UD-5
Diversion.
Coming out of the jump hole, the radio was silent. Not dead, but quiet. Almost...intentionally that way. He reached over and drew back the screen that protected his eyes from the Pequena Negra radiation. The shape was unmistakeable, a Liberty Navy gunboat. He pulled the screen closed again before his eyes were permanently damaged.
"Not just yet", he muttered to himself, and set a new course for Tinker's Haven.
The radio stayed silent across the system until the final approach, when he announced his, unscheduled arrival. The ship landed, and he walked out of the dock, waving off the loaders staff.
"Empty," he lied to them, and retreated deep inside the station to wait out the Navy.
![[Image: ZJi5U6z.png]](http://i.imgur.com/ZJi5U6z.png)
Lambert winced slightly as the station groaned deep below his feet. Lights flickered all around. Then, as suddenly as the microcosm of chaos had begun, everything abruptly returned to normal.
The woman in front of him - Deidre, she had introduced herself as, resumed speaking. She seemed unconcerned by the event, so Lambert attempted to match her nonchalance. It helped that he was the one with the guns. He flicked a quick glance to his right. Six marines, wearing battle armor and armed with assault rifles, flanked him. Their weapons were held casually at the moment, attempting to appear non-threatening. Just as Lambert had instructed.
He looked back to Deidre herself. Dressed without any embellishment or, truly, any personality. Nothing notable like a tattoo or unique jewelry to identify her with, at least as far as he could see. It did seem to fit the profile of an isolationist Zoner.
She paused after concluding her explanation of the surge that had just occurred. Lambert couldn't even imagine living somewhere where such was the status quo. He'd been aboard very rough and out-of-the-way stations before, but nothing remotely compared to this.
"Interesting. I'm curious about the nature of these 'operations', actually. I understand that you're Zoners, but what exactly are you doing out here? Surely there are more isolated yet safe places to set up shop."
His mouth twisted into a slight frown, and he waited for her response.
Deidre shifted her posture slightly as she answered James's question.
"Well, the easiest way is for me to show you. We can proceed down to the workshop where you can see first hand what our operation entails."
Glancing about the near-empty hangar, she added -
"You'll notice we don't have many patrol craft. This is due to the nature of this area itself, but not in the way you are probably thinking. Such a hazard acts as a natural deterrent and we have few visitors, and those seeking trouble will keep their distance. Those who do come here to buy scrap must schedule their shipments ahead of time, we insist on this." She paused for breath, then continued.
"As our scanners and transponders are scrambled by the radiation, our station's weapon systems has the possibility of misinterpreting targets. To avoid complications, particularly in scheduled visits such as this, we have powered down the array completely. It leaves us vulnerable perhaps for a short time but avoids diplomatic entanglements."
Deidre held up her datapad, showing the layout of Oyster Creek, and continued.
"As you are aware, the station is a core 3 installation of modular construction. If you see here -" she indicates the deck below with a slender finger " - this is where our incoming scrap sorting takes place. We then sort this into usable components and jettison the rest, an enterprise that has become increasingly lucrative. We aren't as proficient as the Junkers at such mining, but still turn a steady profit. You'll see we have declared our H-fuel on the Dangerous Goods register, as we have some stores of H-fuel as well, for emergencies such as shield generator activation and refuelling transports. We refuse to deal in anything else."
Another shudder interrupted her, less violent than the first, rippling through the station. There was a slight whine as the hydraulics resumed full pressure.
"Would you like to head down there?"
"So you're telling me that you can't control the scanners, so your weapons are likely to wind up firing at anyone?" his frown deepened. "And your purpose for being out here is to... process and sell scrap? You risked building in this insane place to do that?"
Lambert was skeptical, but didn't have anything more solid than that to go on. He looked over the schmatic that Deidre had proffered but didn't see anything overtly suspicious.
Lambert turned to the marine on his left, speaking in a very low voice that couldn't be overheard. "Your squad is coming with me, Lieutenant. But first, bring another squad across and tell them that if we aren't back in fifteen minutes to come get us with whatever means necessary."
He turned back to Deidre, raising his voice back to audible levels. "Very well, I'll come with you - but my men here will be joining us. I'm very interested in seeing these operations for myself."
This place - the periodic power fluctuations, the deafening silence during the periods in between - everything about it set him on edge. He would do his due diligence, but he had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"The area does have it's dangers, yes, but the scrap is secondary to the main reason we established this refuge. These people want no interactions with the outside universe, or " - looking at the marines clad in full gear - "as few as possible. This location almost assures complete isolation, which people are quite willing to pay for. And as for the scanners and weapons system, we have an improvised solution to the concerns you raised. This is why we insist on using a strict timetable for incoming vessels."
