A.N.: Trying a new formatting style, please bear with the length. Original formatting was meant for Word documents.

Lunar Base,

Wonka's Office

Charlie Wonka flipped through the dossier before him, a special report prepared by the WSP. The latter half of the document was composed of dozens of personnel files, every few pages being introduced by the picture of an Oompa-Loompa. Some of these were official photos, identity pictures that had been snapped on the day of each Loompa's induction, the same pictures they carried on their identification badges and WSP security cards. Others were rather more recent pictures, some of them carried out by surveillance cameras, and others taken by WSP agents shortly before interrogation. Or, in a few cases, afterwards. These were all of the surviving rebels, one hundred and fifteen out of an original force of almost seven hundred. The rest of the insurgents had either been killed in the fighting or quietly terminated not long afterward...indeed; most of these would have faced the same fate had it not been for a very unique mission...for which they were now needed. Wonka set the dossier aside and pressed the button beneath the edge of the table in the expansive main conference room. The doors at the far end opened, and the two-dozen Oompa-Loompas who formed the core of Wonka's cabinet filed in, taking their seats.

"Welcome, gentlemen," Wonka said, the cheer in his voice not extending to the rest of his person. He held up the dossier for all to see. "As you are all aware, there has been significant...debate...as to the fates of the surviving terrorists who so recently threatened the safety and stability of my beloved factory. Despite the assurance of our chief physician and top chemists that..."
"The rebels can still be restored to service, my Fuhrer," the chief physician said, cutting off the rest of Wonka's sentence. The other Loompas of the Cabinet glanced at one another uneasily, and a low round of muttering passed around the room. One did not simply interrupt the Fuhrer. The chief physician swallowed nervously, but met Wonka's glowering eyes. "I have administered the original formula of Subservience Serum to almost twenty subjects, and the results are one hundred percent positive." The physician's expression was earnest, pleading. "I beg you, sir...they have only lost their way. In time, I am certain they can be brought to realize the error of their ways, and they will again embrace you as their true leader."

Wonka's anger burned itself out, and he gave a great sigh as he shook his head. It was only natural...the chief physician had dedicated his entire existence to the protection and preservation of life. He could hardly be faulted for wanting to give the renegades another chance. "Thank you, MD-88," Wonka said heavily, "but I am afraid I have already considered that option. It is true that a renewed dose of Serum could return the insurgents to active duty...but it will hardly solve the real problem. These Loompas who have chosen to rebel...not just against me, but against all of us, gentlemen...have made their loyalties and intentions clear. Merely keeping their militaristic tendencies suppressed does not eliminate them, gentlemen, and I refuse to place these Loompas back into the workforce, where they could begin spreading their ideas anew. The first rebellion started with no more than five Oompa-Loompas, who managed to instill such fervor in their comrades that they were able to override the effects of Subservience Serum, even the proper formula. While extra dosages might be sufficient to keep these rebel Loompas from even thinking about another uprising, we cannot take the chance."
"So what do you plan to do?" This from MD-88, the physician's expression cold.

"As this body is aware," Wonka said, "I presently have a mission in the works...a ploy which will lead us to our enemy's base of operations. I am sure you are all aware of the great vessel presently being constructed in the main hangar...but one problem has come up again and again. This ship is to be the bait which will lure in our enemy, but how do we make this trap convincing? Obviously we cannot just hand over a ship without resistance; to make the ploy convincing, our actions must look natural. Without going into detail, the long and short of this is that this mission will be a one-way trip for much of the crew...perhaps all of it. And while there are many fine Loompas who would be willing to undertake such a mission, even knowing the probable outcome, I am loathe to send my best and bravest to die so unnecessarily."
"Kill two birds with one stone," OS-22 said quietly, his face splitting into a grim smile of understanding.

"Exactly," Wonka said with a cheerful grin. "What I propose, gentlemen, is a chance at redemption. For all among the renegades who are willing, they will be allowed to undertake a very dangerous mission. They will be given an extra dosage of Serum before departure, ensuring they don't get any bright ideas about hijacking the ship...if they survive to return to base, they will be given full pardons and a reinstatement in the service of their choosing. And, if they don't, then we're rid of a boatload of dirty terrorists!" Wonka clapped his hands together.
Most of the Loompas nodded agreement, all of them wearing identical smiles. There were many here who would just as willingly have the rebels shot for treason without pause. The only dissenter was MD-88, who still bore a suspicious look. "If they returned, they would be pardoned?"
Wonka blew out an exasperated breath. "Yes...you have my word on it. Is that sufficient?" The physician nodded.

"Talk about someone who may need an extra dose of Subservience Serum," Wonka muttered under his breath, but no one heard him.

Lunar Base, Detention Block

The cell door opened, and the prisoner within recoiled, raising an arm to shield his eyes from the sudden blinding light which poured into the cell. It was the middle of the nightly sleep cycle, the lights normally extinguished.

"IP-46." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yes?" The prisoner's voice was nervous, shaky. The lights within the cell now snapped on, and IP-46 saw the other clearly for the first time: a WSP agent, dressed in a black tunic and shiny black boots.
"We're going to have a little talk. Come with me." IP-46 stood and dazedly followed the agent into the corridor. The agent turned and walked away without pause, leaving IP-46 to be shepherded along by a pair of Loompa guards, blaster carbines clutched across their chests. They followed a series of bare cement corridors, marked only by plain doors of brushed steel with black numbers emblazoned upon the surfaces. Reaching the end of the corridor, one door in particular hissed open, and the agent stood aside. "In," he said, pointing, and IP-46 obeyed, followed closely by the two guards. "Sit." 46 took a chair at one side of the bare metal table, and the agent took the seat opposite, the guards fading back to stand in the corners, one on either side of the door, which hissed closed. The agent produced a file from nowhere and set it flat on the table before him, adjusting his tunic carefully before he opened the sheaf of paperwork.

"IP-46, Interstellar Pilot. Originally inducted as a mechanic, transferred to navigational division...unusual for an Oompa-Loompa to change services...successfully piloted some twenty-two missions before your involvement with this little...quarrel...within the ranks." The agent looked up at him. "You had a stellar career behind you, pilot. You were one of our best. Why would you do something so foolish?"

The prisoner scratched at his scraggly beard a moment before answering...he had not been allowed to shave for some time. In a strange quirk of genetics, only a certain percentage of Oompa-Loompas could actually grow facial hair, and the agent found himself envious of IP-46...personally, he had always wanted a handlebar mustache. He shook his head, clearing the ridiculous line of thought. The pilot looked down at his hands. "It was foolish, but I believed it, all of it. I felt that the Oompa-Loompas had been beneath the Fuhrer's heel for too long, and that it was our right to rise up and claim what we had helped him to build. I can see clearly now how stupid I was..." IP-46 looked up, and the agent was mildly surprised to see tears flowing freely down the other Loompa's face. "But you should have heard him speak," IP-46 whispered. "When our leader addressed us, it was more than words. You could see it; see the world that he envisioned. It was like looking through his eyes. But now those eyes are closed forever," he said reflectively, again looking down at his hands.

"Do you know why you are here?" the agent asked evenly.
"I assume this is to be my final statement before execution," IP-46 said quietly. "I'm not surprised...I'm just sorry I failed the Fuhrer. I'm sorry I was such a fool, and that there is no redemption for traitors such as myself."
"That's where you're wrong."

IP-46 looked up, his expression strange. "What?"
"I have a contract here," the agent said, withdrawing a sheet of paper from the back of the dossier. "It gives you a degree of reinstatement, restoring partial citizenship as well as a provisional employment within the company. You must perform a mission, one mission. It will be dangerous, and there is a high probability that you will not survive. But it is a chance...whereas, if you refuse the offer, your termination is guaranteed. And, if you should return alive, the terms of the contract automatically upgrade...your citizenship and employment will both be restored, and you will have your pick of which service to re-enter."
IP-46 sat in disbelief, his eyes huge. "Where do I sign?"

The agent drew a pen from within his tunic, and pointed to a line at the bottom of the document. He uncapped the pen and held it before the other Oompa-Loompa, but he did not allow him to take it yet. "Understand, before you make your choice. If you sign this contract, you are effectively agreeing to continued imprisonment. You will be allowed out of these cells, but you will not become a free Loompa. Not yet."
"I understand," IP-46 said eagerly, and the agent passed him the pen. When he had signed, he slid the document back across the table, and the agent tucked it into the front of the dossier.

"Now, I'm afraid you are not to be released quite yet. The mission departs in one week, and you will be confined to your cell until then."
"Certainly, certainly," IP-46 said, not even caring. There was still hope for him after all. The agent stood and shook the prisoner's hand.
"Thank you for your service." The two guards escorted 46 back toward his cell, and the agent looked back at the dossier on the table. He took a deep breath. "One down, one hundred and fourteen to go."

ONE WEEK LATER

Lunar Base,

Main Hangar

The doors opened, and the column of Oompa-Loompas marched forward into the hangar. IP-46 gasped as he looked up at the huge ship before him, hanging from an immense gantry. He looked over at his fellow pilot, IP-31, whose face had split into a broad grin. There was no questioning that this was their ship...a long boarding ramp had been extended down to the hangar floor, and a line of armed soldiers on either side kept the prisoners marching straight toward it. Not that they looked like prisoners, not now...all of them were washed, clean-shaven, and dressed in fresh uniforms. IP-46 shook his head in disbelief. "We're convicts, and yet the Fuhrer allows us to pilot the new flagship?"
"Hey," replied IP-31, playfully punching his companion in the arm. "I'm not complaining."
The column of Loompas drew to a halt at the base of the ramp. An officer, obviously their captain, blocked the way...IP-46 looked into the commander's face, and was startled to recognize one of the rebellion's highest-ranking leaders.

The Captain raised his hands, and the crew fell silent. "I know you are excited, gentlemen, but we have a few matters to discuss before we get underway. We are not being given stewardship of such a grand vessel for our exemplary service records..." there were a few chuckles at this "...but rather because this large and powerful vessel was designed for a very specific and very dangerous function. As the attack on the Lunar Base revealed, the enemy has demonstrated the ability to deploy large numbers of KNIDs into our immediate area of operations. As our scanners have shown no traces of enemy spacecraft, we must assume the beasts have been reaching us under their own power...and, despite their biological sophistication, it is clear that the KNIDs do not possess some form of faster-than-light drive hidden under their ugly carapaces." More chuckles. "We must therefore assume that they are originating from somewhere comparatively close by...within the limits of our own solar system. Our orders, therefore, are simple: we are to locate the base of operations from which the enemy is releasing the KNIDs; and, depending upon its size, we are either to destroy it or to take up an observational position and await reinforcements. Any questions?"
"Sir, no sir!" came the assembled reply.

