It's a Trap

A ship investigating a distress beacon is lured into a trap but has a trap of its own.

It’s a Trap

Ora was the farthest star system from Nebulus XI, and still within Interplanetary Union space. A faint distress beacon drew us out to the edge, and we dropped from the fold into a field of debris, a shipyard’s worth of scrap floating through the void.

I leaned into my armrest with some trepidation, studying the detritus as it intermittently blocked out the distant Oran suns and the starfield beyond. “What’ve we got?”

“Scanning the field,” my tactical man, Santacruz, replied. The two of us had just broken into a bottle of Altian rum when we picked up the call. “Registering an equivalent of over seventy-two million metric tons of debris,” he said.

“Jesus, that’s a lot of wreckage. How many ships?”

“Difficult to say. None, is the most accurate answer, at least nothing intact, but I’m looking at various hull components from nearly thirty-seven civilizations.”

“A battle? This field isn’t on any charts.”

“Maybe. There’re signs of blast marks and vaporizations, but it’s really tough to tell because every bit of it looks to have been totally stripped of any valuable tech.”

“And the Vigilant’s transponder?”

“In there,” he replied. “Somewhere.”

“I’m bringing us in,” I said, easing our ship into the field. Dense with fractured alloys, shattered composites, and twisted steel, only hardened skeletal remains hinted at any previous function for what was left of these vessels. “Life signs?”

“Nothing,” Santacruz replied. “I’m not even picking up any bodies.”

“Sounds like scavs,” I realized. “After three years in one of their sickening encampments, I know that if you’re not alive, they’ll recycle what’s left of you, even when you’re dead. The IPU’s been trying to crack this ring for years now.” Pulling past the remains of an old shuttle, I asked, “Still no beacon?”

“Not y…wait, there it is.” He motioned forward of the ship.

“Is that it?” I marveled. “Hard to believe, from what’s left of it.”

The frame of the Vigilant floated lifelessly amongst the collected debris. Stripped of its plating, internal girders and pylons were just about all that was left. Its lepton engines had been cut away, along with any defensive turrets, grav-plating, energy dampeners, and shield emitters, leaving only the tiniest remnant of a vessel absent anything at all that could otherwise make up a functioning ship.

Drifting around our target, I discovered, “Some of the bridge looks intact. I’m going over there.”

“Why? That’s not part of the directive.”

“I want to see if anything can tell us what’s actually happening here.”


**********


The whir-hiss of my recycler had an annoying click to it. Magniboots engaged, and I locked onto the broken substructure. “Well, there’s pretty much nothing here.”

“Of course not. Scavs don’t leave much.”

Out of nowhere, an object drifted past me, and I snatched it up – an old-fashioned paper journal, bound with a leather cover. “Found something. Looks like an old log book.” The journal was embossed with the name of the ship, Vigilant, along with a rendering of the vessel.

“Can you read it? How did they end up here?”

I gingerly turned the pages. “Looks like they arrived here for the same reason we did – following up on a distress beacon. Huh, that’s ironic.”

“What is?”

“The last log entry.” I ran my fingers along the words. “It’s a trap.” A light from a hidden recess suddenly flashed beside me and stars began disappearing in the distance. A small fleet of ships, scraggly and pieced together, dropped from jumpspace, heading right for us. I grinned and closed the book. “It certainly is.”

“Cap, we have over a dozen scav vessels closing in.”

“Damn. I was hoping it would be a lot more,” I remarked. “We’re getting’ paid per ship, after all.” I switched to long range comms. “Looks like the party’s started. You guys can join us anytime. Oh, and make sure your jump suppressors are active this time. Can’t have them slipping away like that Melferion job.”

Nearly twice as many additional ships immediately flashed in behind the scavs, powerful and glistening like new in the nearest suns, each tagged with the IPU crest.

“They’re all yours,” I announced. “And I’ll expect our bounty within the next rotation.”

“You’ll get your credits as promised,” the Union navy commander confirmed. “Oh, and nice work.”

“Always a pleasure. Be sure to give ‘em an extra punch in the gut for me, will you?”