Two silver pyramids floated in the twilight, one inverted over the other, joined by a clear cylinder linking the tips and forming the superstructure of the space station N-X-171. Metal plates were joined together by sloppy chemical stitches, giving the exterior of the space station a series of seams. From a distance, the joints seemed like an ornate engraving. The metal shone under the bright exterior illumination, lit for the benefit of personnel observing the station through the exterior view ports. The station had been fabricated to meet a schedule and a budget, but the design was reliable. Mining ferries delivered raw materials for conversion in massive furnaces the size of a space station. Within the fission-fusion reactors, ore was processed into needed metals and polymers, and then formed into structural members and the advanced materials used to construct the electronics and controls. Automated drones rapidly joined components and completed the basic structure in twenty megaseconds, and spent twenty more completing the interior. The station was armed and armored with equipment designed to withstand the assault of uncoordinated free-space pirates, and had done so twice during the two hundred megaseconds that had elapsed since its completion.
The hourglass-shaped structure stretched two kilometers tall, and one kilometer wide at the ends. The center contained the command center and a cable-operated elevator designed for crew and small freight. The station possessed no primary propulsion, and tracked nearby debris with a dilaton mesh to control orientation and protect against damage. The station seemed small from a distance, and up close, cheap and insignificant. The complexity of the station wasn't apparent until personnel boarded and found themselves lost in the crowded, winding interior.
A cool glow, blue, distant, and bright penetrated the open observation ports in the station's command center. A heavy war ship approached the station at high velocity. The ship's aft end faced the station, dumping heat and radiation as the ship's propulsion system strained to cancel the enormous relative velocity. Turbulence from the engines reached the crystal-clear windows, more than four meters of thick plastic and clear ceramic, and flecks of burning propellant left tiny craters. The approaching ship's thrust presented little structural threat, and interstellar debris traveling at high relative velocities could be more damaging. Tribune Rashid waved red-faced at the operations console, and the operator shuttered the windows with alloy blast doors. She was unaccustomed to crewing the command center in such a manner, but N-X-171 was short-staffed. Rashid would have expected her reports to have at least the rank of a Cantor, Second Class.
***
Eric Tisdale sat in the exterior cafeteria with his date. He enjoyed her face, and the way she always smelled of fresh fruit. He had met her on the station, another intern. "You're leaving in a megasecond", he said.
"Yep. School doesn't start for another four, but it'll take me that long to get home. Maybe I'll be back here at the end of a few more semesters."
Melissa agreed. "I'll finish my dissertation on this station, I guess. I'm done my classes, so I'll be gone by the time you come back."
She would have liked to have known Eric better; they had spent most of their time together high and in bed, enjoying each other's warmth more than any sort of intelligent conversation. Eric refused to discuss his work, but Melissa wasn't shy. She was sent to the station as part of a university grant to support the development of new long-range scanning technology. The Quorum chose N-X-171 for the project because the station's distance from civilized space allowed the researchers to conduct system testing without interference or detection by the sectors. She seemed certain that the technology would revolutionize sensor systems, providing the accuracy of active EMDIS and WaBIT arrays while maintaining the stealth of the more passive PRES technology.
Eric was sure she was telling the truth. She did believe in what she was working on. He smiled and stared at her brown eyes. Her hair, colored to a false shade of red, reached below her shoulders. "I can't believe someone back home hasn't snapped you up yet. Do you wanna keep in touch?"
Eric smiled at the comment. There was someone he would return to, someone waiting for him back home. Melissa was a pleasant distraction, and she had seduced him, and he knew no harm could come from the affair, not since his personnel record was sealed during his employment on the station.
Melissa turned her head and noticed a shadow fall across the window. Eric watched the shape of her nose against a distant wall. That face would haunt him after he left.
Outside, shields spiraled out of the station, metal sheltering the command module and critical infrastructure with interlocking steel bands and lead plates. The command center's interior remained lit by the screens of computer consoles and terminals, and dim overhead emergency lights.
Speakers in the dark control room popped. "Subotai to N-X-171. This is an armed cruiser representing the Fugu Corporation. This is a command inspection. You will transfer control of your docking systems to our console. Compliance is your only choice in this matter. This is our last warning."
The ship was repeating this message while closing from a thousand kilometers, before coming to a stop five thousand meters from the station. Rashid had ignored the threats. The Fugu corporation sold synthetic seafood - there were retort pouches full of the stuff in the station stockpile - and Fugu did not maintain warships.
The communications engineer peered up from the electronics pod, seeking direction from his superior, who nodded her head. The engineer pressed one of the few mechanical buttons on the console, and the Tribune spoke. "Warship Subotai, This is Quorum Tribune Mitsumi Rashid. This is a Quorum facility in free space. Your corporation has no jurisdiction. You'll have to leave, now."
Rashid waited until the 'talk' light on the console turned from green to red, and shouted at the weapons technician, "What is it?"
The radio channel clicked closed on the warship. The communications engineer scanned through pages of data at her console. "Scan manifest has... they have a full loadout. Why is an armed military vessel insisting on boarding? This isn't customary. Still no government ID, but this isn't a pirate ship. We're... uh... we're outgunned. Badly."
The commander considered the engineer's words. Warships following procedure would disarm their weapons when approaching stations; required by law in civilized space, or near any station with substantial defensive weaponry. But the Subotai had approached at a high velocity, under false pretenses. "Don't know. Did you let the geeks-"
Rashid was stopped mid-sentence by hardened metal penetrators, red-hot from their passage through newly molten armor, ripping into the command center. The rounds buzzed past the startled crew, through the observation windows on the opposite side of the cabin, and the glowing pellets lodged in the far blast shield.
The warship had initiated firing on manual control, disorienting the station's security systems. The ship outside rocked under the recoil of her projectile cannons. The defensive systems on the station returned fire, but the defensive weapons were torn apart by the warship's autocannons. Automated alarms flashed throughout the entire station, but were silent as the command center succumbed to vacuum. Dense liquid contained in capillaries embedded throughout armored walls of the structure expanded into foam, sealing the precise round holes, and air pressure returned, though not until several seconds after every person in direct control of the station died. A layer of white ice condensed on frozen consoles, eagerly waiting for commands to return fire.
The warship remained perched outside the station, a blocky mass defined by thick plates of armor, recessed sensors, and protruding robotic weapons. The Subotai was a predator designed exclusively for anti-station combat. Invisible patterns of energy wove across the hull of the station, painting glowing ribbons in the insufficient armor. Hardened bullets fired from kinetic launchers punched through the heat-softened hull, tracing behind the path of the beams. The station was being dismantled far more efficiently than it had been constructed.
Eric and Melissa flinched as the emergency alert system sounded.
