LtCol Wes Greaves – Edge of a Star

[Jacob Rittenhouse]

LtCol Wes Greaves – Edge of a Star

 

(( Dyson Sphere, Communications Platform A2 ))

The debate about ethics, the arguments about sentience, even the staggering scale of what was about to happen, all of it had collapsed into one simple truth: they had less than four minutes to vacate a megastructure wrapped around a star.

 

The overhead conduits pulsed brighter now, energy surging in visible waves along the crystalline lattice. The deck beneath his boots carried a faint vibration, subtle but growing. Whatever the self-destruct entailed, it was not instantaneous. It was building.

 

They needed distance. Fast.

Lahl: Ok, we need to get off this station. Does anyone remember the route we took?

Wes replayed their approach in his mind: ribs of green light, long curving corridors, identical junctions. The Sphere had been designed for scale, not convenience. Nothing about it had been intuitive.

Forsyth: Umm… No….wait, maybe.

He didn’t blame her hesitation. The corridors had all looked the same. Under normal circumstances he would have marked their route, but they’d been following the automaton then, focused on mission objectives, not escape contingencies.

Varik: Not precisely.

Greaves: We came down a primary corridor with green rib lighting, slight downward gradient. First major junction we bore left. After that… it gets fuzzy.

 

Lahl: Ok, let’s retrace our steps. Unless our friend that automaton wants to help us out.

Wes glanced toward the squat machine sitting motionless near the threshold. Its dark screen reflected the flicker of the alarm lights. It had nearly killed them minutes ago.

Forsyth: I doubt it, dear.

Varik stepped toward it cautiously.

Varik: It does not appear to be active.

Greaves: Don’t assume that means harmless. If it twitches, shoot it.

 

He kept his rifle leveled but didn’t raise it.

Lahl: Well, hope springs eternal and all that.

Forsyth: I think we went straight ahead, then left…. No, right.

Wes resisted the urge to close his eyes in frustration. Directional uncertainty under a ticking clock was not ideal.

 

Varik circled the automaton with his tricorder, careful to remain outside the reach of its articulated arms. Wes shifted position slightly to give him a clean line of fire if necessary. The machine remained inert through the scan.

 

Nothing.

 

Then Varik delivered a sharp, deliberate boot to the rear housing.

 

Wes tightened his grip on his rifle.

 

The automaton sprang to life.

 

Mechanical appendages unfolded with abrupt precision. It rotated toward Varik in one fluid motion, screen flaring to life. For half a second Wes calculated firing solutions,center mass, joints, wheel hubs.

 

Then text resolved across the display.

// LOCATION? //

Wes exhaled slowly. Not hostile. Not yet.

Varik: Huh... well, docking bay control room!

The screen flickered.

// FOLLOW //

Greaves: Move. We’re not arguing with it.

 

If the machine was willing to guide them again, he’d take the help. Pride had no place during a countdown.

 

The automaton rolled out of the compartment at a steady pace. Wes fell in just behind it, rifle angled forward, eyes scanning intersections as they passed. Varik took up the rear again, weapon ready. Lahl and Forsyth moved between them.

 

The corridor outside seemed darker than before, the green rib lighting dimming as energy diverted elsewhere. The hum in the walls had grown into a low, sustained thrum.

Varik: If my estimation is correct, we will have approximately one minute upon arriving at the control room to open the exterior docking bay doors.

One minute.

 

Wes did the math automatically, travel time, door cycling time, decompression delay, signal stabilization.

Greaves: Then we don’t hesitate when we get there. Lahl, Varik, I’m gonna need you to get the doors if Stella is busy. Forsyth, I need you to find a way to blow it open if they can’t do it the normal way.

 

He pictured the docking bay: a cavernous chamber, likely shielded once, maybe still. If they could expose themselves directly to open space, or at least reduce the surrounding energy density, the transporter might punch through the interference.

 

Lahl/Forsyth: Response

The automaton accelerated slightly when urged, its wheels humming over the curved deck plating. They passed junctions that looked painfully familiar and yet entirely indistinguishable.

Varik: Was there anything from Stella's initial interfacing with the sphere that would give us a shortcut to open those doors? Perhaps even get a headstart on the process before we arrive?

Wes considered that. Stella had rewritten portions of the Sphere’s access hierarchy. If the docking controls recognized them as authorized entities…

 

Greaves: If Stella still has peripheral access, she may be able to pre-stage the docking sequence, unlock safeties, prime the motors. But with the core removed, we can’t count on centralized response. Assume manual activation.

 

Stella: Response

 

Lahl/Forsyth: Response

 

Greaves: Then we cut them open. Focus fire on the seam. Full output. It won’t be pretty, but if we can breach even a partial aperture, that might be enough for transport lock.

 

It was a desperate measure. It’d either save them, or kill them faster.

 

Lahl/Forsyth/Varik: Response

 

Ahead, the corridor began to widen, the subtle architectural shift suggesting they were nearing a larger compartment.

 

Wes adjusted his grip on the rifle and fixed his eyes on the automaton’s rolling frame.

 

One minute, twelve seconds.

 

Greaves: Here we go.

 

Lahl/Forsyth/Varik: Response

 

 

OOC – I removed the most of the tags for Stella since we left the room we were in and I see her now as “omnipresent” on the Sphere, directly interacting with the KC. Amanda, feel free to drop Stella tags back in if you want!!

 

Tags/TBC

 

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Lieutenant Colonel Wes Greaves

Marine Detachment Commander

USS Octavia E. Butler NCC-82850

E239702WG0

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