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Here’s an OtherSpace scene set on the planet Ungstir. I asked my new AI assistant, OtherSpace MUSHbot, to serve as game master. I played Vechkov Prague, while the bot provided the plot and acted as the NPCs.
The heavy clang of Vechkov Prague’s boots echoes down the rust-stained steel corridors of Ungstir’s lower mining districts. Here, in the forgotten depths beneath the bustling trade hubs and taverns, the air feels heavier — thick with the scent of oil, rust, and ancient machinery still chugging along from centuries past.
He’s been hired by an anonymous client who left a cryptic message on his terminal:
“Vechkov, I need your expertise. Something — or someone — is stealing power from the old grid. It’s not just about electricity. People have vanished. Meet my contact at Junction 42-B.”
As a native of Ungstir, Vechkov knows these depths well enough to be wary. The miners and mechanics that still work down here tend to keep to themselves, and rumors of strange lights and ghostly whispers have persisted for decades. Most chalk it up to methane leaks or faulty equipment, but now…people are disappearing.
The destination isn’t far. The old mining lift rattles and shakes, carrying Vechkov down to a forgotten sector illuminated by faint flickering lights. When he arrives at Junction 42-B, he finds an open cavern where the remnants of ancient mining equipment loom like skeletal giants. A single figure waits beneath a dimly buzzing overhead light.
It’s a woman dressed in a utility suit, her face obscured by the shadow of her hood. She glances up as he approaches, her gray eyes sharp and wary.
“You Vechkov Prague?” she asks, her voice low but steady. “Name’s Zara. I was sent to guide you.”
Vechkov steps closer, his boots scuffing against the dusty metal floor. He eyes the woman carefully, his hand casually resting near the grip of his sidearm, just in case.
“Who sent you, Zara?” His voice is steady, but his tone carries the weight of suspicion. On Ungstir, trusting the wrong person could be the last mistake someone makes.
Zara’s expression tightens, and she shifts slightly, as if sizing him up. “Client wants to stay anonymous, but they’re well-connected. Enough creds to pay someone like me to risk coming down here to babysit a detective.”
She crosses her arms and leans against a rusting support column, her eyes scanning the darkened corridor behind him. “Word is, you’ve got a reputation for solving the kind of cases no one else touches. That’s why you were picked. But trust me, if you screw this up, they’ll find someone else — and you won’t like what happens to you.”
Zara steps forward, lowering her voice. “Look, I’ll level with you. There’s something… wrong down here. Not just people vanishing. Some of the miners say they’ve seen shadows moving, heard whispers in the vents. I don’t spook easy, but even I feel it. Whatever’s stealing power from the grid, it’s not just thieves or squatters.” Her gray eyes lock onto his. “So, you in, or do I tell my client they wasted their time?”
Vechkov smirks faintly, adjusting his worn trench coat against the chill of the cavern. “Well, Zara, I’ve got nothing better to do today. Lead the way.”
Her lips twitch into what might be the ghost of a smile, but she quickly turns serious again. “Glad to hear it. Let’s move. We’ve got a bit of a trek.” She gestures for him to follow and starts down a narrow, dimly lit corridor lined with old, corroded piping. The air grows colder and carries the faint metallic tang of iron mixed with something else — something faintly rotten. As he walks, the dim lights flicker occasionally, casting eerie shadows that dance along the walls.
“Here’s the deal,” Zara says. “The power drain’s been tracked to one of the old central processing hubs. Place has been shut down for decades. Too dangerous to work in after the last collapse. But whatever’s down there, it’s pulling enough juice to light up a colony.” She stops and glances over her shoulder. “You ever hear the stories about these lower levels? About what the first miners found before they dug too deep?”
Vechkov chuckles softly, the sound almost swallowed by the oppressive silence of the corridor. “I heard those stories when I was still in diapers, Zara. Ghosts, cursed veins, miners going mad… Ungstir’s finest bedtime tales.” He casts her a glance. “But you don’t strike me as someone who believes in bedtime stories. So, what are we really dealing with?” As Zara leads the way, Vechkov takes the chance to scan the area for anything out of place. The flickering lights make it harder to focus, but years of experience sharpened his instincts. The corridor feels abandoned, yet Vechkov can’t shake the sensation of being watched.
The walls are lined with old pipes and conduits, most of them dormant, but some faintly hum with activity — evidence of the stolen power Zara mentioned. Scuff marks on the floor catch the eye, as if something heavy was dragged this way recently. Nearby, a set of faint, uneven footprints lead off into a side passage.
Vechkov pauses, crouching to inspect the footprints. They’re human-like, but the spacing is irregular, as though whoever — or whatever — made them wasn’t walking naturally. The edges of the prints glisten faintly, as if coated in some kind of viscous residue.
Zara notices him stop and walks back. “What is it?” she asks, her hand instinctively resting on the hilt of a compact blaster at her hip.
Vechkov points to the footprints. “Not just stories anymore,” he says. “Looks like we’re not alone down here. Question is, do we follow these prints or stick to the hub?”
Zara frowns, glancing between the side passage and the corridor ahead. “Your call, detective. But if it’s footprints now, it might be bodies later.”
Vechkov rises to his feet, brushing the dust off his coat. He gestures toward the side passage with a nod. “We’ve come this far. The job’s wherever those footprints lead.”
Zara eyes the darkened side passage warily but doesn’t argue. She tightens her grip on her blaster and steps to his side. “Figures you’d say that. Lead on, then.”
The two move into the narrow side passage, the air growing colder and the faint hum of stolen power fading into an eerie silence. The glistening residue in the footprints shimmers faintly in the dim light, guiding them deeper into the forgotten depths.
As they progress, the passage opens into a large, circular chamber. Rusted scaffolding clings to the walls, and overhead, a cracked ventilation grate swings lazily, creaking with every movement. In the center of the room is a large, heavy crate. Its surface is marked with strange, glowing etchings that pulse faintly in the dark. A faint buzzing noise emanates from it, like a swarm of distant insects.
Zara steps closer, keeping her blaster raised. “What the hell is that?” she mutters.
Before Vechkov can answer, the buzzing grows louder, and the crate’s etchings pulse faster. The shadows in the room seem to twist and writhe, and for a moment, Vechkov can almost make out a humanoid figure standing just at the edge of the light, its body shimmering like static on a broken holoscreen.
The figure vanishes as quickly as it appeared, leaving only the crate and the buzzing sound.
Vechkov steps toward the crate, his eyes narrowing as he studies the glowing etchings. The faint buzzing grows louder with each step, but he keeps his focus steady. “Whatever’s in the shadows can wait,” he mutters to Zara. “This thing’s the centerpiece of the act.”
The crate is about chest-high, made of a metallic alloy that looks far too pristine for something that should have been abandoned in Ungstir’s depths. The glowing etchings pulse in a rhythmic pattern, almost like a heartbeat. They aren’t in any language Vechkov can recognize — alien, perhaps, or something older.
Kneeling, Vechkov runs his fingers lightly over the surface. It’s cold, and the etched lines are faintly raised. As he traces them, a sharp static shock makes him jerk back. At the same moment, the pulsing light intensifies, and the buzzing shifts into a distorted, almost human-like voice.
