“Well doc, are we fucked?” Odybrix asked.

“Are you requesting a prognosis regarding the radiation exposure?” 

“Well, I’m certainly not asking about hemorrhoids.”

“Your last physical did not reveal any hem-“

“How bad is the RAD, Jim?”

“You received an approximate dose of 1000 to 1600 RAD. This is likely to cause nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, fatiguuuu-“

A swathe of mircobots composing Jim’s mouth stopped projecting his face and began vibrating disturbingly. Odybrix was immediately reminded of those old science experiments she saw as a kid—the ones where they stuck a speaker next to a ferrofluid and made it do a spiky dance. She considered smacking him upside the head as if he were a troublesome radio, but was concerned her hand would just sweep through the microbots, or worse, get stuck in them.

“-can be corrected with a two-week course of medication,” he concluded as his projectors flickered on and his face stabilized. “It appears the radiation has caused several issues with my hardware.”

“Do you need replacement parts or something?”

“No. The radiation pills contain nanobots. They will function on artificial beings.”

“Great. Can we have some drugs now?”

“No. Our medical inventory does not contain radiation pills.”

“Fuck. ZT,” she said, hitting the pager in the medical bay, “can we set a course for the nearest station before a war breaks out over the toilet?”

“It’s going to have to wait,” Zenith said. “We’re getting a message from Remington. Putting it on ship-wide.”

Speakers throughout the spacecraft crackled and an imperious, familiar voice spoke, “Crew of the Sunrunner, this is Vaughan Spectre. Communications have been restored to the outpost. While the established perimeters of your mission have been completed, the needs of Remington Corporation have changed. An item was stolen from the facility. We request that you retrieve it. The object in question is of unknown origin and will be easily identified. A barquentine-class spacecraft was detected in orbit around the planet’s red moon. We believe this to be the mothership of the mercenaries who assaulted the facility. You will be paid one hundred thousand credits upon the item’s return. As a show of good faith, we have deposited double the reward for the previous objective into your account.”

There was a brief, pregnant silence among the crew as they absorbed the message, then the comms exploded with chatter. The chatter became a debate, then devolved into arguments, and then shifted into incoherent shouting. Somewhere in the background, Buddy was heard vomiting. Odybrix, priding herself on a voice that transcended her modest size, managed to shout down the rest of the crew and politely suggest they meet in the cargo hold. Peppering requests with expletives always seemed to move things along, like a laxative for conversations. When they gathered around the old wooden table, the crew eyed one another, waiting for someone to take the reins of the discussion.

“Before everyone starts flailing their arms around screaming about the payday, we need to know something,” Odybrix said, taking a seat on a chair too large for her,” Ozzy, is the ship where that oily corpo sleezefuck says it is?” 

“That and more. Looks like an interceptor and a tartan are flanking it.”

“We’re outgunned,” Adam said.

“Not necessarily,” Hilde chimed in over comms, “I mean, more guns than our single plasma cannon? Yes. But the quality of those ships and weapons are frankly repulsive. From this distance it looks like they’ve gotten into a few scraps but haven’t made an attempt to clean themselves up. I couldn’t say how extensive the damage is without getting closer.”

“Given the action we saw planetside, it’s likely a low-end merc group hired by whoever was piloting that mech,” Adam said.

“I can outpilot the two small birds. The barq’s my concern. It’s big enough to hold a few surprises,” Zenith said. “Anything coming up on scans?”

“Only if you dare get closer, darling.”

“Are we going to talk about the weird flesh-melty thing behind the glass?” Buddy asked, clutching her stomach.

“Yeah, it was terrible. We should leave now and fly to the other end of the galaxy,” Hoxley said without a hint of hyperbole.

“Your behavior was erratic within the facility!” BOB said, interjecting, “specifically regarding the anomaly behind the glass! Do you know something about the research being conducted?”

“What? No. I’m a cook. I have also made it very clear that I am averse to situations where I could be shot, exploded, vaporized, or have my flesh melt off.”

“You think about your flesh melting off? Is that what normal people do?” Buddy asked with absolute sincerity.

“No, nobody thinks about that,” Adam said.

“I do!” Hoxley said, raising his voice.

“This statement is factual,” Jim said. “He twice expressed a fear of flamethrowers during his initial medical examination.”

“We can put the flesh monster on the ‘shit to give a fuck about later’ shelf. For now, we just have to decide whether we are going after whoever stole Remington’s secret toy,” Odybrix said.

“I’m in, but I don’t have RAD poisoning. Not as bad as the rest of you anyway,” Zenith said.

“Me too,” Buddy said, her face now exhibiting a green undertone—she was always up for anything.

“I think it’s a bad idea,” Adam said, “but if you’re going, I’ll have your back.”

“Good kid,” Odybrix said.

“We’re the same age. I take it that means you’re in?”

“Hundred-K payday and a chance to steal secret Remington research? Hell yes, I’m in.”

“We can’t get the money without turning over whatever is stolen, you know that, right?”

“You just leave that to me.”

“Everyone to battle stations,” Ozzy said, “the tartan and interceptor are inbound.”

“Looks like they aren’t going to wait for a democratic decision,” Zenith shouted as she spun away from the crew and ran to the cockpit.

