watch the star slowly roll and boil around the beam. There was an intense flash and the star exploded, reigning gaseous debris across the system in the most awesome display of artificial destruction any had ever witnessed. "Does anyone ELSE have any suggestions?" Random asked. "Sir, the nanites are moving into hyperspace to avoid the shockwave." "Lay in a pursuit course," Random said. "Yes sir. Are you sure sir? You know, with the whole star blowing and all that-" "Lay in a pursuit course!" Random shouted. "Sir," Armstrong said as the Arr slipped into hyperspace, "I think we have to concentrate all our weapons on that dodecahedron." "Yeah, those mother-humping dodecahedrons won't know what hit 'em!" Random agreed, apparently unsure what it was but willing to adopt any swear word that was handy. Armstrong remembered that the captain wasn't briefed on the weapons of the nanites. "The dodecahedron is a single ship within the cloud, sir. Without it, we can disable their main weapon." "Good. Riprock, make it dead." "Yes, sir!" "Wait!" Armstrong held up his hands. "You need to hit that ship with as much raw power as possible. Nonek, can you get the coordinates of the dodecahedron." "Yes, for all the good it'll do," the disembodied brain remarked. His voice was absent of the usual arrogance in the face of a lifeform that was, in some small way, his superior. "Here's your target, lieutenant." Wasting no time, Riprock began launching torpedo after torpedo at the microscopic ship. On the screen, sphere-shaped voids appeared in the clouds where the torpedoes exploded. Their lasers cut a path of destruction through the cloud as Riprock hit the buttons with savage fury. The improvements in their weaponry were causing more damage than before, but the cloud was far more massive. Armstrong scanned the target, his jaw hanging open as he saw one ship floating amongst the gap in the cloud. He watched as a laser with enough power to penetrate the crust of a planet bounced harmlessly off its surface. It wasn't a fluke; three follow-up shots also failed to do even slight damage to the dodecahedron. "It's still there," he said dejectedly. "Impossible," Riprock said. "I've hit it with everything we've got, and-" The dodecahedron appeared on the screen. Riprock screamed, pulled out a knife and threw it at the ship. There was silence as the sound of electric sparks and the vibrating blade that protruded from the screen filled the bridge. "Captain," Armstrong said slowly, "did command fit us with another Exodus Missile?" A hush descended on the bridge. The Exodus Missile was the Confederation's weapon of last resort. It was used to end the Great Klinkon War, and the devastation had been so great that the leadership swore to do all they could never to fire one in anger again. Riprock has launched ninety-two, but he was quite happy at the time. "Yes," Random said. He took a deep breath through his nose. "Set the missile to detonate on the coordinates, Mr. Riprock." "Lieutenant." "Lt. Riprock," he corrected. There was the sound of breaking glass and the ship lurched as Riprock pulled down on the lever to open the entire bottom of the ship. The giant missile leaped forward, passing through the nanite fleet like a. like a big missile going through a bunch of really tiny ships. It reached the dodecahedron and exploded, scrambling the Arr's sensors because of their close range. When they were back up, a significant portion of the cloud had been vaporized, but the ships were already reproducing. That wasn't important at the moment, as Armstrong scanned for the- Had they been right? Armstrong wondered. Was this ship truly indestructible? He had no explanation for the continued presence of this one ship amongst all of the fleet despite their every effort. "I don't suppose we have any more missiles," he asked with defeat in his voice. The silence on the bridge at the obvious was too much. "Bambi," Random said, his voice sounding crushed, "tell command we need reinforcements. Every ship." "I don't think that'll make a difference-" "So we do nothing!" Random interrupted. "If the human race is going down, we're going down fighting! Football be damned!" As Bambi relayed the message Armstrong left his chair. There was nothing more he could do here, but maybe he could talk to Zero about some plan. Given the truth of the engineers' words he wasn't optimistic. Armstrong picked himself up off the floor of the lift and entered engineering. It was like a ghost ship. The entire engineering staff was lounging around, passing bottles about. The air was filled with the smell of shattered dreams, as if they're lives until now were just a pleasant dream they had awoken from. Armstrong looked at the pitiful band. "Where's Zero?" he asked. "He's gone," someone yelled. Armstrong looked at the reclining figure. "Said there was no point in going on. Can't say I blame him." "All right, get up," Armstrong said. No one moved. "You are still officers in the Confederation, now on your feet. We have a job to do. Who's next in line?" "That would be One, sir," someone pointed out. "Okay, let's get going; we have a weapon to build." "I used to build weapons once," Three said solemnly, almost unrecognizable without ever muscle in his body clenched. "That was before my life became AN EMPTY MEANINGLESS PILE OF SHIT!!!" "Get a hold of yourself," Armstrong said. "You're Three, and you're an engineer." "To hell with engineering, and my name is Fred. Fred. rhymes with dead. And lead. And a bunch of other stuff. Who's got a bottle?" "Okay," Armstrong said, "I've had enough. You're job is to help me build a weapon to