#cypulchral cloud

“Nothing in this panel either,” said Ensign Trell, examining the book-thin component.  She pushed it back into the wall and it locked into place with a satisfying clunk.

Captain Ortega nodded, resisting the urge to ask if she was sure.  He’d seen more than his share of ship circuitry, and even performed emergency repairs under duress, but his field experience couldn’t match Trell’s actual engineering training.  When it came to identifying if something was unusual in the computer circuitry, Ortega wouldn’t be able to do much more than confirm that everything looked like the standard fare.

Unfortunately, Trell’s time examining the hardware meant that Ortega was left sifting through what information he could on the ship’s software.  Thanks to the CryptoBrick analysis earlier he had a few insights on where to look inside the ship’s computers, but most of the data was information he’d already seen.

“You’re sure that it’s safe to pull those components out of the wall while we’re accessing the mainframe?”

“Absolutely,” said Trell.  “The subsystems are designed to be removed on the fly.  The worst case scenario is that you’ll be without some data while I’m looking over everything.  I’m starting to think that there’s either no trace of  the phoenix circuitry on this ship, or that Tan already destroyed it before we arrived.”

“Do you really think he wouldn’t have told your Captain by now?”

“She wouldn’t torture someone in a medbay.”

“Really?” said Ortega.  “That seems like the ideal place.”

A look of confused disgust crossed Trell’s face.

“What kind of sick person uses medical equipment for torture?”

“The… kind of sick person who doesn’t want the torture to be lethal?”

“People in your culture must not understand torture if it gets lethal.”

“People in my culture really don’t,” said Ortega.  “We have laws against it.”

“So do we,” said Trell.

“Either way, there’s no signs of systematic destruction, or any kind of intentional damage against the ship,” said Ortega.  “This place is almost pristine.”

“I suppose you’d have the expertise to recognize that,” said  Trell.  “Have you looked up information on self-destruct procedures?”

“No,” said Ortega, tapping new information into the terminal interface.  “Good idea, though.”

The computer had a basic user command structure, one that Ortega felt was almost a few years out of date for a relatively new military power like the Dyson Empire.  It was simple enough to use, but felt important.

“Why would someone with access to last year’s hardware use software that would have been on its way out five years ago?”

“Familiarity, perhaps?” said Trell, reaching for the next maintenance panel.

“Would you do it for familiarity?”

“No,” said Trell.  “I’d only do it if I wanted absolute certainty that anyone using it would be familiar with the software.  It’s probably a good idea for a rapidly constructed militia.  The Soul Survivor did suggest… and our own experiences with Tan suggests… that this so-called Emperor quickly assimilates anyone with a modicum of competence into his service.  If there was no time for a custom operating system… by far the best approach, in my opinion… an older system that people would be familiar with might help things along.”

“You’d prefer to make a custom operating system, though?”

“I already have one,” said Trell.  “I plan on retiring to a moon fortress after I leave the military, one stocked with the trophies of a great career, and I’ve already established a preliminary system that can be modified for most of the kinds of bases I might acquire.”

“Would you incorporate any older operating systems onto your custom system?  Something seems off about this.”

He pulled up the selected data.  Five data files tagged as relating to self destruct systems popped onto his screen.

“I might,” said Trell.  “I could take the graphical parts, overlay it.”

“Why would you do that?” asked Ortega.  He tapped one of the files, the one titled ‘Self Destruct Protocols: Operation Eclipse Procedure.’

“Again, familiarity for others,” said Trell.  “Guests.  Or enemies.”

“Catering to familiarity for enemies?”

The file opened, and a video file started to play.

“No, not catering to them,” said Trell.  “I’d use it as a decoy, or a lure.  Set it up to look like it was a standard file system, probably even make a few non-essential commands work as expected, but just make it a facade that covers a ruse or trap.  Something designed to lead them on a wild goose chase, feed them false information or activate a trap.”

The lights darkened in the chamber.  Trell and Ortega looked up, surprised.  The video file began to play, and every terminal in the room switched to the video as well.  A large, dark-skinned man appeared, wearing a uniform of the Dyson empire and a pair of bulky, mechanical gauntlets.

“What did you find?” asked Trell.

“The Emperor’s Herald, someone named Zamona,” said Ortega.  “I’ve seen him once before.  Right before Doctor Rogers and I had to make it to your ship.”

“Congratulations on securing one of the Dyson Empire’s vessels intact,” said Zamona.  “We also appreciate your interest in the Operation Eclipse Protocols, especially as they pertain to self destruct sequences.”

“He’s gloating,” said Trell.  “Gloating in a video that might never have been seen.  I admire the dedication, but it means we’re in trouble.”

“As you know, self destruct sequences involve legitimate security concerns which you, alas, have now become.  If this vessel is within range, it will transmit images of your facial features, voice prints, or any other identifying characteristics which may be useful in learning who you are and what may have brought you here.  The good news is that, while you will only have sixty seconds to live, you will gain a firsthand look at the self destruct information you sought, an experience that no one else alive can appreciate.  Enjoy your final minute of life, and make peace in whatever way you see fit.”

