Burning Heaven - An Evochron Fan Fiction

[Exile]

[align=center]Chapter One[/align]

The darkness of space crept across the bridge, taking onto itself the burden of secrecy; the cause to keep all things unknown. In it's reign, silence dominated the acoustic scenery. Not the kind of silence a person could understand or even perceive, but the utter incomprehensible stillness of vacuum.

Yet, there in the shadows where the empty chairs stood like guardians above the dead , a crimson dot shone through the murk. It flickered and oscillated from bright to dim and back again, longing for the acknowledgment that would not come from the expired crew.

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“ Uniform Yankee Foxtrot niner zero, this is salvage vessel Hephaestus. Please respond.� Clark released the press-to-talk switch and wiped a bead of sweat that was helplessly trapped in the crevasses of his wrinkled forehead. It drifted off his finger, a sphere of saline floating aimlessly across the cockpit.

“This is crap. Why do we even bother hailing them? There's nobody on that thing, it's been drifting through this sector for two weeks.� Pierce said as he crawled into the cramped confines of the bridge. “Let's just crack'er open.�

“It's procedure, and I don't feel like having the Alliance on my back for not following it.�

“Yeah well, screw the Alliance.�

Clark shook his head. “Sure, screw the Alliance, and then we get blacklisted and have to go back to prissy footing around like rats, poaching wrecks without a license. You want to go back to that life?�

“It was better money.�

“It was a quick way to the grave is what it was.�

Pierce leaned in to one of the monitors. “Looks pretty cold in there, when do you think this thing went offline?�

“Dunno, but there's nobody on the horn.�

They looked at each other for a moment.

Pierce cocked an eyebrow. “Suit up?�

“Might as well. Get the guys ready, I'll bring us in.�

“Yes!� Pierce said in excitement as he scrambled out, using the set of navigator seats behind the helm to pull himself afloat through the manhole. “Call us when we're in position.� His voice echoed hollowly through the guts of the ship as he yelled back, drifting down the corridor.

Clark sighed and flipped a covered switch to prime the engines as he strapped himself in. Years of working on the fringes of society had influenced his crew into a healthy paranoia. If they didn't have to run power and give off radiation for someone else to see, they kept the ship cold. Some pilots would frown upon that kind of operating procedure, stating that alternating the ships systems from powered up to powered down so frequently would cause early degradation and inefficiency. To Clark and his crew, a little inefficiency was well worth not being blown into space scrap by a nearby hostile vessel that just so happened to pick up a heat signature in the otherwise frozen expanse of local space.

The hull vibrated as the capacitor banks drove the coils into startup rotation. Soon the shudder calmed to a familiar hum as the reactor reached operating speed and began dumping plasma through the conduits to prime the thruster turbines. To Clark, these sounds were as common as the pumping of his own heart; they went about unnoticed. Though if there was a single decibel of difference, or a strange pitch or frequency, the anomalous sound would ring like an alarm in his ears. Then Pickford would get the hard end of Clark's boot for not keeping the engine in tune. This time, however, there was no such deviation from the norm and the engine spooled up smoothly.

Clark waited for a column of L.E.D.'s on the upper dash to switch from red to green, then he passed his fingers along the board, activating the couplings one after another to allow plasma to flow to the thruster nozzles. They each gave off a satisfying click that played out like domino's falling in sequence.

The radio crackled, “Hey big brother, how's she going?�

It was Chet calling from the cargo bay, undoubtedly eager to get on with the salvaging operation. “All's well, I'm taking us in now. Hold tight for a five second burn to port side. After I brake, you'll get the green light.� With that, he punched a command line into the console and took hold of the joystick. An audible alarm warned the crew that the ship was about to move, and then the burn began.

Civilian craft designed for comfort were insulated from the sounds of the control surfaces such as thruster nozzles and the conduits that fed them, but this ship was built to carry scrap metal, and no comfort was afforded for the crew; auditory or otherwise. The blast shook the hull like a tuning fork, rattling teeth and numbing hands that clasped on to bulkheads for support. Then there was silence as they drifted toward their prize.

Pierce was in the bay with Chet and his team of five cutters. They all huddled, floating, near the solitary window of the airlock; their faces freeze framed in a flash of light every time the starboard thrusters shot to slow their approach. Framed by the small window and Silhouetted against the backdrop of a tan yellow nebula, their target drifted on, lumbering endlessly like a lost soul in the deserts of purgatory.

One last burn brought them to match velocity. Clark flipped his press-to-talk switch. “Alright Chet, it's your game. Let me know.�

Chet lifted the respirator to his mouth as he spoke into its built in mic, “Roger, we'll keep you posted.� It swung down and hung from the helmet under his arm when he finished the transmission and turned to his crew. “Alright, I want this walk through done as soon as humanly possible. Rice, get the details on engineering. Sean, you take structure. Bjarn, get a tally on cargo and if there's nothing in there move on to furnishings and let me know what we have. Roland, you and Kevin will start surveying the primary cuts and key up with Sean while Pierce and I get the scoop on the bridge.�

Each man nodded as their name was called, Some had already donned their helmets and activated their rebreathers

“Alright boys, let's get this show on the road.� Chet said, locking his helmet on and fastening the respirator to his mouth and nose before sealing the face plate. He turned to the airlock door and put his fist out to the others. One by one, they gave him a thumbs up, at which point he raised his own thumb to signal that they were all ready for what was to come.

Chet rolled his mouth around in the respirator to get comfortable, then spoke. “Clark, give me a green light.�

“Roger, wilco.� Clark thumbed the cover of a switch and flicked it into the up position.

In the cargo bay, an alarm sounded, amber lights flashed. The green lights above the airlock doors to the ship turned red, cogs rotated and large steel bolts locked into position around the frame. The opposite occurred on the far side of the cargo bay, as the airlock lights to the vacuum of space changed from red to yellow and the bolts rotated out of alignment. Vents hissed loudly for a few minutes until their obnoxious racket faded away into complete silence. Now the crew heard only their own breathing as the atmosphere had been purged from the cargo bay. All eyes were on the yellow light above the door, as they floated patiently. With a noiseless vibration, it turned green and Chet punched a code into the keypad.

The airlock pulled outward and then moved up beyond the cusp of the manhole and out of sight.

Before them was the charred airlock door of the ship they were to salvage.

Chet sighed, “Let's crack this can open.� He said, lighting a plasma torch, its flame reflecting off the iridescent filter of his helmets face plate.


[Edited on 17-4-12 by Exile]

[SeeJay]

Nice story Exile.

Keep it coming;)

[DaveK]

I love it Exile - very atmospheric (even in the vacuum )

[Exile]

I'll try and throw up a second chapter tonight. Depends how much homework I get.

[Maarschalk]

Excelent Picturesque Story writing, as good as watching a movie, very well done Exile! .....