[AgentZero]

Back to the Beginning

Bing!

Lieutenant James Kennedy Kagan, Craft Commander in His Majesty's Space Exploration Corps, shifted sleepily and tried to find a more comfortable position in his chair.

Bing!

"Mrrfeckoff," he mumbled as he tried to get back to the altogether more pleasant dream he'd been having before he was tugged back to reality by that insistent-

Bing!

"Bing?" he muttered. His eyes opened reluctantly. "Bing?" he said again, as if uncertain he'd heard himself right the first time.

Bing! His console confirmed helpfully.

James eyed the console sceptically. "There's not supposed to be any bings out here," he informed it.

Bing! It replied just the same.

He tapped a few commands into the console and it brought up a spherical three dimensional holographic display with a rather impressive snap-whizzzz noise. In the centre was an icon representing his craft. It wasn't a ship, because it was too small, so they called it a craft. Which was, of course something the Navy boys were always helpful enough to remind him every time he had the good misfortune of running into one. But it was his craft and at least he didn't have to go about saluting every tight assed-

Bing!

"Riiight," he said softly, pulling his thoughts back to the present. There was his craft, in the middle of the display. About five centimetres out from his craft's icon (or about five hundred thousand kilometres in real terms), was a green sphere which represented his craft's sensors' maximum optimum scanning range. Also known as the furthest distance he could get a real good look at something for the less pedantic amongst us. Five centimetres out from the green sphere was a blue sphere which represented the sensors mid-range, which didn't mean too much except that things inside that sphere looked slightly less fuzzy than things outside it. And another five centimetres out from that was an orange sphere (interestingly, there is not a living soul in the Empire who knows who came up with these colours, or why. It's just the way things are), which represented maximum sensor range. Things outside of this sphere couldn't be seen and wouldn't show up on the map unless you already knew they were there. Which would, of course, entirely defeat the purpose of the fancy holographic display.

And anything entering that orange sphere which wasn't already known, and therefore supposed to be there would immediately cause the craft's console to

Bing!

Since it was an exploration craft, and therefore meant to investigate such things. James leaned forward and squinted at the display. Anything of significance would show up as a bigger dot on the screen, though of course the bing wouldn't be any louder, the console only having one volume setting.

Bing!

"I know, I know," James growled. "Yer a bleedin' bing and damn proud of it, aren't ya? Well yer a feckin' small lil' bing too I'll tell ya that. Not even worth my while. Wouldn't even bother with ya if it wasn't what they were feckin' payin' me for, ya bollocks." And with that, he turned his craft towards the bing and throttled up to full power. The surge of acceleration had the unfortunate effect of intensifying the after effects of a significant quantity of Tennessian whisky and he popped a couple Stim-Pills™ into his mouth to calm his roiling stomach.

Bing!

"I'm [censored] comin' already!" he snarled at the console before giving the flashing red light a good smack to stop the bings. At full speed it would still take a good few hours to reach the bing so he settled back and stared at it slowly getting closer through hooded eyes. Probably would turn out to be nothing. Piece of space debris most likely, maybe a chunk of rubbish ejected by some Navy boys in there big fancy ship. Might be interesting though. Maybe a comet no one had ever seen before. They'd have to name it after him then. Kagan's Comet they'd call it.

'Oi, Paddy, have ya heard of dis Kagan's Comet?'
'No, Mick. The [censored] is it?'
'Big ****in' comet 'bout to smash into us it is.'
'Ah, fer [censored]'s sake! Now who's gone and done that?'
'Well, I could be wrong but I'm figurin' it'd be this Kagan fellah.'
'Well who the [censored] is he?!'
'Some ****in' bollocks up in a spaceship, I imagine.'
'Craft, Mick. It's called a craft coz it's too bleedin small for them to call it a ship.'
'Fair enough, Paddy. Ya comin for a pint?'
'Well the missus made me swear off of 'em but I suppose there'd be no harm in it now, now would there?'
'There wouldn't for sure, Paddy.'

James Kagan shook himself awake and looked at his console. The bing was well inside the green sphere now and his console had provided a handy readout of what the sensors had managed to uncover.
Metallic. Hollow. Low power readings. No emissions signature. Best guess (called Highest Probability by the computer, since computers hate to admit they guess): an escape pod, likely of Terran manufacture.
"An escape pod?" said James. "Now that would be most interesting, now wouldn't it. Aye, it would. Most interesting indeed."

Psychiatric Assessment Scheduled flickered across his console's display screen.

