Chapter 17 - Wheel of Fortune
PRIDAK - TARGET MAIN
Pridak had not been idle for the past week. In fact, it had been very productive for him and his agents. Perhaps more so for his small band of a dozen loyal companions than for him, as it had largely (if not entirely) been the practice of repairing the Robust Foe. It was a grueling and unrewarding task, as although it was the only way he and his crew had not starved to death, the hours were long and the work backbreaking. After a week's effort, he and several of the other repairmen had graduated from patching the hull to fixing the damaged wiring in the bridge. Luckily for Pridak, this was exactly what he wanted out of his soon-to-be-ending tenure as a manual laborer aboard the ship.
Returning to the bunkhouse after a long day of work, Pridak was battered by the rain. It had been present every second of every day since he could last remember, and he had grown thoroughly sick of it. Every day the route back to the workhouse took him past a once-stunning vista of the fields that grew crops for the Brotherhood. The first day, the muddy fields had been full of slowly-growing plants. Today, the plants had begun to drown in the waterlogged soil. Matoran ran around nervously, carrying lightstones, and evoking the image of fireflyers lighting up the Metru Nui forges, attempting to save their failing crop and transplant them to drier lands - but in truth, there were none to be found. It was as if the island was being swallowed up by the sea. Pridak could only hope that he would be long gone before that happened.
Passing by the fields, Pridak marched into the bustling town of Target Main. Initially, there had been a semblance of differentiation between the two halves of the island, but it had quickly fallen by the wayside as the industrial metropolis of the town had swallowed up the land faster than Base Camp could ever have hoped to. The concrete and wood huts grew larger and larger with time, and Pridak could already see slums beginning to develop as huts piled on top of each other in the search for living space.
Fortunately, the workhouse provided by the Brotherhood was sufficiently comfortable and developed. A stone floor, windows that (generally) did not let in much rain, and a thick enough roof. In some spots, of course, cracks let in rivulets of water which were being captured in buckets, but for the most part, the room satisfied.
It was disgusting, in Pridak's eyes. He recalled a time when he kept prisoners in such conditions. Although being a slave of the Brotherhood was a horrifying existence, he was not sure that he had made nearly as much of a leap as he had hoped when he escaped their bonds.
Knocking on the door, it opened a crack, revealing the watchful eye of Mirmulla. The door swung open as Mirmulla saluted his king. Ignoring him, Pridak marched through into the building straight towards the waiting Ce-Matoran, who had sprung up from their bunk with an outstretched towel. The two entered into a silent ritual as they dried Pridak's armor as best as possible until he collapsed onto his bunk with a sigh.
"Volto Rojo. Tell me the news is good," Pridak said, after a moment of silence. The Ihidauri rushed forward, and Pridak could see a smirk on his face.
"Indeed, my lord. These are yours by right."
Volto Rojo passed two tablets to Pridak, who simply held them above his face, not even getting upright. On the tablet was an identification for an Ihidauri by the name of Kabarra, who bore the exact same physical qualities as Pridak. In reality, there was no such being - Kabarra was a figment of a skilled craftsman's imagination. But to the officials of the Brotherhood, he was as real as the ships, blades, and soldiers they held so dearly.
The second tablet revealed a surprisingly extensive military history for Kabarra, detailing his prolific service aboard a number of ships, each serving as a member of the bridge crew - even so far as to include a single session as the captain aboard a now-lost cruiser Little Charity during combat.
Pridak smiled for the first time all day. The plan was working. Glancing over towards the corner of the room, a large object stood covered by a sheet. A faint green glow came from within. Rolling off of the bed, Pridak pulled the sheet off with a flourish, revealing the ever-loyal Nuurakh.
"Point Three. We have work to do."
As he had many times before, Pridak traveled towards the Robust Foe, though this time he was followed by his silent guardian. Stopping outside the docks, Pridak glanced towards the guards keeping watch. Neither had noticed him. Crossing the street, Pridak and Point Three walked along the beach, stopping by the waterline. Briefly, the ivory king considered killing the guards and taking the short way - something he could easily do - but it would be quite pointless, and only serve to raise security even further.
Instead, he slipped into the water, letting the cool liquid cover him. Silently, like a shark stalking its prey, he swam outward towards the hull of the Robust Foe. Above him, Point Three hovered silently, sending tiny ripples across the water's surface as he flew.
Swimming out to the dock, Pridak pulled himself onto the concrete without a sound, and settled into a low stance. Point Three hovered alongside him as he climbed aboard the Vahki. Slowly, it hovered upwards, flying into the air until it was level with the caved-in section of hull. While it was much smaller of a hole than it had once been, it was wide enough to fit a full-sized being, should they squeeze in sideways.
Climbing off the Vahki, he pulled himself into the ship, and was quickly joined by Point Three. Being aboard the ship at night was completely unlike it was in the day. Dark, empty, and silent, he could hear the sound of welding torches and cutting saws elsewhere in the hull, but he was alone in the hallway.
Pridak gestured for the Vahki to follow him as he made his way towards his goal - the officer's cabins. The third on the left side had intentionally been unlocked by him earlier in the day. The third mate who was meant to occupy it had found himself spending an extended amount of time in the medical bay after a blunt force trauma to the head during the Great Journey.
