Published via Ecency

Yes, it's the next episode in the space opera saga of ex tax inspector Fedric ! It's very loosely inspired by two writing prompts in the Worldbuilding community - Worldbuilding Prompt #505 - Insufficient Data and Worldbuilding Prompt #506 - Decoded

The problem is that there are so many great prompts, it's hard to keep the story vaguely on track while still being guided by them as to the direction it goes in !

Image created by AI in Wombo.art

Auditor Grisaille was covered from knees to neck by a Stabilier/Reconstructor, and his face was covered by plastic film while his skin regrew. Holmen looked down at him, and thought that his own radiation burns had been insignificant compared to this.

The nurse looked in. "You've got five minutes, then he has to rest."

Nodding to her, Holmen looked down again at his colleague. "Auditor, I know this isn't a good time, but I need your thoughts. Infomancer Dranton has messaged us that the tax box is not as lost as we thought. It's on a looping inter-dimensional arc, and coming back with enough energy to send Tharwell hypernova. Somehow, we need to stop it. Any ideas how ?"

Holmen knew that as an ASP-Auditor, Grisaille knew the system inside out. He was the man most likely to know how to stop the tax box returning to destroy everything.

From the bed below, Grisaille groaned slightly. It was hard to hear what he was saying; the thick film restricted his movement and speech badly. "Need... retrieval code.... implanted.... subconcious.... in Fedric... brain....."

With that, the badly wounded man lapsed back into insensibility. It would be months before the doctors released him, and by that time there was a good chance that all life in this part of the galaxy would have been extinguished. Captain Holmen would need to find out how this retrieval code was supposed to be used. He knew just who he needed to talk to.

There was a knock on the cubby door. Another over-fed constipated slob who had blocked the disposal, Yavor thought to himself savagely. He pulled his grubby ill-fitting coveralls tighter, put down his cup of lukewarm tea and stood to open the door.

Standing in front of him was a smart GreyASP officer, not what he had expected at all down here. "Toilet attendant sixth grade Yavor ?" he asked. Yavor nodded hesitantly, a sense of panic rising in his breast.

"Or," continued the officer, "Perhaps I should say former Senior Taxmaster Yavor. I am ASP-Captain Holmen. I need some very specific information from you. Urgently. When a tax box is sent to storage, I understand that a retrieval code is implanted into the operative's subconcious without their knowledge. Tell me how it works, and how it is used."

Yavor blinked in surprise. This was not what he'd expected. It took him a few moments to gather his thoughts.

"Well, we have to make sure the same operative retrieves it as sent it away. They enter the co-ordinates, and the equipment probes their brain to get the retrieval code. It's like a two-part encrypted key. Normally it all works fine without it, any operative can bring a box back. But if there's any kind of glitch then it has to be the original operative and the retrieval code enables them to take control and manually guide the box in."

Holmen understood what this meant. It was suddenly clear why the enemy were so keen to either control or destroy Fedric. With him under control, they could increase the energy the box came back with and widen the destruction even further. With him dead, the Empire couldn't stop the box.

He had to get back to base and get Fedric fully protected, more than just being kept safe as he was now.

"Thank you Yavor. You have been most helpful. There will be a promotion in this for you, perhaps you'll even make toilet attendant third grade."

Fedric was bored. Mind-numbingly bored. They'd told him he was being kept here for his own protection, but he felt like a prisoner still. The prison had shielded him from the microtic which had been aimed his way and done so much destruction to the city.

But he had heard this only from overheard conversation. He had been given books to read - actual plasfilm ones - and some solo games to play. But no access whatsoever to a Impienet connection or even 3V broadcasts.

He kept track of time by the meals he was given. The one highlight of his day, even though it was invariably the same bland fare every day. It must be lunchtime now, he could tell because the plate in front of him held some kind of sliced meat and disks of shredded fried vegetables.

That was odd, he thought to himself. He was sure that vege-disk had just moved. There it was again ! Something was inside it, burrowing out. Yuk, it was some kind of cockroach. No, wait.... it was roach-shaped but metal.

Somehow, it gave the unmistakeable impression that it was of Einheriar design.

He looked on in horror as the metallic insect-thing emerged and jumped onto his wrist. With unerring precision, it slid a hair-thin antenna into one of the veins on the back of his hand.

He was just able to get out a short scream before it injected acidic toxin into him followed up by a massive electrical charge, frying his nervous system and killing him instantly.