"Fort Bush, this is Markey! My ship is disabled, Ive lost all guns, equipment, and life support isn't looking good. Jamming field. They've got a tractor beam on me; I'm not going anywhere. Hurry!"
When I checked the logs after this whole mess, what Bush heard was this: "Fort BushMarkey... DisabledgunssupportJammingbeamHurry!"
The ship towed my Eagle in and hooked it to an umbilical airlock. Some sort of paint was sloshed all over my cockpit, so I couldn't see what was going on until a drill punched through the canopy. Damn scary, that, seeing a drill head cut through just in front of your nose. It vanished and was replaced by a hose. I heard a hissing noise, and the last thing I remember was thinking Oh, ****
I woke up in a small cabin, my gear neatly stacked at the foot of the bed. I rubbed my eyes and sat up, then dressed in my uniform that had been left hanging on the rack by the headboard. I stepped out into the corridor and took a moment to orient myself. This was no ship Id ever been on before, and never saw any plans for one of this kind either. I found the bridge after a little while of searching, but that wasn't what surprised me. It was the bodies.
The pilots of the ship-with-no-name were sprawled across their seats. Each had taken a single shot to the back that had passed through the seat, but it didn't look like either had had time to even start to turn around. Curious. I took a look around and found a terminal that still worked and pulled up a schematic. I let out a whistle when I saw the name and date. This ship was older than God, near enough, and had come from the Omicrons on a supply run for The Order? I pulled up the cargo manifest.
Three thousand five hundred cases of food, four hundred tanks of H-fuel, and one hundred strange containment units, all but one or two of which were damaged to the point that whatever was being kept in them would be long dead. One was open. One was shut. I trekked down to the cargo bay, the detective side of me rabidly curious about this ship. Why had it shot me, why was the crew dead, and what was in those canisters? I had to find out.
On the way down, I found another crewman lying across the hallway with a pistol in hand. He looked like he’d died of a heart attack or stroke fighting something off. No visible marks on the body, just gouges in the wall panels where his fingernails had been shredded raking across. I looked the gun over—it had been fired at least five times—and determined that he’d been firing down an air duct. I didn't rule out the possibility of his having shot the pilots with two of those. I pulled my light off of its clip and shone it down. Some kind of goo down there, but it wasn’t moving. I turned away and kept going.
In the cargo bay, there were the cases of food and H-fuel the manifest stated, as well as off in one corner the containment units. I walked over to the latter, opened one, and was promptly rebuffed by a stench best described as burnt plastic mixed with urine, a decidedly unpleasant combination. This was one of the dead ones, alright.
I spent the next hour and a half searching for the one that still worked. They were arranged in a four-deep five-by-five arrangement, and the one that worked still was in the fourth row down, far left, two in. They werent huge things, but they did have some heft to them. I pulled off enough to get to it and moved it to the center of the hold. The power indicator was flashing slowly; itd be dying soon too. I pulled out my service pistol and took careful aim at the unit, then pushed the unlock button with my toe. Overly cautious? I didn't think so either.
The following transcript is reconstructed from camera footage in the cargo hold. When questioned about the events, Deputy Chief Jim Markey had no recollection of what happened after he opened the case.
CLASSIFIED
This document has been classified by elements of the Liberty Security Force.
Transcript CLASSIFIED
Audio/Video recording from CLASSIFIED
As soon as the action was depressed, the lid of the canister was violently flung into the air. A blur of motion near the lid and Jim stumbled backwards, bringing his pistol to bear. Something bluish rushed in his direction only to jerk repeatedly as Markey fired round after round into the object. The containment unit had at this point been hurled against one wall and spilled some fluid onto the grating. The object—or entity—which Deputy Markey had shot convulsed and stilled. The effect on Jim was remarkable. He fell and lay prone on the deck, clawing at the floor plates before ceasing all motion. Deputy Markey presumably remained this way until the rescue shuttle came. Further video is unremarkable, and audio recorded nothing but the normal operating sounds of a very old ship.
Two months since the med bay, and I'm still stuck behind my desk. The workload hasn't been as heavy, but I haven't been allowed on patrol, and if I go anywhere, there's an LSF attache following me. God, those spooks are annoying. They have to know everything, and I do mean everything. I wish I knew what had happened. All I remember is a containment unit, then the med bay. And now this, this...this PAPERWORK!
Now I'm jumping anytime I catch a glimpse of something blue draped over a box. I wish I knew why. The first time I actually drew my pistol and plugged the rag with about seventeen shots before someone stopped me. That was the first time the LSF person showed up. Now I can't go anywhere--even the bathroom--without one following me. What in God's name happened?
The panic attacks aren't so bad now. I haven't shot at anything blue in a while, which made everyone on-station happy. (Why do we all wear blue, anyways?) I managed to get away from my shadow for a while, finally learned his name. Eli Markham. He's probably looking for me right now, but I don't think he'll be able to find me for some time. Squirreled myself away in the repair bay. My poor Eagle...She looks like she's been run through a giant meat grinder.
What the...What was that? flash
Hello? Is anyone there? flash
Who are you? flash
Is that...Blue? flash
Oh God...
There, in front of me, rushing, diving, swirling and looping around, hidden yet seen, there but not, inside my head? I couldn't tell if it existed or if I never saw it again. I couldn't look away, couldn't run, couldn't hide. I was trapped, nowhere to run. My pistol wouldn't fire; I worked the trigger again and again to no avail. In the fog I dimly noticed someone running my way.
"Deputy Markey! Deputy Markey!"
The terror vanished. It was Eli. I slowly got to my feet and almost fell again, but he was there to catch me. I don't know how I'd manage without the guy, he's just about my right-hand-man now.
He never seemed to rest, either. Whenever I had a problem--which was quite often, sadly--Eli was there. I gradually got over my misgivings about the LSF, even. Hell, they could be downright helpful. Anytime I lost something, sure enough, Eli could find it. If I needed something, he'd go get it and be back as fast as I could blink. I realized that I didn't really need to do my job; I could just ask Eli and it would get done, and well. No matter the project, he always managed to get it done somehow, more often than not sooner than I needed it. Almost as if he had a small army of his own minions to do it.
I trusted him. He was my friend. So it really shouldn't be a surprise that I went with the LSF when they came.
