They were retreating.
They were fucking retreating.
As the Pathfinder turned away from the planet, Richard could feel his face fall farther than the burning descent from earlier had taken him. The strange energy attack on the ship had left a massive gash on the sub-light thruster arrays to the rear of the ship, spewing thick, black fumes as it made obvious preparations to warp away from the planet.
The fact that an unknown hostile force was operating in the system with this kind of firepower would delay a rescue attempt for months, even years while the navy assembled a fleet large enough to completely overpower what little they had seen of the planet’s strange orbital defences and then some. He’d be here for god knows how long, away from everything he knew, away from the career he’d spent the better part of almost three decades on.
Even if they did come back, what would they even find?
A single marine infantry captain – one amongst millions of similar value?
None of the escape pods had launched when the Pathfinder was hit, which meant that no one else was with him planetside. If he was lucky (and they weren’t), one or two others would be stranded as he was — the initial strike could have forced a few sailors out of the ship — which would sweeten the deal for a potential rescue, assuming they were all in the same place.
Would that, plus the cargo pod, be worth risking the safety of entire ships and rescue teams for?
The drone had to chime for his attention a second time before he even took his eyes off of the spectacle playing out in the skies above, and it did not bear good news.
[GROUP MOVEMENT DETECTED: 500 METERS, BEARING ONE-ONE-SEVEN]
He cursed to himself as nine figures headed his way from the south, advancing at a brisk walk while strange, lizard-like mounts trailed behind. They weren’t spaced out or moving in a formation that kept their firepower pointed wherever they expected to come into contact, no — they were just bumbling around the woods in a tight, idiotic clump like clueless cadets on their first navigation exercise.
The marine cringed to himself as he watched them continue through the forest, apparently without a clue as to how easy their idiocy made them to spot from above. It was almost as if they didn’t expect to come under fire, at all!
Maybe they thought they were just checking out a harmless cargo pod? If they had ways past the navy’s encryption, that recovery alert would’ve told them just that, and cargo pods usually didn’t have people in them — just valuable items.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
It was terrifying to think that an enemy force hiding outside of known inhabited space with orbital defences featuring illegal anti-ship weaponry would — on top of all previously mentioned threats — have compromised federation comms, but at the very least he could use the fact that their guards were down to his favour.
He’d take any advantage he could get at this point, then think about what any startling realizations might imply later.
“Speaking of advantages,” he muttered to himself as he ran back inside the pod, keeping the drone hovering just outside the group’s audible range. Wasting no time, he queued up a set of unassuming plas-thread clothes; a white shirt, faux-denim shorts, a faux-leather jacket, and an old-looking pair of black boots — just like what one of his exes used to wear. If their guards were down, he was going to keep them down.
He’d need to make himself valuable if he wanted to be worth rescuing when the fleet came back in force, and to do that, he’d need information; things like the enemy’s disposition, who the fuck they actually were, how many ground-to-orbit batteries they had, and where said batteries were located, among others.
He wasn’t planning to get taken in by the bumbling idiots, not if he could help it. Richard presented a clear threat: he was armed, probably had valuable intelligence, and was clearly military. They weren’t going to be forthcoming around him, and for all he knew they might just knock him out and drag him back to wherever their base was for ‘questioning' instead.
Having been in the interrogator’s chair himself a few times in his military career, he knew that wasn’t an option.
The solution, then, would be to completely remove any and all signs of a threat. An unarmed, clueless civilian would be perfect for keeping their guards down and loosening their lips a little. He would trail behind them while the android finagled whatever information it could out of them, and then just kill the fuckers before they could put it in a cell.
He plugged the android’s coffin-like container into the pod’s power supply, watching as the lid slowly slid open with an accompanying hiss. He didn’t know what to expect, as the androids he’d gotten accustomed to were generally devoid of any gender-identifying features, but this one was apparently customized to have breasts — a female model, maybe?
“Damn,” the marine said as he looked away from the container, finding what appeared to be an attractive woman inside, only completely naked — just as androids were usually packaged. Whichever officer was in charge of acquisitions when she was ordered very clearly, specifically asked for it to suit their tastes, which he couldn’t help but admit were pretty good.
It? She? He decided he’d stick with she, as it didn’t feel right to call something that looked exactly like a human woman an it.
As the pod continued to supply her recharge station with power, he watched as the android’s systems came to life one by one; its chest rising and falling to imitate human breathing, faux-muscles twitching before settling into a life-like routine of tics and imperfect movements, eyelids fluttering as if just waking up from a deep slumber — all happening just as a connection request wormed its way into Richard’s mind, which he promptly accepted.
Her eyes glowed a bright cyan as they turned to stare into his own set of peepers, speaking for the first time in her android life.
“Greetings, Captain Fletcher. How might I be of assistance?”