Captain Lorenzo Sheldon was strapped in at his station when the Cat’s Eye reverted 10,000 kilometres above Sintra station. The indistinct blue glow of the shuntspace conduit abruptly disappeared, replaced by the harsh light reflected off Heathcliff’s thick atmosphere. There was no sign the tiny pinpricks of distant stars; the immense bulk of the gas giant stretched far beyond the edge of the bridge viewport, giving a fabulous view of streamers of blue and brown and red and cream clouds, tearing across the face of the planet at hundreds of miles per hour. Each one many times the size of the Cat’s Eye, and more than capable of tearing the transport apart were Lorenzo stupid enough to venture into the raging torrent.
Ridiculously, he was suddenly struck by the mad urge to hit full thrust and dive into the atmosphere, test his limits and the capabilities of his ship. He could already feel his fingers twitch toward the control pane, ready to input the command that would ignite the primary fusion motors, sending the ship hurtling down toward the planet.
Inevitably, it was the voice of his co-pilot, Katria Fey, which broke him out of the spell. ‘Shunt drive spinning down. Sensors coming online. You want me to open a channel to Sintra, Captain?’
‘Do it,’ Lorenzo said. He shook his head to clear the last few wisps of madness and tore his gaze away from the viewport, concentrating on the sensor data appearing on his panes. Infrared showed few heat sources around Sintra station, which was surprising in itself. There were normally hundreds flitting about the station, most the exhaust plumes from short range tugs and shuttles and the station’s fleet of atmo-miners, either returning from a successful dive into Heathcliff’s atmosphere, their tanks full of HE3, or on their way out, the big, saucer-shaped craft with their force fields up and riding brilliant lances of plasma. Even more significant, there were no signatures for other ships in the local volume. Sintra was one of a dozen independent HE3 stations, and made a big trade in fuel and goods. Sometimes, it was difficult to see the station’s heat signature amongst all the other emissions. Except, the sensor was having a hard time differentiating the few sources from Heathcliff.
Lorenzo frowned at the infrared display. A frown that deepened when the radar return matched the infrared. There were very few objects near Sintra station, none more than a hundred metres in length. That was wrong. Very wrong.
Feeling his guts twist, Lorenzo tapped a command into his pane. An alert sounded throughout the ship. Katria glanced at him.
‘Captain?’
‘Something’s not right. Better prepared than not, eh? Do you have that channel for me?’
Nodding, Katria’s fingers danced across her pane, then gave him a thumb’s up.
‘Sintra station, this is Cat’s Eye on approach. Requesting docking permission, over.’ Lorenzo waited a moment, but the only response he got was the low hiss of background static. ‘Repeat, Sintra Station, this is Cat’s Eye. Requesting docking permission. Please respond.’
Still nothing.
He shared a look with Katria. ‘Antenna trouble?’ he asked.
‘Ours is working fine.’
‘I meant with theirs.’
‘Oh. Maybe. They should have a backup array, or a communications laser.’
‘Are they shining anything our way?’
Katria shook her head. ‘Not even a dazzle.’
Leaning back in his acceleration couch, Lorenzo scratched his chin. Right now, they were far enough out that they could spool the shunt drive and be gone in ten minutes. If he took them down into the gas giant’s gravity well, then they would be committed. It would take at least three hours to either reverse course or divert onto a parabolic curve that would slingshot them out the other side of the planet.
At the back of the bridge, the hatch hissed open, and Yeven and Riko rushed in, dropping into their stations. The Cat’s Eye’s bridge was typical for its class, laid out in a horseshoe pattern, with pilot and co-pilot at the front, and the other two stations behind at the tips.
‘Tactical and sensors online,’ Yeven said.
‘Engineering up,’ said Riko. ‘What’s going on, Cap?’
‘Nothing good. Yeven, bring the defences up and warm up the pulse cannon.’
‘Aye aye.’
‘Katria, spool up the drive. I want to be ready to jump at a moment’s notice.’
‘Captain, if you’re about to do what I think you are, we can’t shunt in a grav-well.’
‘I know. But spool it anyway. We’re too far out to see what’s wrong with Sintra. And we have friends there. Unless anyone has a good reason why we shouldn’t take a closer look?’
‘Not one you’ll listen to,’ Katria muttered. Lorenzo pretended he hadn’t heard her.
Resting his arms on the edge of the control pane, he sent a series of commands to the ship’s nav.
The Cat’s Eye’s three fusion motors ignited, accelerating the ship in at a steady 6G. Three brilliant spears of fusion flame stabbed out. If no one at Sintra station had detected their arrival or transmission, they couldn’t miss the exhaust plumes. For anyone looking in their direction, it would seem as though a dim, moving star had flared to life.
The ship was an old Humpback transport, its name given for the way two of the three primary fusion motors bulged out of the wedge-shaped hull. Two engine nacelles rode low on either side of the hull, housing the twin shunt field generators. The transport was a venerable model, well respected for its durability. Some had been known to still function, despite damage to 60% of the hull structure. The design would never be considered pretty, festooned with unsightly bulges and protrusions as if it had some metallic fungal infection, but for most people who operated them, that didn’t matter. They were easily modified, and the protrusions often hid weapon systems. Plus the cargo holds were big enough to hold 300 metric tons. Whatever they couldn’t outrun, they could outshoot. The perfect craft for smugglers and mercenaries.
At 4,000 kilometres, Lorenzo brought up the visible spectrum sensor telemetry on the main display. Sintra station was a blurry spec at first, until various filters kicked in and resolved the image.