"Guess I won't be finishing my dissertation here", she quipped, trying to calm her nerves with a moment of wit. Everyone onboard the station knew it could become a coffin.
On a civilized station, civilians and crew should have taken the call as direction to head towards evacuation stations. The station wasn't equipped with the life pods typical of smaller fleet ships. Any attack sufficient to endanger the station itself would kill its inhabitants. There were a few supply shuttles, and if they were lucky, a nearby frigate would be waiting, but the station could never support transportation sufficient to allow the entire personnel complement to escape.
After witnessing the attack on the command center through the windows, like many others, Eric bolted towards his lab. The cafeteria was on an exposed outer deck, and he would travel deep within the station. Most of the labs, including the one he supported, operated under protocols that had to be carried out. He shouted orders to Melissa, that she should go to the transport bay, but he was sure she hadn't heard him.
Eric reminded himself of his priorities, that the Quorum entrusted him with responsibility. A moment of heroism, he decided, could benefit him later in life. The thought of being injured or killed seemed implausible. He was Eric Tisdale, Secret Agent Scientist, sleeping with strange women on distant space stations, and he was invincible. And if the intruders were not disabled quickly, the high-security lab deep within the station could be sealed, the life-support and power systems were redundant and distributed, and Eric decided that he would lock himself inside.
Bulkheads began to drop when the alarm activated to prevent atmospheric decompression in a damaged structural unit from affecting larger sections of the station. The quarter-meter-thick iron plates proved necessary while the cannons of the warship continued to carve through the station. The attack continued for a half kilosecond, venting the atmosphere of most of the outer levels on one side of the station. Satisfied with the carnage, the ship's lateral thrusters ignited, strafing around towards the opposite side. Small pods floated from the ship and tiny thrusters flared; boarding pods made contact with the hull, and elite combat engineers worked to cut through damaged armor with hand-held plasma torches.
The bulkheads had divided the ten-meter-wide main corridor into channels, ten meters in length with traverse possible through manual bypass hatches. The doors would open at a button press, but only when the air pressure on both sides of the door was the same. Eric knew the design had saved his life when the first bulkhead he encountered refused to open, but he would have to take a slower route that would keep him closer to the exterior of the station. He bolted through the large chambers, navigating through crowds of people attempting to flow through the small doors. He thought of some analogy of sea-creatures swimming against running water. Air was thinning; the threat started to become real, and his face broke into a sweat while his heart raced.
The first attack resulted in the death of one third of the station's population. More died from atmospheric decompression when soldiers cut through the hull. The remaining engineers, isolated on interior decks, swarmed towards their laboratories. Many of the engineers intended to uphold their obligation to protect their restricted-access work from confiscation by the invaders.
In most sectors, the local governments were more powerful than the Quorum government proper. The imbalance of power created a tense political situation. The facility performed research intended to maintain that situation, ensuring the Quorum government's enduring technical advantage. The Quorum used technology to maintain relative control over the sectors, ensuring peace. If a large amount of sensitive technology fell in to the hands of any one sector, an imbalance would be created that could destabilize the Quorum government.
The recyclers in the station screamed and were prioritized by the load-shedding system even over life support. Gravity-assisted tunnels lead towards anti-factories where blades, catalyzers, and mass reactors strained to convert the research of major labs and thousands of scientists into fuel and debris. Eric and Marshall reached their lab at the same time, and Marshall began barking orders.
Eric understood the protocols before Marshall had finished.
"Procedure. Everything goes down the hatches."
Marshall explained that the station commander would surrender, and that they'd be killed if they didn't destroy the research before the invaders came. Eric understood - their lives only held value if they were the only store of knowledge. If the commander could have scuttled the station, Marshall knew she would have. Eric watched for Devon, though he never arrived. Marshall assumed his colleague had run to the transport bay, abdicating his responsibilities, hoping to escape the station alive. He'd end up dead with that sort of strategy.
The adrenaline began to subside, and Eric's heart no longer threatened to burst in his chest. Deep in the station, the walls muffled the sound of weapons fire. The attack seemed like a bad dream, thirty seconds of carnage fading behind two kiloseconds of work. Eric and Marshall shoved the results of several careers in cognitive integration and biomechanics into a rectangular hole in the wall. Computers, trash, paper notes, and robotic components were torn apart alike. They hustled to completion. Marshall looked at Eric. "One last thing."
Marshall looked around. Aside from the contents of the workbench, only hand tools remained. Nearly everything with integrated storage had been destroyed, and the rest was one room over. Marshall knew that smugglers had brought the equipment aboard, and figured it would make his career if he could get the project off the station by the same means, before the invaders came around.
"Alright, you're done. Eres is in the basement. Head to the transport bay, stop by and trash it on the way. I'll finish cleaning up the lab."
Eric's gaze became dismissive. He could see his own breath. Life support must have been disabled. His heart began to beat faster. Emergency pressure cylinders would be dumping their contents into the station atmosphere. Without life support to circulate and warm the air, the expanding gas would reduce station temperatures below freezing. The event was survivable with appropriate equipment, but Eric was dressed in light clothing. He hoped the station commander would surrender, and realized his odds of seeing home were growing dim.
Marshall's voice was kind. "Eric, that's an order. Go."
Eric bowed and jogged out the lab entrance. He decided that the some wretched iron-and-jelly box didn't matter, and rushed towards the transport bay. He never arrived.
Marshall walked to the mechanical room, where the experiment lay, wrapped in plastic and metal, the same protective tape applied during the manufacturing process. His fingers poked at a portable terminal that lay next to the experiment. The device displayed diagnostic data for a few seconds, and went blank. Marshall tossed the tablet into a recycling hatch in the main area, returned to the room, put a small green bottle to his lips, and inhaled.
He eased the diagnostic umbilical out of a socket and folded a layer of reinforced synthetic flesh over the maintenance port. Marshall picked up the body, surprised at his body's unwillingness to tolerate the burden. Marshall spoke, activating a vocal backdoor in the auditory symbolic interpreter, and delivered the first of a series of activation commands. A fugue of statements and synthetic spoken responses played out, and the machine's mind was brought in control of the body.
Gravity fluctuated, weakening and strengthening, and Marshall fought for balance. He left the lab and continued toward the center of the station, hoping the powered transport tubes and their tiny, uncomfortable trains remained functional. He felt the body tense and release in his arms as the prototype's mechanical actuators gathered charge and came on-line. The sight could have been romantic, he thought, if she wasn't wrapped in aluminum, and he wasn't about to die.
