How I Got Here: "Anti-Hero"
16 Feb 2023Columbuss
Commander Justin Estok. Stardate 16-FEB-3309."He better be alive, or I'll kill him."
The Chelsie Grinn bobs and weaves, maneuvering side to side, as chunks of rock and iron soar past the canopy. Turning the stick hard to port, her headlamps roll beams of light across the face of an enormous asteroid, landing on another, dead ahead, as we pass. Pitching the stick down, The Chelsie ducks beneath the hurtling rock in front before a small chunk of stone makes contact with the hull on the aft port side of the vessel, sending a jolt through the bulkhead that jerks Brandson and I almost out of our seats.
"Jesus!" I exclaim, to myself, but loud enough for Brandson to hear.
"This would have been easier if we'd have downloaded the drift charts boss," he says.
"We're not even supposed to be here kid," I say. "Do you want The Dynasty to know where we are by connecting to the nav beacon?!"
"Will it matter if we're dead?"
"Don't worry, kid. I've done this before."
Asteroid fields are unpredictable at the best of times. These massive collections of stone and metal, all compressed, unused and left over from when the system first formed, they drift aimlessly, and with no clear direction, around whatever orbital body managed to capture them in it's gravity. Often, systems will deploy analysis drones to endlessly scan and monitor their drift, giving pilots, mining ships in particular, a good idea about how to stay alive in these swirling maelstroms. A simple download from the system navigation beacon will give you access to the information these drones provide, but doing so always records the download. Not ideal when you're navigating an asteroid field you're not supposed to be in. So, in this case, I'm navigating the Al Mina asteroid field by sight alone.
"How far to the signal?" I ask, as Brandson analyzes the console in front of him.
"Should be close boss. His transmission puts him about ten clicks out in front."
"He better be alive, or I'll kill him."
All of this, the rescue mission, the asteroids, Finn's beacon, it all comes after what happened in the void. After the beatings. After the interrogation and the subsequent murder. It all comes after Shorty's death.
A few hours earlier, back in the void with flight assist toggled back on, The Chelsie burns her thrusters to correct her rotation. Flight assist, it makes this correction on its own, burning Chelsie's thrusters opposite of the ships rotation, bringing her level. Brandson and I activate our mag boots as the momentum shifts and the simulated, rotational gravity disappears. The blood and piss pooled on the deck, it lifts from the floor, floating around the cargo rack in blackish, red blobs.
Still looking out of the airlock window, I watch as Shorty slowly floats away, into the void, strapped to the chair he'll be strapped to forever. As he tumbles away from the outer doors, the infinite darkness of space envelopes him. Slowly, he drifts further and further away from the Chelsie's exterior lighting until I lose sight of him. Just another body, suspended in the void.
"You didn't have to shoot him," Brandson says. "I mean, if you were going to throw him out of the airlock anyway..."
"It's a habit, I'm afraid. Dammit," I say, still looking out of the now empty window. "I loved that chair."
"I don't know what's more worrying," Brandson says back. "The fact that you just shot someone or that you do it so often that it's become a habit."
"I haven't shot someone in a very long time actually," I reply, turning back toward him.
"Somehow, that doesn't make me feel better."
This conversation all rests on the back of what ended up being a complete waste of time. All of the time spent in the Whitworth bar. All of the time waiting for Jerry to fence the merchandise I brought him. All of this time trying to get a meeting with Shorty, it all amounted to absolutely nothing. He never told us anything about Lorencian or Astral Projections. Nothing about where to find him or how to get close. Shorty was right, there was only one way our meeting was going to end. For all the guy's faults, he did know "the life". He knew the outcome of the situation, whether he told us anything or not. A gross underestimation on my part.
"So," Brandson starts. "What happens when Lorencian doesn't hear back from Shorty? What will Lorencian do when he realizes that Shorty's probably dead?"
"There's only two ways out of that life, kid. Death or prison. For Lorencian, Shorty could appear to be either one of those. Regardless, he's going to pull back. Play things a little closer to the chest. It's going to make things more difficult."
"Well isn't that just perfect," Brandson says sarcastically.
"I underestimated him. I'll admit that. I could have sworn Shorty would roll over. I'm actually kind of impressed."
"I'm sure he appreciates that," Brandson says. "So, where do we go from here?"
"We have to tie up some loose ends. I should probably start with Jerry."
"The bartender?! He's a civilian," Brandson says, surprised.
"I'm not gonna hurt him," I reply. "He saw Shorty leave the bar with me. If Lorencian's people get to him, we're fucked. Besides, if Shorty won't roll over on his people, this guy DEFINITELY will."
"So you're going to threaten him?" Brandson asks.
"Well," I say with a shrug. "Never under estimate the value of someone with something to lose."
Our conversation is cut short as an alarm starts to beep on Brandson's intel desk. Turning back to it, he suctions his way over to the control panel, isolating the alarm and pulling it up on the digital screen projected in the space out in front of him. The computer beeps and flashes the word "EMERGENCY" over and over again. Brandson opens the message. Attached to it are a set of coordinates connected to a signal source.
"It's coming from Al Mina," Brandson says after relaying the coordinates to the computer for identification. Accessing the emergency signal, the computer speaks the message out loud, in a cold, yet urgent, computerized tone.
"EMERGENCY S.O.S FROM COLD NOVA! REPEAT! EMERGENCY S.O.S FROM COLD NOVA! SHIP GOING DOWN! REQUEST IMMEDIATE EVAC! REPEAT! SHIP GOING DOWN! REQUEST IMMEDIATE EVAC!"
"The Cold Nova," Brandson says, turning to me. "That's Finn's ship."