Chapter 34: Back on Track

There are SO MANY invaders – and they keep coming, lower and lower! And the more you shoot them, the faster they get! You’ve blasted through dozens of armadas, and it seems like the onslaught will never stop. Suddenly, you feel those weird electrical pulses again, and everything flashes white, and the invaders are… gone.

Melvin sits, panting in the loading chamber. “Where (pant) did (pant) they (pant) go?”

“I… don’t know.” You look out the window and see that man at the high desk waving you back inside. “I guess we go back in?” You and Melvin look at each other and shrug. You slide the cannon back to the left side, so its door lines up with the space station airlock. The door opens, and you head back into the vast chamber, which seems to be faring better. There are some cracks and damage from the assault, but nothing is smoking anymore.

The man in metallic green at the high desk is shuffling some papers… with his… tail?

“Where did they go?” shouts Melvin.

“Where did what go?” he asks in a condescending tone, not looking up.

“Where did those invaders go? One second they were there, and the next they were gone… where did they go?”

The man rolls his eyes. “You mean, where did WE go.”

“What?” asks Melvin, confused.

The man sighs. He has lizard skin, and wears shiny green metallic clothes. He seems to have a long prehensile tail, which currently holds a light green handkerchief with which it dabs his forehead. “The Primary Defense Station, or as we call it, the Mothership, is not in normal space, of course. We hide it in a parallel dimension in the multiverse, so that opponents to the League of Civilized Planets cannot find us. This gives us the element of surprise when we need to attack.”

Melvin raises an eyebrow, not that he has eyebrows. “Seems to me you were pretty surprised by those invaders.”

The man harrumphs. “Yes… very troubling. We’ve never been attacked here before. Our enemies have never had the ability to jump dimensions in the multiverse before.” The tail keeps dabbing his forehead. “Honestly, I’m not even sure what those were. Very troubling.” He takes a drink from a glass of… water? You aren’t sure of anything at this point. “Regardless, when they arrived, I executed emergency protocol 567Z, which transports the Mothership to a different dimension. It uses a tremendous amount of energy, but here we are.”

Melvin is irritated. “You wouldn’t be anywhere if we hadn’t shown up and blasted them with the laser cannon! You think it’s easy flying through space into alien guts?”

The man seems embarrassed. “Yes… well, thank you for your service.” He taps his stack of papers on the desk a few times, straightening them into a neat stack. “So, I presume you are here for an assignment? Which division are you with?” He eyes you critically. “You don’t seem to be in uniform.”

“Solaris Starcruisers!” shouts Melvin excitedly. “That’s the assignment we need!” The man’s eyes grow wide. “The Starcruisers? Surely I would…” he looks over a list, and shakes his head. “The Starcruisers are the galaxy’s most elite fighting force. It takes years of training, and even then, only one out of a thousand are accepted. They recruit exclusively from the Phaser Patrol.” Looking down from his ridiculously high desk, he shakes his head again, frustrated. “What credentials do you have?”

You look at Melvin for help, but suddenly remember the patches that Christa gave you. You pull out the case with the AASA logo. “Uh, right here,” you say, holding it up. A tiny tray slides down the front of his desk like a little elevator, and stops in front of you. You put the case on it, and it slides back up to him. He opens it and squints. “Space Shuttle Pilot?” he scoffs. “What system are you from?”

“Earth, sir,” you say. He puts his face in his hand, and his tail starts wiping his brow again. He takes a deep breath, and speaks deliberately, one word at a time. “Earth is no longer part of the League of Civilized Planets. It does not even have a Space Defense Station.”

Melvin speaks up. “Yes it does! We built it ourselves! How do you think we got here?”

“You… built it… yourselves,” he says, thinking that over. He shakes his head again. “Well, however you got here, I can’t help you. The entire point of this station is to send pilots on dangerous missions, and you do not have the proper qualifications. The multiverse transport is right that way,” he gestures to the platform on which you arrived, and looks back down at his papers.

“Hold on a second,” says Melvin. “What qualifications do we need?”