"Good," said the Captain. "Load it up, boys!" He turned and began walking up the ramp, his crew following close behind. IP-46 and IP-31 broke away from their compatriots at the top of the ramp and headed forward and upward to the vessel's cockpit. Well, actually...this ship was so large that bridge was the more accurate term. The Captain pointed out stations. "31, you're front seat left, main pilot's console! 46, you're co-pilot and primary navigator, front seat right!" The two pilots took their stations, and soon the rest of the bridge's seats had filled as well. His job done, the Captain took his place in the central command seat. Exterior hatches sealed, and the overhead gantry which held the huge ship began to move, swinging outward to position the vessel directly under the huge shaft which lead upward, through the airlock portal, and out onto the lunar surface. There was a loud clang from the gantry, and the ship shuddered.

"Moment of truth," said the Captain. "Engage primary lifters."
"Primary lifters, aye." The ship rumbled as her lift thrusters came online for the first time...the gantry pulled clear, and the enormous vessel wobbled as she stabilized. The entire launch shaft and airlock assembly had actually been expanded and rebuilt to accommodate the giant ship, even larger than the more primitive Earth vessel which had influenced several facets of her construction. The vessel rose slowly and majestically upward, through the metal portal of the airlock...there was a hiss of releasing atmosphere, and she rose from the lunar surface, the security detail of Auroras scattering to make way for the leviathan in their midst.
"Main thrusters," said the Captain, and the enormous ship accelerated smoothly into the blackness. They were underway.

Below decks, the Oompa-Loompa crew went leisurely about their business. None of them ever considered the curious space built into the vessel's framework between Bulkhead A-37 and the battery of generators which serviced the vessel's portside CP lasers...according to schematics, it was a narrow conduit carrying various wires and fiber optic cables down from the upper sensor arrays. No one ever entered the capacitor compartment...they had no reason to...but, if they had, they might have noticed that the generators were in fact much smaller than they appeared on the ship's plans. And the bulkhead was not as solid as it appeared, either...far from being a solid piece of metal which joined to the ship's outer hull, the bulkhead in fact had a hollow gap which extended the mysterious space forward to encompass another several meters past the front of the supposed conduit. All in all, a space roughly ten meters in length, five meters in width, and two meters in height remained mysteriously empty...an invisible void within the ship's construction. But it was within this space that the Fuhrer's first Super Soldiers waited patiently, secure within their hidden bunkroom. They alone knew the truth of this mission...the KNIDs were indeed out there...but this ship would never reach any hidden base, assuming that one even existed. This ship was nothing more than bait.

Officially, the vessel departed with a crew of one hundred and four Oompa-Loompas, all of whom had demonstrated repentance at their previous actions...and had agreed to the Fuhrer's deal. The remaining thirteen rebels had already been terminated, a harsh message to those who would disobey the dictates of the Fuhrer. And none, save for Wonka and his cabinet, knew of the fifteen additional Loompas concealed within the ship's armored hull.

Grid Reference 810-20-876, approximately 8.2 million kilometers beyond Neptune orbit

It had been nearly three weeks since they had left the Lunar Base...three long weeks. They had known it would be a long and tedious mission, but IP-46 had never before realized just how long and tedious it might become. Had he not been presently under the influence of a double dose of Subservience Serum, he might have begun to question the mission...to question how a single ship was supposed to locate the source of origin for the recent KNID attacks. Space was vast, untold billions of miles of nothingness in every direction...in cosmic terms; an entire planet was nothing more than a speck. And that was an entire planet, not some moon or asteroid or tiny space station drifting in the ether. But the improbabilities never entered his mind...nor did he ever stop to truly consider the strange fact that the Fuhrer had not posted a single one of his agents on board. Aside from the Serum, there was nothing to stop a mutiny; every Loompa aboard ship (that he knew of, anyway) was a convicted rebel...yet there were no security teams, no jailers, not even a WSP agent to ensure that orders were followed. They were alone. But, blinded by a mixture of serum and his hope for redemption, IP-46 never considered these strange facts. And he did not know that, deep down in the innards of the ship, a timer was counting down...

The explosion occurred at exactly 0730 hours, ship standard time. According to the chief engineer's unofficial report, which was never filed due to circumstances beyond his control, a magnetic buffer failed in the primary fuel induction chamber, allowing antimatter to flood into the intake manifolds which fed the vessel's engines. When the antimatter struck the charged sucrose molecules which served as the propulsion medium for the engines, an uncontrollable reaction occurred instantly. While the manifolds' magnetic shielding protected the crew, keeping the resulting detonation from breaching the engineering compartment, it also had the unfortunate effect of channeling the explosive force out through the nearest path of escape. Which, as it turned out, was via the main propulsion chambers. A rippling explosion burst from inside both primary engines, shattering the ion grids and utterly destroying the first-stage turbines...while the blast was concentrated in the starboard manifold, the resulting explosion was so massive that it channeled energy through the portside manifold and even through the four secondary manifolds. In the space of perhaps three seconds, the vessel's engines were completely destroyed.

A wave of pressure slammed through the bridge, throwing crewmen from their seats. IP-46 flew forward, his head crashing brutally against an overhead console. He fell back in his seat, fighting for consciousness...his inner ear wobbled crazily, and he felt a bout of nausea wash over him. His vision cleared and the ringing in his ears was drowned by the scream of alert sirens from every corner of the bridge...his head stabilized, taking away the worst of the vertigo, but the world was still spinning. And that's when he realized that it was the ship, tumbling end over end through the void. He sat up, blood dripping down his face. He looked over at IP-31, unconscious in his seat, and began frantically punching buttons, struggling to stabilize the craft.

"REPORT!" The Captain bellowed, holding tightly to the arms of his command chair as the vessel gave another lurch, and a secondary explosion boomed from somewhere aft.
"Massive explosion in the aft compartment, Captain," said the communications officer, pressing a hand to his headset and shouting over the din of sirens. "We've lost at least one engine, probably more!"
"Get us stabilized!" the Captain shouted, "And someone squelch those cursed alarms!" Buttons were pressed at various consoles, and the din instantly began to decrease. IP-46, meanwhile, was still fighting with the ship...he tried to vector the main engines to level the vessel out, but he had no response through his controls. Switching over to thrusters, he managed to slow the rate of tumble. The field of stars outside stabilized at last, and the ship evened out on a level heading.
The communications officer was frowning as he continued to relay information. "Inner hull is intact, no pressure breaches...life-support systems stable." A note of fear entered his voice. "Engineering reports we have lost all engines, Captain." IP-46 felt a chill run down his spine. "We're dead in the water."

Captain Urr'Quan strode onto his bridge, his alien features terrifying in the red light of the command deck. "What is it that so urgently requires my attention?" he asked, the cluster of tentacles that formed his mouth writhing to form the disgusting gurgling sounds that passed for his speech. Kherakhnakhan, his second-in-command, quickly vacated the command chair in his lord's presence.
"An energy flare, sir, near the outer regions of the system." A holographic representation sprang to life on the main display, showing a sphere of red expanding outward from a central point, represented by a tiny circle of yellow. "A bloom of radiation that size, and in that position relative to the central star, could only have come from an artificial source."
"A reactor detonation, perhaps?" Urr'Quan's snake-like eyes narrowed in the smooth, wet curve of his forehead.
"Not nearly big enough for that, sir," said Kherakhnakhan, his bow making it clear that he was in no way insulting his captain's intellect. "Likely a drive failure, I should say. Surely, any vessel with a power plant that size, this far out in the system, must..."
"Wonka," Urr'Quan gurgled, his eyes narrowing still further. He turned to the helmsman. "Plot a course to intercept!"

"Sir," the orderly said tremulously, holding the report before him like a shield, "I-I have a recorded transmission here from Urr'Quan, one of the captains which you sent..."
"Yes, yes! Let me see it!" snapped Jura Grobe, seizing the holographic slate. His red eyes roved quickly down the device's screen, and he gave a rumbling sound of what might have been satisfaction. It looked as though Wonka was making his first real foray into deep space...and now fate had delivered him right into Grobe's hands. "Keep me informed...and tell Urr'Quan that I want prisoners." The alien candymaker returned the slate, feeling the anticipation building within him. It was no secret that he hired pirates to do much of his work outside the Nebula: everything from smuggling operations to eliminating his cousin's friend's sister's brother-in-law, who had once made a joke at his expense, and for which Grobe had never forgiven him. Most recently, Grobe had been using his unofficial fleet to carry the KNIDs to the edges of Wonka's home system, as well as keeping a keen eye on the activities of his latest rival. And now, they would soon be bringing back prisoners...

They had been trying to make contact with the Lunar Base for the past two hours...to no avail. Engineering had made a full assessment of the damage, not that it had taken them long. It was a simple fact: the engines were not just damaged, they were completely destroyed. No amount of repair was going to get them back to base...they needed a rescue ship. "Try again," the Captain said calmly, his initial emotions having lapsed into an almost mechanical state.
The communications officer spoke into his headset. "Lunar Base, Lunar Base, this is Deepstar One. Please come back, over." He shook his head. "Nothing, sir. Residual electromagnetic interference is blocking all channels."
"Is there any way you can get us home, pilot?" IP-46 knew the Captain was talking to him...IP-31 had been more severely injured than he had surmised, and the other navigator had been removed to the infirmary.

IP-46 gave an uncomfortable shrug. "I might be able to redirect our momentum using the thrusters, drop us back toward Neptune. If we could skirt the planet's gravity well, we might be able to get turned completely around and headed back toward Earth...but, frankly sir, it's a long shot."
"It's about the only chance we have, pilot. Do whatever you need..."
"Sir," broke in the officer in charge of primary sensors, "I'm getting a contact ahead, bearing one-niner-zero."
"Another ship, out here?! Not likely. You must be getting interference, or..." The Captain's words trailed off, to be replaced by a look of growing fear.
"Or it's something alien," IP-46 whispered.
The Captain whirled in his chair. "Red alert! All crew to combat stations! I like to think this might be a peaceful first contact but, based upon recent experience, I'm betting otherwise!"

Urr'Quan could now see the ship for the first time. He cocked his head to one side as he examined it...the craft was more sophisticated than he had expected, almost as large as his own ship...this Wonka must indeed be remarkable. The last Urr'Quan had heard, humans were still struggling to launch tiny automated probes this far into space, let alone ships the size of the one he was now looking at. Urr'Quan's tentacles rearranged themselves in what might have been a smile, revealing four razor-edged mandibles beneath. "Disable their weapons and close in for boarding. We are to take them alive...if possible."

