Couverture de Three Million CE - Episode 6

Three Million CE - Episode 6

Three Million CE - Episode 6

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 The station’s docking bay doors soundlessly swung open on Dak’s viewscreen, like the gaping maw of a hungry rust-covered space creature. Dak hated mining colonies–they stirred up too many unwanted memories. Under normal circumstances Dak wouldn’t have so much as farted in the colony’s direction as he blinked past, but for some reason they had gone out of their way to hail him. It wasn’t normal. Mining colonies in the Orubus Belt were xenophobic to the point of madness. The one Dak had grown up in would have preferred mass suicide to dealing with outsiders. That this colony was hailing passing strangers meant they must be in trouble. Real trouble. The kind of trouble that paid well. “Initiating automatic docking procedure.” The ship’s voice reminded Dak of his sister, to the extent that he had started calling it by her name. He didn’t believe in reincarnation, but the fantasy that Aylix somehow lived on in the ship’s computer brought him comfort. “What do your scans show, Aylix?” Dak asked out loud. “There are three thousand seven hundred and three humanoid lifeforms on board,” replied Aylix. “Two are present in the docking bay. Neither armed with conventional weapons.” Dak nodded. The station grew larger on the viewscreen at a steady pace. “I recommend caution,” Aylix added. “It could be a trap.” Dak changed into his carbon fiber bodysuit while Aylix finished docking. He pulled the hood up and slid its visor down over his eyes, and clipped his weapon harness across his chest. Two men in grime-covered overalls were waiting for him in the docking bay. “Best watch yourself here, stranger,” said one of the men. “We appreciate you answering the hail and all, but know that we got our eye on you.” “Appreciate the warm welcome,” said Dak. “Your message mentioned a reward.” The miner who had spoken–a toothpick compared to his silent companion–nodded, then looked Dak up and down. Unimpressed, he turned his attention to Aylix. “Never seen a ship like yours before,” said the miner. “She got any firepower to her?” “When she needs to,” said Dak. “Will she need to?” “I reckon she will,” said the miner. “Come. The Foreman will give you the details. Give my friend here your weapons while on board.” The taller, heavier, less talkative miner stepped forward and held out a hand that was larger than Dak’s head. Dak glared at him. “No weapons, no job,” said the smaller miner. “No job, no reward. Your choice.” Dak sighed. The interior of the station was hewn from rusty metal pipes. The walls, ceiling, and even the floor beneath the grated walkways were one big snaking maze. Dripping stalactites glistened in the station’s dim lighting. The air smelled of smoke and dampness. The two miners led Dak up a set of rattling stairs to a catwalk overlooking the refinery–a cavernous reservoir of smoking machinery and crisscrossing walkways and conveyor belts. The indistinct silhouettes of miners lining the walkways were visible through the haze. There was a door at the end of the catwalk; the two miners ushered Dak through. In the room, sitting behind a desk, was the most obese man Dak had ever seen. Presumably the Foreman. Dak recognized the symbol tattooed across his face at once–the mark of a Takkah agent. An unexpected sight; either Dak was further from the outer rim than he thought, or the Takkah Empire had expanded its control over mining operations in the Orubus Belt considerably. The miners waited outside the office. They didn’t bother introducing Dak. “I take it you’re interested in the reward,” the Foreman said. “What should I call you?” “Syphon,” said Dak. “Dak Syphon.” The Foreman leaned forward in his chair. “We can’t offer currency, Mr. Syphon. But you’ll get a full tank of fuel and a crate of this if you can help us.” The Foreman slid a half-empty bottle across his desk toward Dak. Dak picked it up and sniffed at it. Mining colony moonshine was the stuff of legends–near impossible for outsiders to get a hold of. Dak put the bottle back down on the desk. “What’s the job?” “There’s a large debris field on the other side of our planetoid, orbiting in opposition to the station,” said the Foreman. “Hidden in the debris is an old but functioning freighter ship.” “You want me to retrieve it?” asked Dak. “Hardly,” said the Foreman. “I want you to destroy it, and ideally the damn necromancer who lives there too.” Dak blinked. “The… necromancer?” “Yeah. The necromancer. A magister of the dark arts,” continued the Foreman. “He’s been a thorn in my side and a blight on this station for a hundred kilocycles, ever since we banished him from the colony. But now he’s taken it too far.” Dak crossed his arms. Was the Foreman pulling his leg, or just stupid? Necromancers were the things of old spacefarer’s tales. “He’s been sabotaging the station, making us ...
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