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                        VECTOR ONE :  "Set Up"

                           by Ryan Mathews

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PROLOGUE:

        Enaia was a quiet planet.  In space, where there is no air
to carry sound, the concept of a "quiet planet" seems a trifle absurd,
and yet, as one approached Enaia, silence was the concept that jumped
to mind.  Not an eerie silence, but a comfortable quiet.  The surface
of the planet was painted in shades of green, yellow, and brown.  The
night side of the planet was perfectly black, with none of the lights
that indicated cities.  Enaia was a utterly unspoiled planet, and
the few thousand inhabitants liked it that way.  So much, in fact,
that they had successfully lobbied the government of the Tralkan
Empire to declare the entire planet an Imperial Park.
        It was for this reason that the cruiser looked very much out
of place as it warped out of infraspace into orbit, rippling the image
of the stars behind it as it stabilized.  The cruiser, an IPC-115
"StarSearcher", was long, sleek, huge, and unmarked, carrying only the
Imperial seal with no secondary seal to indicate the general to which
it was loyal.
        A hatch opened on the planet-facing side of the cruiser and a
single IMP fighter launched.  The fighter, resembling a small jetplane
in design, had wings that curved smoothly forward, with the overhead
appearance of a crescent moon.  The IMP hovered about the cruiser,
waiting.  Suddenly, from circular hatches on the side of the cruiser,
launched twenty to thirty, large, metallic, cylindrical capsules.  The
capsules fell toward the surface and the IMP followed.

        After firing thrusters to break their fall, the capsules and
the IMP made a landing in a vast field of wildgrass.  Despite the
commotion caused by their landing, which set small patches of the
grass on fire, it was a beautiful day.  The sky was a brilliant blue,
the wind was gentle, even the burning grass smelled slightly sweet.
Whatever was happening here, nature obviously couldn't care less.
        About a minute after each capsule landed, it split open to
reveal a man or a woman.  Or, to be more precise, something that used
to be a man or a woman.  The beings inside the capsules had blank,
expressionless faces and white eyes without irises or even visible
pupils.  These were V-slaves, and their presence finally revealed the
operation for what it was:  a covert act by the Imperial Police.
        The V-slaves went about the business of setting up equipment
in a mechanical fashion, with no wasted movement.  Some grabbed
rifles, others climbed into suits of mechanical armor that resembled
walking tanks.  The slaves wearing the mecha suits picked up those
that were not and, firing boosters in the armor's feet, left the IMP
fighter behind.
        Rather than attract attention by flying, the slaves used the
boosters to effect a series of low-altitude jumps.  At the apex of
each leap, the slaves' destination became barely visible.  It was a
single-story building hidden away in a small valley, with no apparent
roads leading away from it.
        V-slaves, having little or no minds of their own, were not
known for their observational powers.  Thus it was not surprising that
none of them noticed when they landed directly in front of a small
sensor hidden in the grass.

        In a laboratory inside the building, a process was going on
that at first glance seemed to be some kind of torture.  A large,
muscular man was strapped to a nearly vertical table.  Scores of
needles protruded from his arms, legs, and torso.  The needles were
connected to wires which led to a large, roughly cylindrical device
that dominated the lab.  The sides of the man's head had been shaved
and he wore a headband to which were attached still more wires.  He
was obviously in a great deal of pain.
        A closer look, however, suggested that the man was going
through this process willingly.  Technicians were constantly talking
to him, reassuring him, wiping the sweat off his brow.
        A tech nudged a lever up slightly and the man grunted in pain.
A tall, black-haired man who appeared to be in charge walked over.
        "Hang in there, Flen.  This'll all be over in a few more
minutes.  Zhon, where are we?" he asked, referring to a younger man
who was seated at a console across the lab.
        "Reading Vector 0.4, Torm."
        "Good, right where we want to be.  Flen, how do you feel?"
        "Like shit, but my mind's intact."  Talking was obviously an
effort.
        "Engaging stablizer," called out yet another tech.
        Torm looked over a set of readouts.  "If Dassni's right, we
should be able to get him to Vector 0.8 without side-effects."
        Suddenly, alarms went off.  The techs scrambled as they
attempted to find the cause.  One found it.  "Oh, *shit*!  Torm!!"
        "What is it?"
        "We got company," he explained, referring to a screen that
gave a view of the outside.  The V-slaves were approaching, making
long jumps with their mecha suits.
        "Oh, gods!  Not NOW!  Engage the security system!"  Torm
shouted at the other techs.  "Get Flen down!  We're under attack!"
        Flen heard his name and tried to concentrate through the pain.
"What...?"