"Bollocks," he replied accusingly. He then instructed his craft to take position above the pod and match it's course and speed. That done, he fired the grappling hooks and pulled the pod into his craft's docking bay, then trotted down to the quarantine area to watch the proceedings.

First, one of the general purpose robots sauntered up to the pod and opened it’s main hatch just far enough to perfectly obscure James’ view of the inside. Then, one of the little Medi-bots trotted up to the pod and hopped inside. Moments later there came a high-pitched yowl and the unmistakeable sound of flesh and bone repeatedly smacking metal. Moments after that the Medi-bot scurried back out of the pod and approached James to report.

‘One subject. Human. Female. No harmful organisms detected on subject. No harmful organisms detected in subject. No organisms harmful to subject detected. Subject aggregate health rating: Below Average. Recommend immediate attention.’

“OK,” said James and opened the quarantine room door. He approached the pod carefully. The Medi-bot had said there were no harmful organisms on or in this human female, but hadn’t mentioned whether or not the human female might be a harmful organism herself. He sidled up against the pod’s hatch door, peeked around the corner and was immediately hit by a blast of cool air. Curious, he poked his head a bit further around the corner to the point where he could see where a coolant pipe had become exposed, which would be keeping the inside of the pipe downright chilly. Stepping fully around the door, he got his first look at the pod’s occupant, a girl huddled up on the pod’s barren bed.

The first thing he noticed was her jet black hair and large green eyes. Which was rather odd since one would have thought that the first thing he would notice would be her curvaceous petit figure, or perhaps the fact that she was completely and utterly naked. But no, he noticed the hair and the eyes. Odd how the brain works sometimes. Of course, the curves and nakedness were swiftly noticed, and James suddenly found a particular section of the ceiling unusually fascinating.

“Gorgeous naked girl in need of rescue,” he said to himself. “This day is looking up.” He then returned his gaze to her, being very careful to keep his eyes on hers. “Are ya alright there?” he asked.

“Skree mit ga jawa!” she accused him.
“Come again?” he replied. “Speako the Standard, yeah?”
“Skree mit ga jawa! Ber gitvik mesh porrah!”
“OK,” he drawled. “Me no be understanding you, comprendez?”
“Kerrick mick ganna! Mick ganna morjana!”
“Ah, yeah, Mick’s grand,” James replied reassuringly. “Now why don’t ya come on outta there and we’ll fix you up with some clothes and let the doc-bot have a good look at ya, hmmm?”
“Per jo maganashae! Fer skree mit ga jawa!”
“Of course. Now come on out,” he beckoned her towards him with one hand. “Come on.”
“Nasha mit gona shaemagana,” she threatened.
“I’m sure it is,” he agreed. “Now come on out, you’ll catch your death of cold in there. Come on, and we’ll get ya some nice warm food.” He made an eating gesture with one hand while rubbing his stomach with the other. This seemed to catch her attention and she inched forwards on the bed.
“Pega?” she asked, mimicking his eating gesture. “Pega?”
“Sure,” he replied. “All the pega you want.”

She got up off the bed and stretched, causing James’ knees to feel suddenly very, very weak. Stepping out of the pod she stopped suddenly and held up her index finger.
“Per mek donna shogna, berrek fon ja mit gona fendald,” she warned. “Konda ven forga shen vekmora.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, leading her over to the lockers. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

He handed her the smallest jumpsuit he could find and helped her into it. It a loose fit on her small frame, but the stretchy shoes fit snugly and she smiled gratefully at him as he did up the jumpsuit’s front fastener.

“Now then,” he said. “In all the excitement I appear to have forgotten my manners.” He laid one hand on his chest and said, “James,” then pointed to her.
“Sara,” she replied chipperly.
“Sara,” he repeated, whereupon she slapped him hard across the chest.
“Getz!” she exclaimed. “Met Sara gona fez fana ga shenda mala! Forga shappa naz vena borokunasha vak dana vak fana vak shenda morka mick konda dona ja mit forga bonnashava korgu monshenda vak gorra mak skree jawa vey!”
“Um, sorry?” James tried.
“Sah-RAH,” she enunciated for him, then tapped her chest for emphasis. “Sah-rah.”
“Sah-rah,” he repeated cautiously, his chest still stinging.
“Cha! Jam-ez,” she replied happily, then patted his shoulder before making the eating gesture again.
“Ah, right,” he remembered with a nod. “Pega.”
“Pega,” she agreed with a firm nod.

