《Bellator: Bad Connection》


 Chapter 1: The Memento Mori

    In the lawless void, in the fading light of liberty and the growing shadow of hated empires, our story begins.

    The void of space

    The endless black is freckled across it''s visage with pinpricks of light. They are dim, fading things that appear ready to collapse into that darkness and forever disappear. It''s in that darkness that something moves. It''s not wayward debris nor rogue comet, but a titan of void-steel.

    It stretches two kilometers from bow to stern, it''s thrusters burn a dull orange, indicating it''s idling allowing the currents of the void to take it along for a cosmic ride. Not that there is anything to see, for it is the space between spaces. It''s a lonely, solitaire existence, one the ship, the Elizaseems content with.

    It''s a colony freighter, a vast ship intended for the creation of a whole colony. The haul meant to be able to be landed and moored upon the world of its crews choosing and allowing for the quick terraforming and settling of whatever chosen ground it happened upon. The four great spires that run across it''s midsection, now crisscrossing with docking ports, were intended to be modular, able to be disconnected and reconnected in void to allow for easy loading.

    The Eliza will never birth a colony, however, as it''s owners seek to use it for other means. Means that would prevent it from never, ever coming even close to a habitable world. It''s existence cursed to be here, in the space between spaces, forever alone, save for the brief moments of a tender ship arriving to resupply it.

    Thousands of leagues away from the lonely ship, reality begins to fold in on itself. Another ship emerges into the silent void from nothingness. It''s boxy hull races toward the Eliza with haste, it''s engines burning white as it closes the gap.

    <hr>

    Aboard the Eliza

    Ruger Hyaline adjusts the slide by nanometers to get a better view. The sample is sub optimal, but considering the conditions he''s under, he won''t complain. If anything it gives him fond memories of youth, of his university days. Working with whatever he got, and still coming out with results. He remembers his art professor telling him the best art comes from adversity, and while it was a pointless elective he took, he still remembers Professor Sumy well.

    He returns to the present, neatly tucking away the memories of yore and carefully adjusting the microscope. The cells remain dead, the nerve tissue has begun to fray and he spies the tell-tale signs of bacteria bursting its proteins across the slide. He spies the virus, his foe. It remains still, unmoving, the hexagonal entity then spins to life and latches upon a nerve cell, the cell turns dark red before restoring itself and starts the process of rewiring itself and it''s connected siblings. Before it can propagate, Dr. Hyaline purges the samples and falls back into his chair.

    He looks up to the grey ceiling, his hands reach up to his eyes and rub them, part of him wishes to tear them out of his head out of frustration but the thought is, again, neatly folded and put away. He reaches down to his shirt collar, retrieving his glasses and putting them on. His hands run through non-existent hair, his college days of having a full head of hair feel just in reach, and are yet so far away. As far away as the stars are.

    He looks down at his workstation, mulling over what the next course shall be. They''re running out of samples, and a new batch will be... difficult to precure. The captain, Sul, already told Hyaline that it''s time to look for fresh pastures, mostly due to the pirates and another due to the bounty hunters they attract.

    ''Like flies on shit. We don''t want them, we don''t need them,'' Sul had said in his thick, Euro accent.

    That would mean less time testing, less time testing meant wasting these researchers time, and they were getting long in the tooth. Hyaline wouldn''t ever dream of leaving this behind, it''s all he had left. The rest of them were young, and had opportunities elsewhere. The few that would stay would be the burnouts and the dunces, ''scientists'' who had long left ambition behind for the desire of a stable paycheck and a way to hide from the law.

    "Doctor?"

    Hyaline doesn''t look over, he knows exactly who it is, and it causes him to silently cringe, "Yes, Mill?"

    Dr. Mill Yarbrough is a mousey konii, with long ears and black and white fur which stripes across her body, common and natural for her species, and while she is an accredited Doctor of Pathology, he often doubts it. Her lack of confidence is something he doesn''t wish to deal with, nor does he quite like how he has to always hold her hand doing anything complex. There''s always a mistake, always, and the rare occasion she''s done it correctly, it''s usually nothing too interesting to Hyaline. So as he adjusts himself in his chair, he braces himself for mediocrity.

    "The tender ship has made contact with us," Mill fidgets with her left ear, scratching around the new piercing she got from one of the security officers she''s been fraternizing with.

    That causes Hyaline to pay attention. He thumbs through his mind and remembers quite well that they already made contact with the tender ship a week ago. The stores are full, damn near bursting, even the fuel reserves threatened to overfill. So why? Why come back?

    "What''s it''s designation?" Hyaline asks.

    "Hmm," Her ears flop against her head as she thinks, "I think... I think it was the Memento? Yes, yes the Memento Mori."

    "Ah, I see," Hyaline says nodding.

    He knows what the ship really is, and he knows it''s already too late. The name gave it away, although Hyaline likes to think that''s on purpose, a subtle nod to the doctor that it''s over. The powers that be figured him out and they''re now here to wipe the board clean. He feels his hand tremble as he takes off his glasses, feeling them one last time as he cleans a smudge off them.

    "Dr. Hyaline," Mill enters the room, concern in her eyes, "Is... Everything alright?"

    He forces a smile, "Yes, sorry, the dead ends are just getting to me." He stands up, removing his lab coat and neatly hanging it up. He takes a moment, really trying to commit what it looks like to memory before turning around, "If you''ll excuse me, I think I''m going to call it early today."If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    "Oh, uh," Mill is taken aback by this, "Well, is there anything I can do? Maybe I can get you another sample--"

    "That won''t be necessary," Hyaline forces himself to walk calmly, even though his mind is already counting the minutes he has left, "Why don''t you take the rest of the day off, enjoy yourself."

    "Oh! Why, well if you''re offering, sure!" Mill nods, "Thank you, Dr. Hyaline I--"

    "Yes, yes off with you now, youth is a precious thing, don''t waste it."

    "Oh, right, bye then," Mill slinks out of the office and around the corner, leaving Hyaline a moment to take in the lab for a moment.

    For all the faults he could find in Mill, he couldn''t fault her for being slobby. The lab shines, even the floors reflect back the sullen and worn face that Hyaline wears. He takes a moment to look over the various stations, taking in the matt grey table tops, the viral tanks which glow with gentle blue UV light, and the desk that goes up the middle, papers and data-tabs lining it orderly. He takes a moment to commit it to memory, and turns off the lights one last time.

    It''s a slow walk out of R&D that day, most of the staff is still committed to work, and Hyaline wouldn''t have it any other way. He''s much more comfortable this way, silently knowing what is going to happen. He is well aware of the panic it would cause, and will cause, once the identity of the tender ship becomes known. He knows there will be questions, pleas and attempts to take him to safety. All of that would be useless, he knows what''s coming and he knows better than to think he''ll escape this alive.

    "Hey boss! Hey!"

    Hyaline turns to face his colleague, Dr. Ray Haussen. A portly human, with a single cybernetic leg that clicks and clangs as he hurries after him, his salt and pepper hair lightly gleaning with sweat. The strange odor of machine oil and greasy food wafts over Hyaline as he approaches.

    "Whatever it is, Dr. Haussen, it can wait till tomorrow." Hyaline waves him away, "Much too tired, I''m afraid."

    "Huh, ain''t that odd," Haussen caught up to Hyaline, "You don''t strike me as the slacking kind."

    "I am not," Hyaline did his best to hide his frustation, "Just, uh, bad samples, putting me in a mood."

    "Yeah, yeah I feel that," Haussen''s expression sours slightly.

    Hyaline knew that the man was a bit soft, in a physical and spiritual sense, never understanding how dire things were and the need for ''fresh'' samples outweighed the moral quandaries. Haussen fought tooth and nail to keep the clone tanks, which Hyaline had pointed out introduced it''s own set of moral greyness. Hyaline could tell Haussen had quietly quit after that, and a not too small part of him hoped that Haussen is here to hand in his resignation from the team.

    "Wanted to ask you about something on the database. A file, your name''s on it." Haussen explains, "Taking up almost an exabyte worth of space."

    "I don''t know what you''re talking about, now, good day." Hyaline hastens his walk slightly.

    Before he can round the corner Haussen cuts him off, placing a thick hand against the wall, his brown eyes narrowing at Hyaline.

    "I don''t know what your game is, old timer," Haussen starts, "Being honest, I don''t really give a shit what your... off-the-clock activities are. My issue is whatever it is seems to be more of an interest than working with the rest of us."

    That gets the Hyaline, "Are you insinuating that I''m disrupting the work?"

    "You''re the lead researcher who doesn''t share his notes," Haussen motions broadly to the research wing, "Would be nice if you did your job and led us."

    "I''m not your professor, nor your mother," Hyaline growls, "Do not think you have any right to speak to me--"

    Alarms ring and red lights flood the research wing, soon after a roar echoes through the halls, and gun fire joins it soon after. The animosity growing on Haussen''s face vanishes, clearly, he knows what''s happening, and knows he''s a dead man walking. Around the wing cries and shouts barely register under the blaring alarm. The first couple researchers and techs come out orderly, but as the gunfire intensifies, they start running, their panic getting the better of them. They push and shove, some fall to the ground and are trampled while others rage against one another as they fight to escape.

