The Machine God
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Chapter 100 - Sleipnir
🕑 Added 2025-10-13 10:45:35 +0000 UTCChapter 100
Sleipnir
The announcement chimed softly through the first-class pod, pulling Alexander from sleep.
“Arrival at Primary Orbital Station in five minutes. Please gather your belongings and prepare for disembarkation.”
He blinked awake, taking in the small but well-appointed room. The pod’s bed had been surprisingly comfortable, especially with the climate control. A compact sofa sat against one wall beneath a holo display. Through the door to his left, he could see the private bathroom, barely larger than a closet but functional.
Twenty hours in an orbital elevator, but first class had its perks.
Worth every credit.
Alexander sat up and reached for the mirror panel on the wall, checking his disguise. Talia had organized everything, professional-grade work from some of the best in the business. The dark brown wig sat perfectly, cut shorter than his natural hair with an executive’s polish. Fake mustache and beard, both disturbingly realistic.
The contacts went back in with ease, shifting his eyes from their natural color to a muddy hazel. Then he checked on the instant scar makeup on his left cheek. It was amazing what existed in the real criminal underworld. Without knowing it was fake, he might have fooled himself into believing the scar was real.
Talia had assured him the entire kit would last at least twenty-four hours, as long as he didn’t mess with it or get it wet.
The disguise wasn’t for the scanners. He’d handle those with Technopathy. No, the disguise was for the human element. The overzealous guard who’d memorized wanted posters. The sharp-eyed security officer who might recognize Alexander Rooke despite every digital system clearing him.
He stood and straightened the black three-piece suit Augustus had insisted he buy for their last op. Looking at himself critically in the mirror, he realized it might have been smart to switch to some sleepwear. But he’d been worried about messing up the disguise by changing.
He’d been going for wealthy business traveler. The kind of person who rode first class and moved through security without raising questions. Now he looked more like a lazy playboy who’d partied a bit too hard the night before.
Alexander shrugged. Xander Crimalot.
Annie had invented the persona months ago when they’d hired that private jet to Europe. She’d been entirely too pleased with herself about the name. Crime-a-lot. Subtle enough to pass a casual glance, obvious enough to be entertaining.
He’d never admit it to her, but the name did amuse him. After he’d got through the airport without someone calling him out on it.
Droney hovered into view from where it had been resting.
Alexander thought about that for a moment. It was yet another interesting facet of Animachina that he lacked understanding about; Droney had started taking naps or something similar a few months back.
He shook his head in amusement and examined the drone. With his sleek look and blue-black shifting metal visor, Droney would once again be acting as an expensive, customized Personal Assistant Drone. It would bypass the need for him to provide any physical documentation, and give him an excuse to look bored while subtly convincing all the cameras, facial recognition software, scanners, and identity services that he was, in fact, a legitimate civilian.
And definitely not a supervillain.
Alexander reached out with his powers, sweeping the full suite of his senses across the massive elevator car. He could feel the mechanisms humming through the structure. Four levels carrying five hundred passengers. Inertial dampeners keeping the acceleration smooth. Antigrav plating reducing effective weight. Hover tech integrated throughout the framework. It was elegant engineering, each system compensating for the others’ limitations.
They’d climbed over thirty-six thousand kilometers, or twenty-two thousand miles of tether in under twenty hours.
He pulled his attention back and checked his internal countdown. The next elevator would arrive in thirty minutes. The rest of Grimnir would be in first class on that one. Carmen Reyes and her eleven crew members would be scattered through the standard sections, all of them pretending to be strangers. To each other and to Grimnir.
That gave him thirty minutes to infiltrate Primary Orbital’s control systems, create a legitimate registry for a ship they hadn’t borrowed yet, and make sure his team could walk through security without triggering every alarm on the station.
The plan was complex but manageable. Alexander went first to handle the technical work. The team would follow, passing through security he’d already compromised. Carmen and her crew would drift separately to a bar somewhere on the station, just casual travelers killing time. Once the ship was secured, Augustus would open a portal directly aboard for the crew.
If something went wrong, if they got caught, Grimnir would go loud, take the ship by force and perform an emergency jump from Sol. Alexander could manage the ship enough to pull that off, though it would be a highly undesirable outcome.
At least that way, Carmen and her crew could maintain cover, leaving the station later as innocent bystanders.
Primary Orbital didn’t mess around with security. Talia had spent two days with the intel, mapping their routes, studying protocols, guard rotations, checkpoint procedures. Two dozen Tier 2 supers on active duty at any given time. Two Tier 3s on station, ready to respond within minutes. Scanners at every entrance. Facial recognition tied into databases across Sol. Cameras covering every corridor, every dock, every public space.
