The hue of the outlined heavy cruiser illuminated Hangman's dark cockpit, washing her suited pilot in a faint green.
The silhouette was unapologetically too much compared to the interceptor. It was well-constructed and designed with ugly beauty, sharp angular geometry, and segments that repeated.
Its hull was complete with modular drop-in armaments perfectly arranged over the metalwork, mindful of its own superstructure.
The engineering might of Solaran.
Produced in droves, left out in the cold.
"It's a heavy cruiser. Still intact, " Elias said over the comms, "Hang back a moment."
"What are you planning on doing?" Mike asked.
"Making sure it doesn't fall into the wrong hands. "
"Hold on," Mike said, "if that's intact, it has tremendous value."
"It's not about the money. " He brought up his weapons display.
"Well, it is for me! " Mike crackled over the comms as his voice rose. "If that thing has an intact nav core, it would make my life a hell of a lot easier and mean less time in the void and more time at home. Do not fire."
Mike's voice broke through to Elias, nostalgic. He was reminded in that moment why he worked alone.
"Fair point," Elias responded, with no hint of anger or remorse. "I'll get you the Nav Core."
A beat.
"Then break the weapon. "
"Alright… standing by," Mike spoke.
Hangman made circles around the vessel as it searched for entry. The ship may have lost its crew, but the power systems and threat relay were still functional.
Hangman's feeds sprang up and disappeared as the cruiser read an interceptor.
It didn't know Hangman; it recognized Hangman.
Imperial codes still etched into the black box.
Hangman received its ping and immediately pinged back with its own package of data. Completing a handshake.
[CONTACT IDENTIFIED: TYPE-06 Interceptor]
[STATUS: FRIENDLY]
[SERIAL: 7392846159074]
[SQUADRON: HAMMERHEAD (status: null) ]
[MOTHER: WHITE EMPRESS (status: null) ]
Elias slowed his approach, making note of this exchange as something to address later to avoid mishaps.
"Command, request dock,"
Hangman chimed as it spoke with the old ship. Text flowed back immediately.
[REQUEST DENIED]
Strangers are we?
Elias thought for a moment.
"Command, request rearm."
This time, the cruiser answered back. Another automated message, then the ventral rearming doors began opening in silence. Hangman's 20mm rang out in a deep thud. Punching into the heavy hinges, locking them open just enough to slip in through a low-ceiling runway.
The tunnel's lights marked the walls and ceiling in dim red dots that were interrupted by a sharp dark mass embedded in the left wall.
It was tight.
Hangman rolled left to dodge.
The distinct shriek of scraping metal and the interseptor's riftfield overloading mixed with her alarms.
[COLLISION]
Elias held a breath. Nothing.
The tunnel spat Hangman past another set of blast doors, which Elias jammed with another controlled burst.
Leaving the interceptor in a retrieval enclave of the cavernous flight deck.
Landing facing the exit. Next to an interceptor missing its left wing.
His feet hit the deck, delayed. The ship's gravity field was there, just faded.
His eyes shot to Hangman's wings, warped at the tips, but functional.
Then turned to the hangar.
A familiar sight.
This time, dead silent.
Only the ticking of Hangman could be heard as she cooled.
Elias took full advantage of the gravity as he pushed himself through the flight deck, passing rows of fresh interceptors still in factory wrap, as well as ammunition racks that would make any scav drool.
He passed the control room where bodies lay blue and frozen, still in uniform.
Elias clocked them instantly.
Hypoxia, that'll be me in sixty minutes.
He set a timer on his wrist terminal, then quickened his pace down the corridors dimly lit by dying lights.
He knew the general layout of these ships, but he still slowed around intersections. Getting lost now meant a slow death.
No wasted movements.
Was it this way? Or—
"Screw it."
He picked a direction and went with it.
"What?" Mike responded.
"Nothing." He wanted to explain himself, but every spoken word was wasted oxygen in a limited tank. He shouldn't have spoken to begin with.
He passed a primary turret's gun well; polymer sabot cartridges the size of train cars were stored on heavy rails. He didn't stop to take it in, but he knew enough to know he was close now.
Finding the maintenance access, he tugged at it. Locked.
He stepped back. A narrow door. Thin metal. Mechanical lock.
He drew his driver and sent two darts punching through the locking mechanism. He gave it another tug, and it swung open.
He followed a thick data cable along the ceiling till it joined an artery of wires and pipes.
Then he found what he was looking for. A vault-like door that guarded the Nav core.
His four charges on the corners of the door went off with a thud—the room filled with smoke and yellow fire-retardant. An alarm went off somewhere in the ship as it felt a fresh wound. He kept moving. Yanking cables from a neon green box marked, "Property of the Solaran Empire. Theft is punishable by death. "
If you really cared, it wouldn't still be here.
He took it anyway and was already moving. Back the way he came.
Pushing past the flight deck doors, then back to Hangman, which he jumped back into, Nav Core in hand.
The cabin hissed as it repressurized.
Then he saw it.
He pinched his brow.
Green ice filled and jutted out the exit path he left.
Sealing him with the dead.
"Shit."