Previously on Bran Beta has been reinstated. Scarred, uncertain, and walking under a yellow glove of scrutiny, he’s returned to Wave Command. But the celebration is brief. Anomalies in ALEx’s core systems hint at sabotage, and the leadership wants answers—fast.
TiGer’s presence grounds him. Roxy’s warning unsettles him. And a sharp encounter with Miss Nora reveals just how tangled the loyalties on board have become.
The patterns are shifting. And if Bran doesn’t learn to trust something deeper than performance, the second chance he’s been given may break him faster than exile ever did.
In This Episode
Have you ever felt like you're one misstep away from losing everything you've just regained?
Bran stands reinstated yet unsteady, his silver uniform feeling more like a target than an honour. The familiar corridors of The ALEx now hide unfamiliar threats as sabotage ripples through its systems.
Between TiGer's unwavering loyalty and Cropper's seething malice, Bran must navigate a ship that's literally coming apart at the seams… much like his confidence.
Sometimes the edge we fear falling from is the very place we need to stand to see clearly.
What will Bran discover when he stops running from his responsibility?
The throne room's massive doors creaked open under Emm and Gee's combined keys. Stale air wafted out, carrying the musty scent of disuse. Bran's dendricals tingled as he stepped inside, memories washing over him like warm waves.
Light filtered through the dusty dome above, casting mottled shadows across the golden throne. Behind it, the Tree of Life stood dormant, its branches bare and lifeless. The Tree of Knowledge bore a single green bud, defiant against the gloom.
Back when the Sandy was around, this chamber had hummed with activity. Bran remembered delivering countless messages, each one a chance to glimpse the Sandy's wisdom. Sometimes he'd bump into TiGer here, her spiky orange-and-black hair catching the light as she shared her latest insight. Or Gemma, with her knowing smile and clever observations.
His dendricals twitched. The fling with Gemma had been brief but intense. She'd opened his eyes to new ways of thinking, challenged his assumptions. Then it ended, and he'd lost not just her, but TiGer's friendship too. His chest tightened. He could have stayed in that meeting room, sought TiGer's counsel despite the awkward chair incident. She'd always been good at helping him see things clearly.
He recalled the Chief wittering on about mastering one's impulses echoed in his thoughts. The way his higher faculties served as a sieve, sifting through sensations and enabling measured choices instead of passionate reactions. His capacity for reasoned thought felt as withered as the barren Tree of Life.
Bran's footsteps echoed as he approached the throne. He wasn't hiding, he told himself. He was seeking answers. The throne room had always helped him find clarity before. But standing there in the dusty silence, he wondered if perhaps he was just clinging to old habits.
Emm's tail thumped against the floor, the sound oddly loud in the empty chamber. Gee sat alert by the door, his ears pricked forward.
A flash of orange and black caught Bran's eye as TiGer burst through the throne room doors. Her spiky hair seemed particularly vibrant against the chamber's dusty gloom.
"There you are. Had a hunch you'd skulk here." She planted her tiny frame in front of him, hands on hips. "Everyone's looking for you. Your betas need direction, and Barry's throwing a proper strop about being your second."
Bran opened his mouth to respond, but TiGer barrelled on.
"Higgs is furious. Wants you leading a damage report team." She cocked her head. "Though honestly, it's more about getting you re-oriented up there. Oh, and your new uniform's ready with new gloves. Don't worry, I grabbed your old suit from your bunk for measurements when you ran off like a chicken."
She paused, then adopted a mocking falsetto. "Oh, thank you TiGer, I didn't realise you'd been so kind as to bring my old suit when you were heading back with Roxy."
Switching back to her normal voice: "Oh that's OK, Bran, my pleasure."
Her caustic tone made him wince.
"I'm also meant to show you the new security protocols - the dSTP." She softened slightly. "Don't worry, I'll be with you. Just don't try sitting on me again, OK?"
Her smile showed she'd already forgiven him. She was always like that.
