“Attention, PCSV Kirkman's Pride, this is Lieutenant Magdalena Price of Autumn Station Security giving you a final warning to alter your course now. You do not have docking clearance. If you continue on your current course, the station will not take responsibility for any damage done to your vessel. Reply.”
While she speaks, Magdalena “Mags” Price sends the order to deploy escort fighters and a recovery team to the location of the unauthorized ship. The escorts are made up of a trio of Blazer heavy fighters, a ship known for its strength more than it speed. The recovery team is made up of a pair of Evaders, small cargo shuttles, and a Hitcher, affectionately known as a tick, boarding craft.
She looks through her infospecs at the monitors arrayed before her. Her infospecs display a view of the unresponsive salvage vessel while the monitors show alternate views of it from the station's various defense turrets as well as data about the vessel itself, and a transcript of the messages sent to the vessel by Private Sanjo Dawn before the she took over.
Mags' demand for a course change is met with silence, and the mid-sized ship continues its course towards Autumn's docking array.
“Escort, disable that ship's engines. Recovery, tow it away from the station until we know its intentions..”
“Acknowledged” six different voices chorus inside her head.
Mags watches on the various screens, and through her glasses, as the recovery crew hangs back while the Blazers begin their assault on the Kirkman's Pride. The targeted vessel makes no attempts to defend itself; its turrets do not so much as track the movements of its attackers.
It doesn't take long for the salvage vessel's engines to fire their last, turning into a glowing mass of ruin under the concentrated fire of the three fighters.
“Target is disabled,” announces one of the fighter pilots.”
“Recovery, move in,” Mags orders, “Escort, keep an eye on those guns.”
“Do you suspect a pirate trap, ma'am?” asks another pilot she recognizes as Sergeant Zaran Starcastle, the pilot of the Hitcher.
“I don't suspect anything, I'm just not taking any chances this far from our next re-supply.”
The Evaders and the Hitcher flank the disabled ship, and fire their mograpp “hooks” at it. The mograpps adhere to the ships hull, and the three smaller ships throttle up to full. The cables connecting the smaller ships to the Kirkman's Pride strain as the larger ship slows, stops, and then starts to move farther away from Autumn Station.
Once the silent craft is a safe distance from the supply station, the three recovery ships reverse their course, pulling back towards Autumn until the salvage ship stops moving altogether.
“We're ready to board,” calls Zaran.
“Proceed,” Mags says, and then switches to the comm channel that the salvage ship should be on, “Attention PCSV Kirkman's Pride: you are about to be boarded. This boarding is in line with DefAuth code five-seven-nine. Any hostility displayed towards boarding crew will be viewed as a hostile act on this facility, and will be met with force up to, and including, destruction of your vessel.”
As Mags speaks, the Hitcher releases its grapple, winds it in, and maneuvers around to the airlock on the side of the ship facing the station. It attaches itself to the side of the ship, creating a seal between its own airlock and that of the larger vessel.
“Accessing ship systems,” Zaran announces, looking at the data being projected onto the face plate of his envirosuit's helmet, “Life support is functioning; says it's breathable in there.”
“Keep your suits on anyway,” Mags replies.
“I planned on it. Security is not enabled,” Zaran says, puzzled, “They didn't even lock the door?”
“All the easier for us, right, Sarge?” asks Private Sigmund Smith.
“Yeah,” says Zaran doubtfully, “keep your guard up anyway. Entering in three.”
Zaran counts it out by holding his fingers up, and one three triggers the doors to open. There is a loud hiss as the slightly different air pressures between the two ships equalizes, and Zaran leads the three other members of his crew into the Kirkman's Pride with their stunner rifles at the ready.
A few feet in, Zaran stops, surprised at what he sees, “What the feec? Mags, are you seeing this?” he says, forgetting propriety for the moment.
Mags looks at the camera feed from Zaran's e-suit camera, she also looks at the feeds from the rest of his squad's cameras on her monitor array, “Yes, Sergeant, but I'm not quite sure what I'm seeing. It looks like fire damage?”
