Judgement

[Toaster]

The ship rumbled as the engines came to life, green plasma and vapor gushing out of the twin exhausts. The repulsors lifted it off the hangar deck and carried it slowly into the airlock. As the inner gate shut, Richter put on his flight helmet, sealing his suit off from the outside world.

“Patrol three one, you’re clear to launch,” the controller announced over the comms system. The outer gate slowly opened before Richter, revealing the starry backdrop of the New Berlin system.

“Understood, Strausberg,” Steiner’s voice replied. Richter’s grip on his control stick tightened at the sound of it. “Three one, heading out.”

“Let’s go,” the wing leader said on the squadron’s comms channel. Richter engaged the Sleipnir’s thrust and shot out of the airlock, leaving Battleship Strausberg behind as it rapidly shrunk away.

* * *

Two days had passed since the skirmish with the federal loyalists. Steiner’s ship had been repaired and the squadron was ready to be deployed again. No one had reported the incident with the escape pod.

Now, reports were coming in from across imperial-controlled space that foreign vessels were entering Rheinland, carrying supplies for the remaining federal holdouts spread out across the nation. Orders were to find these smugglers and apprehend them if possible. If not, the use lethal force was permitted. Steiner’s squadron was assigned a patrol route across the north-east of Rheinland’s capital system, New Berlin.

* * *

Richter glanced out into space on his starboard. In the distance, he could faintly make out the tumbling rocks and dust of the Aachenfeld. Somewhere deep within, there was a jumphole that connected the capital to Frankfurt. Command predicted that a number of smugglers would try to use it to circumvent imperial patrols. Steiner wasn’t going to let that happen.

However, for the past four hours, the squadron had encountered nothing but the empty void of space.

Freist yawned loudly through Richter’s earpiece. “Looks like no one’s out here, sir.” Boredom was plain in his voice. “We should head back.”

Steiner didn’t reply.

“Sir?”

Finally, the wing leader barked over the comms, “Check your sensors.” The sudden command tore Richter out of his own thoughts and looked through his sensor readouts.

There.

A lone contact on the long-range sensors, headed towards the asteroid field at high speed. It was still far off in the distance, too far for their fighters’ instruments to determine what kind of vessel it might be.

“Form up,” Steiner ordered. “We’re going after them.”

* * *

The four fighters dodged and weaved through the gigantic maze that was the Aachenfeld. Rocks varying in size from that of thumbtacks to that of city blocks streaked past them as they careened towards the unknown vessel. The distance between them was slowly shrinking, but so far it had not responded to any of their attempts to hail it.

“Maybe their comms systems got knocked out by an impact,” Mannscheidt suggested, as he looped his ship around two asteroids, each the size of a large tanker.

“No,” Steiner replied coldly. “They’re running.”

Richter glanced at his instruments. Only a few clicks left till they would intercept the unidentified craft.

“Weapons ready,” the wing leader barked. For a second, Richter hesitated, his thumb hovering over the safety switch covering the trigger. Then he flicked it off and rested his finger on it. He wouldn’t need to pull it, he told himself. No smuggler would risk his life like this.

“Unidentified vessel,” Steiner broadcast on an open channel, “this is your final warning. Cut your engines immediately and stand by.” Richter could sense the malice in the wing leader’s voice. He knew he was just itching for the target to make a mistake.

Beads of sweat formed on his brow. They were in range for disrupters, there was no way the ship could escape anymore. But what if the it really didn’t stop? Knowing Steiner, just disabling its engines wouldn’t be enough for him.

Then it did. The unknown vessel came to a halt in the middle of the asteroid field. Richter sighed in relief.

“This is the transport Meadow’s Hill,” the ship’s captain finally replied over comms. “We are standing down.”

As the four fighters approached, Richter ran a scan of the ship. It was a medium sized transport of an older make, likely from Bretonia. His detailed scanners revealed the contents of its cargo hold: food, water, medical supplies, and various other basic consumer goods. All likely headed towards a federalist base. Richter looked further into his instruments’ readouts. There were unusually many lifeforms aboard a ship of that size. Nearly three dozen.

“Sir-,” Richter started over the wing’s channel. Steiner however interrupted him.

“Meadow’s Hill, you are carrying contraband and are in violation of imperial law. Release your cargo at once.”

The transport captain’s voice sounded shaky as he responded, “Sir, I can assure you, we are not transporting any illegal goods! Surely, your scanners can detect-…”

The wing leader barked back, “You are delivering supplies to the traitors that fight for the defunct federal government!” Richter flinched as he could practically feel the bile with which Steiner spat the words into his mic. “Drop them at once, or we will employ lethal force.” Richter’s hands clenched. Please, he pleaded silently, please just do it.

“Sir, please, we are carrying humanitarian supplies!” the captain replied fearfully. “The people need food and medicine!”

“Mannscheidt,” Steiner ordered over the wing’s channel, “give them a warning volley.”

Green plasma splashed across the transport’s shields as Mannscheidt unleashed his weapons upon it. The energy field began to flicker under the stress of the fire.

“Please!” the captain begged, desperation creeping into his voice. “We are civilians! There are nurses and doctors aboard!” Mannscheidt ceased fire.

“Sir…,” Richter started.

Steiner’s response was immediate. “Time is up.” His voice was little more than a growl, like that of a predator cornering its prey. “Fry them.”

Richter froze. Neither Freist nor Mannscheidt fired their weapons. For a brief second, Richter hoped that his wingmen would disobey, that they wouldn’t deem it right to fire upon a civilian vessel. Then Steiner’s voice broke through his earpiece, nearly deafening him with sudden rage.

“FIRE!”

Freist and Mannscheidt complied. The three fighters let forth a torrent of plasma, washing across the transport’s shields, overloading them in seconds. Its hull plating heated and melted away where the bolts of ionized gas impacted, venting atmosphere out into the cold darkness of space. Decompression tore through the ship, exploding sections of plating outwards into the void. The captain screamed over the comms channel, pleading for his, his crew’s, and his passengers’ lives.

Richter couldn’t understand a word. All he could hear was the rush of blood through his body and the deafening pounding of his own heart. He stared on as parts of the ship simply fell apart under the immense heat and energy of the bombardment. His hands trembled uncontrollably, his finger still hovering over the trigger. The screaming continued. Somewhere amidst it, Steiner’s voice rang through, ordering him to open fire.

He watched as streams of plasma tore through the transport end to end. Finally, one bolt connected with the ship’s reactor. The black of space turned white as the vessel erupted like a miniature sun. Tears ran down Richter’s face, whether from the blinding light or from shock, he could not tell.