Shattered Skies Book 1: Embers (WIP)

Ch. 7: Separation

Date: 3/22/2159

Location: Apollo 11 Bar aboard Eden's Gate Station

The disappointment in Jen's eyes is immediately apparent. Walker shares the same feeling as he stares at the display screen. Somehow, against all odds, the bug managed to slip past them. How'd it even get out of it's room? Did it kill Rojis? Is it even still alive? So many questions and no answers.

"If it were anyone else telling me this, I'd assume they were lying." Jen comments. "They got extremely lucky."

"Or they somehow planned it all. Get picked up by a curious salvage ship and take over."

"Also a possibility. And if that's the case, it becomes even more imperative that we find it.

"Is there any trail we could follow? Any sign it passed through an area? Like a tiny gravity corridor?"

"Relativistic engineering is not my field of choice. But I'm sure there are a few members in TerransFirst who know more on the subject. I'll put out a call and tell them to meet you here at Apollo 11. Expect an encoded comm signal to your datapad with the codephrase."
"Understood, sir." It takes Walker a second to realize he addressed her as he would a commanding officer, like she was in the war. He had thought that habit died a while ago. Guess not. "We'll lay low in the meantime. There should he a hotel block we can stay at for the time being."

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you to stay covert on this matter."

"My lips are sealed like an airlock."

"I thought so. Good luck, Waker." The screen fills with static for a split second before the transmission is cut and the screen goes dormant once again. Walker steps out of the comm room and back into the bar. At the doorway Jurill stands patiently, waiting for him to leave. His eyes glance to the display shelf on the wall. Tempting, but no. Jurill gets a tad grumpy when kept waiting unnecessarily. And he would prefer not to hear passive aggressive jabs for the whole rest of the day.

With a friendly nod to the bartender, he turns to leave. Jurill noticeably relaxes as he approaches.

"Let's go. The stench of alcohol is starting to make me physically ill." A natural reaction for a Tir. Alcohol doesn't work the same with them like it does with Terrans. He's heard it compared to drinking raw sewage by others of their kind.

"You're not going to puke, are you?"

"No. But some cleaner air would be appreciated."

"Let's go find a place to call home for the time being. We're low on funds, so it's not going to be pretty."

"As long as our living arrangements are functional, I will be content."

Elapsed Time: 18 minutes

As far as temporary living spaces go, he's seen worse. Doesn't mean it's perfect, though. Bare metal walls with spots of rust dotted across them, faulty climate control systems judging by the uncomfortably cold air, and a plumbing system filled with clogged pipes being the chief complaints. But a bed is a bed. Even if he might get bit by a few polaran dust fleas.

There's not much to unpack. Most of his belongings were on the Reliant before it jumped. All he really has is his jumpsuit, commpiece and personal datapad. Walker walks to the bed and sits down, sighing. In his peripheral he spots Jurril gazing at him with a sidelong stare.

"I know that look. What's on your mind?" Walker says. Jurril hesitates.

"I am growing concerned about your rationality, Walker Risan. I understand the Reliant is your ship and therefore its crew are under your leadership. However I fear you may do something that would lead to our deaths."

"I have a right to be mad, Jurril. You know what they did to me."

"I do. But that anger has led to behavioral patterns that concern me."

"So what, I just let it go? After they destroyed my life? Twice?"

"All I am saying is that you must temper that anger for our collective safety."

"I'll calm down when that insect is rotting away inside a cell. End of discussion." Jurril's expression gives away nothing as she slowly turns away. But he can tell she's not happy with his response. She'll have to get over it. His mind is not changing.

Perspective Shift: Rojiss

Current Location: Unknown

Elapsed Time: 45 hours

Rojiss slowly begins to rouse once more. Auridaas' sake, how many times is he going to get knocked out? He shakes it off as best he can, slowly rising to his feet. He stumbles as he seems to slide towards the back of the ship slightly. Great. The artificial gravity is out of alignment. That's going to be annoying.

Rojiss takes stock of the surroundings. Jagged fragments of metal litter the engineering bay. On the far wall the inertial compensators look mangled beyond repair. He may not have protected from the force of the jump like he were supposed to. Probably why he was unconscious.

The state of engineering isn't his primary concern, though. It's the Aserati. Now that the jump as been made it's time to find a way to get on the bridge. They may be safe for now, but there are hundreds of horrifying ways an uncontrolled jump could end if nothing is done. But if he could get to the bridge, he would have a better shot at getting everything under control.

Rojiss starts scanning the wreckage for his plasma torch, finding it lodged underneath the battery bank. He reaches down and grabs it before picking up the plasma pistol lying not far from him. With his equipment gathered, he heads for the airlocked door and hits the control panel.

Immediately the sound of rushing air fills his ears followed by complete silence. An emergency tone plays in his helmet, followed by his jumpsuit sealing up to close him off from the vacuum. Knowing exactly what has happened he reaches for the emergency atmosphere tank situated on the wall and connecting the tubing to a port on the back of his mask. A small circular hud element appears on his mask lens, depicting how much air he has left. About a week's worth. Hopefully enough to last until a rescue.

With awkward steps he makes it to the door to the bridge. It's seems intact. Could mean there's still atmosphere inside. He turns to a control panel to his left. Entering in a simple command to the panel, he closes the emergency bulkhead door behind him, hoping to prevent that air from being sucked out into space by the hull breach.

With that, he gets to work, powering on his plasma torch he starts to cut into the thick steel of the door. The moment the first cut burns through, air rushes into the small confined space. Several hours pass as little by little he cuts a hole large enough to fit through.

Rojiss deactivates the torch and swaps it out for his weapon. Taking a deep breath he pushes the slab of metal he cut out from the door and jumps through, plasma gun at the ready. "Sitting" in the pilot's chair was the Aserati, slumped over at an awkward angle and gasping with a scratchy, pained breath. A thick, white smoke wisped from his mechanical spine. Something was damaged. The Aserati was suffering from gravitational strain.

This, however, comes second to his second observation. Straight ahead is a planet. An orb of turbulent, silver clouds swirling violently ahead of them. And if the incessant cry of the pilot console is anything to go by, they're on a collision course.