        Torm cursed under his breath as he helped his collegues detach
Flen from the wires and needles.  Of all the times for the attack to
occur, it just would have to happen when they were a matter of minutes
from achieving their goal.  Torm had spent the last three years of
life and nearly every last credit to his name setting up this
facility.  He had either wooed or bought the support of numerous
authorities, including the Council General who was the ultimate
authority for this sector of the galaxy.  Yet Torm had understood
that, eventually, the Imperial Police would discover his little
operation and shut it down, whether they had the support of the
council or not.  He had known this, and he was prepared.  Or at least
he hoped he was prepared.

        The V-slaves reached the wide duralinium doors that led into
the complex.  As they approached, the first phase of the security
system kicked in.  Laser cannons popped out of hidden mounts in the
ground and began to destroy slaves left and right.  That lasted until
two of the slaves wearing mecha suits launched compact missiles.
There was a series of explosions, and the laser cannons ceased to be a
threat.
        Having taken out the long range security, a V-slave approached
the door, only to be instantaneously reduced to ashes by a high-energy
force-field.  This brought the entire company of slaves to a halt, as
they awaited instructions on what to try next.  The orders came, and
one of the slaves that was not driving a suit began to concentrate.
His hair began to whip as if blown by the wind and a swirling energy
effect enveloped his body.  The commander of this force, safe in his
IMP fighter nearly a hundred kilometers away, had not wanted to use
this slave's special ability until he had gotten the force inside the
complex, but it couldn't be helped.

        Back at the lab, the lights went out.
        "What happened?!" yelled Torm, trying to keep his bearings in
the now pitch-black room.
        "Massive EMP burst, sir!" replied Zhon.  Under normal
circumstances, Zhon would never have called Torm "sir", but these were
hardly normal circumstances.  This was war, and a military atmosphere
seemed appropriate.  This atmosphere was enhanced by the presence of
several heavily armed security guards that had joined them just prior
to the blackout.  "We can bring lights and voice communications back
with the auxiliary generators, but our security systems are gone!"
        "Through the shielding?!"  Just like that, thought Torm.
Nearly all my preparations blown to the hells by just one V-slave.
That was the problem with fighting V-slaves.  You never knew what to
expect.  Each V-slave had a special power, and the Imperial Police had
been quite ingenious in inventing new abilities for their slaves to
play with.  The only thing that was in your favor was that a V-slave
tended to die a matter of minutes after activating its power.

        Sure enough, outside, the V-slave that had generated the EMP
burst collapsed and began to disintegrate.  However, it had done its
job, and a suited slave drove its armor up to the door and cut through
it with a high-powered laser.
        As the circular chunk of duralinium fell away, the slaves were
met by the last resort of Torm's security "system", a company of
ten highly-trained security guards with heavy-barreled weapons.  They
opened fire from behind makeshift barriers composed of whatever junk
had been laying around, destroying one of the mecha suits and severely
damaging another, which toppled over on its side.  The non-suited
slaves, for the most part, just stood still and took it, dropping like
flies.  Then, apparently receiving orders, the non-suited slaves took
refuge behind those in the mecha suits, which tried to break through
the line of guards.
        As the slaves began to make progress, one guard lost control
and leaped over the barrier firing wildly and shouting.  "How do you
like that, you soulless bastards?!!  Why don't you take this back to
Corve for me?!"
        One of the slaves that was hiding behind the mecha suits held
out her right hand, palm out, thumb up, open as if she were holding a
large ball.
        The guard felt something closing around his torso.  "Wha--?"
        The slave closed her hand into a fist.
        "AAAARRRRRGGGGHH!"  The guard's scream was cut off as he
choked on red-purple blood that gushed out his mouth, nose, and ears.
He dropped his weapons and fell to the floor, his torso visibly
crushed.
        "Zeff!"  Aiming between the mecha suit's legs, a female guard
shot the slave dead, but it was too late.  Over the protests of her
collegues, she leapt the barrier, apparently to retrieve Zeff's body.
Unfortunately, before she got there, she passed the suit that had been
damaged.  The pilot of the suit hopped up and faced her.  As she
pulled up her weapon she somehow knew she wasn't going to make it.
The slave's mouth opened until it was wider than his head and a
torrent of acid came flooding out, even as she shot him.  The guard
and the slave disintegrated together.
        The other guards hadn't fired now for nearly twenty seconds,
for fear of hitting one of their own.  This gave the slaves the
opening they needed.