Marshall passed through two dozen bulkheads before he completed initializing the machine he carried. He was relieved in finding the robot would follow him, under its own power and initiative, into the tram station that would take them to a shuttle in the transportation bay. The pair reached the lobby before discovering that an inoperative train was parked inside, just beyond the entrance. He entered the car and gestured in front of a terminal, bringing the computer to life. Displaying diagnostic error messages, the terminal explained the problem. The artificial gravity system that should move the car along the station's central axis had become unreliable, and the tram shut down based on a safety interlock. Marshall worked to override the interlock when his ears began to tingle. A low howl sounded through the tunnel, and Marshall looked up, and saw a tram from several dozen levels above hurtling towards him.
***
"Sir, system scans show 90% of the survivors are in the transport bay. Seven shuttles have already left. They have stealth; we've lost PRES lock on the first two." The ship's sensors were the best the Ura had developed, and commercial technology operable by Quorum citizens still outpaced them.
The commander of the Subotai peered at the display. The shuttles were small, some just larger than life support pods. Two were sizeable enough to smuggle equipment out of the station, but he was certain he hadn't given them sufficient time transport any of the bulky valuables he wanted. And if the equipment was difficult to move, it would be difficult to destroy.
The infantry assault force exhausted their allotted time. He needed to clear the station of survivors to prevent additional damage to equipment. If the civilians knew the attackers were permitting escape, they might be more inclined to leave. "Let them go. We'll get what we need. The incoming ships can pick them up. Send the message."
The specialist obeyed, and watched his displays while the ship's cooling systems struggled to return the orange-hot ceramic heatsinks on the gun pods to ambient temperatures. Massive pistons drove molten copper salts through cooling channels and into heat pumps. Plasma vented aft of the ship in a cloud of inert neon light. The Subotai was equipped with nuclear weapons, and would annihilate the station after scouring it, but for the moment, the intent was to pillage.
***
Marshall's thumb found the sharp edge of a broken rib protruding through his skin. The one tram had slammed into the other, but the structural supports held. Inertia slung both trams towards the outside station, where they collided with a bulkhead door and came to an abrupt stop. The tram lost a third of its three-meter height, crushed under the force of the impact, blossoming outwards, rupturing the outer walls of the transfer tube. Marshall groaned, having been maimed by a simple broken handrail.
He scowled at the machine, his face full of pain. She was standing, staring at him. The collision left her unfazed; she stumbled about the chamber for a moment, and regained her balance automatically. The design was good, though not so good to save his life. Chunks of smashed glass glinted from her hair and skin and the exposed protective film.
"Ina, order. Throw yourself in a recycling tube. Shit, if they find you, I'll be executed."
The woman knelt and crawled towards the side of the wrecked tube. With his injuries, the scientist would die within the kilosecond. The plastic covering her crinkled and cracked while she struggled to convince her limbs to pull her through a broken wall.
Outside of the tube, Ina entered a pressurized deck three levels above the transport bay. The announcement system crackled and relayed instructions for all personnel to evacuate, and listed nearby corridors had become obstructed. She observed the presence of a large bovine specimen possessing liquid gray eyes and a mass of fifteen hundred kilograms. The beast snorted, then turned, ambling towards a sign. The animal stopped for a moment, waiting for Ina to follow. She failed to understand what was happening. Data indicated she was receiving information from external sensors, and her usual connection to the simulator was inactive. The environment was foreign, after waking from simulated dreams. The presence of the animal was irrational, yet indicated.
The signs were simple pictographs augmented with text in the common language, easy to follow towards the transporation bay. She perceived a simple string of symbols communicating actionable facts: if she were to navigate in this direction, she would arrive at some particular location. The route was simple: a series of ramps used for moving large cargo from the bay through to the largest tube on the station. A fragment of her mind became aware of heat and minor damage. A dying security guard watched a woman wrapped in the burnt tatters of a lab coat and green plastic walk through a pile of burning packing crates that had once contained food and basic supplies. Outside, a warship switched to incendiary ammunition so as to further deplete the station's oxygen supplies. The invaders would find the approach effective.
Trapped under twisted plastic supports that had dropped out of the ceiling, Krista watched a figure stumble out of the fire, peeling burning fragments of clothing from itself. What she saw seemed to be formed from a movie or a nightmare. Krista had tried to shift out from under some of the supports, but the largest, which remained tethered to the ceiling by massive power cables, pinned her legs. Krista grunted at the figure, unable to gather the breath to scream or ask for help. The form materialized into a woman her own age, sooty and smoldering, clearing past the smoke. Krista managed to a single squeak when the girl continued down the hallway, past and away from her. She hadn't expected a response, after her own companions had left her behind when the overhead structure collapsed.
Ina's sensors indicated the bull had disappeared. Confused, Ina turned around towards Krista and assessed the situation. The girl was trapped but alive. The debris could be removed, since most of the individual pieces would have a weight of less than fifty kilograms in the reduced gravity. Ina chose to move towards the girl, hefting a metal pole along the way. Ina used the pole to pry the largest support from Krista. Under normal gravity, the largest support column trapping Krista would weigh several hundred kilograms, due to the electrical cabling inside. Ina moved the column and pulled smaller pieces of debris and revised her assessment: the girl's legs had been crushed by the injury. Purple welts had formed; the injury must have been recent, and loss of life due to blood volume failure was the most probable outcome. Ina wondered whether she would have helped Marshall, had he asked.
Ina lifted Krista with an awkward gentleness, placing one arm under her knees, the other under her shoulders. The girl passed out from pain as Ina turned to move down the hallway. Smoke was thick and choking hot, but Ina left it behind during her descent through the cargo ramp. Without air circulation or filtering, the toxins from burning wreckage would incapacitate and eventually kill any human. The poison didn't matter to Ina, her symbolic interpreter registered scent and irritation, and the experience was lost in the flood from her sensors. The synthetic skin on the soles of her feet became damaged, but her mobility was unaffected.
Two men in combat uniforms reached the intersection at the bottom of the ramp and peered around. They wore padded greatcoats with pistols hanging from the sides. They saw the pair and stared at the women for a moment; one, with misshapen legs, held in the arms of another, covered in crinkled, silvery-green fabric, wisps of smoke floating up. Ina tracked small dots of blood with her footsteps. Her face and hands were bright red from the heat. The shorter man gestured towards the pair. He started to rush towards them, when the second man grabbed his elbow and held him in place. The taller man spoke and gestured. "Wow. This way!"
The men waited until the pair reached the intersection before the group continued towards the transport bay. The taller man asked if he should carry the injured girl. Ina ignored the question, and seemed comfortable with the weight in the lowered gravity, and even her own injuries, and he dropped the issue. The intersection led to another, which split into a series of hallways. The lighted signs in front of the hallways were dead; all of the hallways ended in closed doors.
