Major Cottier awoke to a great shudder, nearly thrown off his bed. The titanium composite hull groaned through the walls of his room, a deep sound that evoked images of shearing metal and crushed pylons. The disaster was simultaneously near and distant: little had changed perceptibly about his bedroom save for memorabilia thrown to the floor, yet the totality of what he had heard was undeniable. And, as Cottier closed his eyes, he heard it: nothing. The ship was dead silent. Gone was the usual hum of the Tokomak IX reactors, gone was the gentle hiss of air circulating through the vents, gone were the electronic beeps and clacks of the computing engines nearby in the ship's CIC. For a surfacer, silence was the default state of being. For a spacer, silence was death. A spaceship was, after all, a life-support system, and if he remembered his engineering manuals from Marine OCS right, he had approximately an hour and a half before the USS Stark was a ghost ship.
He mumbled to himself incoherently as he got up and got dressed. Yes, it was an emergency. No, he wasn't going to skip the tie. As he fumbled with his appearance, his phone rang. Good, he thought, the electronics worked. Aux power was up.
"Commander," said a voice. One of his younger LTs. Er, what was her name again? Anne? "We need you in CIC."
"What's the damage, Anne?" grumbled Cottier.
"Uh, it's LT Catherine Welles, sir. We just collided with a trade vessel."
Oh, right, Cathy. Anne was taken off after last deployment for getting caught with mindbreaker. Some officers seemed to be able to shrug off their subordinates embarrassing them like this. Not Cottier. Also, colliding with a trade vessel was bad news for his career. Even if it wasn't his fault -- hell, he didn't even have watch at the time -- it would reflect badly on him during his promotion boards. Cottier sighed. "Which vessel did we hit? Also where are we?"
"We're drifting in, uh..." A pause. "...Tau-Ceti 34-1-917. We hit the ICM Kalle. Portside fore, underhull. Looks like we caved in their, uh, bridge."
Cottier was silent for a brief moment. "And have they contacted us yet?"
"I don't see how they could sir, we--"
"I get the picture. Heading to CIC now."
************************************************** ***************
CIC was basically the same as always, except now screens were filled with blaring red and some were just powered off. The lights were also slightly dimmer. Actually Cottier was pretty sure they had slowly been dimming over the last minute or five as the Stark switched off batteries to conserve power. Over time only critical communications, medical, and engineering systems should be left operating. Then they would again be lost in that order as the ship drifted towards its fate, a particular fate Cottier hoped to avoid.
Also unlike always, CIC was abuzz with activity, officers running amok handling reports, shouting in comms, eyes glued to the dark, austere computer screens. Keys clacked in unison as orders were quickly circulated among the departments.
As Cottier entered, Senior Enlisted Advisor Master Sergeant Tiller proclaimed, "COMMANDER ON DECK." Everyone halted to salute briefly before returning to their task. Some ships ran more formally -- the men would hold their salute until told explicitly to otherwise -- but Cottier had always ran an informal ship to the chagrin of some of his superiors, and the benefits: no delay. Though ostensibly still in a deadly serious situation, Cottier smiled. Commanding the Stark was like driving a Ferrari: everyone was fast, effective, and precise. Here were some of the best-trained enlisted and commissioned in the entirety of the USCM. In actuality the Stark was a Marine EOD vessel, a neglected role in public awareness but highly respected among the rank and file -- after all, every soldier appreciates not getting blown up.
It took Cottier a moment to recognize Cathy as she ran up. "Sir," she said. "We're not sure why but the aux power is running even though the reactors have stopped."
"The reactors are far from the hit," reasoned Cottier, "and vacuum is a perfect insulator. Damage to the wired layer must be skin-deep. My guess is some room somewhere is screwed and the reactors' safety rods dropped. This means all this damage is repairable. BUT since the reactor safeties kicked in that must mean the damage hasn't been sectioned, which tells me the hydraulics controlling the airlocks are leaking around the crash."
It only took a few system checks and remote sensors to verify his hypothesis was correct. Some of the younger LTs exchanged impressed looks. Cottier, like many EOD officers, commissioned through OCS after attaining a master's degree in some STEM field. Cottier in particular specialized in nuclear chemistry. The LTs no doubt had similar education, so in no sense were Cottier's inferior. What Cottier had actually demonstrated was experience; he had seen damage like this before and internalized the structure of the Stark in its entirety. Eventually the LTs would do the same, if they continued to climb ranks.
"Well, you know what orders to give," said Cottier with a yawn. "Clear the rooms as best you can, seal them, and let's get things running. Nobody spends time there in these ungodly hours, but get medics on-site anyways."
"Already gave the orders, sir," said Cathy.
"Superb. Now I have two questions. First, where's the XO? This was his watch, how the hell did we crash into anything in the middle of nowhere? Two, what's going on with the ship we hit?"
"Er, the XO took initiative and took a dropship to the Kalle, which was unresponsive this entire time. We have no contact with the XO either."
Strange, thought Cottier. Yeah they had smashed in the merchant vessel's bridge, but there were like, usually at least 3 different parts of any given modern space vessel capable of long-range communication. Some contact should have opened by now. He groaned. Was the ENTIRE merchant crew in the bridge at the time of impact? Great, now his XO was sitting on a multiple manslaughter charge. Amazing. Cottier's career was really going places with two of his CIC officers arrested on back-to-back operations. He felt like gagging.
"Aren't we well off merchant routes?" said Cottier. "What is this, er, 'Kalle' doing here?"