Pilot William Tan was thrown from the airlock onto the floor of Captain Calen’s ship.  A helmet obscured his face, and his hands were fastened behind his back by a set of the Astroguard’s magnetic manacles.  Calen lowered her Maelstrom Ray as Captain Ortega stepped in, just behind his prisoner.

“I wouldn’t expect you to treat war criminals so roughly, Ortega.”

“When in Rome,” said Ortega, removing his helmet.  “Didn’t want to risk you thinking he was loose.  Pushing him down meant he would be clear of any weaponry aimed his way.”

“You’ve a poor opinion of my senses if you think I can’t tell a prisoner from a boarder, Captain, and an even poorer opinion of my aim if you think you could protect him that way.  Is our prisoner much use to us, or is he what passes for ballast in this cursed place?”

“He knows how to interpret the information I was able to pull off his computer,” said Ortega, removing a black cube from a compartment near his belt.  “An active interpreter is more useful than a quick information grab, especially since the Cypulchral Cloud does things to sensors.  He said he wasn’t able to shut his sensors off after The Signal took hold of his ship, so I’m hoping that they were thorough.”

Calen saw the black cube in Ortega’s hand and took a step back, eyeing it warily.

“What possessed you to bring something from that ship back here?  I don’t want to risk my scuttler becoming infected with whatever spoils you’ve brought back.  More than one tale of salvage ends horribly.”

“This is an Astroguard device, Captain,” said Ortega.  “It was made with those kinds of situations in mind.  All I need is a monitoring device, and I can use this to examine the data from his computer in isolation from your ship’s systems.”

Calen nodded, still looking over the cube from a distance.

“Permission granted,” she said.  “You’ll do this under the supervision of Ensign Trell, though.  Not to cast doubts on your techniques, Ortega, but I’ll trust a Morcalan engineer with field experience before I’ll trust the work of a team of technicians working from the safety of their own labs.  Trell!  Get in here!”

Moments later, the Ensign stepped out of the bridge.

“Trell, the good Captain’s got some information from the Dyson vessel.  Help him to get to it so that there’s no chance of the data coming into contact with our systems.  We’re playing with fire, today, and I’ll take no chances.”

“Understood, Captain.” Said Trell.

“Meanwhile, I’ve got a prisoner to interrogate,” said Calen.  Before Ortega could react, her hand shot down, circled around the pilot’s neck, and slammed him into the wall.

“Wait!” said Ortega.

“No,” said Calen.  “I’m sure you think you’ve gotten everything you can out of him, Ortega, and he may even believe he’s told you everything of value, but I insist on wringing our guest dry.”

“Can you at least wait until after Trell and I have more data from his computer?”

“What’s your name, boy?” Calen asked, ignoring Ortega.  “I don’t like having strangers on my ship.”

A muffled response came from inside his helmet.

“Why’s he traveling without external speakers?” asked Calen.

“I turned them off during the flight over,” said Ortega.  “Didn’t want him interrupting things before you’d had your say.”

“I thought he was being a little too polite for one of Dyson’s mongrels,” said Calen.

“Is that just a basic flight suit?” said Trell, looking at the prisoner’s outfit.  “Those things barely have any insulation.  Or heating.  Captain Ortega, people can die from even brief exposure to space travel if this is all they’re wearing.”

“He’s fine,” said Ortega.  “On the way over, my suit measured the temperature and pressure, and at this spot in the cloud it’s actually not bad.  A little worse than the top of a standard planet’s highest mountains, maybe.  He’s probably cold, but he wasn’t going to die.”

“That’s incredible,” said Trell, reaching over to the prisoner’s helmet and reactivating its external communications.  “Pressure like that shouldn’t be possible in a gas cloud this size.  Especially this close to the exterior.  If only our sensors were working right now, I’m sure the data would be valuable.”

“-old, cold, cold, cold,” said William as the speaker on his helmet crackled to life.  “Stop saying I’m fine, I’m cold, I’m cold.”

“We can hear you, Pilot Tan,” said Ortega.

“Good, then you know I need to warm up,” said the prisoner.  “I went through blizzard training that was better than this.”

“You’ll warm up soon enough,” said Ortega.  He looked up to see Calen nodding in surprised approval.

“What?” he asked.

“There’s a mean streak in you,” said Calen.  “You hide it well.  That’s a bit reassuring.”

“It can get the job done sometimes,” said Ortega.  He walked closer and lowered his voice to a whisper.

“I don’t want you to sacrifice your technique here,” said Ortega.  “I really don’t.  But there’s something not right about this.  Go easy on him during the interrogation.”

“Don’t go soft just when I’m starting to believe there’s hope for you, Ortega.”

“I’m serious,” he said.  “There’s something off about him.  Too calm.  He’s practically a civilian, the way he acts.  You might get something useful out of him, but I don’t think he’s worth getting blood on your hands.”