The taller man removed his overcoat and placed it over Ina's shoulders. "Ma'am, I'm Specialist Ross Simons. We'll get out of here as soon as we find a transport. Can I do anything to help you?"
Ina ignored the gesture and remained silent and motionless. None of the input she observed assisted her. She didn't know what she wanted. She was haunted by a vague desire to survive, but she wasn't sure what that meant in the context of the last kilosecond.
The other man pointed at a newly-flashing yellow light above one of the loading bays doors and said that it indicating a ship was undergoing pre-launch checks. Ina watched the bull walk down the fifty meter hallway, through the closed airlock at the end, a quarter-meter of hardened steel and lead-glass. A simple desire formed in Ina's mind, to follow.
The four headed towards the launch indicator and barged through the loading bay airlock when it opened. A handful of people moved around a medium-range shuttle, sleek and matte-black, with a shape that might a remind a planet-born person of a seashell. The area seemed cramped, three meters between the shuttle, the personnel airlock, and less by the massive wall that would swing open like an airlock when the shuttle launched. The craft was large enough, designed for a combination of cargo and personnel transport.
A shuttle crew member saw the four approach and swore. "Colin! Medic! Earn your damn pay, we're on the clock!"
Ina and Krista were approached by a man responding to the call. He was dressed in a simple tee-shirt and plastic pants, not the usual scrubs and protective clothing of a Quorum medic. He carried a large orange duffel bag hanging from a strap around his shoulder, with the bulk under his arm. The medic waved Ina in, then took and lifted the limp body in his arms, careful to avoid injuring the girl further. Colin was certain the shuttle contained a gurney and trauma kit, but couldn't imagine where.
In the launch bay, the crew scrambled to finish the shuttle's emergency launch. The crew was resting in a small suite near the bay when the attack begun, but the shuttle was powered down and de-fueled for maintenance. Two crew-members had spent the entire attack scrambling to detach electrical harnesses and seal panels where maintenance technicians had left work incomplete. Another bypassed the automated controls of a refueling mech and had nearly finished replenishing the shuttle's supply.
The medic led the pair onto the shuttle, first into a large common area, then through a small hallway, and to tiny quarters. The room was blue-hued with walls that seemed to be made of thick carpet. The color and texture of the walls and ceiling matched the floor. The fabric walls were attached to free-standing cylinders each spaced a meter apart, constructed from dull, unfinished steel, and jutting out of mounting points in the floor. The medic introduced himself and laid Krista onto a bed, a thick structure extruded from mottled brown plastic in the center of the space. Hinged, it could open into a storage chest for bedding and clothing. Krista's head lolled to the side as she settled; her breathing remained strong.
Colin turned towards Ina for a moment. "Are you hurt? What's your name?"
The woman's face was small and triangular. Her dark hair was ragged and singed. Colin noted the whites of her eyes were clear, wrapping blue irises and pupils that glimmered in the bay lighting. Synthetic eyes, and retro-reflective, Colin knew. That close to fire, and reeking of smoke, her lungs should be in revolt, and her eyes should be red and wet. He wondered if she was a full-synthetic conversion or just a mech, and waited for her response. "I am unharmed. My name is Ina."
"And hers?"
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
"I don't know."
"Ok. Her legs are... smashed. Which means she's bleeding."
Ina nodded. Colin fished around in the bag that hung at his side, finding a pistol-gripped injection system in a plastic case, and a fist-sized cartridge with a series of multi-colored spheres inside of it. "What happened to her?"
Ina responded without hesitation. "The ceiling subframe appeared to have collapsed. Within the preceding two kiloseconds, on the cargo ramp adjacent to the local docking lobby."
"Ok. I'm going to give her a nasty drug cocktail. This shuttle doesn't have a medical facility, but we can keep her alive until we get somewhere else. Did she get hit anywhere else? Did you find her sitting up or laying down?"
"Her torso was clear of debris."
Ina stared at Colin while he jabbed Krista with the gun in the chest and in each leg, close to the hip. The large-gauge needle punched through clothing, skin, and bone alike. The device pumped a synthesized a cocktail of coagulants, stimulants, anesthetics, and antibiotics into her bloodstream. He wouldn't know if she had any internal injuries other than her legs until he could stop that bleeding. If she was bleeding internally, the best he could do was to manage the pain. Colin looked up at Ina and took stock of the girl, burnt hair, bare footed, and wrapped in a security guard's greatcoat.
The shuttle thumped when the bay's airlock vented. The announcement system activated. "Folks, we're gonna make a run for it. That attack ship might be military, eight ships ahead of us have gotten out of passive sensor range, so we're probably ok. They're still firing on the station, and there's no armor in the transport bay, so here we go. Strap in, we're gonna burn hard. Colin, I can't see you, buzz when you're ready."
Colin looked helplessly at Ina as he pulled on a metal slot in one of the support columns on his side of the room. The metal slot revealed a folding slab, which expanded, fanning open from a single joint, becoming a simple chair. The chair was made of woven netting, and a seven-point acceleration harness made of the same fabric hung from the seat and slot. The medic pulled a second chair out, and pulled Krista from the table and onto the chair. Krista remained motionless and unconscious. He first strapped Krista in, and took his own seat. The shuttle bounced lightly as thrusters nudged the ship out of the bay and from the station's gravity system. When the shuttle's own gravity controls engaged, the occupants felt like they were tipping from side-to-side for several seconds.
Ina had pulled another chair out, lashed the harness over her shoulders, across her waist, and around her knees in the same manner as Colin. He gave Ina a thumbs up and two raised eyebrows, and she indicated her readiness with a nod. The man pressed a button at his side, and let the pilot know they were restrained.
The engines of the shuttle pulsed into full power. The acceleration of the craft was limited by the ability of the dilaton mesh to keep the crew alive: at emergency acceleration, the dilaton mesh could not fully counteract the perceived force, and the exertion of the engines pressed Ina into her chair, and Colin out of his. The straps held them in place for half a kilosecond. The acceleration faded and Ina watched circulation return to Colin's face.
"Sorry for that. These kinds of shuttles need fifteen kiloseconds, actually, to spin up before hard acceleration. Since we got one of the last ones left, it was powered down until the station got attacked."
Ina acknowledged with a nod. "What is this ship's destination?"
Colin shook his head, unstrapping himself from his chair. He checked Krista's vitals with his fingertips, then attached a bright copper ribbon from his bag around her neck. Wire traces along the ribbon lit up; the flexible film began to work, sensing, recording, and transmitting data. Walking to the wall, Colin pushed a black button on a panel near the door.
"Rolf, where're we going?"
Several other buttons adorned the panel, gently colored globes and squares, simple controls for lighting and communication. Static clicked and a voice came from a speaker hidden near the top of the door, behind the carpet-wall. "Don't know. How are the kids?"
