Quoted By:
The situation is bad, but not unsalvageable. Gully’s spare tank is little more than scrap metal, but you have plenty of oxygen (five hours’ worth) that you could splice into the Mackerel. The pressure differential shouldn’t be too much of a problem, but it’s going to be close. Even with one man down or dead, thirty minutes of oxygen between two people goes quickly.
And that’s all assuming that the cliff won’t give way beneath your feet as you get to work.
You signal for Gully to make a cautious approach. “I need your help. See the oxygen cannister? We’re gonna run a line to the Mackerel to refill her tank.”
Her Caprica’s down an arm, but she’s still got one arm free. With the black box safely secured on her PUEXO’s back, Gully’s more than willing to follow your lead. Salvage might be her bread and butter, but rescue ops aren’t her most familiar field. “Understood.”
Prior to any sort of action to be taken against the rubble pile, the crew of the Mackerel needs to be secured. That means getting oxygen (but not too much) into their systems and making sure that they won’t sink if the cliff suddenly gives way. An easily remedied situation with enough harpoons and myomer cable.
Of course, it’s only when things start going right that the world decides to throw you a curveball and sucker punch you in the gut.
HOPI is the one who breaks the news: “Warning: detecting new contacts on radar, bearing North-Northeast, distance 8km and closing at 40 knots. Six shapes, bearing straight for the Calypso on intercept vectors.”
Immediately, you drop what you’re doing, and radio back up to the surface. “Razor to surface. Is your radar still working? I’ve got…well, not eyes, but unknown signals on my scope.”
“We see them, Razor,” answers Geary with a grim inflection. “We have them in visual sights, but they’re not answering our hails. We’ve set the Calypso to Condition II and ordered Sergeant Kwan to activate all of his marines.”
Couldn’t be the Babylonia salvage fleet. Elishani said that they were still a week out. Not to mention that they’re coming in from the wrong direction. North-North-East…only real polity out there is the Terran Union. And then further north, the Nordling Realms.
…unless?
“Chief, how’s the reactor looking?” you ask urgently.
Holt’s frustration bleeds through the comm. “Not exactly my department, but she’s takin’ her sweet time to get back to full power. And before you asked, no, we don’t have nearly enough power to outrun whoever’s comin’. Best we can do is turn the rudder and angle for effect…”
Your grip on the stick tightens. Explaining the situation to Gully, you order her to stop her movement, then send a brief message to the Mackerel. “UNKNOWN SURFACE CONTACTS. STAND BY.”
The reply is one word, tapped out with a frantic energy: “PIRATES.”
“7.4 km and closing…” warns HOPI. “Six torpedo boat-type vessels!”
(cont.)
