Mission Briefing

[Cptn Elias Moore 0]

NX-05 Challenger

Mission Briefing -- September 18, 2155

 

A strong gust of wind whips at the shrubs, but the four-winged jaybirds of Kappa Persei V stay perfectly still among the branches. They are too focused on their late afternoon meal--the firepillars crawling about the broad silver leaves. They won't be deterred by a mere gust of wind any more than they were deterred by the commotion that took place several minutes ago within the small wooden shack nearby.

 

Suddenly, the entire flock flutters out of the bushes and scatters away, leaving their precious meal behind. In just a few moments, they are all in the sky and soaring as far away from the area as they can get. Their behavior would seem odd to a casual observer, since no disturbance was apparent in the area. But animals lifeforms are known to possess a curious sense of the 'paranormal.'

 

With an audible pop that sends another gust of wind through the surrounding shrubs, three figures appear outside the door of the wooden shack. This is the sort of disturbance that would be blatantly apparent to a casual observer.

 

Standing just in front of the other two, the tallest of the figures is an extraordinally old-looking man. Long hair of pure white hangs from both his head and his chin. He is oddly dressed, with a silver-colored robe (metallic, it seems) dropping from his shouders right down to his ankles and a tall, blue, cone-shaped hat, its point hanging just to the side, perched atop his head. At his side he holds a long shaft of what appears to be ivory; he plants it into the ground like a walking stick, and the fist-sized blue crystal at its top is just beside his head. His eyes, as blue as the crystal atop the walking stick, sweep quickly over the shack as he speaks in a gentle voice. "They are no longer here, I am afraid."

 

"Wormwaffles!" The woman behind his left shoulder whines. She is not at all pleasant-looking. Her hair is not as long as her older companion's, but it is decidedly unkempt, a large black tangle with irregular grey streaks. Sitting most precariously atop the mess is a cap much like her companion's, but it is shorter, dark brown, and sports a wide brim. She wears a large moss-green dress that is stained and tattered, and an offensive smell is drifting from the vials of various-colored liquids stuffed into the sash around her waist. A giant wart sticks out from the tip of her long, crooked nose. "And old Boneshaker went to all the trouble of finding this place!"

 

"Yes, a shame, Zayel." The old man says. "But I think that what awaits us inside is far more terrible than the poor timing of Boneshaker's divinations."

 

"Yes..." The man behind his right shoulder unexpectedly speaks up in a ravenous-sounding drawl. Not much of this one can be seen, as he is covered from head to toe in a hooded robe of deep black. Even his hands are concealed within the long sleeves. His form is hunched over slightly, but the sleeves and hood of the robe wave around fluidly as he speaks. "There is... death inside. The smell of it hangs about the place... like flies around rotting meat."

 

"Oh, Pitpimples!" Zayel gasps. "You and your grotesque imagery, Morvis."

 

"I think, dear Zayel, that we must steel ourselves for the grotesque truth." The old man lifts up his walking stick and points the crystal at the door. He gives the stick a sharp twirl, and the door suddenly swings open.

 

The first sight that greets them is blood. Zayel winces at the sight of it, and the cloaked Morvis leans forward even more, sleeves fluttering hungrily, but the old man simply returns his walking stick to his side, expression and posture unaffected. "Morvis, if you will accompany me. Zayel, you'll be happy to know that you have no need to come inside. Remain here and keep watch." The old man steps across the threshold, followed by Morvis, who seems to glide rather than step.

 

"Five of them." The old man observes as he looks around the shack's interior. "But six beds... three stacks of two. Simply an excess, or is there one person missing?"

 

"Oh my." Morvis says, leaning over one of the bodies. "What freed you from the bonds of life, my friend?"

 

"Morvis?" The old man glances at him.

 

"Many small wounds." Morvis answers, sounding almost delighted. One of his sleeves reaches down and brushes across the body. "Many, many, oh so many. Their insides have been scrambled."

 

"That sounds consistent with the capabilities of our quarry." The old man responds. His eyes make another sweep across the cramped room... a half-opened door leading to a tiny lavatory... an opened chest containing food rations, weapons, and other inconsequential supplies... and a long table against the wall opposite the beds, four chairs in front of it. He walks over to the desk and glances over its contents. Two of the chairs face a computer terminal with various displays showing diagrams, documents, and technical readouts. On either side of the terminal are large jumbles of vellum sheets, some stuffed into folders, others simply scattered across the table's surface, and small crystalline data disks. "Busy bees. Messy too."

 

"What do you expect from common criminals?" Morvis says. He was already onto an examination of the third body.

 

"Indeed, Morvis. But we know that Quantus, while he may be a criminal, is quite uncommon. He would do nothing without a clear purpose. I do not understand why he would kill the men who work for him."

 

"Perhaps he was aware that we would be coming." Morvis' hood bobs around as if the figure underneath is sniffing the air. "And sought to remove anyone tied to this place... to avoid their giving away vital information."

 

"It was Boneshakers' divination of this slaughter that brought us here. But, alas, that point leads to a discussion of fate, prophecy, and causality that I am afraid would take us around in spectacularly perplexing circles... so I will remain open to your possibility." The old man points his staff at the computer terminal and waves it around in intricate motions. After a few seconds, the crystal at the end pulses and glows with an inner light. "I have noticed, however, that many of the starmaps on these documents scattered about the table... match this map displayed on the screen here. They seem to have recently been obsessed with this area on the map here. I would say that this is a good trail to follow."

 

Morvis stands up and looks around at the bodies. "What do we do about *them*?"

 

The old man turns away from the table. "A proper burial would be the decent thing to do. Morvis, if you will." He nods and strides out of the shack.

 

The cloaked figure clears his throat, then raises his sleeves into the air and begins a deep rythmic chant full of harsh guttural syllables. The sleeves dance around as the chant continues, and the shack trembles slightly as the stone floor begins to crack and split. Holes open underneath the five bodies and swallow them up into the earth. As Morvis' chant slows to a stop, the holes in the floor close up. When he is finished, the stone is completely restored, even cleaned of the blood.

 

When the three figures are again standing together outside the shack, they join hands and close their eyes in concentration. It is right after they vanish that Challenger enters the system...