The inside was cramped between him and the Vahki, but Pridak pushed the concern from his mind. He was so close to his victory, he could taste it. He just needed to wait for daylight. He felt tempted to sleep, but even as his eyes drifted shut, he recognized that his plan would never work if he didn't stay awake.
So he waited. And waited.
And waited.
The sun was beginning to rise. It never seemed to get particularly bright in this reality since the storm clouds never left, but he could tell the day would start soon. Which meant that it was time to act.
Glancing out the single porthole in the room, Pridak watched the workers march down the dock towards the ship. In a matter of a few minutes, they would be on the bridge, repairing the equipment. Among the group, a single Matoran carried a second set of tools sequestered within a rucksack - perfect for providing Pridak the alibi he required.
Cracking open the door, Pridak inspected the hallway. It was still empty. Perfect.
Pushing through it, he and the Vahki rushed as quickly as they could towards the first mate's cabin. For the past week, he had watched the first mate - an Augafi by the name of Haveda. They were not a particularly interesting character, but had a repetitive schedule, and a tendency to get into verbal altercations with the captain. Pridak suspected that the two did not care much for each other. Had he been the captain, he likely would have marooned Haveda on an island to die, but failing that, he was happy to do his current task instead.
With a sharp kick, Pridak sent the door to Haveda's cabin crashing inwards. The Augafi was still lying in his bunk, and for a moment, Pridak could see him panicking as he reached for his microkanoka pistol. He was too late, however, as Pridak lunged across the room onto the Augafi's chest, holding him down.
"What in Karzahni - Get off me!" The Augafi bellowed as Point Three ran into the room behind Pridak, and placed his Staff of Command against the irritating being. The Staff glowed, and a bolt of energy flew through the millimeter of space between the two. The Augafi instantly went limp and ceased struggling under Pridak. With a smile, he climbed off of the being.
"Haveda - speak. Will you obey my commands?"
Haveda slowly rose upright, and with a glassy look, seemed to find his voice.
"Yes."
"You will do anything I ask, even if it violates your morals?"
"Yes."
"You will leave this cabin. Make your way to the bridge. Then, you will find Captain Ninalka. You will begin to argue with him. Then you will draw your pistol and shoot him. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
Haveda suddenly whirled in place, stepping through the door. Pridak waited, lingering in the cabin. A moment later, he could hear the voices of the approaching workers headed for the bridge. As they passed by the door, he slipped out to join them, nudging his Matoran ally. Nodding in understanding, the Matoran passed the standard equipment to him. To the unsuspecting passer-by, it was as if he had been part of the group all along. At the same time, Point Three shut and locked the cabin door, keeping himself scarce.
As the group approached the bridge, Pridak could hear the sound of the argument even from a distance. His plan was working flawlessly. He and the rest of the workers continued to march forward, most being unaware of the drama unfolding before their eyes.
Stepping onto the bridge, Pridak and the workers wordlessly set about their thankless task, patching the consoles and attempting to install replacements for those too damaged by water, electrical surges, or collision.
Behind Pridak, he could hear Haveda argue with the Captain - a Paxorak with a particularly stern eye and an aged voice.
"I'm tired of your orders - and the entire crew is too! We've been stranded in the harbor for a week now doing nothing, but you have us strung out on drills and exercises like Icarax is breathing down your damn neck!"
"I will not accept blame for maintaining optimal efficiency in this crew! You are out of line!" shouted back Captain Ninalka. The two stepped forward angrily.
"With all due respect, sir, you are one the one that's out of line! And you have been ever since you took command of this boat!"
Pridak idly touched wires together, pretending to look busy, while he paid attention to the argument. He was impressed with the dedication of the Augafi - it seemed that perhaps he had accidentally uncovered some unspoken grievances in the first mate when commanding him to start a fight.
"Why you -" shouted the Captain, raising a fist towards the Augafi and swinging it wildly. The Augafi dodged to the side before reaching for the microkanoka pistol at his hip. Pridak could see the Captain freeze in shock, not expecting to have his own first mate raise a gun to him.
Time slowed as Pridak could see the pistol move through the air, levelling on the captain. His legs tensed, and the blood flowed hot through his body.
"Look out, sir!" Pridak yelled, leaping through the air and tackling the Augafi for the second time in an hour. The two spiraled to the floor dramatically in a jumbled tangle of limbs. Pridak, the more experienced fighter of the two, landed on top of the Augafi, who attempted to again aim at the Captain. Pridak grimaced - clearly the orders overrode any survival instinct in the target; even with his opponent sitting on top of him, the Augafi was attempting to carry out the command.
Pridak grabbed the wrench from his bag and swung it against Haveda's wrist. Haveda cried out in pain, dropping the weapon on the floor with a clatter.
"Fight me! Now!" Pridak said in a whisper, as the Augafi looked towards him. He did not have to ask twice, as the mutinous first mate prepared a swing against him.
It was a clumsy blow, and one that Pridak easily dodged. Nonetheless, he needed to put on a show, and so he let the Augafi prepare a second attack, and a third, one of which grazed him slightly.
