Incursion Protocol

Suit patches don’t adhere super well to burnt fabric. They’re typically made for small tears and punctures, not laser blast holes. I don’t think anyone back at UEC ever imagined the patches they were manufacturing would be used for this, but hey, multi-purpose patches can be used for multiple purposes. So here I sit, sandwiching layers together, doing my damndest to make the suit airtight. The hole in the arm? That’s easy, classic duct tape works wonders.

I had scoured the Dulox ship a couple times, just to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. Aside from some random, well-worn tools, there wasn’t much to loot. These little guys were really dull. No art, no knick-knacks, no hidden troves of scantily clad crescent-headed ladies. Not that I wanted to see that or anything, but it made me think: the two I had… disposed of looked almost identical. No outward signs of sex or distinguishing features. Weird.

A chime echoed from somewhere near the cockpit, signaling the salvage process was done. I heard a faint hiss from the other side of the airlock as whatever atmosphere remained in the alien ship fizzled into the cold vacuum of space. I had instructed the computer to disconnect the two vessels. Apparently, I had a small degree of control over the ship now, since I technically owned it. No pink slips in space. Actually, they probably had something similar, but hey, I’m an invader: ownership claims don’t apply to me.

I donned the patched-up spacesuit again, giving my duct tape job another firm pat down to make sure it was secure. After locking my gloves and helmet into place, I trudged over to the console. A couple button presses later, the cabin began to decompress, venting the atmosphere into oxygen tanks stashed somewhere under the decking.

No telltale signs of leakage from my suit. I placed my gloved hands on the locking wheel. A lot of people think a hole in your suit means instant death, decompression, exploding, your eyeballs boiling out of their sockets. Yeah, that can happen in extreme, explosive cases. But a small puncture? It’s not the instant death sentence people imagine. You’ll lose oxygen and pressure, sure, but you’re not instantly a space popsicle.

Satisfied with my internal pep talk, I turned the wheel. Other than a hiss and some rustling as the last bit of air escaped, it was pretty bog standard.

“Awesome,” I mumbled to myself. “Now I just have to somehow detach a completely alien laser array and reattach it to my ship, which was designed in a totally different dimension. Easy peasy.”

To my surprise, it was fairly easy peasy. The bolts and wired connections were different shapes from our standard hexes, but with a little elbow grease, the laser array popped off, and the wires disconnected with minimal fuss. And no, their bolts weren’t crescent-shaped. That’d be silly.

With a firm grip on the array, I gently pushed off from the now-derelict ship and drifted back toward my own. It felt… strange, looking at my ship. From the outside, it looked almost exactly the same as it had before, but I knew better. There was so much more going on under the hood now. It had drained the Dulox ship like some kind of tech-vampire, sucking out all the salvage, fuel, and anything else it found useful.

There were a few minor changes, though. Sitting on the dorsal surface, just behind the cockpit viewports, was a square impression, a hardpoint, perfect for connecting modular components. My eyebrows shot up as the laser array I was towing began pulling itself toward the hardpoint, like magnets and intent had triggered it to move into place. Wires and connectors that had been trailing behind snaked their way into nearby ports, tucking themselves neatly into place.

A few quick turns of some good ol’ fashioned hex bolts later, and the array was seated and connected to my ship. A notification flashed across my vision:

Dulox Laser successfully installed to Strommäsk Test Vehicle.

I stared at it for a few moments, feeling a bit sentimental, my first ship-to-ship combat weapon. I could almost shed a tear… if it weren’t so god-awful. The thing looked like a flimsy, oversized laser ray gun straight out of a Saturday morning cartoon. Thick, square base, with an oversized barrel sticking out, wrapped in circular heat exchangers. Even from here, and with only a few hints from my General Spacecraft Knowledge skill, I could tell the firing arc was terrible. I’d have to point my entire ship almost directly at the target to hit anything.

“Stupid, no-good, sci-fi garbage, Dulox bottom-of-the-barrel scrapings,” I muttered as I pulled myself along the handholds of my ship and clambered back inside. I couldn’t be that upset, though, I thought as I secured the airlock and started the process to refill the cabin with breathable air. For the cost of a few laser burns and some pain, I’d gone from being completely defenseless to slightly less defenseless.

Good trade. Good trade.

Almost giddy with excitement, I stripped off the suit, careful not to ruin my makeshift repairs. I had dug through the ship’s new menus, and as of now, I didn’t have access to any skills that would let it repair itself. So, for the time being, my entire ship was essentially one big, unwieldy airlock, due to all the bent locking pins on the outer door.

I settled into the pilot’s seat, its embrace familiar and comforting. Engaging the control system, I tilted the ship on its axis, flipped on the Cinek targeting system, and pointed my ship toward the derelict Dulox vessel.

“Oh, yes, that is so cool,” I muttered in amazement. Instead of the targeting details being limited to the console, the entire cockpit glass lit up with information. A square reticle hovered over the Dulox ship, glowing a neutral yellow at first, as the ship continued its lazy turn.

