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Synthetic air sits above Catherine and Shamir, stale and dry. With the Garreg Mach’s circulator on the fritz, the entire crew of the deep space vessel suffers through a progressively warmer, damper atmosphere. The pair don’t dare wake Hanneman about it again, given that last time the mechanic nearly blew a fuse, both literally and figuratively, trying to repair it.
Shamir stares out the bay window, as one would in a long-obsolete automobile on a scenic drive, hundreds of thousands of miles away. It was rare for the Garegg Mach to coast through virtually empty space— Captain Jeralt’s preferred mode of transportation being warping across the furthest corners of the universe, which didn’t allow much time for sightseeing. Even if there weren’t many sights to see.
Although the captain was known for his illustrious military career, he was also known for being extremely particular with regards to the conditions on the ship. So the second sweat beaded on his knitted brows, he charted a direct course for the nearest cargo station, Remire 35. Straight through contested territory and the hazy darkness of the Agarthan Belt.
She rubs at her eyes and blinks away the exhaustion, slowly at first then more rapidly, all but swearing a shadow had just flashed across the window.
The malfunctioning circulator hums.
Catherine sits in her station, eyes flickering across the screen’s radar projection in search of hostile blips. The Garegg Mach was not a vessel that spent much time outside of Nabatean territory, and with the imminent threat of an Adrestian upheaval, her job was all the more important. If they were to cross paths with the Empire’s squad of destroyers, led by the Vestra, they’d be nothing more than shrapnel and dust before a call could go out.
The Agarthan Belt was not much better of an option. Uncharted, unknown, and widely considered the home base of different varieties of pirates, all in patient orbit around unnamed moons. The Garegg Mach could dispatch of a handful, but a more coordinated assault would prove precarious, if not assuredly lethal.
Catherine gulps.
They travel on, Shamir searching for shadows, Catherine hoping for silence.
A few small asteroid fragments float past as they enter the Agarthan Belt proper. They graze the hull, eliciting groans from the ship’s frame. Another group of asteroids brush past the Thunderbrand cannons, raising a “Caution!” alarm on Catherine’s dashboard. She shelves it with a starboard swipe of the hand.
The Garreg Mach creaks, the circulator rattles, and the lights go out.
Emergency support systems kick in, a wash of red light flooding the cockpit and all critical stations from the floor. The artificial gravity generator cuts out, two levels below, and Shamir and Catherine float up towards the ceiling. The former kicks out with both legs, and her feet meet the wall with a clang.
“New mag-soles were worth it… even if those Leicester merchants had me pay through the nose.” She stomps back down the wall and brushes her fingers over the cool glass of the window.
The door to the cockpit slides open with a hiss to reveal a fuming captain, unable to control his newfound gift of flight. He unclips a high-beam flashlight from his belt and flashes it towards the weapons center and the kitchen. “Catherine, Shamir, front and center!” His voice booms as if it were coming from the depths of a cavern.
Catherine steadies herself in the air and swims out to the main deck, stifling a laugh as Jeralt steadies himself using chairs and a table. Shamir’s steps reverberate as she comes around the corner, substantially more grounded than either of her counterparts.
“Damn it, get back there and figure out what the problem is. And grab Hanneman, too!”
“You’ve got it, captain.” Catherine reaches for the table and begins the arduous process of dragging herself to the hallway, Shamir in tow.
It takes longer than it should to reach the sleeping quarters, but when they do, Hanneman’s bunk is empty and his tools are scattered in the air. Catherine grabs a pistol-grip hammer out of the air and holsters it awkwardly in her belt. Shamir checks the area around it and furrows her brow.
“Signs of a struggle. Let’s check on Manuela.”
Manuela’s door is locked shut, but the sounds of light snoring are still barely audible.
They breathe a sigh of relief in tandem, then steel themselves. Shamir walks into her own bunk, reaches into her bag and pulls out a worn out set of magnetic-sole boots. She tosses them in Catherine’s general direction and says, “Here. They’re old now, but it beats swimming through the air.”
Shamir’s fingers wrap around her laser bow, hanging in the air above her bed, as Catherine puts on the boots. One foot plants firmly against the wall, while the other only flirts with the idea.
“It’ll have to be enough. Who knows, maybe Hanneman went to solve our problem for us?”
Shamir gives her a look cold enough to freeze. She shrugs in reply, then walks into her own room to retrieve a sharpened katana.
“A blast from the past. Fingers crossed you won’t have to use it.”
She nods and they shuffle out of the sleeping quarters and into the airlock. Air rushes past them as the door behind them seals shut. Meanwhile, the door in front of them rolls open invitingly, engulfing them in the rolling heat of the boiler. They find the ladder and climb down clumsily, feet awkwardly attaching and detaching from the individual rungs.
Apart from the red glow over everything, the engine and electrical rooms are pitch black. Water gurgles from a back corner— the boiler’s greeting. Catherine and Shamir walk past it, weapons holstered but ready, and into the corner of the ship housing the electrical equipment. Cables flow overhead, all culminating in a steel junction box, half a head taller than the both of them put together.
They would struggle to open it, if it weren’t for the jagged gash in the center of it. Silver wires spark, separated by a three-inch slash. Catherine and Shamir draw their weapons and face opposite corridors, listening and looking intently for any signs of life.
A heavy clang in the air vents draws their attention. Catherine shreds it into ribbons before Shamir can ready a shot. The aluminum falls from the ceiling, revealing nothing but a disintegrating glass lining. They follow the vents, Shamir taking the leftward tee and Catherine continuing on the straight path.
This part of the ship is silent, save for their leaden steps. Shamir reaches the airlock where the vent empties out and sees nothing. There’s no time to make a decision before Catherine screams from the opposite end of the engine room.
Her katana is in two pieces, the hilt in her shaking hand and the blade in the serrated maw of a shadowy creature. It growls, guttural and unnatural, then leaps toward Catherine. She readies a fist but only meets air— Shamir rounds the corner, nocks an arrow, and a bright flash of purple light pins the beast’s head to the hull. It shrieks, black blood oozing from its wound, and struggles to get free, claws phasing through the bolt.
Its two, much larger, counterparts emerge from the darkness. The mercenaries look to each other and break for the stern-side airlock. Catherine makes it first, Shamir firing off haphazard shots that crackle as they cleave through skin, scales, and metal.
The two creatures corner them, caution and warning alarms appearing on the airlock’s outer UI as they step backwards into it; the sensors note the lack of adequate spacesuit technology and screech.
Shamir and Catherine lock eyes and nod; the latter rushes their enemy, hydraulic hammer in hand, swinging wildly. They weave the attack, but take the bait, leaping over a somersaulting Catherine into the airlock. Shamir runs up the wall, to the ceiling, and nocks two arrows. Purple beams sink into their enemies’ flesh and she flips herself upright, as Catherine rapidly types a code into the airlock’s keypad.
The alarms screech as they’re overridden, and the engine room flashes a more threatening hue of red, but the ship acquiesces and goes silent. The demonic beasts whine and claw at the now-gaping wounds in their snouts.
The last sound in the engine room is a sharp hiss; the ship-side doors seal and the airlock spits the beasts out into space.
Catherine and Shamir shake their heads and relax somewhat, half-collapsed against the nearest wall.
The latter breaks the silence first, in a slightly amused tone, “Remind me to take the assignment on Nabatea next time.”
“Right there with you.”