Once again, I counted to ten. Behind me the Sidewinder sat on the moon’s icy surface of rocks and fissures, its engines slowly steaming in the very thin atmosphere. The scarab hummed around me and looking up through its canopy I watched the orange sun slip towards the moon’s horizon almost in real time.
The Cobra’s wreckage lay scattered in scared and battered chunks across the shallow valley. Leaning forward I checked the scanner a further time, its magnification set to max. Yep, definitely ten white dots, matching the ten objects I could visually see before me. Eight cargo pods. Two escape pods – occupied, of course. Ten.
My fingers twitched over the lander’s controls as my mind worked through the retail value of eight pods full of diamonds. Enough. Nearly enough. Finally, to trade up from the Sidey in one quick leap. No more hauling biowaste and potatoes and tractors. I could buy the Adder of my dreams. Another step in the rung as I built a new life after a decade in the marines, in service of the Emperor.
The only hitch? Eight. Eight slots in the cargo racks in the Sidewinder. Just enough for the diamonds. Not quite enough for the two poor souls locked inside the small coffin-like pods. I’d see the lost ship report two days ago and by then it was already stale news. Besides, someone else might stop by, right, and pick them up? Second moon, eighth planet, third sun, on the bubble’s rim-ward edge. I’d found it. Found them. And their cargo. Someone else might stop by too?
Oxygen levels were dropping in the scarab, down to ninety percent already. The sun was just grazing the far lip of the valley, the lengthening shadows of rocks and ship remnants. I made my decision and dropped the cargo scoop, floored the throttle and almost immediately spun out the lander. Slowing, I righted course and within a few minutes scooped up the first two pods of diamonds. I ran them back the three-hundred meters to the ship and transferred them over, fiddling with the cumbersome ship’s computer software. Yes. Yes. Yes. I really did want to transfer them.
As I went back for more I recalled my own abandonment years earlier. My unit was being taken by Imperial Cutter to put down a rebellion in the lower regions. Supported by a fleet of ‘Condas and Viper escorts, I later learned we’d run into a Federal capital ship not expected to be in our sector. The Cutter came in for a broadside from the capital ship and with the Cutter’s shields down a Federation ‘Conda escort boosted clear through our bow taking out the helm and most of the crew. My unit bundled into pods and jettisoned a few seconds before the remains of the Cutter imploded. Around forty of us made it into the pods. When the battle ended, and the capital ship was chased off by Imperial reinforcements, perhaps less than ten pods remained intact. I knew little of this, the pod’s bio-sub-systems taking over most of my body’s functions and sensory inputs. Pods were chiefly designed to stop any panic setting in. Such as I might in realising I was in a tin can floating through a fifty-ship skirmish with laser fire, mines and ballistics hurtling in all directions. But still, despite all the sedation and anxiety reduction processes, I still knew what was happening and that this escape pod could easily turn into my tomb. I imagined the two inside these pods could feel the rumble of my machine, and probably heard the thruster roar from the ship’s landing.
I collected two more of the diamond pods and scooted back under the Sidey. I knew, everyone knew, you couldn’t just pop open an escape pod without the right tools and people. Ideally, I’d take the two pods back into the Sidey, open them up and get whoever the occupants were hunkered down on the flight-deck, and not tie up two precious cargo slots. But that was very bad news for whoever was in the pods. It was around an eight in ten death sentence or pretty close, as the human body needed to be ‘woken’ carefully and slowly from its statis. And for the two in ten lucky chance the occupant might live? Well, just who were these two pilots in the burnt out Cobra MkIII at the back-end of nowhere with a hold full of diamonds? Possibly not the smartest choice to wake them up inside my own ship.
Diamond cargo pods five and six were by now safely stored in the ship’s hold and I returned for the final collection to the crash site. Four blips on the scanner. Two octagonal cargo pods in blue and white. Two coffin-shaped black rescue pods. I could never understand the common convention to paint them black, but then again, these were never located by sight and always by long-range scanners.
The sun was now almost fully set, the thin atmosphere lit up in shades of purple to pink. Cabin oxygen was down to sixty. I closed my eyes and muttered a little prayer and choose the final two pods to collect. Lifting the scarab’s cargo bay doors to closed I headed back to the Sidey with an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach, wondered if I’d made the right choice. Only time would tell. Heck… I could always come back in a day or so for the two pods I’d left behind, right?
