“I’ll transport you over there,” Amye snipes.
“A ship is only claimable if no native life-forms remain aboard,” Doug says.
“We’ve read the law.”
“Based on the range and power output of the distress signal transmitting, I doubt anyone still survives,” Doug reports.
“Our concern now must be to inspect for survivors,” Australia says.
AMYE CHOKES ON the stale metal air she expels—acid poured into her lungs. She wants to hold her breath, but her body demands oxygen. Soft tissue sizzles inside her chest. Her brain activates her gag reflex. She drops the Halligan tool to clamp a hand over her mouth.
Amye shoves Doug away. Smerth’n sensors! She coughs until her lungs hurt. Scans of the ship revealed no toxins in the air but neglected to note breathability lacked consistency. None of the crew bothered to slip on rebreathers before transport.
Joe seems unbothered by the metal taste. Rumors abound about Calthos warriors imbibing in miniscule amounts of poisons in order to build a natural resistance. He slips on his rebreather.
Hauser does the same. Face scars of a seasoned warrior. Focused on the major overhauls all over the Dragon, Amye’s hasn’t bothered to learn about him either. Tibbar-hide pants are a good indication he’s a difficult Osirian to kill, but even he coughed plenty before fishing out his rebreather.
Doug works a muzzle rebreather over the lavender dragon before returning to gyrating to rock music blaring from the speakers in his ears.
She has no idea why the dragon accompanies them. Drazz’n child’s pet has no business on a mission. We’ve no business on this ship. Once calculations are confirmed, the Silver Dragon should hyper jump. We aren’t a humanitarian organization. Amye’s tongue tip plays with a divot in her breather’s mouthpiece. She’ll dispose of it upon return. Such a small flaw could split, rendering the apparatus useless.
Once able to breathe, she slaps Doug’s shoulder. The skinny Osirian stumbles to keep his footing.
Doug does an air guitar solo before clipping an eyepiece to his headset on the left side of his face. He brings the eyepiece to his eye. Images in infrared appear through the lens. “Athena, uplink.”
“Transponder signal captured,” Athena chirps.
“They see everything I do on the bridge.”
“You got a lock on the distress beacon? You git-brained draznot!”
Doug operates the handheld scanner. “Strange.” He manipulates the controls. “The emergency transmission’s not from this ship.” Doug moves, his eyes on the pad screen.
Hauser draws his weapon. His boots leave tracks in the dust-carpeted floor.
“Doug, don’t keep us in the dark.”
“We may not be the first to investigate this craft,” Doug says.
“Where are we heading?”
“First…the cafeteria?” Doug grins.
Just shoot him. You want to draw your blaster and put a plasma bolt through the cyber jack.
Amye shakes off her thought. Doug’s annoyingness is not bolt worthy.
“The bridge with environmental controls should be a priority,” Joe suggests.
“The transmission source is closer than the bridge control. Since we don’t know if the lifts work, we should check it out first. The hike could take hours.”
“Why didn’t we beam closer to the bridge?”
“Outer hull might be deteriorating, but inner hull metals prevent transport,” Doug says.
“A long hike without heaters.” Amye hugs herself to hide a shiver.
“Let’s check the transmission. If this craft is salvageable, I’m commandeering her to cover the debt Commander Reynard owes me for my shuttle,” Hauser says.
“And if there are survivors?”
“Lock myself in my quarters on the Dragon until Reynard’s recovered. This bickering’s enough for a man to put a blaster to his head,” Hauser says.
You going to let him speak about you the way he does? Kymberlynn asks.
Amye spins, searching for her sister.
“Concerned, Amye?” Joe asks.
“I felt something,” Amye lies. She knows it was Kymberlynn.
“The lights.” Joe points above them. Dimmed to their lowest level, they give off a faint glow. “Our presence here may have activated them.”
“Turning them off would be better. A ship this size and age will have drained much of its power reserves,” Amye says.
“Not if it’s solar,” Doug says.
“No collector panels were visible when we scanned her,” Amye says.
“Let’s find this transmission source,” Hauser demands.
Fuzz flutters above them. He rounds the corner before the crew.
A putrid stench fills Doug’s nose. “Fuzz!”
“Doug, what’s—” The nauseous odor overwhelms Amye’s nose and mouth through the rebreather. “I swear, if your ass…” She chokes again.
The scanner beeps—detecting organic material.
Doug draws his gun before quickly turning his head away from the gruesome sight.
Fuzz hovers in the center of the corridor above the bodies of three humanoids.
Joe moves through the dust to examine the dead. Hauser observes Joe’s boots leave no tracks in the dust.
“I’ve lost connection with Athena.” Doug adjusts his eyepiece. “Interference.”
Joe sticks his fingers in the rupturing holes seared into the spacesuits. Despite outwardly appearing to be heavy-blaster plasma burns, the subtle scoring reveals that some other energy weapon caused the damage. Joe unclasps the fingers from the gloved hand. He notes the dustless serial numbers and familiar design to the IMC weapons the crew smuggled.
Amye runs her hand through carbon-scored marks on the wall. “I’ve never seen any blast pattern like this.”
“Unknown.”
Joe surveys the walls. “They fired on whatever killed them. This blaster’s completely discharged.”
Doug waves the scanner over a wall panel. He touches the metal. The panel lowers at a crawl from age or lack of power. The computer monitor and oversized typing keys lack an advanced voice control technology system. Dangling from the controls is a scanner pad similar to his.
“They tried to access the you-are-here system.” Doug considers attaching his cyber jack to the hardwired pad. “By accessing the internal mapping system they could locate the ship’s systems, even if they didn’t understand the language. All these systems have a basic design program.”
The panel hums to life. “See, what’d I smerth’n tell you!”
Klaxons sound.
“What have you done?” Amye grabs Doug by the scruff of his neck.
“Oh boy!”
“I