Now for the finale, he thought, before swinging the wrench straight at Haveda's faceplate. It impacted with a sickening crunch - one that the Ihidauri was more than used to. Breathing deeply, he waited to see if it had done the job. The Augafi was stunned for a second - and Pridak could see the color returning to his eyes. The command was wearing off. Wide eyed, Pridak drew the wrench back and struck again, this time meeting the Augafi's brain crystal, and hearing it shatter within his skull.
Collapsing off of the first mate, Pridak breathed deeply. He had not had to fight for some time now, and was too tired to practice since his time on the Good Intent. Panting, he looked up at the still shellshocked Captain - and the rest of the stunned bridge crew.
"You…you saved my life," said the Paxorak, after a moment of thought.
Indeed, you pathetic moron. What will you give me in return, I wonder, Pridak thought.
"Sailor's instincts, sir. Captain always comes first."
"You're a sailor?" asked the Captain, taking the bait.
"Yes sir. Several tours of duty. Had to take a punch on behalf of my captain more than once."
Pridak could see the Captain deliberating internally. Come on, ask already…
"I'm lucky to be alive, and it's thanks to you. What's your name?"
"Kabarra, sir."
"Kabarra… A life as a repairman is no work for an honest sailor like you. I owe you a life debt, and I need a new first mate. Are you interested?"
"I…I would be honored, sir," replied Pridak, after a moment of fake consideration. Mission complete.
KRIKA - ABOARD THE INDOMITABLE
Krika nervously made his way towards Icarax's chambers aboard the Indomitable. He was already more than a minute late for the meeting, something he very much regretted considering the urgency of the summons and the topic of discussion. Rushing through the door, the two Rahkshi guarding it barely acknowledged his presence.
Stepping into the geodesic dome of the observation tower, Krika saw the rest of the Makuta assembled before Icarax, kneeling. Krika joined them.
"Rise," said Icarax, idly.
The group stood, waiting for Icarax to continue. The room was dark, lit only by ceiling lamps, as the armored plating of the dome had been shut around it. The meeting was to be of the utmost security and secrecy - none of the Makuta wanted word of nearly fifteen thousand deaths to become public knowledge just yet.
"Brothers, Sister, I'm confident you know why this meeting has been called - the enemy was able to strike a critical blow against our first landing party on the nearest landmass. The result has been the loss of almost an entire legion, along with the severe damaging of two others. Medical ships are loaded to capacity, and we do not have hospitals or recovery centers built yet."
Krika shielded his eyes from Icarax's as the last accusation rang out. He did not want to admit that, in fact, he was far too busy to handle building hospitals for four legions at the moment.
"I require immediate solutions. I do not want our burgeoning civilization in this universe to suffer the same fate as our armies. The floor is yours," Icarax continued, gesturing towards the Makuta.
Bitil was the first to step forward.
"My lord, I express my sincerest apologies for the failure of the assault. I accept full responsibilities…"
Krika could feel the growing "but" in Bitil's words. Internally, the icy Makuta rolled his eyes, knowing that Bitil was about to make some inane excuse as he always did.
"...but I would be remiss in not expressing my concerns that the enemy's ability to perform Nova Blasts was not revealed to me in intelligence briefings. As the most informed on such manners would be Vamprah, I speak for the group in wondering why he was incapable-"
"Now is not the time, brother. Lay the blame at your feet until we have found a solution to this problem," said Antroz. Krika agreed, as did several of the other Makuta - Gorast notwithstanding, a fact that caught Krika's eye.
"The enemy is not equipped with Nova Blasts. Any of the captured prisoners would likely have already performed one by now if they were. It is either a select subset of their species that can perform it - a fact that I doubt, as surviving troops report no such striations in enemy biology - a natural phenomena, akin to a volcanic eruption or earthquake, or a weapon of some kind," whispered Vamprah psionically.
"Work on all three assumptions for the time being. Continue questioning your prisoners, and find out what you can from them as to the nature of these mysterious explosions."
"It will be done."
"I admit that natural phenomena are not my specialty," began Antroz, stepping forward. "And therefore I will turn focus towards the other two proposals. For the former - that of enemy subspecies - I suggest we push ground operations to Rahkshi for the time being rather than Brotherhood footsoldiers. As the more disposable option, they will lend us the opportunity to observe any repeated incidents. Additionally, on a tactical level, I propose we move to smaller and more surgical strikes, rather than large invading forces -"
"Large invading forces spread fear. Fear weakens enemy morale. An enemy with weakened morale is easy to conquer," shot Gorast.
"Indeed, but Rahkshi, as willing as I am to give up their lives, are not replenished in batches of thousands."
Krika observed a certain twinkle in Chirox's eye throughout the entire conversation, though the black-armored Makuta remained silent. If Krika remembered correctly, Chirox was preoccupied with quick batch-growths of beings, with the intention of producing Oropi. Krika wondered if a breakthrough had come yet, and suspected that - if it had - Chirox was eager to try it on Rahkshi.
"As for the second theory, that of a technological one - if I remember correctly, Krika, you have a team of Xian scientists analyzing the Primitives' technology?"
Krika nodded in the affirmative. Icarax could see where the line of questioning was leading,
"This team - depending on the nature of this possible weapon, could they devise a defense against it?" asked Icarax. Krika thought for a moment.
