General Protection Fault

by Sean M. Breen

// "Main Title, 4th Season" Christopher Franke, _Babylon 5_ //

...we came in?

"So we have three hours to do the impossible. Hoo-fuckin'-ray."

- Commander Benjamin D. "Gryphon" Hutchins, WDF

VRDET HEADQUARTERS - DIMENSIONAL RESEARCH LAB TIME ELAPSED FROM ABDUCTION: >6:00:00

The great cavern of the lab bustled with activity, with techs running to and fro around the silent machinery, carrying great boxes of random electronics and socket wrenches. Other techs tried to direct the chaotic repair activities, with some limited success. The entire operation was underscored by a faint rhythmic pounding coming from deep within the looming structure of the Gateway generator; a pounding punctuating virulent, muffled cursing.

"ARGH!" *WHAM* "KILL!" *WHAM* "MAIM!" *WHAM* "DESTROY!" *WHAM* "FOLD!" *WHAM* "SPINDLE!" *WHAM* "MUTILATE!" *WHAM* "AGGRESSIVELY MARKET!" *WHAM* "WRITE BAD MICROCODE!"

Malaclypse the Seeker, occasional head of Verthandic Rangers Research and Development and Interdimensional Man of Mystery, was obviously /not/ having a good day. Not only had one of his most important experiments malfunctioned in a rather spectacular way, to add insult to injury, it had also managed to strand most of the VR's top commandos - more like the only /active/ commandos - and /his/ top R&D minds in another dimension.

And to top it all off, the damn thing refused to start working again.

Mal *WHAM*med his sonic screwdriver against the secondary gravitic stabilizer again, accomplishing nothing save denting the housing a little more. By now, all the damaged components had been removed and replaced. Still, the generator refused to warm up, much less open a functioning Gateway. Mal raised his arm, as if to strike the stabilizer again, then dropped it, rested his head against a power conduit, and sighed. This was accomplishing nothing. He sighed again, then wriggled his way back through the labyrinth of access corridors to the lab.

As he pulled himself out of the generator, a gray-haired tech working on a nearby Tesla coil gave him a commiserating look. "No luck inside, I take it," she said.

"No, dammit, everything's in working order, it just doesn't seem to.../want/ to work. If we didn't have a team on the other side right now, I'd just write this puppy off and work on the next version. As it is, though..." He shrugged helplessly.

The tech finished the thought for Mal. "As it is, if we don't fix it, the team on the other side is totally screwed, right?"

Mal closed his eyes and sighed very deeply. "I do wish you hadn't said that; it aggravates and frustrates me. Especially when this...stubborn...piece...of...GARBAGE! Won't...WORK!" He spun around, a maniacal gleam in his eye, and with lightning speed, whipped out a .75 recoilless handgun out of a shoulder holster, chambered a round, and fired directly into the heart of the generator.

"DIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!!"

The shot echoed powerfully through the lab, stopping all activity in its tracks. A few pings were heard as the bullet ricocheted off the generator's innards. For a few seconds, everything was dead silent. Then...

*CRACKZAPthrummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm*

Like a switch had been thrown, lights blinked on, electricity flowed, and the air filled with the smell of ozone. The entire roomful of techs cheered and applauded, except for Mal and the gray-haired tech he had been talking to, who just looked at each other incredulously.

"How...how did you /do/ that?!"

Mal looked at the gun, then at the generator. "I - I don't /know./" He grinned sheepishly and holstered his weapon. "Oh, well," he said, "don't knock whatever works. Now, let's see if we can reconnect to Marraketh and see what the fuck's going on over on the other side."

The tech grinned, threw him a sloppy salute and ran off to her control station. Mal watched her go, shaking his head. This one was definitely a five-beer story at the next International Mad Science Convention.

Oh, yeah, five beers at the minimum.

// "Good To Go" Alan Silvestri, _Contact_ soundtrack (reprise) //

"All right," roared Mal, "let's do it again, this time with FEELING! Control One, switch to primary base generators at your discretion; Navigation, gimme a lock on universe zero, zero, zero, seven, zero, zero Beta; Control Three, when the lock is confirmed, open up the Gate."