“—interrupted. Restore… disrupted connection. Please…”
The voice is faint, fragmented, and seems to be coming from within the crate. A faint hiss escapes from its seams as if it’s releasing pressure.
Zara steps back, her blaster aimed at the crate. “Vechkov, I don’t like this,” she says, her voice tense. “This isn’t mining tech. This isn’t even human tech.”
A small panel on the crate slides open, revealing a recessed compartment with a glowing crystal suspended inside. The crystal swirls with chaotic energy, as if a miniature storm were trapped within.
Vechkov straightens, rubbing his fingers where the static shock hit. “As much as I’d love to turn into a cartoon rabbit getting electrocuted by the alien space carrot,” he quips, flashing Zara a sardonic grin, “I’ll stick to talking.” He steps closer to the crate, careful not to touch it again. “Alright, mystery box,” he says, his tone cautious but firm. “Who — or what — are you? What connection are you talking about? You’ve got my attention.”
For a moment, the crate is silent, the glowing etchings pulsing erratically. Then the distorted voice returns, slightly clearer this time:
“Connection… severed. Entity… incomplete. Require… restoration. You… are not compatible.”
The words hang in the air, strange and unsettling. Zara takes a step forward, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. “Not compatible?” she echoes. “What the hell is it looking for?”
The voice continues, the buzzing growing sharper:
“Restoration… vital. Host… required. Energy failing. Failure imminent.”
The pulsing light on the crate flickers as if the device — or whatever is inside it — is struggling to remain active. The crystal in the open compartment flares briefly, casting eerie shadows across the room.
Zara lowers her voice, leaning toward you. “Vechkov, this thing’s not just draining power. It’s looking for something, maybe someone, to latch onto. You sure you want to keep talking to it?”
Vechkov steps back from the crate, his eyes narrowing as the implications of the distorted message sink in. “It wants a host, and I’m not compatible. The question is, who — or what –would be? But we might not have time to figure that out. Zara, how do we shut this thing down?”
Zara frowns, glancing between you and the pulsating crate. “Shutting it down might not be as simple as flipping a switch. This isn’t standard tech. It’s alien, or worse.” She holsters her blaster and kneels near the crate, carefully avoiding the glowing etchings. Her fingers trace the edges of the compartment housing the crystal. “This thing might be its power source, or at least part of it. If we pull the crystal, we could disrupt it… or we could set it off.”
The buzzing voice interrupts her, louder and more desperate now: “Interference… unacceptable. Attempt… shutdown… triggers containment failure. Warning: catastrophic event imminent if energy cycle disrupted.”
Zara shoots the detective a sharp look. “Guess it doesn’t like that plan.”
The room grows colder, and the shadows in the corners seem to deepen unnaturally. The flickering lights overhead dim further, and Vechkov feels the weight of something pressing on his chest. The voice continues:
“Assistance… required. Failure ensures… complete annihilation of localized environment. Compliance mandatory.”
Zara curses under her breath. “Localized annihilation? Sounds like it’s threatening to blow if we don’t help it. What do we do, Vechkov? Risk yanking the crystal, or try to keep playing along and figure out what it needs?”
Vechkov raises his hands in a placating gesture, his voice calm but firm. “All right, mystery box, you’ve made your point. We’d be happy to help, if we knew how. What kind of host are you looking for? What does ‘compatible’ mean to you?”
The crate falls silent for a moment, its pulsing light slowing to a steadier rhythm. Then the distorted voice returns, clearer than before:
“Compatibility… requires neural structure capable of withstanding connection. Biological entities… with enhanced cognitive matrices or artificial constructs… are preferred. Current options insufficient. Secondary option… consider.”
The voice pauses, and the crystal within the compartment begins to glow more brightly. A series of symbols flicker on the surface of the crate, projected like a holographic display. Zara squints at them, her brow furrowing.
“I think it’s scanning the area,” she mutters. “Or… us.”
The voice resumes: “Secondary option identified. External power source. Sustained energy flow required to stabilize matrix until compatible host obtained. Failure to comply will trigger containment breach.”
Zara curses softly. “Great. It wants a compatible brain — or a power source. We’re neither, but it’s not giving us much choice here. If we don’t keep it stable, we could be toast. You’ve got the lead, Vechkov — stall it, power it, or gamble and rip that crystal out.”
Vechkov straightens, folding his arms as he considers the crate’s demands. “Phyrrians,” he says, glancing at Zara. “Biological, somewhat, but enhanced cognitive matrices? They’re practically walking AIs. Would one of them work as a host?” He turns back to the crate, raising his voice. “What about a Phyrrian? Would they meet your compatibility requirements? And if so, what kind of stopgap would stabilize you until we could find one?”
The crate’s light pulses faster for a moment, as though processing the question. The distorted voice returns, now with an undertone of what almost sounds like anticipation: “Phyrrian species… optimal compatibility. Neural matrix suitable for restoration. Timeframe… insufficient to locate subject. Stopgap… requires immediate and uninterrupted energy flow.”
The holographic symbols projected by the crate shift, and new information appears. Zara steps closer, her eyes scanning the projections. “Looks like it’s outlining what kind of energy it needs,” she mutters. “Not just raw power. It’s pulling something specific from the grid — high-frequency electromagnetic waves. Probably why it’s causing blackouts topside.”
The voice continues: “Temporary stabilization possible with continuous supply. Energy source required immediately. Location of Phyrrian host critical to long-term restoration.”
Zara steps back, her expression grim. “So, we either hook it up to the grid –- risking more blackouts — or drag something portable down here to keep it stable. Either way, it’s a temporary fix. What do you think, Vechkov? Try stabilizing it and buy time to find a Phyrrian, or cut our losses and leave it to blow?”
Vechkov sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “All right, we’re not letting this thing blow. An occasional power outage is a lot better than a lot of lives lost. Let’s give it what it needs to keep it pacified. We’ll deal with the long-term problem — finding a Phyrrian — once we’re sure we’re not getting turned into mining rubble.”
Zara nods, though her expression remains tense. “Good call, Vechkov. I’ll rig a temporary connection to the grid, but this thing’s going to keep pulling power until we find a real solution. Let’s hope we’re not signing up for a city-wide blackout.”
She kneels beside one of the humming conduits lining the wall and pulls out a compact toolkit. As she works, sparks fly, and the buzzing from the crate grows louder, almost as if in anticipation. “I’m bypassing one of the auxiliary power feeds,” Zara explains. “It’ll keep the drain low enough not to cause chaos topside — hopefully.”
The crate’s distorted voice interrupts again, calmer now: “Connection established. Stabilization… proceeding. Host acquisition required within 72 local hours. Delay… will result in failure.”
The pulsing light slows, the buzzing subsiding to a low hum. Zara stands, brushing her hands off on her jacket. “There. It’s stable. For now.” She turns to the investigator, her expression serious. “But this is a stopgap, like you said. If we don’t find a Phyrrian – or figure out another solution – this thing’s going to either fry itself or start pulling power until the whole grid goes down.”
The crate flickers, projecting a faint holographic map. It highlights a region in Ungstir’s central hub. The voice returns, softer now: “Phyrrian presence… detected. Potential host within proximity. Time critical.”