"I suppose; there are very few weapons that can penetrate a broad-spectrum Xian phase protection shield. Though there will be risks associated with using them…"
"Such as?"
"Energy consumption is the first to come to mind. We do not have a reliable source of power yet - Target Main and Base Camp are still running off of a plasmatic reactor from a beached ship, though it is being strained as-is. A phase generator of sufficient size to protect the island will require a tremendous amount of power."
"Antroz, you will turn over two ships from your fleet to Krika. Krika, those will provide you the requisite power. The other problems?"
Krika grimaced, seeing an angered look in Antroz's eyes. He did not enjoy stealing from his brother - though he could not exactly speak up about it at the moment.
"Other problems include supplies and resources - phase protection shields are complicated pieces of technology, and will not be easy to produce. Just one at the size we're discussing will require a wealth of machinery that we do not have conveniently available yet."
"Is the foundry on Target Main functional yet?"
"Almost, my lord."
"Almost? I have given you more than sufficient time; how is it not ready yet?"
"The persistent rainfall on the island, sir - much of the topsoil has grown waterlogged, and the foundry was constructed on an area of relative high ground. Moving the smelting and casting equipment up the hills has become a challenge."
"Indeed. The Weather Report does its job well…perhaps too well. Have them dissipate the storm, though I expect to have them prepared to raise all Karzahni on the waves should the enemy come within five hundred mio of Target Main or your city. Will that have the foundry prepared before the end of the week?
"Initial safety inspections will take time -"
"I do not have time for safety inspections. Rush through them. But prioritize building a bigger and better facility in your city, which will serve the bulk of our needs once operational. I suspect the convenience of an on-site foundry will make itself obvious quite quickly."
"Understood. With regards to resources, beyond the requirement for cast and mechanical components, there will also be a requirement for more delicate machinery that we do not have the appropriate construction stations for. Circuit presses, laser die cutters, high-frequency wire rollers…"
Krika's listing was cut short.
"And how goes the recovery effort with the sunken ships off the coast? I pray that at least that of all things you have managed to not disappoint me on."
Krika grimaced. A great many beings had been trained and granted underwater breathing apparatuses - though when it came to slave labor, both training and equipment were never particularly high quality, and thus the casualties had been disheartening for the first week.
"On schedule, my lord."
"Good. You may permit any beings who retrieve advanced electrical or mechanical components from the wreckages a reward of your choosing, short of freedom. I leave it to your imagination. That should provide all of the parts you need."
Krika considered for a moment. No doubt the waterlogged parts of sunken ships would be damaged and decrepit, but they could be fixed - especially with a few Kirils. It could theoretically be done. While he had initially approached the issue of the ships with the intent of scrapping them all and using the melted components for new projects; if they weren't going to float again then there was no reason to let their components go unused. As for the slaves, Krika's mind wandered towards what he could offer them…
"Is there any possibility of building a second generator to protect the construction site of our new capital city?" asked Gorast. Bitil scoffed.
"So that you may be relieved of protective deployment?"
Icarax silenced their bickering with a wave, and Krika shook his head in the negative.
"It is unlikely - the demands for a single generator will be -"
"I have a proposal," said Chirox. The group turned towards him, ready to hear about Rahi once more. "We may take inspiration from the humble Stone Rat."
Krika groaned, and he could feel the rest of the Makuta do so as well. He almost wondered if the Rahkshi guards, stationed in the corners of the room, weren't groaning too.
"Please, siblings, hear me out. The Stone Rat is a small and vulnerable creature. It is easily harmed by any Rahi bigger or stronger than it is. So, for its own survival, it burrows underground, living in caves and tunnels. There, it is invulnerable to the swooping Kahu, or the prowling Kavinika."
"You would propose that the Brotherhood hide in the ground like vermin?" asked Gorast, with an audible disgust. "The idea is offensive - the flag of the Kraahkan is meant to fly triumphantly in the sky, not be buried in the dirt."
"It is not as unbelievable as you would make it sound. Onu-Matoran have historically created a great many wonders in such conditions. It keeps us protected from attacks by the air, relatively hidden from enemy scouts, and most importantly, with the location concealed from the enemy - Chirox may speak reason," said Antroz.
The room entered a debate, while Krika considered it internally. In truth, his workers had barely yet broken ground on the city, having been more preoccupied with surveying the terrain. It would create logistical problems, to be sure, but it was hardly the strangest thing he had ever heard of. Krika was suddenly snapped out of his deliberation by Icarax's voice.
"Krika - you have been silent. This underground city, could you build it?"
"It will be difficult, but I suspect that most, if not all problems, can be worked through with enough skill and force."
"Your staff has both in ample reserve. Pass the order along. This will not be the Brotherhood's home on this world, but it will be a stronghold for as many months as it takes for the Primitives to relinquish their hold on this world."
Krika nodded silently. He would do as he was told.
AARON - THE PACIFIC OCEAN
"Drink," said Lisa, much to Aaron's annoyance.
