ACGS Sharlane, Sampan block 2 jump vessel, 1st Patrol, Arluna Coast Guard, a...few days later.
"...small prospector's pinnace, registry is to a three man partnership operating from Gordo's second moon." Warrant officer Lisa Monroe's recital was for the crime scene notes. "We have two bodies in the ventral airlock, cause of death is pretty obvious, but we'll need to run autopsies to be certain. the crew compartment isn't pressurized, hydraulics on the inner door are down. Peralta, need a hand here."
"Aye chief." Crew Apprentice Hector Peralta was from Ciudad Madrid down in the well. Lisa didn't hold it against him, his superior physique was useful for these jobs, even if his mind was somewhat slower and he didn't have a proper Rockjack upbringing-the boy was learning, at least.
"Set your feet here, and here, and activate your clamps...good man, now, apply the crowbar..." she instructed.
the blast-rated hatch vibrated in his hands as he levered it open, the residual hydraulic fluids in the closure cylinders making the task more difficult.
a stream of bubbles erupted from damaged lines, making a minature constellation in hard vacuum and an increased risk of obscured vision, but the hatch opened.
"Do you think anyone is here?" he asked.
"Don't know, hope so. These light rigs don't have good data recorders-too much chance someone at a station would rip survey data for an unregistered claim." she said offhandedly, "Given the damage, I don't know if there's even a flight data recorder to recover, but she's sending an all channel emergency signal, so maybe someone was alive to activate the beacon."
Personal effects spun untethered among compartments broken open by the savagery of the attack. she stopped, and examined an entry and an exit, mentally reconstructing the ballistics that caused it.
"What do you think, Chief?"
"Twenty milimeter armor piercing, maybe twenty five. Starfighter grade weapons. given the damage to the hull on the outside...not sure yet." she led her apprentice down the central corridor to the flight deck.
a check on the monitor mounted to the flight deck door, showed pressure, but it also displayed lethal levels of carbon dioxide. "well, there's press in the flight deck. Let's set up a curtain and give it a knock before opening. if the stick-jockey was smart, he has his hat, and is running his breather on recirculate through a scrubber."
"If he isn't?"
"Then let's hope he's lucky."
she found the panel for the emergency curtain, and drew it across, creating a thin, mylar sealed zone between the flight deck's door, and the rest of the ruined compartment. "nice gear, this is Sithers-proper out of the Kowloon system." she noted, "good plastics, quality goods..." that in place, she tried the inquiry port.
no response from inside the flight deck. she punched in the stock override emergency codes, nothing. she opened the panel, and found a slot in the chip-board where, like many Rockjacks, these prospectors had removed the override board for fear that a pirate might have the sequence, or hack the sequence.
she jumpered between two pin contacts on the control board, and her guess was rewarded, the flight deck hatch retracted, blowing hot gas that bulged the curtain-seal behind her.
there was a patch on the hull above the pilot's station, and dried spheres-blood, floated in a pattern over the body in the pilot's couch.
"Three for the coroner." she said unhappily.
The pilot's suit had a slap-patch, and the dead man's face was frozen in an open eyed grimace.
the ship's black box was undamaged. she remembered to remove it, before ordering her apprentice to unstrap the body and bring it with.
She remembered to also grab the pinnace's active data storage chits, and the volatile memory modules from the flight deck computers.
"Petty Officer Mozhvec, send six marines EVA to start prepping this hulk for movement to impound, we'll have to get the crime scene techs on it, but it looks like she's going to be good for maybe alloy recycling."
"Aye Mum!"
If we're lucky, we'll get an eyedent on the bastards that killed these folks.
