It was late, even by the standards of the young Prime, who spent hours each night poring over the dense historical volumes. Dexter sat cross-legged on the military-style cot, his eyes closed and his hands on his knees, palms turned upward. Only the dying flicker of candlelight illuminated the room.
The history books went into great detail concerning telepathy, particularly where Tearan Wover appeared. Debilitating foes with a barrage of mental images, implanting fears and compulsions into their behavior, speaking to allies across great distances and even across the many realms of the Omniverse. The list of abilities extended far beyond telepathy, Dexter soon learned. Other Primes could command the elements, become invisible, grow to gargantuan proportions or shrink to the size of a cell phone, and even manipulate the flow of time. While these abilities were impossible on Earth, at least at the point on the timeline in which Dexter had existed, nevertheless there appeared to Dexter to be an underlying logic, a binding set of principles keeping all Primes in check and preventing the Omniverse from being torn apart by the violation of its physical laws. It called to mind the words of Arthur C. Clarke, from Earth: Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Dexter felt he had stumbled upon a place where Clarke’s words were put to the test, and passed.
As his second week in Gizmo Labs came to an end, Dexter felt more tension growing between him and his hosts. He sensed instinctively that the request for him to retrieve the mysterious schematics was imminent. There would be danger, he assumed--some threat that prevented Gizmo, seemingly a more powerful Prime than Dexter, from putting himself in harm’s way. Given their proclivity for falsehoods, he suspected their request would be laden with half-truths and a downplaying of the risks. If Dexter had learned one thing in his two-week tenure at the labs, it was that Gizmo was single-minded in his hatred of the Empire, and anyone who joined in his crusade was expendable.
Not that Dexter disagreed, necessarily. The history of the Omniverse didn’t view Palpatine and the Empire favorably, describing their rise to power and the questionable ethics allowing them to maintain their tenuous hold. While Dexter took no issue with Gizmo’s crusade, he also questioned the wisdom of getting involved in a conflict much larger than himself. His first and only run-in with the agents of the Empire had almost killed him. It seemed to Dexter he would be better served seeking a safe haven where he could gather more information and expand his mental abilities.
To the end of self-preservation, Dexter decided it was past time to learn more about the ulterior motives of his hosts.
Turning within himself, coaxing forward his latent abilities, Dexter sent out a pulse. By his estimation, the telepathy functioned much like radar. Dexter, the transmitter, sent out a telepathic signal. If the signal encountered the consciousness of anyone nearby him, Dexter, also the receiver, became aware almost instantly of their presence. He could then attempt to infiltrate the mind of his unwitting target, gleaning thoughts and eavesdropping on conversations without, at least thus far, he thought, being detected.
Dexter followed the path of his pulse as it spread past his quarters, a great wave filling every corner of the long corridors and the various laboratories and common areas. At this hour he expected to discover only the distant stirrings of the sleeping pilots and hackers. When the pulse returned, though, he detected two minds, quite awake and buzzing with activity: Gizmo and Baxla.
Still wary of Gizmo’s power and the consequences of being detected, Dexter slipped quietly into Baxla’s mind and listened intently to their conversation.
--starting to think this isn’t a great idea, boss.
Then I guess it’s a good thing you don’t make the decisions around here, crud-muncher.
He isn’t ready, Baxla pressed. He didn’t come from a world like you did. He isn’t used to fighting. You’ll get him killed.
Doesn’t matter what happens to that pit-sniffer, Gizmo said. All I need is a useful idiot to distract Rex and Ultan. You and I will take care of the rest.
What if he says no?
You remember the last time you told me no? We have ways of making him comply. And if that doesn’t work, there’s always room in the dungeons for another Prime who doesn’t follow orders.
But--
I’ve had enough of your stinking doubts. Ask him tomorrow, or I’m gonna send you in his place.
Dexter felt the shudder of fear coursing through Baxla at the notion of having to get the schematics himself. Fine.
Tomorrow, Gizmo reiterated, first thing… or else.
Dexter eased out of Baxla’s mind, careful not to leave any trace of his infiltration. His stomach roiled and churned with unease. The conversation confirmed all of his thoughts, and all of his fears. He had stumbled into a situation he couldn’t begin to control. In fact, it was far worse than he expected. Gizmo knew Dexter was unprepared and didn’t care. He only planned to use the young Prime as a distraction while he stole the schematics himself, a ‘useful idiot’ as he so ruthlessly described it.
Yet what choice did Dexter have in that moment? As far as he knew, there was no way out of Gizmo Labs without the express permission of its namesake. Dexter had wandered every inch of the place, when sleep eluded him and his eyes ached from the long hours of reading by candlelight. Never had he seen an exit from the underground compound, and given Gizmo’s threats, upon which Dexter had no doubt the obnoxious and sociopathic Prime would act, he expected Baxla, the closest he had to a friend in the Omniverse, would not help him to escape.
Ever a rational being, Dexter knew his only choice was to accept the suicidal mission, if only as a means to escape from who he now knew to be his captors. He resolved himself to obey Gizmo’s commands the next day when the request came, although he had no intention of following through with the mission. While he held no love for the Empire after reading the atrocities described in his history books, he knew they at least provided Primes under their scope of command with autonomy and agency, the freedom to pursue their own desires so long as they pledged loyalty to Emperor Palpatine. The information Dexter now possessed supported his original instinct: they were far preferable captors to the Gizmo, the bald-headed maniac.