The man's resolve was unnerving. Going to the lower decks, Deidre was sure her offer would be rejected. But for a brief second, she thought she had seen a look - not fear - but hesitation. It had lasted a fleeting moment, and Lambert's face had hardened again.
She lead them to the lower floors. as she approached a large threshold almost ten metres wide, she stopped and turned back to the group. Sounds of tools - grinders maybe - and the occasional flash of orange spilled from beyond the aperture.
"Beyond here, the gravity is set to twenty percent of Houston surface gravity. That's not a malfunction, we do this deliberately as it makes handling large pieces of scrap metal much easier. Any usable parts, engine components for example, we pack into cargo pods ready for sale. Anything we can't use is jettisoned on a two hour cycle."
The workers were a mixture of men and women equiped with tools ranging from hand grinders to larger two-man hydraulic "snippers" used to detach large pieces of metal. Those that could see the group looked on, their expressions ranging from surprise to fear to open disapproval at the group of marines being lead about the station.
"This is the part of the station that makes its existence possible. Without the income generated from this work, we wouldn't be able to afford to supply and repair it. Don't worry about the dirty looks, that is my fault. I didn't know about the marine escort and didn't let our crew down here know. Their tenancy here is on the condition that we have as few visitors as possible. I'll likely hear their opinions on this armed inspection later."
Deidre pointed to the tools the onlookers were working on gesturing that they get back to work. Slowly they turned, resuming their tasks, mumbling amongst themselves. As they got back to work, she seemed to stand taller, that authoritive look returning.
"Is there anything else Captain?"
Lambert looked through the gloom of the lower deck work area, trying to pick out any details that might be unusual. There wasn't much - plenty of ruddy faces, indeterminable bits of scrap, and the unending grinding of the machinery. The smoke generated by their work took a while to dissipate near the ceiling - likely a sign of poorly maintained air scrubbers. Here and there Lambert even thought he could see duct tape or glue holding key pieces of equipment together.
After a moment, he reluctantly stepped back from the threshold, satisfied that there was nothing readily apparent that seemed out of the ordinary.
"Very well. Not the cleanest operation I've ever seen, but I know the scrap around here can be worth some good credits."
He looked back one more time, then let out a long breath as he turned back to Deidre. "I believe that's all I need to see. Let's head back up to the bay."
His work done, he now wanted nothing more than to be away from this god-forsaken place. Despite that resolution, the feeling of unease in the pit of his stomach refused to go away.
Deidre watched quietly as Captain Lambert, flanked by his marines, departed the bay and boarded their Gunship. Truth be told, her calm temperament during the inspection had hidden her underlying fear, particularly when Lambert had inspected some of the repairs, with discarded empty duct tape rolled strewn about. But nothing had obviously linked the base to the Xeno Alliance, or if it had, the Captain had not mentioned it. As the docking arm retracted, she allowed herself a smile and a sigh of relief. Her comms unit vibrated.
"Deidre here"
"Well done, babe. We have what we need - time."
"I was worried..."
"Don't be. You were perfect."
In the dark command centre, Jimmy had watched the entire inspection on the internal video feeds. He had also been panicing somewhat - the Serpentis.Maximus was due to arrive any time, and he wasn't about to risk a communication to Harold to ward him off. The Navy boat that had been floating out there was near state-of-the-art hardware, and quite possibly been capable of intercepting such a signal, even in the mess the Negra threw out.
Soon he found his apprehension had been well placed - less than 30 minutes after the departure of the inspection team, the train loomed into view, large snake insignia and Alliance slogan plastered all over it. There would have been no doubt that this vessel was tied to the Xeno Alliance.
With the danger seemingly passed, Jimmy made a decision. As Deidre entered the nerve centre of Oyster Creek, he gazed at his wife and said quietly.
"I'm leaving you in charge here at the Creek. I need to get the word out to everyone, full operations will resume. We have bought some time, every minute will count. I'll go with Harold home to Alabama and see if I can get more men. We need to fortify Oyster, to the point where they would need the whole Liberty Navy to tear it down".
UD-5
Desolate.
He touched her thigh right where the black lingerie ended, she stopped gyrating and rose from his lap. Her long blonde hair, now slightly ruffled, fell to her waist. He watched her pull it tight out of the back of her head, and then preen it smooth against her body.
There would be another time.
He passed across a Sirius Credit Card. She accepted it graciously, smiled and moved on to the next customer.
In the loading bay not a soul moved, he estimated it was just before sunrise on Houston. Bleary eyed he moved into the console and in silence only turned on one instrument. The unmistakeable heat signature of a Liberty gunboat faded away as it went through the jump gate, leaving the system, desolate. He allowed himself a smile.
