The Best Is Yet To Come - 8: When It Rains, It Pours
30 Aug 2023CrazyGolm
When It Rains, It Pours - August 3309UNIDENTIFIED BLACK SITE
The first thing Commander CrazyGolm saw was a squad of soldiers in black armour, who promptly dragged him out of his escape pod. At first glance, he was inside some sort of facility that looked not unlike a prison ship. There seemed to be gravity, but whether that was true gravity or rotational was yet to be seen. They manhandled him down a gunmetal, windowless corridor into a small room, where they deposited him in a steel chair. Arm and leg restraints clamped around him. It was less than comfortable.
A man walked into the room and stood in front of Golm. Like the other soldiers, he was in Manticore armour, but without a helmet, allowing Golm to see his angry, callous face. Golm guessed he was the leader of this group, and some sort of operative.
The operative held his pistol up to Golm’s helmet. As far as greetings went, that was not the best.
“My organization doesn’t appreciate people like you.” He was well-spoken, but there was a sinister tone to his voice.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You, snooping around where you don’t belong, finding things that shouldn’t be found.” As he monologued, the operative began to walk from side to side, almost theatrically. His pistol was lowered now, but his guard wasn’t down.
“I don’t even know who you are.” Golm retorted. “I can hazard a guess, though.”
At this, the operative slapped the side of Golm’s helmet. It was forceful, doubly so in power armour, and it must have hurt.
“The Club.” Golm spoke the name with a rare amount of contempt in his voice.
The operative replied with mockery. “You are smarter than you look. Pivot Project must’ve paid off.”
“Pivot? The old super-pilot project? That’s history!” Golm was surprised to hear it of all things mentioned, but also realized the operative had let something important slip.
“Ohh!” The operative chuckled, a sly grin on his face. “He knows about Pivot, but he doesn’t actually know.”
“Wait…. Are you saying…?”
“You, Commander, are part of Pivot. You have been from birth.” The operative spoke slowly, taking pleasure in breaking the doubtlessly shocking news to his prisoner.
“I’m a… super-pilot?” Golm didn’t seem as fazed as the operative had anticipated. Then again, today had already been full of surprises for him, so he was probably still taking everything in.
“Well, you’re not getting out of here, so I may as well tell you,” replied the operative darkly.
Golm had mustered up the courage, the strength, and the words for his own comeback.
“What makes you think anything you’re doing is for the good of humanity? You’re sacrificing millions of lives, and oppressing billions more, for your agenda.”
The operative’s response was succinct, clinical, and uncaring.
“Not my agenda. My superiors’ agenda. My agenda is to get rid of you.”
“People of your type, Golm, you’re dissenters. I’ve read your file, I know what you’ve done; how you turned the coat from law enforcement, how you ran away and hid after conflict within your precious Agency. You’re out of control. You’re dangerous. My organization has business to do, and we can’t have you and your scruples getting in our way.”
The operative levelled his pistol once again. The barrel was pointed directly in Golm’s face.
“We tried to deter you, to sideline you. It clearly didn’t work. You kept interfering. You have forced our hand, and now you must pay.”
Golm knew he shouldn't have trusted that Bank of Zaonce audit.
The operative pulled the trigger. The bullet shot through the helmet, and Golm’s body fell limp.
That was that.
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Near the nav beacon in Chelini, there drifted a shipwreck.
Surrounded by a debris field of free-floating components and structural plates, a remnant of the hull still held together, devastated and irreparable but just about intact. From its appearance, it was clearly the remains of a Fer-de-Lance-class vessel.
The letters “BBER-DUB” were just about legible on a scorched armour panel. What this inscription meant, and what secrets it held, perhaps no one will ever know.
The hull tumbled aimlessly through the void, another piece of eerie space junk.
As it spun, the light of Chelini’s primary star cast rays through the structure, into the depressurized shadows of the wreck’s interior.
A hooded figure looked back out.