Colin pressed the button a second time. "Not good. The one's bleeding internally. Safe to be up and about?"
"Yeah. This shuttle came loaded. Bronco's bringing you the trauma kit."
"Thanks."
Ina remained motionless, sitting, acceleration harness loose but still locked. Colin looked her over, eyeing the burnt hair and soot-covered skin, but unable to see any severe injury or signs of shock. The coat more than covered her, and he could tell she didn't want to deal with him.
"You've got second degree burns."
Ina thought for a moment and responded, "No." She was certain that she was hiding who she was, and without knowing why, she was also certain that medical treatment would be problematic.
Colin squinted and hoped her stubbornness was enough to keep her safe. "Taken any anesthetics? When were you burnt?"
A knock came from the door. Colin waved, and the door opened. A bulky man with light brown skin and short grey hair handed Colin a large case, eyed the girls, and closed the door behind him after he left.
Colin turned, leaning against the wall, and said, "Ok. Well, your friend is going to need observation. Her new jewelry will alert us if anything bad might be happening. This shuttle's set up for twenty crew and passengers. I guess there's seven of us, so-"
"She's not my friend."
"Excuse me?"
Ina looked at Colin. "Sorry. I first encountered her in the cargo ramp where I found her injured. You said that she was my friend."
"Er, well, the point is, this is a converted cargo hold. That wall" - Colin pointed - "slides back. Give me a moment, and it'll be big enough for you both, and then some. If you go out this door, take a left, go all the way to the end, and take another left, you'll be at the common room. Take a right, and you'll be in the hygiene shop."
"Thank you."
Colin said, "You smell terrible. Why don't you go get cleaned up? I don't mean to be selfish, but we're short-handed and I'd like to ask you to keep an eye on her. I have some other things I'll need to take care of until you get back." Tapping the button, Colin continued. "Pathik, open up the wall between quarters nine and ten, please."
The wall shifted, sliding towards the door, revealing another room. The furnishings were identical to the first, with two small beds with a table between them. A simple plastic chest was attached to the floor at the foot of each bed, for storage of personal belongings. The webbing chairs folded into the support columns, and the fabric dividing wall wrapped itself into a column between the door to the quarters, and the freshly-revealed door to the neighboring room.
Ina stared at Colin for a moment and wondered why he used so many words. Her head rolled slowly to the side, hesitating, then turning up. Her face remained expressionless. She selected a single option from a conversation-response menu presented in front of her, and felt her mouth form the single word, "Ok."
Colin leaned the back of his head against the wall for a moment, staring at the ceiling. He backed out of the quarters, and turned towards the common area. Ina closed the door closed behind him.
***
The ship's captain was a thin man, middle-aged with a clean-shaven head. Pale arms covered in thin black hair emerged from his wrinkled undershirt. Rolf nudged Pathik on the shoulder when Colin clambered up the loud metal steps into the flight deck.
Rolf sniffed at Colin, waiting for a report. "Boss, it's us, two security guards, and the girls, right?"
Colin shrugged, and Pathik took over. "Scans show more military ships heading towards station. Strong EM pulse, they might have nuked it. Seeing Uran registrations, not thinking cavalry."
"So you were right about the Ura after all."
Pathik smoothed his red silk shirt with his hands. His black hair, neatly oiled, waved as a ventilation duct blew crisp air at him, and the console lights gave his dark face a blue tint. "We did not know at first, ship that opened fire had no registration, but who out here has equipment like that? Look out the window, an eyeball makes it obvious when scanners can't."
Colin hummed, and looked at the navigator. "Where we heading?"
"We're in a stolen shuttle. In enemy territory", Pathik mumbled.
"How can it be stolen if it never existed? We scramble the registration, and we're golden", Rolf said with a hopeful tone.
"Of course we could head for the nearest Uran station and accept their generosity. And there's Liberty", Colin said.
"I'm not sure that's such a bad idea, actually. We could take bounty work for a while until we work our way home. If we go to free space, we've basically got to sell the thing. No guns."
Pathik asked, "Colin, what about the civvies?"
"The guys are fine. The girls are beat up. One's hurt pretty bad, broken legs and bleeding, I think the other's fried our of her mind, but she's only got superficial wounds. Might be an AI. Cagey."
"Think they have currency?"
Colin shook his head. "Not gonna help you rob em."
Pathik tugged at his fingertips, frustrated. It wasn't the danger, as much as the angst of promised pay that he was certain he would never touch. "Supposed to be clean work."
Rolf broke in, "Colin, pretty bad? That kid gonna be ok?"
"If we can get to a cruiser or station in the next couple of cycles, yeah. Maybe."
"A few cycles, huh. Pathik, run id on those kids, and the guards. Make sure we won't have any problems. This could work. But I want this to be quick."
Pathik moved through the flight deck into the common area. He stopped near the two security guards who had slumped over one of the tables in the common area. "Hey guys. We might be stopping with the Ura to let you off. A civilian station wouldn't have a clue what went down, so you'll be safe. Any problems?"
The pair looked at each other and shrugged. They did not understand that the Ura were responsible for the attack.
"May I scan?" Pathik continued, pulling his communicator from a pocket. He held the device to each man's face in turn, and the device captured a snapshot of the iris and retina of both of each guard's eyes.
The communicator hashed the retinal and iris patterns and sent them over the ship's communications relay. The message traveled through a network of quantum relays, arriving on a Quorum station near the center of civilized space. A second after they were sent, the hashes were compared against a personnel database. The computer system found detailed matches, but no criminal convictions or disqualifying information, and the computer routed a generic positive acknowledgment to the remote terminal.
***
Ina sat in her quarters, watching Krista, attempting to understand everything that had been happening. Her experiences beyond the last dozen kiloseconds were the result of interactions with a simulator. Her consciousness took megaseconds to construct after fundamental integration, and her creators had left her on-line during the process. The attack had interrupted the integration process prior to completion. The primary phase was over, and her core could perform arbitrary computations, but the attack interrupted the secondary phase where she would learn her place in the world. She was aware of language through her programming, and of life and conflict, of the Ura and the Quorum through books and videos she accessed on the diagnostic network. Her maintainer, Eric, had loaded these on the network for his use, and would have been horrified to know she had accessed them.
The thoughts passed, but Ina felt overwhelmed. In the simulators, she could experience more of the world through direct sensory input, and was tested in her ability to change the world to suit her needs. Her symbolic interpreters offered a limited number of actions, and in the simulation environment, one was always 'correct'. Likewise, in this world, she observed and interacted with everything through the same symbols, but she knew many more options existed that she couldn't consider, and that her symbolic interpreters weren't providing her with all of the appropriate inputs. Life seemed disconnected and futile. The sensation was natural: her mind was not advanced enough to interpret the complex data this world generated, and she relied on her symbolic interpreters to translate the basic senses her body was equipped with into a representation her mind could process.