    "Pirates. Out here?" Haussen''s shock comes out muted, he blinks and the shock is gone, replaced with cold detachment, "We need to get to the safe rooms, activate the beacons."

    "Go on ahead." Hyaline motions, "I''ll be in my quarters."

    "What?" Haussen''s confusion lasts for only a moment, before realization falls over him, and his gaze turns dark. His meaty hands latch onto Hyaline''s neck and presses him against the wall, "I was fucking right! You sold us out--"

    A panicking tech pushes into them, Haussen is sent to the ground, and as more techs and researchers rush by, Hyaline sticks to the wall and walks away. His usual walk to his quarters would''ve been far quicker had there been no panic. He estimates that Haussen''s attempt at getting answers out of him will delay him by a minute or two. Which is a shame, he thinks, it means he will probably not have the time for a smoke.

    As he leaves the research wing armsmen rush past. Clad in black and blue armored voidsuits they stomp by, wielding hard-light shields in one hand and rapid fire SMGs in the other. One of them takes a moment to look at Hyaline, his helmet tilting slightly before shaking and returning to the formation. Marching behind them, bulky security drones march along in the narrow hall, nearly stomping upon Hyaline''s feet as he barely dodges the ion blaster that is one of it''s arms.

    He makes his way into residential, which is mostly empty, much to Hyaline''s relief, he didn''t want to deal with another crowd. As he rounds the corner to his quarters he sees a group of armsmen are setting up a weapon platform of some sort, one of them sees the doctor and pulls his visor up. The felius fur is a soft red, making his green eyes shine all the brighter. His fur has been dyed to mimic shooting stars across his face. A part of Hyaline grumbles internally, they really were scrapping the bottom of the barrel, he thinks to himself.

    "Sir!" He hisses, "Please make your way to the panic rooms! You''ll be safe there."

    Hyaline knows that isn''t the case. Everyone on this boat is a dead man. He could lecture the young sapient on that, but chooses not to. He has very little time left anyway. Hyaline then opens the door to his quarters and steps in.

    He takes off his suit jacket and hangs it by the door and unbuttons the collar of his shirt, removing the tie and placing it with the rest of the laundry. He puts his shoes up in the hall closet and walks through the sitting room. There he finds a clean glass sitting next to a full service bar. He reaches past the other liquors and hones in on one dusty bottle.

    ''Rawne''s Reserve,'' the label is written in gold leafy font, the ''r''s swirling around and connecting to one another. He had hoped to open this when they had a real break through, but that wouldn''t be happening, not here anyway. The plastic covering the cork falls to the floor and the bottle opens with a pop.

    The amber liquid fills the glass, he takes a moment to hold it up to the lowlight of his quarters, the sound of gun fire and alarms fading into obscurity as he brings the glass up to his nose and sniffs it. He commits the smoky, peaty smell to memory before taking a sip from the glass. He lets it play across his tongue, and as he swallows it, he admires the smoothness of how it all goes down. He takes the glass to his study, sitting down in his chair before his terminal.

    He checks the drawer as the computer boots up, and finds the loaded revolver inside. It''s an antique, with pearl grips and polished steel plating. He checks it, ensuring it''s loaded, and then sets it on his desk as he opens up a connection to his contact. As it loads, he finds the data cord connected to his terminal and plugs it into a slot right at the nape of his neck. He sees a menu pop up, recognizing him and begins the process of analyzing and copying his memories.

    The gun fire intensifies outside, clearly, the battle has reached his doorstep. A shame, he had really hoped for a cigar. The screen flashes green, a notification that the program has finished running. He checks and sees he''s established a Liminal Link with his contact. He then initiates the upload, the file Haussen was interested in begins the process of uploading into and then through the Net.

    Hyaline toasts the monitor as the computer does it''s work, draining the glass. He then takes the revolver and pushes it against his temple. He hesitates for a moment, but finds the strength to put his finger on the trigger and pulls.

    "WARNING! CONNECTION FAILURE!" Is the last thing he sees.

 Chapter 2: Glimmers in The Dark

    Ruins of the void ship, Foxy Lady

    Light pours through the hull breaches of the Foxy Lady, pale starlight bleeding into the dark, icy hull of the yacht, time seemingly frozen within it. Whatever isn''t nailed down floats in gentle repose, glossy with ice, and tells some sort of tale of the people who had once been upon it.

    Framed images of long-dead people float underneath the pale starlight, glinting as they twist and turn. The photos themselves are of happier times: couples holding one another, families gathered, holding one another by the shoulder, smiling at the camera. Others are of a more material nature, such as gems and jewelry, their luster hidden underneath a frosty coating that contains a luster in itself. They bob and wriggle with ghosts of whatever force caused them to fly from whatever case they had been in.

    Other personal effects float among them, yet a glitter can be seen in a dark corner of what had been the foyer of that ship. It shines bright in the stark dark and bobs slightly, held by an unseen tendril. This is no treasure; it is bait held out by a mechanical predator.

    The machine is a Jorogumo, named after a spirit that would lure men to their death; that is only half of its function. Its maker, Arashi Robotics, created the beast of iron to act as a guardian of scrap - its home was found in the hulls of ships that were earmarked for salvage. Inside its conical body, a low-frequency tracker allows its owner to keep tabs on where their precious scrap is in the ever-flowing void. As well as keep others from poking around within them. The machine did this with long, weaponized tendrils designed to pierce the void suit of would-be thieves. It could even feed upon the bio matter of said unfortunates, which this one, the one aboard the Foxy Lady had already done three times.

    It had no emotions about it; such machines were only allowed so much intelligence, so it could not contemplate its own existence, or so Arashi claims to avoid any accusation of manufacturing malicious machines. The truth is the Jorogumo did have the desire to prey upon unwitting voiders; it was programmed to find thrill in its hunt and relish the feasting on organics. So, as it waits in the void for another salvager to come by, it waits with anticipation.

    Something stirs on the ship; the Jorogumo''s other tendrils, locked onto the wall of the Foxy Lady feel subtle vibrations go through its hull. Someone, or something, has come aboard its hunting ground. The foyer acts as the ship''s central hub, so whatever comes aboard the vessel has to pass through it. Its eight sensors spread out, the bait tendril kept outward to draw whatever unexpecting salvager into the light and into the Jorogumo''s sucking maw.

    Something else is in the shadows now, the Jorogumo''s sensors picking up trace amounts of ion radiation. This perks up the hunter as its sensors follow the signature as it grows closer to the bait. It slowly sways its bait with ease, the light on the tendril gleaming in the dark like a fisherman giving its bait a tug.

    The signature grows closer, and now a shape can be mostly seen in the deep black of the Foxy Lady. It''s large, far larger than the Jorogumo is used to seeing aboard the vessel. The shape fills most of the hallway, leading into the broken remnants of the foyer. There is, perhaps, a tinge of apprehension as the Jorogumo pulls the bait back slightly, the size alone causing it to run through possible evasive actions it can take.

    Suddenly, three eyes shine back at the Jorogumo from the darkness as the shape powers up fully. Instead of catching the attention of some bottom feeder, it caught the glare of another predator. Jorogumo can see it now as the suit powers up. The thing is two meters tall, encased in void steel armor, no power armor. One arm begins to charge with power, and the Jorogumo''s data banks are used primarily to judge the worth of scrap, identifying it as an Mrk II Ion Lance. Primarily used by Bellators during the War of Survival.

    Bellator. Star Knights. Extremum Verbum.

    A dying breed, the ones who held off the Ravenous and helped usher in the Great Reconstruction. They''re legendary; even in an age of cyber-soldiers and mech jockeys, the Bellator is still a respected and feared foe. And the Jorogumo has now realized it''s lured one right to it. As the Bellator enters the pale starlight, its features become clear.

    Its helmet holds a grinning maw of teeth, and its three lenses shine a dull blue. Its armor is black as the void. A ''Q'' framed by hearts rests over its chest, the armor wielding the ion lance burgundy red. It''s a killer, a soldier, something the Jorogumo isn''t cut out to fight, but this is its hunting grounds, salvage, and it will die protecting them.

    A star is born as the ion lance fires, glassy ice flash melting as the bolt of energy strikes out at the Jorogumo, which can barely evade the strike, the blast sundering the bulkhead. It scuttles further into the ship, attempting to find an advantage in the tight halls of the yacht, but the Bellator does not relent. It bursts through the wall and fires another charged shot at the Jorogumo, which is only just able to avoid, losing two limbs under the fire of the Bellator.

    The machine realizes that running won''t save it; it has to fight back.

    It turns and launches towards the intruder, the serrated tips of its tendrils lashing out at the Bellator. The soldier evades the strikes with an ease that causes the machine to feel something akin to anger. While others would struggle to maneuver in the void of space, the bellator flows gracefully through it. As the Jorogumo tries to bite it with its maw, it''s met with a kinetic maul, the blast from it bursting two of its legs off and crippling two more. It skips and scraps across the bulkhead before coming to rest against the bulkhead. Its remaining sensors see the last ion blast before it no longer functions.