Lisa and Aaron had spent two weeks aboard her father's yacht, confidently sailing in the direction that he could best approximate as being French Polynesia. It was a rough estimate - he was not a sailor and had very little experience, though he did have atmospheric reading hardware that he had loaded onto the boat and a GPS that he was conserving the battery life of, which repeatedly told him that he was going in the generally correct direction - in the same way that suggesting that sailing into a hurricane to get a "closer look" at it is a "generally correct" idea in the eyes of the scientific method. Lisa, the more practically trained of the two, was limited to having watched her dad steer the boat on fishing trips when she was younger, but had seen how to operate the engine and the sails. Thus, between the two of them, they were able to consolidate their respective skill sets into the approximation of a single passable sailor.
It had not been easy to convince her to join him on the expedition. He had spent the better part of a day texting her about the idea. Although the potential of being the first to uncover a strange new story (thereby kickstarting her journalist career) enticed her, the thought of sailing aimlessly for a week just to look at a hurricane, while not being a very good sailor, was much more frightening.
The worry for her own future would ultimately win out in Lisa's heart, and the next morning, she would agree to lend him the yacht for two weeks, though she would be in charge of packing supplies, and be the "captain" of the vessel.
"It's my dad's boat, he's lending it to me, and I'm letting you use it - if I say it's time to go home, it's time to go home; agreed?"
On the morning of the departure, Aaron waited on the dock with a backpack full of clothes and two suitcases full of scientific instruments. Standing on the dock under the semi-cloudy sky, he was surprised to see Lisa approach with a buoyancy and eagerness for their impromptu expedition. She had even managed to acquire a small costume captain's hat, which she wore with no small amount of irony.
"Captain on the deck," she said, teasing, as she stepped onto the dock. Aaron replied with a wry smirk and a lazy salute. One of Lisa's friends followed her, helping to carry her multiple bags, as well as two large cooler chests.
"He coming with us?" Aaron asked, confused - he and Lisa got along well enough, but he wasn't one for her scene, and had never particularly enjoyed hanging out with her friends.
"Oh, Brad? No, he's just helping me out. Say thanks, man."
Aaron nodded respectfully at Lisa's friend, a musclebound and tattooed man who stood a head taller than Aaron. The two shared an awkward smile.
An hour later, the yacht was loaded with Aaron and Lisa's equipment, and the two would pull out into sea, waving goodbye towards Brad, who sat on the dock.
Life on the high seas was, for the most part, a surprisingly boring one. Beyond the minute and hourly adjustments to their course, which Aaron made with a great deal of confusion (not helped by a highly-alcoholic diet), there was very little to do but sleep, drink, and laze around idly. Luckily, the yacht was not cheap, so the cabins made the first item on that list comfortable. Additionally, Lisa's two coolers made the second item a sustainable practice. The third item was not so fortunate as the hot sun burned overhead, even obscured by ever-thickening clouds, and at night, the light fog of rain chilled the entire deck.
Huddled in the central "living room" of the under-deck area, Aaron and Lisa passed this particular evening with the popular college party game "Never Have I Ever", with the added caveat that, whenever a player lost a round, they would also take a shot of a particularly foul jungle-juice intended to use up the last of several mixers. The resulting fruit punch-like concoction was sickeningly saccharine and overpoweringly strong.
"Aw, come on, that's not fair," protested Aaron, replying to Lisa's command to drink.
"Rules are rules. You totally threw up that one time at Six Flags on the big rollercoaster -"
"Yeah, but it's absolutely targeted. You can't just think of something that specifically I did, then say never have I ever done that thing that you specifically did."
"It's generic enough to count! Plenty of people have thrown up on roller coasters, and I'm not one of them."
"Alright, fine, I'll drink this time, but going forward it has to be things we don't know about each other."
"Ugh, fine, deal," Lisa said, rolling her eyes. Despite her attitude, Aaron could tell she was having fun. And somehow, so was he.
"Alright. Never have I ever…gotten a tattoo."
Lisa sat smug and silent.
"Drink?" Aaron asked. She shook her head no.
"What!? How? You totally - there's no way. I don't believe it."
"Dude, you've literally seen me suntan on the deck; did you see a tattoo on me?"
"No, but like, I don't know, I thought you for sure would have gotten one at some point."
"Nope. My body is a temple."
"Yeah, okay, bet," Aaron replied, sarcastically, taking another drink to atone for his failed guess.
"My turn," said Lisa, rolling over onto the floor and lying face-up. She thought for a moment. "Give me a second. I'm thinking."
"Well, think carefully, and don't spill your drink on the rug or your dad will be pissed."
"Nah, he won't care. Boat's basically mine."
"You think he'll let you keep it?"
"Huh?"
"When he finds out you lost your job."
"Oh…" said Lisa quietly, rolling away from Aaron and facing the wall. The room grew somber. "I don't know. I feel like it's weird that he doesn't know yet, like, I want to tell him… but I don't want to tell him cause then I'll be in trouble. A lot, probably."
"Nah, you kidding? You're the golden kid."
"I mean, yeah… I guess, I got the boat and the apartment in Hawaii and stuff, but like… You know what Dad did for my birthday this year?"
"What?"
"Nothing. He didn't even call me. He 'd me two hundred the next day. No message."
"Oh."
"Yeah…"
"So you don't think he'd care, then? About the job?"
"I don't know. Maybe he'd get pissed off. It's whatever."
The two fell silent, sipping their drinks. Aaron wasn't sure when he fell asleep; he only remembered collapsing on the padded booth, and then blackness.
