Chapter 11
Er'dox
I'd been monitoring the power grid for six days when the equipment bay on deck sixty-two had been sealed for three years, officially decommissioned after a minor radiation leak made it unsuitable for standard operations.
The repair costs hadn't justified the expense, so it had been marked as restricted space and forgotten.
Except someone hadn't forgotten.
I stood outside the bay with Vaxon, watching his security team run preliminary scans through the sealed door. The power signature Dana had detected was real, concentrated energy reserves that had no business existing in decommissioned space.
"No life signs inside," one of Vaxon's officers reported. "But the power readings are off the charts. Whatever's in there is active."
"Could be automated," Vaxon said. "Set up and left to run without direct supervision."
"Possible. But someone had to access this bay regularly to maintain the equipment and monitor accumulation rates." I pulled up access logs on my portable interface. "According to official records, this bay hasn't been entered in three years."
"Which means whoever's accessing it is falsifying logs." Vaxon's expression was grim. "That level of system manipulation requires expertise and authorization I don't like thinking about."
The door mechanism was standard security-grade, designed to keep unauthorized personnel out while allowing emergency access. I interfaced with the control panel, running diagnostic checks while Vaxon's team maintained defensive positions.
"Ready?" I asked.
Vaxon nodded once, his hand resting on his weapon. "Open it."
The door slid aside with a hiss of equalized pressure. Emergency lighting activated automatically, revealing an interior that should have been empty storage but was instead filled with equipment I recognized immediately.
Communication array. Not Zandovian design, human design, or close enough that the architecture was unmistakable. Salvaged components integrated with improvised power systems, all feeding into a transmission array pointed at the bay's external hull.
"That's a beacon," Vaxon said. "Powerful enough to broadcast across star systems."
"More than a beacon. That's a targeted communication array." I moved closer, studying the configuration with professional interest despite the circumstances. "Designed to send directed transmissions to specific coordinates rather than omnidirectional distress signals."
One of the security officers was scanning the equipment. "Power reserves are at ninety-three percent capacity. By my calculations, this could transmit for approximately five point eight hours at full strength."
"Transmit what?" Vaxon asked. "And to whom?"
I examined the array's control system, careful not to trigger anything. The interface was partially human design, similar to what I'd seen in Bail's shelter, but more sophisticated. Someone had spent months perfecting this integration.
"There's stored data," I said, pulling up the transmission queue. "Heavily encrypted. I can't decode it without specialized equipment, but the file size suggests... extensive information. Technical specifications, maybe. Tactical data."
"Blueprints," Vaxon said flatly. "They're planning to send Mothership's technical specifications to someone."
The implication was staggering. If hostile forces obtained detailed schematics of Mothership's systems, power distribution, defensive capabilities, structural vulnerabilities. They could exploit that information in ways that would endanger every being aboard.
"We need to trace the intended recipient," I said. "The array has targeting coordinates programmed in. If we can identify where this transmission was meant to go—"
Proximity alarms shrieked through the bay.
"Someone's accessing the power reserves," Vaxon's officer announced. "Remote activation. They're initiating the transmission sequence!"
I dove for the control system, fingers flying across the interface to abort the sequence. But the activation protocols were sophisticated—layered security requiring authorization I didn't have, designed specifically to prevent exactly what I was attempting.
"Vaxon, I need to physically disconnect the power feed," I said. "Buy me thirty seconds."
"You've got it. Team, defensive positions. If anyone tries to enter this bay, they don't get past us."
I traced the power conduits to their physical connection points, identifying the critical junction that fed the entire array. Disconnecting it would require bypassing safety protocols designed to prevent accidental power surges.
Good thing I'd spent four years learning exactly how to bypass every safety protocol on Mothership.
Twenty seconds. The transmission sequence continued its countdown, each second bringing us closer to broadcasting sensitive data to unknown recipients.
Fifteen seconds. My hands found the primary conduit, fingers working to release the magnetic couplings that held it in place.
Ten seconds. The couplings released with a satisfying click. I began pulling the conduit free, feeling the resistance of active power flow trying to maintain connection.
Five seconds.
I yanked the conduit completely free just as the transmission sequence hit zero. The array powered down with a dying whine, its accumulated energy reserves suddenly cut off from their intended purpose.
"Transmission aborted," I announced, my heart still racing from the proximity to disaster.
Vaxon was at my shoulder immediately. "Someone tried to activate this remotely. Which means they're monitoring us right now."
"Or they had it set on automatic trigger when we entered the bay." But I didn't believe that. This felt like active intervention. Someone watching, reacting, trying to salvage their plan even as we discovered it.
"Seal this bay completely," Vaxon ordered his team. "No one enters without Captain Tor'van's explicit authorization. And get technical forensics down here—I want every component analyzed, every data file extracted, every connection traced."
I was already pulling diagnostic data from the array's systems, looking for any clue about who had built this.
The integration techniques were familiar in ways that made my engineering instincts itch.
The same creative improvisation I'd seen in human technology.
The same willingness to cobble together incompatible systems until they functioned.
"Er'dox?" Vaxon's voice cut through my analysis. "You recognize this work."
It wasn't a question. He'd seen my reaction.
"The integration methodology resembles human engineering philosophy," I admitted. "Creative adaptation rather than standardized protocols. But more sophisticated than anything the Liberty survivors have demonstrated. Whoever built this had extensive training and time to perfect their techniques."
"So either a human with advanced technical knowledge, or someone who studied human technology extensively." Vaxon pulled up crew manifests on his interface. "That narrows our suspect pool considerably."
"Not necessarily. Anyone with an engineering background could learn these techniques from salvaged equipment. Bail did it alone in a survival shelter." I saved the diagnostic data. "We need to analyze the stored transmission. The content will tell us what they were trying to accomplish."
"Captain Tor'van wants both of us on the bridge for a briefing in twenty minutes," Vaxon said. "Bring everything you've got. This just became priority one."
We left the bay under heavy security guard, heading for the bridge through corridors that felt more ominous than usual.
Someone aboard Mothership had built a covert communication array capable of transmitting sensitive data.
Someone with technical expertise, system access, and willingness to cause casualties to protect their operation.
Someone who was still out there, watching, waiting for their next opportunity.
The bridge was crowded when we arrived—department heads assembled for emergency briefing, tactical displays showing the deck sixty-two bay under lockdown. Captain Tor'van stood at the center, his cybernetic eye glowing brighter than I'd seen in months.
"Report," he said without preamble.
I presented my findings with the communication array, the stored transmission, the sophisticated integration of human and Zandovian technology.
Vaxon added his tactical assessment: someone had tried to activate the transmission remotely when we discovered the bay, suggesting active monitoring and willingness to salvage the operation even at risk of exposure.
"The stored data is encrypted," I concluded. "But the file size and structure suggest technical specifications. Detailed information about Mothership's systems."
"Sold to the highest bidder?" Zor'go asked from his security station. "Or transmitted to specific hostile forces?"
"The array has targeting coordinates," Vaxon said. "We're analyzing them now, but preliminary data suggests the transmission was aimed at a location in the Contested Reaches."
The Contested Reaches, borderlands between established territories where pirates, raiders, and various hostile factions operated beyond official jurisdiction. Lawless space where anything could be bought or sold if you had the currency.
"Someone's trying to sell our technical secrets to raiders," Captain Tor'van said flatly. "That's not sabotage. That's treason."
The word hung in the air, heavy with implication. Sabotage was serious. Treason was execution-level offense.
"We still don't know who," I said. "The bay access was falsified. The remote activation came through systems that could have been triggered from dozens of locations. Whoever did this covered their tracks expertly."