‘Oh fuck me,’ Katria breathed. Both Yeven and Riko echoed her.
The main structure of the station was relatively intact, though despite the filters it remained slightly vague; there was nothing they could do about the cloud of debris and gases. Some of it appeared to be wreckage from the station’s complement of vessels, except for the obliterated wreckage of a GammaStar freighter. Its back had been broken by whatever explosion had destroyed the ship, the drive block now at right-angles to the rest of the ship.
Fiddling with the controls, Lorenzo refocused the display.
Sintra station had picked up a slow spin, and as it rotated, a gaping hole blown into the side came into view. The edges were ragged and black. A few pinpricks of light flickered inside, and as they watched, there was a sudden outrush of pale gas as some compartment breached. Most of the station was dark, but for a few dimly flickering viewports at the base.
‘Who could’ve done this?’ Yeven asked.
‘Trenkarists, maybe? Or Sivian Templars? They both have a hard on for getting rid of the independents,’ Riko suggested.
‘Except the Order wouldn’t let them. The independents signed a peace-pact, remember?’
Riko scoffed. ‘Yeah, like that’d stop ‘em.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Lorenzo said, turning to face his crew. ‘What matters is what we’re going to do now.’
‘Cap?’
‘Shouldn’t we get out of here? The drive’s all spooled up – all we have to do is alter course and we can slingshot out.’
‘There might be survivors. And these people were our friends. We owe it to them to find out what happened.’
An uncomfortable expression crossed Yeven’s face, but he schooled it quickly, rather than arguing with Lorenzo. ‘You’re right, Captain. We look after our own.’
Turning back to his console, Lorenzo entered a new sequence in to the flight computer.
Thrusters fired on the Cat’s Eye’s hull, altering their trajectory to take them to an interception point 3,000 kilometres further along the station’s orbit. The braking motors fired as they closed with their rendezvous, slowing the ship until they were travelling at a few kilometres a second. Ten minutes later, the Cat’s Eye caught up with Sintra station. It took another thirty minutes to match the station’s slow rotation.
Once they were 200 metres away, the exterior spotlights came on, playing across the ragged hole in the station’s side. At this distance, the hole was much larger than it had first appeared, easily 80 or 90 metres across. But then, Sintra station itself was a kilometre-tall tiered cylinder, with an array of thermal cooling towers at the base adding another 150 metres. Now that he was closer, Lorenzo muttered a curse under his breath. The hole was the result of a compressed muon warhead. The explosion had left it hot, radiating a lot of x-ray radiation. Their hardsuits would be able to protect them from it, but that wasn’t the problem. The missile had struck above the docking bays, and now they had been obliterated. They weren’t going to be able to dock with the station.
Taking a deep breath, Lorenzo made his decision. ‘Katria, stay here. You see any ships pop onto the sensors, and we’ll come running back.’
‘Yes captain.’
‘Yeven, Riko, with me.’
‘Where’re we going, Cap?’ Riko asked as they left the bridge.
‘We’re going for a walk.’
Fiddling with the controls, Lorenzo refocused the display.
Sintra station had picked up a slow spin, and as it rotated, a gaping hole blown into the side came into view. The edges were ragged and black. A few pinpricks of light flickered inside, and as they watched, there was a sudden outrush of pale gas as some compartment breached. Most of the station was dark, but for a few dimly flickering viewports at the base.
‘Who could’ve done this?’ Yeven asked.
‘Trenkarists, maybe? Or Sivian Templars? They both have a hard on for getting rid of the independents,’ Riko suggested.
‘Except the Order wouldn’t let them. The independents signed a peace-pact, remember?’
Riko scoffed. ‘Yeah, like that’d stop ‘em.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Lorenzo said, turning to face his crew. ‘What matters is what we’re going to do now.’
‘Cap?’
‘Shouldn’t we get out of here? The drive’s all spooled up – all we have to do is alter course and we can slingshot out.’
‘There might be survivors. And these people were our friends. We owe it to them to find out what happened.’
An uncomfortable expression crossed Yeven’s face, but he schooled it quickly, rather than arguing with Lorenzo. ‘You’re right, Captain. We look after our own.’
Turning back to his console, Lorenzo entered a new sequence in to the flight computer.
Thrusters fired on the Cat’s Eye’s hull, altering their trajectory to take them to an interception point 3,000 kilometres further along the station’s orbit. The braking motors fired as they closed with their rendezvous, slowing the ship until they were travelling at a few kilometres a second. Ten minutes later, the Cat’s Eye caught up with Sintra station. It took another thirty minutes to match the station’s slow rotation.
Once they were 200 metres away, the exterior spotlights came on, playing across the ragged hole in the station’s side. At this distance, the hole was much larger than it had first appeared, easily 80 or 90 metres across. But then, Sintra station itself was a kilometre-tall tiered cylinder, with an array of thermal cooling towers at the base adding another 150 metres. Now that he was closer, Lorenzo muttered a curse under his breath. The hole was the result of a compressed muon warhead. The explosion had left it hot, radiating a lot of x-ray radiation. Their hardsuits would be able to protect them from it, but that wasn’t the problem. The missile had struck above the docking bays, and now they had been obliterated. They weren’t going to be able to dock with the station.
Taking a deep breath, Lorenzo made his decision. ‘Katria, stay here. You see any ships pop onto the sensors, and we’ll come running back.’
‘Yes captain.’
‘Yeven, Riko, with me.’
‘Where’re we going, Cap?’ Riko asked as they left the bridge.
‘We’re going for a walk.’
