Bridge 4B(S), communication deck: "On the Strategic Repurposing of Classified Incidents"
There was a single, prolonged second of stunned silence. Then Hermann grabbed the blaster again and aimed it squarely at her forehead, much to the panicked protest of the other two.
“I might have terrible aim,” he said, “but from this distance, it’s hard to miss. Frau Cross.”
She didn’t flinch. For a few seconds, she even tried to look appropriately concerned. Then, suddenly, she burst out laughing. Loudly. Offensively. “Oh, dear Schmidt. Seriously now—if I wanted you dead, do you really think I’d be here, alone, unarmed, making conversation, after rushing across half the sector?”
The trio glanced at one another, dumbfounded. Cross was still chuckling, the barrel of the blaster practically brushing her forehead. “No, really. I thought—” She interrupted herself mid-thought. “Hermann, for heaven’s sake, could you please stop aiming that thing at me?”
Schmidt stood there, eyes wide, frozen somewhere between rage and confusion, not entirely of sound mind. “Alright,” she continued, sighing theatrically, “at least let me sit down.”
She dropped back onto the same crate she’d claimed earlier, adjusted her coat, and resumed her speech.
“Joking aside—I have no intention of killing you. Not anymore. Admittedly, I did have that intention several hours ago, for about... thirty very serious minutes. But of course, you wouldn’t have seen me then. Someone from SEC would’ve shown up instead, or maybe your shuttle would’ve just tragically plummeted into the spaceport like a brick.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “But let’s not dwell on that.”
“No, let’s absolutely not dwell on that,” the three of them said in unison.
“Give me one reason I should believe you,” said Schmidt, finally regaining some composure. “One reason I shouldn’t pull this trigger.”
“Because I’m the one running this company, Schmidt. Because I know what’s best for it. And for all of you, probably. And because—most importantly—for the greater good, I need you three alive.”
“What the hell are you even talking about?” Albert snapped.
“Why is it so hard for you to see the big picture? To think on a larger scale?” She paused. “Oh right, maybe you're just hungry.”
“Or maybe we’re not in your head,” Schmidt muttered, fiddling with the safety on the blaster “Not yet, anyway.”
“Touché,” Cross said, nodding slightly.
“Now then. Allow me to explain…Let’s start from the beginning. I’ll admit it—I wasn’t paying attention a few days ago. I genuinely thought you were trying to restart the Flying Dutch. This heap of junk didn’t even cross my mind.
Frankly, if I’d known what ship it really was, I’d never have approved the reactivation.
But by the time you reported your little discovery,” she glanced around the room, “it was too late to stop you. If I’d interfered, you’d have started asking all the wrong questions."
"And that’s when you decided to kill us?" Schmidt hissed.
"No, not right away. At first, I hoped you'd forget about it. That the archive on Baden Baden would be too broken to access. That you’d lose interest. Or that, at the very least, you wouldn’t be so stubborn and competent," she added, looking at Hans, "to reboot this ship’s terminals and dig up the captain’s personal logs."
"Modestly, I am the bes—" "Yes yes, thank you," she cut Hans off before he could spiral into a monologue. "It was right around then that the thought of eliminating you did cross my mind."
The air in the room froze again.
"Half an hour. Like I said before. Just a moment of panic. I imagined the worst-case scenarios—for me, for the company, for everything. But then I pulled myself together. Like any halfway decent executive should. I didn’t let emotion take over."
"That must be why I never made it past regional manager," Schmidt muttered, keeping the blaster trained on her. "Not great with emotional control."
"Don’t be so hard on yourself, Schmidt," Cross replied calmly. "I wouldn’t say that at all."
She sighed and walked toward one of the nearby chairs. "Anyway, I decided to come in person. Watching you from that screen was giving me heartburn. And as the hours passed, I wasn’t just watching you—I was watching Von Tanner’s story unfold."
"Idiots. Every single one of my predecessors—idiots! Keeping it buried like some shameful skeleton."
"She’s lost it," Schmidt mumbled.
“No, Hermann! Don’t you get it? This—this is one of the greatest stories I’ve ever come across. It has everything! Tragedy. Bravery. Stubborn, doomed resistance. It’s got the sweeping weight of a classical epic, the gut-punch of a war memoir." She took a step forward, her voice rising with conviction. "It’s Shakespeare in space. A captain fighting against fate itself—and even when fate wins, he still doesn’t surrender. It’s heartbreaking, ridiculous, inspiring. It makes you laugh, weep, hope—sometimes all at once!"
She stopped. Looked at them.
"You’re not seeing it yet, are you?"
All three shook their heads.
"Oh come on! This ship, this story, everything inside it—it’s a goddamn gold mine!"