"Captain!" The sensors officer was pointing, his mouth open in an expression of mixed wonder and fear. Another ship was approaching, its hull the color of rust. It was an angular affair, all sharp planes and razor-edged geometry. Its nose was divided into two wide, angular plates, separated by perhaps five meters of empty space...in the center of this space was a huge, nozzle-like aperture that could only have been a weapon. The vessel's overall shape reminded IP-46 of some unpleasant insect, grown to monstrous proportions...as the bridge crew watched, plates shifted to reveal additional dark openings...unmistakably gun ports. Violet light flared between the mandibles of the craft's nose, and a shimmering purple beam lanced outward and sliced across the hull of the Wonka ship.
"All batteries fire!" bellowed the captain, and instantly bright streaks of CP lasers streaked from the ship's nose and flanks, spraying the enemy with a withering barrage...an iridescent field, like a giant soap bubble, flared into visibility as the energy struck it, impact rings spreading out across its surface like ripples on still water. The alien ship fired again, blue bolts streaking from a half-dozen guns on each wing...explosions ripped through the bridge, and alarms screamed. The alien vessel veered to starboard and continued its leisurely attack, now spraying them with a broadside.

"We've lost forward and starboard batteries, Captain!" shouted the communications officer. "Lower decks report..." He pulled off his headset as the channel dissolved in a scream of interference. There was an impact that shook the whole ship, and for a moment everything was deathly still. That concussion could mean only one thing...there was a series of distant thumps, controlled explosions, and the main status monitor flashed three terrifying words: HULL BREACH DETECTED.

ST-34 leveled his blaster and fired as the aliens poured through the smoke left by their boarding charge...and his eyes widened as they stepped out into the clear. A pair of insectile warriors scuttled forward on multi-jointed legs...followed by a dog-like beast which drooled saliva onto the barrel of its enormous gun; the smoke parted to the right, and a reptilian creature stepped calmly into the fray, wearing armor reminiscent of some ancient barbarian. It most resembled a bipedal horned toad, its tongue reaching out to taste the air...something uncoiled from its right hand, something that resembled a length of common chain...until a crackling field of blue electricity flickered to life around it. Oompa-Loompas unloaded their blasters on every side...the rounds sparking off some sort of energy field which had extended into the corridor...as the aliens cleared it, the shots suddenly found their marks, and several of the bizarre warriors crumpled to the deck. But ST-34 could already tell that there were too many...far too many. And then he saw the ugliest beast yet, a monster he would remember in his nightmares...assuming he survived to have any. The beast was among the tallest of the lot, its skin gray and slimy...it had four arms and stalked forward on four spindly legs...its head was a smooth dome of pulsating flesh, marked by two reptilian eyes, and the horrid mass of waving tentacles that should have been its mouth. Based upon the ornate and barbaric costume it wore, he knew this was surely the enemy's leader...two of its hands clutched pistol-like weapons, while the other two held the leashes of a pair of KNIDs, chained like horrible attack dogs, each of their heads covered in some sort of helmet-like device. The creature snapped its wrists back and the chains released, and ST-34 died shooting as the nearest KNID leapt forward.

IP-46 drew his blaster and waited, listening to the approaching gunfire outside. Every crewman available had been pulled back to defend the bridge...and there was certainly no escape. Several dozen Loompas were gathered outside the heavy blast doors, now sealed as a last line of defense. When the aliens reached the approach corridor, it was obvious...the corridor erupted in a blazing volley of gunfire, which roared on unabated minute after minute. But the electronic screeching sounds of the aliens' own weapons slowly began to dominate the fray, and the blaster fire suddenly stopped entirely. IP-46 glanced around at his compatriots. This was it, and every one of them would go down fighting...only they had not anticipated...The blast tore the armored doors to pieces, and a searing wave of heat and deadly shrapnel cut through the bridge. IP-46 fell hard against the console, his head again ringing...there were a series of sharp cracking sounds, followed by the screams of Oompa-Loompas. IP-46 threw himself upright, his hand moving to aim a blaster pistol that was no longer there...only to find himself face to face with an exceedingly ugly creature with skin like a rhinoceros...and a rifle that more resembled a bazooka. He slowly raised his hands, looking past the creature to where the Captain was just now lifting himself to his feet. Around the perimeter of the bridge stood a number of equally fearsome-looking aliens, glowing chains in their hands and fallen Oompa-Loompas at their feet...the crew members were still breathing, however, meaning that the electrified weapons hadn't been meant to kill them. The rhino-creature backed away and bowed respectfully as a new figure entered the bridge, something horrible like a mixture of a giant spider and a squid. At its side stood another creature...this one reptilian and covered in spines.

The Captain stood defiantly as the monsters towered over him...they would have been frightening even for a human to face, and the Captain was much smaller. "I demand to know by what right you have seized my ship! I am captain of a space vessel engaged in an honorable enterprise of war, and unless you are legitimate representatives of the opposing..."
"You will speak when spoken to!" snarled the lizard-thing, lashing out with a spiky fist, and IP-46 heard the Captain's neck break as the blow struck home. He looked up at the lizard-thing with hatred in his eyes, but found that the alien's face showed the same horror at the Captain's death that he felt. The alien was looking at the taller, tentacled creature, its expression now changing to one of fear as it knelt in desperate supplication. "Forgive me, my lord, I did not..."
"That was their commander, you fool! You have just killed our most important captive!" The tentacled beast snapped out a pistol of some kind and fired, a beam of deadly orange blasting a smoking hole through the lizard-thing's chest. The dead alien clattered backwards onto the deck. "He was a good lieutenant," the squid-thing said reflectively, looking down at the body. "Fortunately, though, there's always a replacement." The beast's face split into a horrid look of amusement, and the rest of the alien privateers laughed callously. The tentacled thing noticed IP-46 for the first time, and the Loompa's blood ran cold as the alien drew near and knelt down to his level. "And what about you?" it said, its gurgling words a sick parody of speech. "You look like an officer to me. Perhaps you can tell me all the secrets which your captain cannot."
IP-46's voice surprised him when it came, and he was proud. Despite his fear, his tone was one of steel. "I will not betray the Fuhrer."

The alien chuckled. "Fuhrer? That is a curious term. I have never heard such a thing before. You don't want to talk to me, little one...I understand. But rest assured, you will talk. Whatever it takes...you will talk. Take him." An electrical flail crackled, and the world went black.

They inched the hatch door open slowly, listening for the sound of footsteps on the deck. OS-98 glanced to the others behind him, his eyes warning them to be on guard. For several moments, they waited, their enhanced senses reaching out for any indication of danger. But there was no sign of life onboard, not even a hint of enemy presence. It was quiet… too quiet.

OS-98 gave the others a quick nod, and they proceeded to push the hatch open entirely, grunting with the effort. As the door had been constructed to block out radiation of all levels, it was extraordinarily heavy. But the Oompas who had been hiding behind it were not ordinary… they were the first batch of Super Soldiers to have passed all the tests, and had been rewarded by being sent on their first mission. They were to uncover the identity of Wonka's new, and so far most deadly, competitor. In order to do so, they had to allow their ship to be attacked and captured; undoubtedly many of the crew had already died in the first contact with the enemy. But it was a sacrifice that had to be made, for the good of the Fuhrer and Oompa-kind. Now, the group of fifteen soldiers emerged from the hidden compartment, stepping cautiously onto the deck. OS-98 gave the corridor a cursory glance, his face emotionless as he noted the plasmatic residue scarring the formerly pristine walls, and the lack of bodies on the ground. "They must have taken all the crew, even the dead ones, those sick bastards." The others nodded gravely in agreement, their faces serious through their visors. "But now," OS-98 continued with a grim smile, "The real fun begins. Activate cloaking devices." Each Oompa complied, shouldering their weapons before reaching a hand up to press a button in the center of their armor's breastplate. Their forms began to shimmer like a heat wave on a summer afternoon, then they disappeared entirely. "Are all systems functional?" 98 asked, his transmission relayed to the others' helmets. The others, whose outlines he could see on his heads up display, relayed in the affirmative. "All right; let's move out."

His glowing red eyes were filled with something that could be identified as amusement, or vicious glee, as he watched the progression of the interrogation. The capture of the Wonka ship had been all too easy, and the capture of the crew had been even easier. Of course, the size between the two were vastly different; ships were massive, and well, these tiny creatures called 'Oompa-loompas' were no higher than Grobe's gizzard. Despite this, he had to acknowledge the ferocity of the little creatures. After all, how many KNIDs had they managed to destroy? How many plans of Grobe's had they foiled? And, if he remembered clearly, they were not quick to give up. The Oompa-loompa called OS-22 had not fallen at the talons of Grobe's invisible emissary; on the contrary, he had defied instinct and accepted a killing blow in order to buy his leader some time. Grobe snapped his beak in anger as he remembered the utter failure of that mission, but the fury abated somewhat as he turned his attention back to the interrogation effort. It was taking place in the chamber adjacent to the laboratory, a room that had been seldom used prior to this event. Now, however, the attendants had one hundred plus creatures from which to extract information, torturing them even unto death. There were various ways the technicians could make someone talk, from electrocution, to burning, to dissolving… but Grobe had given an order: kill them slowly, one at a time, in order to give the rest time to think about how they would answer. The resulting process that had been developed was an electro-atomic shock that destroyed the victim molecule by molecule, before they dissolved entirely in the space of five minutes. And indeed, this had struck fear into the hearts of the imprisoned Oompa-loompas. But each one knew something that Grobe did not: that they would all die in the end, as the Subservience Serum that was ingrained into their DNA would ensure that they divulged nothing to enemy, even with their own lives at stake. All that they could do was sit in suppressed silence, waiting with foreboding for the end to come.

They had exited the ship, walking down the lowered ramp in plain view of several guards. However, the enhanced cloaking technology of their armor worked to perfection, making the team of Oompas invisible to the armored aliens. "Can I take them out, sir?" one asked, his weapon undoubtedly raised. "Negative, soldier; save the ammo for when we need it." reluctantly, the other affirmed, and the team continued down the ramp. OS-98 led the others past the guards, until they were standing in the center of what appeared to be an enormous docking bay. "Oh my…" an Oompa said the words without thinking, the thought echoed in the minds of the other soldiers. The chamber was far bigger than the one in the lunar base, appearing to house at least twenty freighters and a large number of smaller vehicles that could pass as fighter craft. Guards, engineers, and droids mingled in the space between each vessel, maintaining them and loading them with goods. But it was not this sight itself that stopped the Loompas cold. At the far end of the chamber was a wall of darkness… but this darkness was speckled with millions of tiny blazing points. Stars. "It's open to space," another breathed, to which OS-98 replied, "They must have some kind of shield to keep the air in. From what I can see here, I wouldn't put it past them." there was a grunt of compliance over the radio, and 98 allowed himself a small smile. "Let's keep going. We have a lot of ground to cover." "Yes, sir."

