Ripples in Space (Part 3)

Ranforth fell back from the surprise of the blow and crashed into a cart carrying several bottles and cups of pills. They scattered to the floor with a loud clattering sound. Stavers didn't look to see if Ranforth got back up before lunging for the curtain that separated him from what had to be salvation. He got one step before Ranforth's hand darted out and caught him around the ankle, bringing him to the ground as well.

Ranforth scrabbled at his feet, desperately trying to get a hold on him and prevent his escape, but a well-aimed kick to the face stopped. him.

"Damn you!" snarled Ranforth.

Stavers didn't pause to hear what he had left to say. He heaved himself to his feet, using his bed as a lever and lunged again for the curtain, this time making his way through and out into a medbay. He quickly scanned the room, searching desperately for the door. Finding it, he lurched towards it. A laser bolt flashed past his ear and he glanced back to see Ranforth shakily aiming a silver-plated pistol at him and bleeding heavily from a cut above his left eye.

He redoubled his efforts, almost falling through the door as it slid open to his presence. Another two shots flew past Stavers' shoulder blades as he turned and darted down the hall, heading for the escape pod bay.

"You will die, goddamn it!" came another shout behind Stavers. He glanced behind again and saw Ranforth in hot pursuit. Turning his head back around, he could see the escape pod bay, barely a hundred yards away. He closed on it, quickly, but his wound prevented him from moving very speedily.

75 yards.

50 yards.

25.

10.

Suddenly, Stavers cried out in pain and fell to the ground, rolling into a stack of boxes that all collapsed on him. He lay there for a moment, completely covered until he felt a pair of hands grip him under his armpits and hoist him out of the boxes. They brushed against his shoulder and he shouted again as a sudden wave of pain coursed through him again. Evidently, one of Ranforth's shots had hit.

"So help me, God, I will kill you here and now."

Stavers looked up into the sneering face of Ranforth and felt the muzzle of the pistol pressed into his stomach. Looking around, he noticed a small crowd beginning to gather.

"Or I would if I didn't need to find out what you know."

Stavers said nothing, aware that his flight had failed.

"Now, you're going to come quietly this time," said Ranforth, "Or you'll wish that sniper's aim had been less faithful."

"You forget one thing, sir," said Stavers.

"And what's that, you traitorous bastard?"

"Gutshots don't kill anymore." And with that, he grabbed for the gun.

Ranforth pulled the trigger. Stavers inhaled sharply as the pain ripped through his body again. But, he weathered it and wrenched the gun away from Ranforth. He held one hand to his stomach as the other pointed the gun at Ranforth. Ranforth held his hands up, almost mockingly.

"Fine then, son. Leave. But, don't think that we won't find you."

Stavers backed up slowly. He stopped at the launch console for the nearest pod. He glanced away momentarily to enter a code the opened the door. It whirred open and he stepped into the pod.

"Give me a five-minute head-start," said Stavers, as he slapped the launch button. The hydraulic door slammed shut and the pod jettisoned from the ship.

SIX HOURS LATER

Ed sat at one of the tables in Molon Labe's common area, playing a round of poker with Dave. His distinctive half empty glass of alcohol rested on the table as well.

"You're gonna drink yourself to death, you know that?" said Dave.

"You're one to talk," responded Ed, gesturing at the cigarette in Dave's mouth and the two butts still smoldering in a depression carved into the table.

"There's a difference there, Ed."

"What's that?"

"Well, you see-" Dave started to launch into what promised to be a long-winded explanation but was quickly cut off by a loud beeping sound from the cockpit. Dave grinned a very wide grin. "Saved by the proximity alarm."

"Let's just check it out, alright?" asked Ed.

The two of them walked to the cockpit, Dave dropping into the pilot's seat and Ed into the copilot's.

"Any idea where it might be?" asked Ed.

"Oh, I have an inkling."

"Really? Where?"

"Oh, somewhere about there," said Dave, pointing out the windscreen to a dot in space dead ahead of Molon Labe. Three seconds later that dot turned out to be a small cylinder of metal and pressure-resistant glass that did not react well to being plowed into at near-light speed.

"Shit!" shouted Ed as he was slammed forward into the windscreen (and not for the first time). "We gotta get some goddamn seatbelts."

Dave looked at him sideways, a tiny bit of blood trickling from his forehead.

"What? And ruin this fun? I know I always enjoy head trauma during parking."

"You shut up. You ask me, we should figure out what that thing is and where it went," said Ed.

"Well, where is easy enough," responded Dave. "My detailed sensor readings here indicate that that frozen chunk of metal in the windscreen would be the object of our interest."

"If the windscreen is broken, how are we not dead yet?"

"Look like an escape pod of some sort. Those are equipped with emergency supplies of food and water. We must've hit that, punctured it, and hit the cracks before freezing. 'Course, it's gonna sublimate off soon, so we should probably try to fix that somehow."

"Or we die fast yet horrible deaths," said Ed.

"Yes."

"And we only have two spacesuits."

"Yes."

"That only fit you and me."

"Yes."

"And we sold most of our supplies on Hellhole"

"Yes."

"And we're wasting our time doing this 'statement, yes' shit."

"Yes."

"So we're going to live?"

"No"

*****

Dave's speculation seemed to be a bit of an exaggeration. When the two of them stepped out of Molon Labe's airlock and maneuvered to where she connected with the flotsam, they found that the problem could be solved comparatively easily. 

Each compartment in Molon Labe could be sealed off and depressurized for emergency repairs just such as this. Ed ordered Kizzvell to do just this. The moment Kizzvell told him it was clear, Ed and Dave spread a thick, extremely adhesive substance over the area and began cutting away the slim metal pole that connected Molon Labe to the space junk.

Just before Molon Labe was freed, Ed noticed something on the pole. In the light of his spacesuit's flashlight, he could see tiny shadows being cast by engraving on the pole. He leaned in closer to read it. The letters and numbers before him spelled out "TYU-COMM-ARRY-GEN8  ESCPOD-9 UFP PRISON HULK "INTIMIDATION"

"Dave?" he said over his comms.

"Whatcha need boss?" came the reply.

"This isn't just chance garbage. This is a Federation escape pod."