No Easy Day

[Jane Hartman]

Open Space
Kepler System

"Three." The automated countdown was unnaturally calm, clear through the faint crackle of the helmet radio. She forced herself to count her breaths, slowing the heart that was threatening to beat its way out of her chest, and tried not to let her nerves show. She'd never liked this part. "Two." The magnetic locks on her boots engaged as the ship's gravity vanished, leaving her floating in her boots, alongside a similarly buoyant Lewis. Something in her inner ear protested the sudden lack of up and down, the faint familiar nausea that came with moving in zero-g making an unwelcome reappearance. Doing her best to ignore it, she gave Lewis' oxygen supply a final check, him doing the same for her. These suits were older then the Rhino, and relied on mechanical gauges rather then the digital displays of military-issue equipment. The first warning she'd get if she ran out of air would be her choking in her helmet.

"One. Depressurization complete." The red airlock light hovering in front of her flickered to green then vanished as the door vanished into the steel floor beneath them, leaving the pair staring into the dark void of Alabama's engine bay, silhouetted by the brighter halo of open space. Lit from behind, jagged edges marking the scars of explosives, it was eerily reminiscent of the maw of some gigantic predator. And we're going right into it. She quickly derailed that particular train of thought before it could take hold. She flicked her suit lights on, careful to keep one gloved hand on the railing, lest she spiral off into the gap between the two ships. The suits had small stabilizing jets of their own and fuel enough to outlast their owner's oxygen supply, if it came to that. Somehow, the thought didn't make her feel any better.

"Ready?" Lewis' voice was tinny in the suit's speaker. Hartman gave a thumbs-up, not quite trusting her voice. With the deliberate awkwardness that came with working in vacuum, Lewis rotated, feet to the interior airlock door. Hartman copied the motion, her arms protesting the awkward position, grasping the rail behind her like a diver at the blocks, and flicked a switch on her wrist, disabling the magnetic locks that tethered her to the ship. She took a breath, checked Alabama still floated ahead of her, and pushed. Empty space swallowed them for a moment, the dizzying darkness of eternity spiraling away beneath their feet as Lewis and Hartman fell away from the Rhino, the little freighter's maneuvering jets firing to keep it steady against the energy of their movement. Hartman focused on the yawning cavern that had been Alabama's engine bay and hoped the floors were still intact.

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Engine Bay
LNS Alabama

It was with a profound sense of relief that Hartman returned magnetism to her boots, settling to the engine bay's buckled floor in a gentle puff of dust. Strips of steel lay about around her like the messy remnants of some animal's meal. Faded and torn labels still adorned the shattered engines, shining bright in her suit's lights, the ancient yellow text still warning of radiation and advising the crew to exercise appropriate caution.

"Nothing but a whole lot of mess here." Hartman said, more to break the silence then out of any need to convey information. "Any crew in here would've caught vacuum when the engines went up."

The signs of damage faded as they moved further into the ship, torn walls slowly reforming to bulkheads, albeit dotted with bullet holes. Viewed without the distorting filter of atmosphere the ship's scars were almost perfectly sharp, more like a museum piece then the real thing. Something brushed against her arm, and Hartman spun, hand dropping to her side, seeking a pistol that wasn't there. Lewis retracted his arm, the faint amusement in his eyes quickly dying, and raised a hand to point off into the darkness.

"We've got a body." He said it as though he was reporting a particularly odd weather pattern. Something strange, certainly, but not worthy of particular concern. In a way, he was right to. Both of them had seen enough bodies in their lives to ignore the little voice that screamed and mourned and fought against the objectification. Hartman ignored the sensation, slightly uncomfortable at how easy it had become.