He rolls his eyes again, and speaks tiredly. “This station gives out assignments for Star Raiders, Star Masters, Phaser Patrol, and very, very occasionally, Star Cruisers. At a minimum, you would need to be a Scout in the Star Raiders for me to assign you to any kind of ship. But you do not have any kind of qualification, other than, apparently, license to drive shuttle buses on…” and he spits the word out as he says it, “Earth.” He slides your patch case off of his desk, and you catch it just before it hits the floor. “Now,” he says absently, “I must solve the problem of how those invaders found us, so I will bid you good day.” His tail hands him a pencil, and he starts scribbling down notes and murmuring to himself.

Just then, you hear the flash noise of the transporter, followed by a clattering. You turn to see a strange sort of robot, really more of a computer on wheels, heading from the transport platform toward you. The computer on wheels rattles as it moves. It has an ancient computer keyboard and a primitive looking screen no more than a foot across. Text appears on the screen, which it reads out loud in its primitive digitized voice. It rolls shakily up to the desk and says “GREETINGS ADMINISTRATOR.”

The man at the desk looks down and sees it, and puts his head in his hands. “Why me? Why today?”

More text appears on the rolling computer’s screen, which it again reads aloud. “TERRAN SYSTEM REQUESTS STARSHIP COMMANDER.”

The man thumps the desk with his tail. “How many times do I have to tell you? We cannot assign you a commander until your ships pass inspection!”

The computer beeps. The screen refreshes and it repeats “TERRAN SYSTEM REQUESTS STARSHIP COMMANDER.”

The Administrator pulls at his hair. “REQUEST DENIED!” he shouts.

The computer beeps again. “I WILL RETURN IN 1 STARDATE,” it says and starts a sort of K turn to begin its return to the platform.

“Wait a minute!” shouts Melvin. “Hey, Administrator! Can we do this Terran thing?”

The Administrator starts turning from green to red. “No!”

“Why not,” asks Melvin. “Aren’t they part of the league?”

The Administrator lets out a long, exasperated sigh. “Yes, the Terrans are technically part of the League. After all, they have the richest Zenbar mines in the known universe. But our pilots are valuable, and the Terran ships have never passed our safety inspections. As a result, I cannot assign anyone, not even lowly Star Raiders, to Terran missions.”

“Because it’s too dangerous,” says Melvin.

“Yes, exactly,” says the Administrator. “I’m glad SOMEONE understands the rules around here.”

“Since it’s so dangerous,” says Melvin, “anyone who survived a Terran mission would have to be qualified for less dangerous missions, isn’t that right?”

You speak up, “Melvin, I don’t like where this is going…”

The Administrator thinks it over, “Well…” he says, “I suppose that’s right…”

Melvin continues, “So, if we complete this mission, we should be at least at the level of a Star Raiders Scout, isn’t that right?”

The Administrator scoffs. “Yes, definitely. A Scout Raider would not be safe in the Terran ‘Warship.’ But all that is irrelevant. I can’t assign any of the pilots on my list to a ship that hasn’t been inspected.”

“I know,” says Melvin, “but we aren’t on your list.”

He looks over the list. “Say… you’re right.”

“But, if we help the Terrans, and come back alive, you’ll have to put us on your list, isn’t that right?”

Enlightenment dawns on his face. “Yes… yes, I suppose that’s true! Yes… yes! If you survive the Terran mission, I’ll have the House of Viceroys off my back, and this rolling contraption out of my life, and if you don’t survive, I won’t have two unlicensed earthlings bothering me anymore. It’s win-win!”

You start to object, but Melvin flies over to the rolling computer. “Well, what do you say? Okay if we pilot your warship?”

The computer screen goes blank, and then reads “PROCESSING…” This text flashes for a while, and then it says “WELCOME STARSHIP COMMANDER.”

“Alright!” shouts Melvin. “Come on, Player! Let’s go!”

The computer starts rolling back to the platform. “Wait a minute!” you shout. Pointing a thumb back at the Administrator, you say “That guy says it isn’t safe!”