"You know," she said, gazing at the throne, "The Sandy used to broadcast this story about an exodus and wilderness. About heading to a promised land." She turned to him. "The land was good, but occupied by enemies. Just like those ancient Hebrews. Only our enemies are mostly in here." She tapped her head on the side as she spoke those last words.
"Let's go upstairs. Get your uniform. Get our orders from Higgs and assess the damage."
"Our orders?" Bran asked.
"Yes, Bran. I'm coming to keep an eye on you and offer my keen insight." She shot him a look. "And don't give me those puppy dog eyes. Captain's orders, not my choice. I still haven't decided if I'm forgiving you. Or that business with my little sister."
She stomped away, but not before Bran caught the hurt in her expression.
The changing area smelled of ozone and fresh fabric. Bran's new silver uniform hung before him, its yellow lightning flashes gleaming under the harsh lights. The sight made his dendricals tingle with a mix of anticipation and unease.
"Right ho, I'll give you some privacy and see you by the tubes in a tick," TiGer called over her shoulder as she strode away.
Bran peeled off his grimy maintenance uniform, letting it drop to the floor. An automoton's thick fingers immediately snatched it up.
"Och, waste not want not," Bran muttered, the Chief's favourite saying slipping out automatically. Though he was usually snatching any discarded morsel of cake or biscuit at the time.
He backed into the hanging closet, and the silver fabric seemed to come alive, wrapping around him like a second skin. The material felt different from his old uniform - smoother, more responsive. He reached into his discarded underwear and retrieved the yellow glove, stuffing it carefully into his new underpants. In his experience, identity-concealing items were best kept close.
The helmet descended from above, its wide brim casting shadows across his face. The cord securing it to the suit pulled taut with a soft click. When the boots emerged, they seemed enormous - their oversized soles making him feel like he was wearing diving equipment. They sealed themselves around his feet with a pneumatic hiss.
The sleeves extended, presenting his hands with two pristine gloves - red for his right hand, blue for his left. As he slipped them on, the reality of his reinstatement hit him. He was a Beta Wave Messenger again, complete with all the responsibilities and expectations that came with it. The thought sat uncomfortably in his stomach.
Bran lumbered out of the closet, his feet feeling like they belonged to someone else. The oversized soles made each step a precarious balancing act. Left foot forward - wobble. Right foot forward - stumble. His dendricals gripped the inside of his gloves, seeking stability.
The boots' design hadn't changed - still engineered to create an airtight seal with the tube system. Combined with the helmet's wide brim, they'd keep his insides where they belonged while rocketing through the vacuum at frightening speeds. But his body seemed to have forgotten the knack of walking in them.
He remembered the Chief's lecture about muscle memory during his first days in maintenance. "Yer brain builds new pathways," he'd growled. "Like water cutting channels through rock. First time's always the hardest, but keep at it and soon enough..." The Chief had trailed off, distracted by an Automoton's urgent grunt about a blocked waste pipe.
TiGer stood waiting by the tubes, managing to make her own ridiculous boots look graceful. Her tiny frame tapped an impatient rhythm against the floor, each movement precise and controlled. His old pathways might have eroded during his exile, but they weren't gone completely. Like the Chief said, we can always forge new connections.
"Coming?" TiGer called, her voice carrying a hint of amusement at his ungainly approach.
Bran concentrated on each step, feeling his balance adjust, his muscles remembering their old patterns. By the time he reached her, the wobbling had decreased noticeably. He was already re-adapting, laying down fresh pathways over the old familiar ground, just like cutting new routes through the tendrils of the older tunnels.
TiGer lifted Bran's hands with unexpected gentleness. Her touch sent tingles through his damaged dendricals as she examined the gloves' fit. The familiar sensation of connection sparked memories of countless tube journeys, but something felt different now.
"Remember," TiGer's voice softened, "most of the tubes to and from the Nexus are upgraded since you were last here, and since the Bridge opened. We have new security protocols."