"I CAN'T TELL YOU! I LITERALLY CAN'T…" the Oompa's last words were followed by a scream of pain, and then silence. Grobe glanced to the worker in charge of the torturing process, genuinely curious. "Is it really by molecular division that they disappear? Just, 'poof', and they're gone?"

The technician nodded. "Yes, sir. Scattered into a hundred billion atoms, they are."

Grobe's eyes narrowed. "But does it actually work, this new method of yours? Have you gotten any information out of them?"

The other trembled slightly, unnerved by Grobe's glowing, glowering gaze, but he managed to shake his head. "Not yet, sir. It seems that they are either severely loyal to their employer, or they are truly incapable of betraying him. Twenty-four of them have been destroyed already, and they all have said the same thing… that they refuse to give information, that they will die for their leader, and that they literally can't give anything away anyway." Grobe clenched his beak, his expression hardening as he looked past the technician to the cage of Oompa-loompas behind him. They returned his stare, some with unease, and others with utter defiance. It was almost amazing, he reflected, that a human could have such workers as these, who would willingly suffer the most excruciating of deaths for his cause. Nevertheless, each one must be interrogated… and killed.

Despite being invisible, OS-98 still didn't like the idea of being out in the open. He instructed the others to stick to the shadows, using equipment, furniture, anything as cover… in case the unforeseeable happened. It was overkill, he knew, but there was just some kind of instinct deep inside his mind, a natural fear of being exposed and down low, where vicious creatures could attack and gobble him up in one walloping bite… "Sir," a voice broke into his thoughts, and he returned to the present. "Yes, 99?"

"There's radiation emanating from that chamber down the hall."

"Of course there is. If you haven't noticed, there's radiation bleeding from every corner of this damned base!" "But sir," the other replied calmly, "This is different. Radiation level K."

98 paused, contemplating. "All right; let's be quick… we have other things to do."

They entered the enormous room, cautiously stepping through the doorway. The sight that greeted their eyes made each of the fifteen stop, momentarily frozen in shock. "God." The one word that the Oompa breathed was actually quite the opposite of what they now saw; hundreds of cages, from floor to ceiling, placed between huge machines that beeped and blinked as scientists bustled around them. And inside these cages were KNIDs, of every kind and shape, each one as angry and ugly as the next. It was a terrible, terrifying sight, even to these Loompas who were stronger and faster than an average Oompa. If they had to deal with even one of these beasts, they would probably be done for. "Let's keep moving," OS-98 said, gripping his gun so hard, he was afraid for a moment that it would break. The others were more than happy to comply, but one Oompa paused, looking back as they were leaving. At that same moment, a metallic KNID looked in their direction by chance. Its eyes narrowed, and it gave a shrill sort of shriek. The Oompa, horrified, froze. 98's voice broke him out of the trance. "What the hell are you doing, 88? LET'S MOVE!"

88 ran to catch up with the others, matching their pace as they entered another corridor. "The KNID… it saw me." "If you had stayed with us, it wouldn't have seen you." 98 growled. "But.. That's the thing. If we're invisible, how did it see me?" the question struck the others hard. "They must be able to see in different wavelengths, I guess," 98 deduced slowly, "But we don't have to worry about that; I think their creators don't trust them enough to let them roam around the base. That's why they're locked away in the laboratory."
"For our sakes, let's hope so."

The next chamber was significantly smaller than the laboratory, but it still contained the stacks of cages. What they were for, the Oompas could only guess… until they heard a shrill cry- the unmistakable sound of a dying Oompa-loompa. They had entered the interrogation room, and paused to stand witness for the death of one of the crew, a comrade. It was painful to watch as the electrodes were placed on him, and a long needle was stabbed into his arm. The questioning began, slow and simple at first, then faster as the Loompa denied his interrogator any answers. Electricity was applied, increasing in intensity, and some type of chemical was inserted into his body. 98 and the others cringed as they watched their brave comrade accept the pain, then vanish into nothingness. There was nothing they could do as the next crewmember was taken from the cage to the interrogator, strapped down and electrodes applied. "Come, men. We can't do anything for them until we find our target." "Affirmative."

The soldiers backed out of the chamber, though none of them could keep their visors from meeting the desperate eyes of the imprisoned Oompa-Loompas. Several soldiers growled under their breath, mainly curses directed against whoever or whatever was in charge of this vile operation. "Steady, boys," OS-98 said, his voice low and understanding. "We will have revenge soon enough. And, lest we all forget, those who are now suffering are the very same who turned their backs on the Fuhrer...and our people. While we may yet save them, remember that they accepted this assignment willingly. And though some of them die, they still find a measure of redemption."
"Doesn't stop me wanting to kill every one of these alien bastards," replied 99.
"Nor I," said 98, "but we have bigger fish to fry at the moment."

"Sir, do you smell that?" It was 91. The Loompas paused at one side of the expansive corridor they were now passing through. Even through their helmet filters, there was no disguising the cloying aromas coming from nearby. A set of double doors hissed open to their left, across the passage, and a hovering transport sled emerged, laden with large and heavy machine parts. A wave of scents rolled into the passage behind it, the sweet aromas intensely familiar.
"Through that door!" OS-98 ordered on a sudden impulse, sprinting silently across the passage to where the doors were now beginning to close. The rest of the squad rushed after him, the last members just slipping through before the portal sealed behind them.

"Intending no disrespect, but what the bloody hell..." 99 stopped in mid-sentence, breathing deeply. Now that they were in the chamber, there was no mistaking that unique combination of smells. It was somewhat different than what they remembered, tinged with unknown and exotic hints, but there was no denying its basic familiarity. The squad slowly made its way forward between towering banks of machinery, the smells growing ever stronger...this was their competitor's candy factory, there was no doubt of it. Shrinking back to avoid another hoversled, the squad watched as a huge bucket descended from a mechanical armature on an overhead track...its sheer size and mass suggesting that it might have held molten steel, but then it tipped to pour into a gigantic vat the size of a water tower. It was food coloring...though of a shade none of them had ever seen or even dreamed of before. Indeed, now that they looked closely, the chamber was not so different than the primary factory at home, neither in function nor layout. But the feel was wrong, and OS-98 suddenly realized why. This place was just what its name suggested, a factory...but it may as well have produced armored vehicles as candy. Back home, everything was brightly-lit and cheerful, with multi-colored pipes and tubes, and windows in the sides of the machines so that one could see exactly what was happening within. This place was like a foundry...dark, smoking machines connected by massive, rust-colored pipes. Workers cowered in the shadows of the enormous machines, their mannerisms harried and fearful; above, armed supervisors stood lazily about on catwalks, the mere presence of the enforcers serving to encourage diligence. Harsh light came from industrial lamps fitted into the ceiling high above. OS-98 looked more closely; the ceiling and walls were rock. And yet they were still surrounded by space...
"An asteroid," he muttered to himself. He looked back at the holographic outlines of his squad, their helmets turned expectantly toward him. His eyes turned again to the machines before him. "Gentlemen, I think it's time we performed a bit of industrial sabotage. With all of their attention on this room, they'll never see us coming." He didn't need to see their faces to know that his squad was grinning. "Let's move out."

The Loompa Super Soldiers moved around the edges of the huge factory chamber without a sound, pulling small disc-shaped devices from their belts. OS-98 moved to one of the chamber's largest machines, a huge device with long transparent tubes full of a luminous green fluid running upwards along its sides. OS-98 ducked down, pulling loose an access panel on the bottom of the machine and slipping into the tiny maintenance space within. A huge central pipe branched out into smaller hoses which fed each tube...OS-98 took his first device and held it carefully while he primed it. With a chirp, a tiny red light in the center began flashing; OS-98 pressed the device firmly against the side of the pipe and pressed down the trigger button...chemical adhesive flowed from the underside of the charge, securing it firmly against the pipe. OS-98 withdrew his hand and started to emerge from the maintenance space, almost running headlong into the legs of an alien standing just outside. The soldier drew back into the conduit with a silent curse...sensing the movement of air, the alien turned and looked right at him. It saw the open maintenance panel but evidently did not care; humming cheerfully through what passed as its nose, the creature again turned its back, now facing the machine opposite 98's position. The Loompa heard an odd sound and again eased forward, watching as a pale blue stream of liquid splashed on the face of the other machine...the creature was urinating on it. 98 eased himself out of the crawlspace and silently crept back around the corner, shaking his head as he did so. He found himself wondering what the Fuhrer would say if he were here to see this.
98 found two more pipe junctions and planted charges, then keyed his communicator. "Status?"
"All charges set, sir."

"Roger. Regroup at the north end of the chamber." He noted the strangeness of the expression...while the team's helmet computers had designated compass points for the sake of navigation, the convention was purely arbitrary. But it wasn't just for navigation, either...as the soldiers moved, their iris-cams were combining data to generate a rough map of the complex. With a quick movement of his eyes, 98 called up a wireframe map, representing all of the sections of the base they had thus far visited...as the soldiers moved to the north end of the factory chamber, the map panned with them, fresh details appearing as they moved. Suddenly, a shrieking report rang out across the chamber. 98 switched off the map and raised his blaster, struck by the horrible certainty that they had been found out. He moved quickly out from between two machines, gun ready. But the disruption was only two squabbling workers...a ring of aliens was quickly dispersing, surrounding two cowering figures who had, from their appearances, been fighting an instant before. Above them, on a catwalk, a pig-like beast glared down at them, its weapon pointed down at the smoking hole it had just blown in the floor to one side of the two combatants. 98 relaxed and slipped back into the shadows. He covered the remaining distance without incident, relieved to see the outlines of his men waiting for him just ahead. He nodded. "Transfer all activation codes to my uplink." There was a quick series of chirps, and close to forty individual serial numbers appeared in his heads-up-display. "Get ready to move out."

As one, the devices became active. Liquid nitrogen sprayed from around the rim of each disc, instantly freezing the surface beneath...then a tiny gas charge fired. The sound of each device was no louder than the breaking of a twig; even with dozens of them detonating simultaneously, the noise was not even audible over the hiss and rumble of the machines. But the effects were obvious. Instantly, gouts of steam erupted from pipes, electrical conduits dissolved in streams of sparks, and liquids poured from ruptured containers. Warning sirens began to blare from every corner of the immense room, workers and guards alike running everywhere in panicked frenzy. OS-98 grinned behind his visor. "That ought to keep them busy. Let's go."