stop this thing, so let's get to it. Now, who is number One?!" "I am not a number, I'm a person." "I don't care what you call yourself, I need an engineer." "Sir," Fred said, getting shakily to his feet, "it's hopeless. If there was a way, we'd do it, but you can't destroy that thing. Just accept it. No force in the Confederation can destroy it." He came forward, and he seemed so full of awe and fear that he was stone cold sober. "It's an aspect of the universe. It's part of the building blocks of what is everything. Can you destroy a vacuum? Can you destroy a hole? It's not science, sir; it's a construct so entwined with the cosmos it's practically alive." Armstrong looked to the faces of all the other engineers. They all were nodding in the same sense of respect. He'd seen them pull off things men said were impossible; if they said this thing was indestructible, it was. He looked down, unable to resist the same feeling of defeat. Fred passed him the bottle and he took a long pull. "Thanks," he mumbled, passing it back. He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes, wondering if there was a higher consciousness in the universe watching out for them in times like this; something that could tell them how to stop this menace, this living aspect of the aether. "Fred," he said slowly, "you say this thing is alive." He looked up at the engineer. "Can we talk to it? Establish communication?" "You want.?" Fred stumbled about in confusion, but the question seemed to sink in. A smile crossed his face. "We can try," he said with that same look they always had. For the engineers of the Arr, some impossible things are less impossible than others. "I'll get Zero. Eighteen, get the coffee going; I wanna hear my pancreas crying!" He activated his communicator. "Zero, we need you right away." "I told you, I'm not coming out until the universe is destroyed." Fred walked over and opened the nearby door. He took Zero by the hand and led him out, the old engineer protesting the whole way. But as they walked over Fred started filling him in on the plan, and by the time he was in front of Armstrong that same look was on his face. "Gonna be tricky," he said, grabbing a cup of coffee the size of his head, "but I think I've got a way to make it work. Let me get back to you." Armstrong left the group as the energy level seemed to pick up. Their confidence was boosting his own. "Bridge," he said into the communicator, "what's the status of the battle. Any bad news?" "Well that depends, sir," Bambi said with a cough. "Did you know anyone on Deck Four?" "Never mind," Armstrong said, feeling a slight dip in his morale. "Put me through to the captain." "What is it, Armstrong?" came the frustrated voice of Random. "Sir," Armstrong said with a smile on his face, "we may have a football." On the bridge, Random sat up straighter in his chair. He got slowly to his feet, watching as they continued exchanging fire with the nanite fleet. He slowly tightened his hand into a fist. "We're coming for you Charlie," he said in a low voice. "Oh-ho yeeesss." A few minutes later Zero called him back over. "We've got an idea, but it's dangerous." "At this point dangerous is a step up," Armstrong said. "What's the plan?" "Telepathic communication," Zero said, indicating some graphs and diagrams that Armstrong couldn't begin to understand. "Carl here," he put his hand on the shoulder of a nearby engineer, "has volunteered to make contact." "You sure you want to do this?" Armstrong asked. "Are you kidding?" he said with surprise. "I got the short straw!" He kissed it in appreciation before carefully tucking it into his pocket. "The device is going to be a little unorthodox," Zero said, leading Armstrong into the core of engineering. "No one has attempted to contact a sentient device before, especially one filled with a facet of the universe." He looked down a little as he approached, almost as if he didn't deserve to look upon it. "The dodecahedron," he said quietly, "is more than a machine. It's living superscience. it's greater than us all. A god in a machine. That's why we've named our device." he flipped the switch to illuminate a raised chair surrounded by polished pipes, tubes and devices, ". the Deus ex Machina." Armstrong looked it over, patting the chief engineer on the back in appreciation. "It's beautiful," he remarked. Zero wiped a tear from his eye. "It's the greatest thing I've ever built," he said. He slammed a cup of coffee in appreciation. The communicator sounded; it was the captain. "Commander," he said with a bit of nervousness in his tone, "we need that football." Armstrong turned to Zero. "Is it ready?" He nodded. "Good luck." He stepped aside as they began strapping Carl into the chair. Twenty-One offered him a last minute cup of coffee before securing the belts. He gave one final tug, then turned and gave Zero the thumbs-up sign. "Charge," he ordered. A subsonic hum filled engineering; it was the only sound as the rest of the group held their breaths. A white cone-shaped beam of light hit the center of Carl's forehead, and his eyes became wide. The hum increased in pitch, threatening to drive them all insane. well, Armstrong anyway. No one else seemed to notice. Instrument panels cracked throughout the room as the whine began to become pulsed, then staccato, and then one large blast of sound. Carl screamed. On the bridge, the crew watched in dread as the energy pattern again began passing through the cloud. The dodecahedron was in position now, ready to unleash the unfathomable energies onto the Arr again. They had a feeling they weren't going to be as lucky