She pointed to each glove in turn. "Scarlet for S and Purple for P."
Bran tapped the gloves, frowning at the one on his left hand. "But this one's blue."
"They assure me it's purple," TiGer shrugged. "Anyway, just remember - these are your security access to the new tubes."
Her tiny form straightened as she launched into an explanation of the dSTP. "All the new Tube Receptors have been upgraded to this fancy Dendrical Security Portal Technology. The dSTP reads your glove print to provide access and reads the desired destination."
A smile brightened her face as she looked up at him. "That's it. You now have access to everything, everywhere."
Her expression turned serious. "Know your chosen destination before you enter the tube, and touch the dSTP pad at the entrance. It reads your security clearance and destination from your dendricals."
"Now, let's pop up to the Bridge and check in with the Captain."
Bran's boots squeaked against the polished floor as he followed TiGer onto the Bridge. The command center's sleek surfaces and blinking consoles made his dendricals twitch with nervous energy. Captain Higgs stood at her command console, her fingers dancing across the interface.
TiGer's polite cough drew Higgs's attention. "Ah, the wondering wanderer returns." Her penetrating gaze fixed on Bran. "Are you up to the task, Bran? Or would you rather I hand you back over to Cropper, who'd like nothing better?"
"Yes, Ma'am," Bran spluttered before he could stop himself.
"NOT MA’AM!" Higgs's voice boomed with thunderous authority, making Bran's dendricals curl inside his gloves. "I am Captain. You refer to me as Captain. Never, ever as Ma'am. I am not the Empress. Understood?"
Bran felt himself shrinking, his usual towering height diminishing until he felt smaller than TiGer beside him. "Yes, ma... Captain, sir." He stumbled over the words, then corrected himself. "Yes, Captain." Drawing himself back to his full height, he added, "I'm ready."
Higgs's questioning look prompted his last statement, but her "Hmmm" suggested she remained unconvinced. She outlined their mission - survey damage, collect reports, visit Sher Gar for recordings, and consult the Chief about repairs.
When Higgs demanded if they were taking notes, Bran fumbled for his datapad, pulling it from his sleeve pocket while TiGer responded promptly. His dendricals trembled slightly as he tried to capture every detail of their assignments.
"Back here by the next cycle. Do not tarry," Higgs concluded.
"Aye aye Captain!" TiGer's crisp response contrasted sharply with Bran's stumbling "Yes Ma... Captain."
Higgs's final look spoke volumes about her patience, making Bran's dendricals curl even tighter inside his gloves. As they turned to leave, her warning about enemies inhabiting their land sent a chill through his circuits.
Exchanging glances with TiGer, Bran saw his own mixture of fear, determination, and bewilderment reflected in her expression.
Bran stared at the gleaming tube entrance, his dendricals tingling with anticipation inside his new gloves. The familiar silver curves beckoned, promising the exhilarating rush of high-speed travel he'd missed during his exile.
TiGer's voice cut through his daydream. "Remember, since I'm with you, we'll only use the S-Tubes. I cause all sorts of over-reactions if I use the P-Tubes and we really don't need to add to the ALEx's repair issues."
He nodded absently, watching an Alpha messenger zoom past in a flash of red lightning.
"Let's head to the stern through the Executive Suites," TiGer continued. "That'll help you get the new office layout and where the Officers hide, sorry, work." Her smile flickered briefly at her own joke.
The list of destinations washed over him as she spoke - radio room, comms suite, listening post. His attention drifted back to the tubes, remembering the weightless sensation, the pure freedom of movement.
"OK so far? Bran, TB, are you paying attention?"
He nodded automatically, though his mind was still fixed on the thought of finally experiencing tube travel again. His boots seemed to edge forward of their own accord.
"OK, OK, OK." TiGer's voice carried a note of exasperation he knew well. "I just want to be sure we're together on this. I don't want to lose you if you decide to go wandering off again."