    <hr>

    Domitia looks over the floating debris, waiting for a moment before confirming that the Jorogumo is, in fact, dead. She glides forward on her ion thrusters, halting before the machine and inspecting the molten scrap. She finds the tracker within the remains of the beast of iron and crushes it with her hand, ensuring it can''t alert its friends. She has a good idea who planted this here, and it frustrates her as it''s yet another dead end.

    A friend, Sheriff Wilkson, had contacted her and her partner for help - reports of fake distress signals had reached Mayden Station, luring good-natured sailors to their doom. The ask came with a good sum of cash, so the bounty hunters had little reason not to do some patrols in the Big Empty. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    This had been another dead end; the last one had been a broken terminal with a virus that kept playing the same song over and over again. There had been a brief discussion about bringing it on board to see if it could be repaired, but Domitia lost her nerve upon the fifteenth playthrough of the song and blasted it into oblivion, solving the problem once and for all.

    Admittedly, the Foxy Lady had been a far more interesting endeavor. Ships like this were commonly found in big empty spaces. Overpriced boats bought on loans that were defaulted on during the Horizon Crash had led many captains to try and evade the long arm of the Coalition Revenue Service by simply living their lives as far away from civilization as possible. This often led to the discovery that many of these yachts were not void-worthy, and the hull integrity was found to be not worth the price.

    Still, even as the Jorogumo floats away as molten scrap, Domitia knows she''s not done yet. If this thing had been on here, its kills would probably still be aboard. She ventures deeper into the ship, passing through frozen halls, and finds the only room with a closed door. Domitia finds out that the hinges have been bent into place to keep it from floating off. As she pushes into the room, she finds a tomb.

    Three bodies float lifelessly in the void; multiple breaches can be seen across their void suits, indicating they were victims of the creature. Other wounds are deep gouges where flesh has been sucked away, not by decompression, but by the biting maw of the Jorogumo. Their void suits tell a story of who they are. One of them had been a veteran, his Coalition Marine Corps patch on his arm still on display, the pistol still in its holster, a classic P1119 service weapon. His void suit is a deep blue, with ferro-ceramic plates glinting under Domitia''s lights. The other two are in matching void suits, orange with black gloves and grey helmets. ''Orson''s Salvage'' is written on a tag on their chest, indicating they were with a company. A company that left them for dead aboard this floating tomb.

    Domitia finds sheets and blankets within the room, figuring this had been the master bedroom of the Foxy Lady. She takes them and wraps the corpses in them, attaches them to a tither she keeps on her belt, and pulls them out of the darkened room. She pulls the dead from the Foxy Lady, taking the tithers and attaching them to the hull of the ship, allowing them to float in gentle repose in the pale starlight. It''s not much, a sailor''s burial, and while she does not hold any faith, she hopes that whatever God or Deity they would''ve worshipped would take them from this frozen hull.

    The Bellator looks up, seeing a boxy, stub-wing freighter floating above her. It''s a battered old workhorse of a ship. Converted from military to civilian use during the Reconstruction, it''s a relic, but more in the sense of a coin minted some time ago. Interesting, but not valuable, a novelty, but not noteworthy. It is the Providence, her and her partner''s ship.

    "Done down there?" The grainy voice of said partner comes over to her in the built comm unit, "Got places to be."

    "Be up in a second, Dell."

    <hr>

    Aboard The Providence

    The airlock of the Providence pressurized and began decontamination of Domitia''s armor. After a moment, she steps aboard the vessel and removes her helmet. Her light blue hair, a side effect of becoming a Bellator, shines with a degree of sweat. Her copper eyes blink a few times as she adjusts to looking through them rather than the lenses of her helmet. Her face is angular, her skin tone slightly tan, the left side of her face is scarred heavily, and her right side remains unscathed, for now. She stomps through the ship, eventually arriving at the armory.

    There, she finds the harness for the armor, which she steps into. The harness then grabs ahold of the armor, and Domitia powers it down. The backplates part and then pull upward and downward, and with practiced grace, she steps out from the armor, still encased in a black undersuit. She pulls it off, and as she does so, she takes the Queen of Hearts card and puts in her suit on a strap of the armor.

    She then takes a shower, washes the sweat off, and puts on fresh clothes: a loose-fitting cream sweater, black pants, and boots. Finally, she arrives at where her partner is, at the bridge. It has something akin to a view, though her enhanced physiology means she has to bend down a bit to see out of the bubble cockpit. There, sat in the seat, is a grumlian, a short, stout humanoid with a long and strong tail dressed in thick red and blue coveralls, which, in a pinch, can be pressurized and used as a part of a void suit. He has a large pompadour, which he takes extremely good care of. He looks up, his eyes obscured by a pair of sapphire-tinted goggles.

    "Well, nice of ya to join me at last." Dell greets his partner.

    "Needed a shower, can''t blame me for that." Domitia takes a seat next to Dell, but the chair does not exactly fit her.

    "And yet you still stink, somehow," Dell clicks a few buttons, "Picked this up on the long wave, thought you might be interested."

    He flips a switch and a mess of static starts buzzing out of the speaker. Yet after sometime, Domitia starts to hear something, a voice, or something she assumes is a voice.

    "This... Hyaline... Distress... Eliza... Send..." The words are difficult to hear but are there in the mess of things.

    "Might be our guy," Dell supposes, "Think about it, if he did this over Liminal Channels, a lot more than just us would be able to hear it."

    "Would be at least system-wide, would attract too much attention." Domitia surmises.

    Dell snaps his fingers and points at Domitia, "Bingo. Heard it from another pilot that Rust Stalkers are in the area. They love doing shit like this."

    Pirates come in all flavors, but the clans are the real movers and shakers. They all descend from the War of Fallen Stars, a war that birthed the new age of piracy and killed any further colonization efforts in this part of space. Part of Domitia hated them; most of them were the worst kind of folks, killers who had no qualm doing whatever it took to make a dime. On the other hand, she has sympathy for them; after all, had Corps like Horizon not been so heavy-handed and exploitative, there wouldn''t have been a war.

    "They''re clanners, open season on them," Domitia says with a hum.

    "Right with you on that. Rust Stalkers are a special kind of awful, too. Shit, I''d do it for free, fucking monsters." Dell says bitterly.

    "Would you now?" Domitia asks.

    Dell laughs, "No! Of course not. You think I''m a bounty hunter for the love of it?"

    "I thought better of you," Domitia smirks and looks away.

    "Oh, come on," Dell starts punching in coordinates, "Listen, the way I see it, I''m stuck doing this, and so are you; if we gotta hunt down folks for the law, we might as well target the real scumbags." The Providence comes to life as the engines roar and the Liminal Drive warms up, "Alright, I got a good idea of where this is. Odds we''re walking into an ambush, so I made sure to drop us a good light year out of the target area. Scope it out, see what we can find."

    "Hopefully, it ain''t another Oni Bot." Domitia growls.

    "Shit, that was what was on there?" Dell remarks, "Fuck, should''ve just told me, would''ve blasted that thing to pieces."

    "Wanted to handle it personally. Make sure it died." The Bellator says something deep within her resonates with that.

    That deep part of her is the Legacy. It''s the core augment, the very soul of a Bellator. After it''s implanted, initiates are then placed into a coma, allowing the Legacy to augment the host. It contains combat data and muscle memory from its previous bearers, allowing for training to be rapidly accelerated, as well as giving Bellators a reactive mind that aids them in the heat of battle. A side effect of it is that the Legacy has a mind of its own, and a Bellator must keep the peace between their own mind and the soul of the Legacy or risk losing themselves to it. Some, like Domitia, treat it as a weapon, one that needs to be kept in check lest they lose their humanity. Others see it and embrace it as a spiritual guide, believing the First, the First Bellator, guides them through it, as she has numerous times down the Genetic Chain.

    "Weird, but alright," Dell clicks another switch and pushes forward a lever, "Let''s get some more money then."

    The bubble cockpit''s protective visor begins to pull down, shielding it as the ship begins to fold into space-time and then slip into Liminal Space.

 Chapter 3, Short Wave

    Aboard the Providence

    The Providence returns to reality.

    As soon as it does, Dell powers the ship down and begins a deep scan of the area. He does low-frequency analysis first; he knows too well that burning radar is an easy way to get someone''s attention. Like before, he only finds one faint signal: broken words hidden in a static fog. He ponders if it''s automated; no organic voice would be able to go for this long without resting, and if they didn''t rest, Dell figures he''d be able to hear some difference in tone.

    "Hyaline... need �� the Eliza has lost... Doctor..."

    The words are still a mess, but they''re coming through more frequently. Dell changes the channel and slowly begins to power the Providence back to full. He approaches the signal he assumes is the Eliza. As he does so, he turns on some music; a soft synth wave starts playing over the speaker as he steps out of the cockpit. He walks down to the galley, pulls out a glass stein, and fills it with ice-cold water that frosts the glass. He chugs it halfway before filling it back up again and taking it along. He sips on it some more along his journey back to his seat, tail swishing back and forth behind him.