as the last time. "Armstrong," Random mumbled into the communicator, "we need a footbaaaall.." The mind of Carl brushed the essence of the dodecahedron. It was more than he could take in. He had hoped to say something or learn something, to try to establish some connection with it. Instead, his mind spilled over it like an egg landing on a boulder. The sum of his experiences were taken in by the dodecahedron and analyzed in a way beyond ones and zeroes, beyond human ways of comprehension. It saw through him what it had been used to do, the chaos such an orderly shape had been used to inflict upon a universe ruled by mathematics. It found the entire thing - to impose a human emotion upon it - distasteful. The combined energies of the nanite fleet flooded into the dodecahedron, the only thing in the universe that could contain such power. For a moment, the living shape allowed this new information to be properly weighed against the commands of the microscopic lifeforms within its form. It reached a conclusion that - in keeping with its own geometric perfection - was logical and precise. The bridgecrew of the Arr watched in disbelief as the energy reversed itself, passing through the nanite fleet and destroying everything in its path. In less than a minute it was over; there was only one single nanite ship left. It remained because nothing could destroy it. not even itself. "Did. did they do it?" Buddy asked. Random nodded with a smirk on his face. "Landed flat on your ass, didn't you Charlie." Below in Engineering Armstrong and Zero stepped close to Carl's prone form. He was still breathing, but barely. "Carl?" Armstrong asked. "Carl can you hear me?" Carl looked up. The dodecahedron towered over him, causing a flood of complex emotions within him. It drew him in, pulling him down a tunnel full of bright shining lights he found impossible to ignore. He felt his speed reaching the impossible, but there was no fear, no fear... He took a sip of wine and returned to his meal. He took a bite, reached for his napkin, and in the process sent the glass tumbling off the table and shattering on the floor. "Carl?" Armstrong repeated, fearing the worst. "I see now," he replied, his eyes wide, his face suddenly bearing the most ecstatic and contented expression Armstrong had ever seen. "It's all so simple." "What?" "It's shown me... it's..." And suddenly he wore an expression of shock. "My God, it's full of-" "Never mind," Zero interrupted. "Just forget about it and come back. It's over." "No, it isn't. It's all so clear to me now." "What is?" Armstrong asked. Carl looked as satisfied as anyone could ever be. "Life... the universe... everything...." Armstrong glanced at the instruments but, well, how many times do you get this opportunity. "What is it? What's the answer?" "It's..." And just like that Carl's breathing stopped; there was nothing they could do. "What is it?" Armstrong asked again. "Carl, what is-" "It's over," Zero said. "Forget about it. We've won." He reached up and closed Carl's eyes. "Yes, a battle," Armstrong said. "But to be that close to...Who knows the answer to life, the universe, and everything?" "Forty-two." "'Scuse me?" "Forty-two," Zero said, pointing at Carl. "He knew at the end. Didn't you hear him say it?" "No." "He said life's full of shit." He shrugged. "Can't really argue with that." Armstrong mulled this over suspiciously as crewmen placed Forty-two's remains in a body bag and wheeled it out for the sickbay. "Are you sure?" "He said it was all pretty simple. Seems pretty simple to me." "I was hoping it would be 'simple' as in 'beautiful,'" Armstrong confessed. He took a sip of coffee without thinking; one of his eyeballs tried to escape out of his ear. "Captain," he said into the communicator, "we still need to deal with the dodecahedron. It's probably not dangerous, but just to be sure, I think we should detain it until we can figure out what to do with it." "Perhaps a jar would work," Zero suggested. Armstrong gave him a funny look and he shrugged. "Magnetic seal would keep its weapons from destroying the container, and it can't go to hyperspace in such a short space." Armstrong had to admit, it didn't sound so bad. "We can teleport it into a jar." "Actually, we'd have to teleport the jar around it. Remember, resistant to our energies." "Of course." He returned to the bridge as Zero got to work on a jar. He filled in the captain on what happened as the dodecahedron was brought on board. "The question is, what do we do with it now?" "I think we should put it aside and forget about it," Random said. "Worked great so far." Armstrong should've expected this. "Sir, this thing has the potential to lead us to new levels of development, possibly beyond what humanity could ever have achieved on its own. We need to research it." "And it will be, commander. We'll have top men working on it." "Who?" "Top - men." On the lower decks of the Arr the jar containing the only known perfect dodecahedron in the universe was sealed inside a wooden crate. The crate was carefully put onto a dolly and wheeled down a row of crates that stretched to the ceiling, each holding some piece of technology the crew of the Arr had used once to save the Confederation and then put aside to forget about. As the scene is pulled back the crate becomes lost amongst the background as the crewmen turns the corner. Then there's a hiss, a scream, and the sound of struggle. "There you are beautiful," comes the voice of Mick Danger. "Let go of the nice man's face before you implant your eggs inside his eyeballs. There's a good girl. Oh bloody hell." (C) 2001, 2002, 2003