Bran forced himself to focus as she outlined the rest of their route - Sher Gar, the Observation Lounge, recordings from the imaginator and dream studio. But his dendricals kept twitching toward the tube entrance, yearning for that first whoosh of acceleration.
Bran's dendricals tingled with excitement as he approached the tube entrance. Just as TiGer opened her mouth to warn him, "Don't trip over the lip-" his boots betrayed him. He stumbled backwards, tumbling head over heels into the silver tunnel. The world spun as he careened through the vacuum, unable to right himself. His landing was less than graceful - a solid thump on his posterior that sent shockwaves up his spine.
"Oh, that'll bruise," he groaned. TiGer's emergence from the tube was far more elegant, her tiny frame practically dancing out as she snickered at his predicament.
Attempting to salvage his dignity, Bran pushed himself up - only to trip over what appeared to be a hammer. He lurched forward, crashing into a taut drum skin that bounced him back with surprising force.
"Oh, thank the heavens you didn't go through," TiGer exclaimed. "The ALEx would have been unable to receive external messages. Be careful."
His pride stung more than his twice-bruised backside. Lifting his foot, Bran noticed something sticky coating his boot. "What is this... yuck?"
"It's just wax, you dolt. Have you never been to the Radio Room before?"
"Can't say I have. I was running more critical messages than regular incoming comms," he boasted, trying to recover some semblance of authority.
"Oh, you'd be surprised what you can learn here." TiGer removed her helmet and leaned against the drum. "Oh, yes, there's some chatter. Here, listen to this."
Bran followed suit, removing his own helmet. A voice crackled through: "The Sand didn't sink of its own accord."
He exchanged confused looks with TiGer. "Did she say Sand or Sandy?" he asked.
"I heard sand. And who is she? What is she doing speaking directly to the ALEx? There's no proper protocols, just raw voice." He shrugged as they both made notes on their data pads.
"We'll check in with the Listening Post and see what they say about this," TiGer declared.
They lingered, ears pressed close, but heard only a rhythmic whoosh-whoosh-whoosh, like breathing or something being pumped into the ALEx. Together, they turned back toward the tube for their next destination.
Bran followed TiGer through the Central Collusseum, their boots echoing against the polished floor connecting the two halves of the ALEx. He carefully lifted his feet higher, determined not to repeat his earlier embarrassment. The silver walls curved overhead, their reflective surface making the space feel larger than it was.
At the Listening Post, Officer Wernick's team huddled around their consoles, heads tilted as they processed incoming transmissions. Their uncertain expressions matched the confusion Bran felt about the strange message.
"Service Bay attendant, we think," one analyst offered, adjusting her headset. "Direct communication though - highly irregular."
Another analyst glanced nervously over his shoulder. "Could be related to the Sandy's disappearance, but..." He trailed off, eyes darting to a dark corner where wisps of black smoke curled ominously.
"Corti Souls," TiGer whispered, her tiny frame tensing.
"And really," the first analyst continued, giving Bran a pointed look, "we're still sorting through backlogged messages since the crash incident."
Bran's dendricals curled tight inside his gloves. The crash incident. His crash incident. Heat rose in his circuits - did everyone aboard blame him? The Conspiracy Crew must be having a field day with this, spreading stories about his incompetence across every deck.
"Don't," TiGer cut into his thoughts. "Gossip, like tasty morsels, never edifies anyone. Ever." Her voice carried the weight of proverbial wisdom.
“We’ll never get done in time like this. Let’s split up?” TiGer wasn’t really questioning Bran, more telling him what to do. “You get over to the Library and ask Sher Gar for help finding any recordings of the crash. There should be something in the Imaginator, if not the Dream Studio. If not, we’ll check in at All mounds later—after all it was a rather traumatic event for the ALEx.
A chill ran through Bran's circuits at the thought of visiting the Elm Street plot. His dendricals curled tight inside his gloves as memories of Creetnin surfaced - the once-proud crow reduced to a withered husk after his stint there. The transformation haunted Bran. Where there had been gleaming feathers and commanding presence, now only paper-thin skin stretched over hollow bones remained.