    He returns to his seat, places the water in the cupholder, and starts cycling through his scopes, trying to get a better view of the ship they''re approaching. After some adjusting, a colony freighter comes into focus on the screen to his right. Eliza is written across the port side, the dull maroon superstructure, and the detachable modules running across the hull are bold white.

    There is another ship, one docked along its port side. A boxy freighter that Dell can''t identify, although it looks as lifeless as the Eliza. As he switches his scope to scan for rads, both ships emit low levels of Ion, which is normal for ships dead in the void. As he switches to heat, both are damn cold, the boxy freighter completely powered down, while the Eliza''s engines are just alive enough to keep it on course.

    Dell does one last check, which is a radar sweep of the immediate area. It''s risky, but all it returns is the Eliza and its boxy friend, which causes Dell to feel more curiosity rather than concern. He feels this isn''t a set up for an ambush; he can comfortably rule that out now. ''Were pirates involved?'' He ponders. Part of him thinks so; looking at that boxy, unmarked freighter gives him an itch. The fully black paint job that would blend into the void gives him a feeling that whoever was onboard didn''t want anyone seeing him coming.

    He tries scanning the boxy freighter, but his scanner can''t even lock onto it. That concerns him, all ships should have colors associated with their Liminal Array, which should be easily picked up by his scanner. The lack of return means either the Arrya is off, or, his scanner is getting fooled. It could be pirates, but he can tell through the scope that the freighter is too nice, to well maintained to be a pirate vessel. It leads him to another conclusion.

    "Fucking corpos." Dell growls.

    Flying a boat without an ID Tag is an easy way to get fined at least and perhaps get boarded by station security upon docking. Even pirates flew ID Tags, although they were often counterfeit or false flags. Only ships that had a lot of money, enough to pay any fine and bribe any boarding patrol, would risk sailing without an ID Tag. Which means they have money to pay fines, which means they have a corp backing them.

    Domitia steps into the cockpit, leans over and looks at the screen displaying the two ships, "Who''s it''s friend?"

    "No idea. Doesn''t even register as a ship."

    "That''s a problem," Domitia observes.

    "You''re telling me." Dell replies, flips the screen off, and starts the approach to the ship, "I''m going to guess this was some sort of corpo deal gone sideways. We oughta be careful."

    "We''re still getting that distress signal?"

    "Yeah, it''s getting stronger; my guess is he''s one of the few people left alive." Dell looks up to Domitia, "Honestly, I don''t think we should fuck with this. Gut''s telling me we''re walking into some serious shit."

    "Can''t think of a worse fate than to be left to die in the cold void alone," Domitia states, "We should help, within reason, of course."

    "Alright, I''ll see about getting us on board."

    Guiding the Providence closer to the ship, details of the Eliza become clearer. Scans of the vessel reveal that the hard-light shielding is barely functioning, only covering key modules of the Eliza. What''s more interesting is the lack of activity; a vessel that big would have people moving around and lights turning on and off. None of that is happening. Instead, Dell finds most of the visible windows are dark, and the few lights he can see are emergency lights. As they get closer, the voice finally comes over fully.

    "This is Doctor Ruger Hyaline, a researcher for Lazarus Biotechnical! I am in distress! Pirates have boarded our vessel, and we''re dead in the void! If anyone can hear this, please respond!"

    The sentence confirms Dell''s suspicions about it being corp shit. Lazarus is a pharmaceutical giants, making every drug under the stars. They only have a few competitors, but their wonder drug, Brass, put them on the stage. A combat designer drug that helps Augs, persons with cybernetics, sync better with Augments. Favorite among big cyber-heads and mech pilots who need that edge. It also turns you into a hyper-aggressive junky and may even kill you if you try to go clean, but hey, a small price for some folks. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    "We wanna respond?" Dell asks his partner.

    "This is Doctor Ruger Hyaline, a researcher for Lazarus Biotechnical!" The voice repeats almost perfectly, "I am in distress! Pirates have boarded our vessel, and we''re dead in the void! If anyone can hear this, please respond!"

    "Is it automated?" Domitia asks, leaning forward a bit to hear it better

    "That''s what I''m trying to figure out," Dell adjusts the volume, really trying to listen. "Do you hear him breathe at all?"

    "No."

    "Ah, what the hell, we''re here." Dell then flips his mic on: "This is Dell Calliger piloting the Providence. We picked up your signal. Are you still kicking?"

    "If anyone--" The voice pauses, "Oh! Oh, thank God! Finally, someone heard me!"

    The voice speaks in almost the same exact tone as the message before. There''s no laughter of relief, no sigh, or catching of breath. Hearing the voice puts Dell on edge a bit.

    "Listen! I need assistance. I''m trapped in my quarters, and I need your help." Hyaline explains, "I need help activating the Liminal Array; something is preventing me from transmitting."

    "You can use ours if you need to call--"

    "No, I can''t, no!" Hyaline cuts Dell off, "Listen, it needs to be through a secure channel; I can explain once you''re onboard."

    Dell looks up to Domitia, raising an eyebrow. Something''s off, Dell thinks, this guy wants help fixing his transmitter. Liminal Transmitters are not exactly Dell''s expertise; that''s mostly due to LCS making it damn near impossible to repair one without a company-sanctioned tech. More often than not, getting a Transmitter working is witchcraft out this deep in space.

    "You said you were trapped?" Domitia asks.

    "Yes, yes I am!" Hyaline says, "Damn doors locked, probably something to do with the security lockdown. If you can help me clear that, I can restore my access to the ship! Get you where you need to go!"

    "Hmm," Domitia mulls it over.

    "Listen, Doc," Dell starts. "I understand you need to send your SOS to your big bosses, but we need to know what we''re walking into. Are there pirates on board still? I see this unmarked vessel is still attached."

    "Yes! Yes, that blasted thing! They managed to trick our systems into thinking it was a tender ship. Sul, our captain, let it come aboard, the bastard."

    "Yeah, yeah, it sounds dumb, but you didn''t answer my question," Dell reiterates. "Are there pirates still onboard?"

    "As far as I''m aware, a few of them are kicking around. I think something happened to their ship. I don''t know, though. I''ve just been trapped in here ever since the lockdown started." Hyaline explains, "Please, every second we waste is another I don''t have. The life support is down, I have to conserve air, and I know carbon levels are rising in my cabin. There''s a lot of money in it for the both of you if you help me, I swear it!"

    Dell switches the mic to mute. He then hops atop the back of the chair to be at Domitia''s eye level. "What do you think?"

    "Might be a trap," Domitia answers simply. "Could also be legit. Might''ve just gotten lucky."

    "Stranger things have happened," Dell looks through the cockpit glass at the imposing shape of the Eliza, "Could also be a big payday."

    "Doesn''t make sense," Domitia scratches her chin. "Pirates rarely operate alone. And if something is wrong with their ship, why not repair the one they''re stuck on and take it?"

    "Could just be a matter of resources," Dell guesses, "Engineering might''ve taken a big hit. Pirates don''t have the kit to fix her up, so they''re stuck until their buds show up."

    Domitia mulls it over. "Let''s play it cautiously, then. We''ll do a deep sweep of the ship to see if we see any indicators of weapons or personnel, and then we''ll go on board."

    "Good idea," Dell sits back down. "You better get suited up then. I''ll prep the way for our date." Dell then unmutes the mic. "Alright, Doc, we''ll come aboard. Just give us a second to scan your vessel."

    "Why?! I''m the only one left on this damn thing!" Hyaline asks, vexation in his words.

    "It''s a big ship; I''m sure you still got a few neighbors poking around; just keep yourself entertained." Dell then mutes the mic, "Fucking asshole."

    The scans of the Eliza hint at a battle that has long been over. Dell picks up trace amounts of ion rads, more than likely a byproduct of weapon discharge. The hull integrity is also failing, with multiple breaches and leaks indicating that the life support bought the farm. That worries Dell a bit, typically when the hull starts to fall apart the rest of the ship tends to follow. He doesn''t want to be on board when it all comes crashing down.

    However, the things that are missing tell an interesting story. Dell only picks up the Doc''s transmissions, which is expected but Dell didn''t find any other short-wave transmissions. In most cases, careless pirates will leave internal wireless comms on so they can easily talk with one another. These radio waves, while encrypted, still show up under a sweep, but the lack of any signals indicates one of two things. Either they all died, which seems unlikely, or they''re operating while on strict radio silence. While not out of the ordinary, it''d be odd to enforce that on a ship that is presumably under your control.

    "Are you still scanning?" Hyaline impatiently asks. "Shake a leg already! The sooner I get that SOS out, the better."

    Dell weighs whether or not he should unmute the mic to bark at the Doctor, but instead, he decides to hone in on that signal. Something had been bothering him, an itch in his ear every time he heard the doctor. His words, his pronunciation, how he never heard him ebreathe. It gave Dell flashbacks to the joy toys on his home rock, Gia Locke.

    He ends up finding the Docs location, rather easily in fact, he''s not even bothering to try and hide his location. He''s toward the stern of the ship, right under the observation deck. If Dell had to guess he''s probably in and around what might be a habitation unit, probably his quarters. He makes a mental note on where it is.

