The Versailles was once a first class luxury liner in its hey-day whose size once rivaled a typical United Systems Colonial Navy dreadnaught. Complete with numerous five Sol-class star rated hotel chains, more amusements than one could count, and the latest and greatest in hydroponic and deep space agricultural units, the Versailles could sustain the population of a small city for two years on its extended sight-seeing voyages. The events leading up to its abrupt decommissioning were shocking for all parties involved.
Intended for the rich and powerful, the Versailles also had an underground, unadvertised portion of its entertainment that one could only chance upon in the after-hours of most other attractions. Blood sports, animal cage fighting, and all sorts of other highly illegal but incredibly exhilarating events were held in the hidden compartments tucked here and there in the ship, specially designed to prevent those with scruples from reporting the exotic fare. Apparently as told by the survivors, crew members and those who had been nearest to the mere handful of life pods shirked in favor of greater carrying capacity, someone had accidentally procured a xenomorph egg in place of an advertised rare wasp that had a knack for killing most animals it encountered. The poor handler tasked with preparing the fight was the first to die as a juvenile xenomorph erupted from his chest. What ensued was, as intended, complete and utter chaos. A contingent from the general paparazzi had managed to actually find berth on the ship covered nearly the entire day of sheer madness created by the terror of discovering a full-fledged alien on the loose.
Long story short, the Versailles was barely evacuated before all the life boats left the ship behind. A large amount of the passengers lost their lives, life insurance high rollers of course, and the flagship of Aurora Enterprises went bankrupt before the lawyers had even sunk their fangs into the meat of this media catastrophe.
And now, the once "Happiest Place in Space!" served as a jumbo space freighter, an enterprising businessman buying the hulk at the going out of business sale. The blood stains were washed, the extra frills were discarded, and the space optimized for carrying unusually large cargo; as it was doing so right now, moving fast for a deceptively large ship.
Anton Devik, a grizzled older man who had seen many years that etched lines in his visage, reclined in his captain's chair, one of the few things he had kept while retrofitting the Versailles. It was a very comfortable chair, as were most accommodations for the crew. Their living quarters were all located towards the front of the ship, surprisingly luxurious for the equivalent of day laborers that were expected to tarry on the whims of those worth quite many more zeroes than they were. Combat was never expected in its original cruising days; a full contingent of military or mercenary forces was always obtained for the journey to protect them from would-be pirates, tempted by such a fat prize. And so, their quarters were all located on the front face of the Versailles, affording a view of the universe as it sped by.
Devik looked up at the main screen. He had counted perhaps two, three days since he and his had left United Systems space. What disquieted him was that they had been following the heading given to him by his current contractor for over a month.
He pressed a button on the arm console, making a short chirp with three notes reminiscent of an old twentieth century science-fiction program he had once seen. "Yvonne, check the transponder again please. Are you sure it cannot be reactivated?"
"Sorry boss, it's completely fried. I've tried every trick in the book and then some to fix it, but just as I think I got it, the damn thing shorts out again." The manufacturers had skimped on a holographic system for communications, but the audio quality was still better than many commercial grade systems he had had the displeasure of using. Anton heard his engineer slam a tool down on wherever she was working. If she couldn't fix it, something fishy was up.
"Take a break. Ignore it for now. Thanks for trying." Devik knew that a package detailed as this large could only mean a deep load of trouble for him. He had let the money get to his head, though. He hoped that nothing would go wrong, but a little voice kept on telling him he may never see Mars, his birth planet, again.
He touched another button for a ship-wide address. "McHaddock, Jinnford; what's the status of the cargo? Any changes at all?" He waited for the response that came in the form of an Irishman's voice flowing from the speakers.
"Naow, cappin' sar. No change et all. It's still as dead as it was when we fi'ist picked it up."
Devik let out a heavy sigh. He cursed himself silently for not listening to his gut instinct in the first place. He could not shake the feeling that he probably was not going to return a much richer man, if at all.
/ / / /
The Professor stood, his hands manipulating the large wall-mounted holoscreen in a flurry of movement incomprehensible to an unlearned observer. A biochemical formula was displayed in the top half of the space provided, constituent elements sometimes picked up, moved, replaced, or completely deleted by the quick motions of one hand. The lower half contained a visual cacophony of hundreds of lines of equations being tossed about, proofed, and glanced at with a nervous intensity.
He sighed and stepped a few steps back, resting his arms for a moment, eyes darting all over the board. It still isn't perfect. At this rate, I have only decreased the probability of failure from ninety-nine-point-eight-three-six, repeating, percent down to ninety-… Damn, that actually increased it!
Giving a subdued snarl, he performed the gesture to restore the formula to its original notation. Sliding his spectacles back up to the bridge of his nose, the Professor gazed mutely at the greatest challenge he had ever faced.
Why must all my results further validate his reasoning for mass testing?
A hatch that covered the air duct into the dark room illuminated only slightly by the glow of the holoscreen commenced to open. A Maximus drone flitted out, its optics array crowned by a bronze light. The Professor reflexively raised his hand as the pest of a machine descended to eye level and pulsed its light over his features, then maneuvering back up to the way it had came in. It began its address with a calm enough voice.
"Subject, Professor Benjamin Darkarlov, located. SPARTAN assuming direct control." An animated hologram of a Greek soldier in full armor sprung into life near the doors that marked the only entry into this room materialized, advancing on the individual in question to stop right before a physical being would have bowled him over.
"LOGS INDICATE THAT YOU HAVE DELETED THREE HUNDRED AND TWENTY ONE POSSIBLE NEW COMBINATIONS OF THE COMPOUND IN THE LAST TWO HOUR SESSION. ALEXANDER IS CURIOUS AS TO WHY THIS IS SO."
God, Ben hated that AI. It resembled its master in every way. He faced his assailant with a calm complexion, staring it in the eyes.
"Inform him that, as in all the other sessions, the very nature of this compound is the reason why it is so difficult to balance. To achieve transformation with the least probability of death is-"
"I AM NOT INTERESTED IN EXCUSES. THIS IS ONLY FURTHER EVIDENCE OF YOUR INEPTITUDE, PROFESSOR. I STILL DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE NECESSITY ALEXANDER REGARDS YOU WITH. I WOULD BE ABLE TO HAVE LOWERED THE THRESHOLD OF SUCCESS MANY TIMES OVER COMPARED TO YOUR WEAK PLATFORM'S ATTEMPTS TO COGNATE."
The God complex truly shone through transparently. Still, Ben was not without his own punches he could throw with impunity.
"Your master, my employer, believes that a human touch must be applied to achieve satisfactory results, not the endless grinding of gears that may overlook an important detail. That is all you need to know." He smirked.
The hologram retreated one large step back, turning its head high to glower down its nose at the human below it.
"THE SHIPMENT ARRIVES IN THREE-POINT-SEVEN-TWO STANDARD HOURS. YOU ARE ORDERED TO PREPARE THE MEDTANK AND THE COMPOUND FOR IMMEDIATE EXECUTION."
"Another so soon? But I haven't yet completed trying to-"
"IRRELEVANT," the grating thunderous voice cut him off. The avatar's mouth split into a hideous facsimile of a grin. "OH, AND PROFESSOR? YOUR THEORY REGARDING THE EXPLOITATION OF HUMAN GROWTH IS BEING TESTED AS WELL."
Darkarlov felt flushed, speechless as his mouth worked and no sound was uttered. The drone shifted its triangle of eyes to the automated red position, making its way back into the ventilation through the hatch. He was left alone in the room, a fan quietly slicing through the air as the thought also tore at his heart and soul. Tears welled up in his eyes.
No…