“Remind me again why you want to purchase this old thing?”
“Like I told you, it's for a project.”
“Quite an ambitious project for a bunch of engineers. Summary says this thing was decommissioned after her last mission. You know that, right?”
“You ask a lot of questions for a scrap mechanic, Sid.”
“Sorry I said anything then. Alright kid, just sign here and you're good to go.”
Art's chocolate skin glowed with an almost copper tone in the Martian daylight. He walked outside the old United Systems warehouse district. It was nearly infamous for bringing in shiploads of scrap parts, most of which were either used by the nearby flight school for demonstration and practice, or sold to aspiring mechanics taking an interest in the new frontier. Art used to be a student at this flight school, but had recently been kicked out ... because reasons. He could either throw in the towel or try to make it as part of a freelance crew. The latter had far more appeal. And potentially more reward.
“Yeah, they say that ship nearly got itself obliterated trying to escape an ambush in an astromine debris field. No one wanted it, not even the Free Africa Union. It'll take a lot of love to get space worthy again. I guess that's why the Terran Republic snatched it up so cheap.
“Thanks. Oh, Sid, when can I pick it up from dry dock?”
“Oh, we already finished our inspection, so anytime you want is fine with me.”
“Then I'll head on up there today. A pleasure doing business with you.”
Art Parks and his flight school buddies finally had a vessel to call their own. Despite its outdated status and declining condition, the group was confident they could restore it to a usable state.
They were faced with many problems, such as the ship's lack of energy, firepower, or mobility for their intentions. But over time, more opportunities presented themselves leading to various developments. With a few years of tinkering, invention, and testing, she was ready.
By now, Art had finished enough of his work to get a low tier captain's license. The crew managed to make a living hauling between the Jupiter system and the Arc stations. Those supply depots are essential for survival anywhere beyond the asteroid belt, so it was a good bet for business.
Then the distress signal from Titan was received. The base orbiting Saturn's moon hadn't been heard from in a while, and there were rumors about an explosion. The Pulsar wasn't that far from Saturn. This was an opportunity for the crew to find some real action.
QR chatter picked up a Tavor class, the mainstay of the US Fleet, who had also accepted the mission. Something had gone very wrong on Titan Station, so the mission was supposedly a simple rescue. But intel was limited, and we didn't know how bad it was.
On approach to Saturn, scanners detected some unknown objects surrounding the station. This was the Pulsar's first field test to earn her stripes for the United Systems. Art seated himself in his new captain's chair.
A comms link was soon established. As she began to position towards the moon, the first platform locked onto the Tavor. The gruff voice on the horn messaged us.
“I understand your doubts, captain, but if you can handle the front-most turret, we can handle two others on its flank. Over.”
“We'll take it from here, Pulsar. Stay put. Blackwater out.”
A loud crash was heard from over the comms as the turret launched an attack upon the Blackwater. A flurry of attacks immediately ensued, as the ship descended upon its prey. The turret was destroyed immediately by the Blackwater's counter attack. She began to accelerate towards the station.
A shout came from our tactics officer.
Art relayed the info to the other ship. “Pulsar to Blackwater, more turrets have been identified to starboard.”
The Blackwater showed no sign of response.
“Captain, if we don't take out those turrets, she'll be destroyed.”
Art replied with a determined glance. “Deploy the cannon.”
The cargo hold of the Pulsar slowly opened into space as a large platform was released from the vessel. It began to target the nearby turrets.
As far as weapons platforms go, the Orion cannon was second to none. Art's team had a simple wager with the crew of another ship a few years ago, spawning a friendly competition of who could squeeze the most juice out of a weapons assembly. The old components available wouldn't impress anyone, but the directed energy output would. At least for a couple seconds, until the target disintegrated.
“Capt'n, another turret is coming into range.”
“Full speed, and launch a bat, give that bogey something to aim at.”
“Ready a low yield nuke.”
“Ready, captain.”
“Hold fire. When the Orion has reached it's target, be ready to light up the sky.”
The drone began to orbit the turret as it continued firing, biding time for the Orion to settle on its own target. In a moment, two explosions flashed on their port side, as another blast registered somewhere near the pickup point.
“Captain, the Blackwater is hailing us.”
“Open comms link.”
An angry voice boomed over the comms link, and with an expression like an angered bear.
“What do you think you're doing? You were told to hold position!”
“With all due respect sir, you would be dead if not for our assistance.”
“You caused the cannons to fire on each other?”
“We deployed our own weapon. It's called the Orion Cannon.”
“I don't care what it's called, return to the extraction point. We're about ready to dock and take on passengers. Stay available in case we can't carry them all.”
“Understood.”
The link closed, and the communications screen went black. More fire streamed from somewhere near the objective point. There was no way the Blackwater could dock at the station while the rogue turrets were firing. The last thing we needed was for enemy or friendly fire to be directed toward the station. It already looked shot to hell, and those people needed a ride back to the inner system.
The Blackwater moved away from the station to draw the turret's fire. Then another one edged into scanner range, poised to double team the veteran ship.
But Art was prepared. “Weapons: fire the nuke.”
“We were given orders captain. Are you certain?”
“When the Achaian soldiers were told they could return home, Odysseus rallied them to continue fighting. Take out the remaining turret.”
Being further out, we were already positioned to flank the remaining turret. I imagine the civies on the station saw a miniature sunrise when our weapon wiped out the last enemy platform.
With the turrets destroyed, the Blackwater moved in to take the first load off the beleaguered station.
We were hailed again.
“Well done, Parks. That cannon of yours packs quite a wallop.”
'Thank you, sir. Glad we could assist.”
“Mm. You'll have to dock here shortly. None of the other ports are viable at the moment. We've taken aboard about all we can carry, then we'll get underway. You should be ready to take on the rest of the survivors.”
“We're approaching now.”
“Oh, and Parks, I've been in contact with the other ships on the way. Let them handle clean up. You've done your duty. These civilians need to be offloaded as soon as possible.”
“That's much appreciated, sir. We'll move in right behind you.”
We handled the rest of the station personnel and were able to rendezvous with other ships who arrived after the action.
Not a bad day's work for an obsolete ship and a bunch of techs. We did some good and got noticed by the US fleet in the process. Maybe in the future they'll consider us for something more interesting than supplying depots. I think we proved today we could handle the pressure.
But there is still the question of who deployed those turrets in the first place, and why? That's a lot of expense to capture an remote industrial station. And there's no one we would know among the survivors, or the dead. For now, that's not our job. All in all, it was a well spent day.
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