The Scarman Enigma

[|Scarecrow|]

Starwood Hotel, Airspace en route to Landing Platform 17

The bulky, glass-paned doors swung erratically from the additional aerial shock as the transport ferry erupted from the terminal’s outer cowling. Marcus gunned the throttle, shunting all the energy he could into the engine coils. The electric motors whined against the strain, not used to the sudden demand. A string of temperature warnings flashed across the dashboard, but Marcus ignored them, his focus instead fixed to the view out of the windshield. To his left, the long, thick plume of black smoke left by Sayne’s transport had already reached one of the orbiting anti-gravity landing platforms. He swore as he saw the ferry hit the landing platform’s deck with a shower of sparks. Two tiny figures jumped from the careening transport as soon as it ground to a halt and rapidly moved clear of it.

Marcus had little time. He twisted his ferries’ control column to the left and the lumbering craft began to yaw in the direction of the platform. The turn was slow and tedious, the ship not designed for high maneuverability.
“Come on,” Marcus hissed as he drummed his fingers along the machined plastics.
He could see the dark, boxy outline of a starship parked on the pad. A freighter. He didn’t recognise it. It looked like some variant on the Rhino class transport, or perhaps a Rheinland design. The small forms of Sayne and Heather made directly for it and disappeared underneath.
“There’s no way you’re getting that in the air without any codes…” Marcus grumbled, finally taking note of the pinging temperature warnings on his display. He placed Merlow’s rail pistol on the dash and shifted his attention to the power distributor, dialing back on the engine input.

A sudden blast rocked the ferry, sending the pistol clattering to the decking and forcing Marcus to grip the screen to steady himself. Two more twin columns of spearing red energy cut across the bow of the transport, causing it to jolt once again.
“Starwood ferry, cut your velocity and return to the terminal.” The sharp, rasping communication cut through the tense air, wrenching Marcus from his task.
“Fuck,” He cursed as he saw two Patriot class light fighters descend on either side of him. The blues and reds of their lights flooded his cockpit with dazzling strobes of dancing light.
Thinking quickly, he thumbed his communicator, “Liberty police, I have taken damage. My vehicle is going down. I have no choice but to make for the nearest landing platform.”
By now, Sayne’s platform was the nearest, and Scarecrow’s ferry was still hurtling toward it at maximum speed.
“Make your descent and then surrender yourself.” There was acceptance, but the reply was curt and clear.

Marcus had to sell it. He braced himself and came down hard, as Sayne had, his ferry striking the deck in a clattering shower of sparks and rending metal. It barreled into the side of Jadyn’s discarded transport, tearing it in two with a small eruption of flames and smoke. The intentional crash landing brought Scarecrow close to the parked freighter. Marcus braced himself at the impact and rode the chaos as the ferry screeched to a halt. He could see now that the freighter was indeed some kind of Liberty design, albeit one unknown to him. It sat squat on four chunky landing legs. To his horror, he saw that the belly cargo hatch was open. Sayne and Heather were nowhere to be seen.
“How did you…” Marcus quickly scanned the interior of the ferry for the fallen pistol, grabbed it, and then shot out the windscreen. With a pained leap, he scaled the forward portion of the body and dropped to the scarred decking of the landing platform.

Behind him, the two Patriot fighters were slowly descending, their chin-mounted cannons pointed directly at him. Marcus pushed for the freighter’s open cargo bay, but a steady beam of white light punched out from one of the fighters, highlighting him on the deck with a powerful spot.
“Stop,” The inevitable command came in a baleful tone. “Turn around. Drop your weapon.”
Marcus turned slowly; his arms raised in the air. For a long few seconds stared up at the blank canopies of the fighters as they hovered over his crashed ferry. Pain racked his body from the numerous wounds he had sustained, and a cough welled up from within at the thick ichor spilling from his trashed ferry. He spat out the acrid taste of melting plastics and closed his eyes in defeat. There was nothing more he could do. Merlow’s pistol fell from his grasp.

Slowly, one of the Patriots began to descend, unfolding its landing legs and retro-vectoring. As the fighter’s engines roared, another crushing sound abruptly boomed from behind Scarecrow. The freighter’s vertical ascent engines howled to life, sending powerful waves of thundering energy pounding into Scarecrow’s back. He fell forwards, pinned to the deck by the force of it. He turned just in time to see the cargo hatch close, and the bulky freighter lift unceremoniously from the platform.
“Sayne! Heather! NO!” Marcus fought to stand, but the burning power from the engines kept him pinned.
“STOP THEM!” He shouted at the top of his lungs, but his call was drowned out by the rending sounds of mixed starship engines.

The freighter climbed and was soon clear, freeing Marcus from its vice. He rolled over, smoke billowing from his singed clothing. His face was blackened and burned, his skin reddened and peeling. The still airborne Patriot broke away and ascended into a steep pursuit of the freighter, but the other craft had by now touched down. Its engines still tilled as its canopy opened and its pilot jumped out. Weakly, Marcus looked up at him. The young man was barely in his twenties. He brought an energy rifle up to meet Scarecrow and held it steady. Slowly and painfully, Marcus stood to meet his captor.
“Put your hands on your head.” The officer spoke plainly and without compassion, “You’re under arrest.”

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| S C A R E C R O W |

"See you space cowboy..."