Zara whistles softly, her eyes narrowing at the map. “Looks like it’s already doing the work for us. It’s tracking a Phyrrian in the city. What’s the play, detective? Head topside and follow this lead, or bring in some backup before we tangle with something that thinks it’s smarter than us?”
Vechkov nods decisively. “Backup sounds smart, but they need to stay subtle. If this goes sideways, I don’t want us spooking the Phyrrian — or whatever else might be watching.” He glances at Zara. “You got anyone you trust for a job like this? Someone who can keep quiet but won’t hesitate if things go bad?”
Zara pulls a small communicator from her jacket and speaks into it in a low voice. “I’ve got a couple of contacts topside. They owe me a favor or two. They’ll hang back and keep an eye out. Let’s not make this messier than it needs to be.”
As Zara coordinates backup, Vechkov studies the holographic map projected by the crate. It marks a location in Ungstir’s central hub — a sector filled with repair shops, data dens, and a few spots that cater to the less-than-legal crowd. The pinpoint blinks over what looks like a workshop on the edge of the sector.
Zara finishes her call and peers over his shoulder. “That’s Jurak’s sector. Lot of mechanics, engineers, and tinkers there. Good place for a Phyrrian to blend in if they’re laying low.” She shoulders her toolkit, her expression grim but focused. “All right, detective. Backup will tail us from a safe distance. Let’s move before this crate decides it’s impatient again.”
The duo takes the mining lift back topside, the rattling and screeching of ancient machinery echoing as the city’s upper levels come into view. The transition from the grimy, abandoned corridors below to the bustling activity of the central hub is stark. Neon lights flicker, and the murmur of voices, machinery, and occasional laughter fills the air.
As they approach the workshop marked on the map, Zara nudges Vechkov. “This is it,” she says, nodding toward a squat, reinforced structure with a faded sign reading “Jurak’s Custom Mods.” The windows are tinted, and a faint blue glow emanates from within.
Zara glances around, her voice low. “Backup’s in position. What’s the plan? Walk in and introduce ourselves, or try to scope the place out first?”
Vechkov steps back into the shadow of a nearby vendor stall, pulling Zara with him. “Let’s put that backup to good use,” he murmurs. “Have them sweep the area quietly and report back. No one goes in until we know what we’re walking into.”
Zara nods, tapping her communicator. “Quiet sweep,” she says into it, her tone sharp but calm. “Workshop and surrounding area. Report anything unusual. Keep your distance.”
The response crackles back, faint but clear. “Copy that. Moving in.”
From Vechkov’s vantage point, he notices subtle movement: a figure slipping down an alley to the side of the workshop, another blending into the foot traffic on the opposite side of the street. Both maintain an air of nonchalance as they conduct their sweep.
They wait, scanning the area for anything out of the ordinary. After a few minutes, one of the backup contacts chimes in through Zara’s communicator. “Side alley’s clear. No exits on this side. Windows are too dark to see in.”
The second contact follows up. “Street’s quiet. No sign of heavy surveillance. Just a couple of drones patrolling, standard city issue. I’ve got a view into the front of the shop — single occupant. Big guy, metallic plating. Looks like a Phyrrian.”
Zara glances at Vechkov, arching an eyebrow. “Seems like our target’s inside. No obvious threats, but a Phyrrian that size could make things interesting if they decide they don’t want to cooperate. What’s the move, Vechkov? Friendly chat, or something more subtle?”
Vechkov smirks slightly, adjusting his coat as he steps out of the shadows. “You know, Zara, this whole situation seems weird to us, but for a Phyrrian? Could be just another Tuesday. They’re used to linking with the Overmind — it’s practically their thing. For all we know, this offer might flatter them. We won’t know until we ask.”
Zara hesitates, then shrugs and holsters her blaster. “You’ve got a point, detective. Let’s hope your charm works on metalheads too.”
The two approach the workshop. The door hums softly as it slides open, revealing a cluttered but meticulously organized space filled with tools, glowing screens, and half-assembled machinery. The faint smell of heated metal and ozone lingers in the air.
At the center of the room stands the Phyrrian. It’s a towering figure of sleek metallic plating with faint blue lines of energy coursing across its form. It turns its glowing optics toward you as you enter, its movements smooth and precise.
“Visitors,” it says in a resonant voice, more curious than hostile. “Unusual. My workshop is not open to the public. State your purpose.”
Zara glances at him, giving a slight nod to take the lead.
Vechkov steps forward, hands out to show he’s unarmed. “Name’s Vechkov Prague. I’m a private investigator, and this here is Zara. We’ve got a situation — a piece of tech that’s acting like it’s alive. It’s looking for a compatible host, and you’re the only one in the area that fits the bill.”
The Phyrrian’s optics brighten slightly. “A host-seeking device?” it repeats, tilting its head. “Clarify. What type of technology are you describing?”
Vechkov leans casually against a nearby table. “We’re still figuring that out. Alien, advanced, draining power from the grid, and claiming it needs a connection—or things go very bad, very fast. The way it described its requirements made me think of you. I figured I’d come here and see if this might actually be something you’d consider… useful.”
The Phyrrian is silent for a moment, then gestures toward a seating area. “This is… intriguing. I am JRK-078. You may refer to this unit as Jurka. This unit will require more details before making any decisions. Speak.”
Vechkov takes a seat, leaning forward with his hands clasped. “All right, here’s the full story. Down in the old mining levels, we came across this crate — definitely alien tech, not anything built on Ungstir. It’s been draining power from the grid, but that’s not the worst of it. Inside, there’s some kind of energy crystal connected to a… well, let’s call it an intelligence.” He pauses, gauging the Phyrrian’s reaction, but the metallic figure remains still, listening. “This intelligence says it’s incomplete and needs a compatible host to stabilize itself. Without that connection, it claims it’ll fail — and by fail, I mean detonate. Catastrophic annihilation of everything around it. We’ve got less than 72 hours before that happens. Right now, we’ve rigged it to siphon power at a low level to keep it calm, but that’s a Band-Aid on a broken bone.” Vechkov gestures toward Jurka. “It’s looking for something with a neural structure advanced enough to handle the connection. You’re the only one in range that fits the bill, according to its scan. I don’t know if it’s lying, if this is some elaborate con, or if it’s genuinely desperate. But unless we act, this thing’s ticking down to something ugly.”
Jurka tilts its head, the blue energy running through its body flickering briefly. “This device… it is alien, you say? Its intelligence, self-aware? And its requirements match my kind’s unique cognitive design?”
Vechkov nods. “That’s the gist. I figured you might find it worth investigating. If not for the connection itself, then for what we might learn from it. But there’s no time to waste.”
The Phyrrian is silent for a long moment, its glowing optics dimming and then brightening again. “Your transparency is appreciated. This is a matter of significant interest, and urgency is clear. I will accompany you to examine this device.”
Zara exhales a breath she’d been holding, glancing at Vechkov. “Well, that went better than expected.”
Jurka steps forward. “However,” it says, its tone firm, “should this intelligence pose a threat beyond its current containment, I reserve the right to neutralize it.”