The body in question was spreadeagled against the bulkhead at the end of the hallway, dead eyes staring out at Hartman's Rhino through the opaque visor of his marine-issue combat armor. A series of pencil-thin holes dotted his chest, blood speckling the wall and floor around. She wiped a veneer of blood from the man's chestplate, exposing a name."Lance Corporal Holden, poor bastard. Whatever the Xenos were using, it punched straight through the armor." Not all of Alabama's Marines had died in their bunks, it seemed. If she closed her eyes, she could almost see the slate-gray armored figures moving in the gloom of the depressurized engine bay, recoilless rifles barking their defiance at the invaders that poured into their crippled ship. The thought filled her with a morbid sort of pride.

Lewis nodded faintly, in appreciation and respect for the departed soul. "He went down fighting....and it''s probably what he expected and wanted."

He looked around. There was no movement, and no artificial lighting. Sound wasn''t to be expected in a vacuum, but Lewis still felt uneasy. Something in his gut told him to expect the worst.

He nearly tapped Hartman on the shoulder to get her attention before realizing he didn''t need to. Speaking through the suit's voice commmunicator distorted his voice, but he needed to get used to it. "What're we looking for?"

"Probably did, at that." She tore her gaze from the fallen marine, turning to Lewis. "The CiC's the best bet for the crew manifest. Last time I was here, I only really saw the bridge. Wasn't much to speak of there. Dreadnaught design hasn't changed in the past few decades, so CiC should be amidships."

"Lead the way," Lewis said curtly.

Hartman nodded, stepping around the body. There was something quietly unnerving about the dead ship. Every warship she'd ever served on had had a life to it, the soft hum of reactors, the clattering of the crew. No ship under power was ever completely silent. It leant the engineering bay's tattered corridors the still reverence of a tomb.

"This ain't right." Hartman paused, just ahead of Lewis in the cramped corridor, Rhino a faint speck behind them. Ahead of her, a sealed hatch loomed, devoid of the bullet holes that dotted the rest of the ship. Hartman swore under her breath. "Lewis, this wasn't here before. See those welds? Someone's been playing patch-up."

Lewis walked up to the door, observing the welds carefully. After a few moments, he nodded. "Someone's been trying to fix things around here, seems." He walked back to Hartman, brown eyes focusing on her with resolve. As much as it mattered to Hartman, this could potentially be a death trap. "Do we want to go on? We're not prepared for any confrontation at all."

She turned, gray eyes meeting brown. Thirteen years, she'd waited to come back. What difference did another year make? "We'll go back. It's not worth pushing on, not until we know what's going on." She glanced back down the corridor. "The dead can wait a little long-"

A shudder ran through the ship, static screaming in her ear as the suit's radio flared and died.

Her companion immediately switched his mind into battle mode, it was a subconscious shfit made as easily as wearing an old pair of boots. Lewis looked around sharply, hands clenched and his body loosened into a fighting stance.

"The hell was that?" He barked.

It was a sensation Hartman recognised from long, dreary, months spent on carrier duty. Rumble, the Marines had called it, the controlled convulsing of a ship's dampners as missiles left their tubes.

The realisation hit like an orbital drop. Alabama wasn't some long-term project by a bunch of loons. She was already operational. The hissing of her radio faded as the suit's systems reassumed control.

"Torpedoes." She turned, watching the Rhino through Alabama's tattered hull. The transponder. She'd been through, and yet... "One guess where they're going." She forced the calm into her voice. There was only one ship in-system that could have given those weapons reason to fire, and she'd bought it there. There was no point running. There wasn't a human being in Sirius that could outrun a missile in flight.

Behind her, Lewis was already grimacing and thinking of alternate ways out. The Rhino was about to be FUBAR within seconds, and they had to find another way out. It would be death for both of them otherwise. He didn't panic, though...long years of exprience did help as they infused Lewis with calm enough to deal with this fucked up situation.

"Any idea where the armory is on this, Jane?" He asked sharply.

Hartman didn't answer, eyes fixed on the freighter and the twin white contrails that streaked towards it like the accusing fingers of a God. A moment later, they impacted, and Alabama's hangar bay flashed with a brilliant white light that forced her eyes closed as the Rhino vanished in a fireball of explosives.

Thanks to Rodent for his character's sections.

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