    "God damn it! We don''t have it all day! Would you mind hurrying up!" Hyaline demands, "Not getting any younger."

    Dell flips the mic back, "Keep your suit on doc," He decides to test him a bit, "Wouldn''t want you running through your O2."

    "Yes... yes I should be worried about that," The tone of voice shifts as the Doc speaks. Dell reads it as either being a realization of his current situation, or him now recognizing a piece of the lie is a bit out of place, "I shall try to contain myself. But you must understand, I''ve been stuck here for sometime now, I''d much like to be rescued."

    "If that''s the case, you can hitch a ride with my partner and I. We''ll drop--"

    "That won''t be necessary," Hyaline is quick to interject. "Simply aid in repairing the Array, and I''ll be rescued in short order. I promise. There''s no need to stick around."

    "Right." Dell looks the ship over, his scope honing in on an open airlock. I''m seeing an open airlock on the starboard side. We''re gonna make our approach there. Copy?"

    "Yes! Yes, copy! I can direct you two once you''re onboard. Security is toward the center of the ship, which is good! It''ll mean you''ll be on your way to the array!"

 Chapter 4, Lockdown

    Aboard the Eliza

    The Providence docks without incident onto the Eliza. The airlock of the freighter opens into a dark, icy hall with the tell-tale signs of destruction. Domitia steps into the hull, her armor detects the lack of gravity and mag-locks as soon as she''s out of the Providence''s artificial gravity.

    Domitia scans the hall, switching her helmet to heat, looking for any signs of life. She finds cold blotches of blood bobbing through the vessel, ice coating the red spheres. Her visor then cycles to rads, looking for any energy sources. She finds the usual suspects of light sources, though their signals indicate they''ve long since bled their backups dry. She switches to low light and begins to take in her surroundings.

    The ion strikes are seen across the grey slab walls like craters on a moon. Blood spatter paints grizzly mosaics across the floors and the walls. Bits and pieces of armor, bone, and void steel float aimlessly through the empty halls. Yet, for whatever reason, no bodies float among the rubble. Clearly, people died here; the frozen puddles of blood render vague outlines where corpses'' had been. Dell floats up to Domitia''s shoulder, grabbing hold of the pauldron; he scans the hallway, his light shining over the rubble.

    "Well, I guess we missed the party." He concludes, finding a sign above the airlock: "Okay, Doc, we just stepped out of airlock ten-c; we close by?"

    "Close enough," Hyaline''s vexation hasn''t left his words. Head to the aft, follow the outer doorway. The lockdown has closed most of the main entry ways into security."

    "Alrighty, and how are we gonna disable it?" Dell asks.

    "Should be an override in the chief''s office." Hyaline answers, "If not, a manual power reset would reset the system. But that would mean going toward engineering, which I''d advise against."

    "Care to elaborate?" Domitia asks as she begins to head aft-way, following the signs towards security.

    "It''d put you away from the dish and would cost us time, and I''m done waiting." Hyaline expresses, "The hull suffered damage at some point, I don''t know exactly what occurred, but I am concerned this ship--" A sound akin to great hands ripping steel like paper radiates through the Eliza"--Doesn''t have enough time left."

    "We got room aboard our own," Dell offers, "We can give--"

    "That will not be necessary," Hyaline is quick to cut Dell off. "Fixing the beacon will be enough."

    "Was there a rescue ship nearby?" Domitia asks.

    "Yes... I believe our captain had been attempting to contact a nearby tender ship," Hyaline says, his words far calmer than before. "We were due for a resupply, after all."

    "That''s how the captain got tricked?" Dell asks.

    "Yes! Sul thought the Memento Mori was a tender vessel of our fleet," Hyaline exclaims, "Senile old bastard, it should''ve been verified before it was ever allowed to board."

    The two bounty hunters venture deeper into the Eliza, its halls bending occasionally, the doors all having been blasted or cut open. Clearly, Domitia thinks, the boarders were a determined bunch of bastards. They pass through a hall, finding the first corpse of note - a machine. Most of the security drones inners were ripped out, wires and servos spilling out like viscera. Its arm cannon is attached only by a single shred of steel that looks ready to give in. The head is completely gone, an ion strike vaporizing it. Domitia''s HUD automatically searches and finds it to be a Webster Security Automaton. The bulky giant has been reduced to a floating blob of melted steel.

    "Those things don''t go down easy," Dell observes, "Rare to see them in the void, too bulky."

    "Might be the idea," Domitia muses, "Big and tanky, fills up a hallway easily, and if it dies, it turns into a barricade."

    "Smart," Dell observes.

    "Oh. You found one of those drones?" Hyaline asks, "Clumsy things, was on the brink of throwing them off the ship. Sul said otherwise."

    "Sul the security chief?" Domitia asks.

    "And captain." Hyaline goes on, "Old veteran. He was the right fit for the job, that I won''t dispute. Our previous captain couldn''t cut it. Wouldn''t fly the ship as told."

    They push through the ruins of the Webster drone and press through a partly collapsed bulkhead. There, they find a wide loading dock, a swirling red light acting as a red sun for what had been a bloody battlefield. The wide airlock leading into the black ship had anti-breach foam bleeding from the edges and other smaller cracks that had begun to form. The airlock itself is closed, and the door warps awkwardly.

    "Fuck, now it makes sense?" Dell says, looking over the destruction.

    "What?" Domitia asks.

    "See the cracks," Dell points out the numerous places dark yellow foam oozes out of the hull. "The hull breach was caused by our friend trying to leave before disconnecting. That''s probably what''s causing the ship to fall apart. A big enough gravity wave hits us, and that might be it."

    "Does that mean..." Hyaline picks his words, "They could still be onboard."

    "Good chance of that; how long have you been floating out here?" Domitia asks.

    "I don''t know! The clocks have been off since our last Liminal Jump. No one had bothered to reset them." Hyaline squawks.

    "Right..." Domitia detects that Hyaline is obfuscating, but she doesn''t understand why.

    Putting herself in the doctor''s shoes leaves her with more questions than answers. Imagine being left alone aboard a ship, recently assaulted by pirates, and with failing life support. You have no access to a Liminal Array, another thing she will mull over later, but you have access to traditional radio waves. So you throw your voice out into the void, hoping someone will come along and save you.

    That comes to pass; a pair of bounty hunters come to your aid. Putting aside her own feelings regarding saving those trapped in the void, Hyaline doesn''t ask for a rescue; he asks for a repair job. Why would he choose to stay if he''s running out of air and on a ship that might still have pirates roving around? Possibilities run through her head, but none calm her suspicions. As she passes through the loading dock, she decides to check native O2 levels, something she hadn''t even thought to do when coming aboard. She then realizes that the CO2 levels are beyond bad; they''re lethal.

    "Dell, mind doing a chem sweep for me?" Domitia asks her partner.

    "Sure..." Dell complies, his confusion evaporating with a whistle, "Airs polluted. Is the life support even working?"

    "Of course, it''s not! I''m running low in my cabin! So tick-tock, I need to send that SOS!"

    Domitia and Dell look at each other, and while both their faces where hidden behind void-steel helmets, disdain could still be felt. They press on, following the signs toward security. As they do so, they see other safety and sanitation posters reminding the crew to call out any signs of infection and keep samples in their containment fields.

    "So..." Dell is the one to ask, "What research were y''all doing?"

    "Deep void lifeforms," Hyaline says slowly and carefully. "Our research mainly concerned spores and other micro organisms found on asteroids and comets."

    "Right," Dell lets the word hang momentarily as he sees another torn-apart drone. "And that required a full complement of security drones?" The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    "My research is important��" Hyaline pauses, his speech slowing. "Our research is important! My employer wished to ensure we were protected."

    "Right." Dell then mutes the call, "This guy is a dick."

    "And a liar," Domitia adds.

    "My vote is we do not stay any longer than we must. Leave him a routing number so we can collect, but we don''t stay. I''d rather not meet this guy''s boss."

    "Agreed," Domitia says.

    They pass through another ion-blasted hall, through another half-melted-away door, and into security. The entrance is a long hall, with two counters flanking the door into it, each protected by a layer of reinforced glass that has long since shattered, its pieces floating in the void. The door inside has been breached, and Dell shines his lamp into the entryway. At the very edge of that light, something moves.

    "You see that?" Dell asks.

    Domitia did, but she was unsure what was ahead. Switching to thermal she finds no heat signature. She warms up her ion lance and begins to advance once more.

    "Stay on me," Domitia says to Dell.

    "Don''t have to tell me twice."

    Entering the hall, they are met with a lobby. A bench built into the wall lines one wall, while the other has chairs and furniture floating gently, congregating in the corner. Ahead, a large partition of glass, now shattered, lines the wall, with a door leading inside, already blown open by a breaching charge. To the left, the door had been cut through and then wrenched open like a can. The signs were obscured here, most likely by security as they fought a fighting retreat into their miniature fortress.

    "Okay, doc," Dell asks over the comm, "Where, too?"

    "If you entered through the correct way, the lock-up is to your left, while the main offices are straight ahead." Hyaline lays out, "Go through the offices and find your way to the chiefs'' primary terminal. Once there, I can give you my override."