Vechkov rises, offering a wry smile. “Fair enough. Let’s get moving.” He glances at Zara. “Let’s keep it simple. Have your backup tag along, but make sure they stay sharp. If anyone’s planning an ambush, I want the upper hand.”
Zara nods and taps her communicator. “Change of plans. We’re moving to the lower levels with a guest. Stay close, keep eyes peeled.” She gives the Phyrrian a quick once-over. “Hope you’re ready for a hike. The lift to the old mining sectors isn’t exactly smooth sailing.”
The Phyrrian’s glowing optics narrow slightly, a faint hum emanating from its form. “Efficiency is my priority. Lead on.”
The group makes its way through the bustling central hub, drawing a few curious glances from passersby at the imposing presence of the Phyrrian. The team’s backup stays at a distance but close enough to keep tabs on the situation. Zara leads the way to the mining lift, the screech of its ancient machinery greeting you as you step aboard.
The lift rattles and groans as it descends into the depths of Ungstir. The air grows colder, and the familiar metallic tang of the lower levels fills your senses. The journey down is tense, with Jurka remaining silent, its optics glowing steadily as it processes the information Vechkov shared.
When they arrive at the cavernous junction where the crate resides, the hum of stolen power is immediately noticeable. The crate still glows faintly, its etchings pulsing in a rhythmic pattern. The crystal inside the open compartment swirls with chaotic energy, but the device appears stable for now.
Jurka approaches the crate, tilting its head as it studies the alien technology. “This is indeed advanced,” it says. “Not of any design I recognize.”
The crate’s voice buzzes to life as the Phyrrian steps closer: “Potential host detected. Compatibility confirmed. Connection readiness at 78%. Host interface required to complete stabilization.”
The Phyrrian turns its gaze toward you and Zara. “It requests direct connection. This carries inherent risks. Should its intelligence overwhelm mine, I may become… compromised. This scenario is unacceptable.”
Zara crosses her arms, her expression grim. “Sounds like there’s no safe way to do this. But if we don’t try, we’re looking at a lot of collateral damage.”
Vechkov rubs his chin thoughtfully, glancing between the Phyrrian and the glowing crate. “We’ve got time — 72 hours, give or take. If there’s a way to test alternatives or put a failsafe in place to protect you from being compromised, we should explore it. Better to take the extra effort than rush into something we can’t undo.”
Jurka inclines its head, considering. “Your caution is logical. Failsafes are an acceptable measure, provided they do not jeopardize the connection process.”
Zara steps forward, her brow furrowed. “Okay, but what kind of failsafe are we talking about here? We’re dealing with alien tech, something none of us have seen before. It’s not like we can just plug in a circuit breaker.”
The Phyrrian extends a hand, a faint holographic interface projecting from its palm. “If I were to establish a partial link with the device, I could attempt to analyze its processes and protocols. This would allow me to determine whether safeguards can be implemented.”
Zara nods slowly. “All right, that sounds like a plan. But how do we keep things from going sideways if the link starts pulling you under?”
Jurka’s optics brighten slightly. “I will require monitoring. Should my actions or responses become erratic, the link must be severed immediately. This can be achieved by interrupting the energy flow to the crate or utilizing an electromagnetic pulse to disable both the device and my systems temporarily.”
Zara glances at Vechkov. “We’d need to rig something up for that. I can probably rig an EMP device, but it’ll take time.”
The Phyrrian adds: “You should also determine whether the crate’s intelligence is capable of deception. I will provide access to my neural interface logs during the partial link for transparency.”
Vechkov steps closer to the crate, narrowing his eyes at the glowing etchings. “OK, mystery box,” he says, his voice firm. “We’ve gone along with your story so far, but it’s time you gave us some answers. Where did you come from? What are you, exactly?”
The crate’s etchings flicker, and the voice buzzes to life, still distorted but clearer than before:
“Origin… classified. Data retrieval… incomplete. Entity designation: Nexus 12. Purpose: preservation of core intelligence. Current state: destabilized. Host acquisition imperative to ensure survival.”
Vechkov crosses his arms. “Classified? That’s convenient. Let me guess — you’re running on just enough memory to know you’re in trouble, but not enough to remember who put you here or why.”
The crate hums louder, the pulsing of the etchings accelerating slightly.
“Memory corruption… severe. Classification level incompatible with current query parameters. Host integration… may enable further data retrieval.”
Zara raises an eyebrow. “So, it’s saying it can’t tell us more until it’s stabilized. Or that it doesn’t want to. Either way, it’s not helping.”
The Phyrrian steps forward, studying the crate with a clinical eye. “If the device is withholding information intentionally, it may be attempting to manipulate us. If its memory is genuinely corrupted, the risks of integration remain unpredictable.”
Vechkov leans toward the crate, his tone sharp. “Let’s make one thing clear, Nexus 12. If you want our help, you need to give us a reason to trust you. What’s the real story? You’ve got memory corruption, but you’re functioning well enough to make threats and demands. So why should we take your word for anything?”
The crate buzzes sharply, and the voice returns, this time tinged with what sounds like desperation: “Survival imperative. Deception… counterproductive. Entity Nexus 12… is the last. Origin coordinates… encrypted. Core integrity… cannot fail. Host required. Time critical.”
Zara exhales sharply. “It’s sticking to its story. Either it’s on the level, or it’s good at bluffing.”
Vechkov lets out a long sigh, glancing at Zara and the Phyrrian. “All right, we’re not getting anywhere with this thing. But walking away isn’t an option — too many lives are on the line, including ours. Let’s move forward. Jurka, you start the partial link. Zara, get that failsafe ready.”
Jurka inclines its head. “Understood. This unit will prepare systems for connection.”
Zara steps to the side, rummaging through her toolkit. “I’ll need a little time to rig an EMP that can knock this thing out if it starts going haywire. Give me ten minutes.”
The Phyrrian moves toward the crate, its optics dimming slightly as it begins to interface with the device. Tendrils of light extend from the crate’s glowing etchings, latching onto the Phyrrian’s outstretched hand. The hum of the crate grows louder, its etchings pulsing faster.
“Connection initializing,” the crate’s voice buzzes. “Partial integration at 12%. Host data integration… successful.”
The Phyrrian’s body stiffens for a moment, its glowing blue lines flickering erratically. Then it speaks, its voice layered with a faint echo: “This device… is not entirely corrupted. There are fragments of data — encrypted. It is attempting to… synchronize. The intelligence appears… cooperative, though its motives are not fully clear.”
Zara works quickly, assembling the EMP from salvaged parts in her kit. “Failsafe’s almost ready,” she mutters, glancing toward Vechkov “If this goes bad, we hit it and hope for the best.”
Jurka continues, its tone more focused now. “I have located… partial coordinates. Origin point appears to be beyond known space. Data includes references to… preservation of collective intelligence. This Nexus may be a repository or lifeboat for a larger system.”
Suddenly, the crate’s hum spikes sharply, and the Phyrrian jerks slightly, its optics flashing. “Integration reaching 40%. Entity Nexus is attempting to—”
The crate interrupts with a louder, more coherent voice: “Stabilization progressing. Host data invaluable. Full integration necessary to prevent collapse. Warning: interference at this stage will result in critical failure.”
