Starships were never quiet, save in death. They groaned and clicked, creaked and hummed. Air handlers, fuel pumps, drive machinery, the breathing of other human beings... Some people never got used to the constant noise. They never stayed aboard ship long if they could manage it. Never made sailing the eternal stars their life.

Captain Everts shrugged his way into the hard suit with practiced ease. Small craft always got more practice in EVA, and Celerity's crew was no different.

“I still don't like it, Captain.” Sergeant Woods didn't like anything, as far as he could tell. Well, except maybe a good fight. And a good single malt, as he recalled.

“Be that as it may. We need every hand for this one, since the remote passives are too massy to hump with five marines alone. And maneuvering the ship, well. I'll not risk doing this with too few.” Woods harrumphed. In private he could bitch all he liked, as far as Everts was concerned, as long as it didn't go any further than that. Morale was a bit shaken as it was. The ship had taken some damage, but some things could not be repaired by her small crew until they were no longer drifting. Ship’s com was out of commission until repairs were made, but he wanted to take a look around while they were waiting. The more detail he could report, the better, once the com was repaired and their scheduled time to make contact came around.

He and the sergeant were the last two in the lock. Bob Lasceau appeared at the tiny observation window, tapping it with his armored glove. Time to get a move on. Everts locked his helmet down, and swapped suit checks with Woods. Routine. And it never hurt to be too careful.

He stamped his boots to get the maglocks engaged and stepped out onto the hull. Celerity was drifting slowly on feather light thrusters towards the big wreck, hidden in the shadow of the wound that killed the giant ship. Twisted plate traced the path of destruction aft, towards what would likely have been the CIC, and whatever engines drove her. Tough old bird, to still be in one piece after all these years.

“Woolgathering again, sir?” Petty Officer Lasceau remarked wryly as his helmet clanked against his captain's. Sound traveled through the air inside the helmet and by direct contact- no extra electronics on the hull. Too risky. Celerity was hidden, but stray radiation from even suit radios could end that camouflage in a heartbeat.

The older man was technically too senior for a scout ship. He'd been busted down in rank several times over the years, though. Apparently Senior Flag Captains didn’t like it when enlisted men, no matter how senior in grade, managed to break their nose in a drunken bar brawl. From what he knew the charges brought against the former Chief were enough to cashier the man. But some under-the-table deal had been struck, and the matter was settled with only a drop in rank. Everts had managed to get him on the ship with a combination of bluff, bribery, and outright lies. And some rare, terribly expensive liquor.

“Got the first set of winches up just now. Once we get the last ones down and tight, we'll crank her in, then get lines up to that old turret and set up there.” Sergeant Woods tapped Lasceau on the shoulder. He made a few quick hand signs, indicating he'd get set up on the ventral side. Lasceau nodded, and waved Everts over as he stomped over to the port antenna mount.

Once the captain explained the rough plan to him, the P.O. then detailed both engine room smokers and the maintenance section to getting every scrap of cable and anchors out of storage. Celerity needed to be stable before hauling the P.E.S.T system up where it would do the most good- without getting them killed. Passive Emissions Sensing Tachyometer was a stupid name anyway. Far too stupid to end up dying over.

Everts watched as visual signals passed from Lasceau to the work parties on either side of the ship. He'd just been the one with the idea to take a peek with the remote passive system, but his people were the ones who made it work. Liu's expert flying had saved their lives, of course. He planned on putting in a request for a commendation for that impressive bit of work once they got back to Fleet. It would put her too senior to fly a scout if the Scout Captain chose to promote her at the same time- which was just possible, of course. Her captain's recommendation would go a ways towards that, too.

Movement caught his eye. Something in the smashed up derelict shifted in the harsh lighting. The mass of his little ship was many orders of magnitude less, but their entry had still caused some slight movement. He fumbled at his belt for his magnifiers to take a closer look, but stopped when the object broke free. It looked like just a mattress with a red cover and blue stripe over the top.

The approach was slow, but steady. Hand winches required brute muscle power to overcome the gentle push of the few attitude thrusters still working that were keeping them from crashing -slowly- into the wreck. On the hull that meant careful bracing before applying torque, lest you go dutchman. Nobody wanted that to happen here. Without power sources and EVA control was limited to manually directed gas jets with very little fuel. Ship sensors tended not to ping on something as small as a suited human, but it had been known to happen. Everts didn't know which would be worse, drifting until the air ran out in hope of rescue, or getting fried by whatever had fired at them when they went active. The power readings that he’d seen were weapons systems, not drive signatures. The lack made it obvious this had been a trap, but set by whom? And why?

A smaller figure crouched by the blocky P.E.S.T, cinching the cat's cradle of lines that would carry the equipment up to the wreck once they were stable. A part of Everts wanted to lend a hand. To do something, at least, rather than stand around feeling useless. He quashed that impulse firmly, the memory of his old captain telling a much younger man to stay out of the way and keep his eyes on the future. Let the men take care of the present, lad. They are counting on you to watch out for what's coming. So he did.

Which was why he saw the two foot long scrap of hull that parted the dorsal forward line and sliced into the crew working there a split second before it happened.

The snapped line whipped back down to the deck, cutting a shallow gouge into the hull plating, into one man's side and slicing through one unfortunate rating's hand in its path. The slow drop became a spin, as the other lines halted too late. The leading edge was dropping fast as men scrambled to escape being pinched between their own ship and the wreck and to scoop up the wounded. Everts slammed his helmet into the Petty Officer's- no time to be gentle.

“Get them in to the port lock. Get Griggs in soonest!” Lasceau launched himself forward in a shuffling run to get the ventral crew- their one medically trained rating among them- in, as the sergeant began hustling the two damaged hardsuits up from the ship's spine. Everts spun the lock open as quickly as he could. Woods snatched his two in and slammed the hatch shut with a heave. The captain glanced forward to see if there were any more wounded and his heart lept to his throat.

Dutchman.

Limp and drifting towards the pinch point. Not leaking. It was Liu. Smallest of the crew by far. He didn't think- he just acted. Everts was already rocketing towards her as he recognized who it was. His gut told him they could make it, just beneath the angle the ship would hit, barely, as he twisted his gas jets to full, almost emptying the tiny tanks in an instant of hard thrust. He bent his body over her limp form and spun to put his nearly empty maneuvering pack between them and whatever awaited them in the wreck, hopefully not a spear of steel to gut them both...

Then they were in, and darkness took him.