You frown and think over what may have caused the hologram to appear. With no power generator any batteries or capacitors must be in short supply. And after forty five years with no resupply and no locally made replacements, they are probably also temperamental at best.

“Night Horse to away team. Is that a power cable or a data cable?”

“Data at a minimum but it's thick enough to be both Sir. But I follow your line of thinking: where did the power come from? Checking now...”

Midshipman Huckle's camera feed bends down to examine the old holographic projector more closely. He unscrews and opens an inspection cover to examine the interior.

“Whew, I am glad for the void seals on my suit. That's fried electronics if I've ever seen them.”

“Aff. What do you think caused that?”

“Dust. Toss a current through something left to set for gods below only know how many years, something is going to spark. With enough dust that spark is going to flame and cook. The only battery I can see in this thing is a small cell battery. Probably to keep the date and time while external power is shut off. And it's corroded and leaking all over the place. Its a small miracle this thing functioned long enough for us to reach it.”

“I have to wonder why it is here though?”

“We may never know.”

“We might if we recover the data archives from the spire.”

“That's the only way to really know anything of what happened here. It's also probably where whoever was controlling that hologram was working from.”

“It still could be scripted. A sensor on the door to trigger the turn and then the projector failed.”

“Possible. That spire holds the answers though.”

“Agreed, we are not going to deduce the real answer just form here.”

The midshipmen exit the room and start the process of working their way back down to the ground level. You leave them to it and ponder over what may have triggered the projector in the first place. Remote sensors, or more probably a wired motion detector, would be all that was needed to start a scripted event. You are shocked that such a setup would have survived decades unmonitored and unmaintained, but Star Empire government issued equipment tends to be on the robust side. Doubly so when issued to military formations and colonists and both groups tend to head into 'high wear environments'. And encounter people using equipment not in the manner in which it was intended to achieve things that the designers had not planned for.

“Spire door is shut.”

“Aff. let me call over an automation to force it open.”

“No, it's shut shut. No cracks, no gaps, nothing. I'm going to have to cut unless you know of another way in.”

“I do not. None that I would trust in a void suit anyway.”

“Same here. Vents tend to have gagged bits in them. And good luck getting the data archives out that way either. Stand back, cutter coming online.”

“Aff, standing clear, proceed when you are ready.”

“Cutting.”

You watch as Midshipman Huckle sets to work on the door. Instead of simply trying to cut through the door itself with his multi tool he goes for the frame and the door control components within. It takes a minute to get things opened up and another six before small motors start to whine and screech when supplied power from his exosuits's power pack.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

“It's welded shut. Damn. We'll need to find a proper laser cutter. Should be one stashed about somewhere here.”

“There is not much storage space for things besides personal effects in these apartment blocks. Usually the spire would be the storage building but they must have chosen to put their stuff elsewhere.”

“One of the other habitation domes you think?”

“There or in a shed out in the fields.”

“Right. Let's get searching then.”

You lean back and pull up the orbital scan imagery. There are a few clusters of sheds scattered about but no obvious signs of tools. The imagery does reveal that there is a symbol sprayed or painted onto the entrance to one of the other habitations domes.

“Night Horse to away team. Orbital imagery has the edge of a symbol on the door to a habitation dome here. It's the one on your left as you exit your current dome by the main entrance. Let's at least grab imagery of it on the way past.”

“Aye aye Night Horse. We may as well check that dome for a storage spire while we're there.”

It takes your away team a further five minutes to exit their current dome and head to the second one. You watch the feeds form the helmet cameras and the automatons as the main dome entrance way comes into view. Midshipman Huckle is the first to stop and stare.

“Fuck me. And not in the fun way. You seeing this Night Horse?”

“Affirmative away team. Computer support standing by to run the codes when you grab them.”

“Understood. Engel! Keep a good five meters from the door until we know what's behind it.”

“Aff. Question though, why five meters? We are in air-tight suits.”

“No need to take chances. Ready for codes Night Horse?”

“Ready away team.”

“Running large to small here, top to bottom. White background, looks like they just sprayed a large area. Black biohazard symbol offset above center. It's the size of my torso overall. Stenciled work, the edges are too crisp for freehand work. Centered below that is the word 'warning' in all capital letters, also stenciled, width matches the biohazard symbol. It's been crossed out with a red line and the word 'danger' added below it to the same scale. Also all caps but freehand this time. Below that I have a four digit number: two eight one four. Black paint, stenciled, but it's not quite lined up with the biohazard sign above.”

“Running that number now away team, stand by.”

“Standing by.”

You punch the number into a database search, along with the words 'biohazard' 'warning' and 'danger'. The Night Horse's computer obediently chugs away but returns no results stored locally. You sigh and enter the command to query other databases via FTL comm link.

“No local results away team, FTL comm link search running. ETA is a bit over two minutes. What else do you have?”

“Three other freehand notes in red paint. Top to bottom I see: 'TB', 'NO MED', and 'J. KIM'. Spelling that out for the record here: Tango Bravo, November Oscar space Mike Echo Delta, and Juliet Stop space Kilo India Mike. Guessing the last one is a person's name, probably the colony's doctor.”

“Affirmative away team. No hit on the number string or on 'tb', but I do have a hit on 'no med'. It's an abbreviation to indicate 'no medicine' either available or to be given depending on context.”

“That would explain the upgrade form warning to danger then. They ran out of meds to use.”

“Agreed away team. That would make 'tb' the disease. No local hits on that one, so I've queued it up for the next FTL comm link search. Hits coming back now on two eight one four. It's a cargo code...? 'Infectious substance, human affecting, life threatening.' Biohazard symbol would cover that, why would it be needed?”

“Cargo techs is why Sir.”

“Care to elaborate Midshipman Huckle?”

“Learned it by proximity to cargo handling staff. The Biohazard symbol gets slapped on a lot of things, and warning and danger can mean anything from flesh eating fungi to irritated food animals. The shipping code on the other had is much more specific and has to be refreshed or replaced every time the container is reloaded. If the colony set a cargo tech with a spray gun to put up the warning then he'd add the number code form himself and his fellow techs.”

“Makes sense.”

“You can cancel the second FTL comm link Sir, I know what tb is in reference to. It is tuberculosis. Bit of a rare disease nowadays, and treatable with the Star Empire's medical facilities, but it is contagious as all hell in cramped quarters like a habitation dome apartment block. Especially with the recycled air and water.”

“Understood away team. As you remarked earlier you do have air tight suits if you want to try entering the dome, and we have a good auto doc up here, but I'll leave that call to you on the ground.”

“Aff Sir, but I think we'll try the third dome first. The colony wouldn't have locked their storage facility behind a biohazard if they had any choice in the matter.”

“Understood away team. Proceed at your own pace.”