How I Got Here: "Don't Forget Your Limpets"
23 May 2023Columbuss
Commander Justin Estok. Stardate 23-MAY-3309."We all have a past, Commander."
The Norma Jean hangs, perched in the void. Her multi-cannons slowly dimming from a smoldering, orange glow down to a dull, less intense red as the vacuum of space cools the cold steel of her barrels. In her wake, wreckage from half a dozen Vipers and Cobras drift amongst the rocks, suspended forever in time, now a permanent fixture of this naturally formed metropolis of asteroids. The Norma Jean's sensors keep a hard lock on the wounded ship dead ahead, her cutting beams and missile racks sitting poised to deal the final blow, should the Hauler suddenly spring to life.
Millions of miles away, scavengers and salvage ships await, watching their scopes for the signals of our ships to die out one by one. Millions of miles away, crews prep their cargo holds and make space for any plunder they might be able to recover here. EVA (Extravehicular Activity) teams don Maverick suits and seal their Remlok helmets in preparation to jump into the void and cut away anything valuable from the dead ships that now rest here. Millions of miles away, the vultures are beginning to circle.
The Hauler's engine sputters with what appears like another attempt by the crew inside to fire it. The crew tries again and again, each time causing the engine to spark and burn out before dying all together. Inside, the crew are deciding whether what they have on board is worth dying for. Inside, the crews put out fires with small, onboard extinguishers, hoping to minimize the damage to keep the ships systems functioning. At this point, the captain would have given orders to suit up in the event of the ships' atmosphere collapsing. The crew would rush to find what suits and helmets they can, to protect them from the vacuum, but there won't be enough. Not for everyone.
"Hail them again," I say to Brandson sitting in the chair beside me. "Did you deploy the hatch-breakers?"
"I did boss. They're standing by. Hailing now."
"Do you think they'll answer this time?" Finn asks from the seat behind us.
"He has to, right?" Brandson asks, turning to me.
"They had to make an attempt to escape, for the ship's log. Wouldn't look good if they just rolled over. He'd have to be out of his mind to not answer now."
A momentary silence is interrupted by the chime of the communications signal being accepted. A small screen on the command console illuminates, showing the face of a weathered looking, bearded man, splattered in what looks like black, exploded circuitry. Behind him, smoke drifts by in patches as hurried figures dart back and forth, as fast as their mag-boots will allow, trying to keep the ship from tearing itself apart.
"This is Captain Douglas of the Hauler Yellowstone. Under who's authority have you attacked this vessel?"
"Under my own authority, Captain," I reply. "This vessel is transporting stolen mining material for The Loha Council. An egregious crime."
"You're mistaken," he says back. "This vessel is in the employ of Astral Projections and is under the protection of the Federal Mining Statute. You have no cause to attack us."
"On the contrary Captain, I do. I have, in my possession, a dossier on you and this ship. Brandson, transmit the dossier to Captain Douglas. Besides Captain, do you think I'd waste the bullets on you if I didn't know who you were?"
With a flick of the wrist, Brandson begins transmitting the document. Captain Douglas moves out of frame for a moment, before returning, clearly reviewing the information he'd received.
"Archibald Douglas," I say, reading from the dossier on Federal letterhead. "Wanted for smuggling, extortion and racketeering. All of which carry pretty steep penalties, Captain."
"We all have a past, Commander," he says.
"But do you have a future? I have no interest in your cargo, Captain. Nor do I have any interest in further loss of life. All I care about, is that the resources in your hold aren't acquired by The Loha Council. We stand ready to bring your crew on board my ship and deliver you to the nearest authorities. Accept, and everyone on board your ship will live. You have my word. Decline, and I'm afraid this is as far as we go."
"Might I have a moment?" he asks.
"Take all the time you need."
The man steps out of frame again leaving only patches of smoke and damaged paneling on the screen. Behind where the man's face was, an instrument panel catches fire before a woman enters, putting it out with bursts of white smoke from her extinguisher. With the fire out, she turns back, yelling inaudibly to someone out of frame before exiting the screen herself.
"I don't understand," Brandson says. "What is there to think about?"
"There might be other things to consider," Finn replies.
"What could be more important than not dying?!" he asks back, unable to empathize with Captain Douglas's predicament.
"Honor," I reply.
"Honor?!" he says, shocked. "For HONOR you would die out here?!"
"These people, they live by a code. He's trying to decide how important that code is to him."
Another moment passes before Captain Douglas returns to the screen. The expression on his face has changed. He looks stern, gritting his jaw in a way that you can tell he's grinding his teeth. He's trying to portray an aura of confidence that, to anyone else, would seem convincing.
"Commander," he says before taking a deep breath. "I respectfully decline."
"I would strongly urge you to reconsider, Captain." I reply. "No one else has to die here. Let us take you on board to face Federal authority. For what I have to offer you, this is as good as it's going to get. This is not an empty threat, Captain. Again, I strongly urge you to reconsider."
"Do what you have to do, Commander. Captain Douglas of the Yellowstone out."
The screen fades to black as the communication is severed. The cockpit of the Norma Jean is silent and somber for a moment while we consider the Captains decision.
"Dammit," I say, a bit under my breath.
"He's really going to have us kill him?!" Bran asks.
"It was his decision to make," Finn says.
"So what?!" Bran says, turning to me, my eyes still fixed on the ship out ahead. "We're just going to space them?!"
"These people helped Grill blow up the capital back home, Bran!" Barks Finn. "Have you forgotten that?! Because I haven't."
"No... it's just..."
"Just nothing," Finn says. "He had a choice and he made it."
"Finn's right Bran," I say, with a deep sigh. "Crack 'em."
Brandson hesitantly turns back to his control panel, reaching up and pressing his finger against the glass. Out in front, the hatch-breaker limpets littering the hull of the Yellowstone spring to life, using their cutting beams and torque arms to slice and pry open the hull. Streams of air begin to expel from the incisions as the impartial mechs begin tearing open the soft hull of the ship. We sit and watch as slowly, the holes expand before the wave of bodies drift through the cracks and out, into the void illuminated by the glow of the emergency lighting inside. It takes only seconds before the bodies, gripping at their throats and flailing for life, go limp.
At the rear of the ship, the hatch-breakers tear open the cargo hold as racks upon racks of raw material spill out into the black. The loss of pressure hurls millions of credits worth of undocumented minerals back into the asteroid field to rejoin the cracked rocks it came from.
"Finn, chart a course for Whitworth."
"What about the ore?" Finn asks, fingering at the Nav chart to the left of my seat.
"Leave it for the vultures."