While he did enjoy watching the creatures meet their painful demise, Jura Grobe soon found the interrogation of the so-called "Oompa-Loompas" to be little more than a frustration. In the first order of business, they revealed nothing...either by some ingrained mechanism or else by phenomenal force of will. In the second order, the more of them the interrogators terminated, the greater the resolve of the survivors became. When Grobe had entered, a few of them had at least had the decency to look frightened. Now, almost all of them bore identical masks of anger. Perhaps this method was not so effective as Grobe's subordinate insisted...before he could pursue that line of thought further, however, Grobe's communicator buzzed.
"Sir, Captain Urr'Quan is waiting for you in the executive break room."
"Very well," Grobe rumbled angrily, shooting a spiteful glance at the remaining Oompa-Loompas. He turned to the questioners. "Slow the executions down a bit...give them something more to think about. I shall be returning in a few minutes, and you'd best HAVE SOME ANSWERS WHEN I DO!" He turned and left the chamber, struggling to contain his rage.

As promised, Urr'Quan was in the so-called "executive break room"...though the only executives allowed to use it were the enforcers who kept order on the factory floor. All the same, "executive" looked better on the door than "thug." As Grobe entered, the alien captain extended two of his hands out to the sides while folding the other two across his chest, forming his species' traditional gesture of greeting.
"Jura, my good friend," Urr'Quan said, the warmth in his voice not extending to his reptilian eyes.
"Captain." Grobe's voice was flat. Doubtless the pirate captain wanted something, else he would already have collected his pay and gone. Grobe's eyes swept the room. "What happened to your lieutenant?"
"He met with some...misfortune...during the boarding action. But what of yourself? You seem troubled," Urr'Quan said, feigning a look of genuine concern. "Is something the matter?"

Grobe found himself speaking before he even meant to. "The captives you brought in are...strange. They are surprisingly resilient."
Urr'Quan made a snorting sound. "Such was not our experience."
"I don't mean their physical constitution!" Grobe snapped. Why in the Galaxy's name was he voicing his concerns to this pirate, anyway? "But their mental defenses are uncanny. Either they possess some mechanism which has been ingrained into them, or else their resolve is..." Grobe clicked his beak in annoyance, more at himself than anyone, and then changed topic mid-stride. His tone was cold. "I assume there is a reason you are still loitering about my factory. Yes?"
Far from being offended, Urr'Quan was clearly amused. "Ah, what discernment you possess." He made a gurgling chuckle in his throat. "Very well, I will get to the point. The vessel I returned to you..."
"What about it?"

"I do not have to tell you that it is quite valuable. While it is still light-years behind the technology of...oh, say, the Emperor's Navy...it is still fairly sophisticated. Even without a faster-than-light drive, it would still be worth a fortune to some of the Galaxy's more primitive races, who would kill for such technology. What I'm trying to say is that my pay, while sufficient for the return of the captives, is still not equal to the salvage..."
"How much do you want?" Grobe's voice was a growl, his eyes narrowing.
"Ten thousand."
"TEN THOUSAND? YOU WASTE MY TIME TO ASK ME FOR TEN THOUSAND?! I WOULD PAY YOU THAT MUCH JUST TO MAKE YOU LEAVE!"
"Each."
"What?" Grobe was taken off-guard for the first time.
"Ten thousand each for every member of my crew."
"That...that..."
"Four hundred and eighty thousand total, plus another twenty for...how shall I say...working expenses?"
"Five hundred thousand?" Grobe's voice was now little more than a hiss. "If you think..." At that exact instant, his communicator buzzed again. "WHAT?!" Grobe roared.
"Sir!" The voice of the servant was too panicked to be fearful of his master. "There has been a...a...in the main factory, sir...there's been..."
"SPEAK PLAINLY!"
"An...an act of sabotage!"
Grobe snarled something unprintable and looked back at Urr'Quan, who was standing at perfect ease nearby. "I have business to attend to...my friend. We shall discuss this when I return."

Grobe stepped onto the catwalk...and stopped cold. His factory was in a state of nothing less than utter chaos. Molten candy covered the floor, now hardening into a sticky, multi-colored cement. Smoke and steam poured from the flanks of the machines, and bundles of broken electrical cable hung from the walls, spitting and fizzing. The overseer of the day's shift stood cowering between two of Grobe's enforcers, shaking visibly as his master approached. He started to speak, but Grobe silenced him with a threatening snap of his beak. From here, the alien candymaker could see the gaping hole blown in the side of the nearest pipe. Clearly this was beyond the capacity of his workers...and the truth became horribly clear in an instant. The engine failure of the Wonka transport had been far too convenient to be some random accident. It had been what the Earthlings called...what was the term...a Trojan horse; that was it. Grobe keyed his communicator.
"Yes?" The voice of Urr'Quan answered.
"There are infiltrators in my factory," Grobe said. "Based upon the competency which they have shown thus far, my employees will need some help. You hunt down these fresh vermin, take them alive...and I'll pay you whatever you wish."

"It will be done," Urr'Quan replied, the lust for blood already evident in his voice.
Grobe turned back to the trembling overseer. "Who or what did this, exactly? I will make the assumption that they were armed, seeing as how your workers made no attempts to stop them."
"Please, sir," the overseer's voice came out in a terrified squeak. "No one ever even saw them. No one! I swear to you..."
"YOU EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE THAT SABOTEURS PLANT DOZENS OF CHARGES ALL OVER MY MACHINES, AND NOT A SINGLE ONE OF YOU SO MUCH AS SEES THEM DO IT!"
"Sir! Let me give you my utmost assurances..." the rest of the overseer's sentence was cut off as Grobe's tongue whipped out and seized the unfortunate manager, yanking him back into Grobe's open mouth. Grobe's beak snapped shut with a sickening crunch, and he gave an enormous gulping swallow. Grobe turned to the two enforcers.
"Either these infiltrators are more formidable than I might have surmised, or else my workers are deliberately protecting them. They are either rebellious or incompetent...and I don't particularly care which. Have them finish cleaning up this mess, then liquidate the entire shift." The enforcers chuckled darkly.

As expected, the sabotage in the main factory had the entire base in disarray. As the Loompas advanced, figures dashed down the corridors toward the disaster area, many of them lugging unidentifiable pieces of equipment. A huge cargo lift opened on one side of the passage, disgorging another hoversled...OS-98 gave a sharp jerk of his helmet, and the squad rushed across the passage to board. 98 switched on his visor's translation program, the matrix having been assembled from the samples of the alien languages gathered in the spaceport on Mars. While it was still incomplete, having difficulty with complete sentences or extended phrases, the translator could make basic signage legible without difficulty. In this case, OS-98 simply ran his eyes over the row of selector buttons for the lift, and the device translated the names of the different floors. One was marked "EXECUTIVE LEVEL." OS-98 pushed the button.

The lift stopped and the Super Soldiers exited quickly. 98 did not know what he expected, but the executive level had the same industrial feel as the rest of the facility. There were only a few doors opening off of the corridor; the soldiers eased them open as they went, and found most of them to be maintenance access. Only one door bore any kind of label, the large door at the far end...OS-98 engaged the translation matrix again, and the strange row of bars, dots, and diagonal lines changed into something legible: "GROBE." 98 turned back and opened a private channel to 99, gesturing to the door.
"Grobe...that word is familiar. Where have we seen that before?"

99 tilted his head and looked up at the door. "It was in the briefing packet that was compiled from the information gathered on Mars. The same collection of characters appeared frequently on crates and other packages which were observed throughout the spaceport. Initially, it was assumed that 'grobe' was some type of alien product, which did not have any direct translation into English...when it was converted into the language of the Fuhrer, a simple nonsense word resulted. But seeing as how we're on the executive level, it seems less likely that Grobe is some type of product..."

"But rather the one creating the product." He switched to the squad's common frequency. "Gentlemen, I think we've found our enemy."
The Super Soldiers assumed a firing line as OS-89 moved up to the door. He placed his helmet against the plain metal surface, his enhanced hearing and helmet sensors searching for any signs of life within. He backed up and gingerly took hold of the door's handle, slowly unlatching it before shoving the door wide open and spinning into cover behind the frame. Fourteen blasters trained themselves on the opening, but nothing greeted their eyes but an unadorned office, little more than a bare cell with a desk and a computer terminal. The room was empty. "Move in." The Super Soldiers entered the space, weapons sweeping the corners and ceiling...nothing. 98 moved to the far side of the room, gesturing for OS-97, the squad's computer technician. He gestured to the computer, and 97 nodded, detaching a fiber optic probe from his helmet, feeding it into a triangular port on the side of the device. "Can you access their network?" OS-98 asked.
"Trying," 97 replied. "I've tapped into a connection port of some kind, the local equivalent of a USB link. It will take the infiltration software a few minutes to break through the security systems and access the main computer core."
"A few minutes?"

97 shrugged. "It all depends upon how fast the protocol gets through security. Not knowing the local firewall, I'm afraid I can't be any more specific."
98 looked back uneasily at the open door and the corridor beyond, but there was nothing to be done. They had an opportunity to steal every dirty secret belonging to this so-called "Grobe," and were bound by duty to take advantage of the situation. 98 moved over to the left-hand wall of the room, where a small screen of some sort was embedded into the wall...he reached up, curiosity overwhelming caution, and the screen lit up. Beside it, a wide section of the wall turned transparent, allowing a commanding view of the factory floor. 98 swore, instinctively ducking back before remembering that he was completely invisible; he noted with some satisfaction that the operations below were still in a state of utter chaos. He pressed the panel again and the wall changed back to its original state; behind him, 97 gave a triumphant exclamation. "Downloading the contents of the network now," he announced, the screen beside him flickering through countless pages of information at dizzying speed as the entire contents of Grobe's computer network were run through this terminal. The Super Soldiers moved closer, watching the data feed as exotic schematics and chemical formulas flashed past. There was no telling what secrets lay waiting to be discovered. "Download at fifty percent," 97 announced. But the team had made one mistake. They were so mesmerized by the flow of alien data that they had neglected their perimeter...and no one saw the creature emerge from the elevator at the far end of the corridor. The download continued to accelerate exponentially as the infiltration program breached additional firewalls...the flow of information now flashed by at dizzying speed, disorienting the eyes. A final sheet of data froze on the screen, and 97 pulled the cable free. "Download complete. Data transferred to squad network. As long as one of us makes it out of here, the information's safe."
98 nodded in satisfaction. "Well done. We have the identity of the Fuhrer's competitor...now let's free those prisoners, steal a ship, and get the hell out of here."
At that moment, however, the door to the office swung shut, and the Super Soldiers swung around in surprise, guns raised. 98 stared in pure shock at the creature before them. It reminded him of something..."Good God," someone said, "we're about to be killed by a giant, Satanic Furbie." 98 was too stunned to offer any rebuke...and the description was indeed apt, however strange. The beast was a towering mountain of something...Fur? Feathers?...easily three or four times the height of an Oompa-Loompa, its dark grey pelt broken by a pair of short arms which ended in clawed hands; wide, bird-like feet; extended tufts of feathers which were most likely ears; a fearsome beak; and a pair of red, glowing eyes. The creature took a step into the office, and 98 hissed urgently into his comm.
"Prepare to fire!"

