How I Got Here: "The Witness"
10 Nov 2022Columbuss
Commander Justin Estok. Stardate 9-NOV-3308."If I'm at your door, chances are, you did something to bring me there..."
In the black, everything sticks. It's the Velcro. A cheap, lightweight, sticky material developed a dozen millennia ago by a company that the product outlasted. Just about every zero, or low-g, environment has it. Whether you're in the galley setting down your sealed coffee mug or the engine room and need to put down a digital auto-calibration meter, there's always somewhere where it will stick to the wall. This is important, specifically when you drop out of FTL and start burning your engines. Anything that isn't stuck down will hammer into the nearest surface directly opposite of the direction you're travelling. It's equally important when you're barreling along the surface of an undeveloped, rock covered world in an SRV and need to focus on not splitting your axel on a jagged boulder sticking out of the ground.
The Scarab SRV rumbles across the grey, barren surface of this dead world Kevin chose as the meeting place. It was the fifth planet in some system who's name was comprised of more numbers than letters. The kind of system no one remembers. The kind of system where, whomever discovered it, you wouldn't be surprised if they left it off of their resume.
The Scarab climbs over hills and valleys, crushing rocks beneath her wheels as John pushes the throttle forward. Cresting the next bank, the shape of a structure comes into view, illuminated by the rising sun behind us. John pilots the Scarab down the hill toward the building as a clip board floats past my head toward him.
"Can you stick this down please? I'm trying to get us there in one piece" he says, pushing the clip board back to me. I reach out plucking it out of mid air and try sticking it to the wall.
"Dammit... the Velcro's worn off..."
"Well stick it under your seat then. We're almost there."
John brings the Scarab to a halt in front of the building as dust billows up from the dead surface beneath the wheels. Reaching behind us, we pull down our Remlok helmets, sliding them down and sealing them around our necks. The seals hiss inside our helmets as the sound of our own breathing intensifies. John opens the cockpit and climbs out. I reach for my pistol before John shouts back, his voice coming in through the speakers in the helmet.
"Leave it. You won't need it."
Reluctantly, I slide the pistol back into the holster next to the seat and follow him out, placing my feet on the ladder and climbing down, eventually letting go, touching down on the pillowy surface below. Off to the east of the building, another SRV is parked.
"Looks like he beat us here. The entrance hatch is this way. Come on."
The hatch seals behind us as oxygen fills the room. We remove our helmets as the door directly in front slides open with a groan. Dust floats throughout the room as John and I make our way inside. Tables and chairs are still left in whatever position they were in when whomever used to occupy this station left for the last time and never came back. In the corners sit stacks of crates, some opened some not. Old data pads and folders sit on the tables covered in dust that must have taken years to settle.
"Took you long enough."
John and I turn toward the voice. Behind us, a man sits in a chair in the dark as smoke billows up from an ashtray on an end table next to him. He stands up, walking into the light, his mag-boots noisily suctioning themselves to the steel floor. The man's face was old and weathered. Scarred and bored from what looked like a lifetime of hearing people say 'what the hell happened to you?'
"Kevin!" John says in a friendly tone.
"John." Kevin says back, in a thick drawl likely from some backwater no ones ever heard of.
"Who's this? I thought you were coming alone."
"This is Columbus," John says. "He's with me."
"Don't suppose I have to check you for weapons..."
"You know me better than that," John replies.
"Do I though?"
Kevin suctions his way in to the room, walking past John and looking wearily at me, before heading for what used to be the chambers center console and stopping.
"So, what'd you call me out here for? If it's about Al Mina, I had nothing to do with it."
"Then you already know," John says.
"I'll tell ya," he says with a raspy smokers voice, "That's one job I'm happy to have passed up. There aren't many jobs I wont take, believe me. If someone needs killin', they call Malloy... but that... that was... noisy."
"Killer with a conscience," I say only slightly under my breath.
"Hey," he says. "If I'm at your door, chances are, you did something to bring me there, so don't question my ethics son. How many people had to die for you to get here?"
"Let's just relax," John says. "We need your help. If you didn't take the Al Mina job, who did?"
"Don't know," he replied after a pause, "All I know is I was the first choice. After that business with The Nine, it wasn't exactly easy pickings to find someone who knew how to use explosives like that. Contract came from someone called Rising Damp. Said they were with the Purple Council, whoever that is. They didn't say and I didn't think to ask. But, it don't matter. I didn't take the job anyway."
"Then who did? Who issued the job?"
"Fuck if I know. In my line of work all you need to know is who needs killin'. Whoever wants 'em dead, or why, that ain't none of my business..."
As John and I listened to Malloy's story, the sensors on our wrists lit up. John raises his arm as the virtual image projects out in front of us. The image showed multiple ships had entered the planets orbit and were descending on our position.
"You were followed!" Kevin yells, reaching for his helmet as he hurriedly suctions his way to the exit hatch. "Serves me right for coming down here. I shoulda known better than to trust you son's a bitches! Irini," he says into his wrist comm, "Off ship commander override. Begin launch sequence and prepare for immediate evac!"
"They're not following us!" John yells back, grabbing his helmet.
"Well they didn't follow me and they sure as shit ain't catchin' me neither."
Sealing our helmets, John and I push in to the vacuum chamber with Kevin. The exit hatch opens and Kevin is off without looking back, bouncing his way in the low-g toward his SRV. John and I do the same. Looking up, I can see multiple lights descending on our position, as jet streams streak across the dark sky above, suspended in space before slowly dissipating.
John fires up the SRV's engine and hits the throttle as we begin speeding toward The Amy Rhea. Thumps are heard, seemingly coming from the ground. Looking out the rear of the cockpit, I watch as a ship descends toward Malloy's SRV peppering it with cannon fire before it goes up in a ball of flames.
"Kevin! He's hit!" I yell.
"Had to happen sooner or later!" John yells back.
As the Scarab races along the dead surface, dust kicks up behind us. Every bump, every dip in the surface sends the SRV up into the air before John uses the on board thrusters to bring us back down. He pulls the controls hard to the left as a ship bears down, firing it's pulse lasers in our path. The SRV bursts through the cloud of dust, barreling toward the safety of our ship.
"Amy," John screams into his comm pad, "Begin preflight check sequence and prepare for immediate dust off! Lower SRV ramp for emergency entry!"
John pilots the Scarab onboard the Amy Rhea. In a flash, we're out of the SRV and heading for the cockpit, using our arms to pulls us along the hallways faster than we could run. As the doors open, the canopy shines a bright blue. John hops in the pilot's seat, pulling back on the stick and firing his engines as multiple red triangles take formation behind us.
The Amy Rhea climbs, popping chaff to give us time to spin the FSD and jump. I toggle full power to systems to help power the next chaff rounds as a hail comes in from the comm panel.
“Fugitive Vessel. This is Federal Security. Lower your shields and stand down. Repeat. Lower you shields and stand down. You are under arrest by the authority of the Federation.”
This should bring us back to where the last entry started. The name Kevin Malloy, echoing through my head, as our dead ship raced toward the surface of the dead world below.