The padding of the flight headset ear cups pressed softly against the sides of her head. Cushioning against the ear, it pressed from jaw to temple with a delicate pressure. The boom mic arcing to the far end of her cheek. She enjoyed the muting effect they had on the sounds of the ship. The vibrations deadened in their thrumming. The clanking of air conditioning units turned to a whisper.
"Daumann freighter Kilo-Alpha-Thirteen, you are cleared for departure. Have a pleasant journey."
"Danke, Briesen control. Until the next time."
The clicks of communication bursts and the tinny pitch of their voices felt brought a sharp discomfort. Looking up, frowning to show her displeasure, she sees the swirling orange clouds in the cockpit window beyond her papa. With kind, thoughtful brown eyes he looks to her. His black and grey stubble was growing with wrinkles etching into the man's forehead by the cycle.
"There is nothing to worry for Harriet. A couple days of missed schooling is not the end of the world. You can catch up, you'll see. Now, make yourself useful and check the traffic reports. It is quite the journey ahead of us. Better to be safe then sorry."
The blue ripples of a trade lane gate activating fill the view beyond the cockpit as, with an almighty huff, she picks herself up out of the oversized flight seat. Approaching a terminal screen in the corridor neck into the cockpit, she pushes herself on tiptoes. Fingers grasping at the terminal edges to hold herself up. Steadying herself, one hand releases so that she can make selections through to the Omega corridor. Omega's. Omega Seven. Two reports of piratical activity in the mining fields. With a glance to her Pa, she swipes the news away with a hand and a heavy sigh.
"Anything of note?"
"No Pa."
"No as in there is nothing to speak to, or no as i-"
A thunderous crack ripples through the freighter as it comes to an unplanned and rapid deceleration. The trade lane tunnel flickers out of view. Two snub craft linger menacingly besides the next lane gate, sparks erupting from it's mechanisms. When a new voice patches through to their comms, it sounds etched with threat. Just like Hans when he tried to take her lunch money.
"The last one of yous lot refused to pay up. We're gonna take that out on you unless ya'make it worth our time."
Her Pa speaks into their mic as he unbuckles himself from the flight seat, scoops her up in his arms and carries her into the cargo bay.
"I'm sure we can sort something out. Before you do, tell me who was the arse who cut and run?"
He places her down next to a cylindrical container that came to just above her auburn hair. She knew what to do. He had shown her how to hide. She looks at him, studying his face. The warmth he radiated.
"It won't be for long, Harriet. They might not even come aboard. Go on."
"Excuse me, you wot mat-Nothing. Nothing, muttering to myself is all. Where were we...
The container panel closes behind her as she curls up within. Her fingers clutch at her ankles, pulling them in tight. Their voices turned to crackling static. Alone. Secure. Safe.
The container shifts. The whipcrack sound of metal sheering as feels the momentum of movement. Pushed to one side of the container as it rapidly accelerates. The sense of a sharp pain on her brow as a metal clangs like a bell. She feels the world spinning. Drifting. The roar of an explosion somewhere beyond the container. The flash of heat through the metal before a rapid ice cold spreads through. Another toll of clanging metal, the spin of her world inversely suddenly. Frigid metal connecting with h-
The air was pungent with the salty scent of sweat. The clanging of metal on metal reverberates down the access shaft. Hammers knocking in rivets. Wrenches tightening the seals around duct pipe sections. The rattling of metallic debris caught in extractor fans. The sharp crack of firearms discharged on distant decks travelling through open pipes.
Smoke billows out of a maintenance shaft with a handful of engineers and deckhands stood around the entrance. Striding down the corridor, Harriet can feel the dampness of sweat and oil on their overalls as she pushes her way to the front of the arced crowd.
"What have we got?"
"There's a fire in the maintenance duct. We think it's a gas leak that's caught. Harrie-"
"It's Heinrike. You think it's more sabotage?"
"It's Harriet, and ja."
Narrowing her eyes at Jürgen, she snatches the breather mask from his hands and brings it up over her head. As she pulls the straps tight until she feels the seal press in around her face, another passes her their utility belt. Taking out his Daumann sidearm, Jürgen offers it to her grip first.
"We think it's Werner's lot. Be car-""Don't act like you give a shit."
Lowering herself down onto her hands and knees, Harriet reaches out for a pull bar within the duct and drags herself within. The world shrunk around her immediately. With room enough to crawl her way forwards, the white smoke fogs up her visor as the temperature of the air spikes. Her breath tastes like soot despite the mask.
Flame casts a flickering glow at a three-way junction in the duct ahead as the density of the smoke begins to disperse. Flashes of brilliant light reflected through grates further down the duct as the firefight on the flight deck continues. Steadying her breath beforehand, she rounds the corner with her sidearm extended out first. Naught but the orange flame of her quarry. Shuffling along the duct, oils drip down from a crack in the duct ceiling. Keeping her attention forward, she reaches the leak. The whipcrack of a gunshot pulls her attention forwards.
A muzzle protrudes into the space of another three way junction ahead. The bastards. Werner really was trying to follow up on their promise. The metal beneath her was hot to the touch. Her left leg pushes outwards to steady a shot, caressing the border of tolerable heat. A knee up to bare her torso as she takes a deep breath.
Two knocks on the duct wall. Three rapid pulls of her index finger as the saboteur crawls forward.
Letting out a heavy sigh before gasping for breath, Harriet rolls to her right, back pressed up against the duct wall. The air was thin, and crimson began to cook on the opposite metallic wall as she reaches for the canister of flame retardant. Foam billows out as she sprays it across the red hot piping. With the flame buried, Harriet coats her left ankle in the foam as well. A bitter sting as ice cold meets red raw flesh.
As she reaches out of the duct, hands grasp her wrists and pull her across the floor to freedom. Her vision blurred from grim and condensation across the mask, she feels the presence of Jürgen lower down next to her. Another of the deck hands was already seeing to her leg where her overall trouser leg had singed.
"You bag the arschloch?"
"Yeah. What, you going to give me a pretty little medal?" Her words, venomous and curt.
"Good work, Heinrike." Staring up at him, she hesitates. Her hand comes up. Open. Extended.
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