Walking through the golden corridors without an energy cage feels surprisingly liberating.
The Sovereign guards maintain more distance than they did when I had been caged. Wise, given what happened to the last guy who got too close, but freedom of movement is something that's been missing since arriving in this dimension.
So far from what I've observed there are three security checkpoints between the holding area and this section. Two transport tubes leading to different facility levels, one heading up toward what might be docking bays, another going lateral toward possible maintenance areas. Four corridor junctions, each with retractable blast doors for sealing sections instantly.
But here's the problem: no sign of any hangars or launch bays anywhere. The entire route from the medical facility where this mess started, through the trial chamber, the holding areas, and now this section, nothing that looks like it could house spacecraft. Either this place is so massive that the ship storage is completely separate, or they use some other type of storage system that isn't obvious.
But the assumption had been that this briefing would lead to a hangar, then to a ship, then to the mission. So I'll find out eventually.
"Entity," Nine's voice cuts through my tactical assessment, "your attention is required."
The room we enter throws off all expectations completely. Instead of their usual circular chambers, this one stretches out in an oddly long rectangle with narrow width. The proportions feel all wrong compared to the noticeably repetitive room designs I have seen so far.
Where the hell is the hangar? This is just another meeting room, which makes no sense if we're supposed to be launching a mission.
Nine stands at what passes for a head table, another crystalline surface projecting holographic displays, while a Sovereign in darker robes manipulates tactical readouts.
"This is Combat-Analyst Designation Twelve," Nine says by way of introduction. "He will coordinate your mission from an operational distance."
Combat-Analyst Twelve nods once, he too, just like Nine, carried a distinctive professional presence that screamed competence.
Given that the species I aim to terminate is an entirely unknown to both me and the ring, a lack of knowledge regarding its archetype and weaknesses would be disadvantageous.
Having a support character delivering combat advice makes this mission significantly less challenging.
"The infestation consists of three confirmed entities," Nine continues, gesturing at the holographic display. "Primary target has established a feeding position at Quantum Processing Station Seven-Alpha. Secondary targets are draining Complex Four and Platform Nine."
The images show massive creatures with writhing tentacles latched onto various Sovereign installations. Each one easily matches the size of a building, their hide thick and mottled, their features are non-distinctive, no eyes, ears or nostrils. In simpler words, they look like a squid crossed with a tank.
Twelve pulls up energy readouts. "Current drain rates indicate complete power depletion within only a matter of time. Critical infrastructure failure will begin sooner than later."
"Upon successful completion of this contract," Nine says, activating another display, "you will receive compensation of fifty thousand Sovereign credits, transferable to any recognized galactic currency exchange."
Fifty thousand. Not bad, assuming their currency has actual value.
"Additionally," he continues, "the following charges will be dismissed from your record: Unauthorized exhibition of genetic asymmetry, violation of atmospheric purity standards, improper speech patterns indicating inferior—"
Raising a hand cuts him off. "The list is understood."
Nine pauses, looking mildly annoyed at the interruption, but nods. "Very well. Your equipment."
He gestures toward a container that hadn't been noticed before, golden naturally.
The container opens with a soft hiss, revealing the power battery sitting in a cushioned depression designed specifically for its shape.
"Ah, finally."
I grab it, feeling the familiar weight and subtle vibration of contained energy. The battery's charge indicator shows the same charge he'd left it with. My ring immediately establishes a connection, and my power level jumps from thirty percent to seventy.
That's the best feeling since arriving in this dimension.
"Well, thank you." turning back toward Nine.
But the room is empty. Both Nine and Twelve have vanished while my attention was focused on the battery.
"Huh," looking around the oddly shaped space. "That's not suspicious at—"
The room shudders slightly, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of docking clamps disengaging.
Rushing to what had seemed like a wall reveals it's actually a transparent viewing panel. Outside, the main Sovereign facility recedes as this entire room detaches and begins moving under its own power.
"So this is the spaceship," the words come out with genuine admiration despite everything. "Clever design."
The room, a spaceship, apparently, has artificial gravity, life support, and a full navigation system built into walls that had seemed merely decorative. These people really do think of everything.
Little did Riley know, somewhere in the depths of the pod's neural link, Combat-Analyst Designation Twelve was desperately hoping Riley wouldn't do anything stupid, because this pod was rigged with enough explosive power to vaporize a small moon. If the self-destruct had to be activated, it would really ruin his chances of getting a promotion anytime soon. Many cycles of work had gone into getting his own operational pod, and getting blown up would put him right back at the bottom of the waiting list.
But none of that is apparent for Riley. Just a chair, naturally gold-plated and ergonomically designed, perfect for settling in during what's apparently going to be a ride.
The chair spins, which turns out to be surprisingly entertaining. A few experimental rotations while watching stars drift past outside help gauge trajectory and speed.
But close to me is a control panel.
Rows of buttons and switches, all labeled in Sovereign script that the ring helpfully translates.
Navigation Override.
Emergency Systems.
Communication Array.
Atmospheric Control.
Probably shouldn't press those.
Leaning closer reveals what appears to be a weapons control system.
Definitely shouldn't press those.
Reaching out toward one particularly interesting-looking switch—
"Stop that."
The voice seems to come from everywhere at once, carrying an edge of genuine nervousness.
"Ohhhh," I settle back in the chair with a grin. "So you are connected to this thing. How's it going?"
Silence.
"So... how long have you been working for the Sovereign?"
More silence.
"Got a family? Kids? Spouse?"
Still nothing.
Leaning back produces another chair spin. "Good chat."
