
PH34R M3: Chapter 1
Commander Althar sat in the command chair aboard the Mon Calamari cruiser Islander. He was directing his crew against a group of renegade pirates who were terrorizing a small colony on Druckenwell. Things were going well.
"Sir, the enemy is retreating," said his Mon Cal first officer.
Althar's whiskers wiggled happily. "Good. Have our fighters take care of any stragglers."
"Yes sir."
They watched several of their own fighters surround the enemy ships. The pirates surrendered and the fighters began escorting them towards the cruiser.
An alarm began to wail from the defense station. "Sir! We've lost all our shields!"
The Commander turned quickly. "We what?"
"Comms are down," reported another crewman.
"Restart them."
"I can't, Sir. The entire program seems to have been erased."
"Environmental systems have stopped working," another crewman shouted.
Althar was flabbergasted. What was going on with his ship? Systems were going down left and right. The gods only knew what would be next.
That's when it happened.
They heard the first explosion, but had no time to react. Fire swept through the cruiser, enveloping it in flame. They never had a chance.
Outside, the fighter pilots could only watch as the Mon Cal cruiser exploded, taking out a few of their own ships at the same time.
Calin Thermod hated his job. It was boring picking up debris from destroyed ships. Sure, seeing the bodies and picking up the odd personal item could be fun at times. However, the circumstances behind the destruction of this ship freaked him out. All anyone knew was that it had blown up.
That's why he was here. Calin had been sent to find the blackbox recorder. He'd been searching the debris for three hours. All he'd found had been body parts and metal from the hull.
A light on his console began to flash. He looked down to see that his sensors had picked up the recorder. "There you are," he said to himself as he began to maneuver his ship towards the small object.
A mechanical arm extended from the small ship. Calin used it to capture the small box that wasn't even black. It was bright orange. The arm retracted back into the hold and deposited the recorder into a small airlock.
Calin waited for the cycle to finish then reached inside for the recorder. The outside was scorched badly. He began to wonder if the data was going to be recoverable at all.
Moving into the cockpit, he put the recorder into the special computer aboard his ship designed to read these types of boxes. The terminal came to life as the computer began its check. Calin watched as random numbers and letters scrolled on the screen. "Just like I thought," he mumbled. "It's all corrupt."
Suddenly the screen went blank. He tapped the keypad. There was no response. "Come on, you stupid computer." He slammed his hand against the monitor.
A blinking cursor appeared at the top left-hand corner of the screen. After a moment, text scrolled across it.
SYSTEM INOPERABLE. DISK DELETED. UNABLE TO REBUILD.
Ghent, chief cryptographer for the New Republic, was stunned. He'd never seen a blackbox with data that couldn't be recovered. He had been trying for three days solid to read the disk to no avail.
"Any luck," Admiral Ackbar asked from behind him.
Ghent shook his head. "Nothing. It's as if the box was inoperable or..." he sighed. "I really don't know."
Ackbar could see how upset the young man was. "If it's unrepairable, then it's unrepairable." He laid a flippered hand on the cryptographer's shoulder. "It will be written off as an accident. There wasn't even enough left of the ship to give an idea of what happened, other than the engine exploded."
"I'm sorry," Ghent said as he turned around. "I just wish I knew what killed all those people."
"So do I," said the Mon Calamari. "So do I."