But something was wrong. The alien took another cautious step, looking about itself cautiously. The Super Soldiers backed away and let it pass as it moved toward the desk, its eyes now fixed on something...98's gaze followed the creature's own, and he swore. The computer screen. In the excitement, they had not switched it back off. The alien slowly turned, again sweeping the office...those terrible red eyes met 98's own for the briefest of instants, passed on, but then returned to fix themselves directly upon his face. The huge creature's own features registered a look that could only be described as shock for the briefest of instants, before it hardened into anger. "So, I see that Urr'Quan didn't get all of the crew after all." The creature's voice was a horrible grating rumble, and 98 stood numb. How could it see them? "I think I shall hold him at least partly responsible for the damage you lot have done to my factory," the creature continued, "seeing as how it was his responsibility to neutralize all resistance before bringing in your ship." The creature's eyes swept across the group of soldiers.

98 had heard enough. This, then...this was Grobe. "FIRE!" OS-98 raised his blaster, hearing the high-pitched whines on all sides of him as energy weapons cycled up...but he never had the chance to fire. Something like shock registered on Grobe's face for the briefest split-second, then the alien candymaker's beak opened and...OS-98 did not properly realize what had happened until it was over. One instant, his blaster was in his hands, his finger tightening on the trigger...the next, the gun had simply disappeared, and he watched as something long and fleshy drew back into Grobe's mouth. Then he realized what it was. In the blink of an eye, Grobe had shot out his tongue like some repulsive whip, snatching the entire team's blasters out of their hands. The guns were stuck to the disgusting appendage like flies on a piece of fly-paper, held fast either by some organic adhesive or else some contraction of the muscles. The tongue whipped back into Grobe's mouth, and the alien's beak closed with a snap and screech of rending metal. The soldiers drew their knives, the blades looking tiny and insignificant compared to this foe...the flesh at either corner of Grobe's beak pulled back in a gloating smile, and the alien mockingly spat the twisted pieces of titanium and plastic at the Loompas' feet. OS-98 hardly wished to order a retreat, but it looked like the only available course of action. He signaled and the soldiers turned, rushing for the door. "Not so fast, my little friends!" Grobe called smugly, and a loud metallic click echoed from inside the door as it locked remotely.

OS-98 turned, ready to fight to the death...a proposition that was looking more and more likely. Grobe's smile widened, and the alien candymaker looked right into 98's eyes, cloaking field or not.
"You didn't really think..." At that instant, there came a rap at the door, and Grobe gave a snarl of irritation. "WHAT IS IT?"
"Sir," a voice replied tremulously, "we've detected an unauthorized tap into the main computer."
"I KNOW!"
"Well, sir, it originated from your office..."
OS-98 looked over at 99."You think that door will stand up to all of us at once?"
"No, sir."
"Through that door, boys!" 98 turned and charged straight at the solid metal panel, the rest of his men giving a roar as they turned to follow his lead. Grobe started to move behind them, but he was not quick enough. Fifteen Super Soldiers slammed into the door as one, the alien metal ripping free of its hinges like cardboard. The door fell outward, the Loompas falling headlong on top of it; as the heavy plate smashed into the floor, OS-98 heard a loud scream from beneath it...followed by a horrible crunching sound. One of the soldiers made a reflective "Ewww..." sound, and another laughed darkly.

"Let's get the hell out of here!" 98 bellowed, leaping to his feet and hurtling down the corridor, his men close behind. There was no shame in retreat.

Grobe roared in frustration and started to rush after the soldiers, but he knew already that it was a lost cause. They were too small, too quick, and too easily lost...but not for some. He pressed the communicator button on his desk that would link him with the main laboratory. "Yes, sir?"
"There are presently enemy agents at large within the facility. Pull the workers back into secured areas, and release the KNIDs!"
The voice on the other end was disbelieving. "But, sir! They..."
"I SAID RELEASE THEM! ALL OF THEM! EVEN THE PROTOTYPES! I WANT THESE SCUM FOUND, AND I WANT THEM DEAD!" Grobe clicked off the communicator before the scientist had a chance to reply. As for Grobe himself...he entered the emergency code that would seal off the executive level. Being devoured by KNIDs was not the way he wanted to end this day. But as for Wonka's agents...the most they could hope for was a swift death. They would not survive.

But Grobe did not know the Super Soldiers very well. 98 charged down the passageway, heading back towards the prison area. A guard emerged from a side passage, the alien's gun raised, and a lens of some kind covering one of its eyes. It turned and gave a cry of alarm as its optical lens picked up the approaching soldiers; a blast of energy slammed into 98's personal CP shields, depleting them by half. "That's all you get," 98 snarled as he threw himself forward, knife drawn...he rammed his blade through the alien's armor and deep into its gut, kicked the creature's legs out from under it, withdrew the knife, and slashed open the guard's throat as it fell. He whipped the bloody knife across the straps that held the alien's weapon, and the gun came free in his hands. Another pair of guards approached down the passageway ahead, and 98 raised his weapon to fire. Only there was no need. These two did not have advanced optics, and had remained blissfully ignorant of the approaching Super Soldiers until, well...the two staggered and jerked on their feet, flailing as if at some hallucinatory threat...the only visible trace of their assailants were the bloody, flickering outlines of knife blades in mid-air. The two creatures collapsed, guns tore themselves free and lifted into space, and then slowly faded into invisibility as the cloaking fields enveloped them.

It was time. IP-46 was the last one in his cage, and he came forward willingly to meet his executioner. It seemed foolish, yet he hoped that, in the eyes of the other Loompas at least, it would show his dedication to the Fuhrer. The devotion he had failed to give in life, he would now give in death. He silently clenched his jaw as the two loathsome aliens...one a stooped amphibious creature, the other a sort of insect...strapped him down onto the same device that had already killed so many of his comrades. IP-46 knew that pain was coming, more pain than he had ever experienced in his life, and he hoped that the Subservience Serum would take up where his own resolve failed. He hoped that the Fuhrer would be proud of his ending...a brilliant bolt of yellow light shrieked across his vision, no more than six inches from the end of his nose, and the head of the insectoid creature exploded in a sizzling mass of gore. The other alien turned, its own weapon wildly sweeping side to side...a blast of bright green plasma emerged from nowhere, blowing the alien off of its feet. IP-46 wondered wildly if he was somehow hallucinating: the other guards fired wildly as they were torn apart...shots came from thin air, throats were cut by invisible knives, and necks snapped of their own volition. The room secure, the locks of the cages began to explode off their own accord, blasting apart in sprays of icy white vapor. It was not a hallucination...IP-46 saw the vaguest suggestion of movement in front of the nearest cage, and then a round device appeared from empty space. "Stand back!" said a disembodied voice...there was a hiss of vapor, a sharp crack, and the cage's lock shattered.

"Easy there," said another voice, right beside IP-46's head...he almost cried out in alarm, and turned to see nothing. Well, almost nothing...there was the tiniest hint of a ripple in the air, and IP-46 felt something solid brush against his arm as his restraints began unfastening themselves, seemingly of their own accord. He sat up sharply.
"Who are you?" The other prisoners were looking wildly around the room, their eyes hopeful yet, at the same time, fearful.
"We are friends." A figure materialized in the center of the chamber, wearing the most advanced armor IP-46 had ever seen. It almost resembled something alien...yet there was no mistaking the purple W on the left shoulder guard. "Where is your commander?"
"He's dead. Wh...where..." IP-46 was not even sure which question he was trying to ask

"All answers in time, my friend," the soldier replied. "Right now, we have bigger concerns." He turned to the rest of the prisoners. "Arm yourselves however possible, then follow me!" The soldier remained visible but turned his head, communicating silently with others still out of sight. Most of the guards' weapons had already disappeared, appropriated by the invisible rescuers...but that wasn't a problem. IP-46 had seen an armory only a short distance down the hall as they were carried past, his mind automatically entering the combination. He turned to the soldier.
"If I may, sir, I know where we can find weapons."

The two pirates lumbered down the corridor, pushing through the tide of fleeing workers. The last of the crowd surged past them and fled through a door at the end of the passage, which sealed behind them. One of the two aliens looked at the other. "Do they know something we don't?" A scream greeted their ears, and the two thugs looked up, toward the far end of the corridor. One worker had been a bit too slow...the alien shrieked as something large and metallic pinned him to the ground with a scythe-like forelimb and began messily tearing him to pieces. The creature took a break from its meal and looked up at the two pirates, who were watching in horrified fascination...the creature hissed and tossed its first kill aside, advancing with its claws raised. Both pirates started firing as the KNID charged, blasts bouncing harmlessly off its metallic plates; a final shot caught the beast in the underside as it leapt, and it exploded in a steaming mess. The two pirates looked at each other, then down at the remains of the KNID. But then they heard something...something like the scraping of dozens of claws...they looked again toward the end of the passage, and saw that the KNID was not alone. "Oh..." the word trailed off, and the pirates again raised their guns to fire. But then they were pierced from behind by invisible scythes, and their screaming forms disappeared under the claws and teeth of hundreds of KNIDs.

The second team managed to get a transmission off before they were overrun, though it did not last long. Only about four words were actually coherent: "...KNIDs...hundreds of them..." This was followed by a burst of static and an extended amount of screaming, and Captain Urr'Quan felt his blood run cold.
"De'sann, Varak, what is going on?" There was nothing but the wash of feedback on the other end of the channel, and Urr'Quan switched frequencies, his rage building.
"Yes?" the voice of Jura Grobe asked calmly.
"Have you gone insane?" Urr'Quan hissed furiously. "You have released untrained, unconditioned KNIDs!"
Grobe laughed nastily. "Plans have changed. You might want to fall back to the hangar...old friend. I suggest you evacuate the corridors before they are locked down and completely overrun."
"YOU..."

But Grobe had already cut the link.

Roughly fifty Oompa-Loompas were still alive...giving OS-98 a full force of just under sixty-five men to work with. Granted, many of the former rebels were workers and engineers, not combat soldiers, but...at the moment...98 was willing to take anyone who could carry a weapon. The column of Loompas moved swiftly down the corridors of the asteroid base, shots from the invisible Super Soldiers cutting down guards before the aliens even had a chance to react. But now...something was wrong. While they were steadily approaching the hangar, undoubtedly one of the highest-priority security areas, the presence of guards had dropped to nothing. It was perfectly quiet, not so much as a warning siren in the distance. 98, the visible soldier leading the group of prisoners, held up a fist. The entire company stopped, and he opened a channel to his squad. "Do you get the feeling..."