"Aye, according to Astronav we're still on-chart, which is at closest at least a quarter of a lightyear from any merchant route."
A moment passed as Cottier processed all this information, then a deeply uncomfortable feeling welled up inside Cottier's stomach. Something was very wrong here. "Tell the marines to get locked and loaded, meet me in the Hangar in 10. ALL the marines. I want Force Recon on this too. Have them ready breaching and antiarmor. Prep DS1, DS2, and DS4. No one else flies without my permission. CMP, bring us to Delta."
CIC was silent and a murmur passed among the staff.
"A-Aye, sir."
And the alarm was raised.
************************************************** ***************
"And what is THIS, eugh," said PFC Morales as she wiped black slime from her helmet. It was organic and smelled like rotting food left overlong in a fridge. She gagged and sighed inwardly. Just another day doing weird nonsense in space. Her mom would be proud.
Her squad of twenty was clearing the dark halls of the Kalle. The entire hall was covered in this black, slimy stuff. All the power was out and there was no sign of the original crew. Squad Leader Staff Sergeant Nonnes was a hardened veteran leading essentially a troop of orbital-qualified PFCs, only marginally smarter than the average marine, just enough to assist the real EODs with their work. The Force Recon badasses had gone on ahead of the three deployed squads and dropped radio contact. Not a good start.
"Ain't this a biohazard, Sarge?" said another PFC as he sniffed the black goop and quickly pulled his head back in disgust.
Nonnes shrugged and said, "Cut the chatter. Recon already cleared the substance, and they know their CBRNs. We're just sweeping for the crew and the, uh, missing XO."
Ah yes, Captain Taylor. Flew off to the Kalle without so much a word and vanished. Really spooked the CO. Major Cottier had assembled an emergency crack squad of marines and deployed them to the Kalle. His hangar briefing had warned the marines to be prepared for anything. Cottier wasn't a BAD CO, he was just overly cautious about every little thing. Morales had been warned about this in boot camp. EOD ships had some of the best crew but all the officers were giant nerds and took safety too seriously. No doubt the trade crew had just piled into a panic room and the XO was lost somewhere in maint. Classic XO. The black stuff was probably some alien mold; trade vessels pick up all sorts of weird things in space.
Synthetic Tomlin had joined this particular squad. He was staring as his motion detector, which was silent. Briefly making eye contact with Morales, Tomlin offered an easy smile and shrug, as if to say, "All OK."
The squad traveled in silence for another minute before, very suddenly, the squad marksman said, "Hang on, Alpha was told to patrol this hall."
Nonnes considered this. "True. What the hell are you getting at?"
"Alpha usually leaves a lightstick to mark cleared rooms. They must've gotten here before us."
Nonnes looked around. "Well I don't see any light besides ours."
"Yeah, that's what's damn weird."
Silence reigned again as the squad considered this, until it was broken by radio static. Apparently Force Recon was attempting to call into the ops channel but through the static no one could make out what they were saying. "Send again," said the RTO in a hushed voice.
"SSsssssssssssssssssss -- BAIL BAIL BAIL BAIL BAIL BAIL." The radio suddenly rose to a cacophony and Force Recon's message broke through the static. BAIL. Four simple letters that said one thing: it was time to get the hell out. A chill ran down Morales's spine.
Nonnes was in action immediately. "EVERYONE BACK TO DS. GO GO GO GO GO GO GO. GUNS UP EYES OPEN. I HAVE SIX."
Beep. Beep. Beep. Tomlin's motion detector had suddenly gone haywire. "15... no, 20 contacts closing," the robot said in a calm voice.
Hands shaking, Morales raised her rifle and joined the squad as it formed a firing position and half-ran, half-waked back through the blackened halls. If Force Recon was calling it then it was BAD, oh God, she wanted to see her mom again, eat her chicken rice again, do each other's hair again, shop t--
"ON ME!" screamed Nonnes. A loud clang sounded and a great black figure, cloaked in shadow, had dropped from the ceiling right above the staff sergeant. Morales raised her gun and screamed. Gunfire erupted, muzzle flashes and smoke filled the hall, and that was the end of Delta Squad.
************************************************** ***************
Cottier put down the letter from High Command and leaned back.
"The Almayer, huh," he said, defeated. One of the worst ships in the USCM's fleet, with a long history of dead COs -- mostly killed by their own incompetence. But he wasn't surprised. He had just lost half the deployable crew of the USS Stark. It was a miracle that he wasn't court martialed -- of course, the Provost Martial made the case that he was obviously not responsible for either the collision with the ICM Kalle, that the responsible party, the missing-in-action XO, wasn't present to be punished anyways, nor was he responsible for being surprised by the xenomorphs aboard the ICM Kalle, as it would've surprised anyone. That didn't mean Cottier wouldn't be punished in some way. And here it was: taken off EOD, put on a lowly marine transport that barely functioned. He got to keep his rank and pension, that was something... but he didn't expect to see promotion ever again.
In another day, another time he would've upset. But not today. Only one thing was on his mind -- the grinning face of the xenomorph, and the shotgun he wanted to shove into its mouth. He would avenge the Stark's marines, all of them. Almayer's crew -- well, they were rowdy and dumb as hell, but they did one thing real well: kill anything and everything that moves. In fact, as he continued to think about his reassignment, a grim smile appeared on his face. No, this was the ideal reassignment. He would get his chance; he would make sure of it.
Spoiler:
Originally Posted by teafortwo