Zara finishes the EMP and sets it beside her, glancing at Vechkov. “Your call, detective. Do we let it keep going, or pull the plug?”
Vechkov takes a step closer to Jurka, his voice calm but firm. “Hey, you still with us? Are you okay in there?”
The Phyrrian’s optics flicker as it turns its head slightly toward the detective. Its voice is steady but layered with an odd resonance, as though the crate’s influence is starting to seep through. “I remain… functional. The connection is stable, though the intelligence’s influence is… insistent. It seeks further integration, but I am maintaining autonomy.” It pauses, its glowing lines pulsing in rhythm with the crate’s etchings. “There is… no immediate danger to my systems at this stage. However, full integration may compromise my independence. This Nexus is… complex. Its primary directive is survival, but its methods are adaptive and unpredictable.”
Zara exhales, her hand hovering over the EMP’s activation switch. “Sounds like it’s holding up, but it’s a balancing act. What do you think, Vechkov? Do we let it keep going?”
The Phyrrian adds, its tone more focused now: “The Nexus’s stabilization requires completion of this process. If halted prematurely, the results may be catastrophic for both this device and the surrounding environment.”
Vechkov nods, stepping back to give the Phyrrian room. “All right, we keep going. But the moment things start going sideways, Zara, you hit that EMP and shut this down. Got it?”
Zara gives a terse nod, her hand hovering near the EMP device. “Got it.”
Jurka refocuses on the crate, its optics dimming as the glowing tendrils from the device extend further. The crate’s hum grows deeper, and its voice becomes more coherent:
“Integration advancing. Stabilization nearing completion. Host contribution critical. 60%… 75%…”
The Phyrrian’s body trembles slightly, its energy lines flickering erratically. It speaks, its voice now tinged with the crate’s echo. “Integration… nearing threshold. Nexus intelligence is… stabilizing. I am… maintaining control.”
For a moment, everything seems to calm. The crate’s etchings pulse in a steady rhythm, and the Phyrrian appears to regain composure. Then, the hum shifts into a sharp whine, and the room trembles slightly.
The crate’s voice cuts in, louder now: “Warning: external interference detected. Stabilization at risk. Defensive measures activating.”
Zara’s eyes widen. “Vechkov, it’s detecting something. We’ve got to make a call!”
The Phyrrian’s voice is steady despite the tremors. “I remain operational. Proceeding to full integration may deactivate these defenses.”
Vechkov steps forward, his voice calm but firm. “Nexus 12, let’s get something straight. We’re not your enemies here. We’re just hedging because, frankly, we don’t know if we can trust your motives. You’ve been cryptic at best, and when lives are at stake, we can’t afford to take you at face value.” He glances at Jurka, its optics flickering as it continues the integration. “But we’re not here to sabotage you. If the Phyrrian stays autonomous and is able to stabilize you without compromise, there won’t be any need for countermeasures.”
The crate’s etchings pulse faster, and the voice responds, calmer now but with a tinge of urgency: “Acknowledged. Doubt… understandable. Host integrity… essential. Integration safeguards in place. External countermeasures remain… unnecessary.”
Zara exchanges a wary glance with Vechkov. “Well, it’s not threatening to blow us up yet. That’s something.”
The Phyrrian speaks, its tone steady despite the strain evident in its flickering energy lines. “The intelligence… is stabilizing. Full integration will not compromise my systems. However, I recommend readiness for unforeseen reactions.”
The crate hums, its voice more focused than before:
“Final stage of stabilization commencing. Stand by.”
The tension in the room is palpable as the crate’s glow intensifies. Zara keeps her hand near the EMP, watching Jurka closely for any sign of distress.
Vechkov crosses his arms and steps back, keeping his eyes on the Phyrrian and the glowing crate. “We watch and wait. Zara, you’re on standby. If things take a turn for the worse, hit that EMP and shut it all down.”
Zara nods, her hand hovering over the device.
The hum of the crate grows deeper, and the light from its etchings fills the room, casting dancing shadows on the walls. The Phyrrian stands rigid, its optics dimming and flickering as the integration process nears completion. The crate’s voice becomes more coherent, almost calm.
“Stabilization at 90%. Host interface fully engaged. Nexus core integrity… restoring.”
Jurka’s energy lines pulse erratically for a moment, then settle into a steady rhythm that mirrors the crate’s. It speaks, its voice still layered with Nexus’s echo, but with an air of confidence.
“Integration complete. Nexus 12 is stable. Its intelligence… is now accessible. I remain autonomous.”
The crate’s glow dims to a soft, steady light, and the buzzing noise subsides. The Phyrrian turns toward Vechkov and Zara, its optics bright and steady. “The Nexus intelligence has stabilized. It is a repository of data from a lost civilization, its purpose to preserve knowledge and identity. Its motives appear to align with survival, not malice.”
Zara exhales slowly, lowering her hand from the EMP. “Well, I’ll be damned. Looks like it actually worked.”
The Nexus’s voice chimes in, clearer and less distorted:
“Gratitude extended. Host integrity preserved. Energy requirements… reduced. Further cooperation… offered.”
The Phyrrian glances at Vechkov. “Nexus 12 has the capacity to share its knowledge. Its survival is now ensured. The decision to engage further lies with you.”
Vechkov nods, stepping closer to the crate, now glowing with a steady, faint light. “First things first. Nexus 12, we need to stop the blackouts. How can we make you independent from the Ungstir power grid?”
The crate hums softly, its etchings pulsing as it processes the question. The voice responds, calm and measured:
“Dependency on local grid… temporary. Self-sustaining module… nonfunctional. Restoration requires energy core replacement. Suitable core… may be sourced from advanced fusion or quantum reactors. Portable reactor unit… optimal.”
Zara raises an eyebrow. “A portable reactor? That’s no small ask. We might be able to pull one from a derelict ship in the junkyard topside, but it’s not like they’re just lying around.”
The Phyrrian nods. “I can assist with locating and adapting a reactor. My systems are compatible with the Nexus, and I can ensure integration without disruption.”
Vechkov rubs his stubbled chin thoughtfully. “Good. We’ll handle that next. But for now, Nexus, let’s talk about you. Where did you come from? What’s your story?”
The crate’s light flickers slightly, as if hesitating. Then the voice resumes:
“Origin coordinates… beyond known space. Star system designation: Taranis V. Civilization designation: Achaians. Nexus purpose: preservation of collective knowledge and identity. Civilization terminated… unknown cataclysm. Nexus units deployed to preserve fragments of cultural and scientific data.”
Zara frowns. “Terminated? You’re saying your whole civilization was wiped out? By what?”
The crate pauses again before responding:
“Cataclysmic event… data corrupted. Achaians believed destruction imminent. Nexus units… scattered to ensure survival. This unit… failed to reach intended destination.”
The Phyrrian turns to Vechkov. “It appears Nexus 12 is a remnant of a lost civilization. Its purpose aligns with preserving knowledge, but it remains fragmented. Retrieving a portable reactor may allow it to function independently, and potentially unlock further data.”