She could sense and manipulate the simulator without the symbolic interpreters. Survival would require learning how to access her sensors in a more direct manner. She wondered whether she could learn, without the flashes of light and logic injected by the integrator electronics.
Ina decided to act on Colin's advice, and retreated to the hygiene room. Glossy plastic panels replaced the blue-carpeted walls and floor of the quarters and hallways. Recessed lights shone from the ceiling, illuminating the room. The open space did not afford privacy, but no one intruded.
She removed the guard's coat and brushed at the carbon and jetsam that had collected on the lining, then hung the coat on a wall hook. Ina walked past bidet-stalls and into the shower area. She activated one particular nozzle with the press of a small button, and warm water fell on the wilted foil covering her skin. Her sensors ignited with irritation. The skin was reporting damage to a matrix of data collection nodes, and she monitored those nodes while she reduced the temperature until they fell silent.
Ina peeled the melted layer of protective catalyzed plastic from her skin with a patient touch. Smooth, red welts reflected the light in the few spots where synthetic flesh could not tolerate the heat. With this sort of minor damage, the skin would repair itself within a few cycles. The protective material was intended for shipment and protection of the prosthetic body while in transit and had been over-engineered to degrade without bonding to skin or other substances it might be used to protect. She maintained herself, observing her body with her eyes, constructing a map of the debris embedded in and on her skin, and picked each piece away with apprehensive care. The adhesive binding the layer to her body had weakened, and the scorched material fragmented into glittering shards before falling on to the floor. Water rinsed the material into a recycling port. Two kiloseconds passed while cool water washed away the remains of the last cycle.
Her designers were unconcerned with her ability to maintain herself. Her understanding of social interaction was limited to human etiquette. With no understanding of herself, and no expectations of the world, Ina decided she would prioritize survival. Her mind contained some incomplete fragment of combat training, but the skills were rudimentary and arbitrary. The concept of taking control of the shuttle seemed unreasonable, and no one but Marshall had made any attempt to harm her, and the sensible path seemed to allow the others to continue to control the situation until something substantial changed.
The bath's door opened and closed with a click. Ina turned and peered past the shower, unable to see anything in the fog without bringing intrusive sensors online. She found a towel folded on a platform between the shower and the sinks. Drying herself, Ina was disappointed with the amount of soot that remained after the shower that had stained the cloth.
Returning to the plastic sink, Ina found someone had left a generic uniform near the entrance to the hygiene room. Ina found it satisfactory and dressed herself. The clothing consisted of a shirt and shorts, both elastic and padded, and completed with a one-piece overall. In the mirror, she admired her face, perceiving it for the first time, and brushed fingers through singed hair. Her features were sharply defined, with a pointed chin and wide eyes.
Her clean face revealed a hue of silver just a shade beyond any natural color. Her body was symmetrical, perfectly, and proportioned according to normative specifications. She would be considered attractive, though not particularly so. Her synthetic skin lacked hair and pores, and once healed, would maintain the sort of smooth texture that would have otherwise required cosmetics.
The mop of hair topping her head consisted of a simple, inexpensive wig. The smoke and heat had loosened the adhesive material holding the wig in place. Ina removed the piece, inspecting her hairless face in the mirror. She cleaned the wig, combing through strands with her fingers, and attempted to replace it in the appropriate orientation.
Ina thought of Marshall dying in the elevator. Something in the corner of her mind was disappointed in the choice to leave him, and to ignore his order. But she hadn't wanted her life to be short. Her external storage contained a recording of the whole event, and she decided she would erase that video.
She wondered how Krista was coping with her situation. Ina returned to the quarters, and found the woman unconscious, lying in the bed, her feet turning blue from the actions of the clotting factors injected into her thighs. Krista wore various personal accessories that indicated some level of affluence. Other than her legs, Ina thought, she was unharmed, and ignored by the crew. Ina took note of this, and headed for the common area.
With tired eyes, the gathered group observed the blank-faced girl who walked bare-foot into the common area. The standard-sized gray uniform bunched around her hips and ankles. Colin smiled and waved, and Ina approached one of the two tables where the crew was sitting.
One of the guards - the one who had given her his great coat, smiled and bowed. "Ma'am, you're a tough one. I swear, you were literally on fire when you ran past us carrying your friend."
Ina glanced at the guard. "I left your coat in the hygiene room. I was unable to clean it. Thank you for its use."
"It's ok. It's issue, so I didn't pay for it. Anyway, my name's Ross, and this is Liam", the man said. "Did you work on the station?"
Ina expressed a perfunctory smile towards the two, in a failed attempt to seem polite. Colin asked if she was hungry. Ina shrugged, searching through memories to determine if she understood how her body would handle food. She was certain that allowing these people to understand her identity would place her at a substantial level of risk. Law indicated that her creation was illegal, and one of her creators had ordered her suicide in order to protect himself. She would have to follow through with basic customs such as taking meals and conversation, and she might be expected to contribute to the operations of the shuttle. The crew would inevitably discover her identity if she spent time around them.
Her knowledge was exhausted: no information. She sensed that she could command her body to interact with food, an automatic routine that would consume a typical meal or beverage in an inoffensive way, though she had no understanding of what would happen afterwards. Such an experiment would be inappropriate without privacy and more preparation. "I would prefer to return to my quarters with my meal."
Liam stood, gesturing. "It's just rations." The man tried to hand her two pouches. "Take one for your friend. How is she?"
Ina blinked, and her head lolled on her shoulders, leaning to one side, stretching, then tilting to the other.
"Unconscious. Her feet have become blue, though she appears to be stable."
Colin said, "Yeah. I used too much... well, a lot of coagulant. It stops the bleeding from internal injuries, but it also stopped the blood flow to her feet. It was the only option. She needs surgery we can't do on this shuttle. So when we get where we're going, they may have to remove her legs. Maybe it's not a good idea to tell her yet."
She supposed survival was worth the cost were of having one's legs amputated. For the wealthy, replacement limbs made of cloned flesh were available; for the poor, simple mechanical prosthetics could suffice. She considered the consequences if she were injured; she found she had insufficient data to formulate a plan.
"Ina, one other thing", Colin continued. "We're planning to stop at an Uran station tomorrow, to get Krista help. Will you pass an ID scan?"
She thought for a moment. Quorum ID scans were based on a rights-revocation database. If criminal violations had not affected one's rights, or one had not gained additional rights through government membership, there was no record in the system that could be accessed through standard methods. "Yes."