“Affirmative,” Zaran confirms. The large, open space of the Kirkman's Pride's cargo bay is scorched black including the bulks of three small craft.
“Spread out, but be careful,” Zaran orders his squad.
Zaran stays near the airlock while his e-suited troops fan out around the room, sweeping with the eyes and the emitters of their gun.
“It looks like we have an Evader and a couple of Speedsters here,” Zaran says, “probably salvage, but they don't appear to have any battle damage. All I am seeing is surface heat damage.”
“Sarge!” calls Sigmund, “You need to see this!”
Zaran can hear Mags gasp over the comm channel, and switches his heads up to display the feed from Sigmund's e-suit. He frowns and quickly walks towards the front of the ship; towards the cockpit.
When he gets there, he gets a slightly dizzying view of seeing both Sigmund's point of view and his own showing the same thing at different angles. He disables the feed from Sigmund's cam and looks at what appears to be a pile of burnt bodies gathered around the door to the cockpit.
Aside from scorch marks, the door also appears to suffer from a number of scratches and gouges, as if the people had tried to break the door down before they were cremated.
“What the hell we got here, Sarge?” Sigmund asks.
“Nothing good. Get that door open,” Zaran orders, “Squad, assemble on my position.”
While the other two members of the boarding squad come forward, Sigmund disables the door lock, and it slides open; a couple of the bodies, stiffened by fire and time, tip forward and fall into the cockpit with dull, dry thuds. It is not the sound of the bodies falling over than turns Zaran's stomach though.
“Oh God!” Sigmund gasps.
Over the comm channel, Zaran can hear Mags cough as she too sees the inside of the cockpit.
The cockpit looks like the set from a horror trid. A trail of blood leads away from the door, past the empty crew seats, to one of the control panels. There is a dried puddle there like the source of the blood stopped there for a bit before the trail moves on to the pilot's seat.
The pilot's chair is the only one in the whole cockpit that is occupied. A man, his torn coveralls covered in drying blood, is slumped forward over the controls.
“I think we're going to need a full security team out here for this one,” Zaran says.
“Working on that already,” Mags replies, “At least now I know why he wasn't responding. Pull your squad out and tow the ship to dock eighty-four.”
Sigmund is looking at the control panel with the blood stains on it, “Sarge, I think our pilot there caused the fire in the cargo hold. It looks like he pumped in pure oxygen and used the salvage arm to ignite it; burnt the rest of the crew to death.”
Sigmund follows the blood trail to the body in the chair, being careful not to step in the blood, “It's amazing that he didn't blow the ship apart.
“Leave it alone, Private. This isn't our problem anymore; get back to the tick,” orders Zaran, very much wanting to get off this ship.
Sigmund ignores his squad leader and kneels down to look at the body, “It looks like he was in a fight sir. I think... I think those are bite marks.”
“Return to the tick, Private Smith; that's an order.”
“But sir, I don't think he's dead.”
“What?” Zaran crosses the cockpit to examine the slumped man, and is shocked to see that he is breathing, even if just barely, “Lieutenant, we've got an injured man here.”
“Get him back to the station. I'll have medical meet you in bay two.”
Zaran's squad quickly, but carefully, put the injured man on a litter to stabilize his back and neck, and carry him to the Hitcher. Sigmund trips over one of the burnt corpses outside the cockpit, but manages not to drop the wounded pilot.
Once aboard the Hitcher, Zaran quickly detaches from the Kirkman's Pride, and speeds back towards Autumn Station while the two Evaders begin the slow process of towing the larger ship to dock.
As Zaran approaches the open bay door, he hears a commotion start behind him.
“What the feec?” yells Sigmund
“Get him off me!” yells Private Eddie Ramirez
“Hold him down!” shouts Private Rebecca Harlitz.
“What's going on back there?” Zaran shouts, unable to leave the controls.