"That we're being led right into a trap? Yes, sir."
There was a high-pitched, shrieking howl from somewhere behind, somewhere close, and the entire company turned involuntarily. "Where did that come from?" one of the prisoners asked nervously, gripping his weapon more tightly. There was another shriek, very near, and a horrible feeling settled in 98's stomach.
"Switch visors to multi-spectrum!" he ordered, performing the operation on his own HUD with a quick jerk of his eyes. He looked down the corridor again and froze. Stealth KNIDs, dozens of them, crawled along the corridor ceiling like horrible insects. There were many, far too many. "Move!" 98 shouted, gesturing to the prisoners, who could not see their approaching doom...the Loompas instinctively responded to the tone of command, and they began rushing down the passageway. 98 and his men moved backward at the rear of the formation, firing on the run...KNIDs blew apart, raining down splashes of blood and body parts in varying degrees of visibility and invisibility. The Loompas charged down the passageway, OS-98 looking ahead for any way out of this deathtrap...unsurprisingly, perhaps, all of the doors were locked, thin membranes of energy glistening in front of each.

"We've got nowhere to go, sir!" cried 89, "And they're probably herding us right into..."
"A slaughter!" 99 finished. Side doors began to open, and...for the briefest of instants...98 thought they might just have some hope of salvation. At least until KNIDs began to pour out of the side passages. These were completely visible, and some of the prisoner Loompas cried out in shock and alarm as the monsters flooded out into the hallway. The doors were opening behind them, but steadily began to move up, the rate of the portals' unsealing beginning to outrun the speed of the fleeing Loompas. A door opened just beside the company, and Loompas screamed as several KNIDs sprang into their midst, tearing a dozen of their number to pieces before weapons fire cut the beasts down. The corridor behind them was now filled with hundreds of the monstrosities: the unmodified, pod-like KNIDs that had provided the original genetic template; scythed KNIDs; acid KNIDs; metallic KNIDs; invisible KNIDs...there were even several new and horrifying variations that had not appeared in the tactical rosters. A hideous, scorpion-like beast scuttled forward with terrifying speed, flexing enormous pincers; eel-like KNIDs slid along on their bellies with a serpentine flexing motion; a handful of shapes even flew above the rest of the horde on bat-like wings. It was a scene from some madman's demented nightmare...made terrifyingly real. And it only got worse.

The Loompas fired on the run, even their clumsy one-handed shots managing kills in the tight press of alien bodies. The company rounded a corner to see a pair of huge doors sealing themselves just ahead...and the last of a group of aliens slipping through. The portal clanged shut and locked. There was no way out, unless..."97, GET THAT DOOR OPEN! THE REST OF YOU, TAKE POSITION AND..." But 98 never had a chance to finish the sentence. Something huge and heavy knocked him off his feet; he rolled on instinct, and narrowly avoided a deadly scythe blade. 89 rushed forward, the glowing tip of a shock prod visible in his hands; it was a weapon he had secured from one of the prison guards, and he jammed it into the KNID's side. The alien shrieked and leapt back, paused a moment, and then slowly and deliberately let its camouflage drop. By now, the assembled Loompas were all down on one knee, firing nonstop into the onrushing legion; the wall of laser and plasma fire plowed scores of creatures down in masses of flailing limbs and snapping jaws...but they just kept coming. 97 had removed the access panel for the security doors and was desperately working to open them...all of this 98 took in with his peripheral vision, as he turned to face this new threat. The beast, without its camouflage, resembled one of the metal-armored KNIDs...but it was jet-black in color...and bore an extra pair of scythe-arms. Several of the nearest Loompas turned in alarm and fired at this new target, several dozen blasts of energy splashing against the creature's body. The KNID's armor glowed orange with the heat of the dispersing shots, but the creature itself only hissed and gathered itself, preparing to strike. 89 charged again, shock prod at the ready; the creature's head moved faster than 98 would have believed possible, and the beast latched its jaws around 89's throat. Shields and armor did not even phase the beast...it whipped its head viciously to the right, and 89's lifeless body smashed against the wall, his neck broken and his throat torn out. 98 found himself moving before he had even consciously willed it. The black KNID swung at him with one pair of scythes...he ducked, rolled, and leapt over the second set...yet he was not fast enough. The creature's jaws caught him and he found himself lifted above the battle, about to be bitten in half...he fired his gun uselessly into the monster's face, and then, suddenly, he had an idea. His palm slapped against the KNID's forehead; when it came away, a metallic disk had been adhered firmly to the creature's face. There was a hiss of liquid nitrogen and the KNID shrieked, dropping 98 and backing away, clawing wildly at its head. The creature's actions slowed as its brain was literally frozen inside its skull...the gas charge exploded with a sharp crack, and the KNID's head was blown apart in a shower of frozen debris. 98 snatched up his gun and leapt to his feet..."GOT IT!" the voice of 97 bellowed, and the doors began to cycle open. The entire battle with the hideous black KNID had taken perhaps seven or eight seconds.

Urr'Quan had no intention of remaining here if Grobe had indeed been mad enough to set loose an entire cloning lab full of KNIDs, without physical restraints or mental conditioning...this was the last time Urr'Quan intended to take a job from the lunatic. The Captain stood uneasily as his crew loaded the last of the crates which held their pay, all of it in precious metals. The enforcers standing on the catwalks and platforms about the hangar regarded him with indifference; even if Urr'Quan was gone for good, their master could always find a new lackey. Urr'Quan snarled in his own language, cursing his own foolishness for trying to wheedle a bonus out of Jura Grobe...he ought to have known better. When the hangar doors started to open, he turned in alarm to look...dozens of Oompa-Loompas surged into the hangar, Grobe's enforcers turning to fire on them. Urr'Quan snarled and started to move forward himself...until he saw what entered the hangar just behind the diminutive fleeing creatures. KNIDs...hundreds upon hundreds of them. The enforcers forgot the Oompa-Loompas in an instant as the bestial horde poured into the hangar, KNIDs promptly clambering up the walls while others flew about on leathery wings...the security troopers nearest the door disappeared, their screams cut short; and the rest of the guards began firing wildly into the mass of vermicious beasts. Urr'Quan turned and ran for his ship. Only it was no longer there...at the sight of the horde of KNIDs, his crew had already retracted the ramps and were now lifting off without him. "DAMN YOU COWARDS!" Urr'Quan roared through his tentacles as his ship turned and headed for the hangar exit. "DAMN YOUR SOULS TO THE ABYSS!" The Captain's eyes returned to the onrushing mass of KNIDs, which had now torn apart most of Grobe's security detail...the Captain drew his pistols and vowed to at least make his death a worthy one.

IP-46 tripped and fell headlong, looking back to see that he had stumbled over nothing more than some kind of alien maintenance tool, much like a wrench. As he rose to his feet, he looked across the floor of the hangar and saw the same hideous alien he remembered from the capture of his ship. But he no longer felt any fear...just anger. Ignoring his better reason, IP-46 leapt to his feet, all thoughts of escape forgotten...he bent down and picked up the blunt piece of metal that had just sent him sprawling to the ground. He gave a roar of fury and charged, his mind replaying the death of his own captain again and again...the alien never stood a chance. IP-46 fired a salvo of energy bolts, blowing out one of Urr'Quan's knees. The alien screamed and reoriented his guns, a hideous smile of recognition coming to his ugly features. He fired as IP-46 charged, the Loompa dodging his blasts with surprising agility...one of his free hands went to his belt, and drew a shock flail. He swung as IP-46 closed with him...the Oompa-Loompa ducked under the blow and smashed Urr'Quan's flail hand with the wrench. The Captain screamed, dropped the weapon, and tried to bring his guns down at point-blank range, but IP-46 was in the grip of pure hatred. He smashed another of the alien's kneecaps and slammed his tiny, unassuming foot into Urr'Quan's midriff with the force of a hammer...The Captain fell, and IP-46 broke both of his gun-wielding arms with one swing. The creature was more fragile than he looked...IP-46 raised the wrench to deliver a crushing blow to Urr'Quan's skull, but was denied ultimate revenge as a pair of KNIDs seized the Captain's legs and started to drag him away, too intent on their tasty prize to bother with IP-46. The Loompa let them go, Urr'Quan's screams bringing a cruel smile to his face. Justice was done.

Dropping the wrench, IP-46 charged across the hangar to where the Super Soldiers had taken up position at the ramp of one of Grobe's transport ships, laying down covering fire as the rest of the Loompas charged aboard. Almost twenty small figures had fallen to either the KNIDs or the guns of Grobe's enforcers, their bodies simply disappearing under dozens of ravenous KNIDs. There was nothing to be done for it. The last of the prisoners aboard, the soldiers charged up the ramp, OS-98 stepping aboard the vessel last. The hatch sealed behind him, and he threw himself forward to the command deck. "Get us out of here!"

OS-97 had already interfaced with the vessel's computer...the vessel's topside gun turret came online and began blasting dozens of KNIDs apart with each shot. "Hang on, sir," the specialist began, "I've almost got..." The ship gave a sudden lurch and wobbled unsteadily into the air, 97 throwing himself into the pilot's seat. The transport swung heavily toward the rectangle of open space at the far end of the hangar and slowly began to accelerate, smashing through an overhead gantry in the process. IP-46, though not asked, made his way forward and took the co-pilot's seat. While he did not recognize the alien labels, he saw what he believed to be the lateral thruster control...he took hold, and instantly the vessel's flight stabilized. 97 looked over at him. "Thanks."
The transport rocketed out of the hangar bay to meet an awe-inspiring sight: an asteroid field stretched away on all sides, backlit by the luminous gas clouds of a nebula. OS-98 threw himself into the captain's chair. "Are we alone?"
The Super Soldiers had all faded back to visibility, and one of them had taken the operations console. "Negative, sir." A view screen flickered to life above the forward windows. Small fighter craft, at least a dozen of them, were converging on the stolen transport from behind, along with a pair of larger ships, similar in size to the transport but more heavily armed.

"Why couldn't we have gotten a proper warship?" someone grumbled.
"I didn't exactly have time to go shopping!" 97 shot back. "Bringing all weapons online."
OS-98 flipped open a concealed panel on his wrist, and punched a series of buttons on the tiny keypad beneath. "I'm implementing Omega protocol."
"Sir, we're not out of range," 88 noted, his tone grim.
"I know. I assume this thing has shields?"
"Yes, sir."
"Get them running."

At OS-98's command, a tiny receiver came to life. The huge Wonka ship had one final duty to perform. The reactor thundered to life, all of its safety systems and control interlocks disabled in preparation for its last great act; the vessel reverberated with a thunderous roar, its hull glowing brilliantly as heat and radiation flooded uncontrollably from its central power system. Sections of the vessel's interior melted or caught fire, but it hardly mattered now. Soon, there would be nothing left.
The KNIDs scattered as the ship powered up, drawing back from this sudden source of light and searing heat; a few were burned as they leapt from the vessel's sides and scuttled for safety. Urr'Quan, still barely alive, turned his head to look, and his eyes widened as he realized what was about to happen...