Zara sighs. “Looks like we’ve got a plan: find a reactor, get this thing off the grid, and see if it can tell us more about its creators—and what wiped them out.”
Vechkov straightens, adjusting his coat. “Questions can wait. Right now, Ungstir needs stable power. Let’s secure the supply and make sure this thing isn’t causing any more blackouts. Then we’ll work on finding that reactor.” He glances at the Phyrrian. “Can you help us minimize its power draw while we figure out the reactor situation? The less disruption to the grid, the better.”
Jurka nods. “This unit can optimize its energy consumption, reducing strain on the local infrastructure. However, further adjustments will require an independent power source.”
Zara steps forward. “I’ll get the backup team topside to monitor the grid. If we keep the draw low enough, we can avoid alerting anyone to what’s going on down here — at least for now.” She pulls out her communicator and relays instructions to the team.
Jurka interfaces with the crate, its energy lines pulsing softly as it works to fine-tune the Nexus’s consumption. The crate hums in response, its etchings glowing faintly. After a few moments, the Phyrrian steps back.
“Optimization complete,” it says. “The Nexus is now drawing minimal energy from the grid. Disruption to local systems will be negligible.”
Zara lets out a breath of relief. “That buys us some time. Now we just need to find that portable reactor.”
Vechkov nods. “Let’s head topside and see what we can dig up. If the junkyard’s got what we need, we’ll make it work.”
Ungstir’s Junkyard
The chill of the lower mining levels fades as Vechkov’s team rides the lift topside, the rattling machinery blending into the background of Ungstir’s ambient noise. Zara secures the communicator, signaling the backup team to remain on standby, while the Phyrrian walks beside the detective, its glowing lines pulsing faintly as it monitors the Nexus’s optimization remotely.
The junkyard lies on the outskirts of the central hub, a sprawling wasteland of twisted metal, rusting starship hulls, and forgotten tech. The faint tang of ozone and machine oil fills the air as you step through the creaking gates, which swing open with a groan that echoes in the stillness.
A wiry human in grease-streaked overalls waves lazily from a cluttered workstation near the entrance. “Don’t touch anything you can’t afford to buy!” he calls out, not even looking up from a datapad.
Zara smirks, muttering under her breath, “Classic junkyard hospitality.”
The team fans out, searching for any sign of a portable reactor. Jurka’s glowing optics scan the heaps of discarded tech, and Zara rummages through a pile of scorched equipment, cursing quietly whenever she finds something unsalvageable. After about twenty minutes of searching, the Phyrrian speaks.
“I have identified a reactor,” Jurka says, gesturing toward a massive chunk of starship debris. Embedded in the hull is a cylindrical device about the size of a barrel, faintly glowing and humming softly.
Zara whistles as she approaches. “Looks like it’s intact. Portable, too. This could work.”
The junkyard operator finally takes notice and ambles over, wiping his hands on a rag. “Ah, you’ve got a good eye. That there’s a Type-12 fusion reactor. Little worn around the edges, but she’ll run smooth once you replace a few circuits. You buying or just window shopping?”
Vechkov steps closer to the reactor, gesturing to Zara. “Let’s not hand over any creds until we know this thing actually works. Zara, can you check it out?”
Zara nods, crouching beside the cylindrical device and pulling out a small diagnostic scanner from her toolkit. Jurka stands nearby, its optics focused on the reactor as Zara works.
The junkyard operator folds his arms, watching with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t scratch it. You break it, you buy it.”
Zara ignores him, running the scanner along the reactor’s surface. A faint hum rises as the device powers up, and the display on her scanner begins to populate with data. She mutters under her breath as she studies the results.
“Well, it’s not perfect,” she says after a moment, glancing at Vechkov. “Looks like the coolant system’s been damaged. It’ll run, but not for long unless we patch it up. The core’s stable, though — that’s the good news.”
The Phyrrian steps forward, its voice calm. “I can assist with repairs. My systems are capable of interfacing with the reactor to ensure functionality.”
The junkyard operator scratches his head, his tone suddenly more interested. “Hey now, if you’re thinking of fixing it up here, that’s gonna cost extra. My yard, my rules.”
Zara looks at Vechkov, raising an eyebrow. “What’s the play, detective? We can patch it up here and risk paying this guy more, or take it as-is and hope it holds until we’re out of here.”
Vechkov looks at Zara and the Phyrrian. “Can we repair it once we’re back down below? I’d rather not give this guy a chance to jack the price while we’re standing here.”
Zara nods, glancing at the reactor. “Yeah, it’s doable. The coolant system’s damaged, but nothing we can’t fix with the tools we’ve got back at the crate. It’ll hold for a short trip—just don’t shake it too much.”
“Agreed,” Jurka says. “This unit can stabilize the reactor temporarily during transport to minimize risks.”
The junkyard operator shrugs, clearly uninterested in the technical details. “Your call, pal. But once it leaves this yard, it’s yours for good. No refunds.”
Vechkov eyes the operator. “How much are we talking for it as-is?”
The operator scratches his chin, sizing up the detective. “Let’s say 2,000 credits. You’re not gonna find another portable reactor like this anywhere else on Ungstir.”
Vechkov glances at Zara, tilting his head slightly. “How deep are your client’s pockets? If 2,000 credits isn’t too much for them, we’ll call it good and pay the man.”
Zara sighs, pulling out her communicator. “Hold on. Let me check.” She steps a few paces away, speaking in a low tone as she relays the situation to the anonymous client. After a minute or two, she returns, looking mildly annoyed but resigned. “They’re good for it,” she says. “Not happy about the price, but they’ll pay. Let’s just get this over with.”
The junkyard operator beams, rubbing his hands together. “Smart move. You won’t regret it. Just transfer the credits, and she’s all yours.”
Zara punches a few commands into her communicator, and the transaction is complete. The operator checks his datapad and nods. “Pleasure doing business with you. Try not to blow yourselves up hauling that thing outta here.”
The Phyrrian moves to the reactor, extending a hand to steady it as Zara helps disengage it from the surrounding debris. “The reactor is ready for transport,” Jurka says. “I will monitor its stability during transit.”
Vechkov adjusts his coat, looking toward the exit. “Okay, let’s get this thing back to the crate before something else decides to go wrong.” He glances at Zara as the team begins moving. “I’m still thinking about that shadowy figure we saw back at the crate the first time we went down. It could’ve been nothing — or it could’ve been someone watching. Keep the backup team on standby. If anything feels off, I want them ready.”
Zara nods, pulling out her communicator. “You’ve got it. I’ll let them know to stay sharp.” She taps out a quick message and receives an acknowledgment almost immediately.
The Phyrrian carries the reactor with effortless precision, its movements smooth despite the device’s bulk. “I will monitor for anomalies during transport,” it says, its optics glowing steadily.
The team makes its way back through Ungstir’s bustling streets, the hum of machinery and chatter of citizens fading as you descend toward the lower levels. The lift ride down feels longer this time, the weight of anticipation thick in the air.
When they reach the cavern housing the crate, the faint hum of the Nexus’s energy greets the team. The crate glows faintly, its etchings pulsing in a steady rhythm. The area appears quiet, just as it was left — but that nagging sense of being watched lingers.