Aaron was hungover. The sun blinded him as he fluttered his eyes awake, and with a stinging headache, he rolled away from the porthole. The table was covered in drinks and snack foods, and Lisa was lying asleep on the floor as well.
"Hey… Hey Lisa," Aaron grumbled. A pained groan was the only acknowledged reply. "I'm gonna check our heading," Aaron said, prompting another groan, before he marched up the steps and onto the deck of the ship.
He could feel a strong wind blowing even as he shielded his eyes from the glare. He was getting closer to the edge of the hurricane. If he could get some photos of it, really see what was going on for himself, he could change meteorology forever. He wondered if there would be some sort of prize for a discovery of that magnitude - though it was also likely that someone else had beaten him to the punch. He would worry more about using the phenomena to complete his dissertation than to receive any accolades.
As he emerged onto the deck, he shivered and scanned the horizon. While it had been empty for several days prior, he was briefly surprised to see a large gray ship on the horizon. It was a fair distance out, but seemed to be approaching - or at least moving perpendicularly to Lisa's yacht.
Paying it little attention, Aaron turned and made his way to the helm, checking his GPS and his weather instruments. Tirelessly, and as best as he could under the headache-inducing conditions, he noted as much data as possible.
A few minutes later, he was distracted by the sound of someone approaching - Lisa, joining him up on the deck. He waved at her, but she passed right by him, leaning over the edge of the ship and heaving the (mostly liquid) contents of her stomach into the seawater.
"Yeah…better out than in," Aaron mumbled awkwardly, looking away.
"God, I feel like shit," she said, rubbing her eyes.
"Yeah, same," Aaron said. He had not drank as much as her, in actuality, but he was also much less experienced, so he considered them to be even.
"Hey…are those guys coming towards us?" Lisa asked, pointing towards the boat on the horizon. It was closer now - close enough that Aaron could see guns on its deck.
"I don't know…maybe it's a navy ship?"
"Oh, shit - are we not supposed to get close to the storm? They might get angry at us," Lisa said nervously.
"No, it's alright, it shouldn't be a problem. They…maybe it's the Coast Guard and they're just checking up on us? I mean, we were kinda drifting all night."
"Yeah maybe," Lisa said, watching the ship.
There was a distant crack, as if that of a thunderclap from a storm. Aaron looked around for the source, puzzled, before the sail of the ship suddenly ripped apart and the mast splintered spectacularly. He and Lisa dropped to the ground, sheltering themselves from the rain of wood shards raining down on them.
The two looked at each other in silence.
"Did…did they jus t-" Lisa asked, before another crack rang out. The water splashed in a massive wave, just a matter of feet off the side of the ship.
"Fuck! Get us out of here! Go!" she yelled, pushing Aaron towards the helm. The two yanked at the controls, trying to get as far from the ship as possible.
A barrage of sharp clangs was heard, as if metal striking metal, as Aaron looked back towards the chasing ship. Something had hit the hull - a series of small metal disks embedded in the aft of the ship.
Aaron pried one out of the boat with great force, looking at it in confusion, before he heard a scream. Facing its source, he could see Lisa clutching a bleeding shoulder.
"Fuck! They shot me! Oh my God, I got shot!" She yelled shrilly. Aaron began to panic. What the hell was going on? Why would the Navy or Coast Guard shoot at American citizens?
"Jesus Christ, this fucking hurts!" wailed Lisa, blood pouring from between her fingers. Aaron, still panicking, tried to remember what little he knew about first aid.
"It's okay, it's okay, just breathe, keep breathing, calm - keep pressure on it, just like that, yeah -"
"FUCK, don't touch it!"
"I - sorry, I'll go get the first aid kit from downstairs!"
Aaron rushed away toward the staircase leading down below. He frantically dived through the cupboards in the kitchenette, looking for a distinct red bag with a white cross. Unfortunately, neither he nor his cousin were particularly organized, and so they had left much of their clothes and toiletries splayed across whatever space they could find. The bag was nowhere to be found, and so Aaron began throwing the piles of clothes into the air, hoping to uncover the bag underneath them.
"Aaron! Aaron!" came a yell from above, as he turned. It was Lisa - and it was not the sort of cry of pain she had been making before. It was something else. Abandoning the search, he rushed back towards the staircase.
Climbing back onto the deck, Aaron watched in shock as something climbed out of the water onto the back of the boat. It was a strange teal and coral creature, something he - and to his knowledge, no other human being - had ever seen before. His first instinct was to assume it was some sort of sea monster - it clearly had visible fins, like an eel, running across its body. But as he looked closer, he realized that the scaly body of the creature was made up of metal plates, and that it wore some sort of suit of armor. It was lithe and wirey, and stood a head and a half taller than either Aaron or his cousin. Its face was encased in a strange and distinct contraption, which seemed to be full of water, or some other transparent liquid.
The creature pulled itself over the back of the boat, climbing aboard. Aaron saw its hand extend, and a series of bright silver blades emerge from within its forearm. Three wickedly sharp knives presented themselves, and glinted in the sun.