He brought her to the kitchen and the two of them squeezed in at a table meant to be a tight fit for one. James pointed to bring her attention to the food dispenser and gave a silent demonstration of how it worked. After pressing the large green button (appetizingly labelled 'Dispense'), he held up a finger to indicate she should wait, and held it up until the small red light beside the button flashed green. Then, slid open the dispensers door and pulled out a freshly heated meal pack. He pulled open the foil covering and Sara emitted a hungry growl as the small room filled with the aroma of roasted vegetables. James pushed the pack over to her and she dug in eagerly with the provided utensils. She skewered what looked like a large piece of carrot, stuffed it into her mouth, chewed and swallowed, then smiled at him.
"Yum," she said happily.
"That bit I understood," he replied with a smile of his own. "And you know the great thing about these? It may look and taste like a simple plate of roast vegetables, but one of those actually has all the vitamins, minerals, etc that you need for a whole day."
"Graak," she said, polishing off the last bit of 'onion' then reached over and pushed the Dispense button. James tried to object but Sara held up a finger over his lips until the red light flashed green, then she removed the meal pack and got stuck into a synthi-steak dinner.
"No, see," James protested feebly. "You don't need another because one contains all the nutrients your body can use for a full day so-" He stopped and stared in astonishment as having polished off the synthi-steak in what must have be a Galactic record time, Sara again punched the dispense button and cackled with glee as she tore into a plate of synthi-fish.
James, who stood head and shoulders over her, and was easily twice her mass had only once managed to finish two meal packs in one day, and this petit young thing had just polished off two and was well into her third in less than ten minutes.
"I really don't think you should- Ah, hell you can't even understand me anyway," he sighed before falling silent. Sara quietly dispensed another meal pack and took a few bites before she stopped and stared at him. When he failed to react to her gaze, she made a beckoning gesture. James frowned at her in confusion.
"Mika mika mika," she said in a sing song voice while using her fingers and thumb to make a little talking 'head' with her hand.
"You want me to keep talking?" James asked, confused.
"Orton mika," she replied, repeated the same hand gestures.
James shrugged and obligingly began chatting inanely about his job, galactic politics, war rumours, the latest vidshows, and was well into a monologue on the difference between a ship and a craft, when Sarah, after taking one taste of her seventh meal pack, politely asked him to pass the salt.
"There you are," he replied, passing her the salt shaker. "Now, as I was saying, while most craft have only polarized hull plating to did you just ask me to pass the salt?"
"Yes," she replied. "Oh, right. Thank you. Always forgetting that I am."
"But you don't speak Standard," James said, ignoring all evidence to the contrary.
"I didn't," she replied. "But I do now."
"How?" he asked incredulously.
She shrugged. "The grammar and syntax were pretty easy, I'd gotten those figured out while I was still naked. The hard part was deciphering your language to the point where I could translate words I’d never seen before. Like salt.”
“How?” he asked again.
“I’m a pra- no that’s not it,” she frowned. “I’m a pre- no. Pro... prod... prodigy. That’s what I’m looking for. I’m a prodigy. With a very special gift when it comes to languages.”
“Ah,” said James. “How?”
Sarah giggled. “Well, I’ve got a cerebral implant, too, that speeds things up a bit. I’m still a prodigy though, but without the implant it would have taken me a few days instead of hours.”
“Handy, that,” James told his fork.
“Well our languages are actually quite similar,” she said.
“Says you, prodigy,” he replied. “I didn’t have a clue what you were on about.
Whatever her reply was going to be was cut off as the general quarters alarm screamed to life.
“Yeek!” went Sara as she dived under the table.
“[censored]!” went James as he sprang to his feet.
“[censored]!” went James as he clobbered his head on the low ceiling.
“Careful,” Sara called from under the table, but James was already racing to the bridge. “Mick yok dunger,” she muttered before running after him.

“Pirates,” James said tightly as she entered.
“Are they friendly?”
“Pirates are never friendly. They don’t let friendly people into the Pirate’s Guild.”
“Pity. Do we have any guns?”
“Four.”
“That good.”
“Only two work. And they’re designed for clearing asteroids. Slowly.”
“That’s bad. What are we going to do?”
“We,” James declared gallantly. “Are going to run very fast the other way.”
“Good plan. We’re faster than them?”
“Nowhere near it. But we should be able to make it to the nearest transit point before they’re in weapons range.”
“How long will that take?”
“One hour fifty eight minutes.”
“And how long till they’re in weapons range?”
“One hour fifty nine minutes.”
“Oh, my.”