Colin's face had blanked when Ina hesitated, and his smile returned with her response. She took the rations from Liam and thanked him. Ina turned her thoughts towards the nearby entrance to the command center, and wondered how many others were working in the room. Two others watched from the common room, and Ina understood the likelihood that at least two crew members were running the flight deck on this shuttle.
Liam followed her as she left the common area. He touched her shoulder gently.
"I wish I had a pencil for you. Long-range shuttles lack certain emergency essentials."
Her face dropped. Liam laughed and touched his eyebrows. She didn't understand. He shrugged, patted her shoulder, and returned to the common area.
Ina returned to her quarters with the rations; the broken girl was conscious but groggy from the anesthetic in her legs.
"Hello", Ina offered with a polite smile. Krista closed her eyes and rubbed her face with her palms, until the skin around her eyes turned red.
"I feel terrible. Where am I?"
"You are on a shuttle. We have left N-X-171."
Her hands returned to her side and Krista gazed at Ina for an uncomfortable moment. "Oh... You saved me, didn't you? My name is Krista. Thank you. I owe you my life, I guess."
"Yes. I have some food."
Ina set one packet on the stand next to the bed, and tore open the other plastic pouch. She dumped the contents onto the bed. Krista leaned forward and spread them out and sorted through them. A few had appetizing names, chocolate brownie, pound cake, and peanut butter. Several of the other packets contained thin, stiff bars, with identical shapes, and the remainder contained lumpy fluids in self-heating tubes.
"What's your name?"
"Ina."
Krista stuck out her hand. "Thank you, Ina...?"
Ina stared at the hand for an awkward moment until Krista frowned and withdrew the gesture. "Hey Ina... I feel all druggy... am I hurt bad?"
Ina looked at the girl's face. "Yes. Your legs are damaged. This ship's crew intends to take you to a location where you can be treated."
Krista looked down at her legs. Colin had wrapped them in braces while Ina was caring for herself. The worst of the damage remained hidden, but blue feet remained exposed. Krista pulled a blanket over them. "I can't feel my feet. But at least they're still there, right?"
The intercom in the room chirped. "Ina, please come to the flight deck for a moment."
Ina bowed, turning.
"Go ahead. I'm going to eat all the cake while you're gone."
The crew and passengers excepting Krista had assembled on the flight deck. The area was three meters on a side, and the group was crowded in the space between the consoles and equipment. The lighting was dim by design, and several overhead monitors displayed shuttle status and navigation information. Two chairs were mounted on either side of the deck, recessed into pods that housed control terminals. One terminal was offline; the other was occupied by a crew member. A third chair rested between the two terminal pods, occupied by Rolf.
The pilot and ostensible leader made a show of sizing the passengers up. "Ross, Liam, and Ina. We're trying to figure out what we're gonna do. We've been heading towards the Uran space station U-N-215. It's a nice place, and Pathik's confirmed that none of your IDs are registered for alerts. So whatever happened on N-X-171... hasn't gotten out. There's a good chance it won't, either."
Ross crossed his arms over his chest. "Hmm. Liam and I are Quorum police, ranking Benefactors. We can't really play the refugee card. But we can be on official travel, or even vacation. If things are about to go bad, that gives us a better chance of not getting shot. That makes things complicated for the others though."
Pathik spoke up. "Yes. The main reason we need to go to U-N-215 is because of, er, the injured woman. Otherwise, well, we'd like to take this shuttle back into free space."
"Her name is Krista."
Colin looked at Ina. "She's awake, then?"
Ina's body was motionless. Her head leaned in a sinuous manner, as if she was dancing to some unheard song.
"Yes. She claims to feels druggy."
Colin suspected that Ina was quite intoxicated as well. She was struggling to keep herself still.
Rolf joined in. "Colin says she should be able to take care of herself. She's got money and credentials. So the plan is to go to U-N-215, and let everyone who wants to get off, off. We'll also buy supplies and fuel for a trip to Liberty-27. It's a full megasecond jaunt, and we're pretty close to free space as we are, so travel's a bit more hazardous. So anyone who wants to stay needs to pay standard fare for that time period. And accept the risk."
Ina stared at Rolf. "You're stealing this shuttle?"
Rolf glowered at the woman. "Seeing as how we're not likely to get paid for our services to the Quorum, we're taking it as compensation. The real question was whether we want to sell it or keep it."
Ina stepped sideways. "This system has Quorum tracking equipment installed. You can not steal it without removing that equipment."
Rolf said, "Yep. Maybe. That's a secondary objective on U-N-215, find someone who can take care of that. But you don't need to be concerned with crew business. Not unless you intend to help fund our little trip."
Ina crossed her arms over her chest, mimicking Rolf. "I do not wish to remain on U-N-215, and I can disable the tracking equipment."
Pathik raised his eyebrows and started to speak, before Rolf cut him off. "That's an interesting offer. But I need money to buy fuel and supplies."
"You misunderstand. Removing that equipment is worth more than fuel and supplies. If you were to bribe a Quorum engineer to remove the tracking system, it would exceed the cost of fare. Can you afford to pay me?"
Numbers snaked through Ina's mind - a mid-grade Quorum engineer might earn 25 credits a kilosecond; they were allowed to take legitimate side-work, but this sort of illegal work would cost more, and a human engineer would require no fewer than 80 kiloseconds to remove the tracking system. Standard fare might be 400 credits, but no fewer than 200 or more than 600. Ina suspected Rolf could not bribe an engineer for less than 2000, and doubted that he could find such an engineer on the station. Her primary concern was that he might find a con-artist who would make promises....
Rolf frowned. "Kid, I think you're forgetting who saved your life. If you can help us, I'd expect you to do it. Have you done this before?"
He noticed the way she seemed to move, randomly touching herself, the way the wasted kids at dance shows would. "You, ah, don't seem up to it."
Ina felt annoyed. "I am more familiar with sensitive Quorum systems than any person you will locate on U-N-215. This entire shuttle is a sensitive system."
Colin tapped a table at his side. "She's got a point. I'm glad to see you've got some gumption. Make sure you rest up before you get to work, you're tired. And whatever you're on, take it easy."
Pathik laughed while Rolf pondered. Ina expected him to accept her offer: the advantage would be his, but he would have to posture to maintain his own ego. And she wouldn't have to embark on the space station, moving to free space. Maybe.
Ross and Liam had been speaking with each other. "We'd uh... like to go with you. Too."
Rolf frowned. "You two are paying."
Liam protested. "I can fight... you might face pirates?"
Colin shook his head. "Honestly, Rolf is right. We didn't get paid for our latest round of work, and all of my money is tied up in commodities. So, if you want to go to Liberty, you're buying fuel and supplies."