    "Why do you have an override?" Domitia asks.

    "It was my request." Hyaline explains, "As lead researcher, I have a level of responsibility to the ship that outstrips even Sul. I needed full access so I could initiate a lockdown if there was an outbreak."

    "Of spores?" Dell asks a nervous chuckle making its way in at the end.

    "You would be surprised how dangerous these little bastards are." Hyaline ominously warns.

    They press on, although Dell slips further onto Domitia''s back, mostly to avoid hitting his head on the door frames. As Domitia advances, she finds the spaces tighter than before, having to take care of how she rounds corners to avoid leaving herself open to being struck. The narrow hall then opens into an office; rows of cubicles flank her advance, the terminals fixed into each have black screens, and the desks contain small mementos of the people who worked there. Family photos float right above-framed awards, paperwork, and data pads floating around one another, awaiting to be completed. In the mix of all that, a corpse is finally seen.

    Domitia carefully advances toward it; the blue and black armor is stained with blood and burnt by ion strikes. Her helmet identifies the body as a male human, a part of the Blue Arms Solutions, or BAS. They''re a common outfit in these parts, well-armed but not as well-trained. BAS often picked up convicts and debtors who needed a good paycheck to get by. The cause of death is a well-placed ion shot through the chest, melting the ferro-ceramic plates of his armor, although Domitia can''t determine how extensive the trauma was.

    "BAS merc," Domitia observes his armor, "Reinforced void suit with exoskeleton."

    "Blue asshole service, huh?" Dell looks over the cadaver, "Still armed," He points to the ion repeater connected by a cord leading to his wrist.

    "They were serviceable." Hyaline remarks. "I knew they weren''t the best; I even tried to petition for better mercenaries, even Werewolves--"

    "Like you could get a Werewolf here." Dell chuckles at that, "Wild to think your science project is important enough to get the attention of those guys."

    "It was! Do not interrupt me, you simpleton!" Hyaline is quick to reply, "And still is! Hence why I need that beacon on yesterday!"

    "Keep your helmet on, alright," Dell tries to soothe Hyaline.

    "Hard to do, Mr. Dell," Hyaline goes on, "And your partner. Some sort of merc?"

    "A Bellator, sir," Dell says rather smugly.

    "Ah, that is..." The mood shifts almost instantly, "I didn''t know there where Bellators in this sector."

    "Bellator only in augments," Domitia explains, "I''m no longer a part of the Corps."

    "I see; well, uh, that will be helpful if there are any pirates left aboard." Hyaline''s words come out nervously.

    This is normal, at least in Domitia''s experience; most people do not like Bellators for a variety of reasons. She doesn''t appreciate the prejudice she goes through and would rather have people treat her normally, but she''s well aware of the reputation Bellators have. It''s often useful when dealing with bounties; the smart ones will surrender rather than tangle with a two-point-two-meter giant, and that''s considering Domitia is on the short side of Bellators. So if Hyaline becomes a lot quieter out of worry about being the subject of her wrath, she''ll go with it, even if it bothers her more human side.

    They pass through one office and into another, although it''s clear this one is for higher-ups. A row of screens dominates one side, although they are offline, Dell''s lamp shining off them, revealing cracks in some of them. Desks built into the floor line the hall, mag-locked chairs are still positioned in front of them, and papers float above them. Clearly, this had been the nerve center and the last stand of the security team. Above her, floating in the rafters, corpses of BAS higher-ups can be seen. Their armor is warpped by ion strikes, weapons still dangling with cords. At the end of the hall, one office has its lights still on, faintly glowing into the inky blackness.

    "Gonna go out on a limb and presume that''s our objective." Dell thinks aloud.

    "Might be," Domitia says.

    "Don''t like it," Dell''s headshake can be heard as he speaks, "I''ve seen enough horror reels to know that''s a trap."

    "Reels aren''t real life, Dell." Domitia retorts.

    "Well, as they say, life imitates art."

    Putting the reel discussion to the side, Domitia advances carefully to the door. In a flurry of action, she slides the door aside and floods in, finding the room devoid of life. The office is spartan - most of the effects here are purely for business only. A scanner for documents is in one corner, while a filing cabinet secured to the wall dominates the other. An ''L'' shaped desk dominates the rest of the room, and any paper that is not secured has begun to float around it, creating a fog of files that Domitia pushes aside. She finds the light source, a lamp that seems to be battery-powered, has been mag-locked onto the wall, filling the room with an orange glow. On the desk, she finds what she''s been looking for, a terminal.

    "Dell, your part."

    "Right," Dell hops off Domitia and lands on the desk, flying off in his wake.

    He pulls out a boxy hand terminal and boots it up. He pulls back the armored visor, revealing a glass one underneath it so he can get a better look at the screen. He pulls a wire from the base of the device and inserts it into the side of the terminal. Both screens light up with a green glow as Dell begins punching keys.

    "I need a second to bypass security." Something shifts outside, interrupting Dell. "Mind checking on that?"

    "Right." Domitia steps out of the office, taking a position in front of the now pushed-aside door.

    There is an eerie feel to this place; not only had a battle been fought in this office, but people''s lives had happened as well. The desks, disordered as they were, seemed to inform Domitia of the people who had once called this place home. A caffeine mug was floating in the air, written on its side in bold font, ''Number One Dad, Number Two Employee.'' Small as the detail is, Domitia cannot help but wonder who drank from it? Had they even made a cup of caffeine in it? Had it suffered the ill fate so many mugs befall and simply became a holder of pens?

    Something moves.

    Domitia brings her Ion Lance to bear, only for her targeting system to find nothing. She finds only floating debris inside, mixed with the artifacts of lives now lost to the void. She looks back up and realizes that the bodies that had been floating up there have now vanished.

    "We might have trouble," Domitia says over the secure channel. "Bodies are gone. Think we might get jumped."

    Dell clicks his mic silently, indicating he''s in the know. She hears a chime buzz over Dell''s mic and glances over to see the screen change from green to blue. He''s brute-forced his way in.

    "Okay, doc, what''s that override?"

    "Override is luna-luna-fox-three-four-five-orange and the word ''mori'' all lower case."

    "Copy that." Dell punches it in through the hand terminal, and the screen of the terminal affixed on the desk lights up fully. "Okay. It should be unlocking... now."

    A humming noise rises throughout the ship, and Domitia can feel something rumble to life through the vessel''s hull. Some of the lights turn back on, though they glow a faint orange. A chime echoes through the Eliza and an artificial voice speaks,

    "Viral Contamination Lockdown has been concluded. Please exit your panic rooms and return to your normal duties. Thank you!" The voice pauses for a moment, "Warning! Central engines are disabled. Air filtration compromised. Gravity generator disabled."

    "Viral lockdown?" Dell repeats.

    "It''s just a result of using my override, I can assure you." Hyaline is quick to say.

    "That so?" Domitia asks.

    "Yes, now, down to the business of getting you two the Liminal Array."

    "Right," Dell begins, "Mind leading the way then doc?"

    "The array is in the aft, on the upper decks." Hyaline begins to explain, "You will need to bypass R&D, the heaviest fighting was there, I''ll redirect you through the lower hangerbays."

    "So..." Dell starts to put it together in his head, "We got to go down, across, then up?"

    "A very blue collar view of it," Hyaline says, his annoyed tone bleeding through his words. "But, yes. An elevator in the hall leading into the station; go down it."

    "Is it still functional?" Domitia asks.

    "No, but neither is the gravity, so it''ll be a gentle drop down," Hyaline says.

    "Give us a moment," Domitia mutes the feed to Hyaline. There''s a good chance we''re walking into an ambush. We have to consider that our friend over the comm might be involved."

    "Oh, I already have been," Dell says with a bit of a chuckle, "Something about him ain''t right. His voice is off, and he''s hiding something, that''s for sure."

    "Still, we need a contingency plan in case things go sideways." Domitia points to the terminal. "You have two hand terminals, right?"

    "That''s right,"

    "Think you can leave on to crack in security remotely?"

    Domitia can feel the devious smile underneath his helmet, "Oh, partner, you don''t even have to ask. Hacking into corpo security is one of my favorite things!"

 Chapter 5, Ravenous

    Aboard the Eliza

    They follow Hyaline''s guidance, leaving security and venturing down the lower hanger bay. With most of the lights on the Eliza took on a much different spirit in the low amber glow. It reminds Domitia of a ship ablaze with flame; the air seems thicker, with a strange haze collecting at the end of the halls. She realizes this is the result of leftover smoke from the battle that has yet to fully dissipate.

    They come across the partially open elevator, stained with blood like the half-open maw of a dead beast. The abyss leers out from the broken door, and the sound of metal on metal clinking together catches Domitia''s attention. She pulls the door open, lance ready, and finds what she already knew was there��the broken cables of the elevator, still flailing about like dying snakes that stretched on deep up and down the shaft.

    Dell peers over the shoulder of the Bellator, giving her a glance, which she returns with a shrug. Domitia pulls a flare from her belt, lights it, and tosses it down the shaft. A burning red comet hurtles down the shaft, bits of debris and scraps of metal shining off it as it impacts on the bottom or as close to the bottom as it can get before rebounding a bit upwards and bouncing around the end of the shaft.