The Cobra’s wreckage lay scattered in scared and battered chunks across the shallow valley. Leaning forward I checked the scanner a further time, its magnification set to max. Yep, definitely ten white dots, matching the ten objects I could visually see before me. Eight cargo pods. Two escape pods – occupied, of course. Ten.
My fingers twitched over the lander’s controls as my mind worked through the retail value of eight pods full of diamonds. Enough. Nearly enough. Finally, to trade up from the Sidey in one quick leap. No more hauling biowaste and potatoes and tractors. I could buy the Adder of my dreams. Another step in the rung as I built a new life after a decade in the marines, in service of the Emperor.
The only hitch? Eight. Eight slots in the cargo racks in the Sidewinder. Just enough for the diamonds. Not quite enough for the two poor souls locked inside the small coffin-like pods. I’d see the lost ship report two days ago and by then it was already stale news. Besides, someone else might stop by, right, and pick them up? Second moon, eighth planet, third sun, on the bubble’s rim-ward edge. I’d found it. Found them. And their cargo. Someone else might stop by too?
Oxygen levels were dropping in the scarab, down to ninety percent already. The sun was just grazing the far lip of the valley, the lengthening shadows of rocks and ship remnants. I made my decision and dropped the cargo scoop, floored the throttle and almost immediately spun out the lander. Slowing, I righted course and within a few minutes scooped up the first two pods of diamonds. I ran them back the three-hundred meters to the ship and transferred them over, fiddling with the cumbersome ship’s computer software. Yes. Yes. Yes. I really did want to transfer them.
As I went back for more I recalled my own abandonment years earlier. My unit was being taken by Imperial Cutter to put down a rebellion in the lower regions. Supported by a fleet of ‘Condas and Viper escorts, I later learned we’d run into a Federal capital ship not expected to be in our sector. The Cutter came in for a broadside from the capital ship and with the Cutter’s shields down a Federation ‘Conda escort boosted clear through our bow taking out the helm and most of the crew. My unit bundled into pods and jettisoned a few seconds before the remains of the Cutter imploded. Around forty of us made it into the pods. When the battle ended, and the capital ship was chased off by Imperial reinforcements, perhaps less than ten pods remained intact. I knew little of this, the pod’s bio-sub-systems taking over most of my body’s functions and sensory inputs. Pods were chiefly designed to stop any panic setting in. Such as I might in realising I was in a tin can floating through a fifty-ship skirmish with laser fire, mines and ballistics hurtling in all directions. But still, despite all the sedation and anxiety reduction processes, I still knew what was happening and that this escape pod could easily turn into my tomb. I imagined the two inside these pods could feel the rumble of my machine, and probably heard the thruster roar from the ship’s landing.
I collected two more of the diamond pods and scooted back under the Sidey. I knew, everyone knew, you couldn’t just pop open an escape pod without the right tools and people. Ideally, I’d take the two pods back into the Sidey, open them up and get whoever the occupants were hunkered down on the flight-deck, and not tie up two precious cargo slots. But that was very bad news for whoever was in the pods. It was around an eight in ten death sentence or pretty close, as the human body needed to be ‘woken’ carefully and slowly from its statis. And for the two in ten lucky chance the occupant might live? Well, just who were these two pilots in the burnt out Cobra MkIII at the back-end of nowhere with a hold full of diamonds? Possibly not the smartest choice to wake them up inside my own ship.
Diamond cargo pods five and six were by now safely stored in the ship’s hold and I returned for the final collection to the crash site. Four blips on the scanner. Two octagonal cargo pods in blue and white. Two coffin-shaped black rescue pods. I could never understand the common convention to paint them black, but then again, these were never located by sight and always by long-range scanners.
The sun was now almost fully set, the thin atmosphere lit up in shades of purple to pink. Cabin oxygen was down to sixty. I closed my eyes and muttered a little prayer and choose the final two pods to collect. Lifting the scarab’s cargo bay doors to closed I headed back to the Sidey with an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach, wondered if I’d made the right choice. Only time would tell. Heck… I could always come back in a day or so for the two pods I’d left behind, right?