Commander Paul Hopkins was straining his eyes at the main viewscreen of the LNS Chicago, at what appeared to be the scattered remains of some sort of trade convoy. Beeping computers announced the retrieval and interpretation of sensor data, and a young Ensign read it off.
"That would be Universal Convoy Gold 11, sir, lost two days ago. Weapons fire on the hull suggests lasers, therefore Rogues are suspected. Their cargo manifest is registered as 'classified', but apparently they were moving government goods. Top-priority stuff."
Hopkins stroked his chin, deep in thought. "Set a waypoint at its coordinates and call for a SAR ship on the double. We'll guard it until-"
"Sir, we're picking up more readings." The interruption threw Hopkins off his beat, but he recovered quickly enough.
"What is it?"
"I'm not sure... something's not right with that wreck..."
"Call for SAR, but take us in closer for a better look."
What they had seen was a Collector II, all power hastily shut down to avoid detection by the Navy ship. Undoubtedly they wouldn't take kindly to any 'vultures' picking at the carcasses of ships carrying government goods. The ship had had some high-quality goods, all sealed and thus protected from the vacuum of space. The Rogues, in their haste to get away from any possible reprisals, had taken what was at hand and beat a hasty exit. It took the skilled, dedicated, and thorough hand of a Junker to elicit the most value from a wreck.
Due to the delicate nature of the goods, the Junker in question had had to leave the ship in an EV (environmental vehicle) suit, and manually go over and drag large, metal cases from the wreck to the open cargo bay.
The final case was halfway to the ship when the proximity alarm sounded the warning of an incoming Navy gunboat. Abandoning the last crate, the Junker lunged back to the ship, using all the force of pushing off against the hulking wreck with both legs. Once inside, the cargo-bay doors shut, and the proximity alarm had already triggered the power down.
The Junker made for the bridge, hoping to get out with the loot.
Commander Hopkins stroked his chin once again, then gave down the order. "Forget SAR, let's launch our own little operation. Get in among the debris, and start scanning for life signs."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
They were too close now. She couldn't let them catch her, not with the mother lode! The Collector wasn't a fast ship, but she knew how to treat her baby right. The power sprang on at the flip of a switch, circuits powering to life in a heartbeat. She could almost hear the shock from the command deck of that cursed gunboat as she slammed cruise, engines slightly burning the debris that spun around slowly. Cruise disruptors were launched, but countermeasures foiled their attempts, and the Junker disappeared into the nearby debris field.
That was a tad too close, but the cargo was hers. A nervous chuckle was all she could do as she set autopilot for Rochester, but then a warning light and accompanying beep started going off. Not good.
That's just great. She was leaking fuel, apparently in her haste she had scraped the fuel line across some piece of debris. Dammit! The Junker knew that if she sent out a distress call, likely as not the gunboat would pick it up before any fellow Junkers did.
She hadn't even bothered taking off her EV suit in her haste, so she opened and entered the airlock, grabbed a repair-kit, depressurized the airlock, then opened the door, stepping outside. Activating the mag-clamps in the soles of her shoes, she was immediately attached to the ship. Walking along the outside of the ship, she took in the sights. Manhattan was a distant jewel, and Pittsburgh was a nearer mudball. Maine was always fun to look at - it sparked like a diamond in the New York sun.
The fuel line was at the bottom of the ship, towards the rear. Sure enough, there was a gaping hole. Setting the repair-kit (which also magnetized at the press of a button) on the hull of the ship, she pulled out some patches and set them over the hole, then wrapped them around in tape until it was sure to stick, though it might not hold through a jump. She was lucky she wasn't supposed to jump.
Closing the repair kit, she started heading back for the airlock. Then she looked back, and just about jumped. Closing fast was the gunboat, obviously not hampered by a broken fuel line. Her helmet-comm was tied into the ship's comm unit (read: call forwarding), so she got the message to stand down and prepare to be boarded.
She ran for the airlock, magnetized boots and all.
She couldn't get through the airlock fast enough, and the mag-clamps on her boots were off as soon as she was on solid ground that had gravity. She sprinted to the cockpit, switched countermeasures to autofire and slammed the cruise engines as hard as she dared.
For a terrible moment, the ship stalled. Then, it rocketed ahead, as if it were a hose that had been stopped up then let loose. For five solid seconds, she was going faster than conventional cruise speed. Her ship couldn't take it for very long, and it could blow the patch off, but if she was lucky (and she usually was), everything would hold fine and it'd give her enough of a head start that the gunboat wouldn't catch her.
