Feeling safe in orbit and happy to see his palls, Roderick just realized that he's approaching them in a ship owned by notorious bounty hunter, well known for backstabbing lone Junkers on sight.
Roderick panics and fumbles on the controls, trying to find the right frequency to send a transmission to the Junkers to let them know he's flying the stolen ship.
After a heavy sigh of desperation, spiced with some annoyance and even boredom, like he's trying to say "Why me?" and "Not again" at the same time, the man rummages trough the controls again, but this time in an attempt to find the ejection button.
Happy to finally find the big red button, he pressed it and while getting ready to escape in his pod, Roderick finds him self dazing at a CD fired toward Junkers salvage frigate.
It was supposed to be a simple artifact run, but somehow the Xenos, the Navy, the notorious bounty hunter and the rare sight that was the Junker Salvager "Solstice" were all making an appearance, in Manhattan orbit nonetheless; perhaps it has something to do with the artifacts in his hold?
But when Roderick felt so ready to jettison the jizz out of that shuttle, the teeny-tiny little bit of problem that the escape pod wasn't now freely floating in space blatantly indicated the real reason why that civilian shuttle seemed a little too easy in commandeering, and to make matters worse his ship was now free-floating at the very center of the entire groups of mildly-aroused lawful attack squadrons, quasilawful salvager frigate Solstice, extremely-irrate unlawful Xenos still fumbling over their duct-taped ordnances, and elated bounty hunter "Junker[A.D.M.I.N. Censored]er", all the while the civilian shuttle's original owner's playback message still screaming in local chat like an announcer at the start of a boxing match.
And JUST as everything seemed like it COULDN'T get any WORSE, here chimed in the [LN]-LNS-Missouri from the direction of Planet Manhattan - Fort Bush Trade Lane, its current captain having deployed his entire dreadnought-bestiality crew from the nethersafety of Norfolk Shipyard because an anonymous agent had tipped him of a large caravan of LR-backed puppy-millers having the gall to brazen their sorry behinds in-orbit above their beloved puppy-safe capital, saying with a mildly-amused smile, "What the hell is going on around here?"