Chapter 6: Deep Space Operations (part 6)

Everyone in the forward cabin moved at once.

“Docking arm on standby.” Ulga pulled the release lever back, locking it into the final preloaded notch. The Emergency Docking Arm, already on the verge of being scrapped, shuddered lightly.

“Second correction?” Gorgon rested a hand on the valve and pressed his comm.

Selin paused on the other end.

“Don’t. If we fire again now, the heat signature will be too close. We’ll ride the inertia from the first burn through the entire window. Whatever distance is left, you’ll make up by hand.”

“…..Understood.”

There would be no last-second adjustment. Whether they made it or not depended entirely on this attempt.

“Five seconds.”

“Four.”

The giant ship’s docking port grew larger and larger.

“Three.”

8.3 meters, 6 meters, 5 meters…

“Two.”

No system was helping them measure the distance. Every number came from Selin’s calculations, made from the last few frames of Passive Optical Imagery on the Bridge.

“—Release!”

The lever went all the way down, and the Emergency Docking Arm shot out.

Since leaving the shipyard, that thing had been tucked inside the hull like a piece of scrap metal, but fortunately, it didn’t fail them now. The guide head shot forward and, with a heavy thud, struck the outer edge of the already warped guide ring.

“We’re on!” Ulga growled.

“Not latched yet. Move!” Selin’s voice came over the comm immediately.

Gorgon unlocked the mechanical lock on the forward cabin’s outer hatch.

Ulga charged out first, bracing his left hand against the edge of the docking passage and slamming the first magnetic hook into the inner side of the guide ring with his right. The entire passage shuddered as the claw bit in.

“Left side secured!”

Gorgon was already leaning out from the other side, forcing the second magnetic hook into an exposed structural rib on the collapsed cargo hold. It wasn’t meant to be used for docking, but the right half of the guide ring was too badly twisted. That bare rib was the only thing that could take the strain.

“Right side secured!”

“Check the stress!” Selin shouted.

Ulga glanced down at the load angles of the two hooks, then checked how badly the docking arm itself was bent. “It’ll hold!”

“How long?”

“Long enough to cross!”

Once both magnetic hooks locked into place, the two ships finally clung together, barely. It was nothing like a proper docking. The sealing skirt was nearly useless, and a gap remained clearly visible at the interface.

Two nearly scrapped ships had been stitched together by hand.

Jasmine stood at the entrance to the narrow passage, looking ahead at the darkness on the other side, which had yet to open completely.

The Engineer Ship’s hatch was half jammed, and a dying white light shone through behind it.

“Don’t just stand there.” Ulga held out a hand to her. “Now’s not the time to sightsee.”

Only then did Jasmine move.

The passage was narrow. The edge of the collapsed cargo hold lay less than 5 meters away. Scorched armor, cracked hull plating, and exposed framing were right in front of them. Everything was terrifyingly still.

No lights came on for them, and no fire-control systems detected them. The ship simply drifted there, like a corpse that hadn’t begun to rot.

The service hatch here was half jammed. Beyond it was an airlock, and fortunately, the pressure control still worked.

Jasmine didn’t look back. When she finally reached the end of the passage, Ulga grabbed her arm and pulled her inside, then sealed the half-jammed hatch behind them.

Gorgon was the last to cross the interface. He glanced back through the porthole.

The Peril Resolver was still hanging there.

She hadn’t turned on the lights, fired a shot, or ignited her engines.

She’d held three lives in her hands with just two manual magnetic hooks and an Emergency Docking Arm on the verge of being scrapped.

“We’re inside,” Ulga said over the comm.

As the pressure stabilized, the isolation door slowly opened with a metallic scrape.

Only half the lights in the corridor were on. It was terrifyingly quiet.

“Selin.” Gorgon pressed his comm and spoke in a low voice. “Don’t let the ship come loose.”

“Then you’d better not stay in there too long. We’re only hanging on. If she twists even a little, the stress will send us flying apart.”

Gorgon looked down the half-lit service corridor in front of them and unhooked the large-caliber pistol hanging from his chest armor. Then he turned to Jasmine.

“From now on.” This was the first time Captain Gorgon had addressed her directly since she’d boarded the Peril Resolver. “Don’t get more than two steps away from us.”

……

• I’m Buyanov, the ordnance officer of Recovery IX. I don’t know who else can hear this recording, but if anyone does, believe me.
• Don’t connect the thing X-17 dug up to any system. Don’t restart the weapons station. Don’t take it off this ship. It should stay in the Debris Belt forever.

……

• The first time I noticed something was wrong was when a notification popped up on my inspection tablet.

“Weapon station B7, self-test request.”

• I stared at the words for several seconds. My first thought was that someone in logistics had run the maintenance procedure incorrectly.
• B7 was an isolation station. It could report its status, temperature, and hull integrity, but it had no authorization to request a self-test. And it was a general-purpose computer that wasn’t connected to the system and didn’t even have power.
• I pulled up the data and checked it line by line.
• The outer seal was intact, the power was physically disconnected, and the interface wasn’t connected.
• Only that self-test request was hanging there, bright and clear at the top. As if someone had put it there specifically for me to see.
• I stood up, and my chair screeched. The other two people in the duty room glanced at me. I didn’t explain. I just slapped the inspection tablet down in front of them.

“Who in logistics touched B7?”

• No one answered, because no one should’ve touched it today.
• I went straight to the weapons deck. It was only two doors away from the duty room. The second door was half a beat slow. As I passed through, I glanced back at the door track, but there was no obvious malfunction.
• The isolation station was still sealed properly. I checked the seal, then pulled up the telemetry.
• It wasn’t connected. It had no power. But it was generating heat.
• This thing might never have been meant to come aboard.
• I confirmed the isolation station was sealed, then prepared to report to the Bridge.
• But the inspection tablet in my hand vibrated again.
• This time, it wasn’t B7. It was the forward internal point defense.

“Abnormal power-up in standby mode, lasting 1.8 seconds.”

• I stared at the words, and the entire deck seemed to grow narrower.
• I immediately issued an emergency freeze, locking down the weapon that was acting up. I planned to go to the Bridge afterward and issue an override.
• The freeze command went through.
• The system returned a very short notification.

“Permission conflict.”

• I stared at those four words, my finger still resting on the button.
• I don’t think I even noticed that I’d started shaking.
• I should’ve been the only high-clearance personnel on weapon station duty on this ship.