"Have a nice day in hell." OS-98 pushed the final key, and the blackness of space turned white. A pressure wave slammed into the transport a split-second later, shaking the craft viciously...Oompa-Loompas were thrown from their seats, and 98 had to seize the arm of the captain's chair for support.
"Just like an episode of Star Trek," 97 remarked, though no one heard him. The flash of light dissipated, and the aft screen revealed a terrifying sight: the massive asteroid from which they had escaped was now burning, fires from leaking oxygen billowing eerily in the void...more alarming, however, nearly a third of the immense cosmic rock was now hurtling outward at incredible speed. Huge sections of debris smashed against neighboring asteroids, which exploded in additional showers of rock and jets of space dust. The pursuing craft had been just passing over their parent base when it shattered. Half of the fighters vanished in the initial flash; and the remainder, sensors and eyes both blinded by the explosion, ran headlong into the ensuing storm of debris. The surviving fighters slammed into a wave of micrometeoroids and disintegrated in roiling clouds of fire and plasma, torn apart by the cosmic equivalent of a shotgun blast. The larger ships fared little better: one was ripped in half by a hurtling chunk of space rock, and the other managed to avoid the debris cloud...only to find itself between two asteroids as they collided.
Debris thundered against the aft shields of the ship, but the defensive barrier held. The impacts stopped, the shields stabilized, and the transport found itself gliding smoothly through the asteroid field. OS-98 turned to 97. "Is the trans-light drive active?"
"Yes, sir. The computer has located our solar system and is presently establishing a route...we'll be able to jump as soon as we clear the edge of the asteroid field."
"Any idea as to what this...jump...will entail exactly?"

97 looked back, his features unreadable behind his helmet. "Honestly, sir? Not a clue."
"Sir!" it was the soldier manning the sensor console. "I have a contact dead ahead, making for the same jump point as us." The overhead view screen zoomed in. While it was only an aft view of the other ship, the hull color alone brought an unpleasant sense of recognition.
"It's the privateer that towed us here," IP-46 said, looking back at 98, who nodded.
"Don't really want him shadowing us back to base. What kind of weapons we got on this thing?"
97's hands danced across the console. "Gun turrets top and bottom...two heavy cannons up in the nose."
"Very well. Close in on him, give him a couple of shots to the engines. I don't want him to see us coming."
"Yes, sir." The Grobe transport accelerated and slid into the shadow of a massive nearby asteroid, skirting underneath the huge chunk of rock. The pirate vessel came into view ahead, blissfully ignorant of the approaching craft. The transport was hardly a warship...only with stealth would this work. Fortunately, the privateer's exhaust reduced the effectiveness of its aft sensors. A volley of energy blasts spat from the transport's nose, striking the privateer straight in the engines. Explosions blossomed and the wounded vessel immediately swung to face its attacker...but it was already too late. Its main drives damaged, the craft began making a sluggish turn to starboard, but the Oompa-Loompas would not be denied vengeance. Turret fire licked across the alien's hull, shearing away armor...another volley from the prow cannons struck the privateer dead center, and the vessel was left drifting. Whether or not the smaller ship's armament was actually sufficient to destroy the heavily-armored privateer was irrelevant; out of control, the hapless craft drifted into the path of a large asteroid. There was a final, rippling explosion, and the vessel was left as nothing more than a scattering of wreckage.
"Well done, people." OS-98 reached up to remove his helmet, allowing himself to relax for the first time. Ahead, the last of the asteroids were clearing, and 97 made final calculations. When it came, the Jump was a subtle thing...a tiny jerk, a momentary sense of vertigo...the only strange thing was the view ahead, as space seemed to stretch into a tube. It was like falling down an infinitely deep hole; directly ahead was nothing but blackness, stars racing past around the edges of what seemed a limitless void. 98's face split into a smile. At the cost of a single casualty, he and his team had discovered the identity of the Fuhrer's competitor, stolen the entire contents of the enemy's computer network, stolen one of his ships, and had...by all appearances...destroyed his base of operations. Indeed, that blast may very well have eliminated Grobe himself...though 98 knew that, without confirmation, it was nothing more than an idle hope. But they had done well. The Super Soldier program had more than proved its worth, and 89's noble sacrifice would not be forgotten.

There was no word to explain what IP-46 was feeling as the warp-drive decelerated, and familiar planets fell into view. Relief? Happiness? Excitement? All these words were dull in comparison to what he was experiencing at the moment. They had escaped death, and were returning conquerors. If he had not been in the presence of the near-stoic super soldiers, he would have cried his exclamations, maybe even shed a few tears of joy. As it were, he managed to contain himself, assisting OS-97 as they maneuvered the massive vessel closer to the Earth's moon. OS-98 spoke from his chair, his voice barely a whisper. "Home."

In a word, he managed to sum up the emotions of every Oompa-loompa on board, all their hope and gratitude and pride. IP-46 twisted around to look behind, expecting to finally see the leader's face lit up in some form of happiness. Instead, he was as expressionless as ever, most likely already thinking of what to say about the mission during his debriefing. He and his men had been successful, having rescued about a third of the ship's crew from terrible deaths, uncovering the identity of the Fuhrer's enemy, and having destroyed the base of operations for Wonka's most bloodthirsty competitor yet. Indeed, they had succeeded; but he had lost a man, and all the other crewmembers to the KNIDs and alien torture sessions… undoubtedly the operations director would have some stern words for him when they returned.

IP-46 turned his attention back to the console, a strange mess of symbols and buttons and switches. His eye was drawn to a flashing icon on the far right, something that reminded him of a vessel interface control. He turned back to 98. "Sir, I think we are being hailed." 98 looked up and noticed a fleet of Wonka fighter ships approaching, their sleek forms glinting in the starlight.

Another Loompa glanced at a screen. "Sir, several vessels inbound… Auroras, undoubtedly."

"Patch us through to them."

Nodding, IP-46 pressed the icon's corresponding button, and a familiar voice became audible, the sound being channeled through unseen speakers. "Alien vessel, you are entering Wonka territory. Identify your race and intention, or we will be forced to assume you are hostile. We will take necessary action if required."

98 gave a sniff of amusement, a glimmer of hilarity appearing on his face. "Of course…this is an alien ship. We should let them know it's us; we don't want any more needless deaths today." he murmured this half to himself, but the notion was mutual to all who heard it. He motioned to IP-46. "Hail them."

"Aye, sir." the pilot made the necessary adjustments, and there was a chime as the message was patched to any ship within range. OS-98 spoke strongly, proudly. "Auroras, this is SS-453-OS-98, a fellow servant of Fuhrer Wonka. The crew onboard this vessel are those who left twenty-five days ago; we have returned with a little…gift."

There as a moment of silence over the channel, and IP-46 imagined the crew of the other vessel exchanging wary glances, suspicious of the strange vessel and its supposedly friendly crew.

The silence was broken when the other came through, his voice welcoming. "We checked your serial number in the database, along with the time window you gave…you're clear. We will conduct you to the base, 98. Welcome home."

Lunar Base,

Intelligence Level

Images gained from the successful mission flashed onscreen, like a slideshow of bizarre pictures. Wonka, accompanied by OS-22 and several others from the advisory board, watched the procession of pictures with interest, their eyes occasionally wandering downward to glance at the dossiers they had been given… the report which contained statements from the debriefing and information taken from Grobe's database. They were all fascinated by the descriptions of the extraterrestrials, given by the surviving crew members. Wonka was especially intrigued by the accounts that described the prototype KNIDs and all their variant forms. It was a worrying thought, a warning of possible dangers to come, but remarkable at the same time; and as his mind wandered, he began to ponder…

"…do you not agree, my Fuhrer?"

Charlie returned his mind to the present, looking up to see those seated around the table looking expectantly to him. "Erm…I didn't quite catch the last bit there; would you mind repeating it?"

The Loompa nodded. "We were just saying that the Super Soldiers have done well, beyond expectation, even…although they did lose an agent."

"It couldn't be helped," another said in the soldiers' defense, "too many KNIDs. They were lucky to have held their own against that many without having lost any more than they did!"

"True," Wonka said, his eyes sparkling as an unspoken idea began to grow. "They performed quite well, for which they have been rewarded. I am told that the surviving crew has been given their requested assignments?"

"Yes, my Fuhrer, along with their full reacceptance into the organization."

Wonka nodded. "Good, good; MD-88 will be happy. Now, for the real business at hand…this 'Grobe' character." He nodded to the screen, which depicted the furry, fearsome form of the alien for a few moments before flashing on to the next image. "He, or she, or whatever it is, seems to have had a massive facility, rivaling our own. Of course, from what the dossier says, that is now irrelevant. The bait ship's explosion destroyed at least half of the facility…but the fate of Grobe is unknown. He may have survived, even with the KNIDs of his own making running about. But even if he did, his business is crippled, and we should be seeing little to no interference from him any longer. And, as for his recipes and confectionary secrets, they can be utilized to assist in developing new product lines, candies that are better suited to alien tastes. Understood?"

The Oompa-loompas around the table nodded, closing their dossiers. "Yes, my Fuhrer." Wonka smiled.

It was hard to believe that at one time, he had been against all this, the millions of Oompa-loompas working and living and growing old and eventually dying here in the factory, all under the employment of Fuhrer Wonka, but after having seen the working environment of an alien competitor, IP-46 could only see how wrong he had been. The colorful, spacious environment they were allowed to work in was heaven compared to the hellish nightmare that had been Grobe's facility… the dim, dank working conditions, the torturing chamber, the focus on mass production rather than quality… all he could say was that he was glad to be home, and now that he thought about it, he was glad to be alive. He had nearly died; thrice in one mission… luck must have been on his side. The Captain hadn't been so lucky, he reflected, though his death had been a noble one. IP-46 hoped that if he had to meet his end, it would be with dignity; it was the least he could do to show his gratitude to the Fuhrer for giving him a second chance. He, along with all the other surviving crew members, had been awarded their full citizenship, as promised, and had been given the assignment of their choice. IP-46, of course, had chosen a piloting position aboard one of the transports, which he would acquire once the ships in the hangar were allowed back into commission, after their propulsion systems had been updated to accommodate light-speed travel. It would be an exciting time, he thought while glancing about himself in satisfaction, going where no man has gone before… though they would only be delivering delicious candies across the galaxy, they would also be seeing things undreamt by mankind, and would spread the influence of the Fuhrer farther across the galaxy. Soon, the whole system would become aware of a new authority, a power that lay in the hands of a human…Charlie Wonka.