"Business is business," he murmured and fired up the craft to leave the Haven. Within hours, he was unloading and accepting payment. It more than compensated for the delay, the girl, and his destiny.
One month later...
The communications console, spitting and hissing as usual with all the interference, brought Deidre to full awareness. Things had been quiet at the Creek, Jimmy had been learning the last of the fine controls for the Serpentis train, and that meant more time for Deidre on her own.
"This is the San Antonio, we are under attack!"
The San Antonio was a stolen Hegemon class mining vessel being used to pull in the valuable scrap found a short distance from Oyster.
"We read you, San Antonio what's your status?"
"We have one of those big Junker things hitting us hard, we'll never make it to Milford! Requesting weapons cover from the Creek!" An explosion could be heard, then the sound of klaxons sounding.
Deidre hesitated for a second. She had been told to never allow this, no matter how dire the situation might be. But those were hard working Xenos on that ship, she couldn't leave them to die.
"Bring it in, Captain. We will ambush those damned Junkers."
"Copy! If she holds together we'll be in range in a few minutes". Then more quietly, as if shouting over his should can be heard "You hear that boys?" and some relieved but enthusiastic cheering.
Deidre scooted over a few seats to the defence console and waited. Sure enough, within minutes a large bulky shape loomed out of the scrap towards the station, with a Junker Salvager picking pieces off the back end of the ship weapons fire flashing between the two vessels. The San Antonio was in deep trouble and the Alliance could not afford to lose any assets. Marred by scrap and snared by cruise disruptors, the vessels progress was painfully slow, but soon the ship was within range of Oyster Creek's weapons array. Deidre punched a few buttons, targeting the chasing ship, then drew power from non essential systems, bringing the grid online. Soon, the cloud lit up, the cocktail of weapons fire putting on a multicoloured light show for the occupants of the station.
The Salvager, now identified as a Junker Marauder ship with "Hammertime" plastered across it, tried to evade, but pressed its attack. Soon, a stray shot triggered the automated shielding system, preventing the San Antonio from mooring. Forced to evade, the Hegemon sluggishly circled the installation like a wounded whale. The Salvager was also in trouble, and soon the weapons system found its mark. The Junker ship broke apart, a fiery end to the combat. The San Antonio had been saved.
Deidre breathed a sigh of relief, flopping back in the chair. Within minutes the damaged Hegemon would be unloading its cargo, and the crew would be neck deep in drinks recounting their narrow escape in the Den.
A week later...
Jimmy cowered in the dark bar bathroom. He had been in there for hours now, locked in, tears streaming down his agony etched face. He summoned the courage to look in the mirror again. He felt the cool steel against his head, the small plasma firearm barrel had been against his temple, under his chin, and even in his mouth over the past six hours. They had all died, and it was all because of him.
The San Antonio had never made its return from the dangerous scrap field. A frantic mayday had been received, the Hegemon mining ship breaking into unrecognisable chunks within moments as an unmarked "Bullmastiff" pirate transport tore it to shreds, in full and plain view of the amenities bar and workshop crew on their meal break.
The Skip.Raider had then skipped away, employing some sort of stealth shroud. The pilots of the San Antonio had complained several times of technical problems with their equipment, but had agreed to make the dangerous trip anyway. Two of those on board were personal friends, their passing to be etched in the mind of Jimmy Predsman as the opening act of his ultimate failure. Their final wails replayed in his head, over and over again.
Only now had it dawned on Jimmy how much trouble they were in. Only now did it compute that all of these people were at his mercy, all 950 of them including crews, and anyone who uncovered them, the risk he had brought upon them so great it was incalculable. The possibilities were endless, the Navy or any lawful agency could turn up with potentially enough firepower to end them all. They were surrounded by enemies, they were vicious and unforgiving, some tactless and brutal. Others would wage the battle of will, mentally subjugating him until he gave in. He was showing the strain of these battles as he looked into sunken eyes rimmed with the blackness of one who had not slept properly in weeks.
It would be one hell of a show. The weapons grid had been plagued with problems, but was recently repaired and ready to retaliate against anything that came close. He had relinquished command for the moment to one of a more stable mind. That left him free to try and sort out this huge mess of death. One more would not make things any better. But there would be more death before the end.
The pistol made a loud grating noise against the ceramic of the washroom basin as Jimmy dropped it. He owed them too much to take the easy way out. Somehow, he had to fight to the end, to the bitter end... No matter how bad that end may be.
He turned the tap, splashing the cool water on his slick grimy skin. He could reach out, few were willing to aid him but they were there. The trouble was knowing who could be trusted and at what cost that trust would be. He looked again into his own eyes in that bleak washroom mirror, the glaze of blind rage and mourning gone, his determination rising, the focus returning...
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