Rolf said, "Damn right, I'm right. We'll figure out the money stuff when we get to 215. Kid. Rest up, then get the job done."
Ina, satisfied, returned to her quarters.
***
Colin knocked on the door, and Ina answered. She was wearing the same grey uniform, and stood in the doorway. Colin was certain he had disturbed her. "Hey."
Ina stared at him through the doorway. The lighting was dimmed to the lowest setting and her scowl framed by burnt hair seemed intimidating. "Hello."
"Sorry. I wanted to check on Krista. Can I come in?"
"Yes."
Ina stepped out of the way and enabled the lights before she returned to one of the tiny wall-mounted seats. Colin noticed the empty bed seemed untouched. Colin walked over to the other bed, examined sleeping Krista, and turned to face Ina. "She's not doing as well."
He prepared his drug gun and gave Krista a series of injections. This time, he did more than counteract damage to her legs: the shock to her body from the injury and from the drugs forcing her to stay alive had continued accumulating.
"We'll be in local range of U-N-215 in 12 kilosecs, and you'll be able to screw with the computers safely. I'll be back shortly before then, to get her ready for transport. You could get some rest before we arrive, since things might get complicated once we dock." He didn't hide his glance towards the tidy bed this time.
She thanked Colin out of a perceived need for courtesy, and returned to idling in her chair.
The time continued to pass; Ina was busy exploring her own mind. She discovered that not all of the simulation was external, generated by the diagnostic computers she was connected to for most of her development. Her core contained an internal framework that could exist concurrently with the processes that produced consciousness. The framework would simulate input given bounded criteria. The external data store contained pre-set programs, designed to provide simple, recognizable elements in the primary simulation. Those programs would run within the internal framework.
Fascinated with this prospect, she began to journey. The process challenged her perception of time: without the full processing capacity of her mind, a ten second scenario might take a whole kilosecond to simulate. And Ina discovered frustration in the thought that, despite a brilliant capacity for executing well-defined analytic processes, general problem solving seemed slow. She wondered how slow she was compared to humans. That might be important in interacting with them.
The frustration she had discovered continued to build when, with no awareness or expectation that this would happen, Colin barged in to her space. This time, he brought Bronco, extended the gurney upwards from the floor, and moved Krista onto it. Bronco wheeled Krista out the door, and Colin knelt in front of Ina.
"Hey miss. Time to wake up."
Ina's eyes had earlier closed when she disconnected from her visual subprocessing components. Motionless, she was aware of the events surrounding her, since she had kept her aural processing components on-line. But it took thirty seconds for the subprocessing routines to unwind, and Ina realized she was unable to process all of the data from her physical sensors. Processing sound and voice took less effort than sight, and she thought she could process that data and run the simulation simultaneously. If she could find time alone and safe, she could shut down those processes...
Ina's eyes flickered open and tracked towards Colin's face, while her body remained motionless. Colin felt rude and apologized.
"Sorry. Rolf asked if you can scramble the registration, too, before we enter the docking pattern."
Ina seemed alert and agreeable. "Yes. I need a privileged terminal."
"Got ya. Go on up to the flight deck. We're taking Krista to the airlock. U-N-215 has lower air density than N-X-171. She's gonna need some time to get used to it since her blood pressure is so low. We're gonna hyper-oxygenate the cabin air for her."
"Ok."
Ina felt the empty vacuum welcoming her through the windows on the flight deck. She asked Pathik for a terminal; he gave her the navigator's position, powering it on from his own console. Her fingers poked at the keyboard in various random configurations, with no display changes apparent. Rolf scolded her, asking if she knew what she was doing. The electric hum of the flight deck vanished and the computers went offline. Rolf panicked and began yelling, the systems were restored within fifty seconds.
"Sorry. I should have explained what would happen. The systems required a reset to disable the security protocols."
Rolf wringed his hands and watched Ina work from the central chair. His mouth tasted funny, and his heart sped. "Disable the security protocols?"
"The ship requires cryptographic authentication from a central server before configuration changes can be made."
"Don't break it."
Ina flashed her best fake smile at Rolf while her head rolled to the side. "The ship believes this console is authenticated."
"Don't break it", Rolf repeated.
"The registration can be updated. Do you have a specific value you would like to use?"
Pathik said, "Doesn't matter."
Ina said, "I have set the registration to use a typecode for an Ergonautt mid-range shuttle. Ergonautt produced the hull structure for this ship, so the code is appropriate. I will reset the primary computer."
Rolf tried to concur, but power was off before the first syllable had left his lips. Control returned as the space station U-N-215 came into the PRES scanning range of 2 megameters.
Pathik spoke up. "I'll need controls then, if you're done. We're getting close. Need to maintain our deceleration curve to dock."
Ina nodded and left the seat, allowing Pathik to resume his duties. He ensured the thrust curve was configured after Ina had changed the ship parameters.
Liam and Colin walked in through the command center entrance. Liam gave a lax grin and a nod to Rolf. "What's up, boss?"
Rolf grimaced. "All good. Ok. Pathik, how long till dock? Er, crap. Ina, to pull the government stuff out of this bus, do you need an atmospheric bay?"
Ina considered the question. She didn't know where the trackers were, but suspected they would be mounted through the outer hull. If she needed to work on the ship exterior, less effort would be required in an environmental suit, without the station's gravity systems. "No."
The confident tone she used in answering questions inclined Rolf to trust the responses. "Fine. Pathik?"
"It doesn't matter. We're docking in an internal bay, because that's all that's open right now", Pathik added.
Ina wondered if she needed any specialized equipment. If the transmitters were bolt-on components, added after manufacture, removal would be simple. That scenario seemed the most reasonable since the ship was an upgraded model of a commercial frame.
Colin gestured and caught Rolf's attention. "Ah... you don't suppose any other shuttles ended up here?"
Rolf had considered the thought. U-N-215 was the closest station to N-X-171, and if the fleeing shuttles carried injured refugees and weren't afraid of the Ura, this station would be their choice. "Maybe. That's why I wanted to change the registration. Do you think they could figure out where we just came from?"
Pathik had decided the idea was absurd. "Maybe on visual identification, this isn't a standard model shuttle, but unless they are on alert, they aren't looking, and if they were on alert, we wouldn't be docking."
Rolf winced. He couldn't put the suspicion aside. "Er, not too easy, is it?"
Colin chuckled at Rolf. "You're paranoid. And besides, if they wanted us, they could have blown us to bits outside N-X-171. So they don't care about us."
Ina remained sitting at the console and watched the shuttle's communications system transfer identifying credentials to the station. They were identified, their registration was sent, and they were committed. Colin poked her shoulder and gestured that he would be taking the console for the rest of the approach.