Andromeda's Gates: The story of Yseult Brenneaux

Chapter 22: Yseult Brenneaux

The Forwarder stood tense, one hand behind his back, plasma pistol charged and ready. The yard foreman hadn't warned him they were coming, he hadn't had a chance, or a choice. The Forwarder had picked them up on his tap into the freight yard's security system. Fortunately, his own system was better than the yard's at flagging suspicious activity. Years of input and tweaking had achieved that. He remembered the feeling of dread and inevitability when he spotted this one. Little more than a feint shadow off the quarter of a bigger vessel; traffic control probably wrote it off as an echo and so it slipped by. They'd have been more wary if the signal had been stronger as it could easily have been another vessel but ships don't give off signals this weak... And so it slipped by.

But the Forwarder saw it and the Forwarder knew. The corporations preferred those fancy cloaking devices; heavy, cumbersome and power hungry, they worked but weren't seen by everyone as a practical way to go unseen, especially those who were here before. Once the ship was within scope a visual scanner, The Forwarder trained every resource he had onto it as it glided gently towards the Freight Port's cargo terminal... Nothing, just blackness. A glint of light flashed, a shimmer emerged, then disappeared, bad memories returned and the outline of a black ship became apparent. Despite the feeling of dread, he couldn't help but smile. Of course. He thought. The corporations had recently agreed a unilateral order to leave Andromeda due to some kind of anomalous radiation coming from the Galaxy's centre. With everybody used to corporate control, who would step in? And who would stop them? The ship put down behind a hangar, tucked away. He did his best to follow the three figures that disembarked but they split up, rejoined and split up again, leaving a silent and unseen trail of bodies behind them. From what he could see, they were working their way across the freight terminal through every line of defence to... Here. Every set of eyes he had in the yard were as good as blind. Even he didn't see most of them until it was too late. They would be here soon. He swallowed, suddenly finding it something he had to think about doing. He activated a control on his terminal and folded it away, the conference table lowering in its place. He removed his plasma pistol from its holster on the underside of the table and stood, tense, one hand behind his back, plasma pistol charged and ready.

They didn't knock. They didn't need to. The door to the Forwarder's container office gently swung open and a figure stepped in, slender, wearing a black flight suit covered in metallic and bright green attachments. He'd never the design before but the helmet the figure wore... That, he knew. Black with a luminescent yellow/green visor, the inside of which was a constantly changing display of data and information for the wearer. The Forwarder's arm tensed. He fought the urge to draw his pistol too early, the figure stood just inside the doorway, analysing him, assessing him, no doubt aware that he was armed. The figure didn't carry a weapon in their hands. They don't need to. He reminded himself so as not to foolishly think he had the figure out-gunned. The figure's hands raised to their helmet, there was a click, a release of pressure and hands raised the helmet off, shot pitch-black hair around a pale face with high prominent cheekbones. and sharply-pointed eyes. The tension in his arm disappeared, his brow un-furrowed, but his breathing remained unsteady...it always did around her. Why is she here? After all this time. He thought. "You look the same." He said. He wasn't sure what else he could say and certainly didn't have anything more pertinent. The woman looked at him, her thin eyes thinning just a little more as she assessed his appearance.