The Celebration Zone's pulsing lights caught his attention, their kaleidoscope of colours promising a brief escape. Just a quick visit wouldn't hurt, would it? The celebratory atmosphere always lifted his spirits. He could almost taste the synthetic pleasures waiting inside...
"Don't stop in the Celebration Zone at all long and get distracted by all the pretty colours," TiGer's voice cut through his thoughts like a laser through circuits.
Bran's dendricals twitched guiltily. How did she always know what he was thinking?
"We can go together later, when all of this is over," she added, her tone carrying a hint of something more than just professional courtesy.
The offer made Bran pause. Going with TiGer would mean behaving himself, keeping his impulses in check. No chance of properly letting loose with her tiny form watching his every move. Still, there was something appealing about the idea of sharing the zone's pleasures with her, even if it meant a more restrained visit.
Sher Gar's enthusiastic snort echoed through the Library as Bran entered. "So chuffed to hear the news young Bran. How's it feel to be reinstated?"
Bran's dendricals tingled with warmth at the Chief Librarian's welcome. The thoroughbred's chestnut coat gleamed under the soft lights as he trotted over.
"Been reviewing the crash recordings already," Sher Gar continued, pawing at the ground. "Had to fight off those wretched Corti Souls - they were desperate to bury everything in the Elm Street Plot." His white-blazed nose twitched. "It's not always good to forget the past - especially when you have yet to learn the valuable lessons it contains."
The horse's expression darkened as he described the state of the recordings. "Observation lounge is a right mess, Imaginator completely trashed. Dream Studio's working, but..." He shook his mane. "It's all nasty reruns, somehow accessing bits from Elm Street."
Bran's circuits chilled at the mention of that dark place, but Sher Gar pressed on. "Two vessels pursued the ALEx - both cloaked but oddly familiar. We tried escaping down a valley, stumbled, crashed." His ears flicked back and forth as he recalled the details. "Caught some radio chatter - mostly gibberish, but one bit came through clear: 'enough of this. Time to come home.'"
The horse's eyes locked onto Bran. "Then the smaller ship fired something - not an explosive, mind you. Hit us right at L3. Pumped some sort of liquid in - explains those chemical burns you got."
Relief flooded Bran's circuits, making his dendricals spark with joy. He hadn't caused the crash. He'd simply been in the wrong place when that missile struck. The weight of guilt lifted from his shoulders, replaced by a surge of vindication. He couldn't wait to tell TiGer, to tell everyone - he wasn't the cause, he was the victim!
Bran's dendricals tingled with nervous energy as he contemplated his next move. The Celebration Zone's pulsing lights beckoned from down the corridor, promising a momentary respite from the weight of his discoveries. His boots shifted unconsciously toward the enticing glow before he caught himself. No. This was too important for distractions.
The revelation about the two pursuing vessels gnawed at his circuits. How had this information not reached Captain Higgs? Every Beta messenger was trained to prioritise security threats. Bob Beta's nervous demeanour earlier suddenly took on new significance. And Barry... Bran's dendricals curled tight as he remembered his replacement's smug expression during their last encounter.
Even TiGer's constant support now felt uncertain. His tiny companion had always been there, but who else had her loyalty? The thought sent an uncomfortable surge through his systems.
Sher Gar's hooves clicked against the floor as he helped Bran copy the recordings. "Keep these safe, young messenger. There are forces at work here beyond what we can see."
Bran slipped his datapad, now loaded with the crucial evidence, into his undergarments alongside the yellow glove. The weight of it pressed against his circuits, a constant reminder of its importance.
Taking a deep breath, he chose the upper deck route back to the Bridge. The narrow corridor stretched before him, dimly lit and rarely used. His tall frame had to stoop slightly to avoid the low ceiling, but the relative safety of this path outweighed the discomfort. Each step brought him closer to Captain Higgs - his last hope for making sense of this mess.
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