"Lisa, look out!" He yelled as he saw the creature approach her. Time froze. He could see the weapon strike towards her in slow motion, straight for her throat. He yelled out, willing himself to move, but he was frozen in fear. The blades inched closer and closer, until they finally met their target - Lisa's throat gave way like a hot knife through butter, and the claws landed straight within her neck. Blood spurted out, and Aaron could not help but take note of it. He had never seen a person die before. He had never seen anyone be stabbed before. He had expected something like what he saw in movies, where the blood flew everywhere dramatically, but instead, it simply dribbled out of the wound lazily.
Aaron felt disgusted with himself, watching his cousin get slaughtered. Time resumed its normal pace as his momentum carried him forward. He heard her cough, and it sounded wet - and wrong. There was nothing he could do for Lisa now - but he nonetheless lunged for the creature. The thing would pay.
A hand emerged from the water, this time green, and grabbed hold of the back of the ship. Another hand, black-and-yellow, did the same. He could see a small handful of creatures emerging from the water. Meanwhile, the teal-and-coral one simply dodged his strike, as Aaron crashed to the ground. He felt cold metal on his back - the creature's foot pressed against his spine. Then the creature made some strange burbling sounds through its mask. Even obscured behind the bubbling noises, Aaron was convinced the words were not in any language he had ever heard before - but either way, it was as if they were speaking through fluid - then Aaron remembered the strange device on their face. Next to him, he could hear Lisa choking on her own blood, trying to suck in air and failing. His face was turned away from her - and he thanked God for it. He could not bear to watch.
The creatures began to pile aboard the ship, sweeping it and searching for something that Aaron could not immediately identify. The creature barked out some words, still pressing its foot against Aaron's back. He simply looked back, confused. What did they want? Why were they doing this? Suddenly, another one of the creatures waved for its attention; the green-armored one seemed to relay some sort of information.
The two creatures spoke to each other in sharp, brutal tones, and whatever was mentioned appeared to satisfy the teal-and-coral one. Aaron felt drips of liquid falling onto him. He thought that perhaps it was the water running off of the creature's armor, before he realized it was hot. Lisa's blood dripped off the monster's claws and onto Aaron's back. He felt his entire body run cold.
The ship approached, and as it pulled up alongside the yacht, Aaron could see that it was unlike any ship he had ever seen before. There was something distinctly alien about its design.
The coral-and-teal being stepped off of Aaron before pulling him upright. The two looked eye-to-eye as it pushed him towards a gangplank that was being extended to the yacht. It seemed they wanted him to board their ship.
"What about my cousin?" Aaron asked, immediately regretting saying anything. The monster just looked at him blankly before shoving him forward. Aaron took a last look at Lisa, who lay upright on the deck, staring unblinking into the sun. Her neck was brutalized, and there was a visible hole through it that made him gag to look at. She was gone.
I'm sorry Lisa, I'm so, so sorry, he thought, realizing that she would never have been here without him asking. It was all his fault. And he had watched her bleed out.
As the monsters climbed back aboard their ship, one pulled a glass flask from their hip and threw it towards the yacht. It burst into flames as it hit the ship, which spread wildly in an instant, consuming the tattered sails and wooden splinters before setting to work on the wood deck.
Aaron fell to his knees, watching the only thing that seemed normal in the entire world go up in flames - and Lisa with it. He watched her stupid little white captain hat roll off her head, off the back of the boat, and into the water. It floated for a second before growing waterlogged, and with a little bubble, sunk into the sea.
As he looked towards the burning vessel, despondency filled his heart. He was utterly cold, and thought that perhaps he would be for the rest of his life. Then a sharp blow met the back of his head, and everything went black.
JETORA - ABOARD THE INDOMITABLE
Jetora hovered about his workshop with a feverish intent. He jumped from one table, arrayed in a dense jungle of equipment - so thick that the table itself was obscured from sight - to another, laid out with a careful array of parts and mechanical elements. Every single bit and piece was carefully cataloged, and the procedure for both removing it and replacing it was kept on a memory crystal. Every step sent the massive rack of crystals jingling quietly, lending an ethereal quality to the workshop.
Every few seconds, the entire room would rock as the ship joined in the motion of the waves. It had taken him a grand total of two dropped screws to remember to stick each piece to the table with a small amount of protodermic glue. Jetora was working within the confines of Icarax's flagship, the Indomitable, along with a second engineer - a Vortixx, like himself - and two Matoran helpers.
Jetora had been assigned a very critical task by Krika himself to understand the inner workings of the Primitives' communications technology. While Jetora had initially been hesitant to take on special tasks from a Makuta, he was not in any position to deny one, and once he had gained the opportunity to sink his hands into the enemy's technology, his tune had changed drastically.
The Primitives (as the Brotherhood had been calling them) were anything but, as Jetora would realize upon cracking the case of the first device. A jumble of wires and circuit boards were carefully arrayed within, along with a variety of strange metallic parts that he had never seen before. His Matoran helpers busied themselves removing screws, sorting and labeling wires by length, and making memory crystal snapshots of the device, while Jetora took his time looking at each portion. He played with the buttons, dials, and switches of the device, watching what they did.
