No Easy Day

[Jane Hartman]

Open Space
Kepler System

"I know we will." Hartman shrugged off Lewis' hand, returning her attention to the ship, content to lose herself for a time in the mess of vectors and readouts. After dragging Thresher's story up, the mind-numbing complexities of flying a ship felt like a pleasant distraction.

The Alabama jump point loomed just beyond the edge of the dark matter cloud, blinded sensors flashing back online just in time to flag the point on the Rhino's map. They'd been lucky so far, the contacts list remaining almost eerily empty. Hartman should have felt relief at that. An encounter with a Xeno patrol was not something she was prepared for, even with their transponder flashing on her control panel. Somehow, the dark-matter enforced silence only set her further on edge.

She spared Lewis a glance. Resolute as ever, if the Lieutenant Commander felt an discomfort at flying into a terrorist stronghold he did nothing to display it. He would have made an excellent marine, she brooded, if the Navy hadn't grabbed him first.

A faint shudder ran through the Rhino, old plasteel panels groaning like reluctant farmhands, as a spherical probe detached from the ship's nose. Dotted with sensors and minuscule maneuvering jets around a central reactor, it looked like someone had driven a pin through a golf ball. The probe hung in space for a moment before a fire blossomed in its engines, propelling the tiny ship towards the jump hole. Jane watched the sensors until the ship vanished, accelerating over the event horizon.

More then a decade had passed since she had last traveled this way, and the probe was the only means she had of checking if the jump hole here was still linked. Low-mass holes could change destination almost on a whim, branching off to some distant point in the system. She deliberately forced the alternative from her mind. Flying into an unstable jump hole was something no-one had ever come back to talk about, though her flight manual offered various delightful theories on what happened to those who made the mistake of taking the journey. Hartman had no desire to get killed solving the mystery.

The probe's report flashed back on her screen in washed-out grey letters. Jump point, stable. Location... What followed was a stream of numbers identifying the system the probe had found itself in relative to the center of Sirius, or at least humanity's best guess at the Sector's center. Hartman checked the figures against the transponder's record and gave a satisfied nod.

"Looks like the key still fits." She said, half-musing. Here's hoping no-one's home.

---

Unknown
Alabama System

Contact reports flooded Hartman's display as the Rhino emerged from jump space, a sea of dots with 'unknown' hovering above them like a cluster of electrical thunderclouds. Hartman's curse froze in her throat. Had the Xenos beefed up their defenses since her last visit? It was possible, and if the IFF hadn't taken the unarmored Rhino would be easy prey, even for the quality of pilot the Xenos attracted.

With agonizing slowness, the white dots marking contacts coalesced to a faint black background. Asteroid field, though a handful of blue circles identified Xeno ships and defense platforms, either patrolling further in the field or reading the freighter's transponder code, respectively.

No hail greeted them. There was nothing particularly strange on that count. This was the Xeno's home turf, after all. What need was there with the turrets set to dust anything that didn't quack like a Xeno?

Alabama herself was waiting for them just beyond the jump hole, a fallen giant still standing watch. Powerless weapons almost twice the length of Hartman's ship protruded from the hull like blisters, muzzles still tracking long-departed assailants. Where the ship's engine was meant to be there was only a jagged hole, the tattered results of Xeno incendiaries ripping into the fuel stores, exposing ship and crew to hard vacuum. Hartman had managed to retrieve that much from what was left of the ship's records, though she had long since disposed of the device it had been stored on. Another mistake of a misspent youth, no doubt. Bow crumpling against a large asteroid, the hulking mass of the dreadnought was intimidating, even in death.

Xeno slogans and rallying calls dotted the hull, some traced by weapons fire, others through more artistic, though far from tasteful, means. Someone had traced a rattlesnake coiling around the star on the warship's bow, tongue flicking out to taste the ship's name. Hartman eyed the scene with quiet fury. Destroying the ship had been one thing. Defacing what had become the grave of more then six hundred people was altogether worse. Hartman stifled her distaste, powering the Rhino closer to the dreadnought's warped engine bay with almost reverent care until Alabama blocked the system's star from view.

"Welcome to Alabama." Hartman said, reaching behind the seat for the vacuum suits. There was no warmth in her voice.

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