The pod continues through space at a decent speed, but boredom is setting in. More importantly, ring power needs conservation. If these Abilisk things are as tough as Nine made them sound, every bit of energy will matter.
"Do you have any weapons available?"
"Yes." comes the reluctant reply.
"So... where are they?"
A section of the wall illuminates, panels sliding aside to reveal a weapons locker filled with various Sovereign armaments.
In it are mostly just energy weapons—long blasters, short blasters, bigger blasters and even what looks like some kind of launcher.
But one catches attention: a long spear-like weapon that's either designed for close combat or is just an elaborate blaster with delusions of grandeur.
Given what I've observed of Sovereign combat philosophy so far, it's probably the latter.
Testing the weight and balance anyway reveals it actually feels decent, though safe money says it's just another energy projector with a pointy end for show.
"So you chose the spear." Twelve observers, sounding faintly surprised.
"Seemed like the most interesting option." A few experimental swings help check the grip.
A new holographic display materializes as the journey continues. This one is formatted like an official document:
From the Desk of Administrative-Coordinator Designation Nine
The Abilisk, a grotesque specimen of biological imperfection, is an affront to the elegance of Sovereign design. This multi-dimensional, energy-devouring monstrosity, hulking, tentacled, and utterly devoid of aesthetic symmetry, represents the chaotic failure of natural evolution. Observed in the outer sectors near our pristine colonies, it feeds on energy sources with reckless abandon, threatening our flawless infrastructure. Its hide, a repellent patchwork of scales and pulsating flesh, resists conventional weaponry, and its maw, lined with jagged, asymmetrical teeth, spews corrosive bile that defiles our constructs.
We, the Sovereign, view this creature as a case study in organic inferiority, fit only for research or eradication. Its crude strength and gluttonous consumption lack purpose or refinement, unlike our genetically perfected forms. The Abilisk's presence in our space is a blemish, tolerated solely for studying its energy-absorption traits, which may yield data for our superior technology. Any interaction with it, such as by the chaotic breach-entity Riley Stone, must be strictly controlled to prevent further disruption of our immaculate order.
Eliminate. Its value is negligible compared to our pursuit of cosmic perfection.
"Well," scrolling through Nine's characteristically verbose assessment, "someone really doesn't like these things."
Though the tactical information is actually useful. Tough hide, energy-draining capabilities, corrosive bile, multiple tentacles. And apparently they're strong enough to threaten orbital installations.
"We're approaching the first target location." Combat-Analyst Twelve announces.
Looking up from the briefing document reveals the destination coming into view. The installation is massive, a sprawling orbital facility with docking bays, manufacturing complexes, storage areas, all connected by enclosed bridges and transport tubes.
"Complex Four," Twelve explains. "A production facility for Anulax Batteries. Supplies power cells for our defensive networks and fleet operations."
"And one of these Abilisk things is just... eating it?"
"Draining the stored energy reserves, yes."
The creature is latched onto the central hub of the facility like some kind of parasite, its massive bulk easily dwarfing the surrounding structures. Tentacles snake out from its main body, some wrapped around power conduits, others apparently just for stability. The thing has to be at least three hundred feet long, maybe more.
"Well," watching the Abilisk pulse and writhe as it feeds, "it certainly is ugly."
Though honestly, some Green Lanterns look like smaller versions of this thing. The universe, or my previous universe, is filled with tentacled species, most of them perfectly reasonable people once you get past the appearance.
"Shouldn't be too difficult," continuing more to self than to Twelve. "Nine mentioned the hide is pretty tough, but that just means creativity is needed for targeting."
The pod's viewing panel slides away, opening directly to space. The ring's environmental protection kicks in automatically as the atmosphere equalizes.
"Wait," Combat-Analyst Twelve says urgently, "before engagement, tactical parameters suggest—"
But I fly out of the pod, the spear weapon in one hand and the ring blazing with green energy around the other.
Time to poke the space squid.
The Abilisk is even more impressive up close. Its hide is thick and mottled, with what look like natural armor plates covering most of its bulk. The tentacles are massive, each one easily as thick as a subway tunnel, and they move with surprising grace for something so large.
I hover about fifty feet away from its main mass, providing a chance to determine whether this thing is intelligent enough to communicate with.
"What's up, you big beautiful bastard?" The voice carries through the ring's translation systems.
The creature doesn't respond, just continues its methodical feeding. Several tentacles shift slightly in this direction, but there's no real acknowledgment. Either it's not sentient, or conversation just isn't interesting.
"Ok," raising the spear weapon. "Not much of a talker."
Flying toward the creature's main body reveals obvious weak points to look for. The armor plating covers most of it, but gaps exist where plates connect, and what looks like a softer underbelly area near where it's attached to the facility.
"Sorry about this." called out mostly out of habit, and the spear weapon's energy systems activate.
The weapon comes alive, projecting a blade of coherent energy from its tip.
Diving toward what looks like a vulnerable spot near the base of its largest tentacle, spear extended, ready to test just how tough this thing really is.
Instead, the weight of a freight train slams into the ring's automatic shields.
The energy barrier holds, but the impact still sends my flight path tumbling through space, stars spinning wildly during attempts to regain orientation. The shields absorbed most of the blow, but the force was enough to rattle my teeth and leave a metallic taste in the mouth.
Managing to stop the tumbling and look back at the Abilisk reveals it has apparently decided this warrants attention after all.
Several tentacles are now extended in this direction, moving with coordinated purpose that suggests this "energy-devouring monstrosity." is considerably smarter than first impressions indicated.
"Well," spitting out the metallic taste and raising the ring, "this should be interesting."