The first breakthrough he made was the realization that the device was not mechanical in nature, but rather electrical. This made things somewhat more difficult, but by no means impossible. A finely-crafted set of probes were set up throughout the disassembled components of the device to track its activity as it was used. He would have preferred working with a Toa of Electricity to do so, but it was faster to do it himself, and he didn't have to deal with some outsider bumbling around his lab.
Unfortunately, that would be exactly what he got as the second breakthrough came - a Primitive. Apparently of no further use to Vamprah, the being was thrust into Jetora's lab in chains along with a great Rau, while a Rahkshi guard was posted outside the door. The Augafi escorting the prisoner - one of Vamprah's little Necrofinches - was kind enough to let Jetora know that the Primitive was apparently some sort of communications officer, which was a helpful thing to have when attempting to reverse-engineer a communications device.
The being had obviously been horrifically mangled by Vamprah's repeated questionings, and was terrified beyond belief, but the Makuta had wisely healed the being before sending them to the Vortixx scientist. Jetora thanked Teridax for small blessings - he could not stand to hear something moan and groan in pain while bleeding all over his otherwise-pristine floor. Disgusted with what he was seeing, Jetora applied the Kanohi and spoke to the Primitive.
"My name is Jetora. That is Elsef, and those two are Bomokra and Thel, our lab assistants. I am not interested in your name. You understand how your communication devices work, yes?"
The enemy's language felt strange in his mouth, and Jetora disliked speaking it.
"Yeah… I do…" replied the shaken Primitive in a quiet voice. Jetora wondered just how badly Vamprah had treated him.
"Show me."
The Primitive was surprisingly forthcoming. Although Jetora loathed to work with this strange flesh creature, and the being obviously loathed to work with his captor, the two came to a quick understanding that cooperation was the only solution that did not immediately result in the prisoner's death.
The device proved simpler than Jetora expected. It took only a day and a half to fully understand the inner workings of it, and another day to construct an approximate replica out of available technology in the Brotherhood's storage. Antenna modules from a Vahki, a circuit board torn out of a spare computer from the bridge of a damaged cruiser, and speakers from a damaged intercom system.
As Jetora clicked pieces into place, his coworker, Elsef, marched over to investigate. The female Vortixx was technically subordinate to him - a fact that annoyed her to no end, and thus she had determined to make his work as difficult as possible.
"How's working with the flesh-body?" she said, nodding towards the quiet Primitive, who was soldering wires to a speaker.
"He's surprisingly helpful. You could learn from him," murmured Jetora, not looking towards his coworker.
"And the device? You think Icarax will be impressed by a bundle of wire and exposed parts?"
"Prototypes always look like that. What he sees will look up to the standards of quality that I'm used to delivering."
"Mhmm. I'm sure."
"And, once this has been tested, I suspect we can improve it."
"For sure; you could probably hit it with a rock and still end up improving their tech."
"Indeed."
The two were silent for a moment.
"Apparently Krika is giving us a whole team soon. Another dozen or so Vortixx and Manidi, just working on reverse-engineering their devices," commented Elsef.
"Should be useful."
"Yeah. But less credit for us in particular if we haven't figured this out by then."
"How so?"
"The credit for the work splits a lot better four ways than it does fourteen-"
There was a sudden burst of sparks that cut Elsef off, and a sound began to emerge from the speaker in the prisoner's hands.
"-into your crusade. Now here you are, with your faith, and your Peter Pan advice - you have no scars on your face, and you cannot handle pressure!"
A strange, shrieking, piercing string noise came through the speaker. It took Jetora and Elsef several seconds to realize that it was some form of music. They looked around, confused.
"Is that… did Icarax bring a band on board?"
"No, those lyrics… that's not Matoric. That's Primitive."
The two looked towards the speaker, still clutched in the hands of the prisoner, who was looking at it approvingly.
"You play music through communications?" Jetora asked, activating his Rau. He was very confused as to why the Primitives were attempting to serenade the Brotherhood, though he supposed that it could be a cultural thing.
"It's probably a local transmission that we're picking up. I can change the channel if you like…"
"No, no, wait… I just want to listen for a bit. See about the… quality," Jetora said, hiding the fact that he actually found the song quite interesting. He was somewhat ashamed to admit that he had not enjoyed music so much in a very long time - he had not had the time or energy to see a live band in ages. He could see Elsef roll her eyes at him.
"The quality is good; you must have excellent recording technology to pick up a band around a microphone so cleanly," murmured Jetora.
"No, that's the studio recording. It's not live."
"Live?"
"It's not being played right now, it's… it was played several years ago, and they recorded it, and can play it again whenever they want."
Jetora's eyes widened as he thought of his shelf of memory crystals. He imagined the members of the Brotherhood, recording data in an electronic form, transmitting it unseen through the air, across continents - like an Oroha, unconfined to the ability to use a Kanohi, or a Ce-Toa's availability. It boggled the mind.
"Elsef? Can you get the Matoran to draw me up a set of schematics for this - radio, was it? Then get…twenty copies, should be a good start, saved to Memory Crystals, please? And then start making a second physical copy as soon as possible," Jetora said, slipping back into Primitive to confirm with the prisoner, who nodded.
Elsef sneered.
"Why?"
"Because we're about to make so much money," he said, smirking. He and his team were about to engage in a time-honored Vortixx tradition. But first, he had something to show Icarax.