"Yessir!" "Roger that, Doc!" "Yeehaw, on the road again!"

The generator rumbled, lights flickered, lightning flared across the surface of the transit stage. The rumbling grew to a high-pitched squeal, as a nebulous shape began to form in the center of the stage.

Control Three sang out, "Coordinates locked and ready, hunting for a stable configuration. All systems are in the green."

The shape on the stage elongated and darkened, slowly coming into focus. Within a few seconds, the new Gate had formed into a black rectangular solid object, nine feet high by four feet wide by one foot thick.

// "Also Sprach Zarathustra" Richard Strauss (?) //

Mal glared at Control Three, who looked at the sky and did his level best to convey perfect innocence. After a few minutes, he dropped his glare and shrugged.

"Okay, whatever," he said. "Apparently the gods are playing with my mind again. Never mind. Please confirm that the Gate is stable, and check for JihadLinker signatures on the other side. I'm going to pick up some accessories before heading through."

"Um, excuse me, sir?" asked the tech at Navigation. "/You're/ going through? Isn't that, well, y'know, kinda dangerous?"

"Life is a dangerous thing, kid," Mal said philosophically, "what with all the carcinogens and traffic accidents out there. In any case, I have a feeling we'll need a few extra hands over there, and since I don't see any other combat-trained personnel around here, I get nominated. Now, make sure that the Rangers are on the other side of the Gate, and we'll get started." With that, Mal swiftly exited the lab and dog-trotted down to the Museum level.

Upon reaching the Museum, Mal ducked into a small, unmarked alcove with a steel-reinforced door at the end. A metal plate beside the door stated simply:

FIAWOL VAULT AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

Mal punched a series of numbers into a keypad set into the vault door, placed his left hand against the nameplate, and said quietly, "FIJAGH."

The door *clanked* solidly, then swung open, revealing a truly awe-inspiring sight. Stacked neatly on white metal shelves, sat hundreds of phasers, tricorders, Klingon swords and knives, lightsabers, and a thousand other devices of miscellaneous origin. Each and every device had been used at one point or another in a science-fiction television series or movie. Dave McDonnell would lose thirty pounds and give his left arm to take home some of this stuff.

Mal rummaged through the vault, looking for random stuff, muttering to himself as he went along. "Hmm, lessee now...Minbari pike, that's good...phasers...nah, too bulky...tricorder? Nah, shouldn't need to scan for techno-shit in a Dark Ages setting...PPG? Sure, why not? Make a good holdout in any case...that it? Guess so. Well, better close this up before somebody comes along."

Mal walked out of the vault, closing the door behind him, and returned to the lab. The horde of techs were double-checking something, and the monolith...er, Gate...was still standing in the center of the transit stage. As he walked up to the stage, the tech at Control Three noticed him.

"Doc, we've confirmed that the Gate connects us to the right universe, and it is stable. We've also picked up the team's JihadLinker signals, about 600 miles or so away, and converging on the Gate's approximate position. Also...it looks like the team has been separated into two groups, each about equidistant from the Gate and on direct opposite sides of the scan."

"Huh, must've been separated when the original Gate collapsed. Well, we'll get it all sorted out later. All right, I'm going in. Stand by for the pickup signal, with luck we'll send it in 24 hours."

"Good luck, Doc."

Mal marched up the ramp and directly to the Gate. As he drew nearer, the Gate changed slightly; to his point of view, the impenetrable blackness of the nearest face started to swirl with color - entire galaxies danced in front of his eyes.

"I'll be damned," he said softly, "it /is/ full of stars."

Mal stepped into the Gate.

To be continued.

Isn't this where...

// "After, in the dark" Kanno Yoko, _Macross Plus_ soundtrack //

This story is dedicated, in part, to Rhoda Northrup, one of the few truly froody people on Earth and devoted science-fiction fan. FIAWOL, indeed.