    "Any last words?" Domitia asks sarcastically.

    "Yeah, tell your kids not to grow up to be bounty hunters."

    That gets a chuckle out of Domitia, "And tell them not to become Bellators."

    The pair go down the shaft, Dell riding on Domitia''s back while she ventures down gently, taking care to watch her sectors as she descends. She flips around and lands on her feet at the bottom of the shaft. impacting on the ruins of the elevator. It had been pulverized upon impact, the fate of its passengers unknown as she stomps through on her magnetized sabatons. The state of the hall is worse than above, somehow. Here, the carnage is much more apparent as the hall is caked in blood and viscera, frozen by the failing life support.

    "Something made a mess down here," Dell says grimly.

    Domitia doesn''t reply; she''s busy analyzing the scene before her. The number of bags and belongings that float aimlessly in the flickering amber light indicates an evacuation and a hurried one. No bodies are found, only the evidence of where men, women, and presumably children were cut down like livestock.

    Among the blood spatters and ion strikes are long, narrow scars in the metal. Domitia scans them, identifying them as slices from energized blades. Not uncommon in these parts, as some fights are often so close that a blade is needed to finish the fight. Yet the slaughter that had occurred here only boils Domitia''s blood. It evokes distant, nearly overwritten memories of the thunder of guns and the smell of burning flesh. Of the thrill of survival and the agony of losing a loved one. Losing a father.

    "The fuck happened here..." Dell speaks again, "Dom, ya seeing this?"

    "Yeah," Domitia says, keeping her temper in check. "Now I''m hoping for a fight."

    "Why do you think they ran?" Dell ponders.

    "Foolish thing to do, really," Hyaline says with little pity. "The safe rooms would''ve protected them if the SOS had gone through."

    As Domitia strides forward, the red ice cracks and shatters, leaving a red mist in her wake. She makes it to the end of the hall, finding it opens into a vast hanger bay; an eclectic collection of ships lines the main deck, while above, more ships hang in massive cradles. They range in class, make, and model, but they all had the same level of wear and tear one would find on any deep spacer vessel. Rust around the nose cones where heat panels were beginning to fail. Exhaust stains show where the jets would be while the ship was in full thrust. Fading colors reveal the grey slate void steel underneath the older-looking vessels.

    "Okay," Hyaline begins, "Where are you now?"

    "In the hanger, believe on the starboard side."

    "Good, good," Hyaline mulls over things for a moment. "There should be a catwalk running above you. Follow it, that will lead you to the service hall that runs under R&D. Should be a straight shot to the Liminal Array."

    Domitia deactivates the mag-lock on her boots and gives herself a burst with her ion thrusters, launching her upward, Dell clinging onto her back. The pair of bounty hunters soar through the dimly lit hanger, passing over and under a number of ships as they do so. Along their journey, Domitia keeps an eye out for any signs of an ambush. Right now, floating through the hanger, would be an opportune chance to strike.

    As she does so, a ship catches her eye - it''s red, with white stripes running along its hull and scars of battle across its aft nose. Along the nose, she can see the name of the ship written in bold white font, ''The Drunken Mailman.'' The name rings a bell in her mind, and she recalls that ship being one of the missing vessels. The suspicion had been pirates, the same pirates supposedly menacing this stretch of Big Empty. Yet here it is, resting in a steel cradle, its doors open, its engines dead.

    "Dell," Domitia calls her partner over the private comm, "See that?"

    "Yeah, I saw a few others. It makes you wonder what kind of research they''re up to," Dell sardonically remarks.

    "Hmm," Domitia grunts as she adjusts their flight to bring them alongside the catwalk. She aims her lance at the end of the walkway while using her free hand to guide herself along it.

    "Say doc," Dell says over the open comm, "Lot of ships in here. Y''all running a side gig or something?"

    "If you''re insinuating piracy, I''m afraid you''ll be disappointed, Dell," Hyaline dismisses Dell''s question like an insulted parent, "Of course your kind would ask such a thing."

    "Oh, my kind?" Dell asks, finding amusement in Hyaline''s prejudice, "What do you mean, my kind?"

    "I''m well aware of grumlian culture," Hyaline says, his arrogance coming across as almost comical, "I know you''re kind like to believe all cultures dabble in crime. I''m afraid we run a legitimate business."

    "How do you know I''m a grumlian?" Dell asks, Domitia feeling the smile on his face.

    "A lucky guess," Hyaline does his best to recover, but the conclusion is obvious.

    He''s been watching them. For how long? Domitia isn''t sure of that, and that concerns her the most. Yet as she approaches the bulkhead out of the hanger, the fact that there hasn''t been an ambush yet causes her even more concern. Restoring the Liminal Array could be something the remaining pirates onboard, if there were any, could do. However, the fact that this doctor has been leading them along like this while watching them makes her think this is more than a simple boarding action.

    Her thoughts turn to the real reasons they''re bypassing R&D.

    The door out of the hanger opens with a pull and twist of the knob found in the center of the door. The inside is pitch black, causing Domitia to turn back her low-light visor. Inside, two bodies are frozen against the wall in puddles of their own blood. A third floats lifelessly between them. The ones on the wall have the same blue armor as the rest of the security detail, weapons dangling from cords. The third is a mystery - black armor with cybernetic arms and blades protruding from the forearms. The body has no patches or unit markings, just glinting black armor with a grey undersuit.

    "Might be a pirate," Dell observes, "Big money floating there. Arms alone could fetch a hefty price, armor too; how''s the helmet?"

    The body answers that question for Dell as it drifts around. The visor is completely caved in, and icy mountains are rising where blood had been oozing out.

    "Never mind, I''m good," Dell says with a hint of disgust.

    The pair walk down the hall, passing by another set of bodies. One is floating upright, his boots keeping him standing as they''re still magnetized to the floor. The other has bled out on the floor, a frozen puddle keeping him in place. They reach the end of the hall, a light above the exit flashing red.

    "Well," Dell gives the door a once over, "That''s definitely a door," He tries giving the knob a turn, only to find it won''t budge.

    "Is it locked?" Asks Hyaline.

    "Maybe," Dell floats up, clicking his tongue, "Ah, that''s fun," He reaches onto his tool belt, "Jammed, hydraulics sent one of the bars right into the hull."

    "How long?" Domitia asks, already knowing the course of action.

    "Eh, a few seconds, keep an eye out," Dell answers as he activates the plasma torch.

    As he does, the sound of cracking ice attracts Domitia''s attention. She aims her ion lance at the source, finding one of the cadavers is moving. The body twitches and pulls itself upright with such force it begins to float backward. Regardless, it grabs its weapon, but before it can fire, Domitia charges and puts an ion shot into the man''s helmet. The ion round melts metal and causes the void glass to superheat and pop into thousands of pieces. Yet the man does not go down. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    Blind by the shot, he returns fire in a spray of lead that clicks and clangs all over the hall. Dell curses as Domitia puts another round through his chest. The lance bolt fries his insides and bores a hole clean through. The body now returns to death and is sent flying backward. Suddenly, more began to stir, and a sickening feeling washed over Domitia; she knew what this was and now knew why the doctor was so evasive.

    The standing body turns around rapidly, ice snapping off as his rifle roars to life, lighting up the dark hallway. High-velocity rounds impact all around Domitia; she steps in front of the fire to cover Dell. She lands an ion shot on the neck; the superheated bolt of energy cuts his head off, yet the body continues. She lands another shot through the man''s rifle, causing it to explode and melt most of his stomach. Despite this, it still does not die; it charges through the hall, dragging itself toward the Bellator.

    As it closes, two more bodies stir and fire, trying to suppress Domitia. Contemptibly, she produces her Hand Cannon with her free hand and lands an explosive round into the crawling cadaver, turning it into floating meat. As she does that, she returns fire on the two remaining dead men, landing a shot through and through on one, causing him to float upward, now truly dead. The other takes two shots before he finally ceases fire.

    "The fuck is going on?!" Dell looks over his shoulder, "I thought they were fucking meatcicils!?"

    The floating corpses then springs to life, arms reaching out and stabbing into the floor. It rushes at Domitia, weaving toward her at lightning speed, her enhanced hearing picking up the strain of metal and the cracking of synthetic bone. Before it could make it, she atomized it with a single charged shot, vaporizing the dead aug.

    Dell gets the door open, "Fuck was that?"

    They flood out of the tunnel and into another hallway, which forks upward and downward, and a set of stairs illuminated by low amber lights. Before Dell can say anything more, Domitia slams the door shut and bashes the hinges with her fist, causing the door to jam again.

    "Obviously, this is an ambush," Hyaline observes. "Clearly, these pirates are utilizing the dead as weapons."

    "Isn''t hacked suits we''re looking at," Domitia growls over the comm, "Ravenous."

    Domitia sees Dell visibly reel back, "Fucking what?"

    "A foolish observation." Hyaline comments, "Ravenous haven''t been seen in these--"

    "Stop. Do not lie." Domitia''s words contain an underlying promise of violence: "Should''ve known. The signs were there. How long has the infestation been allowed to fester?"