As my ship’s nose aligned with the Dulox vessel and brought it fully into my firing vector, the reticle flashed and turned a satisfying green. I couldn’t help but grin. Everything was locked in place.

“Pew! Pew! Pew!” I couldn’t help myself, giving the laser more character than the slight buzzing it actually made a few feet above me.

Red laser blasts drilled into the Dulox ship, doing only minimal damage at first. But at this range, and with sustained pressure on one point, the metal began to glow red-hot, bubbling away and creating a hole in the already-dead vessel.

I had to pace the shots, keeping an eye on battery usage and heat buildup, both conveniently displayed on the cockpit glass. As crappy as I knew this laser was, I was elated. Sure, I was stuck in an alternate dimension with a price on my head, but come on, how can you not be happy blowing apart a ship with a laser gun?

I leaned back and sighed in contentment… before a bit of dread began to seep in. I knew I was avoiding my real thoughts, avoiding thinking about my past, Earth, and... Abby. Up to this point, I had been in full reaction mode: dealing with the Construct, beating up some tiny aliens, slapping some sick new equipment onto my ship. But now? Now, I had to be the initiator. I had to push forward, think of an actual plan to get myself out of this mess.

I wasn’t going to just disappear into this universe and become some kick-ass space rogue. Although, I've always wanted a seven and a half foot tall, extra hairy companion to keep me grounded.

I needed to get out of here. Get back home.

But I couldn’t just fly to a big glowing EXIT sign in space. I had to find someone, or something, not only to help me figure out how to get back but also find out where back even was. The Construct had said something earlier that I’d kind of glommed onto as a possible direction. No, not the total genocide of some crescent-headed freaks, though that still was an option on the table, but the bell curve of this dimension’s technology.

The far side of that curve had to house some advanced species, beings who might actually know what the hell to do with this Strommäsk engine. Maybe they could figure out how dimensional traversal worked, reverse-engineer it, and help me skirt around The System’s safeguards. Just once more. That’s all I needed.

There. An inkling of a plan. Find some highly advanced species, track them down, avoid getting blown to bits by whatever death ray they’d undoubtedly point at me, and then convince them I wasn’t some interdimensional warlord, just a poor lost soul trying to get home. Easy.

Of course, finding them and avoiding getting vaporized on the way might be a bit trickier. Definitely needed to make this tin can I was flying a little more robust before anything else.

I popped open a tab in the console I’d been deliberately avoiding, labeled Starmap. What greeted me was a black screen with a few white circular lines overlaid. My ship sat dead center, surrounded by a whole lot of nothing. After a few moments, the computer kicked into gear, attempting calculations, and slowly, stars began to fade into view across the void. More processing, and planets emerged, each one mapped out with their projected orbits.

A dropdown box materialized in the corner with the label: Overlay.

I clicked on it, and a single entry appeared: the Dulox ship, along with the time and date it was collected. I confirmed the selection, and the data from the Dulox’s computer system overlaid itself onto my starmap.

First to show was a large, pale yellow blob encompassing a lot of nearby star systems: Dulox territory. I had to nod in begrudging respect; the little guys had actually managed to carve out a sizeable chunk of local space. A blue-grey blob appeared along the far edge of their territory, labeled Cinek. The blob stretched off the map, fading away at the limit of the Dulox’s data.

Other details began to pop up: moons, asteroid fields, the occasional blip indicating some sort of structure. But most importantly, on the opposite side from the Cinek territory, a larger blip appeared, surrounded by a smattering of smaller locations. My best guess? This was the heart of the Dulox domain. Maybe a homeworld or a large space station.

If the Construct had been telling the truth, and wasn’t just screwing with me, then heading toward the Dulox’s central location and seizing ULTIMATE CRESCENT-HEAD POWER might not be the worst plan. It could be a good start to solidifying my stats and skills. Not to mention, upgrading this weak little ship into something that wouldn’t get buffeted by the slightest solar breeze. Ridiculously grateful that the little guys hadn’t been more keen on just vacuuming up my salvage after putting a hole in me with a laser bigger than what they’d used in person.

I plotted my course. With a little help from the computer, naturally. The path slingshotted me through a few systems, skirting some of the more interesting locations along the way. I figured I might be able to scan a few asteroids, maybe blast out some metals. Though I had no idea if the ship could even process unrefined ore, I’d have to add finding out to my ever-growing to-do list and travel itinerary.

The dotted line that represented my course swirled neatly through the systems on the map, and I had to admit, it looked pretty good. Pick up some supplies, maybe snag a handful of experience, and, if I was lucky, scratch that weird itchy sensation in my trigger finger with some much-needed revenge.

Things were starting to look a little better. I had a shaky but plausible path toward my long-term goals and a nice yellow blobby patch of Dulox territory to harvest from in the short term. From the bottom, it looked like quite the feat to reach the top, but hey, every journey starts with a single step, right? Don’t remember what book I read that in, but it sounded inspirational enough.

I lifted the protective cover on the engage button, ready to fire up the Strommäsk engine and blast off into the unknown. I pressed it, and this time… I didn’t smash into the next dimension.