More warnings came across the comms, but she just turned it on, activated some static, and yelled through, "What? I can't hear you!"
The Navy gunboat was left in the dust, and the debris field was an effective screen to keep the cumbersome ship from pursuing too far. The Navy, however, was quite obviously upset at this. The Junker, once autopilot was set for Rochester once again, turned around in her chair and let out a sigh of relief. That was likely the most danger she had been in since she had been aboard an escape pod around that wreck when she was a baby. Not a good place, though she didn't remember it at all. She had heard about it though.
Time to check on our cargo she thought to herself, getting up and walking down to the cargo bay.
It was a spacious affair - the Junkers made sure they had as much cargo space as possible, with more than a few hidden nooks and crannies to stash "less than legitimate" goods.
Three large crates, which had been effortless to move in 0g, laid on the floor. It would take a fork lift and some heavy machinery to move them now, so she had to hope that no one decided to scan her cargo hold. Walking to the first one, she popped the latches and took a plasma drill to the lock, eventually cutting through. It was made of tought stuff, as it took several minutes of work to even open one.
Once she did though, she saw it was all worth it. She gasped, and took a step back. It was... beautiful...
He wore sunglasses. That much was sure. Around six-foot even, jet-black hair combed with scrupulous care, facial expression made of stone, black business suit. Blue tie. He was corporate, alright, and he was standing in front of the desk of the CEO of Universal.
"Reports say that Gold 11's shipment has been recovered. When the lock was blown, it set off alarms all over the gorramn place." The CEO was almost wheezing. He was getting old, alright, balding even. Gray business suit, sharp blue eyes. Old but still in the game.
His eyes narrowed. "I take it you understand what a PR coup this could be if information on the shipment leaked, correct?"
"Yes sir, I've read the report." And what a report it had been - top secret government stuff, and as far as he knew only three people had ever laid eyes on it: the person that wrote it, the CEO, and him.
"Then you know what's..." he paused, taking a deep breath, then continued, "at stake. Ends justify means, remember that. I want that cargo back in our hands."
The man in the black suit smiled - like a wolf - and said, "Of course, sir. Whatever it takes."
He walked out of the room. The CEO sat back behind steepled fingers. This could be the beginning of the end of him. Time to make some backup plans.
Freezing, icy cold mist wafted out of the crate. Cryogenics. The walls of the crate were thick, and pulling off the black paneling would likely show extensive, expensive, and complicated technology, all dedicated to supporting the hibernation of a small, blue... thing. It glowed softly, and just looking at it brought a soft, sad song to her mind. She reached out as if to touch it, but withdrew her hand at the last second.
Something told her it was an old thing, old and dangerous. She backed up, falling backwards, and then spider-crawled backwards away from it. What had she done... The soft glow was growing stronger. An arm - tentacle? appendage? - grabbed onto the side of the crate and pulled itself up.
The Junker was paralyzed by fear, and her life flashed before her eyes.
Sydney Miles was her name, a Corsair by birth. However, when she was but a child the Artifact smuggling ship her family operated was torn apart by some unknown force. The only survivor, she floated in an escape pod for days before a passing Junker started combing the debris, and found a starving, dehydrated young girl. Sympathetic (and needing a helping hand on his ship), the aging Junker gladly took her aboard and raised her as his own, showing her the ropes of space travel and being a Junker.
She turned out runty, a measly five-foot three-inches, and slim at that, but she made up for it in spirit, determination, and daring. What other Junkers wouldn't dare do - like harvest debris by leaving the ships itself - she did without a second thought.
Of course, she couldn't remember anything of her previous life, because she had been so young, but eventually the aging Junker told her of her roots, as he lie on his deathbed. He gave her the keys to his old Collector, "The Lucky Penny", and told her to make her fortune in the stars.
Her first destination, at the young age of thirteen, had been Crete. Her old familia had all died in the shipwreck, or had been subsequently killed by various means ranging from disease to hunger, and the other Corsairs gave her a cool greeting. She was one of them by blood, but not by upbringing. The bond was strong enough to allow her purchase of their weaponry, which she did.
Now, several years later, she was something of an oddball loner. Combing debris for the 'get rich quick' kind, Sydney tends to be a little too adventurous and nosy for her own good, as was now being shown by what she figured was a Nomad...