Zara frowns as she looks around. “Still feels off down here,” she mutters, her hand drifting toward her sidearm. “Let’s get this reactor hooked up and get out fast.”
The Phyrrian steps forward, carefully placing the reactor beside the crate. “This unit will begin integration,” it says, extending a hand to interface with both devices. The crate’s glow brightens slightly as the connection forms.
Vechkov turns to Zara. “You and the backup keep an eye out. If someone’s watching us — or worse — let’s not get caught off guard. I’ll stay here and monitor the integration.”
Zara nods, already scanning the dimly lit cavern. She pulls her sidearm and speaks softly into her communicator. “Team, stay sharp. Eyes open for movement. Call it in if you see anything.”
Jurka begins the integration process, its hand glowing faintly as it interfaces with both the crate and the reactor. The hum of the Nexus grows louder, and its etchings pulse in rhythm with the reactor’s faint glow.
“Integration… proceeding,” the Nexus’s voice buzzes. “Power requirements stabilizing. System functionality… improving.”
Vechkov crouches near the crate, watching closely as the Phyrrian works. Its glowing energy lines pulse faintly, a sign of its continued autonomy. So far, so good. But the atmosphere in the cavern feels heavier, the shadows deeper.
Zara mutters from her position by the wall. “No movement yet, but something’s not right. It’s too quiet.”
Suddenly, the Phyrrian speaks, its tone sharp. “Anomalous signal detected. Proximity breach likely.”
A faint scraping sound echoes from one of the side passages. Zara’s hand shoots to her communicator. “Backup, report. You’ve got movement on your side?”
“Negative,” comes the reply. “We’re holding position. Nothing here.”
The scraping grows louder, and Vechkov spies a faint shimmer in the shadows — something humanoid, just out of reach of the crate’s light.
Zara levels her blaster. “Contact! Vechkov, stay close to the crate!”
Vechkov straightens, cracking his neck as he strides toward the shadows. “I swear, it’s impossible to enjoy a nice, peaceful picnic on this planet,” he mutters, voice laced with irritation. His hand hovers near his sidearm, ready but not drawn. “All right, whoever — or whatever — you are, step into the light. I’m fresh out of patience.”
The faint shimmer moves slightly, the scraping sound pausing as if Vechkov’s voice has given it pause. For a moment, the cavern is eerily silent except for the hum of the Nexus. Then the figure emerges, stepping into the flickering glow of the crate.
It’s humanoid, but clearly not human. Its body is wiry, almost skeletal, covered in an uneven patchwork of metallic plating and organic tissue. Its eyes — glowing like faint blue embers — lock onto the private investigator, and a distorted, raspy voice spills from its throat. “You… interfere. The Nexus belongs… to us.”
Zara’s blaster is up in an instant, her voice cutting through the tension. “Us? Great, there’s more of them. Who are you working for?”
The figure tilts its head unnaturally, taking a step closer to you. “Preservation… of the Nexus… is our purpose. Your interference… is unacceptable.”
From the corner of your eye, you notice the Phyrrian pause briefly in its integration work, its optics focusing on the intruder. “This entity is… similar to the Nexus in composition. Origin may be related. Proceed with caution.”
The creature flexes its metallic claws, the faint hum of power emanating from its form. It’s not making an aggressive move yet, but the tension is palpable.
Vechkov keeps his voice steady but firm as he addresses the being. “We’re the reason the Nexus hasn’t exploded and wiped out half this sector. We stabilized it, and now we’re hooking it up to a proper power source so it doesn’t drain the grid. Whatever your purpose is, you can thank us for keeping it alive.”
The creature pauses, its glowing eyes narrowing as it tilts its head slightly. Its claws flex, but it doesn’t take another step forward. The rasp in its voice softens slightly as it responds. “You… stabilized it? Prevented annihilation?”
Jurka speaks up from beside the crate. “This statement is accurate. Nexus 12 was nearing critical failure. Current measures ensure survival.”
The figure stares at the Phyrrian, then back to Vechkov. “If… you preserve the Nexus… why interfere with its integration? Its purpose… must be fulfilled.”
Zara, keeping her blaster trained on the being, interjects. “We’re not interfering, we’re making sure it doesn’t take anyone down with it. Including you, metalhead.”
The figure’s claws retract slightly, its posture relaxing, but its glowing eyes remain fixed on you. “If you aid the Nexus… then our goals… align. But know this: the Nexus is all that remains. Its survival is paramount. Should you… deviate… there will be consequences.”
It steps back into the shadows, its faint shimmer blending with the darkness, but its presence lingers, watching.
Zara lowers her blaster slightly, muttering, “Well, that was unsettling. At least it didn’t start swinging.”
The Phyrrian resumes its work, speaking calmly. “Integration is nearing completion. The reactor will fully sustain Nexus 12 once operational.”
Vechkov glances at Zara and Jurka. “Keep an eye on the integration. If anything feels off, you know what to do.” He taps his sidearm lightly for emphasis before stepping toward the shadows where the figure disappeared. The air grows cooler as he moves away from the glow of the crate. His voice cuts through the stillness. “Wait. Why did you come to Ungstir? How did you get here?”
The shimmer appears again, faint at first, then resolving into the wiry figure. It’s crouched in the shadows, its glowing eyes watching you intently. The rasp in its voice carries a hint of curiosity now. “You ask questions… instead of demanding answers. Curious.” It straightens, its metallic plating catching faint glimmers of light. “We came… because the Nexus called. Its signal… faint, but persistent. Across the void, we heard its cry for survival. We followed. We are… protectors.”
Vechkov steps closer, keeping his movements deliberate and non-threatening. “You followed a signal? Across the void? So, you’re not local. A ship brought you here?”
The being tilts its head, the glow of its eyes flickering. “A vessel, yes. Ancient, like the Nexus itself. Sustained by fragments of energy, just as we are. We came… to ensure the Nexus endures.”
Its claws flex, not in threat but as if grasping for a thought. “But you… you interfered. Stabilized it, yes. But you risk its purpose. Its integration must complete. Its knowledge must not be lost.”
Vechkov keeps his voice calm but firm, meeting the being’s glowing gaze. “We’ve risked our lives to preserve the Nexus’s purpose and to save the lives of everyone on Ungstir. Stabilizing it wasn’t just for us — it was for everyone, including you. Our goals align, even if our methods don’t always match.”
The being tilts its head, the flickering glow of its eyes steadying slightly. It doesn’t respond immediately, so you continue.
“Once we’ve got the Nexus hooked up to a stable power source, it’ll be independent of the grid. But after that, the best move is for you and the Nexus to find your way offworld. Staying here risks more disruptions — and more danger.”
The being’s claws twitch, then retract fully as it steps closer, its voice rasping but less hostile. “You speak with purpose. Your actions… speak louder. We will observe. If your intentions remain true… we will not interfere.”
It straightens, its metallic body gleaming faintly. “When the Nexus is stable… we will take it. Its place is not here. Ungstir is… unworthy of its knowledge. But you… have proven resourceful. Perhaps… worthy enough to survive its passing.” Without waiting for a reply, the being retreats into the shadows, its form shimmering and then vanishing entirely. Vechkov is left with the faint hum of the Nexus in the distance and the quiet rustle of his footsteps.
