It was a small ship. Petite, even, measured against the mighty bulk of her sisters in death.
They were huge battleships, miles long, holding tens of thousands of souls as they lived and tried to hold back the tide that would eventually sweep Jupiter colony, Mars, and eventually Earth itself into the pages of history. Of thirty trillion men, women, and children, only the barest tithe were ever evacuated. Here in the highest orbit of the old home world's moon was the graveyard of the home fleet. The pride of mankind stood here in the teeth of oblivion and died to the last ship.
Died damned hard, hard enough to save that tithe, and hard enough to allow the remnants to finally get away. To rearm, rebuild, and return to drive the invader out, and reclaim what once was theirs. The Battle of Ceres was merely days old, and scout ships had been dispatched to discover the fate of those they had left behind. The tiny ship amidst these giants was a puzzle, one Captian Everts was determined to solve.
“Boarding team approaching the target vessel, Captain.” The ensign could hardly be considered experienced. Young in service, perhaps, but her skill and tenacity had won her a commission in this young fleet. Everts was a product of that system himself, poached from the merchant service before the stardust was even off his mag boots.
“Let's see what that have to say. Battered as she is, I'm surprised her hull isn't cracked. I wonder-”
“Power reading!” Ensign Liu barked as automatics slammed shield generators to full power and thrusters rammed the ship away on a random vector to avoid the threat-
That never materialized.
“It's coming from the ship, sir. The smaller one. It's... barely even reading. Hell, the boarding team are practically touching the hull.” Everts glanced at the plot, noting that 'practically touching distance' was on the order of just under half a mile. Which in ship-to-ship combat, it was. That close and you were either docking or ramming. The ship’s com crackled to life in a burst of static.
“Boarding team to Celerity.” The grizzled marine sergeant sounded bored. But then he always did. Even when the ship rang like a drum to incoming fire.
“Celerity actual,” Everts replied immediately.
“Got a weak signal from the target. Cannot refine. Retransmitting.” Short, and to the point, as always. At a nod from the ensign, he confirmed receipt.
“We're on it. Let's see what they have to tell us, eh? Celerity out.” A few short moments later, the ship’s computer recognized an ancient civilian code. A strange feminine voice emerged from the static to echo through the bridge. The voice was raw, ragged, and stressed.
“This is Spitfire to any remaining Terran ships. Do not approach. Repeat, do not approach. Alien bioform confirmed onboard. Destroy this ship at safe distance. Do not approach under any-” Gunfire punctuated the recording. The sound of tortured metal screeching, followed by a clang and a thud, then silence that lasted for almost a minute. The recording did not stop there.
“To hell with this. This is Spitfire actual. I've set the reactor protocols to overload. We're running deep into dirty red over here. Turns out the bugs don't like it any more than we do, but the nanite packages survive. I'd recommend dropping this hull in the sun if you can. To the best of my knowledge, none of the other wrecks are infected. Not unless they seeded them after they killed me, that is.” The voice hiccuped then gasped in pain.
“Don't have much time.” The voice was growing weaker. A cough rattled wetly in the speaker's throat as she continued, “Destiny still has supplies if you're scavving. I heard there were some cryopods seen drifting in the deep dark, back in the Oort cloud. Who the hell knows where they are by now. Courageous has some intact sensor logs, but I can't read them. Damned military encryption.”
“If you're human, good luck to you. Damn bugs are taking over all our real estate, but we'll kick 'em in the teeth before long, you'll see. Did what I could here.” The cough was growing weaker now, with a deathly rattle. “Don't none of y'all give up now, y'hear? Humanity'll be back. We look after our own.” The fading voice was a whisper now.
“Always thought I'd get to see that big, bright light as they blew me away. Heh. That's irony for ya. Anyway. Last call. This is Captain Lisa Caro, Spitfire 851-FC. Signin' off now.” And with a click, she was gone.
Captain Everts stroked his shaggy black beard and sighed. Just one more sad story among many, and no less poignant for it.
“Boarding team, break off. That ship's contaminated. We'll pick you up.” Two clicks was his only reply.
He looked down at his bridge console as if seeing it for the first time. Plot images danced in the tank. Technical readouts hovered, telling him the drives were healthy and fuel was nominal. Defensive weapons and shields were back on standby, as were the tiny throw-weight in missiles and cannon. A smooth running machine, crewed by the best there was in the fleet- at least he thought so. The best of the last.
“I want to know,” he said slowly, “what happened here. Every damned thing. Go active. If a mouse farted here in the last week, I want to know what he ate for dinner. Get me a fix on when this happened, and we'll take a hop outsystem with the scout tender to see what the old light has to tell us.” The bridge crew responded with trained alacrity.