“Pffftt,” says Melvin. “That’s all red tape. All space travel is dangerous. How bad could it be?”

“I… oh… whatever,” you say, and hanging your head, follow Melvin and the clanking robot back onto the platform. Again a white flash, and suddenly you, the rolling computer, and Melvin are on a different platform, in some sort of… garage? Is it a space station? You can’t tell. There are no windows, just stained cement walls. There is nothing in the room but a rusty looking metal box, about five feet wide, four feet tall, and eight feet long. Stenciled on the side in crooked letters it says “SUPER WARSHIP,” and underneath that is a crude stenciled picture of a pixelated Starship Enterprise.

You look around. “Okay… these are supplies for your warship, yes? But the warship is… which way?” You look around, and see no doors in the room, though one wall looks like it might be able to open up. The computer rolls over to the rusty metal box, and pulls a handle. The back panel comes loose and falls to the floor with a loud clang.

“Wait… you don’t mean…” You look into the crate, and see two low seats inside, on either side of a small television screen with a single joystick and button in front of it. You nervously read the shaky letters on the green TV screen. “STARFLEET TO STARSHIP COMMANDER YOUR MISSION IS TO DESTROY 20 ALIEN WARSHIPS IN 24 STARDATES.”

“Wait, what?” you say, whirling on the robot. “This rusted old crate is our warship?” You turn to Melvin. “I’m not exaggerating here… this is actually a RUSTED OLD CRATE!”

The robot’s screen is blank for a moment, and then reads “OUR SUPER WARSHIP IS INDESTRUCTIBLE” and then “IT IS ARMED WITH NINE PHOTON TORPEDOES AND A PHASOR ENERGY WEAPON.”

“I’m not getting into a rusted old… wait… If there are twenty alien warships, why are there only nine torpedoes?”

“YOU CAN RELOAD AT OUR SECRET STARBASES.”

“Huh,” you say. That almost makes sense. But... “Hold on… how does this thing move?”

“WARP ENGINES POWERED BY PHASOR ENERGY ENABLE FASTER THAN LIGHT TRAVEL.”

All this time, Melvin has been looking the “ship” over. “It isn’t very comfortable,” says Melvin, but the robot’s right, it has hyperwarp, force shields, weapons, and scanners. And I think it’s airtight?”

“You think?” you say, exasperated. “Melvin, it doesn’t even have windows! How can we see where we are going?”

“SHORT AND LONG RANGE SCANS PROVIDE NAVIGATION DATA TO THE GALACTIC MAP,” explains the robot.

“I know it seems nuts,” says Melvin, “but I think we can do this.”

“But… look at the rust! Where is this thing from, Sears?”

“The rust is probably what holds it together. Come on, let’s do this! It’s our only way to get to Solaris.”

You think that over, and sigh. “I suppose you’re right…”

“Come on!” shouts Melvin, “For the Queen!”

Melvin zips into the box, and you clamber in as well, bending down so as not to hit your head. You climb into the hard metal captain’s chair, which lets out painfully loud squeaks as you swivel it back to see the robot putting the rear panel back in place. The robot’s screen reads “GOOD LUCK STARSHIP COMMANDER,” as it clangs the rear panel back into place.

You hit your reset button, and to your annoyance, the number of aliens and stardates on the screen changes. “Hey! Did you see that? I think this thing is flaky.”

Melvin shrugs. “Well, it never did pass safety inspection.”

You give Melvin a dirty look, and push the button on the console. There is a sudden whoosh, and you find yourself floating weightlessly. “Oh come on,” you say, “not even artificial gravity?”

“Floating’s not bad, once you get used to it,” says Melvin. You both stare at the flaky TV screen in front of you, your only connection to the world outside. “Guess we better start scanning,” says Melvin.

Put the Stellar Track cartridge into your Atari 2600. Set both difficulty switches to b. Play until you destroy all aliens, and get a ranking of Admiral. Post a link to a video in the comments section of yourself completing the challenge.