        The lights had returned at the lab, but the viewscreens were
all blank.  Flen sat on the floor, recovering, surrounded by guards.
Techs worked frantically to remove a secondary device attached to the
cylindrical object in the center of the room.  Thanks to the EMP
burst, it would no longer function, but that didn't matter.  If the
Imperial Police got their hands on it, Corve's scientists could still
figure out how it worked.
        "Dammit, Zhon, what's happening?" demanded Torm.
        "The cameras were taken out by the EMP, sir, there's no way
to tell!"
        A sizzling noise was heard, and the attention of everyone in
the room was drawn to the duralinium plate that now covered the
entrance.  A hole was being burned in it as a V-slave simply walked
through, collapsing as it entered the lab.  A tech grabbed a pistol
mounted on the wall and rushed an incoming slave.  The slave shot
beams from her eyes straight through his chest, spraying the floor
purple with blood.  A guard killed the slave with his rifle.
        Torm decided that priorities had to be set.  "Fall back!
Protect Flen!"
        "No," said Flen, muttering through the pain.
        Torm watched in horror as Flen forced himself to his feet,
shaking and grimacing.
        "No one else is going to die here if I can help it."  Flen
closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, the irises and pupils
had vanished, leaving only white.
        "Flen, no!" shouted Torm.  He couldn't do this!  It was
suicide!  It was the violation of everything they'd worked for!
        "You can't!" agreed Zhon.  "You're not stable!"
        Flen moved out of the circle toward the door.  "They're going
to destroy all our work.  I can't allow that."
        Two more V-slaves found their way to the lab and entered.  One
began to shoot flames from his hands, not seeming to mind that his
arms were being burned off.  Flen concentrated, and a brilliant beam
of light shot from the palm of his right hand, vaporizing the slave.
The other he destroyed before it could even activate its power.
        "Taste of your own medicine!" Flen yelled.  "How do *you* like
it?!"
        Torm watched, grieving.  Flen was already dead.  There was
almost no difference between what they had done to him and how
V-slaves were "manufactured".  The only difference was that the
stabilizer had allowed him to keep his mind.  A few minutes more, and
he might have been able to keep his life as well.  Now they would
never know. 
        Yet another slave entered, this one carrying a gun.  Flen
fired, but the beam bounced off a force-field and punched a hole in
the ceiling.  The slave fired and hit him in the left leg, crushing
his knee and collapsing him.  Flen strained and fired again, this time
with both hands.  He kept the beams continuous, and the energy
radiated from the impact point, drawing a black circle on the floor,
ceiling and both walls.
        "FLEN, NO!!!!"  Maybe if he stops now, thought Torm.  Maybe
there's hope, maybe we can still--
        The slave's force-field collapsed and he was vaporized.  At the
same time, Flen let out a blood-curdling scream and began to glow so
brightly that no one could look at him.  When the light died, nothing
was left of Flen but a charred patch on the floor.
        Torm was so stunned, he didn't notice as still another V-slave
entered the lab.  This one also had the ablity to deflect the gun
blasts that were fired at it, but this power came from a different
source, as was proven when the device that the techs had been trying
so hard to remove flew into the slave's hand.  Skates popped out of
the slave's boots and it seemed to vanish as it left as fast as its
telekinesis could propel it.
        Within a matter of seconds it had reached the IMP fighter.
The cockpit opened and the slave handed the device to the pilot.  The
IMP took off, scattering the ashes of the disintegrating slave.

        A tech approached Torm with some handwritten notes.  "Reports
coming in.  All the remaining slaves have self-destructed."
        "Of course they did.  They got what they wanted.  Oh gods,
Flen, this isn't fair."  Torm stared at the charred patch that was
Flen's memorial.
        Zhon appeared, a look of triumph on his face.  "Hey!  Look
what I found!"  He had a small male V-slave by the arm.  It gave no
resistance, and walked where he led it.  "It must've malfunctioned!
This is evidence, man!  I'm going to take this dude and march him
right into the Council chambers!  LET'S SEE CORVE LAUGH THIS ONE
OFF!!"
        The slave's head suddenly snapped up, and it gave a shrill,
ear-piercing shriek.  Well, thought Torm, at least we went down
fighting.
        There was a brilliant flash of light.
        There was an infernal burst of heat.
        There was a horrible wind.
        And when the light had faded, and the wind had died, Enaia was
once again a quiet planet.

Copyright (c) 1991, Ryan Mathews, Larry Mann.  VECTOR ONE, including
all prominent characters, are trademarks of Ryan Mathews and Larry
Mann.