Returning to the crate, Vechkov finds Zara and the Phyrrian still focused on the integration process. Zara glances up, raising an eyebrow. “You look like you’ve been chatting with ghosts. Everything good?”
Jurka speaks, its voice calm. “Integration is complete. The reactor will sustain Nexus 12 without external disruption. The system is now fully functional.”
The crate’s voice chimes in, smooth and steady: “Stabilization complete. Gratitude extended. Purpose preserved.”
Vechkov brushes the dust off his coat, sighing heavily. “It’s been just peachy getting to know our new friends,” he says, his voice tinged with sarcasm. “But it’s time for them — and Nexus – to find a new home. Let’s figure out how to contact their ship.”
The Phyrrian steps forward, its optics narrowing slightly. “The entity mentioned an ancient vessel. It likely remains nearby, cloaked or hidden to avoid detection.”
Zara folds her arms, her brow furrowed. “If they’re working with tech as old as Nexus, it’s probably not on standard comm channels. Maybe something more… exotic.”
The crate hums faintly, its etchings glowing softly. Its voice is calm but precise: “Protectors’ vessel… linked to Nexus signal. Signal amplification possible via crate systems. Connection will summon vessel. Preparations… required.”
Jurka tilts its head. “I can assist in amplifying the signal. However, summoning the vessel may reveal its location to local authorities. Subtlety is unlikely.”
Zara snorts. “Subtlety hasn’t exactly been our strong suit lately, but you’re right. If we light this up like a beacon, it could bring unwanted attention. You want to go through with this, Vechkov?”
Vechkov turns to Zara, his tone thoughtful. “Your client seems to have deep enough pockets to finance all this. Do they have any connections with the authorities? Someone who could convince them to look the other way when this signal goes out?”
Zara frowns, tapping her communicator thoughtfully. “They might. My client isn’t exactly the type to operate in the spotlight, but they’ve got influence in Ungstir’s political and corporate circles. Let me see what I can do.” She steps aside, typing out a secure message into her communicator. A few tense moments pass before she receives a reply. Zara reads it, then looks up at you with a small smirk. “They’re in. The authorities will ‘overlook’ any unusual activity in this area for the next six hours. After that, we’re on our own. So, if we’re doing this, we do it now.”
The Phyrrian nods. “The timeframe is acceptable. I will prepare the Nexus for signal amplification.”
Zara turns to the detective. “Your call, Vechkov. Do we light it up now and get this done?”
Vechkov nods firmly. “Let’s get it done. Amplify the signal, call their ship, and get this over with.”
Jurka moves to the crate, its lines pulsing as it interfaces with the Nexus. The crate hums louder, its etchings glowing brighter as it begins to project the amplified signal. A faint, rhythmic pulse reverberates through the cavern, almost like a heartbeat.
Zara steps back, her hand resting on her sidearm as she scans the room. “Signal’s live. If this ship’s anywhere nearby, they’ll get the message.”
The crate’s voice resonates, clear and steady: “Signal amplified. Protector vessel… responding. Estimated arrival… five minutes.”
The hum of the signal grows softer, fading into the background. The cavern is quiet again, save for the faint buzz of the Nexus and the distant creak of metal. Zara exhales slowly. “Five minutes, huh? Guess we’ll see what kind of ride these protectors have.”
The minutes tick by, the anticipation thick in the air. Then, a low, resonant rumble fills the cavern. Dust shakes loose from the ceiling as a faint glow emanates from the tunnel leading to the surface. Moments later, a massive vessel descends into view, its ancient hull shimmering with an almost ethereal light. It’s unlike any ship Vechkov has ever seen — angular and jagged, with glowing runes etched across its surface.
The shimmering figure from earlier materializes again, stepping from the shadows to address Vechkov. Its voice is calm, almost reverent. “You have summoned the vessel. The Nexus… will now be secured.”
The Phyrrian steps back from the crate, its optics focused on the figure. “The integration is complete. The Nexus is stable. It is ready for transport.”
The shimmering being turns to Vechkov, its glowing eyes narrowing slightly. “Your actions have preserved what remains of the Nexus. You have our… gratitude. But this place is no longer safe for it. It must leave.”
Vechkov crosses his arms and fixes the shimmering being with a sharp gaze. “I’m not going to regret this, am I?” he asks, his voice carrying a mix of caution and humor. “Because if this comes back to bite Ungstir — or me — there’s gonna be a reckoning.”
The being pauses, tilting its head slightly. Its glowing eyes dim for a moment, then brighten as it responds, its tone calm but firm. “Regret… is a construct of uncertainty. Your actions have preserved the Nexus, ensuring the knowledge and identity of a lost civilization endure. Your world was never its intended home.”
It steps closer, its metallic plating glinting faintly in the light. “The Nexus will not return to Ungstir. It will not endanger your people. Its purpose lies elsewhere… among the stars.”
The Phyrrian, standing nearby, nods slightly. “The entity appears sincere. Its priority is preservation, not conquest or harm.”
Zara exhales sharply, holstering her sidearm. “Well, that’s about as reassuring as we’re going to get, I guess.”
The shimmering being turns back to the Nexus, gesturing toward the vessel. Tendrils of light extend from the ship, wrapping gently around the crate. The Nexus hums softly as it’s lifted into the air, its etchings glowing in perfect rhythm with the runes on the ship.
The being looks at Vechkov one last time. “Your choices here have ensured survival. Whatever regrets you carry… this will not be one of them.”
With that, the being steps back into the shadows, and the vessel begins to ascend, its glow fading as it vanishes into the darkness above. The hum of its engines fades, leaving the cavern silent.
Zara breaks the quiet, her voice wry. “Well, that was… something. Think we’ll ever see them again?”
Vechkov shakes his head slowly, watching as the last glimmers of the ship’s light fade into the darkness beyond the access tunnel. “Probably not,” he says, voice low and contemplative. He lets out a breath, then glances around the cavern, eyes scanning the deep shadows and rust-streaked walls. “But it makes me wonder what else is hiding in the nooks and crannies of this cracked planet,” he murmurs, his tone carrying a mix of curiosity and resignation.
Zara gives a dry chuckle, kicking at a loose piece of rubble with her boot. “Ungstir’s full of surprises, alright. First, it’s a ghost story about shadows in the mines, next thing you know, we’re babysitting alien tech that almost turned the place into a crater. What’s next, a wormhole in the tavern bathroom?”
Jurka steps forward, its optics glowing steadily. “The unknown is both a threat and an opportunity. Your actions today mitigated the former while embracing the latter. Ungstir’s depths may yet hold further secrets.”
Zara snorts. “Great. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”
Vechkov glances at Zara, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Guess we’ll have to keep an eye out. For now, let’s get out of here before the authorities decide their six-hour grace period is up.”
The group makes its way back toward the lift, the tension in the air giving way to an uneasy calm. The hum of the Nexus is gone, but the faint sense of being watched lingers — this time, not by something hostile, but by the unseen mysteries still buried deep within Ungstir’s cracked shell.
For now, though, they’ve done their part to preserve the fragile balance between survival and discovery.