“The pilot,” Sigmund shouts back, “He's awake, and he's – ow! You quot!” this last is followed by the meaty sound of a fist hitting flesh.
“Shoot him!” shouts Eddie.
“Sig, give me a shot!” Rebecca shouts.
Zaran spares a glance from a rapidly approaching opening in the side of the space station to look at the vidscreen displaying the Hitcher's passenger cabin. He sees Rebecca aiming her stunner rifle at the pair of Sigmund and the wounded pilot as they appear to dance an awkward dance that seems to involve trying to eat the young private's arm. In a corner of the chamber Eddie leans against the wall clutching his arm to his chest; blood is flowing down the front of his e-suit.
“Just shoot him!” Sigmund yells.
Zaran hear the sizzling sound of the rifle firing, and looks up to see Sigmund slump backwards against the wall, pulling the pilot down on top of him.
“Harlitz, shoot that man!” Zaran orders, shaking his head. He knows that his squad is fresh meat, and they were assigned to what is supposed to be a low-risk assignment because they are so green, but seeing three of them unable to subdue a badly injured man pisses him off.
Another sizzle, and this one hits its intended target, but rather than collapse from an overloaded nervous system like Sigmund, the pilot turns and charges Rebecca, fresh blood running down its chin.
Harlitz panics, and fires four bursts right into the man's chest. He crumples to the floor in a pile similar to Private Smith, but far bloodier.
The Hitcher passes into the landing bay's environmental airlock. A glowing green field of energy springs up behind the craft, sealing the small craft into its own small vacuum while the space is pressurized.
Zaran doesn't wait for the inner field to lower, and instead lands the Hitcher roughly in the airlock before rushing back into crew compartment to see his squad with his own eyes. Eddie remains leaving against the wall clutching his arm, Sigmund is starting to twitch on the floor as his brain begins to slowly re-establish control of his body, and Rebecca remains frozen in place, still pointing her rifle at the bloody heap on the floor.
None of this surprises Zaran. What does surprise him is that the bloody heap is still breathing. Three stunner bursts is enough to kill most healthy people, and this mess took five. Part of him wants to get off of the Hitcher and go hide in his quarters with a bottle of something potent, but the soldier in him re-establishes itself.
“Ramirez, Harlitz, restrain this man!”
“Why isn't he dead?” asks Rebecca.
“We'll find out when the med-techs file their reports, for now just make sure this barely alive man doesn't hurt anymore of you trained soldiers!”
Zaran returns to the cockpit, where he allows his hands to begin shaking.
“Sergent Starcastle, what is your status? Please clear the airlock and proceed into the landing bay,” A woman's voice says sternly over the comm.
“Tell the med crew I've got two additional injured, otherwise everything is under control.”
Zaran guides the Hitcher over to where he can see a crew of white suited med-techs waiting with a stretcher. The flight is less steady than it normally would be, but once he let his hands start shaking, he was having trouble making them stop again.
After a jolting landing, Zaran opens the door, and the med-techs rush in. They find the injured pilot now fastened down to the litter with thick black straps. The techs seem surprised to see singe marks on the front of the man's coveralls in addition to the rips and bite marks they were expecting.
“What the hell happened here?” demands a med-tech from behind his infospecs, “Was this man shot?”
“He attacked two members of my squad in mid-flight,” Zaran says evenly, “they did what they had to do to protect themselves and this craft. Had they not acted, you might be responding to a crashed ship instead of just some injuries.”
The med-tech looks over at the man, who is now being loaded, litter and all, onto a proper stretcher. His infospecs hide his expression, but Zaran expects that it is one of confusion.
“You keep him secured, and tend to my team as well,” Zaran orders even though he has no authority over medical staff, and will probably get chewed out by Doctor Malloy for it.
Before the tech can respond, Zaran ducks around him, and exits the Hitcher. He hopes that this is over except for the reports and the massive amounts of simulation time that Smith, Rodriguez, and Harlitz will be going through soon.
Something tells him that this is not over, and that he should probably put in for transfer.