The rest of the crew followed suit. Adam sped after Zenith to man weapons; BOB parked himself by the engine; Hoxley ran to the nearest seat with a harness and strapped in; Buddy… the ship’s toilet wooshed. Buddy was taking care of business. Odybrix calmly hopped out of her seat and went to the weapon’s room. The others could take care of business in a dogfight. She needed to prepare for when they boarded that barq. Not going to scare us off twice, super-mech. She opened a drawer full of explosives.

~*~

Adam took the gunner seat and slapped the weapons console. The flat screen appeared to sink as it emulated the space around them in three dimensions. Two red dots inched towards the green one, indicating the Sunrunner, a third sat motionless by the planet’s red moon. Adam shook the tension from his hands and waited anxiously for them to get in range. Beyond that gesture, nobody would see his nervousness—mom trained that out of him.

What would she say if she knew what he was doing? A mission on behalf of RC was normal, but the company being kept? Oh boy. He imagined the look she gave when someone had failed her and felt a chill shoot down his spine. Still, he had to do this. She wouldn’t give him the answers he needed, despite his polite insistence. These people would take him to his father and he would confront the man about his betrayal. Resentment burned in him like a black coal spontaneously coming to life and he took aim at the approaching spacecraft.

The approaching Tartan let loose with a string of plasma blasts, each easily avoided. Easily wasn’t quite the right word. ZT’s evasive maneuvers were almost casual, as if the Sunrunner was an extra arm and she was waving it at someone. She might not have military training, but wow could she fly. It made his job easier.

Adam took aim at the small red dot that represented the tartan and fired two shots. The ship banked port, then zenith, avoiding both. He did it again, noting that the interceptor was veering off to flank them. The tartan banked starboard, then zenith. Okay, let’s see if you’re as predictable as you seem. He fired again—two shots—then snapped off a third after a quick pause. The enemy ship dodged the first two and veered right into the third.

“That’s a hit. Nice!” Zenith said, briefly glancing over her shoulder at Adam. He imagined she was smiling under her helmet.

“Looks like we didn’t crack the shield, but I doubt it will take much more. The other one is flanking.”

“I see it. Let’s try the Bad Pinch.”

“The what?” Adam asked, bringing up a mental catalogue of curse words and innuendo he was to avoid, “Is that a…”

“We’re going to fuck up their pincer maneuver. I’m going to lure that Interceptor. When they try to readjust positions, blast them. BOB, get ready to divert shields to thrusters on my mark.”

“Affirmative!” BOB said over comms.

Off comms, probably strapped into a crash seat, Hoxley shouted, “We need those to stay alive!”

“Here goes.”

The Sunrunner veered port with a jerk, the inertia stabilizer straining under the force of the movement. The interceptor drew in to close the trap, the tartan flew away from the Sunrunner attempting to position it at optimal range for the plasma cannon. Both opened fire and Zenith began a dizzying set of evasive maneuvers. The enemy ships fired relentlessly, thinking they had put the crew on its back foot with the tactic. Zenith edged them closer and closer to the tartan, taking advantage of their zeal and bringing it nearly within the interceptor’s line of fire.

“BOB!” Zenith shouted.

The Sunrunner lurched forward with explosive thrust, nearly taking an unshielded hit from the tartan. The interceptor fired, swept up in the heat of combat, missing the Sunrunner and blasting its ally. The plasma ripped through the shield and dispersed it with a shimmering ripple as the remaining energy tore the hull open, venting atmosphere. 

Adam didn’t hesitate. A follow-up shot from the Sunrunner’s cannon hit directly where the hull had been breached, splitting it like a log that had already suffered an axe swing. Adam snapped off a shot at the interceptor while it was distracted by the obliteration of its ally—a direct hit. The shields of the small vessel vanished and the diminished plasma blast battered its hull. It abruptly turned and fled at full speed.

“Are we going after it?” Adam asked.

“Nah,” Zenith said, “they just activated their MRE. They’re going to jump.”

“Nice flying. You made them think they had us.”

“You like the Bad Pinch, eh? Not bad for your first time.”

Adam blushed. “It’s called something else at RC.”

“Sorry to interrupt the celebration, darlings,” Hilde said over comms. “I’ve got a clearer picture of that barq. Standard weapons complement with one exception. They’ve got a torpedo launcher retrofit.”

The Sunrunner immediately swerved away as Zenith took them out to a safe distance. “Incoming?”

“Negative,” Hilde said, “it’s just sitting there like a brick.”

“Not only that,” Ozzy said, “its thrusters are off and its shields are down.”

Adam brought the readings up on his display. The statements were accurate, but there was more. Its mass reversion engine was active but not powering up for a jump. Strange. There was no sense in idling the engine as it ate a ton of antimatter. He opened a camera feed, feeling a small thrill at the mystery presenting itself.

“Uh, guys. I see….”

“That is what organic eyes are for!” BOB said, not waiting for the conclusion.

“Oh. Oh, that’s not good.”

“Don’t keep us all in suspense, kid,” Odybrix said.

“Bringing it up on your feeds.”

Adam felt a chill as he broadcast the display. Someone floated outside the open airlock of the barq, their pressure suit torn open at the waist. Intestines trailed the body like ribbons, drifting in a cloud of frozen blood. The corpse spun slowly and the lights of the suit swept over the bloody interior of the open airlock. No one said anything while they took in the scene. 

Odybrix eventually broke the silence, “We still want that hundred-k, right?”