But as long as nobody recognized him through the disguise, the plan would work.
Should work.
The elevator began its final approach, deceleration barely perceptible thanks to the dampeners. Alexander gathered his single bag, small and expensive-looking, exactly what a wealthy traveler would carry for a short station visit.
Droney settled above his shoulder. Just another rich asshole with his PAD.
Alexander moved to the door. It whooshed open smoothly as he stepped into the corridor.
First-class passengers moved in a gentle flow toward the exit, their movements unhurried. Quiet conversations. The air of people accustomed to comfort and efficiency.
Alexander joined them, just another face in the crowd.
The announcement chimed again.
“Welcome to Primary Orbital Station. Please proceed to the disembarkation area in an orderly fashion. Thank you for traveling with Terran Orbital Transit.”
Ahead, the main doors were opening onto one of the most heavily guarded stations in Sol.
Time to see if the disguise held.
The disembarkation area opened onto a large thoroughfare with crowds flowing in multiple directions beneath vaulted ceilings. Security checkpoints lined the entrance, each staffed with guards and scanning equipment.
Alexander’s Hyperawareness kicked into overdrive. He swept out in every direction with his senses, cataloging everything. Facial recognition cameras. Identity scanners. Biometric sensors. Metal detectors. At least three supers positioned around the checkpoint area, their enhanced Tier 2 physiologies standing out like beacons to his Electrokinesis.
He reached out with Technopathy, touching each system simultaneously. Cameras fed false data. Facial recognition software accepted his altered features without checking databases, instead immediately identifying him as Xander Crimalot, a legitimate traveler.
One of the guards looked up as he approached. Did a double-take. Her eyes tracked him, studying his face, then moving down his suit and back up again.
He joined the queue, moving with the unhurried pace of first-class passengers. Droney hovered at his shoulder.
The guard was still staring.
She turned to another guard beside her, nudged her shoulder, and pointed at Alexander. The second guard looked over, studying him as well. They leaned close, talking to each other. Too far away to hear what they were saying.
Alexander kept moving with the flow, expression neutral. Droney floated forward as he reached the scanner, presenting itself for inspection.
The system pinged green immediately, responding to his command to confirm his identity without searching.
Alexander placed his bag on the conveyor belt and stepped toward the body scanner. The tall blonde guard was still watching him. He walked through slowly, the scanner humming as it processed.
Inside the bag, his gauntlets sat wrapped in clothes. He reached out with Technopathy, carefully manipulating the scanner’s output. The display showed fabric, toiletries, standard travel items. Nothing that would raise questions.
The tech operating the scanner frowned at his screen. Hesitated. Then flagged down a senior officer.
Alexander’s heart rate kicked up. He kept his breathing steady, his expression bored. Around him, he was managing dozens of systems at once. Every camera. Every scanner. The facial recognition database searches. Identity verification protocols. It was like juggling knives while walking a tightrope.
It would have been easier to simply erase himself or corrupt the recordings and systems entirely, but this time they required extreme subtlety. Nothing could show as wrong, even after they were gone.
The senior officer approached, glanced at the screen, then looked up at Alexander. His gaze swept over the expensive suit, the bored expression, the customized PAD hovering nearby.
He waved the bag through with a grunt.
Alexander almost sighed out loud. He collected his bag from the conveyor and continued forward, Droney settling back above his shoulder.
He glanced back toward the checkpoint. The blonde guard was still watching him.
She winked.
Alexander blinked, confused. Huh?
But he was already past the checkpoint, moving into the main flow of station traffic. He let the confusion slide away, focusing on the next phase. Twenty minutes and counting.
The thoroughfare stretched ahead, with shops and restaurants lining the walls, crowds moving in organized chaos. Somewhere on this station was the control hub.
And after that, Gabriel Santiago’s ship.
Alexander moved across the station with purpose, Droney feeding him the layout directly through their connection. The map overlaid his vision, pathways and corridors lighting up in his mind. Technopathy and Animachina working together to connect them.
He stretched his powers out across every security system within range, maintaining real-time control. He couldn’t risk a stray angle catching him, couldn’t afford a single system reporting something wrong.
The security door he needed stood at the edge of a large plaza, marked as restricted access. People moved past it constantly, none paying it any attention. He couldn’t just walk up and slip inside. It was too visible.
Alexander glanced around, then reached out with Technopathy to a store on the opposite end of the plaza. An alarm triggered with a piercing wail.
Everyone turned toward the sound. Security guards moved in that direction.
He unlocked the door with a thought and slipped through.