    Hyaline is silent momentarily, "It''s been... perhaps three weeks. Maybe a month."

    "Fuck..." Dell''s hands go to his helmet, "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He loses his cool, real fear coming through, "We have to go! Dom! We have to fucking leave this--"

    "We''re too deep in now. It has us where it wants us." Domitia grumbles.

    Despite the trepidation she feels, something primal wakes up within her. Her Legacy stirs a rising desire for violence, a baying for blood coming from within her. She doesn''t notice the smile growing across her lips as she tries to determine her next move. Her attention is torn to short-wave signals coming to life. Grunts and gurgles are picked up, laden with static. Groans and moans that carry pain and suffering come with them. It''s at first unintelligible, then begins to form words.

    "Hungry... So hungry..."

    "Blood... Need blood..."

    "Pain! I can''t feel anything but pain!"

    "GIVE US FLESH!"

    "YOURFLESHGIVEIT!"

    "GIVEUSYOURBLOOD!"

    From below, shambling figures begin to work their way up the weightless halls. Their shadows cast long, and the sound of cracking ice and stomping mag-locked boots echos through the hall. Screams, curses, and commands mix in with the cacophony. The horde nears.

    "Then what''s our fucking plan?!" Dell asks.

    "Activate the Array. Alert Blackwatch. It''s our only course of action."

    "Yes..." Hyaline begins to speak, "Yes. That has to be done."

    "Why wasn''t it done?" Domitia can sense vibrations through her boots, thralls are getting closer. "Never mind. Where is it?"

    "Upstairs. You''re close." Hyaline''s confidence has been lost. "You must understand everything I did." He catches himself. "We did, we did for the betterment of the galaxy. You would understand that, right? You''re a Bellator, after all. You know--"

    "I know well enough," Domitia launches herself upstairs, Dell riding on her back. "I know what they can do and the danger they pose. It''s why I exist."

    Domitia and Dell burst up to the next landing, Domitia launching herself forward with bounding leaps as she passes through the maintenance hall. Through the grating above, the Bellator can see more shadows move. They jerk and twist to life like marionettes tugged and dragged along by an angry puppeteer. Some spot the bounty hunters and try to claw through the grating or even shoot through it. Bullets hail downward, sparking through the icy shaft, while Ion Strikes cut through the hall like lightning.

    The door at the end of the hall opens, figures poor through, guns blazing and blades gleaming in the low light. The bellator ignites her ion thrusters, rocketing forward, Dell clinging onto her with his tail around her waist. She fires a volley of Ion rounds, causing some figures to fall while others simply ignore the loss of limbs or heads.

    "Dell, ''nade them!"

    "Got it!"

    Domitia bursts through the shambling infected. As she passes, Dell tosses primed grenades. As the two pass through, the doorway erupts. Gore and cybernetics are sent in all directions as the bounty hunters get their bearings. Before her, Domitia can see the base of a great cylinder. Wiring like sinew pours from it in neat and organized lines. Above, through the grating, she can see the shape of the Array.

    With a lance burst, she makes a hole through the grating. As she does so, a pair of Ravenous Augs strike at her. One strikes at her with its last remaining arm blade. She deftly dodges it and puts a round from her hand cannon from her hand into the other who came at her with a katana. As the explosive round sends the sword-wielding infected in all directions, the other skids across the floor and bounds toward Domitia again. This time, Dell is there, his SMG roaring a storm of lead. While it doesn''t end its suffering, it does cause its attack to stall, allowing Domitia to charge an ion shot and blast it through and through, vaporizing most of its upper torso.

    "How the hell do you put these things down?" Dell asks.

    "Have to destroy the brain stem and spine." Domitia answers deftly, "The virus takes control of the nervous system and grows into the spine and later brain stem. It causes immense amounts of pain, as well as implanting desires for violence and hunger." She leaps upward, through the hole they made.

    "That... is a well-informed summation," Hyaline observes.

    "Cut the chat," Dell looks over the Array, "Fuck, it''s big. How do we fix it?"

    Domitia observes the Liminal Array, recognizing that this isn''t just an ordinary beacon and transmitter. The Array looms over her, the glass ceiling above it casting it in pale starlight. Numerous dishes branch out from its metal trunk. The top ends in a central point that blinks a dull red, which indicates to Domitia that it''s currently inactive.

    "During a viral outbreak, the Array is purposefully sabotaged to prevent the infected from utilizing it to draw in more victims." Hyaline states, "There is a way to fix this, but you must act quickly."

    The door into the Array closes and locks.

    "I''ve bought you some time; do not waste it!" Hyaline growls, "The dishes need to be realigned manually; I will direct you. Once aligned, the Array will be online!"

    "Split it up!" Dell points to the top, "I got the upper half, toss me!"

    Domitia follows her partner''s lead, tossing him upward. He spins in the air as his suit''s thrusters stabilize him. Domitia follows suit, getting to her first dish.

    "Okay, Domitia, that one you''re in front of needs to be pushed in, then to the left until you detect a click." Hyaline says, "Dell, the one you''re at needs to be pulled out, then to the right until you detect two clicks."

    The Bellator complies, carefully pushing the dish in. It''s subtle at first, but she feels the dish slide back into place. With a steady hand, she carefully turns the dish until she feels the click vibrate through her gauntlet. Before she can ask for the next dish, something hits the door hard, the hinges on it buckling as something tries to force its way in.

    "Dell! Get the other dishes!" Domitia rockets down to the floor as something pushes the door flat as if it where made of cardboard.

    A massive figure, hulking with painfully swollen muscles, and an infected toak lead the charge in. The reptilian humanoid''s scales can barely contain the swollen flesh underneath, the thrall''s maw foams with blood, eyes bleeding as it wields a hunk of steel that had once been the leg of a Webster bot. Blood and spittle pollute the air as it roars, and the horde charges in.

    Domitia replies with grenades and ion; blasts of frag grenades scatter the incoming security guards while the ion blasts melt down the monstrous toak. It closes in rapidly, tail snapping behind it as if it were a seaborn predator. As its bulk meets with Domitia, she smacks it aside with her kinetic maul, sending it hurtling back.

    She watches as it crashes into the oncoming horde, and they either narrowly evade it due to their own frenzied movements or get crushed underneath its bulk. One black armored aug rushes toward Dell, blades out, the face of the human shedding tears of blood. Before the infected can even touch the bounty hunter, the Bellator crashes into it like a shooting star. The impact from the shoulder of the Bellator shatters what few bones remain in the body of the infected, but before it can even try and snap itself into shape, Domitia sends an ion round right down the throat of the infected, atomizing the thrall.

    "Three turns and push!" Hyaline instructs frantically.

    "Got it! Got it!" Dell replies, "Domitia, cover me!"

    "Providing cover!" Domitia responds coldly, her whole world narrowing down to this.

    In this moment she feels the inner beast baying to be let out. To be allowed to reap a bloody harvest on the infected mobs that rush at her. Yet the Bellator keeps her Legacy in check, recognizes the tactical situation. She needs to keep Dell alive, and she needs to put the call out.

    "One more!" Dell calls out as a rockets downward.

    Domitia smashes another aug aside and boosts her way out of the reach of another, sending an Ion shot through its brain stem. Suddenly, she''s being peppered by lead as the infected security guards open fire, taking no care that their infected kindred that is rushing down the Bellator are caught in the crossfire. Domitia bounds away, keeping the shots both from the glass ceiling and her own partner. A few rounds find their way into the gaps between plates, the carbon fiber doing its job but still causing the Bellator to grunt in pain. She rushes toward the enthralled fusiliers, opening fire with both Ion Lance and Hand Cannon. Bodies burst, and flesh melts under the fire of the Bellator as she pushes the horde back.

    "Last one done!" Dell rushes down to the control console, "Booting her up!"

    Dell then gets to the control panel as Domitia rockets back to him, sabatons mag-locking to the floor as she covers Dell. The boot up sequences begins as the Array lights up. From below the generators whirl to life and the hum of Vita Crystals rumbles through the air.

    "We''re online!" Dell calls out.

    Domitia reaches the console and opens the transmitter to go on all frequencies, "This is Bellator Domitia Sejanus! Identifier, one-one-three-seven! Ravenous Infestation Found on the--"

    The receiver turns red. The transmission ceases.

    "I can''t let you do that." Hyaline grimly says.

    "You fucking moron! You''re gonna get us killed!"

    "I''m already dead." Hyaline says darkly, "And so will you."

    Above, the glass ceiling opens, Dell is suddenly ripped upward by the sudden loss of pressure. Acting on impulse Domitia rushes after him. She''s now in the void, the horde shunted into the void with her. She can''t go back, and she can''t leave Dell. That''s when the observation deck comes into view.

    "Dom?"

    Domitia doesn''t respond. Cradling Dell in her arm, she pushes her ion thrusters to the max and races at it.

    "Dom?!"

    She begins to charge her lance; she knows she has one shot at this.

    "Domitia?! What the fuck are you doing?!"

    She aims her shot, finding her angle as she uses the momentum to carry her in.

    "Dom?!"

    She fires.