In the Black Spaces

003: Husk

Wraia entered the launch bay with a reluctant Ensign Hooper in tow, and with a naval issue pulsar sidearm strapped to her hip. She didn't expect to have to use it, but regulations were clear – in the absence of communication, hostile activity must be assumed, and all members of boarding parties must proceed armed. Hooper hadn't needed much encouragement to take a weapon of her own. The young tactical officer marched along behind her, keeping any misgivings to herself. Wraia didn't judge the woman for being nervous, but she had a feeling they would need a systems expert on this little excursion.

They found the rest of the boarding team waiting for them at the loading ramp of one of the Cobra's boarding galleys. Not much more than an armoured cylinder with a big engine and a handful of point defence armaments, the little ship could hold twenty at its full capacity.

Whitlock stood with her chosen damage control specialists to one side, and on the other a trio of naval deckguards stood at attention, their darker blue uniforms marking them out as security specialists. They carried pulsar shotguns – bigger and bulkier than the pistols of the regular crew – that could easily incapacitate even an armoured enemy with their powerful blasts, without risking putting holes in the hull.

The officer in charge saluted sharply as she approached and she stopped in front of him, eyeing the young man up and down. He was a lanky trooper, standing almost a head taller than her, with a swarthy skin and a crisp black goatee. She could see a faint shadow of equally black hair just below the rim of his beret.

"Senior Deck Officer Mayeda, reporting for duty," he said, snapping his heels to attention. The deckguards flanking him repeated the motion.

"As you were," Wraia said, nodding to the shuttle ramp. "Are we ready?"

"Aye, ma'am."

"Alright then." Clasping her hands behind her back, she exhaled deeply through her nose and raised her head, addressing the boarding team. "We don't know what we're going to find over there, but we all need to be prepared for the worst. Just remember your training, follow all search and rescue protocols, and we'll get to the bottom of this."

She wished she felt as confident as she'd managed to sound. But then again, that was a command prerogative – instilling confidence in your subordinates weather you felt it or not. Back straight and head held high, Wraia marched up the galley's main ramp, and her crewmates fell into step behind her.

Narrow halls closed in around her as she ducked inside and turned left along the thin gangway that ran the length of the galley until she reached the cramped, conical bridge. She slid into the pilot's chair, and Ensign Hooper took up position alongside at the co-pilot station, while the others fastened themselves into the rows of seats in the crew compartment a few meters behind.

After running through the galley's pre-flight checks Wraia opened a comm channel.

"Launch-1 to bridge," she said as Hooper spun up the ship's main engines. "All systems show green. We are ready for departure. Repeat, ready for departure."

"Copy that, Launch-1," Gallagher responded crisply. "Still nothing from the Manticore, ma'am. No sign of any other ships in the area. Tactical AI is still working on the interference. We'll keep you posted."

"Acknowledged."

"You too, ma'am. You're cleared for departure. And, ma'am, be careful."

She allowed herself a smile at that. "We will, Lieutenant. You as well. Launch-1, out."

At the signal red lights flashed and a warning klaxon thundered through the deck area, followed by the monotone voice of the vessel's AI telling the deck hands to clear the area. Well, drilled, the naval ratings were already dispersing and with the deck cleared and hatches sealed, the Cobra's portside launch doors opened.