Breaking his pose and reclining back, pulling the coarse woollen blanket up to his chest, Dexter began the fruitless quest for sleep. The next day’s trials promised to be taxing, but Dexter knew one thing: he would be ready.
The history books went into great detail concerning telepathy, particularly where Tearan Wover appeared. Debilitating foes with a barrage of mental images, implanting fears and compulsions into their behavior, speaking to allies across great distances and even across the many realms of the Omniverse. The list of abilities extended far beyond telepathy, Dexter soon learned. Other Primes could command the elements, become invisible, grow to gargantuan proportions or shrink to the size of a cell phone, and even manipulate the flow of time. While these abilities were impossible on Earth, at least at the point on the timeline in which Dexter had existed, nevertheless there appeared to Dexter to be an underlying logic, a binding set of principles keeping all Primes in check and preventing the Omniverse from being torn apart by the violation of its physical laws. It called to mind the words of Arthur C. Clarke, from Earth: Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Dexter felt he had stumbled upon a place where Clarke’s words were put to the test, and passed.
As his second week in Gizmo Labs came to an end, Dexter felt more tension growing between him and his hosts. He sensed instinctively that the request for him to retrieve the mysterious schematics was imminent. There would be danger, he assumed--some threat that prevented Gizmo, seemingly a more powerful Prime than Dexter, from putting himself in harm’s way. Given their proclivity for falsehoods, he suspected their request would be laden with half-truths and a downplaying of the risks. If Dexter had learned one thing in his two-week tenure at the labs, it was that Gizmo was single-minded in his hatred of the Empire, and anyone who joined in his crusade was expendable.
Not that Dexter disagreed, necessarily. The history of the Omniverse didn’t view Palpatine and the Empire favorably, describing their rise to power and the questionable ethics allowing them to maintain their tenuous hold. While Dexter took no issue with Gizmo’s crusade, he also questioned the wisdom of getting involved in a conflict much larger than himself. His first and only run-in with the agents of the Empire had almost killed him. It seemed to Dexter he would be better served seeking a safe haven where he could gather more information and expand his mental abilities.
To the end of self-preservation, Dexter decided it was past time to learn more about the ulterior motives of his hosts.
Turning within himself, coaxing forward his latent abilities, Dexter sent out a pulse. By his estimation, the telepathy functioned much like radar. Dexter, the transmitter, sent out a telepathic signal. If the signal encountered the consciousness of anyone nearby him, Dexter, also the receiver, became aware almost instantly of their presence. He could then attempt to infiltrate the mind of his unwitting target, gleaning thoughts and eavesdropping on conversations without, at least thus far, he thought, being detected.
Dexter followed the path of his pulse as it spread past his quarters, a great wave filling every corner of the long corridors and the various laboratories and common areas. At this hour he expected to discover only the distant stirrings of the sleeping pilots and hackers. When the pulse returned, though, he detected two minds, quite awake and buzzing with activity: Gizmo and Baxla.
Still wary of Gizmo’s power and the consequences of being detected, Dexter slipped quietly into Baxla’s mind and listened intently to their conversation.
--starting to think this isn’t a great idea, boss.
Then I guess it’s a good thing you don’t make the decisions around here, crud-muncher.
He isn’t ready, Baxla pressed. He didn’t come from a world like you did. He isn’t used to fighting. You’ll get him killed.
Doesn’t matter what happens to that pit-sniffer, Gizmo said. All I need is a useful idiot to distract Rex and Ultan. You and I will take care of the rest.
What if he says no?
You remember the last time you told me no? We have ways of making him comply. And if that doesn’t work, there’s always room in the dungeons for another Prime who doesn’t follow orders.
But--
I’ve had enough of your stinking doubts. Ask him tomorrow, or I’m gonna send you in his place.
Dexter felt the shudder of fear coursing through Baxla at the notion of having to get the schematics himself. Fine.
Tomorrow, Gizmo reiterated, first thing… or else.
Dexter eased out of Baxla’s mind, careful not to leave any trace of his infiltration. His stomach roiled and churned with unease. The conversation confirmed all of his thoughts, and all of his fears. He had stumbled into a situation he couldn’t begin to control. In fact, it was far worse than he expected. Gizmo knew Dexter was unprepared and didn’t care. He only planned to use the young Prime as a distraction while he stole the schematics himself, a ‘useful idiot’ as he so ruthlessly described it.
Yet what choice did Dexter have in that moment? As far as he knew, there was no way out of Gizmo Labs without the express permission of its namesake. Dexter had wandered every inch of the place, when sleep eluded him and his eyes ached from the long hours of reading by candlelight. Never had he seen an exit from the underground compound, and given Gizmo’s threats, upon which Dexter had no doubt the obnoxious and sociopathic Prime would act, he expected Baxla, the closest he had to a friend in the Omniverse, would not help him to escape.
Ever a rational being, Dexter knew his only choice was to accept the suicidal mission, if only as a means to escape from who he now knew to be his captors. He resolved himself to obey Gizmo’s commands the next day when the request came, although he had no intention of following through with the mission. While he held no love for the Empire after reading the atrocities described in his history books, he knew they at least provided Primes under their scope of command with autonomy and agency, the freedom to pursue their own desires so long as they pledged loyalty to Emperor Palpatine. The information Dexter now possessed supported his original instinct: they were far preferable captors to the Gizmo, the bald-headed maniac.
Breaking his pose and reclining back, pulling the coarse woollen blanket up to his chest, Dexter began the fruitless quest for sleep. The next day’s trials promised to be taxing, but Dexter knew one thing: he would be ready.