The white corridor beyond was empty. Alexander kept his senses stretched ahead, managing every camera and sensor, tracking movement through walls with Electrokinesis and Metallokinesis.
He started jogging, taking turns according to Droney’s map. Left, right, straight through an intersection. His powers swept ahead constantly, searching for anyone approaching.
A signature appeared around the next corner, heading toward the intersection. Alexander ducked into an unoccupied office, pressing himself against the wall. Footsteps passed outside. Someone talking into their comm about shift changes.
The footsteps faded.
Alexander continued, moving faster now. More turns. Deeper into the station’s restricted areas. The security hub was close, the nexus where all the station’s systems ran through.
He and Talia had discussed the challenge at length. Alexander couldn’t affect the galactic registry directly, which meant he needed to register the new ship locally, have the station’s systems send it on to the galactic registry, and then approve any authentication queries the process returned.
He reached the final corridor and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. His awareness dove into the systems, slipping around layers of mundane security and even something he could only assume was the work of another Technopath. The station’s network opened before him like a three-dimensional map of data.
Alexander had learned not to ask for too much when he last did something like this. It took only a single query to find the list of ship registries.
He sorted through them, searching the hundreds of vessels docked at Primary Orbital. Corporate haulers, private yachts, gunships, civilian transports.
Then he found it.
SSS Gabriel’s Glory.
Alexander snorted. Of course Santiago had named it something to match his own ego.
He pulled up the full registry, examining every detail. Specifications, ownership documentation, galactic identification codes. Then he copied it, creating a duplicate entry with modifications. Different ID codes. Tiny adjustments to the drive signatures and structural layout. But identical in every other way.
The name field sat blank, waiting.
He thought for a moment, then filled it in: GSS Sleipnir.
He submitted it to the Galactic Starship Registry, starting the verification process. Responses started coming back immediately, automated systems checking the documentation against databases across known space. Each confirmation required real-time management, guiding the systems toward acceptance without setting off any alerts. This wasn’t a case where the machines, eager as they were, could do the work for him. It didn’t know the correct answers.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Alexander kept his eyes closed, focused on the data streams. He couldn’t stop now. One mistake and the entire registration would fail, which would trigger flags and alerts that would cascade into an investigation or worse.
The footsteps grew closer. Multiple people. He spared a precious moment to run his senses across them. Four people. Normal. Security guards, judging by the secure comms and tasers at their hips.
Authorization request from the Galactic Starship Registry. Confirmation required from the station manager for new vessel registration.
Alexander approved it, spoofing the manager’s credentials.
The footsteps rounded the corner.
“Hey, you!”
Alexander remained still, his awareness locked on the communications protocols that were blazing back and forth. Processing. Cross-referencing. Verifying. Confirming.
“This is a restricted area. Turn around slowly and identify yourself.”
The guards were approaching. Their boots echoed against the floor.
Another authorization request came through. A final check before registration completion.
Alexander confirmed it.
The response took three seconds. Three seconds of footsteps getting closer, of voices demanding compliance, of hands reaching for weapons.
Registration complete. GSS Sleipnir officially recorded in the Galactic Starship Registry.
He dove further into the station’s local records, modifying transaction dates and metadata. Made it look like the Sleipnir had been registered here two years ago, just another ship that docked regularly at Primary Orbital. Buried in the noise of thousands of other vessels.
Footsteps right behind him now.
A hand clamped down on his shoulder. “You’re being placed under arrest for—”
Alexander opened his eyes.
He lifted his hand, Metallokinesis seizing every guard simultaneously. They rose off the ground, struggling against invisible force, then slammed into the wall with a collective grunt of impact.
His other hand gestured toward a nearby door. It flew open. He hurled the guards inside in a heap of tangled limbs and armor.
Alexander followed them in, pulling the door shut behind him as they started to get up. They were already reaching for their comms, voices urgent.
He’d disabled them the moment they’d grabbed him.
The door shut. Darkness enveloped the room.
Alexander’s hands began crackling with electricity, brief sparks and flashes lighting up the space in bursts. The guards froze, their faces illuminated in blue-white flickers.
“I’m going to need all of you to take a little nap in here.”
Comments
Nick DiRubio
A space elevator needs to be beyond the minimum distance for geostationary orbit, which is 35,786km. 36,000km is much shorter than most estimates, which are about 60,000km for a real space elevator.
Gardor
"Twenty hours in an orbital elevator, but first class had its perks." ->i was gonna whine about this, but then a later sentence said the elevator took him 36,000 km into space. Like, im not sure about the *necessity* of going that distance, but my nagging about the time spent has been preempted.
Nick DiRubio
Hot DAMN Alex is a fucking monster. Love his character and skillset!
